page images generously made available by digital case, the kelvin smith library, case western reserve university (http://library.case.edu/digitalcase/) note: images of the original pages are available through digital case, the kelvin smith library, case western reserve university. see http://digitalcase.case.edu: /fedora/get/ksl:binmin /binmin .pdf transcriber's note: references are made to footnotes in other footnotes and index. the footnotes are serially numbered and placed at the end of each chapter. consequently the references in the footnotes and index have been corrected to indicate the footnote number. international scientific series. volume lxxxix. (the international scientific series) edited by f. legge the mind and the brain by alfred binet directeur du laboratoire de psychologie à la sorbonne being the authorised translation of _l'Âme et le corps_ london kegan paul, trench, trübner & co. ltd dryden house, gerrard street, w. contents book i the definition of matter chapter i introduction the distinction between mind and matter--knowable not homogeneous--criterion employed, enumeration not concepts chapter ii our knowledge of external objects only sensation modern theories of matter--outer world only known to us by our sensations--instances--mill's approval of proposition, and its defects--nervous system only intermediary between self and outer world--the great x of matter--nervous system does not give us true image--müller's law of specificity of the nerves--the nervous system itself a sensation--relations of sensation with the unknowable the affair of metaphysics chapter iii the mechanical theories of matter are only symbols physicists vainly endeavour to reduce the rôle of sensation--mathematical, energetical, and mechanical theories of universe--mechanical model formed from sensation--instance of tuning-fork--no one sensation any right to hegemony over others chapter iv answers to some objections, and summary objections of spiritualists--of german authors who contend that nervous system does give true image--of metaphysicians--common ground of objection that nervous system not intermediary--answer to this--summary of preceding chapters book ii the definition of mind chapter i the distinction between cognition and its object necessity for inventory of mental phenomena--objects of cognition and acts of cognition--definition of consciousness chapter ii definition of sensation sensation defined by experimental psychology--a state of consciousness--considered self-evident by mill, renouvier, and hume--psycho-physical according to reid and hamilton--reasons in favour of last definition--other opinions examined and refuted chapter iii definition of the image perception and ideation cannot be separated--perception constituted by addition of image to sensation--hallucinations--objections anticipated and answered chapter iv definition of the emotions contrary opinions as to nature of emotions--emotion a phenomenon _sui generis_--intellectualist theory of emotion supported by lange and james--is emotion only a perception? is effort?--question left unanswered chapter v definition of the consciousness--the relation subject-object can thoughts be divided into subject and object?--this division cannot apply to the consciousness--subject of cognition itself an object--james' opinion examined--opinion that subject is spiritual substance and consciousness its faculty refuted chapter vi definition of the consciousness--categories of the understanding principle of relativity doubted--tables of categories: aristotle, kant, and renouvier--kantian idealism--phenomenism of berkeley examined and rejected--argument of _a priorists_--the intelligence only an inactive consciousness--huxley's epiphenomenal consciousness--is the consciousness necessary?--impossibility of answering this question chapter vii definition of the consciousness--the separability of the consciousness from its object--discussion of idealism can the consciousness be separated from its object?--idealists consider the object a modality of the consciousness and thus inseparable, from it--futility of this doctrine--object can exist without consciousness chapter viii definition of the consciousness--the separation of the consciousness from its object--the unconscious can ideas exist without consciousness?--no consciousness without an object--can the consciousness die?--enfeeblement of consciousness how accounted for--doubling of consciousness in hysterics--relations of physiological phenomena to consciousness--consciousness cannot become unconscious and yet exist chapter ix definitions of psychology difficulty of defining psychology--definition by substance--psychology not the science of the soul--definition by enumeration: its error--definition by method contradicts idea of consciousness--externospection and introspection sometimes confused--definition by content--facts cannot be divided into those of consciousness and of unconsciousness--descartes' definition of psychology insufficient--"within and without" simile unanalogous--definition by point of view--inconsistencies of ebbinghaus' contention--w. james' teleological theory--definition by the peculiar nature of mental laws only one possible: why? book iii the union of the soul and the body chapter i the mind has an incomplete life problem of union of mind and body stated--axiom of heterogeneity must be rejected--phenomena of consciousness incomplete--aristotle's _relatum_ and _correlatum_ applied to the terms mind and matter chapter ii spiritualism and idealism spiritualist view that death cuts link between soul and body--explanation of link fatal to system--consciousness cannot exercise functions without objects of cognition--idealism a kaleidoscopic system--four affirmations of idealism: their inconsistency--advantages of historical method chapter iii materialism and parallelism materialism oldest doctrine of all: many patristic authors lean towards it--modern form of, receives impulse from advance of physical science--karl vogt's comparison of secretions of brain with that of kidneys--all materialist doctrines opposed to principle of heterogeneity--modern materialism would make object generate consciousness--materialists cannot demonstrate how molecular vibrations can be transformed into objects--parallelism avoids issue by declaring mind to be function of brain--parallelists declare physical and psychical life to be two parallel currents--bain's support of this--objections to: most important that it postulates consciousness as a complete whole chapter iv modern theories berkeley's idealism revived by bergson, though with different standpoint--admirable nature of bergson's exposition--fallacy of, part assigned to sensory nerves--conscious sensations must be subsequent to excitement of sensory nerves and dependent on their integrity chapter v conclusion author's own theory only a hypothesis--important conditions for solution of problem--manifestations of consciousness conditioned by brain, but this last unconscious--consciousness perceives only external object--specificity of nerves not absolute--why repeated excitements of nerve tend to become unconscious--formation of habit and "instinct"--resemblance to and distinction of this from parallelism--advantages of new theory chapter vi recapitulation description of matter--definition of mind--objections to, answered--incomplete existence of mind--other theories--nervous system must add its own effect to that of its excitant book i the definition of matter the mind and the brain[ ] chapter i introduction this book is a prolonged effort to establish a distinction between what is called mind and what is called matter. nothing is more simple than to realise this distinction when you do not go deeply into it; nothing is more difficult when you analyse it a little. at first sight, it seems impossible to confuse things so far apart as a thought and a block of stone; but on reflection this great contrast vanishes, and other differences have to be sought which are less apparent and of which one has not hitherto dreamed. first let us say how the question presents itself to us. the fact which we must take as a starting point, for it is independent of every kind of theory, is that there exists something which is "knowable." not only science, but ordinary life and our everyday conversation, imply that there are things that we know. it is with regard to these things that we have to ask ourselves if some belong to what we call the mind and others to what we call matter. let us suppose, by way of hypothesis, the knowable to be entirely and absolutely homogeneous. in that case we should be obliged to set aside the question as one already decided. where everything is homogeneous, there is no distinction to be drawn. but this hypothesis is, as we all know, falsified by observation. the whole body of the knowable is formed from an agglomeration of extremely varied elements, amongst which it is easy to distinguish a large number of divisions. things may be classified according to their colour, their shape, their weight, the pleasure they give us, their quality of being alive or dead, and so on; one much given to classification would only be troubled by the number of possible distinctions. since so many divisions are possible, at which shall we stop and say: this is the one which corresponds exactly to the opposition of mind and matter? the choice is not easy to make; for we shall see that certain authors put the distinction between the physical and the mental in one thing, others in another. thus there have been a very large number of distinctions proposed, and their number is much greater than is generally thought. since we propose to make ourselves judges of these distinctions, since, in fact, we shall reject most of them in order to suggest entirely new ones, it must be supposed that we shall do so by means of a criterion. otherwise, we should only be acting fantastically. we should be saying peremptorily, "in my opinion this is mental," and there would be no more ground for discussion than, if the assertion were "i prefer the romanticists to the classicists," or "i consider prose superior to poetry." the criterion which i have employed, and which i did not analyse until the unconscious use i had made of it revealed its existence to me, is based on the two following rules:-- . _a rule of method._--the distinction between mind and matter must not only apply to the whole of the knowable, but must be the deepest which can divide the knowable, and must further be one of a permanent character. _a priori_, there is nothing to prove the existence of such a distinction; it must be sought for and, when found, closely examined. . _an indication of the direction in which the search must be made._--taking into account the position already taken up by the majority of philosophers, the manifestation of mind, if it exists, must be looked for in the domain of facts dealt with by psychology, and the manifestation of matter in the domain explored by physicists. i do not conceal from myself that there may be much that is arbitrary in my own criterion; but this does not seem to me possible to avoid. we must therefore appeal to psychology, and ask whether it is cognisant of any phenomenon offering a violent, lasting, and ineffaceable contrast with all the rest of the knowable. _the method of concepts and the method of enumeration._--many authors are already engaged in this research, and employ a method which i consider very bad and very dangerous--the method of concepts. this consists in looking at real and concrete phenomena in their most abstract form. for example, in studying the mind, they use this word "mind" as a general idea which is supposed to contain all the characteristics of psychical phenomena; but they do not wait to enumerate these characteristics or to realise them, and they remain satisfied with the extremely vague idea springing from an unanalysed concept. consequently they use the word "mind" with the imprudence of a banker who should discount a trade bill without ascertaining whether the payment of that particular piece of paper had been provided for. this amounts to saying that the discussion of philosophical problems takes especially a verbal aspect; and the more complex the phenomena a concept thus handled, contains, the more dangerous it is. a concept of the colour red has but a very simple content, and by using it, this content can be very clearly represented. but how can the immense meaning of the word "mind" be realised every time that it is used? for example, to define mind and to separate it from the rest of the knowable which is called matter, the general mode of reasoning is as follows: all the knowable which is apparent to our senses is essentially reduced to motion; "mind," that something which lives, feels, and judges, is reduced to "thought." to understand the difference between matter and mind, it is necessary to ask one's self whether there exists any analogy in nature between motion and thought. now this analogy does not exist, and what we comprehend, on the contrary, is their absolute opposition. thought is not a movement, and has nothing in common with a movement. a movement is never anything else but a displacement, a transfer, a change of place undergone by a particle of matter. what relation of similarity exists between this geometrical fact and a desire, an emotion, a sensation of bitterness? far from being identical, these two facts are as distinct as any facts can be, and their distinction is so deep that it should be raised to the height of a principle, the principle of heterogeneity. this is almost exactly the reasoning that numbers of philosophers have repeated for several years without giving proof of much originality. this is what i term the metaphysics of concept, for it is a speculation which consists in juggling with abstract ideas. the moment that a philosopher opposes thought to movement, i ask myself under what form he can think of a "thought," i suppose he must very poetically and very vaguely represent to himself something light and subtle which contrasts with the weight and grossness of material bodies. and thus our philosopher is punished in the sinning part; his contempt of the earthly has led him into an abuse of abstract reasoning, and this abuse has made him the dupe of a very naïve physical metaphor. at bottom i have not much faith in the nobility of many of our abstract ideas. in a former psychological study[ ] i have shown that many of our abstractions are nothing else than embryonic, and, above all, loosely defined concrete ideas, which can satisfy only an indolent mind, and are, consequently, full of snares. the opposition between mind and matter appears to me to assume a very different meaning if, instead of repeating ready-made formulas and wasting time on the game of setting concept against concept, we take the trouble to return to the study of nature, and begin by drawing up an inventory of the respective phenomena of mind and matter, examining with each of these phenomena the characteristics in which the first-named differ from the second. it is this last method, more slow but more sure than the other, that we shall follow; and we will commence by the study of matter. footnotes: [footnote : _l'ame et la corps._--disagreeable as it is to alter an author's title, the words "soul and body" had to be abandoned because of their different connotation in english. the title "mind and body" was also preoccupied by bain's work of that name in this series. the title chosen has m. binet's approval.--ed.] [footnote : _Étude experímentale de l'intelligence._ paris: schleicher.] chapter ii our knowledge of external objects is only sensations of late years numerous studies have been published on the conception of matter, especially by physicists, chemists, and mathematicians. among these recent contributions to science i will quote the articles of duhem on the evolution of mechanics published in in the _revue générale des sciences_, and other articles by the same author, in , in the _revue de philosophie_. duhem's views have attracted much attention, and have dealt a serious blow at the whole theory of the mechanics of matter. let me also quote that excellent work of dastre, _la vie et la mort_, wherein the author makes so interesting an application to biology of the new theories on energetics; the discussion between ostwald and brillouin on matter, in which two rival conceptions find themselves engaged in a veritable hand-to-hand struggle (_revue générale des sciences_, nov. and dec. ); the curious work of dantec on _les lois naturelles_, in which the author ingeniously points out the different sensorial districts into which science is divided, although, through a defect in logic, he accepts mechanics as the final explanation of things. and last, it is impossible to pass over, in silence, the rare works of lord kelvin, so full, for french readers, of unexpected suggestions, for they show us the entirely practical and empirical value which the english attach to mechanical models. my object is not to go through these great studies in detail. it is the part of mathematical and physical philosophers to develop their ideas on the inmost nature of matter, while seeking to establish theories capable of giving a satisfactory explanation of physical phenomena. this is the point of view they take up by preference, and no doubt they are right in so doing. the proper rôle of the natural sciences is to look at phenomena taken by themselves and apart from the observer. my own intention, in setting forth these same theories on matter, is to give prominence to a totally different point of view. instead of considering physical phenomena in themselves, we shall seek to know what idea one ought to form of their nature when one takes into account that they are observed phenomena. while the physicist withdraws from consideration the part of the observer in the verification of physical phenomena, our rôle is to renounce this abstraction, to re-establish things in their original complexity, and to ascertain in what the conception of matter consists when it is borne in mind that all material phenomena are known only in their relation to ourselves, to our bodies, our nerves, and our intelligence. this at once leads us to follow, in the exposition of the facts, an order which the physicist abandons. since we seek to know what is the physical phenomenon we perceive, we must first enunciate this proposition, which will govern the whole of our discussion: to wit-- _of the outer world we know nothing except our sensations._ before demonstrating this proposition, let us develop it by an example which will at least give us some idea of its import. let us take as example one of those investigations in which, with the least possible recourse to reasoning, the most perfected processes of observation are employed, and in which one imagines that one is penetrating almost into the very heart of nature. we are, let us suppose, dissecting an animal. after killing it, we lay bare its viscera, examine their colour, form, dimensions, and connections; then we dissect the organs in order to ascertain their internal nature, their texture, structure, and function; then, not content with ocular anatomy, we have recourse to the perfected processes of histology: we take a fragment of the tissues weighing a few milligrammes, we fix it, we mount it, we make it into strips of no more than a thousandth of a millimetre thick, we colour it and place it under the microscope, we examine it with the most powerful lenses, we sketch it, and we explain it. all this work of complicated and refined observation, sometimes lasting months and years, results in a monograph containing minute descriptions of organs, of cells, and of intra-cellular structures, the whole represented and defined in words and pictures. now, these descriptions and drawings are the display of the various sensations which the zoologist has experienced in the course of his labours; to those sensations are added the very numerous interpretations derived from the memory, reasoning, and often, also, from the imagination on the part of the scholar, the last a source at once of errors and of discoveries. but everything properly experimental in the work of the zoologist proceeds from the sensations he has felt or might have felt, and in the particular case treated of, these sensations are almost solely visual. this observation might be repeated with regard to all objects of the outer world which enter into relation with us. whether the knowledge of them be of the common-place or of a scientific order matters little. sensation is its limit, and all objects are known to us by the sensations they produce in us, and are known to us solely in this manner. a landscape is nothing but a cluster of sensations. the outward form of a body is simply sensation; and the innermost and most delicate material structure, the last visible elements of a cell, for example, are all, in so far as we observe them with the microscope, nothing but sensation. this being understood, the question is, why we have just admitted--with the majority of authors--that we cannot really know a single object as it is in itself, and in its own nature, otherwise than by the intermediary of the sensations it provokes in us? this comes back to saying that we here require explanations on the two following points: why do we admit that we do not really perceive the objects, but only something intermediate between them and us; and why do we call this something intermediate a sensation? on this second point i will offer, for the time being, one simple remark: we use the term sensation for lack of any other to express the intermediate character of our perception of objects; and this use does not, on our part, imply any hypothesis. especially do we leave completely in suspense the question whether sensation is a material phenomenon or a state of being of the mind. these are questions we will deal with later. for the present it must be understood that the word sensation is simply a term for the something intermediate between the object and our faculty of cognition.[ ] we have, therefore, simply to state why we have admitted that the external perception of objects is produced mediately or by procuration. there are a few philosophers, and those not of the lowest rank, who have thought that this intermediate character of all perception was so evident that there was no need to insist further upon it. john stuart mill, who was certainly and perhaps more than anything a careful logician, commences an exposition of the idealist thesis to which he was so much attached, by carelessly saying: "it goes without saying that objects are known to us through the intermediary of our senses.... the senses are equivalent to our sensations;"[ ] and on those propositions he rears his whole system, "it goes without saying ..." is a trifle thoughtless. i certainly think he was wrong in not testing more carefully the solidity of his starting point. in the first place, this limit set to our knowledge of the objects which stimulate our sensations is only accepted without difficulty by well-informed persons; it much astonishes the uninstructed when first explained to them. and this astonishment, although it may seem so, is not a point that can be neglected, for it proves that, in the first and simple state of our knowledge, we believe we directly perceive objects as they are. now, if we, the cultured class, have, for the most part,[ ] abandoned this primitive belief, we have only done so on certain implicit conditions, of which we must take cognisance. this is what i shall now demonstrate as clearly as i can. take the case of an unlearned person. to prove to him that he knows sensations alone and not the bodies which excite them, a very striking argument may be employed which requires no subtle reasoning and which appeals to his observation. this is to inform him, supposing he is not aware of the fact, that, every time he has the perception of an exterior object, there is something interposed between the object and himself, and that that something is his nervous system. if we were not acquainted with the existence of our nervous system, we should unhesitatingly admit that our perception of objects consisted in some sort of motion towards the places in which they were fixed. now, a number of experiments prove to us that objects are known to us as excitants of our nervous system which only act on this system by entering into communication, or coming into contact with, its terminal extremities. they then produce, in the interior of this system, a peculiar modification which we are not yet able to define. it is this modification which follows the course of the nerves and is carried to the central parts of the system. the speed of the propagation of this nerve modification has been measured by certain precise experiments in psychometry; the journey is made slowly, at the rate of to metres per second, and it is of interest that this rate of speed lets us know at what moment and, consequently, by what organic excitement, the phenomenon of consciousness is produced. this happens when the cerebral centres are affected; the phenomenon of consciousness is therefore posterior to the fact of the physical excitement. i believe it has required a long series of accepted observations for us to have arrived at this idea, now so natural in appearance, that the modifications produced within our nervous system are the only states of which we can have a direct consciousness; and as experimental demonstration is always limited, there can be no absolute certainty that things never happen otherwise, that we never go outside ourselves, and that neither our consciousness nor our nervous influx can exteriorise itself, shoot beyond our material organs, and travel afar in pursuit of objects in order to know or to modify them. * * * * * before going further, we must make our terminology more precise. we have just seen the necessity of drawing a distinction between the sensations of which we are conscious and the unknown cause which produces these sensations by acting on our nervous systems. this exciting cause i have several times termed, in order to be understood, the external object. but under the name of external object are currently designated groups of sensations, such as those which make up for us a chair, a tree, an animal, or any kind of body. i see a dog pass in the street. i call this dog an external object; but, as this dog is formed, for me who am looking at it, of my sensations, and as these sensations are states of my nervous centres, it happens that the term external object has two meanings. sometimes it designates our sensations; at another, the exciting cause of our sensations. to avoid all confusion we will call this exciting cause, which is unknown to us, the _x_ of matter. it is, however, not entirely unknown, for we at least know two facts with regard to it. we know, first, that this _x_ exists, and in the second place, that its image must not be sought in the sensations it excites in us. how can we doubt, we say, that it exists? the same external observation proves to us at once that there exists an object distinct from our nerves, and that our nerves separate us from it. i insist on this point, for the reason that some authors, after having unreservedly admitted that our knowledge is confined to sensations, have subsequently been hard put to it to demonstrate the reality of the excitant distinct from the sensations.[ ] of this we need no demonstration, and the testimony of our senses suffices. we have seen the excitant, and it is like a friend who should pass before us in disguise so well costumed and made up that we can attribute to his real self nothing of what we see of him, but yet we know that it is he. and, in fact, let us remember what it is that we have argued upon--viz. on an observation. i look at my hand, and i see an object approaching it which gives me a sensation of feeling. i at first say that this object is an excitant. it is pointed out to me that i am in error. this object, which appears to me outside my nervous system, is composed, i am told, of sensations. be it so, i have the right to answer; but if all that i perceive is sensation, my nervous system itself is a sensation; if it is only that, it is no longer an intermediary between the excitant and myself, and it is the fact that we perceive things as they are. for it to be possible to prove that i perceive, not the object, but that _tertium quid_ which is sensation, it has to be admitted that the nervous system is a reality external to sensation and that objects which assume, in relation to it, the rôle of excitants and of which we perceive the existence, are likewise realities external to sensation. this is what is demonstrated by abstract reasoning, and this reasoning is further supported by a common-sense argument. the outer world cannot be summarised in a few nervous systems suspended like spiders in empty space. the existence of a nervous system implies that of a body in which it is lodged. this body must have complicated organs; its limbs presuppose the soil on which the animal rests, its lungs the existence of oxygen vivifying its blood, its digestive tube, aliments which it digests and assimilates to its substance, and so on. we may indeed admit that this outer world is not, in itself, exactly as we perceive it; but we are compelled to recognise that it exists by the same right as the nervous system, in order to put it in its proper place. the second fact of observation is that the sensations we feel do not give us the true image of the material _x_ which produces them. the modification made in our substance by this force _x_ does not necessarily resemble in its nature the nature of that force. this is an assertion opposed to our natural opinions, and must consequently be demonstrated. it is generally proved by the experiments which reveal what is called "the law of the specific energy of the nerves." this is an important law in physiology discovered by müller two centuries ago, and consequences of a philosophical order are attached to it. the facts on which this law is based are these. it is observed that, if the sensory nerves are agitated by an excitant which remains constant, the sensations received by the patient differ according to the nerve affected. thus, the terminals of an electric current applied to the ball of the eye give the sensation of a small luminous spark; to the auditory apparatus, the current causes a crackling sound; to the hand, the sensation of a shock; to the tongue, a metallic flavour. conversely, excitants wholly different, but affecting the same nerve, give similar sensations; whether a ray of light is projected into the eye, or the eyeball be excited by the pressure of a finger; whether an electric current is directed into the eye, or, by a surgical operation, the optic nerve is severed by a bistoury, the effect is always the same, in the sense that the patient always receives a sensation of light. to sum up, in addition to the natural excitant of our sensory nerves, there are two which can produce the same sensory effects, that is to say, the mechanical and the electrical excitants. whence it has been concluded that the peculiar nature of the sensation felt depends much less on the nature of the excitant producing it than on that of the sensory organ which collects it, the nerve which propagates it, or the centre which receives it. it would perhaps be going a little too far to affirm that the external object has no kind of resemblance to the sensations it gives us. it is safer to say that we are ignorant of the degree in which the two resemble or differ from each other. on thinking it over, it will be found that this contains a very great mystery, for this power of distinction (_specificité_) of our nerves is not connected with any detail observable in their structure. it is very probably the receiving centres which are specific. it is owing to them and to their mechanism that we ought to feel, from the same excitant, a sensation of sound or one of colour, that is to say, impressions which appear, when compared, as the most different in the world. now, so far as we can make out, the histological structure of our auditory centre is the same as that of our visual centre. both are a collection of cells diverse in form, multipolar, and maintained by a conjunctive pellicule (_stroma_). the structure of the fibres and cells varies slightly in the motor and sensory regions, but no means have yet been discovered of perceiving a settled difference between the nerve-cells of the optic centre and those of the auditory centre. there should be a difference, as our mind demands it; but our eye fails to note it. let us suppose, however, that to-morrow, or several centuries hence, an improved _technique_ should show us a material difference between the visual and the auditory neurone. there is no absurdity in this supposition; it is a possible discovery, since it is of the order of material facts. such a discovery, however, would lead us very far, for what terribly complicates this problem is that we cannot directly know the structure of our nervous system. though close to us, though, so to speak, inside us, it is not known to us otherwise than is the object we hold in our hands, the ground we tread, or the landscape which forms our horizon. for us it is but a sensation, a real sensation when we observe it in the dissection of an animal, or the autopsy of one of our own kind; an imaginary and transposed sensation, when we are studying anatomy by means of an anatomical chart; but still a sensation. it is by the intermediary of our nervous system that we have to perceive and imagine what a nervous system is like; consequently we are ignorant as to the modification impressed on our perceptions and imaginations by this intermediary, the nature of which we are unable to grasp. therefore, when we attempt to understand the inmost nature of the outer world, we stand before it as before absolute darkness. there probably exists in nature, outside of ourselves, neither colour, odour, force, resistance, space, nor anything that we know as sensation. light is produced by the excitement of the optic nerve, and it shines only in our brain; as to the excitement itself, there is nothing to prove that it is luminous; outside of us is profound darkness, or even worse, since darkness is the correlation of light. in the same way, all the sonorous excitements which assail us, the creakings of machines, the sounds of nature, the words and cries of our fellows are produced by excitements of our acoustic nerve; it is in our brain that noise is produced, outside there reigns a dead silence. the same may be said of all our other senses. not one of our senses, absolutely none, is the revealer of external reality. from this point of view there is no higher and no lower sense. the sensations of sight, apparently so objective and so searching, no more take us out of ourselves than do the sensations of taste which are localised in the tongue. in short, our nervous system, which enables us to communicate with objects, prevents us, on the other hand, from knowing their nature. it is an organ of relation with the outer world; it is also, for us, a cause of isolation. we never go outside ourselves. we are walled in. and all we can say of matter and of the outer world is, that it is revealed to us solely by the sensations it affords us, that it is the unknown cause of our sensations, the inaccessible excitant of our organs of the senses, and that the ideas we are able to form as to the nature and the properties of that excitant, are necessarily derived from our sensations, and are subjective to the same degree as those sensations themselves. but we must make haste to add that this point of view is the one which is reached when we regard the relations of sensation with its unknown cause the great _x_ of matter.[ ] positive science and practical life do not take for an objective this relation of sensation with the unknowable; they leave this to metaphysics. they distribute themselves over the study of sensation and examine the reciprocal relations of sensations with sensations. those last, condemned as misleading appearances when we seek in them the expression of the unknowable, lose this illusory character when we consider them in their reciprocal relations. then they constitute for us reality, the whole of reality and the only object of human knowledge. the world is but an assembly of present, past, and possible sensations; the affair of science is to analyse and co-ordinate them by separating their accidental from their constant relations. footnotes: [footnote : _connaissance._--the word cognition is used throughout as the english equivalent of this, except in places where the context shows that it means acquaintance merely.--ed.] [footnote : j. s. mill, _an examination of sir wm. hamilton's philosophy_, pp. and . london. .] [footnote : a few subtle philosophers have returned to it, as i shall show later in chapter iv.] [footnote : thus, the perplexity in which john stuart mill finds himself is very curious. having admitted unreservedly that our knowledge is confined to sensations, he is powerless to set up a reality outside this, and acknowledges that the principle of causality cannot legitimately be used to prove that our sensations have a cause which is not a sensation, because this principle cannot be applied outside the world of phenomena.] [footnote : see p. , _sup_.--ed.] chapter iii the mechanical theories of matter are only symbols if we keep firmly in mind the preceding conclusion--a conclusion which is neither exclusively my own, nor very new--we shall find a certain satisfaction in watching the discussions of physicists on the essence of matter, on the nature of force and of energy, and on the relations of ponderable and imponderable matter. we all know how hot is the fight raging on this question. at the present time it is increasing in intensity, in consequence of the disturbance imported into existing theories by the new discoveries of radio-activity.[ ] we psychologists can look on very calmly at these discussions, with that selfish pleasure we unavowedly feel when we see people fighting while ourselves safe from knocks. we have, in fact, the feeling that, come what may from the discussions on the essence of matter, there can be no going beyond the truth that matter is an excitant of our nervous system, and is only known in connection with, the perception we have of this last. if we open a work on physics or physiology we shall note with astonishment how the above considerations are misunderstood. observers of nature who seek, and rightly, to give the maximum of exactness to their observations, show that they are obsessed by one constant prejudice: they mistrust sensation. a great part of their efforts consists, by what they say, in reducing the rôle of sensation to its fitting part in science; and the invention of mechanical aids to observation is constantly held up as a means of remedying the imperfection of our senses. in physics the thermometer replaces the sensation of heat that our skin--our hand, for example--experiences by the measurable elevation of a column of mercury, and the scale-pan of a precise balance takes the place of the vague sensation of trifling weights; in physiology a registering apparatus replaces the sensation of the pulse which the doctor feels with the end of his forefinger by a line on paper traced with indelible ink, of which the duration and the intensity, as well as the varied combinations of these two elements, can be measured line by line. learned men who pride themselves on their philosophical attainments vaunt in very eloquent words the superiority of the physical instrument over mere sensation. evidently, however, the earnestness of this eulogy leads them astray. the most perfect registering apparatus must, in the long-run, after its most scientific operations, address itself to our senses and produce in us some small sensation. the reading of the height reached by the column of mercury in a thermometer when heated is accomplished by a visual sensation, and it is by the sight that the movements of the balance are controlled; and that the traces of the sphygmograph are analysed. we may readily admit to physicists and physiologists all the advantages of these apparatus. this is not the question. it simply proves that there are sensations and sensations, and that certain of these are better and more precise than others. the visual sensation of relation in space seems to be _par excellence_ the scientific sensation which it is sought to substitute for all the rest. but, after all, it is but a sensation. let us recognise that there is, in all this contempt on the part of physicists for sensation, only differences in language, and that a paraphrase would suffice to correct them without leaving any trace. be it so. but something graver remains. when one is convinced that our knowledge of the outer world is limited to sensations, we can no longer understand how it is possible to give oneself up, as physicists do, to speculations upon the constitution of matter. up to the present there have been three principal ways of explaining the physical phenomena of the universe. the first, the most abstract, and the furthest from reality, is above all verbal. it consists in the use of formulas in which the quality of the phenomena is replaced by their magnitude, in which this magnitude, ascertained by the most precise processes of measurement, becomes the object of abstract reasoning which allows its modifications to be foreseen under given experimental conditions. this is pure mathematics, a formal science depending upon logic. another conception, less restricted than the above, and of fairly recent date, consists in treating all manifestations of nature as forms of energy. this term "energy" has a very vague content. at the most it expresses but two things: first, it is based on a faint recollection of muscular force, and it reminds one dimly of the sensation experienced when clenching the fists; and, secondly, it betrays a kind of very natural respect for the forces of nature which, in all the images man has made of them, constantly appear superior to his own. we may say "the energy of nature;" but we should never say, what would be experimentally correct; "the weakness of nature." the word "weakness" we reserve for ourselves. apart from these undecided suggestions, the term energy is quite the proper term to designate phenomena, the intimate nature of which we do not seek to penetrate, but of which we only wish to ascertain the laws and measure the degrees. a third conception, more imaginative and bolder than the others, is the mechanical or kinetic theory. this last absolutely desires that we should represent to ourselves, that we should imagine, how phenomena really take place; and in seeking for the property of nature the most clearly perceived, the easiest to define and analyse, and the most apt to lend itself to measurement and calculation, it has chosen motion. consequently all the properties of matter have been reduced to this one, and in spite of the apparent contradiction of our senses, it has been supposed that the most varied phenomena are produced, in the last resort, by the displacement of material particles. thus, sound, light, heat, electricity, and even the nervous influx would be due to vibratory movements, varying only by their direction and their periods, and all nature is thus explained as a problem of animated geometry. this last theory, which has proved very fertile in explanations of the most delicate phenomena of sound and light, has so strongly impressed many minds that it has led them to declare that the explanation of phenomena by the laws of mechanics alone has the character of a scientific explanation. even recently, it seemed heresy to combat these ideas. still more recently, however, a revulsion of opinion has taken place. against the physicists, the mathematicians in particular have risen up, and taking their stand on science, have demonstrated that all the mechanisms invented have crowds of defects. first, in each particular case, there is such a complication that that which is defined is much more simple than the definition; then there is such a want of unity that quite special mechanisms adapted to each phenomenal detail have to be imagined; and, lastly--most serious argument of all--so much comprehensiveness and suppleness is employed, that no experimental law is found which cannot be understood mechanically, and no fact of observation which shows an error in the mechanical explanation--a sure proof that this mode of explanation has no meaning. my way of combating the mechanical theory starts from a totally different point of view. psychology has every right to say a few words here, as upon the value of every kind of scientific theory; for it is acquainted with the nature of the mental needs of which these theories are the expression and which these theories seek to satisfy. it has not yet been sufficiently noticed that psychology does not allow itself to be confined, like physics or sociology, within the logical table of human knowledge, for it has, by a unique privilege, a right of supervision over the other sciences. we shall see that the psychological discussion of mechanics has a wider range than that of the mathematicians. since our cognition cannot go beyond sensation, shall we first recall what meaning can be given to an explanation of the inmost nature of matter? it can only be an artifice, a symbol, or a process convenient for classification in order to combine the very different qualities of things in one unifying synthesis--a process having nearly the same theoretical value as a _memoria technica_, which, by substituting letters for figures, helps us to retain the latter in our minds. this does not mean that figures are, in fact, letters, but it is a conventional substitution which has a practical advantage. what _memoria technica_ is to the ordinary memory, the theory of mechanics should be for our needed unification. unfortunately, this is not so. the excuse we are trying to make for the mechanicians is illusory. there is no mistaking their ambition, notwithstanding the prudence of some and the equivocations in which others have rejoiced, they have drawn their definition in the absolute and not in the relative. to take their conceptions literally, they have thought the movement of matter to be something existing outside our eye, our hands, and our sense; in a word, something _noumenal_, as kant would have said. the proof that this is their real idea, is that movement is presented to us as the true outer and explanatory cause of our sensations, the external excitement to our nerves. the most elementary works on physics are impregnated with this disconcerting conception. if we open a description of acoustics, we read that sound and noise are subjective states which have no reality outside our auditory apparatus; that they are sensations produced by an external cause, which is the vibratory movement of sonorous bodies--whence the conclusion that this vibratory movement is not itself a sensation. or, shall we take another proof, still more convincing. this is the vibratory and silent movement which is invoked by physicists to explain the peculiarities of subjective sensation; so that the interferences, the pulsations of sound, and, in fine, the whole physiology of the ear, is treated as a problem in kinematics, and is explained by the composition of movements. what kind of reality do physicists then allow to the displacements of matter? where do they place them, since they recognise otherwise that the essence of matter is unknown to us? are we to suppose that, outside the world of _noumena_, outside the world of phenomena and sensations, there exists a third world, an intermediary between the two former, the world of atoms and that of mechanics? a short examination will, moreover, suffice to show of what this mechanical model is formed which is presented to us as constituting the essence of matter. this can be nothing else than the sensations, since we are incapable of perceiving or imagining anything else. it is the sensations of sight, of touch, and even of the muscular sense. motion is a fact seen by the eye, felt by the hand; it enters into us by the perception we have of the solid masses visible to the naked eye which exist in our field of observation, of their movements and their equilibrium and the displacement we ourselves effect with our bodies. here is the sensory origin, very humble and very gross, of all the mechanics of the atoms. here is the stuff of which our lofty conception is formed. our mind can, it is true, by a work of purification, strip movement of most of its concrete qualities, separate it even from the perception of the object in motion, and make of it a something or other ideal and diagrammatic; but there will still remain a residuum of visual, tactile, and muscular sensations, and consequently it is still nothing else than a subjective state, bound to the structure of our organs. we are, for the rest, so wrapped up in sensations that none of our boldest conceptions can break through the circle. but it is not the notion of movement alone which proceeds from sensation. there is also that of exteriority, of space, of position, and, by opposition, that of external or psychological events. without declaring it to be certain, i will remind you that it is infinitely probable that these notions are derived from our muscular experience. free motion, arrested motion, the effort, the speed, and the direction of motion, such are the sensorial elements, which, in all probability, constitute the foundation of our ideas on space and its properties. and those are so many subjective notions which we have no right to treat as objects belonging to the outer world. what is more remarkable, also, is that even the ideas of object, of body, and of matter, are derived from visual and tactile sensations which have been illegitimately set up as entities. we have come, in fact, to consider matter as a being separate from sensations, superior to our sensations, distinct from the properties which enable us to know it, and binding together these properties, as it were, in a sheaf. here again is a conception at the base of visualisation and muscularisation; it consists in referring to the visual and other sensations, raised for the occasion to the dignity of external and permanent causes, the other sensations which are considered as the effects of the first named upon our organs of sense. it demands a great effort to clear our minds of these familiar conceptions which, it is plain are nothing but naïve realism. yes! the mechanical conception of the universe is nothing but naïve realism. to recapitulate our idea, and, to make it more plain by an illustration, here is a tuning-fork on the table before me. with a vigorous stroke of the bow i set it vibrating. the two prongs separate, oscillate rapidly, and a sound of a certain tone is heard. i connect this tuning-fork, by means of electric wires, with a déprez recording apparatus which records the vibrations on the blackened surface of a revolving cylinder; and we can thus, by an examination of the trace made under our eyes, ascertain all the details of the movement which animates it. we see, parallel to each other, two different orders of phenomena; the visual phenomena which show us that the tuning-fork is vibrating, and the auditory phenomena which convey to us the fact that it is making a sound. the physicist, asked for an explanation of all this, will answer: "it is the vibration of the tuning-fork which, transmitted by the air, is carried to our auditory apparatus, causes a vibration in the tympanum, the movements of which are communicated to the small bones of the middle ear, thence (abridging details) to the terminations of the auditory nerve, and so produces in us the subjective sensation of sound." well, in so saying, the physicist commits an error of interpretation; outside our ears there exists something we do not know which excites them; this something cannot be the vibratory movement of the tuning-fork, for this vibratory movement which we can see is likewise a subjective sensation; it no more exists outside our sight than sound exists outside our ears. in any case, it is as absurd to explain a sensation of sound by one of sight, as a sensation of sight by one of sound. one would be neither further from nor nearer to the truth if we answered that physicist as follows: "you give the preponderance to your eye; i myself give it to my ear. this tuning-fork appears to you to vibrate. wrong! this is how the thing occurs. this tuning-fork produces a sound which, by exciting our retina, gives us a sense of movement. this visual sensation of vibration is a purely subjective one, the external cause of the phenomenon is the sound. the outer world is a concert of sounds which rises in the immensity of space. matter is noise and nothingness is silence." this theory of the above experiment is not absurd; but, as a matter of fact, it is probable that no one would or could accept it, except verbally for amusement, as a challenge, or for the pleasure of talking metaphysics. the reason is that all our evolution, for causes which would take too long to detail, has established the hegemony of certain of our senses over the others. we have, above all, become visual and manual beings. it is the eye and the hand which give us the perceptions of the outer world of which we almost exclusively make use in our sciences; and we are now almost incapable of representing to ourselves the foundation of phenomena otherwise than by means of these organs. thus all the preceding experiment from the stroke of the bow to the final noise presents itself to us in visual terms, and further, these terms are not confined to a series of detached sensations. visual sensation combines with the tactile and muscular sensations, and forms sensorial constructions which succeed each, other, continue, and arrange themselves logically: in lieu of sensations, there are objects and relations of space between these objects, and the actions which connect them, and the phenomena which pass from one to the other. all that is only sensation, if you will; but merely as the agglutinated molecules of cement and of stone are a palace. thus the whole series of visual events which compose our experiment with the tuning-fork can be coherently explained. one understands that it is the movement of my hand equipped with the bow which is communicated to the tuning-fork. one understands that this movement passing into the fork has changed its form and rhythm, that the waves produced by the fork transmit themselves, by the oscillations of the air-molecules, to our tympanum, and so on. there is in all this series of experiments an admirable continuity which fully satisfies our minds. however much we might be convinced by the theoretical reasons given above, that we have quite as much right to represent the same series of events in an auditory form, we should be incapable of realising that form to ourselves. what would be the structure of the ear to any one who only knew it through the sense of hearing? what would become of the tympanum, the small bones, the cochlea, and the terminations of the acoustic nerve, if it were only permitted to represent them in the language of sound? it is very difficult to imagine. since, however, we are theorising, let us not be stopped by a few difficulties of comprehension. perhaps a little training might enable us to overcome them. perhaps musicians, who discern as much reality in what one hears as in what one sees, would be more apt than other folk to understand the necessary transposition. some of them, in their autobiographies, have made, by the way, very suggestive remarks on the importance they attribute to sound: and, moreover, the musical world, with its notes, its intervals, and its orchestration, lives and develops in a manner totally independent of vibration. perhaps we can here quote one or two examples which may give us a lead. to measure the length of a body instead of applying to it a yard-wand, one might listen to its sound; for the pitch of the sound given by two cords allows us to deduce their difference of length, and even the absolute length of each. the chemical composition of a body might be noted by its electric resistance and the latter verified by the telephone; that is to say, by the ear. or, to take a more subtle example. we might make calculations with sounds of which we have studied the harmonic relations as we do nowadays with figures. a sum in rule of three might even be solved sonorously; for, given three sounds, the ear can find a fourth which should have the same relation to the third as the second to the first. every musical ear performs this operation easily; now, this fourth sound, what else is it but the fourth term in a rule of three? and by taking into consideration the number of its vibrations a numerical solution would be found to the problem. this novel form of calculating machine might serve to fix the price of woollen stuffs, to calculate brokerages and percentages, and the solution would be obtained without the aid of figures, without calculation, without visualisation, and by the ear alone. by following up this idea, also, we might go a little further. we might arrive at the conviction that our present science is human, petty, and contingent; that it is closely linked with the structure of our sensory organs; that this structure results from the evolution which fashioned these organs; that this evolution has been an accident of history; that in the future it may be different; and that, consequently, by the side or in the stead of our modern science, the work of our eyes and hands--and also of our words--there might have been constituted, there may still be constituted, sciences entirely and extraordinarily new--auditory, olfactory, and gustatory sciences, and even others derived from other kinds of sensations which we can neither foresee nor conceive because they are not, for the moment, differentiated in us. outside the matter we know, a very special matter fashioned of vision and touch, there may exist other matter with totally different properties. but let us bring our dream to an end. the interest of our discussion does not lie in the hypothetical substitution of hearing or any other sense for sight. it lies in the complete suppression of all explanation of the noumenal object in terms borrowed from the language of sensation. and that is our last word. we must, by setting aside the mechanical theory, free ourselves from a too narrow conception of the constitution of matter. and this liberation will be to us a great advantage which we shall soon reap. we shall avoid the error of believing that mechanics is the only real thing and that all that cannot be explained by mechanics must be incomprehensible. we shall then gain more liberty of mind for understanding what the union of the soul with the body[ ] may be. footnotes: [footnote : i would draw attention to a recent volume by gustave le bon, on _evolution de la matière_, a work full of original and bold ideas.] [footnote : see [note ] on p. .--ed.] chapter iv answers to some objections, and summary i have set forth the foregoing ideas by taking the road which to me seemed the best. on reflection it has occurred to me that my manner of exposition and demonstration may be criticised much more than my conclusion. now, as it is the conclusion alone which here is of importance, it is expedient not to make it responsible for the arguments by which i have supported it. these arguments resolve themselves into the attestation that between objects and our consciousness there exists an intermediary, our nervous system. we have even established that the existence of this intermediary is directly proved by observation, and from this i have concluded that we do not directly perceive the object itself but a _tertium quid_, which is our sensations. several objections to this might be made. let us enumerate them. . it is not inconceivable that objects may act directly on our consciousness without taking the intermediary of our nervous system. some authors, the spiritualists notably, believe in the possibility of disembodied souls, and they admit by implication that these souls remain in communication with the terrestrial world, witness our actions, and hear our speech. since they no longer have organs of sense, we must suppose that these wandering souls, if they exist, can directly perceive material objects. it is evident that such hypotheses have, up till now, nothing scientific in them, and that the demonstrations of them which are given raise a feeling of scepticism more than anything else. nevertheless, we have not the right to exclude, by _a priori_ argument, the possibility of this category of phenomena. . several german authors have maintained in recent years, that if the nervous system intervenes in the perception of external objects, it is a faithful intermediary which should not work any change on those physical actions which it gathers from outside to transmit to our consciousness. from this, point of view colour would exist as colour, outside our eyes, sound would exist as sound, and in a general way there would not be, in matter, any mysterious property left, since we should perceive matter as it is. this is a very unexpected interpretation, by which men of science have come to acknowledge the correctness of the common belief: they rehabilitate an opinion which philosophers have till now turned to ridicule, under the name of naïve realism. all which proves that the naïveté of some may be the excessive refinement of others. to establish scientifically this opinion they batter down the theory of the specific energy of the nerves. i have recalled in a previous page[ ] of what this theory consists. i have shown that if, by mechanical or electrical means, our different sensory nerves are excited, notwithstanding the identity of the excitant, a different sensation is provoked in each case--light when the optic nerve is stimulated, sound when the acoustic, and so on. it is now answered to this argument based on fact that the nature of these excitants must be complex. it is not impossible, it is thought, that the electric force contains within itself both luminous and sonorous actions; it is not impossible that a mechanical excitement should change the electric state of the nerve affected, and that, consequently, these subsidiary effects explain how one and the same agent may, according to the nerves employed, produce different effects. . after the spiritualists and the experimentalists, let us take the metaphysicians. among them one has always met with the most varying specimens of opinions and with arguments for and against all possible theories. thus it is, for example, with the external perception. some have supposed it indirect, others, on the contrary, that it acts directly on the object. those who uphold the direct theory are inspired by berkeley, who asserts that the sensitive qualities of the body have no existence but in our own minds, and consist really in representative ideas. this doctrine is expressly based on this argument--that thought differs too much in nature from matter for one to be able to suppose any link between these two substances. in this particular, some authors often make an assertion without endeavouring to prove it. they are satisfied with attesting, or even with supposing, that mind can have no consciousness of anything but its own states. other philosophers, as i have said, maintain that "things which have a real existence are the very things we perceive." it is thomas reid who has upheld, in some passages of his writings at all events, the theory of instantaneous perception, or intuition. it has also been defended by hamilton in a more explicit manner.[ ] it has been taken up again in recent years, by a profound and subtle philosopher, m. bergson, who, unable to admit that the nervous system is a _substratum of knowledge_ and serves us as a percipient, takes it to be solely a motor organ, and urges that the sensory parts of the system--that is to say, the centripetal, optic, acoustic, &c, nerves--do not call forth, when excited, any kind of sensation, their sole purpose being to convey disturbances from periphery to periphery, or, say, from external objects to the muscles of the body. this hypothesis, surely a little difficult to comprehend, places, if i mistake not, the mind, as a power of perception and representation, within the interval comprised between the external object and the body, so that the mind is in direct contact with external objects and knows them as they are. it will be noticed that these three interpretations, the spiritualistic, the experimental, and the metaphysical, are in formal opposition with that which i have set forth earlier in these pages. they deny the supposition that the nervous system serves us as an intermediary with nature, and that it transforms nature before bringing it to our consciousness. and it might seem that by contradicting my fundamental proposition, those three new hypotheses must lead to a totally different conclusion. now, this is not so at all. the conclusion i have enunciated remains entirely sound, notwithstanding this change in the starting point, and for the following reason. it is easy to see that we cannot represent to ourselves the inner structure of matter by using all our sensations without distinction, because it is impossible to bring all these sensations within one single and identical synthetic construction: for this they are too dissimilar. thus, we should try in vain to unite in any kind of scheme a movement of molecules and an odour; these elements are so heterogeneous that there is no way of joining them together and combining them. the physicists have more or less consciously perceived this, and, not being able to overcome by a frontal attack the difficulty created by the heterogeneity of our sensations, they have turned its flank. the ingenious artifice they have devised consists in retaining only some of these sensations, and in rejecting the remainder; the first being considered as really representing the essence of matter, and the latter as the effects of the former on our organs of sense; the first being reputed to be true, we may say, and the second being reputed false--that is subjective, that is not representing the _x_ of matter.[ ] i have refuted this argument by showing that all our sensations without exception are subjective and equally false in regard to the _x_ of matter, and that no one of them, consequently, has any claim to explain the others. now, by a new interpretation; we are taught that all sensations are equally true, and that all faithfully represent the great _x._ if they be all equally true, it is absolutely the same as if they were all false; no one sensation can have any privilege over the others, none can be truer than the others, none can be capable of explaining the others, none can usurp to itself the sole right of representing the essence of matter; and we thus find ourselves, in this case, as in the preceding, in presence of the insurmountable difficulty of creating a synthesis with heterogeneous elements. all that has been said above is summed up in the following points:-- . of the external world, we only know our sensations. all the physical properties of matter resolve themselves for us into sensations, present, past, or possible. we may not say that it is by the intermediary, by the means of sensation, that we know these properties, for that would mean that the properties are distinct from the sensations. objects are to us in reality only aggregates of sensations. . the sensations belong to the different organs of the senses--sight, hearing, touch, the muscular sense, &c. whatever be the sense affected, one sensation has the same rights as the others, from the point of view of the cognition of external objects. it is impossible to distinguish them into subjective and objective, by giving to this distinction the meaning that certain sensations represent objects as they are, while certain others simply represent our manner of feeling. this is an illegitimate distinction, since all sensations have the same physiological condition, the excitement of a sensory nerve, and result from the properties of this nerve when stimulated. . consequently, it is impossible for us to form a conception of matter in terms of movement, and to explain by the modalities of movement the properties of bodies; for this theory amounts to giving to certain sensations, especially those of the muscular sense, the hegemony over the others. we cannot explain, we have not the right to explain, one sensation by another, and the mechanical theory of matter has simply the value of a symbol. footnotes: [footnote : see p. , _sup._--ed.] [footnote : see j. s. mill's _examination of sir wm. hamilton's philosophy_, chap. x. p. , _et. seq._] [footnote : see p. , _sup._--ed.] book ii the definition of mind chapter i the distinction between cognition[ ] and its object after having thus studied matter and reduced it to sensations, we shall apply the same method of analysis to mind, and inquire whether mind possesses any characteristic which allows it to be distinguished from matter. before going any further, let me clear up an ambiguity. all the first part of this work has been devoted to the study of what is known to us in and by sensation; and i have taken upon myself, without advancing any kind of justifying reason, to call that which is known to us, by this method, by the name of matter, thus losing sight of the fact that matter only exists by contra-distinction and opposition to mind, and that if mind did not exist, neither would matter. i have thus appeared to prejudge the question to be resolved. the whole of this terminology must now be considered as having simply a conventional value, and must be set aside for the present. these are the precise terms in which this question presents itself to my mind. a part of the knowable consists in sensations. we must, therefore, without troubling to style this aggregate of sensations _matter_ rather than _mind_, make an analysis of the phenomena known by the name of mind, and see whether they differ from the preceding ones. let us, therefore, make an inventory of mind. by the process of enumeration, we find quoted as psychological phenomena, the sensations, the perceptions, the ideas, the recollections, the reasonings, the emotions, the desires, the imaginations, and the acts of attention and of will. these appear to be, at the first glance, the elements of mind; but, on reflection, one perceives that these elements belong to two distinct categories, of which it is easy to recognise the duality, although, in fact and in reality, these two elements are constantly combined. the first of these elements may receive the generic name of objects of cognition, or objects known, and the second that of acts of cognition. here are a few examples of concrete facts, which only require a rapid analysis to make their double nature plain. in a sensation which we feel are two things: a particular state, or an object which one knows, and the act of knowing it, of feeling it, of taking cognisance of it; in other words, every sensation comprises an impression and a cognition. in a recollection there is, in like manner, a certain image of the past and the fact consisting in the taking cognisance of this image. it is, in other terms, the distinction between the intelligence and the object. similarly, all reasoning has an object; there must be matter on which to reason, whether this matter be supplied by the facts or the ideas. again, a desire, a volition, an act of reflection, has need of a point of application. one does not will in the air, one wills something; one does not reflect in the void, one reflects over a fact or over some difficulty. we may then provisionally distinguish in an inventory of the mind a something which is perceived, understood, desired, or willed, and, beyond that, the fact of perceiving, of understanding, or desiring, or of willing. to illustrate this distinction by an example, i shall say that an analogous separation can be effected in an act of vision, by showing that the act of vision, which is a concrete operation, comprises two distinct elements: the object seen and the eye which sees. but this is, of course, only a rough comparison, of which we shall soon see the imperfections when we are further advanced in the study of the question. to this activity which exists and manifests itself in the facts of feeling, perceiving, &c., we can give a name in order to identify and recognise it: we will call it the consciousness[ ] (_la conscience_), and we will call object everything which is not the act of consciousness. after this preliminary distinction, to which we shall often refer, we will go over the principal manifestations of the mind, and we will first study the objects of cognition, reserving for another chapter the study of the acts of cognition--that is to say, of consciousness. we will thus examine successively sensation, idea, emotion, and will. it has been often maintained that the peculiar property of mind is to perceive sensations. it has also been said that thought--that is, the property of representing to one's self that which does not exist--distinguishes mind from matter. lastly, it has not failed to be affirmed that one thing which the mind brings into the material world is its power of emotion; and moralists, choosing somewhat arbitrarily among certain emotions, have said that the mind is the creator of goodness. we will endeavour to analyse these different affirmations. footnotes: [footnote : see [note ], _sup._ on p. .--ed.] [footnote : the word "_conscience_" is one of those which has been used in the greatest number of different meanings. let it be, at least, understood that _i_ use it here in an intellectual and not a moral sense. i do not attach to the conscience the idea of a moral approbation or disapprobation, of a duty, of a remorse. the best example to illustrate conscience has, perhaps, been formed by ladd. it is the contrast between a person awake and sleeping a dreamless sleep. the first has consciousness of a number of things; the latter has consciousness of nothing. let me now add that we distinguish from consciousness that multitude of things of which one has consciousness of. of these we make the object of consciousness. [_conscience_ has throughout been rendered "consciousness."--ed.]] chapter ii definition of sensation when making the analysis of matter we impliedly admitted two propositions: first, that sensation is the _tertium quid_ which is interposed between the excitant of our sensory nerves and ourselves; secondly, that the aggregate of our sensations is all we can know of the outer world, so that it is correct to define this last as the collection of our present, past, and possible sensations. it is not claimed that the outer world is nothing else than this, but it is claimed with good reason that the outer world is nothing else _to us_. it would be possible to draw from the above considerations a clear definition of sensation, and especially it would be possible to decide henceforth from the foregoing whether sensation is a physical or a mental phenomenon, and whether it belongs to matter or to mind. this is the important point, the one which we now state, and which we will endeavour to resolve. to make the question clearer, we will begin it afresh, as if it were new, and as if the facts hitherto analysed did not already prejudge the solution. let us begin by giving a definition of sensation from the point of view of experimental psychology. sensation, then, is the phenomenon which is produced and which one experiences when an excitant has just acted on one of our organs of sense. this phenomenon is therefore composed of two parts: an action exercised from outside by some body or other on our nervous substance; and, then, the fact of feeling this action. this fact of feeling, this state of consciousness, is necessary to constitute sensation; when it does not exist, it is preferable to give the phenomenon another name, otherwise the fault is committed of mixing up separate facts. physiologists have, on this point, some faults of terminology with which to reproach themselves: for they have employed the word sensibility with too little of the critical spirit. sensibility, being capacity for sensation, presupposes, like sensation itself, consciousness. it has, therefore, been wrong, in physiology, to speak of the sensibility of the tissues and organs, which, like the vegetable tissues or the animal organs of vegetative life, properly speaking, feel nothing, but react by rapid or slow movements to the excitements they are made to receive. reaction, by a movement or any kind of modification, to an excitement, does not constitute a sensation unless consciousness is joined with it, and, consequently, it would be wiser to give unfelt excitements and reactions the name of excitability. the clearest examples of sensation are furnished by the study of man, and are taken from cases where we perceive an external object. the object produces upon us an action, and this action is felt; only, in such cases, the fact of sensation comprises but a very small part of the event. it only corresponds, by definition, to the actual action of the object. analysis after analysis has shown that we constantly perceive far beyond this actual action of objects. our mind, as we say, outruns our senses. to our sensations, images come to attach themselves which result from sensations anteriorly felt in analogous circumstances. these images produce in us an illusion, and we take them for sensations, so that we think we perceive something which is but a remembrance or an idea; the reason being that our mind cannot remain in action in the presence of a sensation, but unceasingly labours to throw light upon it, to sound it, and to arrive at its meaning, and consequently alters it by adding to it. this addition is so constant, so unavoidable, that the existence of an isolated sensation which should be perceived without the attachment of images, without modification or interpretation, is well-nigh unrealisable in the consciousness of an adult. it is a myth. let us, however, imagine this isolation to be possible, and that we have before us a sensation free from any other element. what is this sensation? does it belong to the domain of physical or of moral things? is it a state of matter or of mind? i can neither doubt nor dispute that sensation is, in part, a psychological phenomenon, since i have admitted, by the very definition i have given of it, that sensation implies consciousness. we must, therefore, acknowledge those who define it as _a state of consciousness_ to be right, but it would be more correct to call it the _consciousness of a state_, and it is with regard to the nature of this state that the question presents itself. it is only this state which we will now take into consideration. it is understood that sensation contains both an impression and a cognition. let us leave till later the study of the act of cognition, and deal with the impression. is this impression now of a physical or a mental nature? both the two opposing opinions have been upheld. in this there is nothing astonishing, for in metaphysics one finds the expression of every possible opinion. but a large, an immense majority of philosophers has declared in favour of the psychological nature of the impression. without even making the above distinction between the impression and the act of cognition, it has been admitted that the entire sensation, taken _en bloc_, is a psychological phenomenon, a modification of our consciousness and a peculiar state of our minds. descartes has even employed this very explicit formula: "the objects we perceive are within our understanding." it is curious to see how little trouble authors take to demonstrate this opinion; they declare it to be self-evident, which is a convenient way of avoiding all proof. john stuart mill has no hesitation in affirming that: "the mind, in perceiving external objects, can only take notice of its own conditions." and renouvier expresses the same arbitrary assertion with greater obscurity when he writes: "the monad is constituted by this relation: the connection of the subject with the object within the subject."[ ] in other words, it is laid down as an uncontrovertible principle that "the mental can only enter into direct relations with the mental." that is what may be called "the principle of idealism." this principle seems to me very disputable, and it is to me an astonishing thing that the most resolute of sceptics--hume, for example--should have accepted it without hesitation. i shall first enunciate my personal opinion, then make known another which only differs from mine by a difference of words, and finally i will discuss a third opinion, which seems to me radically wrong. my personal opinion is that sensation is of a mixed nature. it is psychical in so far as it implies an act of consciousness, and physical otherwise. the impression on which the act of cognition operates, that impression which is directly produced by the excitant of the nervous system, seems to me, without any doubt, to be of an entirely physical nature. this opinion, which i make mine own, has only been upheld by very few philosophers--thomas reid perhaps, and william hamilton for certain; but neither has perceived its deep-lying consequences. what are the arguments on which i rely? they are of different orders, and are arguments of fact and arguments of logic. i shall first appeal to the natural conviction of those who have never ventured into metaphysics. so long as no endeavour has been made to demonstrate the contrary to them, they believe, with a natural and naïve belief, that matter is that which is seen, touched and felt, and that, consequently, matter and our senses are confounded. they would be greatly astonished to be informed that when we appear to perceive the outer world, we simply perceive our ideas; that when we take the train for lyons we enter into one state of consciousness in order to attain another state of consciousness. now, the adherents of this natural and naïve opinion have, as they say in the law, the right of possession (_possession d'état_); they are not plaintiffs but defendants; it is not for them to prove they are in the right, it has to be proved against them that they are in the wrong. until this proof is forthcoming they have a presumption in their favour. are we here making use of the argument of common opinion of mankind, of which ancient philosophy made so evident an abuse? yes, and no. yes, for we here adopt the general opinion. no, for we only adopt it till the contrary be proved. but who can exhibit this proof to the contrary? on a close examination of the question, it will be perceived that sensation, taken as an object of cognition, becomes confused with the properties of physical nature, and is identified with them, both by its mode of apparition and by its content. by its mode of apparition, sensation holds itself out as independent of us, for it is at every instant an unexpected revelation, a source of fresh cognitions, and it offers a development which takes place without and in spite of our will; while its laws of co-existence and of succession declare to us the order and march of the material universe. besides, by its content, sensation is confounded with matter. when a philosopher seeks to represent to himself the properties of a material object,--of a brain, for example--in order to contrast them with the properties of a psychical activity, it is the properties of sensation that he describes as material; and, in fact, it is by sensation, and sensation alone, that we know these properties. sensation is so little distinct from them that it is an error to consider it as a means, a process, an instrument for the knowledge of matter. all that we know of matter is not known in or by sensation, but constitutes sensation itself; it is not by the aid of sensation that we know colour; colour is a sensation, and the same may be said of form, resistance, and the whole series of the properties of matter. they are only our sensations clothed with external bodies. it is therefore absolutely legitimate to consider a part of our sensations, the object part, as being of physical nature. this is the opinion to which i adhere. we come to the second opinion we have formulated. it is, in appearance at least, very different from the first. its supporters agree that the entire sensation, taken _en bloc_ and unanalysed, is to be termed a psychological phenomenon. in this case, the act of consciousness, included in the sensation, continues to represent a psychical element. they suppose, besides, that the object on which this act operates is psychical; and finally, they suppose that this object or this impression was provoked in us by a physical reality which is kept in concealment, which we do not perceive, and which remains unknowable. this opinion is nowise absurd in itself: but let us examine its consequences. if we admit this thesis, that sensations are manifestations of mind which, although provoked by material causes, are of a purely mental nature, we are forced to the conclusion that we know none of the properties of material bodies, since we do not enter into relations with these bodies. the object we apprehend by perception is, according to this hypothesis, solely mental. to draw therefrom any notion on material objects, it would have to be supposed that, by some mysterious action, the mental which we know resembles the physical which we do not know, that it retains the reflection of it, or even that it allows its colour and form to pass, like a transparent pellicle applied on the contour of bodies. here are hypotheses very odd in their realism. unless we accept them, how is it comprehensible that we can know anything whatever of physical nature? we should be forced to acknowledge, following the example of several philosophers, that the perception of the physical is an illusion. as a compensation, that which this system takes from matter it attributes to mind, which turns our familiar conceptions upside down. the qualities of sensation detached from matter will, when applied to mind, change its physiognomy. there are sensations of extent, weight, space, and form. if these sensations are turned into psychical events, we shall have to grant to these events, to these manifestations of the mind, the properties of extent, of weight, of form. we shall have to say that mind is a resisting thing, and that it has colour. it may be said that this fantasy of language is not very serious. so be it. but then what remains of the dualism of mind and matter? it is at least singularly compromised. we may continue to suppose that matter exists, and even that it is matter which provokes in our mind those events which we call our sensations; but we cannot know if by its nature, its essence, this matter differs from that of mind, since we shall be ignorant of all its properties. our ignorance on this point will be so complete that we shall not even be able to know whether any state which we call mental may not be physical. the distinction between physical and mental will have lost its _raison d'être_, since the existence of the physical is necessary to give a meaning to the existence of the mental. we are brought, whether we like it or not, to an experimental monism, which is neither psychical nor physical; panpsychism and panmaterialism will have the same meaning.[ ] but this monism can be only transitory, for it is more in the words than in the thing itself. it is brought about by the terminology adopted, by the resolution to call mental all the phenomena that it is possible to know. luckily, our speculations are not at the mercy of such trifling details as the details of language. whatever names may be given to this or that, it will remain none the less true that nature will continue to present to us a contrast between phenomena which are flints, pieces of iron, clods of earth, brains--and some other phenomena which we call states of consciousness. whatever be the value of this dualism, it will have to be discussed even in the hypothesis of panpsychism.[ ] as for myself, i shall also continue to make a distinction between what i have called objects of cognition and acts of cognition, because this is the most general distinction that can be traced in the immense field of our cognitions. there is no other which succeeds, to the same degree, in dividing this field into two, moreover, this distinction is derived directly from observation, and does not depend for its validity on the physical or mental nature of the objects. here is, then, a duality, and this duality, even when it does not bear the names physical and moral, should necessarily play the same part, since it corresponds to the same distinction of fact. in the end, nothing will be changed, and this second opinion must gradually merge into the one first stated by me, and of which i take the responsibility. we may, therefore, put it out of consideration. i have mentioned a third opinion, stating that it appeared to me to be radically false. outwardly it is the same as the last; looked at superficially it seems even confused with it; but, in reality it is of a totally different nature. it supposes that sensation is an entirely psychological phenomenon. then, having laid down this thesis, it undertakes to demonstrate it by asserting that sensation differs from the physical fact, which amounts to supposing that we cannot know anything but sensations, and that physical facts are known to us directly and by another channel. this is where the contradiction comes in. it is so apparent that one wonders how it has been overlooked by so many excellent minds. in order to remove it, it will be sufficient to recollect that we do not know anything other than sensations; it is therefore impossible to make any distinction between the physical object and the object of cognition contained in every sensation. the line of demarcation between the physical and the moral cannot pass this way, since it would separate facts which are identical. we can, therefore, only deplore the error of all those who, to express the difference between mind and matter, have sought a contrast between sensation and physical facts. physiologists, with hardly an exception, have fallen into this error; when contemplating in imagination the material working of the brain, they have thought that between the movement of cerebral matter and sensation there was a gulf fixed. the comparison, to have been correct, required to be presented in quite another way. a parallel, for instance, should have been drawn between a certain cerebral movement and the act of consciousness, and there should have been said: "the cerebral motion is the physical phenomenon, the act of consciousness the psychical." but this distinction has not been made. it is sensation _en bloc_ which is compared to the cerebral movement, as witness a few passages i will quote as a matter of curiosity, which are borrowed from philosophers and, especially, from physiologists. while philosophers take as a principle of idealism, that the mental can only know the mental, physiologists take, as a like principle, the heterogeneity existing, or supposed to exist, between the nerve impression and the sensation. "however much we may follow the excitement through the whole length of the nerve," writes lotze,[ ] "or cause it to change its form a thousand times and to metamorphose itself into more and more delicate and subtle movements, we shall never succeed in showing that a movement thus produced can, by its very nature, cease to exist as movement and be reborn in the shape of sensation...." it will be seen that it is on the opposition between molecular movement and sensation, that lotze insists. in like manner ferrier: "but how is it that the molecular modifications in the cerebral cells coincide with the modifications of the consciousness; how, for instance, do luminous vibrations falling upon the retina excite the modification of consciousness called _visual sensation_? these are problems we cannot solve. we may succeed in determining the exact nature of the molecular changes which take place in the cerebral cells when a sensation is felt, but this will not bring us an inch nearer to the explanation of the fundamental nature of sensation." finally, du bois reymond, in his famous discussion in , on the seven enigmas of the world, speaks somewhat as follows: "the astronomical knowledge of the encephalon, that is, the most intimate to which we can aspire, only reveals to us matter in motion. but no arrangement nor motion of material particles can act as a bridge by which we can cross over into the domain of intelligence.... what imaginable link is there between certain movements of certain molecules in my brain, on the one hand, and on the other hand primitive, undefinable, undeniable facts such as: i have the sensation of softness, i smell the odour of a rose, i hear the sound of an organ, i see a red colour, &c...." these three quotations show very conclusively that their authors thought they could establish the heterogeneity of the two phenomena by opposing matter to sensation. it must be recognised that they have fallen into a singular error; for matter, whatever it may be, is for us nothing but sensation; matter in motion, i have often repeated, is only a quite special kind of sensation; the organic matter of the brain, with its whirling movements of atoms, is only sensation. consequently, to oppose the molecular changes in the brain to the sensation of red, blue, green, or to an undefined sensation of any sort, is not crossing a gulf, and bringing together things which cannot be compared, it is simply comparing one sensation to another sensation. there is evidently something equivocal in all this; and i pointed this out when outlining and discussing the different theories of matter. it consists in taking from among the whole body of sensations certain of them which are considered to be special, and which are then invested with the privilege of being more important than the rest and the causes of all the others. this is about as illegitimate as to choose among men a few individuals to whom is attributed the privilege of commanding others by divine right. these privileged sensations which belong to the sight, the touch, and the muscular sense, and which are of large extent, are indeed extensive. they have been unduly considered as objective and as representing matter because they are better known and measurable, while the other sensations, the unextensive sensations of the other senses, are considered as subjective for the reasons that they are less known and less measurable: and they are therefore looked on as connected with our sensibility, our ego, and are used to form the moral world. we cannot subscribe to this way of establishing the contrast between matter and thought, since it is simply a contrast between two categories of sensations, and i have already asserted that the partitioning-out of sensations into two groups having different objective values, is arbitrary. footnotes: [footnote : ch. renouvier et l. prat, _la nouvelle monadologie_, p. .] [footnote : an american author, morton prince, lately remarked this: _philosophical review_, july , p. .] [footnote : this flournoy recently has shown very wittily. see in _arch. de psychol._, nov. , his article on panpsychism.] [footnote : this extract, together with the two subsequent, are borrowed from an excellent lecture by flournoy, on _métaphysique et physiologie_. georg: geneva, .] chapter iii definition of the image going on with our inventory, after sensations come images, ideas, and concepts; in fact, quite a collection of phenomena, which, are generally considered as essentially psychological. so long as one does not carefully analyse the value of ideas, one remains under the impression that ideas form a world apart, which is sharply distinguished from the physical world, and behaves towards it as an antithesis. for is not conception the contrary of perception? and is not the ideal in opposition to reality? thoughts have some characteristics of fancy, of freedom, even of unreality, which are wanting to the prosaicness of heavy material things. thoughts sport with the relations of time and space; they fly in a moment across the gulf between the most distant objects; they travel back up the course of time; they bring near to us events centuries away; they conceive objects which are unreal; they imagine combinations which upset all physical laws, and, further, these conceptions remain invisible to others as well as to ourselves. they are outside the grip of reality, and constitute a world which becomes, for any one with the smallest imagination, as great and as important as the world called real. one may call in evidence the poets, novelists, artists, and the dreamers of all kinds. when life becomes too hard for us, we fly to the ideal world, there to seek forgetfulness or compensation. it is, therefore, easy to understand, that it should have been proposed to carry into ideation the dichotomy between the physical and the moral. many excellent authors have made the domain of the mind begin in the ideal. matter is that which does not think. descartes, in his _discours de la méthode_ ( th part), remarking that he may pretend "not to have a body, and that there is no world or place in which he exists, but that he cannot pretend that he does not think," concludes by saying that the mind is "a substance, all whose essence or nature is merely to think, and which has no need of either place or any other material thing, in order to exist;" in short, that "the soul is absolutely distinct from the body."[ ] let us, then, examine in what measure this separation between perception and ideation can be legitimately established. if we accept this separation, we must abandon the distinction i proposed between acts and objects of cognition, or, at least, admit that this distinction does not correspond to that between the physical and the moral, since thoughts, images, recollections, and even the most abstract conceptions, all constitute, in a certain sense, objects of cognition. they are phenomena which, when analysed, are clearly composed of two parts, an object and a cognition. their logical composition is, indeed, that of an external perception, and there is in ideation exactly the same duality as in sensation. consequently, if we maintain the above distinction as a principle of classification for all knowable phenomena, we shall be obliged to assign the same position to ideas as to sensations. the principal difference we notice between sensation and idea is, it would seem, the character of unreality in the last named; but this opposition has not the significance we imagine. our mental vision only assumes this wholly special character of unreality under conditions in which it is unable to harmonise with the real vision. taine has well described the phases of the reduction of the image by sensation: it is at the moment when it receives the shock of an image which contradicts it, that the image appears as illusory.[ ] let us suppose that we are sitting down dreaming and watching the passing by of our images. if, at this moment, a sudden noise calls us back to reality, the whole of our mental phantasmagoria disappears as if by the wave of a magic wand, and it is by thus vanishing that the image shows its falsity. it is false because it does not accord with the present reality. but, when we do not notice a disagreement between these two modes of cognition, both alike give us the impression of reality. if i evoke a reminiscence and dwell attentively on the details, i have the impression that i am in face of the reality itself. "i feel as if i were there still," is a common saying; and, among the recollections i evoke, there are some which give me the same certitude as the perception of the moment. certain witnesses would write their depositions with their blood. one does not see this every day; but still one does see it. further, there are thousands of circumstances where the ideation is neither in conflict with the perception nor isolated from it, but in logical continuity with it. this continuity must even be considered as the normal condition. we think in the direction of that which we perceive. the image seems to prepare the adaptation of the individual to his surroundings; it creates the foresight, the preparation of the means, and, in a word, everything which constitutes for us a final cause. now, it is very necessary that the image appear real to be usefully the substitute of the sensation past or to come. let us establish one thing more. acting as a substitute, the image not only appears as real as the sensation, it appears to be of the same nature; and the proof is that they are confounded one with the other, and that those who are not warned of the fact take one for the other. every time a body is perceived, as i previously explained, there are images which affix themselves to the sensation unnoticed. we think we perceive when we are really remembering or imagining. this addition of the image to the sensation is not a petty and insignificant accessory; it forms the major part, perhaps nine-tenths, of perception. hence arise the illusions of the senses, which are the result, not of sensations but of ideas. from this also comes the difficulty of knowing exactly what, under certain circumstances, is observation or perception, where the fact perceived ends, and where conjecture begins. once acquainted with all these possibilities of errors, how can we suppose a radical separation between the sensation and the image? examined more closely, images appear to us to be divisible into as many kinds as sensations: visual images correspond to visual sensations, tactile to tactile, and so on with all the senses. that which we experience in the form of sensation, we can experience over again in the form of image, and the repetition, generally weaker in intensity and poorer in details, may, under certain favourable circumstances, acquire an exceptional intensity, and even equal reality: as is shown by hallucinations. here, certainly, are very sound reasons for acknowledging that the images which are at the bottom of our thoughts, and form the object of them, are the repetition, the modification, the transposition, the analysis or the synthesis of sensations experienced in the past, and possessing, in consequence, all the characteristics of bodily states. i believe that there is neither more nor less spirituality in the idea than in the sensation. that which forms its spirituality is the implied act of cognition; but its object is material. i foresee a final objection: i shall be told that even when the unreality of the image is not the rule, and appears only under certain circumstances, it nevertheless exists. this is an important fact. it has been argued from the unreality of dreams and hallucinations in which we give a body to our ideas, that we do not in reality perceive external bodies, but simply psychical states and modifications of our souls. if our ideas consist--according to the hypothesis i uphold--in physical impressions which are felt, we shall be told that these particular impressions must participate in the nature of everything physical; that they are real, and always real; that they cannot be unreal, fictitious, and mendacious, and that, consequently, the fictitious character of ideation becomes inexplicable. two words of answer are necessary to this curious argument, which is nothing less than an effort to define the mental by the unreal, and to suppose that an appearance cannot be physical. no doubt, we say, every image, fantastical as it may seem as signification, is real in a certain sense, since it is the perception of a physical impression; but this physical nature of images does not prevent our making a distinction between true and false images. to take an analogous example: we are given a sheet of proofs to correct, we delete certain redundant letters, and, although they are printed with the same type as the other letters, we have the right to say they are false. again, in a musical air, we may hear a false note, though it is as real as the others, since it has been played. this distinction between reality and truth ought to be likewise applied to mental images. all are real, but some are false. they are false when they do not accord with the whole reality; they are true when they agree; and every image is partly false because, being an image, it does not wholly accord with the actual perceptions. it creates a belief in a perception which does not occur; and by developing these ideas we could easily demonstrate how many degrees of falsehood there are. physiologically, we may very easily reconcile the falsity of the image with the physical character of the impression on which it is based. the image results from a partial cerebral excitement, which sensation results from an excitement which also acts upon the peripheral sensory nerves, and corresponds to an external object--an excitant which the image does not possess. this difference explains how it is that the image, while resulting from a physical impression, may yet be in a great number of cases declared false--that is to say, may be recognised as in contradiction to the perceptions. to other minds, perhaps, metaphysical reasoning will be more satisfactory. for those, we propose to make a distinction between two notions, existence or reality, on the one hand, and truth, on the other. existence or reality is that of which we have an immediate apprehension. this apprehension occurs in several ways. in perception, in the first place. i perceive the reality of my body, of a table, the sky, the earth, in proportion to my perception of them. they exist, for if they did not, i could not perceive them. another way of understanding reality is conception or thought. however much i may represent a thing to myself as imaginary, it nevertheless exists in a certain manner, since i can represent it to myself. i therefore, in this case, say that it is real or it exists. it is of course understood, that in these definitions i am going against the ordinary acceptation of the terms; i am taking the liberty of proposing new meanings. this reality is, then, perceived in one case and conceived in the other. perceptibility or conceivability are, then, the two forms which reality may assume. but _reality_ is not synonymous with _truth_; notwithstanding the custom to the contrary, we may well introduce a difference between these two terms. reality is that which is perceived or conceived; truth is that which accords with the whole of our knowledge. reality is a function of the senses or of ideation; truth is a function of reasoning or of the reason. for cognition to be complete, it requires the aid of all these functions. and, in fact, what does conception by itself give? it allows us to see if a thing is capable of representation. this is not a common-place thing, i will observe in passing; for many things we name are not capable of representation, and there is often a criticism to be made; we think we are representing, and we are not. what is capable of representation exists as a representation, but is it true? some philosophers have imagined so, but they are mistaken; what we succeed in conceiving is alone possible. let us now take the perceptible. is what one perceives true? yes, in most cases it is so in fact; but an isolated perception may be false, and disturbed by illusions of all kinds. it is all very well to say, "i see, i touch." there is no certainty through the senses alone in many circumstances that the truth has been grasped. if i am shown the spirit of a person i know to be dead, i shall not, notwithstanding the testimony of my eyes, believe it to be true, for this apparition would upset all my system of cognitions. truth is that which, being deemed conceivable, and being really perceived, has also the quality of finding its place, its relation, and its confirmation in the whole mass of cognitions previously acquired. these distinctions,[ ] if developed, would readily demonstrate that the advantages of observation are not eclipsed by those of speculation; and that those of speculation, in their turn, do not interfere with those of observation. but we have not time to develop these rules of logic; it will be sufficient to point out their relation to the question of the reality of mental images. here are my conclusions in two words. physical phenomena and images are always real, since they are perceived or conceived; what is sometimes wanting to them, and makes them false, is that they do not accord with the rest of our cognitions.[ ] thus, then, are all objections overruled, in my opinion at least. we can now consider the world of ideas as a physical world; but it is one of a peculiar nature, which is not, like the other, accessible to all, and is subject to its own laws, which are laws of association. by these very different characteristics, it separates itself so sharply from the outer world that all endeavour to bring the two together seems shocking; and it is very easy to understand that many minds should wish to remain faithful to the conception that ideas form a mental or moral world. no metaphysical reasoning could prevail against this sentiment, and we must give up the idea of destroying it. but we think we have shown that idea, like sensation, comprises at the same time the physical and the mental. footnotes: [footnote : let me say, in passing, that this separation that descartes thinks he can establish between perception and ideation, is only conceivable on condition that it be not too closely examined, and that no exact definition of ideation be given. if we remark, in fact, that all thought is a reproduction, in some degree, of a sensation, we arrive at this conclusion: that a thought operated by a soul distinct from the body would be a thought completely void and without object, it would be the thought of nothingness. it is not, therefore, conceivable. consequently the criterion, already so dangerous, which descartes constantly employs--to wit: that what we clearly conceive is true--cannot apply to thought, if we take the trouble to analyse it and to replace a purely verbal conception by intuition.] [footnote : i somewhat regret that taine fell into the common-place idea of the opposition of the brain and thought; he took up again this old idea without endeavouring to analyse it, and only made it his own by the ornamentation of his style. and as his was a mind of powerful systematisation, the error which he committed led him into much wider consequences than the error of a more common mind would have done.] [footnote : i have just come across them again in an ingenious note of c. l. herrick: _the logical and psychological distinction between the true and the real_ (_psych. rev._, may ). i entirely agree with this author. but it is not he who exercised a suggestion over my mind; it was m. bergson. see _matière et mémoire_, p. .] [footnote : in order to remain brief, i have not thought fit to allude in the text to a question of metaphysics which closely depends on the one broached by me: the existence of an outer world. philosophers who define sensation as a modality of our ego are much embarrassed later in demonstrating the existence of an outer world. having first admitted that our perception of it is illusory, since, when we think we perceive this world, we have simply the feeling of the modalities of our ego, they find themselves powerless to demonstrate that this illusion corresponds to a truth, and invoke in despair, for the purpose of their demonstration, instinct, hallucination, or some _a priori_ law of the mind. the position we have taken in the discussion is far more simple. since every sensation is a fragment of matter perceived by a mind, the aggregate of sensations constitutes the aggregate of matter. there is in this no deceptive appearance, and consequently no need to prove a reality distinct from appearances. as to the argument drawn from dreams and hallucinations which might be brought against this, i have shown how it is set aside by a distinction between perceptibility and truth. it is no longer a matter of perception, but of reasoning. in other words, all that we see, even in dreams, is real, but is not in its due place.] chapter iv definition of the emotions after sensations and images, we have to name among the phenomena of consciousness, the whole series of affective states--our pleasures and our pains, our joys and our griefs, our sentiments, our emotions, and our passions. it is universally admitted that these states are of a mental nature, for several reasons. ( ) we never objectivate them as we do our sensations, but we constantly consider them as indwelling or subjective states. this rule, however, allows an exception for the pleasure and the pain termed physical, which are often localised in particular parts of our bodies, although the position attributed to them is less precise than with indifferent sensations. ( ) we do not alienate them as we do our indifferent sensations. the sensations of weight, of colour, and of form serve us for the construction of bodies which appear to us as perceived by us, but as being other than ourselves. on the contrary, we constantly and without hesitation refer our emotional states to our _ego_. it is i who suffer, we say, i who complain, i who hope. it is true that this attribution is not absolutely characteristic of mental phenomena, for it happens that we put a part of our ego into material objects, such as our bodies, and even into objects separate from our bodies, and whose sole relation to us is that of a legal proprietorship. we must guard against the somewhat frequent error of identifying the ego with the psychical. these two reasons sufficiently explain the tendency to see only psychological states in the emotional ones; and, in fact, those authors who have sought to oppose mind to matter have not failed to introduce emotion into their parallel as representing the essence of mind. on this point i will recall the fine ironical image used by tyndall, the illustrious english physicist, to show the abyss which separates thought from the molecular states of the brain. "let us suppose," he says, "that the sentiment love, for example, corresponds to a right-hand spiral movement of the molecules of the brain and the sentiment hatred to a left-hand spiral movement. we should then know that when we love, a movement is produced in one direction, and when we hate, in another. but the why would remain without an answer." the question of knowing what place in our metaphysical theory we ought to secure for emotion seems difficult to resolve, and we even find some pleasure in leaving it in suspense, in order that it may be understood that a metaphysician is not compelled to explain everything. besides, the difficulties which atop us here are peculiarly of a psychological order. they proceed from the fact that studies on the nature of the emotions are still very little advanced. the physical conditions of these states are pretty well known, and their psychical and social effects have been abundantly described; but very little is known as to what distinguishes an emotion from a thought. two principal opinions may be upheld in the actual state of our acquaintance with the psychology of the feelings. when we endeavour to penetrate their essential and final nature, we have a choice between two contrary theories. the first and traditional one consists in seeing in emotion a phenomenon _sui generis_; this is very simple, and leaves nothing more to be said. the second bears the name of the intellectualist theory. it consists in expunging the characteristic of the affective states. we consider them as derivative forms of particular modes of cognition, and they are only "confused intelligence." this intellectualist thesis is of early date; it will be found in herbart, who, by-the-by, gave it a peculiar form, by causing the play of images to intervene in the formation of the feelings. however, this particular point is of slight importance. the intellectualist theory is more vast than herbartism; it exists in all doctrines in which the characteristic difference between thought and feeling is expunged and feeling is brought back to thought. one of the clearest means of so doing consists in only seeing in the feeling the fact of perceiving something. to perceive is, in fact, the property of intelligence; to reason, to imagine, to judge, to understand, is always, in a certain sense, to perceive. it has been imagined that emotion is nothing else than a perception of a certain kind, an intellectual act strictly comparable to the contemplation of a landscape. only, in the place of a landscape with placid features you must put a storm, a cataclysm of nature; and, instead of supposing this storm outside us, let it burst within us, let it reach us, not by the outer senses of sight and condition, but by the inner senses. what we then perceive will be an emotion. such is the theory that two authors--w. james and lange--happened to discover almost at the same time, lange treating it as a physiologist and w. james as a philosopher. their theory, at first sight, appears singular, like everything which runs counter to our mental habits. it lays down that the symptoms which we all till now have considered as the physiological consequence, the translation, and the distant effects of the emotions, constitute their essential base. these effects are: the expression of the physiognomy, the gesture, the cry, and the speech; or the reflex action on the circulation, the pallor or blushing, the heat mounting to the head, or the cold of the shiver which passes over the body. or it is the heart, which hastens or slackens its beats, or makes them irregular, or enfeebles, or augments them. or the respiration, which changes its rhythm, or increases, or is suspended. or else it is the secretion of the saliva or of the sweat, which flows in abundance or dries up. or the muscular force, which is increased or decays. or the almost undefinable organic troubles revealed to us by the singing in the ears, constriction of the epigastrium, the jerks, the trembling, vertigo, or nausea--all this collection of organic troubles which comes more or less confusedly to our consciousness under the form of tactile, muscular, thermal, and other sensations. until now this category of phenomena has been somewhat neglected, because we saw in it effects and consequences of which the rôle in emotion itself seemed slight, since, if they could have been suppressed, it was supposed that emotion would still remain. the new theory commences by changing the order of events. it places the physical symptoms of the emotions at the very beginning, and considers them the direct effects of the external excitant, which is expressed by this elegant formula: "it used to be said, 'i perceive a danger; i am frightened, i tremble.' now we must say, 'i tremble before a danger, first, and it is after having trembled that i am frightened.'" this is not a change in order only; it is something much more serious. the change is directed to the nature of emotion. it is considered to exist in the organic derangements indicated above. these derangements are the basis of emotion, its physical basis, and to be moved is to perceive them. take away from the consciousness this physical reflex, and emotion ceases. it is no longer anything but an idea. this theory has at least the merit of originality. it also pleases one by its great clearness--an entirely intellectual clearness, we may say; for it renders emotion comprehensible by enunciating it in terms of cognition. it eliminates all difference which may exist between a perception and an emotion. emotion is no longer anything but a certain kind of perception, the perception of the organic sensations. this reduction, if admitted, would much facilitate the introduction of emotion into our system, which, being founded on the distinction between the consciousness and the object, is likewise an intellectualist system. the definition of emotion, as it is taught by w. james, seems expressly made for us who are seeking to resolve all intellectual states into physical impressions accompanied by consciousness. by the side of emotion we may place, as demanding the same analytical study, the feeling of effort. we ought to inquire with effort, as has been done with emotion, what is the psychological nature of this phenomenon; and in the same way that there exists an intellectualist theory of the emotions, viz. that of james, who reduces all the history of the emotions to intelligence, so there exists an intellectualist theory of effort, which likewise tends to bring back, all will to intelligence. it is again the same author, that true genius, w. james, who has attempted this reduction. i do not know whether he has taken into account the parallelism of the two theories, but it is nevertheless evident. effort, that basis of activity, that state of consciousness which so many psychologists have described as something _sui generis_, becomes to james a phenomenon of perception. it is the perception of sensations proceeding from the muscles, the tendons, the articulations, the skin, and from all the organs directly or indirectly concerned in the execution of movement. to be conscious of an effort would then be nothing else than to receive all these centripetal sensations; and what proves this is, that the consciousness of effort when most clearly manifested is accompanied by some muscular energy, some strong contraction, or some respiratory trouble, and yields if we render the respiration again regular and put the muscles back into repose. to my great regret i can state nothing very clear regarding these problems. the attempt to intellectualise all psychical problems is infinitely interesting, and leads to a fairly clear conception, by which everything is explained by a mechanism reflected in a mirror, which is the consciousness. but we remain perplexed, and we ask ourselves whether this clearness of perception is not somewhat artificial, whether affectivity, emotivity, tendency, will, are really all reduced to perceptions, or whether they are not rather irreducible elements which should be added to the consciousness. does not, for instance, desire represent a complement of the consciousness? do not desire and consciousness together represent a something which does not belong to the physical domain and which forms the moral world? this question i leave unanswered. chapter v definition of the consciousness--the relation subject-object after having separated from the consciousness that which it is not, let us try to define what it is. this and the two following chapters are devoted to this study. a theory has often been maintained with regard to the consciousness; namely, that it supposes a relation between two terms--a subject and an object, and that it consists exactly in the feeling of this relation. by subject is understood the something that has consciousness; the object is the something of which we are conscious. every thought, we are told, implies subject and object, the representer and the represented, the _sentiens_ and the _sensum_--the one active, the other passive, the active acting on the passive, the _ego_ opposed to the _non ego_. this opinion is almost legitimised by current language. when speaking of our states of consciousness, we generally say, "i am conscious; it is i who have consciousness," and we attribute to our i, to our ego, to our personality, the rôle of subject. but this is not a peremptory argument in favour of the above opinion; it is only a presumption, and, closely examined, this presumption seems very weak. hitherto, when analysing the part of mind, we have employed non-committal terms: we have said that sensation implied consciousness, and not that sensation implied something which is conscious.[ ] the difference may appear too subtle, but it is not; it consists in taking from consciousness the notion of a subject being conscious and replacing it by the very act of consciousness. my description applies very exactly, i think, to the facts. when we are engaged in a sensation, or when we perceive something, a phenomenon occurs which simply consists in having consciousness of a thing. if to this we add the idea of the subject, which has consciousness, we distort the event. at the very moment when it is taking place, it is not so complicated; we complicate it by adding to it the work of reflection. it is reflection which constructs the notion of the subject, and it is this which afterwards introduces this construction into the states of consciousness; in this way the state of consciousness, by receiving this notion of subject, acquires a character of duality it did not previously possess. there are, in short, two separate acts of consciousness, and one is made the subject of the other. "primitively," says rabier, "there is neither representative nor represented; there are sensations, representations, facts of consciousness, and that is all. nothing is more exact, in my opinion, than this view of condillac's:--that primitively, the inanimate statue is entirely the sensation that it feels. to itself it is all odour and all savour; it is nothing more, and this sensation includes no duality for the consciousness. it is of an absolute simplicity." two arguments may be advanced in favour of this opinion. the first is one of logic. we have divided all knowledge into two groups--objects of cognition, and acts of cognition. what is the subject of cognition? does it form a new group? by no means; it forms part of the first group, of the object group; for it is something to be known. our second argument is one of fact. it consists in remembering that which in practice we understand by the subject of cognition; or rather, metaphorically we represent this subject to ourselves as an organ--the eye that sees or the hand that touches--and we represent to ourselves the relation subject-object in the shape of a material relation between two distinct bodies which are separated by an interval and between which some action is produced which unites them. or else, confusing the subject and the ego, which are nevertheless two different notions, we place the ego in the consciousness of the muscular effort struggling against something which resists. or, finally and still more frequently, we represent the subject to ourselves by confusing it with our own personality; it is a part of our biography, our name, our profession, our social status, our body, our past life foreshortened, our character, or, in a word, our civil personality, which becomes the subject of the relation subject-object. we artificially endow this personality with the faculty of having consciousness; and it results from this that the entity consciousness, so difficult to define and to imagine, profits by all this factitious addition and becomes a person, visible and even very large, in flesh and bone, distinct from the object of cognition, and capable of living a separate life. it is not difficult to explain that all this clearness in the representation of ideas is acquired by a falsification of the facts. so sensorial a representation of consciousness is very unfaithful; for our biography does not represent what we have called acts of consciousness, but a large slice of our past experience--that is to say, a synthesis of bygone sensations and images, a synthesis of objects of consciousness; therefore a complete confusion between the acts of consciousness and their objects. the formation of the personality seems to me to have, above all, a legal and social importance.[ ] it is a peculiar grouping of states of consciousness imposed by our relations with other individuals. but, metaphysically, the subject thus understood is not distinguished from the object, and there is nothing to add to our distinction between the object and the act of consciousness. those who defend the existence of the subject point out that this subject properly constitutes the ego, and that the distinction of the subject and the object corresponds to the distinction of the ego and non-ego, and furnishes the separation between the physical and the moral so long sought. it is evidently very enticing to make of the ego thus a primitive notion of the consciousness; but this view of the ego as opposed to the non-ego in no way corresponds to that of the mental and the physical. the notion of the ego is much larger, much more extensible, than that of the mental; it is as encroaching as human pride, it grasps in its conquering talons all that belongs to us; for we do not, in life, make any great difference between what is _we_ and what is _ours_--an insult to our dog, our dwelling, or our work wounds us as much as an insult to ourselves. the possessive pronoun expresses both possession and possessor. in fact, we consider our body as being ourselves. here, then, are numbers of material things introducing themselves into the category of mental things. if we wished to expel them and to reduce the domain of the ego to the domain of the mental, we could only do so if we already possessed the criterion of what is essentially mental. the notion of the ego cannot therefore supply us with this criterion. another opinion consists in making of the subject a spiritual substance, of which the consciousness becomes a faculty. by substance is understood an entity which possesses the two following principal characteristics, unity and identity, this latter merging into unity, for it is nothing else but the persistence of unity through the course of time. certain philosophers have asserted that through intuition we can all establish that we are a spiritual substance. i am compelled to reject this idea, because i think the expression _spiritual substance_ has no meaning; nothing but the sonorous value of six syllables. it has also been supposed, that there exists a corporeal substance hidden under the sensations, in which are implanted the qualities of bodies, as the various organs of a flower are in its calyx. i will return later to this conception of a material substance. that of a spiritual substance cannot be defended, and the chief and fatal argument i urge against it is, that we cannot represent it to our minds, we cannot think it, and we cannot see in these words "spiritual substance" any intelligible idea; for that which is mental is limited to "that which is of the consciousness." so soon as we endeavour to go beyond the fact of having consciousness to imagine a particular state which must be mental, one of two things happen; either we only grasp the void, or else we construct a material and persistent object in which we recognise psychical attributes. these are two conclusions which ought to be rejected. footnotes: [footnote : this second method of expression, which i consider inexact, is constantly found in descartes. different philosophers have explicitly admitted that every act of cognition implies a relation subject-object. this is one of the corner-stones of the neo-criticism of renouvier. he asserts that all representation is double-faced, and that what is known to us presents itself in the character of both representative and represented. he follows this up by describing separately the phenomena and laws of the representative and of the represented respectively.] [footnote : the preceding ten lines in the text i wrote after reading a recent article of william james, who wishes to show that the consciousness does not exist, but results simply from the relation or the opposition raised between one part of our experience (the actual experience, for instance, in the example of the perception of an object) and another part, the remembrance of our person. but the argument of james goes too far; he is right in contesting the relation subject-object, but not in contesting the existence of the consciousness (w. james: "does consciousness exist?" in _j. of philosophy, &c._, sept. ).] chapter vi definition of the consciousness--categories of the understanding it has often been said that the rôle of intelligence consists in uniting or grasping the relations of things. an important question, therefore, to put, is, if we know whereof these relations consist, and what is the rôle of the mind in the establishment of a relation? it now and then happens to us to perceive an isolated object, without comparing it with any other, or endeavouring to find out whether it differs from or resembles another, or presents with any other a relation of cause to effect, or of sign to thing signified, or of co-existence in time and space. thus, i may see a red colour, and occupy all the intellect at my disposal in the perception of this colour, seeing nothing but it, and thinking of nothing but it. theoretically, this is not impossible to conceive, and, practically, i ask myself if these isolated and solitary acts of consciousness do not sometimes occur. it certainly seems to me that i have noticed in myself moments of intellectual tonelessness, when in the country, during the vacation, i look at the ground, or the grass, without thinking of anything--or at least, of anything but what i am looking at, and without comparing my sensation with anything. i do not think we should admit in principle, as do many philosophers, that "we take no cognisance save of relations." this is the _principle of relativity_, to which so much attention has been given. taken in this narrow sense, it seems to me in no way imperative for our thoughts. we admit that it is very often applied, but without feeling obliged to admit that it is of perpetual and necessary application. these reserves once made, it remains to remark, that the objects we perceive very rarely present themselves in a state of perfect isolation. on the contrary, they are brought near to other objects by manifold relations of resemblance, of difference, or of connection in time or space; and, further, they are compared with the ideas which define them best. we do not have consciousness of an object, but of the relations existing between several objects. relation is the new state produced by the fact that one perceives a plurality of objects, and perceives them in a group. show me two colours in juxtaposition, and i do not see two colours only, but, in addition, their resemblance in colour or value. show me two lines, and i do not see only their respective lengths but their difference in length. show me two points marked on a white sheet of paper, and i do not see only the colour, form, and dimension of the points, but their distance from each other. in our perceptions, as in our conceptions, we have perpetually to do with the relations between things. the more we reflect, the more we understand things, the more clearly we see their relations; the multiplication of relations is the measure of the depth of cognition.[ ] the nature of these relations is more difficult to ascertain than that of objects. it seems to be more subtle. when two sounds make themselves heard in succession, there is less difficulty in making the nature of these two sounds understood than the nature of the fact that one occurs before the other. it would appear that, in the perception of objects, our mind is passive and reduced to the state of reception, working like a registering machine or a sensitive surface, while in the perception of relations it assumes a more important part. two principal theories have been advanced, of which one puts the relations in the things perceived, and the other makes them a work of the mind. let us begin with this last opinion. it consists in supposing that the relations are given to things by the mind itself. these relations have been termed categories. the question of categories plays an important part in the history of philosophy. three great philosophers, aristotle, kant, and renouvier have drawn up a list, or, as it is called, a table of them, and this table is very long. to give a slight idea of it, i will quote a few examples, such as time, space, being, resemblance, difference, causality, becoming, finality, &c. by making the categories the peculiar possession of the mind, we attribute to these cognitions the essential characteristic of being anterior to sensation, or, as it is also termed, of existing _a priori_: we are taught that not only are they not derived from experience, nor taught us by observation, but further that they are presupposed by all observation, for they set up, in scholastic jargon, the conditions which make experience possible. they represent the personal contribution of the mind to the knowledge of nature, and, consequently, to admit them is to admit that the mind is not, in the presence of the world, reduced to the passive state of a _tabula rasa_, and that the faculties of the mind are not a transformation of sensation. only these categories do not supplement sensation, they do not obviate it, nor allow it to be conjectured beforehand. they remain empty forms so long as they are not applied to experience; they are the rules of cognition and not the objects of cognition, the means of knowing and not the things known; they render knowledge possible, but do not of themselves constitute it, experience through the senses still remains a necessary condition to the knowledge of the external world. it may be said that the senses give the matter of knowledge, and that the categories of the understanding give the form of it. matter cannot exist without form, nor form without matter; it is the union of the two which produces cognition. such is the simplest idea that can be given of the kantian theory of categories, or, if it is preferred to employ the term often used and much discussed, such is the theory of the kantian idealism, this theory, i will say frankly, hardly harmonises with the ideas i have set forth up to this point. to begin with, let us scrutinise the relation which can exist between the subject and the object. we have seen that the existence of the subject is hardly admissible, for it could only be an object in disguise. cognition is composed in reality of an object and an act of consciousness. now, how can we know if this act of consciousness, by adding itself to the object, modifies it and causes it to appear other than it is? this appears to me an insoluble question, and probably, even, a factitious one. the idea that an object can be modified in its nature or in its aspect comes to us through the perception of bodies. we see that, by attacking a metal with acids, this metal is modified, and that by heating a body its colour and form become changed; or that by electrifying a thread it acquires new properties; or that when we place glasses before our eyes we change the visible aspect of objects; or that, if we have inflammation of the eyelids, light is painful, and so on. all these familiar experiments represent to us the varied changes that a body perceived can undergo; but it must be carefully remarked that in cases of this kind the alteration in the body is produced by the action of a second body, that the effect is due to an intercourse between two objects. on the contrary, when we take the kantian hypothesis, that the consciousness modifies that which it perceives, we are attributing to the consciousness an action which has been observed in the case of the objects, and are thus transporting into one domain that which belongs to a different one; and we are falling into the very common error which consists in losing sight of the proper nature of the consciousness and making out of it an object. if we set aside this incorrect assimilation, there no longer remains any reason for refusing to admit that we perceive things as they are, and that the consciousness, by adding itself to objects, does not modify them. phenomena and appearances do not, then, strictly speaking, exist. till proof to the contrary, we shall admit that everything we perceive is real, that we perceive things always as they are, or, in other words, that we always perceive _noumena_.[ ] after having examined the relations of the consciousness with its objects, let us see what concerns the perception, by the consciousness, of the relations existing between these objects themselves. the question is to ascertain whether the _a priorists_ are right in admitting that the establishment of these relations is the work of the consciousness. the rôle of synthetic power that is thus attributed to consciousness is difficult to conceive unless we alter the definition of consciousness to fit the case. in accordance with the definition we have given and the idea we have of it, the consciousness makes us acquainted with what a thing is, but it adds nothing to it. it is not a power which begets objects, nor is it a power which begets relations. let us carefully note the consequence at which we should arrive, if, while admitting, on the one hand, that our consciousness lights up and reveals the objects without creating them, we were, on the other hand, to admit that it makes up for this passivity by creating relations between objects. we dare not go so far as to say that this creation of relations is arbitrary and corresponds in no way to reality; or that, when we judge two neighbouring or similar objects, the relations of contiguity and resemblance are pure inventions of our consciousness, and that these objects are really neither contiguous nor similar. it must therefore be supposed that the relation is already, in some manner, attracted into the objects; it must be admitted that our intelligence does not apply its categories haphazard or from the caprice of the moment; and it must be admitted that it is led to apply them because it has perceived in the objects themselves a sign and a reason which are an invitation to this application, and its justification. on this hypothesis, therefore, contiguity and resemblance must exist in the things themselves, and must be perceived; for without this we should run the risk of finding similar that which is different, and contiguous that which has no relation of time or space. whence it results, evidently, that our consciousness cannot create the connection completely, and then we are greatly tempted to conclude that it only possesses the faculty of perceiving it when it exists in the objects.[ ] according to this conception, the rôle of the consciousness in the perception of a connection is that of a witness, as in the perception of objects. the consciousness does not create, but it verifies. resemblance is a physical property of objects, like colour; and contiguity is a physical property of objects, like form. the connections between the objects form part of the group object and not of the group consciousness, and they are just as independent of consciousness as are the objects themselves. against this conclusion we must anticipate several objections. one of them will probably consist in accentuating the difference existing between the object and the connection from the dynamical point of view. that the object may be passively contemplated by the consciousness can be understood, it will be said; but the relation is not only an object of perception--it is, further, a principle of action, a power of suggestion, and an agent of change. it might, then, he supposed that the consciousness here finds a compensation for the rôle that has been withdrawn from it. if it is not the thing that creates the relation, it will be said, at least it is that which creates its efficacity of suggestion. many psychologists have supposed that a relation has the power of evocation only when it has been perceived. the perception of resemblance precedes the action of resemblance. it is consequently the consciousness which assembles the ideas and gives them birth by perceiving their relations. this error, for it is one, has long been wide-spread--indeed, it still persists.[ ] we have, however, no difficulty in understanding that the perception of a resemblance between two terms supposes them to be known; so long as only one of the terms is present to the consciousness, this perception does not exist; it cannot therefore possess the property of bringing to light the second term. suggestion is therefore distinct from recognition; it is when suggestion has acted, when the resemblance in fact has brought the two terms together, that the consciousness, taking cognisance of the work accomplished, verifies the existence of a resemblance, and that this resemblance explains the suggestion. second objection: we are told that the relations between the objects--that is, the principal categories--must be of a mental nature, because they are _a priori_. that they are _a priori_ means that they are at once anterior and superior to the experience. let us see what this argument is worth. it appears that it is somewhat misused. with regard to many of the categories, we are content to lay down the necessity of an abstract idea in order to explain the comprehension of a concrete one. it is said, for example: how can it be perceived that two sensations are successive, if we do not already possess the idea of time? the argument is not very convincing, because, for every kind of concrete perception it is possible to establish an abstract category. it might be said of colour that it is impossible to perceive it unless it is known beforehand what colour is; and so on for a heap of other things. a more serious argument consists in saying that relations are _a priori_ because they have a character of universality and of necessity which is not explained by experience, this last being always contingent and peculiar. but it is not necessary that a function should be mental for it to be _a priori_. the identification of the _a priori_ with the mental is entirely gratuitous. we should here draw a distinction between the two senses of the _a priori_: anteriority and superiority. a simple physical mechanism may be _a priori_, in the sense of anteriority. a house is _a priori_, in regard to the lodgers it receives; this book is _a priori_, in regard to its future readers. there is no difficulty in imagining the structure of our nervous system to be _a priori_, in regard to the excitements which are propagated in it. a nerve cell is formed, with its protoplasm, its nucleus and its nucleoli before being irritated; its properties precede its functions. if it be possible to admit that as a consequence of ancestral experiences the function has created the organ, the latter is now formed, and this it is which in its turn becomes anterior to the function. the notion of _a priori_ has therefore nothing in it which is repugnant to physical nature. let us now take the _a priori_ in the sense of superiority. certain judgments of ours are, we are told, universal and necessary, and through this double character go beyond the evidence of experience. this is an exact fact which deserves to be explained, but it is not indispensable to explain it by allowing to the consciousness a source of special cognitions. the english school of philosophy have already attacked this problem in connection with the origin of axioms. the principle of their explanation lies in the virtue of what they have termed "inseparable association." they have supposed that when an association is often repeated it creates a habit of thought against which no further strife is possible. the mechanism of association itself should then add a special virtue to the contingency of facts. a hundred repetitions of related facts, for example, would give rise to so firm an association, that no further repetition would increase it. i consider this explanation a very sound one in principle. it is right to put into association something more than into experience. i would only suggest a slight correction in detail. it is not the association forged by repetition which has this virtue of conveying the idea of necessity and universality, it is simply the uncontradicted association. it has been objected, in fact, and with reason, to the solution of mill, that it insists on a long duration of experience, while axioms appear to be of an irresistible and universal truthfulness the moment they are conceived. and this is quite just. i should prefer to lay down as a law that every representation appears true, and that every link appears necessary and universal as soon as it is formed. this is its character from the first. it preserves it so long as no contradiction in fact, in reasoning, or in idea, comes to destroy it.[ ] what seems to stand out most clearly after all these explanations is the rôle which we ought to attribute to the consciousness. two rival theories have been maintained: that of the mirror-consciousness and that of the focus-consciousness. it would seem--i merely say it would seem--that the first of these best harmonises with the preceding facts. for what seems most probable is, that the consciousness illuminates and reveals but does not act. the theory of the focus-consciousness adapts itself less to the mechanism of the association of ideas. from this we come quite naturally to see in the intelligence only an inactive consciousness; at one moment it apprehends an object, and it is a perception or an idea; at another time it perceives a connection, and it is a judgment; at yet another, it perceives connections between connections, and it is an act of reason. but however subtle the object it contemplates may become, it does not depart from its contemplative attitude, and cognition is but a consciousness. one step further, and we should get so far as to admit that the consciousness serves no purpose whatever, and that it is a useless luxury, since, if all efficacious virtue is to be found in the sensations and the ideas which we consider as material facts, the consciousness which reveals them adds nothing to, takes nothing from and modifies nothing in them; and everything would go on the same, nor would anything in this world be changed, if one day the light of consciousness were, by chance, to be put out. we might imagine a collection of automatons forming a human society as complicated as, and not different in appearance from, that of conscious beings; these automatons would make the same gestures, utter the same words as ourselves, would dispute, complain, cry, and make love like us; we might even imagine them capable, like us, of psychology. this is the thesis of the epiphenomenal consciousness which huxley has boldly carried to its uttermost conclusions. i indicate here these possible conclusions, without discussing them. it is a question i prefer to leave in suspense; it seems to me that one can do nothing on this subject but form hypotheses. footnotes: [footnote : at the risk of being deemed too subtle, i ask whether we are conscious of a relation between objects, or whether that which occurs is not rather the perception of an object which has been modified in its nature by its relation with another object.] [footnote : this conclusion may seem contradictory to that which i enunciated when studying the constitution of matter. i then asserted that we only know our sensations and not the excitants which produce them. but these sensations are matter; they are matter modified by other matter, viz. our nervous centres. we therefore take up very distinctly an opposite standpoint to the principle of _relativity_: in other terms, we reject the phenomenism of berkeley. when we go into metaphysics we are continually astounded to see how different conceptions of things which have a classic value are independent of each other. in general, phenomenism is opposed to substantialism, and it is supposed that those who do not accept the former doctrine must accept the latter, while, on the contrary, those who reject substantialism must be phenomenists. we know that it is in this manner that berkeley conquered corporeal substantialism and taught phenomenism; while hume, more radical than he, went so far as to question the substantialism of mind. on reflection, it seems to me that, after having rejected phenomenism, we are in no way constrained to accept substance. by saying that we perceive things as they are, and not through a deluding veil, we do not force ourselves to acknowledge that we perceive the substance of bodies--that is to say, that something which should be hidden beneath its qualities and should be distinct from it. the distinction between the body and its qualities is a thing useful in practice, but it answers to no perception or observation. the body is only a group, a sheaf of qualities. if the qualities seem unable to exist of themselves and to require a subject, this is only a grammatical difficulty, which is due to the fact that, while calling certain sensations qualities, we suppose a subject to be necessary. on the other hand, the representation which we make to ourselves of a material substance and its rôle as the support of the qualities, is a very naïve and mechanical representation, thanks to which certain sensations become the supports of other and less important sensations. it would suffice to insist on the detail of this representation and on its origin to show its artificial character. the notion we have of the stability of bodies and of the persistence of their identity, notwithstanding certain superficial changes, is the reason for which i thought proper to attribute a substance to them, that is to say, an invariable element. but we can attain the same end without this useless hypothesis; we have only to remark that the identity of the object lies in the aggregate of its properties, including the name it bears. if the majority of its properties, especially of those most important to us, subsists without alteration, or if this alteration, though of very great extent, takes place insensibly and by slow degrees, we decide that the object remains the same. we have no need for that purpose to give it a substance one and indestructible. thus we are neither adherents of phenomenism, nor of substantialism.] [footnote : i borrow from rabier this argument, which has thoroughly convinced me (see _psychologie_, p. ).] [footnote : pilon is the psychologist who has the most forcibly demonstrated that resemblance acts before being perceived. i refer the readers to my _psychologie du raisonnement_, where i have set forth this little problem in detail.] [footnote : we think spontaneously of the general and the necessary. it is this which serves as a basis for the suggestion and the catchword (_réclame_), and it explains how minds of slender culture always tend towards absolute assertions and hasty generalisations.] chapter vii definition of the consciousness--the separability of the consciousness from its object--discussion of idealism one last question suggests itself with regard to the consciousness. in what measure is it separable from the object? do the consciousness and its object form two things or only one? under observation these two terms constantly show themselves united. we experience a sensation and have consciousness of it; it is the same fact expressed in two different ways. all facts of our perception thus present themselves, and they are one. but our reason may outstrip our observation. we are able to make a distinction between the two elements _being_ and _being perceived_. this is not an experimental but an ideological distinction, and an abstraction that language makes easy. can we go further, and suppose one of the parts thus analysed capable of existing without the other? can sensation exist as physical expression, as an object; without being illuminated by the consciousness? can the consciousness exist without having an object? let us first speak of the existence of the object when considered as separated from the consciousness. the problem is highly complicated. it has sometimes been connected with the idealist thesis according to which the object of consciousness, being itself a modality of the consciousness, cannot exist apart from it--that is to say, outside the periods in which it is perceived. it would therefore result from this that this separation between existence and perception might be made, when it is admitted (contrary to the idealist hypothesis) that the object perceived is material and the consciousness which perceives it mental. in this case, it will be thought, there is no link of solidarity between the consciousness and its continuity. but i am not of that opinion. the union of the consciousness and its object is one of fact, which presents itself outside any hypothesis on the nature of the object. it is observation which demonstrates to us that we must perceive an object to be assured of its existence; the reason, moreover, confirms the necessity of this condition, which remains true whatever may be the "stuff" of the object. having stated this, the question is simply to know whether this observation of fact should be generalised or not. we may, it seems to me, decline to generalise it without falling into a contradiction in terms. it may be conceived that the objects which we are looking at continue to exist, without change, during the moments when we have lost sight of them. this seems reasonable enough, and is the opinion of "common" sense.[ ] the english philosophers, bain and mill, have combated this proposition with extraordinary ardour, like believers combating a heresy. but notwithstanding their attacks it remains intelligible, and the distinction between _being_ and _being perceived_ preserves its logical legitimacy. this may be represented, or may be thought; but can it be realised? so far as regards external objects, i think we all, in fact, admit it. we all admit a distinction, between the existence of the outer world and the perception we have of it; its existence is one thing, and our perception of it is another. the existence of the world continues without interruption; our perception is continually interrupted by the most fortuitous causes, such as change of position, or even the blinking of the eyes; its existence is general, universal, independent of time and space; our perception is partial, particular, local, limited by the horizon of our senses, determined by the geographical position of our bodies, riddled by the distractions of our intelligence, deceived by the illusions of our minds, and above all diminished by the infirmity of our intelligence, which is able to comprehend so little of what it perceives. this is what we all admit in practice; the smallest of our acts implies the belief in something perceptible which is wider and more durable than our astonished perceptions. i could not write these lines unless i implicitly supposed that my inkstand, my paper, my pen, my room, and the surrounding world subsist when i do not see them. it is a postulate of practical life. it is also a postulate of science, which requires for its explanations of phenomena the supposition in them of an indwelling continuity. natural science would become unintelligible if we were forced to suppose that with every eclipse of our perceptions material actions were suspended. there would be beginnings without sequences, and ends without beginnings. let us note also that acquired notions on the working of our nervous system allow us to give this postulate a most precise form: the external object is distinct from the nervous system and from the phenomena of perception which are produced when the nervous system is excited; it is therefore very easy to understand that this object continues to exist and to develop its properties, even when no brain vibrates in its neighbourhood. might we not, with the view of strengthening this conclusion as to the continuous existence of things, dispense with this postulate, which seems to have the character of a grace, of an alms granted to us? might not this continuous existence of objects during the eclipses of our acts of consciousness, be demonstrated? it does not seem to me impossible. let us suppose for a moment the correctness of the idealist thesis: all our legitimate knowledge of objects is contained within the narrow limits of actual sensation; then, we may ask, of what use is the reason? what is the use of the memory? these functions have precisely for their object the enlarging of the sphere of our sensations, which is limited in two principal ways, by time and by space. thanks to the reason, we manage to see in some way that which our senses are unable to perceive, either because it is too distant from us, or because there are obstacles between us and the object, or because it is a past event or an event which has not yet taken place which is in question. that the reason may be deceived is agreed. but will it be asserted that it is always deceived? shall we go so far as to believe that this is an illegitimate mode of cognition? the idealist thesis, if consistent, cannot refuse to extend itself to this extreme conclusion; for a reasoned conclusion contains, when it has a meaning, a certain assertion on the order of nature, and this assertion is not a perception, since its precise object is to fill up the gaps in our perceptions. not being a perception, it must be rejected, if one is an idealist. the idealist will therefore keep strictly to the perception of the moment, and this is so small a thing when deprived of all the conjectures which enrich it, that the world, if reduced to this alone, would be but the skeleton of a world. there would then be no more science, no possibility of knowledge. but who could make up his mind thus to shut himself up in perception? i suppose, indeed, that there will here be quibbling. this objection will be made: that in the hypothesis of a discontinuous existence of things, reason may continue to do its work, provided the intervention of a possible perception be supposed. thus, i notice this morning, on going into my garden, that the pond which was dry yesterday is full of water. i conclude from this, "it has rained in the night." to be consistent with idealism, one must simply add: "if some one had been in the garden last night, he would have seen it rain." in this manner one must re-establish every time the rights of perception. be it so. but let us notice that this addition has no more importance than a prescribed formula in a notarial act; for instance, the presence of a second notary prescribed by the law, but always dispensed with in practice. this prescribed formula can always be imagined or even understood. we shall be in accord with idealism by the use of this easy little formula, "if some one had been there," or even by saying, "for a universal consciousness...." the difference of the realist and idealist theory becomes then purely verbal. this amounts to saying that it disappears. but there is always much verbalism in idealism. one more objection: if this witness--the consciousness--suffices to give objects a continuity of existence, we may content ourselves with a less important witness. why a man? the eyes of a mollusc would suffice, or those of infusoria, or even of a particle of protoplasm: living matter would become a condition of the existence of dead matter. this, we must acknowledge, is a singular condition, and this conclusion condemns the doctrine. footnotes: [footnote : that is to say, the sense of the multitude.--ed.] chapter viii definition of the consciousness--the separation of the consciousness from its object--the unconscious i ask myself whether it is possible, by going further along this road of the separation between the consciousness and its object, to admit that ideas may subsist during the periods when we are not conscious of them. it is the problem of unconsciousness that i am here stating. one of the most simple processes of reasoning consists in treating ideas in the same manner as we have treated the external objects. we have admitted that the consciousness is a thing superadded to the external objects, like the light which lights up a landscape, but does not constitute it and may be extinguished without destroying it. we continue the same interpretation by saying that ideas prolong their existence while they are not being thought, in the same way and for the same motive that material bodies continue theirs while they are not being perceived. all that it seems permissible to say is that this conception is not unrealisable. let us now place ourselves at the point of view of the consciousness. we have supposed up to the present the suppression of the consciousness, and have seen that we can still imagine the object continuing to exist. is the converse possible? let us suppose that the object is suppressed. can the consciousness then continue to exist? on this last point it seems that doubt is not possible, and we must answer in the negative. a consciousness without an object, an empty consciousness, in consequence, cannot be conceived; it would be a zero--a pure nothingness; it could not manifest itself. we might admit, in strictness, that such a consciousness might exist virtually as a power which is not exercised, a reserve, a potentiality, or a possibility of being; but we cannot comprehend that this power can realise or actualize itself. there is therefore no actual consciousness without an object. the problem we have just raised, that of the separability of the elements which compose an act of consciousness, is continued by another problem--that of unconsciousness. it is almost the same problem, for to ask one's self what becomes of a known thing when we separate from it the consciousness which at first accompanied it, is to ask one's self in what an unconscious phenomenon consists. we have, till now, considered the two principal forms of unconsciousness--that in nature and that in thought. the first named unconsciousness does not generally bear that name, but is rather discussed under the name of idealism and realism. whatever be their names, these two kinds of unconsciousness are conceivable, and the more so that they both belong to physical nature. if we allow ourselves to be guided by the concept of separability, we shall now find that we have exhausted the whole series of possible problems, for we have examined all the possible separations between the consciousness and its objects; but if we use another concept, that of unconsciousness, we can go further and propound a new problem: can the consciousness become unconscious? but it is proper first to make a few distinctions. it is the rôle of metaphysics to make distinctions.[ ] unconsciousness presupposes a death of the consciousness; but this death has its degrees, and before complete extinction we may conceive it to undergo many attenuations. there is, first, the diminution of consciousness. consciousness is a magnitude capable of increase and decrease, like sensation itself. according to the individual, consciousness may have a very large or a very small field, and may embrace at the same time a variable number of objects. i can pay attention to several things at the same time, but when i am tired it becomes more difficult to me. i lose in extension, or, as is still said, the field of consciousness is restricted. it may also lose not only in extent of surface, but in depth. we have all of us observed in our own selves moments of obscure consciousness when we understand dimly, and moments of luminous consciousness which carry one almost to the very bottom of things. it is difficult to consider those in the wrong who admit, with leibnitz, the existence of small states of consciousness. the lessening of the consciousness is already our means of understanding the unconscious; unconsciousness is the limit of this reduction.[ ] this singular fact has also been noticed, that, in the same individual there may co-exist several kinds of consciousness which do not enter into communication with each other and which are not acquainted with each other. there is a principal consciousness which speaks, and, in addition, accessory kinds of consciousness which do not speak, but reveal their existence by the use of other modes of expression, of which the most frequent is writing. this doubling or fractionation of the consciousness and personality have often been described in the case of hysterical subjects. they sometimes occur quite spontaneously, but mostly they require a little suggestion and cultivation. in any case, that they are produced in one way or other proves that they are possible, and, for the theory, this possibility is essential. facts of this kind do not lead to a theory of the unconscious, but they enable us to understand how certain phenomena, unconscious in appearance, are conscious to themselves, because they belong to states of consciousness which have been separated from each other. a third thesis, more difficult of comprehension than the other two, supposes that the consciousness may be preserved in an unconscious form. this is difficult to admit, because unconsciousness is the negation of consciousness. it is like saying that light can be preserved when darkness is produced, or that an object still exists when, by the hypothesis, it has been radically destroyed. this idea conveys no intelligible meaning, and there is no need to dwell on it. we have not yet exhausted all the concepts whereby we may get to unconsciousness. here is another, the last i shall quote, without, however, claiming that it is the last which exists. we might call it the physiological concept, for it is the one which the physiologists employ for choice. it is based upon the observation of the phenomena which are produced in the nervous system during our acts of consciousness; these phenomena precede consciousness as a rule, and condition it. according to a convenient figure which has been long in use, the relations of the physiological phenomenon to the consciousness are represented as follows: the physiological phenomenon consists in an excitement which, at one time, follows a direct and short route from the door by which it enters the nervous system to the door by which it makes its exit. in this case, it works like a simple mechanical phenomenon; but sometimes it makes a longer journey, and takes a circuitous road by which it passes into the higher nerve centres, and it is at the moment when it takes this circuitous road that the phenomenon of consciousness is produced. the use of this figure does not prejudge any important question. going further, many contemporary authors do not content themselves with the proposition that the consciousness is conditioned by the nervous phenomenon, but suggest also that it is continually accompanied by it. every psychical fact of perception, of emotion, or of idea should have, it is supposed, a physiological basis. it would therefore be, taken in its entirety, psycho-physiological. this is called the parallelist theory. we cannot discuss this here, as we shall meet with it again in the third part of this book. it has the advantage of leading to a very simple definition of unconsciousness. the unconscious is that which is purely physiological. we represent to ourselves the mechanical part of the total phenomenon continuing to produce itself, in the absence of the consciousness, as if this last continued to follow and illuminate it. such are the principal conceptions that may be formed of the unconscious. they are probably not the only ones, and our list is not exhaustive. after having indicated what the unconscious is, we will terminate by pointing out what it is not and what it cannot be. we think, or at least we have impliedly supposed in the preceding definitions, that the unconscious is only something unknown, which may have been known, or which might become known under certain conditions, and which only differs from the known by the one characteristic of not being actually known. if this notion be correct, one has really not the right to arm this unconsciousness with formidable powers. it has the power of the reality to which it corresponds, but its character of unconsciousness adds nothing to this. it is the same with it as with the science of the future. no scholar will hesitate to admit that that science will be deeper and more refined than that already formed. but it is not from the fact that it is unknown that it will deserve its superiority: it is from the phenomena that it will embrace. to give to that which is unconscious, as we here understand it, an overwhelming superiority over the conscious as such, we must admit that the consciousness is not only a useless luxury, but the dethronement of the forces that it accompanies. in the next place, i decline to admit that the consciousness itself can become unconscious, and yet continue in some way under an unconscious form. this would be, in my opinion, bringing together two conceptions which contradict each other, and thus denying after having affirmed. from the moment that the consciousness dies, there remains nothing of it, unless it be the conditions of its appearance, conditions which are distinct from itself. between two moments of consciousness separated by time or by a state of unconsciousness, there does not and cannot exist any link. i feel incapable of imagining of what this link could be composed, unless it were material--that is to say, unless it were supplied from the class of objects. i have already said that the substantialist thesis endeavours to establish a continuity between one consciousness and another separated by time, by supposing a something durable, of which the consciousness would be a property of intermittent manifestation. they would thus explain the interruptions of consciousness as the interruptions in the light of a lamp. when the light is extinguished, the lamp remains in darkness, but is still capable of being lighted. let us discard this metaphor, which may lead to illusion. the concept of consciousness can furnish no link and no mental state which remains when the consciousness is not made real; if this link exists, it is in the permanence of the material objects and of the nervous organism which allows the return of analogous conditions of matter. footnotes: [footnote : in metaphysics we reason, not on facts, but most often on conceptions. now just as facts are precise so conceptions are vague in outline. facts are like crystallised bodies, ideas like liquids and gases. we think we have an idea, and it changes form without our perceiving it. we fancy we recognise one idea, and it is but another, which differs slightly from the preceding one. by means of distinctions we ought to struggle against this flowing away and flight of ideas.] [footnote : i think i have come across in aristotle the ingenious idea that the enfeeblement of the consciousness and its disorder may be due to the enfeeblement and disorder of the object. it is a theory which is by no means improbable.] chapter ix definitions of psychology let us resume the study of the preceding ideas in another form. since, moreover, to define mind is at the same time to define psychology, let us seek for the truth which we can glean from the definitions of this science. our object is not to discover an exact definition, but to make use of those already existing. to define psychology is to describe the features of the domain over which this science holds sway, and at the same time to indicate the boundaries which separate it from its neighbours. at first sight this is an affair of geometric survey, presenting no kind of difficulty; for psychology does not merge by insensible transitions into the neighbouring sciences, as physics does with chemistry, for example, or chemistry with biology. to all the sciences of external nature psychology offers the violent opposition of the moral to the physical world. it cannot be put in line with the physical sciences. it occupies, on the contrary, a position apart. it is the starting point, the most abstract and simple of the moral sciences; and it bears the same relation to them that mechanics does to the physical. all this is doubtless true; and yet a very great difficulty has been experienced in condensing into a clear definition the essence of psychology. this is proved by the multiplicity of definitions attempted. they are so many because none of them has proved completely satisfactory. their abundance shows their insufficiency. i will try to introduce a little order into these attempts, and propose to distribute the definitions of psychology into the following categories:-- . the definition by substance; the metaphysical definition _par excellence_. . the definition by enumeration. . " " method. . " " degree of certainty. . " " content. . " " point of view. . " " the peculiar nature of mental laws. we will rapidly run through this series of efforts at definition, and shall criticise and reject nearly the whole of them; for the last alone seems exact--that is to say, in harmony with the ideas laid down above. metaphysical definition has to-day taken a slightly archaistic turn. psychology used to be considered as the _science of the soul_. this is quite abandoned. modern authors have adopted the expression and also the idea of lange,[ ] who was, i think, the first to declare that we ought to cultivate a _soulless psychology_. this categorical declaration caused an uproar, and a few ill-informed persons interpreted it to mean that the new psychology which has spread in france under cover of the name of ribot, sought to deny the existence of the soul, and was calculated to incline towards materialism. this is an error. it is very possible, indeed, that several adepts of the new or experimental psychology may be materialists from inward conviction. the exclusive cultivation of external facts, of phenomena termed material, evidently tends--this is a mystery to none--to incline the mind towards the metaphysical doctrine of materialism. but, after making this avowal, it is right to add at once that psychology, as a science of facts, is the vassal of no metaphysical doctrine. it is neither spiritualist, materialist, nor monist, but a science of facts solely. ribot and his pupils have proclaimed this aloud at every opportunity. consequently it must be recognised that the rather amphibological expression "soulless psychology" implies no negation of the existence of the soul. it is--and this is quite a different thing--rather an attitude of reserve in regard to this problem. we do not solve this problem; we put it on one side. and, certainly, we are right to do so. the soul, viewed as a substance--that is, as a something distinct from psychical phenomena, which, while being their cause and support, yet remains inaccessible to our direct means of cognition--is only an hypothesis, and it cannot serve as objective to a science of facts. this would imply a contradiction in terms. unfortunately; we must confess that if it be right to relegate to metaphysics the discussion on the concept of the soul, it does not really suffice to purge our minds of all metaphysics; and a person who believes himself to be a simple and strict experimentalist is often a metaphysician without knowing it. these excommunications of metaphysics also seem rather childish at the present day. there is less risk than some years ago in declaring that: "here metaphysics commence and positive science ends, and i will go no further." there is even a tendency in modern psychologists to interest themselves in the highest philosophical problems, and to take up a certain position with regard to them. the second kind of definition is, we have said, that by enumeration. it consists in placing before the eyes of the reader an assortment of psychological phenomena and then saying: "these are the things psychology studies." one will take readily as samples the ideas, reasonings, emotions, and other manifestations of mental life. if this is only a strictly provisional definition, a simple introduction to the subject, we accept it literally. it may serve to give us a first impression of things, and to refresh the memories of those who, by a rather extraordinary chance, would not doubt that psychology studies our thoughts. but whatever may be the number of these deeply ignorant persons, they constitute, i think, a negligible quantity; and, after these preliminaries, we must come to a real definition and not juggle with the problem, which consists in indicating in what the spiritual is distinguished from the material. let us leave on one side, therefore, the definitions by enumeration. now comes the definition by method. numbers of authors have supposed that it is by its method that psychology is distinguished from the other sciences. to the mind is attached the idea of the within, to nature the idea of being without the mind, of constituting a "without" (_un dehors_). it is a vague idea, but becomes precise in a good many metaphors, and has given rise to several forms of speech. since the days of locke, we have always spoken of the internal life of the mind as contrasted with the external life, of subjective reality as contrasted with objective reality; and in the same way we oppose the external senses to the inner sense (the internal perception), which it has at times been proposed to erect into a sixth sense. though no longer quite the cartesian dualism, this is still a dualism. it has also been said that psychology is the science of introspection, and, in addition, that scientific psychology is a controlled introspection. this science of the "internal facts of man" would thus be distinguished from the other natural sciences which are formed by the use of our outer senses, by external observation--that is to say, to use a neologism, by externospection. this verbal symmetry may satisfy for a moment minds given to words, but on reflection it is perceived that the distinction between introspection and externospection does not correspond to a fundamental and constant difference in the nature of things or in the processes of cognition. i acknowledge it with some regret, and thus place myself in contradiction with myself; for i for a long time believed, and have even said in print, that psychology is the science of introspection. my error arose from my having made too many analyses of detail, and not having mounted to a sufficiently wide-reaching conception. the definition i have given of consciousness is the implied condemnation of the above ideas. consciousness, being nothing but an act of revelation, has neither a within nor a without; it does not correspond to a special domain which would be an inner one with regard to another domain. every consideration on the position of things is borrowed from the sphere of the object, and remains foreign to the sphere of the consciousness. it is by an abuse of language that we speak of the outer world in relation to the world of consciousness, and it is pure imagination on the part of philosophers to have supposed that our sensations are first perceived as internal states and states of consciousness, and are subsequently projected without to form the outer world. the notion of internal and external is only understood for certain objects which we compare by position to certain others. in fact, we find that the opposition between an external and an internal series is generally founded on two characteristics: sensation is considered external in relation to the idea, and an object of cognition is considered as internal when it is accessible only to ourselves. when these two characteristics are isolated from each other, one may have doubts; but when they co-exist, then the outwardness or inwardness appears fully evidenced. we see then that this distinction has nothing to do with the value of consciousness, and has nothing mental about it. it is thus that our ideas are judged from internal events. it is our microcosm opposed to the macrocosm. it is the individual opposed to the social. looking at an external object, we remain in communion with our fellows, for we receive, or think we receive, identical sensations. at all events, we receive corresponding sensations. on the other hand, my thought is mine, and is known to me alone; it is my sanctuary, my private closet, where others do not enter. every one can see what i see, but no one knows what i think. but this difference in the accessibility of phenomena is not due to their peculiar nature. it is connected with a different fact, with the modes of excitement which call them forth. if the visual sensation is common to all, it is because the exciting cause of the sensation is an object external to our nervous systems, and acting at a distance on all.[ ] the tactile sensation is at the beginning more personal to the one who experiences it, since it requires contact; and the lower sensations are in this intimacy still in progress. and then, the same object can give rise, in common-place circumstances, to a sensation either common to all beings or special to one alone. the capsule of antipyrine which i swallow is, before my doing so, visible to all eyes; once in my mouth, i am the only one to perceive it. it is therefore possible that the same sensation, according to the displacements of the object which excites it, may make part of the internal or of the external series; and as all psychic life is sensation, even effort, and, as we are assured, emotion, it follows that our argument extends to all the psychical elements. finally, the internal or external character of events, which might be called their geographical position, is a characteristic which has no influence upon the method destined to take cognisance of it. the method remains one. introspection does not represent a source of cognition distinct from externospection, for the same faculties of the mind--reason, attention, and reflection--act on sensation, the source of the so-called external sciences, and on the idea, the source of the so-called inner science. a fact can be studied by essentially the same process, whether regarded by the eyes or depicted by the memory. the consciousness changes its object and orientation, not its nature. it is as if, with the same opera-glass, we looked in turn at the wall of the room and through the window. i can even quote on this point a significant fact: there are observers who are organised in such a way that they especially observe by memory. placed before the sensorial phenomenon which strikes their senses, they are sometimes amazed, as if hypnotised; they require to get away from it to regain consciousness of themselves, to analyse the fact, and to master it, and it is by means of the memory that they study it, on condition, of course, of afterwards coming back to verify their conclusions by a fresh observation from nature. will it be said that the physicist, the chemist, or the biologist who follows this slow method, and who thus observes retroactively, practises physics and biology by introspection? evidently this would be ridiculous. conversely, introspection may, in certain cases, adopt the procedure of externospection. no doubt it would be inexact to say that the perception of one of our ideas always takes place through the same mechanism as the perception of one of our sensations. to give an account of what we think does not imply the same work as in the case of what we see; for, generally, our thoughts and our images do not appear to us spontaneously. they are first sought for by us, and are only realised after having been wished for. we go from the vague to the precise, from the confused to the clear; the direction of thought precedes, then, its realisation in images; and the latter, being expected, is necessarily comprehended when it is formed. but we may come across curious circumstances in which it is the image which has precedence over its appearance, and in that case it is exact to say that this uninvoked image must be interpreted and recognised as if it were an external object. in cases of this kind, there passes through our mind something which surprises us. i see, by internal vision, a face with a red nose, and i have to search my memory for a long time, even for days, in order to give precision to the vague feeling that i have seen it before, so as to finally say with confidence, "it is so and so!" or else i hear in my inner ear a certain voice, with a metallic tone and authoritative inflections: this voice pronounces scientific phrases, gives a series of lectures, but i know not to whom it belongs, and it costs me a long effort to reach the interpretation: it is the voice of m. dastre! there is, then, a certain space of time, more or less long, in which we can correctly assert that we are not aware of what we are thinking; we are in the presence of a thought in the same state of uncertainty as in that of an external, unknown, and novel object. the labour of classification and of interpretation cast upon us is of the same order; and, when this labour is effected incorrectly, it may end in an illusion. therefore illusions of thought are quite as possible as illusions of the senses, though rarer for the reasons above stated. but the question of frequency has no theoretical importance. i have shown elsewhere, by experiments on hysterics, that it is possible by the intermediary of their insensibility to touch to suggest ideas on the value of which the patients make mistakes. for instance, you take the finger in which they have no sensation, you touch it, you bend it. the patient, not seeing what is done, does not feel it, but the tactile sensation unfelt by their principal consciousness somehow awakes the visual image of the finger; this enters into the field of consciousness, and most often is not recognised by the subject, who describes the occurrence in his own way; he claims, for instance, that he thinks of sticks or of columns. in reality he does not know of what he is thinking, and we know better than he. he is thinking of his finger, and does not recognise it. all these examples show that the clearly defined characteristics into which it is sought to divide extrospection and introspection do not exist. there is, however, a reason for preserving the distinction, because it presents a real interest for the psychology of the individual. these two words introspection and extrospection admirably convey the difference in the manner of thinking between those who from preference look, and those who from preference reflect. on the one hand, the observers, who are often men of action; on the other, the speculators, who are often mystics. but it would be no more legitimate by this means to separate psychology and physics than to say, for instance, "there are two kinds of geology: one is the geology of france, for one is acquainted with it without going from home, and the other is that of the rest of the world, because in order to know it one must cross the frontier." we reject, therefore, the definition drawn from the difference of method. at bottom there is no difference of method, but only differences of process, of _technique_. the method is always the same, for it is derived from the application of a certain number of laws to the objects of cognition, and these laws remain the same in all spheres of application. here is another difference of method which, if it were true, would have an incalculable importance. psychology, we are told, is a science of direct and immediate experiment; it studies facts as they present themselves to our consciousness, while the natural sciences are sciences of indirect and mediate experiment, for they are compelled to interpret the facts of consciousness and draw from them conclusions on nature. it has also been said, in a more ambitious formula, "the science of physical objects is relative; logical science is absolute." let us examine this by the rapid analysis of any perception taken at haphazard. what i perceive directly, immediately, we are told, is not the object, it is my state of consciousness; the object is inferred; concluded, and taken cognisance of through the intermediary of my state of consciousness. we only know it, says lotze, _circa rem_. it is therefore apprehended less immediately, and every natural science employs a more roundabout method than that of psychology. this last, by studying states of consciousness, which alone are known to us directly, comprehends reality itself, absolute reality. "there is more absolute reality," m. rabier boldly says, "in the simple feeling that a man, or even an animal, has of its pain when beaten than in all the theories of physics, for, beyond these theories, it can be asked, what are the things that exist. but it is an absurdity to ask one's self if, beyond the pain of which one is conscious, there be not another pain different from that one."[ ] let us excuse in psychologists this petty and common whim for exaggerating the merit of the science they pursue. but here the limit is really passed, and no scholar will admit that the perception and representation of a body, as it may take place in the brain of a berthelot, can present any inferiority as a cognition of the absolute, to the pain felt by the snail i crush under my foot. nobody except metaphysicians will acknowledge that psychology is a more precise and certain science than physics or chemistry. the criterion furnished by the development of the respective sciences would prove just the contrary. the observations of psychology are always rather unprecise. psychological phenomena, notwithstanding the efforts of fechner and his school, are not yet measured with the same strictness and ease as the tangible reality. to speak plainly, the psychologist who vaunts the superiority of his method, and only shows inferior results, places himself in a somewhat ridiculous and contradictory position; he deserves to be compared to those spiritualists who claim the power of evoking the souls of the illustrious dead and only get from them platitudes. in the main the arguments of the metaphysicians given above appear to me to contain a grave error. this consists in supposing that the natural sciences study the reality hidden beneath sensation, and only make use of this fact as of a sign which enables them to get back from effect to cause. this is quite inexact. that the natural sciences are limited by sensation is true; but they do not go outside it, they effect their constructions with sensation alone. and the reason is very simple: it is the only thing they know. to the metaphysical psychologist, who claims sensation as his own property, saying, "but this sensation is a state of my consciousness, it is mine, it is myself," the physicist has the right to answer: "i beg your pardon! this sensation is the external object that i am studying; it is my column of mercury, my spring, my precipitate, my amoeba; i comprehend these objects directly, and i want no other." psychology finds itself, therefore, exactly on the same footing as the other sciences in the degree in which it studies sensations that it considers as its own property. i have already said that the sensations proper to psychology are hardly represented otherwise than by the emotional sensations produced by the storms in the apparatus of organic life. we now come to the definitions by content. they have been numerous, but we shall only quote a few. the most usual consists in saying, that _psychology studies the facts of consciousness_. this formula passes, in general, as satisfactory. the little objection raised against it is, that it excludes the unconscious facts which play so important a part in explaining the totality of mental life; but it only requires some usual phrase to repair this omission. one might add, for instance, to the above formula: conscious facts and those which, while unconscious under certain conditions, are yet conscious in others. this is not, however, the main difficulty, which is far more serious. on close examination, it is seen that the term, _fact of consciousness_, is very elastic, and that for a reason easy to state. this is, that all facts which exist and are revealed to us reach us by the testimony of the consciousness, and are, consequently, facts of consciousness. if i look at a locomotive, and analyse its machinery, i act like a mechanic; if i study under the microscope the structure of infusoria, i practise biology; and yet the sight of the locomotive, the perception of the infusoria, are just facts of consciousness, and should belong to psychology, if one takes literally the above definition, which is so absolute that it absorbs the entire world into the science of the mind. it might, indeed, be remarked that certain phenomena would remain strictly psychological, such as, for instance, the emotions, the study of which would not be disputed by any physical science; for the world of nature offers us nothing comparable to an emotion or an effort of will, while, on the other hand, everything which is the object of physical science--that is, everything which can be perceived by our external senses--may be claimed by psychology. therefore, it is very evident the above definition is much too wide, and does not agree with _solo definito_. it does not succeed in disengaging the essential characteristic of physics. this characteristic indeed exists, and we foresee it, but we do not formulate it. another definition by content has not been much more happy. to separate the material from the moral, the conception of descartes was remembered, and we were told that: "psychology is the science of what exists only in time, while physics is the science of what exists at once in time and in space." to this theoretical reasoning it might already be objected that, in fact, and in the life we lead, we never cease to localise in space, though somewhat vaguely, our thought, our ego, and our intellectual whole. at this moment i am considering myself, and taking myself as an example. i am writing these lines in my study, and no metaphysical argument can cause me to abandon my firm conviction that my intellectual whole is in this room, on the second floor of my house at meudon. i am here, and not elsewhere. my body is here; and my soul, if i have one, is here. i am where my body is; i believe even that i am within my body. this localisation, which certainly has not the exactness nor even the characteristics of the localisation of a material body in space, seems to me to result from the very great importance we attach, to the existence of our body in perception and in movement. our body accompanies all our perceptions; its changes of position cause these perceptions to vary; the accidents which happen to it bring us pleasure or pain. some of its movements are under our orders; we observe that others are the consequences of our thoughts and our emotions. it occupies, therefore, among the objects of cognition a privileged place, which renders it more intimate and more dear to us than other objects. there is no need to inquire here whether, in absolute reality, i am lodged within it, for this "i" is an artificial product manufactured from memories. i have before explained what is the value of the relation subject-object. it is indisputable that in the manufacture of the subject we bring in the body. this is too important an element for it not to have the right to form part of the synthesis; it is really its nucleus. as, on the other hand, all the other elements of the synthesis are psychical, invisible, and reduced to being faculties and powers, it may be convenient to consider them as occupying the centre of the body or of the brain. there is no need to discuss this synthesis, for it is one of pure convenience. as well inquire whether the personality of a public company is really localised at its registered offices, round the green baize cover which adorns the table in the boardroom. another definition of psychology, which is at once a definition by content and a definition by method, has often been employed by philosophers and physiologists. it consists in supposing that there really exist two ways of arriving at the cognition of objects: the within and the without. these two ways are as opposed to each other as the right and wrong side of a stuff. it is in this sense that psychology is the science of the within and looks at the wrong side of the stuff, while the natural sciences look at the right side. and it is so true, they add, that the same phenomenon appears under two radically different forms according as we look at it from the one or the other point of view. thus, it is pointed out to us, every one of our thoughts is in correlation with a particular state of our cerebral matter; our thought is the subjective and mental face; the corresponding cerebral process is the objective and material face. then the difference between representation, which is a purely psychological phenomenon, and a cerebral state which is a material one, and reducible to movement, is insisted upon; and it is declared that these two orders of phenomena are separated by irreducible differences. lastly, to take account of the meaning of these differences, and to explain them, it is pointed out that they are probably connected with the modes of cognition which intervene to comprehend the mental and the physical. the mental phenomenon, we are told, is comprehended by itself, and as it is; it is known without any mystery, and in its absolute reality. the physical phenomenon, on the contrary, only reaches us through the intermediary of our nerves, more or less transformed in consequence by the handling in transport. it is an indirect cognition which causes us to comprehend matter; we have of this last only a relative and apparent notion, which sufficiently explains how it may differ from a phenomenon of thought. i have already had occasion to speak of this dualism, when we were endeavouring to define sensation. we return to its criticism once more, for it is a conception which in these days has become classic; and it is only by repeatedly attacking it that it will be possible to demonstrate its error. to take an example: i look at the plain before me, and see a flock of sheep pass over it. at the same time an observer is by my side and is not looking at the same thing as myself. it is not at the plain that he looks; it is, i will suppose, within my brain. armed with a microscope _à la_ jules verne, he succeeds in seeing what is passing beneath my skull, and he notices within my fibres and nerve cells those phenomena of undulation which physiologists have hitherto described hypothetically. this observer notices then, that, while i am looking over the plain, my optic nerve conveys a certain kind of movements--these are, i suppose, displacements of molecules which execute a complicated kind of dance. the movement follows the course of the optic nerve, traverses the chiasma, goes along the fascia, passes the internal capsule, and finally arrives at the visual centres of the occipital region. here, then, are the two terms of comparison constituted: on the one hand, we have a certain representation--that is, my own; and on the other hand, coinciding with this representation we have the dynamic changes in the nerve centres. these are the two things constituting the right and wrong side of the stuff. we shall be told: "see how little similarity there is here! a representation is a physical fact, a movement of molecules a material fact." and further, "if these two facts are so little like each other, it is because they reach us by two different routes." i think both these affirmations equally disputable. let us begin with the second. where does one see that we possess two different sources of knowledge? or that we can consider an object under two different aspects? where are our duplicate organs of the senses, of which the one is turned inward and the other outward? in the example chosen for this discussion, i have supposed two persons, each of whom experiences a visual perception. one looks at one object, the other at another; but both are looking with the same organs of sense, that is, with their eyes. how is it possible to understand that these eyes can, in turn, according to the necessity of the moment, see the two faces, physical and mental, of the same object? they are the two faces of an identical object, is the answer made to us, because the two visions, although applied to the same object, are essentially different. on the one hand is a sensation of displacement, of movement, of a dance executed by the molecules of some proteid substance; on the other hand is a flock of sheep passing over the plain at a distance of a hundred metres away. it seems to me that here also the argument advanced is not sound. in the first place, it is essential to notice that not only are the two paths of cognition identical, but also that the perceptions are of the same nature. there is in this no opposition between the physical and the mental. what is compared are the two phenomena, which are both mixed and are physico-mental--physical, through the object to which they are applied, mental, through the act of cognition they imply. to perceive an object in the plain and to perceive a dynamic state of the brain are two operations which each imply an act of cognition; and, in addition, the object of this knowledge is as material in the one as in the other case. a flock of sheep is matter just as much as my brain. no doubt, here are objects which differ; my observer and myself have not the same perception. i acknowledge, but do not wonder at it. how could our two perceptions be similar? i look at the sheep, and he at the interior of my brain. it is not astonishing that, looking at such different objects, we should receive images also different. or, again, if this other way of putting it be preferred, i would say: the individual a looks at the flock through the intermediary of his nervous system, while b looks at it through that of two nervous systems, put as it were end to end (though not entirely), his own nervous system first, and then that of a. how, then, could they experience the same sensation? they could only have an identical sensation if the idea of the ancients were to be upheld, who understood the external perception of bodies to result from particles detaching themselves from their bodies, and after a more or less lengthy flight, striking and entering into our organs of sense.[ ] let us imagine, just for a moment, one of our nerves--the optic nerve, for instance--transformed into a hollow tube, along which the emissions of miniatures should wend their way. in this case, evidently, if so strange a disposition were to be realised, and if b could see what was flowing in the optic nerve of a, he would experience a sensation almost analogous to that of a. whenever the latter saw a dog, a sheep, or a shepherd, b would likewise see in the optic canal minute dogs, microscopic sheep, and lilliputian shepherds. at the cost of such a childish conception, a parity of content in the sensations of our two spectators a and b might be supposed. but i will not dwell on this. the above considerations seem to me to explain the difference generally noticed between thought and the physiological process. it is not a difference of nature, an opposition of two essences, or of two worlds--it is simply a difference of object; just that which separates my visual perception of a tree and my visual perception of a dog. there remains to know in what manner we understand the relation of these two processes: this is another problem which we will examine later. since the content does not give us the differentiation we desire, we will abandon the definitions of psychology by content. what now remains? the definitions from the point of view. the same fact may he looked at, like a landscape, from different points of view, and appears different with the changes therein. it is so with the facts we consider psychical, and the autonomy of psychology would thus be a matter of point of view. it has, then, been supposed--and this is a very important proposition--that the distinctive feature of psychical facts does not consist in their forming a class of particular events. on the contrary, their characteristic is to be studied in their dependency on the persons who bring them about. this interesting affirmation is not new: it may be read in the works of mach, külpe, münsterberg, and, especially, of ebbinghaus, from whom i quote the following lines of quite remarkable clearness: "psychology is not distinguished from sciences like physics and biology, which are generally and rightly opposed to it, by a different content, in the way that, for instance, zoology is distinguished from mineralogy or astronomy. it has the same content, but considers it from a different point of view and with a different object. it is the science, not of a given part of the world, but of the whole world, considered, however, in a certain relation. it studies, in the world, those formations, processes, and relations, the properties of which are essentially determined by the properties and functions of an organism, of an organised individual.... psychology, in short, considers the world from an individual and subjective point of view, while the science of physics studies it as if it were independent of us." over these definitions by point of view, one might quibble a little; for those who thus define psychology are not always consistent with themselves. in other passages of their writings they do not fail to oppose psychical to physiological phenomena, and they proclaim the irreducible heterogeneity of these two orders of phenomena and the impossibility of seeing in physics the producing cause of the moral. ebbinghaus is certainly one of the modern writers who have most strongly insisted on this idea of opposition between the physiological and the psychical, and he is a convinced dualist. now i do not very clearly understand in what the principle of heterogeneity can consist to a mind which admits, on the other hand, that psychology does not differ from the physical sciences by its content. however, i confine myself here to criticising the consequences and not the starting point. the definition of the psychical phenomenon by the point of view seems to me correct, although it has more concision than clearness; for it rests especially upon a material metaphor, and the expression "point of view" hardly applies except to the changes of perspective furnished by visible objects. it would be more exact to say that psychology specially studies certain objects of cognition, such as those which have the character of representations (reminiscences, ideas, concepts), the emotions, the volitions, and the reciprocal influences of these objects among themselves. it studies, then, a part of the material world, of that world which till now has been called psychological, because it does not come under the senses, and because it is subjective and inaccessible to others than ourselves; it studies the laws of those objects, which laws have been termed mental.[ ] these laws are not recognised, popularly speaking, either in physics or in biology; they constitute for us a cognition apart from that of the natural world. association by resemblance, for example, is a law of consciousness; it is a psychological law which has no application nor counterpart in the world of physics or biology. we may therefore sum up what has been said by the statement that psychology is the study of a certain number of laws, relations, and connections. as to the particular feature which distinguishes mental from physical laws, we can formulate it, as does william james, by saying that the essence of a mental law is to be teleological, or, if the phrase be preferred, we can say that mental activity is a finalistic activity, which expends itself as will in the pursuit of future ends, and as intelligence in the choice of the means deemed capable of serving those ends. an act of intelligence is recognised by the fact of its aiming at an end, and employing for this end one means chosen out of many. finality and intelligence are thus synonymous. in opposition to mental law, physical law is mechanical, by which expression is simply implied the absence of finality. finality opposed to mechanism; such is the most concise and truest expression in which must be sought the distinctive attribute of psychology and of the moral sciences, the essential characteristic by which psychological are separated from physical facts. i think it may be useful to dwell a little on the mental laws which i have just opposed to the physical, and whose object is to assure preadaptation and form a finality.[ ] their importance cannot be exaggerated. thanks to his power of preadaptation, the being endowed with intelligence acquires an enormous advantage over everything which does not reason. no doubt, as has been shrewdly remarked, natural selection resembles a finality, for it ends in an adaptation of beings to their surroundings. there is therefore, strictly speaking, such a thing as finality without intelligence. but the adaptation resulting therefrom is a crude one, and proceeds by the elimination of all that does not succeed in adapting itself; it is a butchery. real finalism saves many deaths, many sufferings, and many abortions.[ ] let us examine, then, the process of preadaptation; it will enable us to thoroughly comprehend, not only the difference between the physical and the psychical laws, but the reason why the psychical manages in some fashion to mould itself upon the physical law. now, the means employed by preadaptation is, if we take the matter in its simplest form, to be aware of sensations before they are experienced. if we reflect that all prevision implies a previous knowledge of the probable trend of events, it will be understood that the part played by intelligence consists in becoming imbued with the laws of nature, for the purpose of imitating its workings. by the laws of nature, we understand here only that order of real sensations, the knowledge of which is sufficient to fulfil the wants of practical life. to us there are always gaps in this order, because the sensation it is important for us to know is separated from us either by the barriers of time or of space, or by the complication of useless sensations. thence the necessity of interpolations. that which we do not perceive directly by our senses, we are obliged to represent to ourselves by our intelligence; the image does the work of sensation, and supplements the halting sensation in everything which concerns adaptation. to replace the inaccessible sensation by the corresponding image, is therefore to create in ourselves a representation of the outer world which is, on all the points most useful to us, more complete than the direct and sensorial presentation of the moment. there is in us a power of creation, and this power exercises itself in the imitation of the work of nature; it imitates its order, it reconstitutes on the small scale adapted to our minds, the great external order of events. now, this work of imitation is only really possible if the imitator has some means at his disposal analogous to those of the model. our minds could not divine the designs of nature, if the laws of images had nothing in common with the laws of nature. we are thus led to confront these two orders of laws with each other; but, before doing so, one more preliminary word is necessary. we have up till now somewhat limited the problem, in order to understand it. we have reduced the psychological being to one single function, the intellectual, and to one single object of research, the truth. this is, however, an error which has often been committed, which is now known and catalogued, called intellectualism, or the abuse of intellectualism. it is committed for this very simple reason, that it is the intellectual part of our being which best allows itself to be understood, and, so to speak, intellectualised. but this leaves out of the question a part of our entire mental being so important and so eminent, that if this part be suppressed, the intelligence would cease to work and would have no more utility than a machine without motive power. our own motive power is the will, the feeling, or the tendency. will is perhaps the most characteristic psychical function, since, as i have already had occasion to say, nothing analogous to it is met with in the world of nature. let us therefore not separate the will from the intelligence, let us incarnate them one in the other; and, instead of representing the function of the mind as having for its aim knowledge, foresight, the combination of means, and self-adaptation, we shall be much nearer the truth in representing to ourselves a being who _wills_ to know, _wills_ to foresee, and _wills_ to adapt himself, for, after all, he _wills_ to live. having said this, let us compare the psychological law and that of nature. are they identical? we shall be told that they are not, since, as a fact, errors are committed at every moment by the sudden failures of human reason. this is the first idea which arises. human error, it would seem, is the best proof that the two laws in question are not alike, and we will readily add that a falling stone does not mistake its way, that the crystal, in the course of formation does not miss taking the crystalline shape, because they form part of physical nature, and are subject in consequence to its determinism. but this is faulty reasoning, and a moment of reflection demonstrates it in the clearest possible manner; for adaptation may miss its aim without the being who adapts himself and his surroundings necessarily obeying different laws. when the heat of a too early spring causes buds to burst forth prematurely which are afterwards destroyed by frost, there is produced a fault of adjustment which resembles an error of adaptation, and the bringing forward of this error does not necessarily imply that the tree and the whole of physical nature are obeying different laws. moreover, the difference between the laws of nature and those of the understanding does not need deduction by reasoning from an abstract principle; it is better to say that it is directly observable, and this is how i find that it presents itself to us. the essential law of nature is relatively easy to formulate, as it is comprised in the very definition of law. it simply consists in the sentence: uniformity under similar conditions. we might also say: a constant relation between two or several phenomena, which can also be expressed in a more abstract way by declaring that the law of nature rests on the combination of two notions, identity and constancy. on the other hand, the laws of our psychical activity partly correspond to the same tendencies, and it would be easy to demonstrate that the microcosm of our thoughts is governed by laws which are also an expression of these two combined notions of constancy and identity. it is, above all, in the working of the intellectual machine, the best known and the most clearly analysed up till now, that we see the application of this mental law which resembles, as we say, on certain sides, the physical law: and the best we can do for our demonstration will doubtless be to dissect our reasoning powers. reason, a process essential to thought in action, is developed in accordance with a law which resembles in the most curious manner a physical law. it resembles it enough to imitate it, to conform to it, and, so to speak, to mould itself on it. now, the reason does not follow the caprices of thought, it is subject to rules; it results from the properties of the images, those properties which we have above referred to, the material character of which we have recognised, and which are two in number--similarity and contiguity, as they are termed in the jargon of the schools. they are properties which have for their aim to bring things together, to unite, and to synthetise. they are unceasingly at work, and so apparent in their labour that they have long been known. we know, since the time of aristotle, that two facts perceived at the same time reproduce themselves together in the memory--this is the law of contiguity; and that two facts perceived separately, but which are similar, are brought together in our mind--this is the law of similarity. now, similarity and contiguity form by combination the essential part of all kinds of reasoning, and this reasoning, thus understood, works in a fashion which much resembles (we shall see exactly in what degree) a physical law. i wish to show this in a few words. what renders my demonstration difficult and perhaps obscure is, that we shall be obliged to bring together rather unexpectedly categories of phenomena which are generally considered separate. the distinctive attribute of the reason consists, as i have said, in the setting to work of these two elementary properties, similarity and contiguity. it consists, in fact, in extending continuity by similarity; in endowing with identical properties and similar accompaniments things which resemble each other; in other words, it consists in impliedly asserting that the moment two things are identical in one point they are so for all the rest. this will be fairly well understood by imagining what takes place when mental images having the above-mentioned properties meet. suppose that b is associated with c, and that a resembles b. in consequence of their resemblance the passing from a to b is easy; and then b suggesting c by contiguity, it happens that this c is connected with a connected, though, in reality, they have never been tried together. i say they are associated on the basis of their relation to b, which is the rallying point. it is thus that, on seeing a piece of red-hot iron (a), i conclude it is hot (c), because i recollect distinctly or unconsciously another piece of red-hot iron (b), of which i once experienced the heat. it is this recollection b which logicians, in their analysis of logical, verbal, and formal argument, call the middle term. our representation of the process of reasoning is not special to argument. it also expresses the process of invention, and every kind of progress from the known to the unknown. it is an activity which creates relations, which assembles and binds together, and the connections made between different representations are due to their partial identities, which act as solder to two pieces of metal. it will now be understood that these relations between the images curiously resemble the external order of things, the order of our sensations, the order of nature, the physical law. this is because this physical law also has the same character and expresses itself similarly. we might say "all things which resemble each other have the same properties," or "all things alike on one point resemble each other on all other points." but immediately we do so, the difference between the physical and the mental law becomes apparent. the formula we have given is only true on condition that many restrictions and distinctions are made. the process of nature is so to do that the _same_ phenomenon always unfolds itself in the same order. but this process is not always comprehended in real life, for it is hidden from our eyes by the manifold combinations of chance; in the reality that we perceive there is a crowd of phenomena which resemble each other but are not really the same. there are a number of phenomena which co-exist or follow each other without this order of co-existence or succession being necessary or constant. in other words, there are resemblances which are the marks of something, as a logician would say, and others which are not the marks of anything; there are relations of time and space which are the expression of a law; there are some which are accidental, and may possibly never be reproduced. it would be a wonderful advantage if every scientific specialist would make out a list of the non-significant properties that he recognises in matter. the chemist, for example, would show us that specific weight has hardly any value in diagnosis, that the crystalline form of a salt is often not its own, that its colour especially is almost negligible because an immense number of crystals are white or colourless, that precipitation by a given substance does not ordinarily suffice to characterise a body, and so on. the botanist, on his part, would show us that, in determining plants, absolute dimension is less important than proportion, colour less important than form, certain structures of organs less important than others. the pathologist would teach us that most pathological symptoms have but a trivial value; the cries, the enervation, the agitation of a patient, even the delirium which so affects the bystanders, are less characteristic of fever than the rate of his pulse, and the latter less than the temperature of the armpit or the dryness of the tongue, &c. at every moment the study of science reveals resemblances of facts and contiguities of facts which must be neglected for the sake of others. and if we pass from this profound knowledge of the objects to the empirical knowledge, to the external perception of bodies, it is in immense number that one espies around one traps laid by nature. the sound we hear resembles several others, all produced by different causes; many of our visual sensations likewise lend themselves to the most varied interpretations; by the side of the efficient cause of an event we find a thousand entangled contingencies which appear so important that to disentangle them we are as much perplexed as the savage, who, unable to discriminate between causes and coincidences, returns to drink at the well which has cured him, carefully keeping to the same hour, the same gestures, and the same finery. the reason of this is that the faculty of similarity and the faculty of contiguity do not give the distinction, necessary as it is, between resemblances and co-existences which are significant and those which are not. the causal nexus between two phenomena is not perceived as something apart and _sui generis_; it is not even perceived at all. we perceive only their relation in time and space, and it is our mind which raises a succession to the height of a causal connection, by intercalating between cause and effect something of what we ourselves feel when we voluntarily order the execution of a movement. this is not the place to inquire what are the experimental conditions in which we subject phenomena to this anthropomorphic transformation; it will suffice for us to repeat here that, in perception, a chance relation between phenomena impresses us in the same way as when it is the expression of a law. our intellectual machine sometimes works in accord with the external law and at others makes mistakes and goes the wrong way. then we are obliged to correct it, and to try a better adjustment, either by profounder experimenting with nature (methods of concordance, discordance, variations, &c.), or by a comparison of different judgments and arguments made into a synthesis; and this collaboration of several concordant activities ends in a conclusion which can never represent the truth, but only the probable truth. the study of the laws of the mind shows us too clearly, in fact, their fluidity with regard to the laws of nature for us not to accept probabilism. there exists no certitude--only very varied degrees of probability. daily practice contents itself with a very low degree of probability; judicial logic demands a rather higher one, especially when it is a question of depriving one of our fellow-creatures of liberty or life. science claims one higher still. but there is never anything but differences of degrees in probability and conjecture. this, then, is the definition of psychology that we propose. it studies a certain number of laws which we term mental, in opposition to those of external nature, from which they differ, but which, properly speaking, do not deserve the qualification of mental, since they are--or at least the best known of them are--laws of the images, and the images are material elements. although it may seem absolutely paradoxical, psychology is a science of matter--the science of a part of matter which has the property of preadaptation. footnotes: [footnote : lange, _histoire du matérialisme_, ii., me. partie, chap. iii.] [footnote : let us remark, in passing, how badly nature has organised the system of communication between thinking beings. in what we experience we have nothing in common with our fellows; each one experiences his own sensations and not those of others. the only meeting point of different minds is found in the inaccessible domain of the _noumena._] [footnote : e. rabier, _leçons de philosophie_, "psychologie," p. .] [footnote : this seems to have been the opinion of democritus. the modern doctrine of radiation from the human body, if established, would go nearly as far as the supposition in the text. up till now, however, it lacks confirmation.--ed.] [footnote : i am compelled, much against my will, to use throughout this passage an equivocal expression, that of "mental law," or law of consciousness, or psychological law. i indicate by this the laws of contiguity and of similarity; as they result from the properties of the images, and as these are of a material nature, they are really physical and material laws like those of external nature. but how can all these laws be called physical laws without running the risk of confusing them one with the other?] [footnote : _finality_ seems to be here used in the sense of the doctrine which regards perfection as the final cause of existence.--ed.] [footnote : see a very interesting article by e. goblot, "la finalité sans intelligence," _revue de métaphysique_, july .] book iii the union of the soul[ ] and the body chapter i the mind has an incomplete life the problem of the union of the mind and the body is not one of those which present themselves in pure speculation; it has its roots in experimental facts, and is forced upon us by the necessity of explaining observations such as those we are about to quote. the force of our consciousness, the correctness of our judgments, our tempers and our characters, the state of health of our minds, and also their troubles, their weaknesses, and even their existence, are all in a state of strict dependence on the condition of our bodies, more precisely with that of our nervous systems, or, more precisely still, with the state of those three pounds of proteid substance which each of us has at the back of his forehead, and which are called our brains. this is daily demonstrated by thousands upon thousands of observations. the question is to know how this union of the body with the consciousness is to be explained, it being assumed that the two terms of this union present a great difference in their nature. the easier it seems to demonstrate that this union exists, the more difficult it appears to explain how it is realised; and the proof of this difficulty is the number of divergent interpretations given to it. were it a simple question of fact, the perpetual discussions and controversies upon it would not arise. many problems here present themselves. the first is that of the genesis or origin of the consciousness. it has to be explained how a psychical phenomenon can appear in the midst of material ones. in general, one begins by supposing that the material phenomena are produced first; they consist, for instance, in the working of the nervous centres. all this is physical or chemical, and therefore material. then at a given moment, after this mechanical process, a quite different phenomenon emerges. this is thought, consciousness, emotion. then comes the question whether this production of thought in the midst of physical phenomena is capable of explanation, and how thought is connected with its physical antecedents. what is the nature of the link between them? is it a relation of cause to effect, of genesis? or a coincidence? or the interaction of two distinct forces? is this relation constant or necessary? can the mind enjoy an existence independent of the brain? can it survive the death of the brain? the second question is that of knowing what is the rôle, the utility, and the efficacity of the psychical phenomenon. once formed, this phenomenon evolves in a certain direction and assumes to us who have consciousness of it a very great importance. what is its action on the material phenomena of the brain which surround it? does it develop according to laws of its own, which have no relation to the laws of brain action? does it exercise any action on these intra-cerebral functions? does it exercise any action on the centrifugal currents which go to the motor nerves? is it capable of exciting a movement? or is it deprived of all power of creating effect? we will briefly examine the principal solutions which the imagination of mankind has found for these very difficult problems. some of the best known of these solutions bear the names of spiritualism, materialism, parallelism, and monism. we will speak of these and of some others also. before beginning our critical statement, let us recall some of the results of our previous analyses which here intrude themselves, to use the ambitious language of kant, as the prolegomena to every future solution which claims the title of science. in fact, we are now no longer at the outset of our investigation. we have had to acknowledge the exactness of certain facts, and we are bound to admit their consequences. notably, the definition of psychical phenomena at which we arrived, not without some trouble, will henceforth play a rather large part in our discussion. it will force us to question a great metaphysical principle which, up till now, has been almost universally considered as governing the problem of the union of the mind with the body. this principle bears the name of the _axiom of heterogeneity_, or the principle of _psycho-physical dualism_. no philosopher has more clearly formulated it, and more logically deduced its consequences, than flournoy. this author has written a little pamphlet called _métaphysique et psychologie_, wherein he briefly sets forth all the known systems of metaphysics by reducing them to the so-called principle of heterogeneity; after this, the same principle enables him to "execute" them. he formulates it in the following terms: "body and mind, consciousness and the molecular cerebral movement of the brain, the psychical fact and the physical fact, although simultaneous, are heterogeneous, unconnected, irreducible, and obstinately two."[ ] the same author adds: "this is evident of itself, and axiomatic. every physical, chemical, or physiological event, in the last resort, simply consists, according to science, in a more or less rapid displacement of a certain number of material elements, in a change of their mutual distances or of their modes of grouping. now, what can there be in common, i ask you, what analogy can you see, between this drawing together or moving apart of material masses in space, and the fact of having a feeling of joy, the recollection of an absent friend, the perception of a gas jet, a desire, or of an act of volition of any kind?" and further on: "all that we can say to connect two events so absolutely dissimilar is, that they take place _at the same time_.... this does not mean that we wish to reduce them to unity, or to join them together by the link of causality ... it is impossible to conceive any real connection, any internal relation between these two unconnected things." let us not hesitate to denounce as false this proposition which is presented to us as an axiom. on looking closely into it, we shall perceive that the principle of heterogeneity does not contain the consequences it is sought to ascribe to it. it seems to me it should be split up into two propositions of very unequal value: , the mind and body are heterogeneous; , by virtue of this heterogeneity it is not possible to understand any direct relation between the two. now, if the first proposition is absolutely correct, in the sense that consciousness and matter are heterogeneous, the second proposition seems to us directly contrary to the facts, which show us that the phenomena of consciousness are incomplete phenomena. the consciousness is not sufficient for itself; as we have said, it cannot exist by itself. this again, if you like, is an axiom, or rather it is a fact shown by observation and confirmed by reflection. mind and matter brought down to the essential, to the consciousness and its object, form a natural whole, and the difficulty does not consist in uniting but in separating them. consider the following fact: "i experience a sensation, and i have consciousness of it." this is the coupling of two things--a sensation and a cognition. the two elements, if we insist upon it, are heterogeneous, and they differ qualitatively; but notwithstanding the existing prejudice by reason of which no direct relation, no commerce, can be admitted between heterogeneous facts, the alliance of the consciousness and the sensation is the natural and primitive fact. they can only be separated by analysis, and a scrupulous mind might even ask whether one has the right to separate them. i have a sensation, and i have consciousness of it. if not two facts, they are one and the same. now, sensation is matter and my consciousness is mind. if i am judging an assortment of stuffs, this assortment, or the sensation i have of them, is a particle of matter, a material state, and my judgment on this sensation is the psychical phenomenon. we can neither believe, nor desire, nor do any act of our intelligence without realising this welding together of mind and matter. they are as inseparable as motion and the object that moves; and this comparison, though far-fetched, is really very convenient. motion cannot exist without a mobile object; and an object, on the other hand, can exist without movement. in the same way, sensation may exist without the consciousness; but the converse proposition, consciousness without sensation, without an object, an empty consciousness or a "pure thought," cannot be understood. let us mark clearly how this union is put forward by us. we describe it after nature. it is observation which reveals to us the union and the fusion of the two terms into one. or, rather, we do not even perceive their union until the moment when, by a process of analysis, we succeed in convincing ourselves that that which we at first considered single is really double, or, if you like, can be made into two by the reason, without being so in reality. thus it happens that we bring this big problem in metaphysics on to the field of observation. our solution vaguely resembles that which has sometimes been presented under the ancient name of _physical influx_, or under the more modern name of _inter-actionism_. there are many authors who maintain that the soul can act directly on the body and modify it, and this is what is called inter-actionism. thereby is understood, if i mistake not, an action from cause to effect, produced between two terms which enjoy a certain independence with regard to each other. this interpretation is indubitably close to ours, though not to be confused with it. my personal interpretation sets aside the idea of all independence of the mind, since it attributes to the mind an incomplete and, as it were, a virtual existence. if we had to seek paternity for ideas i would much rather turn to aristotle. it was not without some surprise that i was able to convince myself that the above theory of the relations between the soul and the body is to be found almost in its entirety in the great philosopher. it is true that it is mixed up with many accessory ideas which are out of date and which we now reject; but the essential of the theory is there very clearly formulated, and that is the important point. a few details on this subject will not be out of place. i give them, not from the original source, which i am not erudite enough to consult direct, but from the learned treatise which bain has published on the psychology of aristotle, as an appendix to his work on the senses and the intelligence. the whole metaphysics of aristotle is dominated by the distinction between form and matter. this distinction is borrowed from the most familiar fact in the sensible world--the form of solid objects. we may name a substance without troubling ourselves as to the form it possesses, and we may name the form without regard to the substance that it clothes. but this distinction is a purely abstract one, for there can be no real separation of form from matter, no form without matter, and no matter without form. the two terms are correlative; each one implies the other, and neither can be realised or actualised without the other. every individual substance can be considered from a triple point of view: st, form; nd, matter; and rd, the compound or aggregate of form and matter, the inseparable _ens_, which transports us out of the domain of logic and abstraction into that of reality. aristotle recognises between these two logical correlatives a difference in rank. form is superior, nobler, the higher in dignity, nearer to the perfect entity; matter is inferior, more modest, more distant from perfection. on account of its hierarchical inferiority, matter is often presented as the second, or _correlatum_, and form as the first, or _relatum_. this difference in rank is so strongly marked, that these two correlations are likewise conceived in a different form--that of the potential and the actual. matter is the potential, imperfect, roughly outlined element which is not yet actual, and may perhaps never become so. form is the actual, the energy, the entelechy which actualises the potential and determines the final compound. these few definitions will make clear the singularly ingenious idea of aristotle on the nature of the body, the soul, and of their union. the body is matter which is only intelligible as the _correlatum_ of form; it can neither exist by itself nor be known by itself--that is to say, when considered outside this relation. the soul is form, the actual. by uniting with the body it constitutes the living subject. the soul is the _relatum_, and is unintelligible and void of sense without its _correlatum_. "the soul," says aristotle, "is not a variety of body, but it could not exist without a body: the soul is not a body, but something which belongs or is relative to a body." the animated subject is a form plunged and engaged in matter, and all its actions and passions are so likewise. each has its formal side which concerns the soul, and its material side which concerns the body. the emotion which belongs to the animated subject or aggregate of soul and body is a complex fact having two aspects logically distinguishable from each other, each of which is correlative to the other and implies it. it is thus not only with our passions, but also with our perceptions, our imaginations, reminiscences, reasonings, and efforts of attention to learn. intelligence, like emotion, is a phenomenon not simply of the corporeal organism nor of the [greek: nous] only, but of the commonalty or association of which they are members, and when the intelligence weakens it is not because the [greek: nous] is altered, but because the association is destroyed by the ruin of the corporeal organism. these few notes, which i have taken in their integrity from bain's text, allow us thoroughly to comprehend the thought of aristotle, and it seems to me that the greek philosopher, by making of the soul and body two correlative terms, has formed a comparison of great exactness. i also much admire his idea according to which it is through the union of the body and soul that the whole, which till then was only possible, goes forth from the domain of logic and becomes actual. the soul actualises the body, and becomes, as he said, its entelechy. these views are too close to those i have myself just set forth for it to be necessary to dwell on their resemblance. the latter would become still stronger if we separated from the thought of aristotle a few developments which are not essential, though he allowed them great importance: i refer to the continual comparison he makes with the form and matter of corporeal objects. happy though it may be, this comparison is but a metaphor which perhaps facilitates the understanding of aristotle's idea, but is not essential to his theory. for my part, i attach far greater importance to the character of _relatum_, and _correlatum_ ascribed to the two terms mind and matter, and to the actualisation[ ] produced by their union. let me add another point of comparison. aristotle's theory recalls in a striking manner that of kant on the _a priori_ forms of thought. the form of thought, or the category, is nothing without the matter of cognition, and the latter is nothing without the application of form. "thoughts without content given by sensation are empty; intuitions without concept furnished by the understanding are blind." there is nothing astonishing in finding here the same illustration, since there is throughout a question of describing the same phenomenon,--the relation of mind to matter. there remains to us to review the principal types of metaphysical systems. we shall discuss these by taking as our guide the principle we have just evolved, and which may be thus formulated: _the phenomena of consciousness constitute an incomplete mode of existence._ footnotes: [footnote : see [note ] on p. .] [footnote : for reference, see [note ] on p. .--ed.] [footnote : _i.e._ rendering actual.--ed.] chapter ii spiritualism[ ] and idealism flournoy has somewhere written that the chief interest of the systems of metaphysics lies less in the intellectual constructions they raise than in the aspirations of the mind and of the heart to which they correspond. without taking literally this terribly sceptical opinion, it would be highly useful to begin the study of any metaphysical system by the psychology of its author. the value of each system would be better understood, and their reasons would be comprehended. this book is too short to permit us to enter into such biographical details. i am obliged to take the metaphysical systems _en bloc_, as if they were anonymous works, and to efface all the shades, occasionally so curious, that the thought of each author has introduced into them. yet, however brief our statement, it seems indispensable to indicate clearly the physical or moral idea concealed within each system. spiritualism it is known that spiritualism is a doctrine which has for its chief aim the raising of the dignity of man, by recognising in him faculties superior to the properties of matter. we constantly meet, in spiritualism, with the notion of superior and inferior, understood not only in an intellectual sense but also in the sense of moral worth. it will also be remarked, as a consequence of the above principle, that a spiritualist does not confine himself to discussing the ideas of his habitual adversary, the materialist; he finds them not only false, but dangerous, and is indignant with them; some persons even ingenuously acknowledge that they hold firmly to certain principles because they fear to be converted to materialism. i can also discern in this system a very natural horror of death, which inspires in so many people, of whom i am one, both hatred and disgust. the spiritualist revolts against the prospect of a definitive annihilation of thought, and the system he adopts is largely explained as an effort towards immortality. this effort has led to the theory of two substances, the soul and the body, which are represented as being as thoroughly separated as possible. the soul has not its origin in the body, and it derives none of its properties from its fellow; it is a substance created in complete independence relatively to the body; the soul, in its essence, has nothing in common with matter. the essence of the soul, said descartes, is thought; the essence of the body is extent. it follows from this that the soul, in its determinations and actions, is liberated from the laws and necessities of the corporeal nature; it is a free power, a power of indetermination, capable of choice, capable of introducing new, unforeseen, and unforeseeable actions, and on this point opposes itself to corporeal phenomena, which are all subject to a determinism so rigorous that any event could be foreseen if its antecedents were known. another consequence of spiritualism is the admission of the immortality of the soul, which, being widely distinct from the body, is not affected by its dissolution; it is, on the contrary, liberated, since death cuts the link which binds them together. but there is a link, and the explanation of this link brings with it the ruin of the whole system. one is forced to admit that this principle of the separation of body and soul is liable, in fact, to many exceptions. even if they are two isolated powers, the necessities of life oblige them to enter continually into communication with each other. in the case of perceptions, it is the body which acts on the soul and imparts sensations to it; in movements, it is the soul, on the contrary, which acts on the body, to make it execute its desires and its will. spiritualists must acknowledge that they are at some trouble to explain this traffic between the two substances; for, with their respect for the principle of heterogeneity mentioned above, they do not manage to conceive how that contact of the physical and the mental can be made which is constantly necessary in the life of relation. by what means, have they long asked themselves, can that which is only extent act on that which is only thought? how can we represent to ourselves this _local_ union of matter with an immaterial principle, which, by its essence, does not exist in space? the two substances have been so completely separated, to insure the liberty of the soul and its superiority over the body, that it has become impossible to bring them together. the scission has been too complete. they cannot be sewn together again. such are the principal objections raised against spiritualism. these objections are derived from points of view which are not ours, and we have therefore no need to estimate their value. from our point of view, the spiritualist conception has chosen an excellent starting point. by establishing the consciousness and the object of cognition as two autonomous powers, neither of which is the slave of the other, spiritualism has arrived at an opinion of irreproachable exactness; it is indeed thus that the relations of these two terms must be stated; each has the same importance and the right to the same autonomy.[ ] yet, spiritualism has not rested there, and, by a lamentable exaggeration, it has thought that the consciousness, which it calls the soul, could exercise its functions in complete independence of the object of cognition, which it calls matter. there is the error. it consists in misunderstanding the incomplete and, as it were, virtual existence of the consciousness. this refutation is enough as regards spiritualism. nothing more need be added. idealism idealism is an exceedingly complex system, varying much with varying authors, very polymorphous, and consequently very difficult to discuss. the ancient hylozoism, the monadism of leibnitz, and the recent panpsychism of m. strong are only different forms of the same doctrine. like spiritualism, with which it is connected by many ties, idealism is a philosophy which expresses some disdain for matter, but the thoughts which have sought to shelter themselves under this philosophy are so varied that it would be perilous to try to define them briefly. there can be discussed in idealism a certain number of affirmations which form the basis of the system. none of these affirmations is, strictly speaking, demonstrated or demonstrable; but they offer very different degrees of probability, and it is for this reason that we shall notice them. amongst these affirmations there are some that we have already met with in our study of the definition of sensation; others will be newer to us. . here is one which seems to arise directly from the facts, and appears for a long time to have constituted an impregnable position for idealists. it may be expressed in three words: _esse est percipi_. starting with the observation that every time we bear witness to the existence of the external world, it is because we perceive it, idealists admit that the existence of this external world shares exactly the lot of our perception, and that like it it is discontinuous and intermittent. when we close our eyes, it ceases to exist, like a torch which is extinguished, and lights up again when we open them. we have already discussed this proposition, and have shown that it contains nothing imperative; and we may very well decline to subscribe to it. . there follows a second proposition, barely distinct from the previous one. there should be nothing else in objects but that which we perceive, and that of which we have consciousness should be, in the fullest possible acceptation of the words, the measure of what is. consequently there should be no need to seek, under the object perceived, another and larger reality, a source from which might flow wider knowledge than that we at present possess. this is as disputable as the preceding affirmation, and for the same reasons. . the third proposition is the heart of the idealist thesis. it is sometimes presented as a deduction from the foregoing, but it is nevertheless thoroughly distinct from it, and the preceding affirmations might legitimately be accepted and this new one rejected. this proposition may be expressed thus: _everything that is perceived is psychical._ it is not only idealists who subscribe to this opinion, however, and we have seen, when dealing with the definition of matter, that it is widely spread. we understand by it that the objects we perceive exist in the consciousness, are of the consciousness, and are constituted by ideas; the whole world is nothing but idea and representation; and, since our mind is taken to be of a psychical nature, the result is that everything, absolutely everything, the person who knows and the thing known, are all psychical. this is panpsychism. flournoy, on this point, says, with a charm coloured by irony: "we henceforth experience a sweet family feeling, we find ourselves, so to speak, _at home_ in the midst of this universe ..."[ ] we have demonstrated above that the unity here attained is purely verbal, since we cannot succeed in suppressing the essential differences of things. . now comes an affirmation on the genesis of things. after having admitted that the object is an idea of the mind, one of its manifestations, or one of its moods, the idealists go so far as to say that the consciousness is the generating power of ideas, and, consequently, the generating cause of the universe. it is thought which creates the world. that is the final conclusion. i indicated, beforehand, in the chapters on the definition of sensation and on the distinction between the consciousness and the object, the reasons which lead me to reject the premises of idealism. it will be sufficient to offer here a criticism on its last conclusion: "it is the mind that creates the world." this thesis strikes at the duality--consciousness and object; it gives the supremacy to the consciousness by making of the object an effect or property of the former. we can object that this genesis cannot be clearly represented, and that for the very simple reason that it is impossible to clearly accept "mind" as a separate entity and distinct from matter. it is easy to affirm this separation, thanks to the psittacism of the words, which are here used like counterfeit coin, but we cannot represent it to ourselves, for it corresponds to nothing. the consciousness constitutes all that is mental in the world; nothing else can be described as mental. now this consciousness only exists as an act; it is, in other terms, an incomplete form of existence, which does not exist apart from its object, of which the true name is matter. it is therefore very difficult to understand this affirmation, "it is the mind that creates the world," since to be able to do so, we should have to imagine a consciousness without an object. moreover, should we even succeed in doing so, we should be none the more disposed, on that account, to give assent to this proposition. consciousness and matter represent to us the most different and antithetical terms of the whole of the knowable. were the hypothesis to be advanced that one of these elements is capable of engendering the other, we should immediately have to ask ourselves why this generating power and this pre-eminence should be attributed to one rather than to the other element. who can claim that one solution is more clear, more reasonable, or more probable than the other? one of the great advantages of the history of philosophy here asserts itself. this history shows us that different minds when reflecting on the same problems have come to conceive solutions which have appeared to them clear, and consequently were possible; now, as these solutions are often contradictory, nothing shows better than their collation the distance between possibility and fact. thus the materialists, who, like the idealists, have put forward a genetic theory of the mind, have conceived mind as produced by matter;--a conception diametrically opposed to that of the idealists. it may be said that these two conceptions, opposed in sense, annul each other, and that each of these two philosophical systems has rendered us service by demonstrating the error of the opposing system. footnotes: [footnote : it is, perhaps, needless to point out that by "spiritualism" m. binet does not mean the doctrine of the spirit-rappers, whom he, like other scientific writers, designates as "spiritists," but the creed of all those who believe in disembodied spirits or existences.--ed.] [footnote : i do not insist on the difference between my conception and the spiritualistic conception; my distinction between consciousness and matter does not correspond, it is evident, to that of "facts of consciousness" and "physical facts" which spiritualism sets up.] [footnote : _archives de psychologie_, vol. iv. no. , nov. , p. (article on panpsychism).] chapter iii materialism and parallelism materialism is a very ancient doctrine. it is even the most ancient of all, which simply proves that amongst the different explanations given of our double physico-mental nature, this doctrine is the easiest to understand. the origin of materialism is to be found in the beliefs of savage tribes, and is again found, very clearly defined, in the philosophy of those ancient greeks who philosophized before plato and aristotle. a still stranger fact is that the thoughts of a great number of the fathers of the church inclined towards the philosophy of matter. then, in the course of its evolution, there occurred a moment of eclipse, and materialism ceased to attract attention till the contemporary period in which we assist at its re-birth, nowadays, it constitutes a powerful doctrine, the more so that it has surreptitiously crept into the thoughts of many learned men without their being clearly conscious of it. there are many physicists and physiologists who think and speak as materialists, though they have made up their minds to remain on the battle-ground of observed facts and have a holy horror of metaphysics. in a certain sense, it may be said that materialism is the metaphysics of those who refuse to be metaphysicians. it is very evident that in the course of its long history, materialism has often changed its skin. like all knowledge, it has been subject to the law of progress; and, certainly, it would not have been of a nature to satisfy the intellectual wants of contemporary scholars, had it not stripped itself of the rude form under which it first manifested itself in the mind of primitive man. yet what has enabled the doctrine to keep its unity through all its changes is that it manifests a deeply human tendency to cling by preference to everything visible and tangible. whatever strikes the eyes, or can be felt by the hand, seems to us in the highest degree endowed with reality or existence. it is only much later, after an effort of refined thought, that we come to recognise an existence in everything that can be perceived in any way whatever, even in an idea. it is still later that we understand that existence is not only that which is perceived but also that which is linked logically with the rest of our knowledge. a good deal of progress has been necessary to reach this point. as i have not the slightest intention of giving even an abridged history of materialism, let us come at once to the present day, and endeavour to say in what consists the scientific form this doctrine has assumed. its fundamental basis has not changed. it still rests on our tendency to give chief importance to what can be seen and touched; and it is an effect of the hegemony of three of our senses, the visual, the tactile, and the muscular. the extraordinary development of the physical sciences has no doubt given an enormous encouragement to materialism, and it may be said that in the philosophy of nature it occupies a principal place, and that it is there in its own domain and unassailable. it has become the expression of the idea that everything that can be explained scientifically, everything susceptible of being measured, is a material phenomenon. it is the representation of the material explanation pushed to its last limits, and all experiments, all calculations, all inductions resting on the grand principle of the conservation of matter and energy plead in its favour. we will examine with some precision how far such a doctrine solves the problem of the existence of the intellectual functions. the doctrine has understood this connection as being purely material, and has sought its image in other phenomena which are entirely so. thus, it has borrowed from physiology the principle of its explanation, it has transported into the domain of thought the idea of function, and it has supposed that the soul is to the body in the relation of function to organ. intelligence would thus be a cerebral function. to explain intelligence, materialists link it with matter, turn it into a property of matter, and compare it to a movement of matter, and sometimes even to a secretion. so karl vogt, the illustrious genevan naturalist, one day declared, to the great scandal of every one, that the brain secretes the thought as the kidney does urine. this bold comparison seemed shocking, puerile, and false, for a secretion is a material thing while thought is not. karl vogt also employed another comparison: the brain produces the thought as the muscle produces movement, and it at once seems less offensive to compare the thought to a movement than to compare it to a liquid secretion. at the present day, an illustration still more vague would be used, such as that of a transformation of energy: chemical energy disengaged by the nerve centres would be thus looked upon as transformed into psychical energy. however, it matters little what metaphors are applied to for help in explaining the passage from the physical to the mental. what characterises materialist philosophy is its belief in the possibility of such a passage, and its considering it as the genesis of thought. "one calls materialist," says renouvier, with great exactness, "every philosophy which defines thought as the product of a compound whose elements do not imply thought." a sweeping formula which allows us to foresee all the future avatars of the materialist doctrine, and to class them beforehand in the same category. the criticisms which have been directed against materialism are all, or nearly all, variations of the principle of heterogeneity. we will not dwell long on this, but simply recollect that, according to this principle, it is impossible to attribute to the brain the capacity of generating consciousness. physical force can indeed generate physical force under the same or a different form, and it thus produces all the effects which are determined by the laws of nature. but it is impossible to comprehend how physical force can enrich itself at a given moment by a conscious force. physical force is reduced to movements of bodies and to displacements of atoms; how could a change of position in any inert objects give rise to a judgment, a reasoning, or any phenomenon of the consciousness? it is further said: this idea of function, which materialists here introduce to render more comprehensible the passage from a material body to a spiritual action, contains only an empty explanation, for the function is not essentially distinct by its nature from the organ; it is simply "the organ in activity," it adds to the organ taken in a state of repose but one change, viz. activity, that is to say movement, and, consequently, the function of an organ is material by the same right as the organ. when a muscle contracts, this contraction, which is the proper function of the muscular fibre, consists in a condensation of the muscular protoplasm, and this condensation is a material fact. when a gland enters into activity, a certain quantity of liquid flows into the channels of the gland, and this liquid is caused by a physical and chemical modification of the cellular protoplasm; it is a melting, or a liquefaction, which likewise is material. the function of the nerve cell is to produce movement, or to preserve it, or to direct it; ii is material like the cells. there is therefore nothing in all those functional phenomena which might lead us to understand how a material cause should be capable of engendering a conscious effect. it seems that all materialists have acknowledged that here is the vulnerable point in their theory, for it is the principle of heterogeneity which they have especially combated. but their defence is wanting in frankness, and principally consists in subterfuges. in brief, it affirms that we are surrounded with mystery, that we are not sufficiently learned to have the right to impose limits to the power of matter, and to say to it: "thou shalt not produce this phenomenon." a materialist theologian declares that he sees no impossibility in stones thinking and arguing, if god, in his infinite power, has decided to unite thought with brute matter. this argument is not really serious; it demands the intervention of so powerful a _deus ex machina_, that it can be applied equally to all problems; to solve all is to solve none. modern materialists rightly do not bring god into the question. their mode of argument takes another form; but it remains to be seen if, at bottom, it is not the same as the other. it simply consists in affirming that up till now we know certain properties of matter only, but that science every day discovers new ones; that matter is a reservoir of unknown forces, and that it is not impossible that the origin of psychical forces may yet be discovered in matter. this idea is clearly hinted at by littré. the physicist tyndall gave it a definite formula when he uttered at the belfast congress this phrase so often quoted: "if i look back on the limits of experimental science, i can discern in the bosom of that matter (which, in our ignorance, while at the same time professing our respect for its creator, we have, till now, treated with opprobrium) the promise and the power of all forms and qualities of life." the opponents of the doctrine have not ceased to answer that the matter of to-morrow, like the matter of to-day, can generate none but material effects, and that a difficulty is not solved by putting off its solution to some indefinite date in our scientific evolution: and it certainly seems that the counter-stroke is decisive, if we admit the principle of heterogeneity with its natural consequence. we will now criticise the above doctrine by making use of the ideas i have above enunciated. the criticism we have to apply to materialism is not the same as that just summarised. the axis of the discussion changes its position. in the first place, i reproach materialism with presenting itself as a theory of the generation of the consciousness by the object. we have already reproached idealism with putting itself forward as a theory of the generation of the object by the consciousness. the error of the two systems is produced in a converse direction, but is of the same gravity. the consciousness and its object, we say yet again, constitute the widest division it is possible to effect in the domain of cognition; it is quite as illegitimate to reduce the first term to the second as to reduce the second to the first. to reduce one to the other, by way of affiliation or otherwise, there must first be discovered, then, an identity of nature which does not exist. in the second place, when one examines closely the explanation materialism has imagined in order to derive thought from an action of matter, it is seen that this representation is rendered completely impossible by all we know of the nature of thought. for the materialist to suppose for one moment that thought is a cerebral function, he must evidently make an illusion for himself as to what thought is, and must juggle with concepts. perhaps, could we penetrate into his own inmost thought, we should discover that at the moment he supposes a mere cell can manufacture the phenomena of consciousness, some vague image suggests itself to him whereby he identifies these phenomena with a light and subtle principle escaping from the nerve cell, something which resembles an electric _effluve_, or a will-of-the-wisp, or the flame from a punch-bowl.[ ] i cannot, of course, tell whether my supposition is correct. but what i assert, with the calmness of perfect certitude, is that the materialist has not taken the pains to analyse attentively what he calls the phenomenon of consciousness. had he made this analysis and kept the elements in his mind, he would have seen that it is almost impossible to hook in any way a phenomenon of consciousness on to a material molecule. in fact, also, to take this into account, we will not remain within the vagueness of the concept, but will take a particular example to argue upon, viz. that of an external perception. i open my window on a fine day, and i see before me a sunny plain, with, as far as the eye can reach, houses amongst the trees, and again more houses, the most distant of which are outlined against my far-off horizon. this is my mental phenomenon. and while i am at my window, my eyes fixed on the view, the anatomist declares that, starting from my retina, molecular vibrations travel along the optic nerve, cross each other at the chiasma, enter into the fascia, pass through the internal capsule and reach the hemispheres, or rather the occipital regions, of the brain, where, for the moment, we agree to localise the centre of projection of the visual sensations. this is my physical phenomenon. it now becomes the question of passing from this physical phenomena to the mental one. and here we are stopped by a really formidable difficulty. my mental phenomenon is not entirely mental, as is usually supposed from the deceitful brevity of the phrase. it is in great part physical, for it can be decomposed into two elements, a consciousness and its object; and this object of the consciousness, this group of little houses i see in the plain, belongs to sensation--that is to say, to something physical--or, in other words, to matter. let us examine in its turn the physical process which is supposed to be discovered in my nervous centres while i am in course of contemplating the landscape. this pretended physical process itself, quite as much as my conscious perception of the landscape, is a physico-psychical phenomenon; for my cerebral movements are perceived, hypothetically at least, by an observer. this is a perception, consequently it can be decomposed into two things, a consciousness and its object. as a further consequence, when we wish, by a metaphysical effort, to attach the consciousness to a material state of the brain and to establish a link between the two events, it will be found that we wrongly hook one physico-mental phenomenon on to another. but, evidently, this objection is not a refutation. we may if we choose suppose that the so-called cerebral process is capable of subsisting at moments when no one perceives it, and that it exists of itself, is sufficient for itself, and is entirely physical. but can we subject the mental process of perception to the same purification? can we separate these two elements, the consciousness and its object, retain the element consciousness and reject the element object, which is physical, thus constituting a phenomenon entirely mental, which might then be possibly placed beside the entirely physical phenomenon, so as to study their relation to each other? this is quite impossible, and the impossibility is double, for it exists _de facto_ and _de jure_. _de jure_, because we have already established that a consciousness empty and without object cannot be conceived. _de facto_, because the existence of the object that consciousness carries with it is very embarrassing for the materialist; for this object is material, and as real and material as the fibres and cells of the brain. it might, indeed, be supposed that by transformation or otherwise there goes forth from the cerebral convolution a purely psychical phenomenon resembling a wave. but how can we conceive the transformation of this convolution into a semi-material phenomenon? how can we comprehend that there should issue from this convolution the material object of a perception--for example, a plain dotted with houses? an english histologist remarked one day, with some eloquence, how little the most minute study of the brain aided us to understand thought. he was thus answering auguste comte, who, in a moment of aberration, claimed that psychology, in order to become a science, ought to reject the testimony of the consciousness, and to use exclusively as its means of study the histology of the nerve centres and the measurement of the cranium. our histologist, who had passed part of his life examining, under the microscope, fragments of cerebral matter, in following the forms of the cells, the course of the fibres, and the grouping and distribution of the fascia, made the following remark: "it is the fact that the study, however patient, minute, and thorough it might be, of this nerve-skein can never enable us to know what a state of consciousness is, if we do not know it otherwise; for never across the field of the microscope is there seen to pass a memory, an emotion, or an act of volition." and, he added, "he who confines himself to peering into these material structures remains as ignorant of the phenomena of the mind as the london cabman who, for ever travelling through the streets of the great city, is ignorant of what is said and what is going on in the interior of the houses." this picturesque comparison, the truth of which has never been questioned, is based on this supposition, that the psychical act is entirely immaterial and invisible, and therefore escapes the piercing eye of the microscope. but a deeper analysis of the mind shows how little exact is this assertion. from the moment each psychical act implies a material object, we can ask ourselves two things: ( ) why is it that the anatomist does not discover these material objects in the interior of the brain? we ought to see them, for they are material, and therefore visible. we ought to see them with their aspect and colour, or be able to explain why they are not seen. in general, all that is described to us in the brain is the molecular vibrations. but we are not conscious of them. where, then, is that of which we are conscious? ( ) it should next be explained to us by what elaboration, transmutation, or metamorphosis a molecular disturbance, which is material, can transform itself into the objects which are equally material. this is the criticism we have to address to materialism. until proof to the contrary, i hold it to be irrefutable. parallelism for this exposition to follow the logical order of ideas, the discussion on materialism should be immediately succeeded by that on parallelism. these two doctrines are near akin; they resemble each other as the second edition of a book, revised and corrected, resembles the first. parallelism is the materialist doctrine of those forewarned folk, who have perceived the errors committed and endeavour to avoid them, while cherishing all that can be saved of the condemned doctrine. that which philosophers criticised in materialism was the misunderstanding of the principle of heterogeneity. the parallelists have seen this mistake, and have taken steps to respect this principle: we shall see in what way. they are especially prudent, and they excel in avoiding being compromised. they put forth their hypothesis as a provisional one, and they vaunt its convenience. it is, say they, a practical method of avoiding many difficulties; it becomes for philosophers an equivalent of that phrase which so many timorous ministers repeat: "above all, no scrapes!" let us study the exact point on which parallelism has amended materialism. we have seen that every materialist doctrine is the expression of this idea, that physical phenomena are the only ones that are determined, measurable, explicable, and scientific. this idea does wonders in the natural sciences, but is at fault when, from the physical, we pass into the moral world, and we have seen how the materialistic doctrine fails when it endeavours to attach the physical to the mental. there are then two great difficulties which the materialistic explanation finds before it; one is a difficulty of mechanism and the other of genesis. by connecting the mind with the brain, like a function to its organ, this doctrine seeks to solve these two problems, and with what little success we have seen. parallelism, has tried to avoid these two problems; not only does it not solve them, but it arranges so as not to propound them. the expedient adopted consists in avoiding the meeting of the physical and the mental; instead of placing them end to end and welding one to the other, they are placed in parallel fashion side by side. to explain their correlation, which so many observations vaguely demonstrate, the following hypothesis is advanced. physical and psychical life form two parallel currents, which never mingle their waters; to every state of definite consciousness there corresponds the counterpart of an equally definite state of the nerve centres; the fact of consciousness has its antecedents and its consequences in the consciousness; and the physical fact equally takes its place in a chain of physical facts. the two series are thus evolved, and correspond strictly to each other according to a necessary law; so that the scholar who was perfectly instructed, and to whom one of these states was presented, could describe its fellow. but never does any of the terms of one series influence the terms of the other. observation and the testimony of the consciousness seem to attest this dual progress; but they are, according to the parallelist hypothesis, illusions. when i move my arm by a voluntary act, it is not my will, _qua_ act of consciousness, which determines the movement of the arm--for this is a material fact. the movement is produced by the coming into play of groups of muscles. each muscle, composed of a semi-fluid substance, being excited, contracts in the direction of its greatest length. the excitant of the muscles is also a material fact, a material influx which starts from the motor cells of the encephalon, and of which we know the course down through the pyramidal fascium, the anterior roots of the spinal cord, and the nerves of the periphery to its termination in the motor plates of the muscles. it is this excitement which is the physical, direct, and veritable cause of voluntary movements. and it is the same with all acts and signs, all expressions of our conscious states; the trembling of fear, the redness of anger, the movements of walking, down to the words we utter--all these are physical effects produced by physical processes, which act physically, and of which the mental counterpart has in itself no effective action. let it be understood that i am here pointing out one of the forms, and that the most usual, of the parallelist theory. each author varies it according to his fancy; some widen the correspondence between the physical and the moral, others prefer to narrow it. at one time a vague relation is supposed which is only true on a large scale, and is a union rather than an equivalence. at another, it is an exact counterpart, a complete duplicate in which the smallest physical event corresponds to a mental one. in one of the forms of this theory that has been recently invented, parallelists have gone so far as to assert that there exists no real cohesion in the mental chain, and that no mental phenomenon can have the property of provoking another mental phenomenon by an act of true causality. it is within the nervous tissue, they say, that the nexus of psychic states should be enclosed. these should succeed in time without being directly connected with one another; they should succeed because the physical basis of them is excited in succession. some of them would be like an air on the piano: the notes follow each other and arrange themselves into melodies, not by any affinity proper to themselves, but because the keys of the instrument are struck in the required order. i said a little while ago that parallelism was a perfected materialism. the reason of this will be understood. it is a doctrine which preserves the determinism of physical facts while avoiding the compromising of itself in the difficult explanation of the connection between the soul and the body. it remains scientific without raising a metaphysical heresy. bain is one of those who have most clearly expressed, not only the advantages, but also the aspirations of this theory (_mind and body_, p. ):-- "we have every reason for believing," he says, "that there is in company with all our mental processes, _an unbroken material succession_. from the ingress of a sensation, to the outgoing responses in action, the mental succession is not for an instant dissevered from a physical succession. a new prospect bursts upon the view; there is mental result of sensation, emotion, thought--terminating in outward displays of speech or gesture. parallel to this mental series is the physical series of facts, the successive agitation of the physical organs, called the eye, the retina, the optic nerve, optic centres, cerebral hemispheres, outgoing nerves, muscles, &c. while we go the round of the mental circle of sensation, emotion, and thought, there is an unbroken physical circle of effects. it would be incompatible with everything we know of the cerebral action, to suppose that the physical chain ends abruptly in a physical void, occupied by an immaterial substance; which immaterial substance, after working alone, imparts its results to the other edge of the physical break, and determines the active response--two shores of the material with an intervening ocean of the immaterial. there is, in fact, no rupture of nervous continuity. the only tenable supposition is, that mental and physical proceed together, as undivided twins." on reading this passage it is easy to see the idea which forms the basis of the doctrine. it is, as i have already said, the fetichism of mechanics: parallelism takes its inspiration from this quite as directly as does materialism, but with more skill, inasmuch as it avoids the most dangerous question, that of the interaction of physics and morals, and replaces it by an hypothesis much resembling leibnitz's hypothesis of the pre-established harmony, on the other hand, a second merit of this prudent doctrine is the avoiding the question of genesis. it does not seek for the origin of thought, but places this last in a relation of parallelism with the manifestations of matter; and in the same way that parallel lines prolonged _ad infinitum_ never meet, so the partisans of this doctrine announce their resolution not to inquire how the actual state of things has been formed, nor how it will end if, for example, one of the terms should disappear by the death of the bodily organism. notwithstanding so many precautions, criticisms have not been wanting; only they would seem not to have touched the weak part of the doctrine and not to be decisive. we will only run through them briefly. it has been said: there is no logical necessity which forces us to refuse to the consciousness the privilege of acting in complete independence of the nervous mechanism. it has also been said: it is by no means certain that any nervous mechanism can be invented which imitates and, if need were, could replace an intellectual act. for instance, what association of nerve cells, what molecular action, can imitate an act of comparison which enables us to see a resemblance between two objects? let it be supposed, for example, that the resemblance of two impressions come from a partial identity, and that the latter has for material support an identity in the seat or the form of the corresponding nervous influx. but what is identity? how can it be conceived without supposing resemblance, of which it is but a form? how, then, can the one be explained by the other? thus, for instance, at the bottom of all our intellectual acts, there is a certain degree of belief. can any material combination be found which corresponds thereto? there is one last objection, the most serious of all. parallelism, by establishing a fixed and invariable relation between the physical and the moral, ends by denying the rôle of this last, since the physical mechanism is sufficient to draw to itself all the effects which general belief attributes to the moral. the parallelists on this point go very much further than the materialists; the latter at least concede that the consciousness is of some use, since they compared it to a function or a secretion, and, after all, a secretion is a useful liquid. the parallelists are so strongly convinced that mechanism is alone efficacious that they come to deny any rôle to thought. the consciousness for them has no purpose: yet it keeps company with its object. the metaphors which serve to define it, part of which have been imagined by huxley, are all of a passive nature. such is the light, or the whistling noise which accompanies the working of an engine, but does not act on its machinery. or, the shadow which dogs the steps of the traveller. or a phosphorescence lighting up the traces of the movements of the brain. it has also been said that the consciousness is a useless luxury. some have even gone further, and the fine and significant name of _epiphenomenon_, that has been given to thought, well translates that conception, according to which semi-realities may exist in nature. all these objections certainly carry great weight, but they are not capable of killing the doctrine--they only scotch it. i think there is a radical vice in parallelism, which till now has not been sufficiently indicated, and i ask what can really remain of the whole edifice when this vice has been once exposed? parallelism implies a false idea, which we have already come across when discussing materialism. it is the idea that a phenomenon of consciousness constitutes one complete whole. the error proceeds from the use of concepts which cause the reality to be lost sight of. the reality shows that every phenomenon of consciousness consists in a mode of activity, an aggregate of faculties which require an object to fasten on to and so realise themselves, and that this object is furnished by matter. what we always note in intuition is the union, the incarnation of consciousness-matter. our thoughts, our memories, our reasonings have as object sensations, images--that is to say, things which, strictly speaking, are as material as our own brains. it is therefore rather childish to put all these workings of the spirit on another plane and in another world than the workings of the brain since they are in great part of the same nature as the last named and they contain so many material elements. now if we re-establish facts as they are, if we admit a parallelism between physical phenomena, on the one hand, and phenomena at once physical and psychical, on the other, the parallelist hypothesis loses every sort of meaning. it ceases to present to us the image of two phenomena of an absolutely different order, which are found coupled together like the two faces of a unity, the front and back of a page, the right and wrong side of a stuff. if there is anything material in the psychical part, the opposition of nature no longer exists between the two terms; they become identical. very often, certain parallelists, after thinking they have discovered the duality of nature, endeavour to bring it back to unity by supposing that the two faces of the reality are as two effects of one unique reality, inaccessible to our senses and underlying appearances. why go so far afield to seek unity? it is trouble in vain: for it is to be found in the phenomenon itself. footnotes: [footnote : i can quote two observations in support of this. m. brieux, to whom i was relating this part of my argument, stopped me, saying, "you have guessed right; i represent to myself thought issuing from brain in the form of an electric gleam." dr. simon also informed me, during the reading of my manuscript, that he saw "thought floating over the brain like an _ignis fatuus_."] chapter iv modern theories it may be thought that the objection taken above to parallelism and materialism is personal to myself, because i have put it forward as the consequence of my analysis of the respective shares of thought and matter in every act of cognition. this is not so. i am here in harmony with other philosophers who arrived at the same conclusions long before me, and it may be useful to quote them. we will begin with the prince of idealists, berkeley. "'everything you know or conceive other than spirits,' says philonous to hylas, 'is but your ideas; so then when you say that all ideas are occasioned by impressions made in the brain, either you conceive this brain or you do not. if you conceive it, you are in that case talking of ideas imprinted in an idea which is the cause of this very idea, which is absurd. if you do not conceive it, you are talking unintelligibly, you are not forming a reasonable hypothesis.' 'how can it be reasonable,' he goes on to say, 'to think that the brain, which is a sensible thing, _i.e._ which can be apprehended by the senses--an idea consequently which only exists in the mind--is the cause of our other ideas?'"[ ] thus, in the reasoning of berkeley, the function of the brain cannot explain the production of ideas, because the brain itself is an idea, and an idea cannot be the cause of all our other ideas. m. bergson's argument is quite similar, although he takes a very different standpoint from that of idealism. he takes the word image in the vaguest conceivable sense. to explain the meaning of this word he simply says: "images which are perceived when i open my senses, and unperceived when i close them." he also remarks that the external objects are images, and that the brain and its molecular disturbances are likewise images. and he adds, "for this image which i call cerebral disturbance to generate the external images, it would have to contain them in one way or another, and the representation of the whole material universe would have to be implicated in that of this molecular movement. now, it is enough to enunciate such a proposition to reveal its absurdity."[ ] it will be seen that this reasoning is the same as berkeley's, though the two authors are reasoning on objects that are different; according to berkeley, the brain and the states of conscience are psychical states; according to bergson, the definition of the nature of these two objects designated by the term image is more comprehensive, but the essential of his argument is independent of this definition. it is enough that the two terms should be of similar nature for one to be unable to generate the other. my own argument in its turn comes rather near the preceding ones. for the idea of berkeley, and the image of bergson, i substitute the term matter. i say that the brain is matter, and that the perception of any object is perception of matter, and i think it is not easy to explain how from this brain can issue this perception, since that would be to admit that from one matter may come forth another matter. there is certainly here a great difficulty. m. bergson has thought to overcome it by attacking it in the following way. he has the very ingenious idea of changing the position of the representation in relation to the cerebral movement. the materialist places the representation after this movement and derives it from the movement; the parallelist places it by the side of the movement and in equivalence to it. m. bergson places it before the movement, and supposes it to play with regard to it the part of exciting cause, or simply that of initiator. this cerebral movement becomes an effect of the representation and a motor effect. consequently the nervous system passes into the state of motor organ: the sensory nerves are not, as supposed, true sensory nerves, but they are the commencements of motor nerves, the aim of which is to lead the motor excitements to the centres which play the part of commutators and direct the current, sometimes by one set of nerves, sometimes by others. the nervous system is like a tool held in the hand: it is a vehicle for action, we are told, and not a substratum for cognition. i cannot here say with what ingenuity, with what powerful logic, and with what close continuity of ideas m. bergson develops his system, nor with what address he braves its difficulties. his mind is remarkable alike for its power of systematisation and its suppleness of adaptation. before commencing to criticise him, i am anxious to say how much i admire him, how much i agree with him throughout the critical part of his work, and how much i owe to the perusal of his book, _matière et mémoire_. though i was led into metaphysics by private needs, though some of the ideas i have set forth above were conceptions of my own (for example, the criticism of the mechanical theory of matter, and the definition of sensation), before i had read m. bergson's book, it cannot be denied that its perusal has so strongly modified my ideas that a great part of these are due to him without my feeling capable of exactly discerning which; for ideas have a much more impersonal character than observations and experiments. it would therefore have been ungrateful to criticise him before having rendered him this tribute. there are, in m. bergson's theory, a few assertions which surprise us a little, like everything which runs counter to old habits. it has always been supposed that our body is the receptacle of our psychological phenomena. we store our reminiscences in our nerve centres; we put the state of our emotions in the perturbations of certain apparatus; we find the physical basis of our efforts of will and of attention in the sensations of muscular tension born in our limbs or trunk. directly we believe that the nervous system is no longer the depository of these states, we must change their domicile; and where are they to be placed? here the theory becomes obscure and vague, and custom renders it difficult to understand the situation of the mind outside the body. m. bergson places memory in planes of consciousness far removed from action, and perception he places in the very object we perceive. if i look at my bookcase, my thought is in my books; if i look at the sky, my thought is in a star.[ ] it is very difficult to criticise ideas such as these, because one is never certain that one understands them. i will therefore not linger over them, notwithstanding the mistrust which they inspire in me. but what seems to me to require proof is the function m. bergson is led to attribute to the sensory nerves. to his mind, it is not exact to say that the excitement of a sensory nerve excites sensation. this would be a wrong description, for, according to him, every nerve, even a sensory one, serves as a motor; it conducts the disturbance which, passing through the central commutator, flows finally into the muscles. but then, whence comes it that i think i feel a sensation when my sensory nerve is touched? whence comes it that a pressure on the epitrochlear nerve gives me a tingling in the hand? whence comes it that a blow on the eyeball gives me a fleeting impression of light? one must read the page where m. bergson struggles against what seems to me the evidence of the facts. "if, for one reason or another," he says, "the excitement no longer passes, it would be strange if the corresponding perception took place, since this perception would then put our body in relation with points of space which would no longer invite it to make a choice. divide the optic nerve of any animal; the disturbance starting from the luminous point is no longer transmitted to the brain, and thence to the motor nerves. the thread which connected the external object to the motor mechanism of the animal by enveloping the optic nerve, is severed; the visual perception has therefore become powerless, and in this powerlessness consists unconsciousness." this argument is more clever than convincing. it is not convincing, because it consists in exaggerating beyond all reason a very real fact, that of the relation which can be discovered between our sensations and our movements. we believe, with m. bergson, that it is absolutely correct to see in action the end and the _raison d'être_ of our intelligence and our sensibility. but does it follow that every degree, every shade, every detail of sensation, even the most insignificant, has any importance for the action? the variations of sensibility are much more numerous than those of movements and of adaptation; very probably, as is seen in an attentive study of infancy, sensibility precedes the power of motion in its differentiations. a child shows an extraordinary acuteness of perception at an age when its hand is still very clumsy. the correlation, then, is not absolute. and then even if it were so, it would not follow that the suppression of any movement would produce by rebound the suppression of the sensation to which this movement habitually corresponds. on this hypothesis, a sensation which loses its motor effect becomes useless. be it so; but this does not prove that the uselessness of a sensation is synonymous with insensibility. i can very well imagine the movement being suppressed and the useless sensation continuing to evoke images and to be perceived. does not this occur daily? there are patients who, after an attack of paralysis remain paralysed in one limb, which loses the voluntary movement, but does not necessarily lose its sensibility. many clear cases are observed in which this dissociation takes place. i therefore own that i cannot follow m. bergson in his deduction. as a physiologist, i am obliged to believe firmly in the existence of the sensory nerves, and therefore i continue to suppose that our conscious sensations are consequent to the excitement of these nerves and subordinate to their integrity. now, as therein lies, unless i mistake, the essential postulate, the heart of m. bergson's theory, by not admitting it i must regretfully reject the whole. footnotes: [footnote : i borrow this quotation from renouvier, _le personnellisme_, p. .] [footnote : _matière et mémoire_, p. . the author has returned to this point more at length in a communication to the congrès de philosophie de génève, in . see _revue de métaphysique et de morale_, nov. , communication from h. bergson entitled "le paralogisme psycho-physiologique." here is a passage from this article which expresses the same idea: "to say that the image of the surrounding world issues from this image (from the cerebral movement), or that it expresses itself by this image, or that it arises as soon as this image is suggested, or that one gives it to one's self by giving one's self this image, would be to contradict one's self; since these two images, the outer world and the intra-cerebral movement, have been supposed to be of the same nature, and the second image is, by the hypothesis, an infinitesimal part of the field of representation, while the first fills the whole of it."] [footnote : _matière et mémoire_, p. ] chapter v conclusion a few convinced materialists and parallelists, to whom i have read the above criticisms on their systems, have found no answer to them; my criticisms have appeared to them just, but nevertheless they have continued to abide by their own systems, probably because they were bound to have one. we do not destroy an erroneous idea when we do not replace it by another. this has decided me to set forth some personal views which, provisionally, and for want of better, might be substituted for the old doctrines. before doing this, i hasten to explain their character, and to state openly that they are only hypotheses. i know that metaphysicians rarely make avowals of this kind. they present their systems as a well-connected whole, and they set forth its different parts, even the boldest of them, in the same dogmatic tone, and without warning that we ought to attach very unequal degrees of confidence to these various parts. this is a deplorable method, and to it is perhaps due the kind of disdain that observers and experimentalists feel for metaphysics--a disdain often without justification, for all is not false, and everything is not hypothetical, in metaphysics. there are in it demonstrations, analyses, and criticisms, especially the last, which appear to me as exact and as certain as an observation or experiment. the mistake lies in mixing up together in a statement, without distinction, the certain with the probable, and the probable with the possible. metaphysicians are not wholly responsible for this fault of method; and i am much inclined to think that it is the natural consequence of the abuse of speculation. it is especially by the cultivation of the sciences of observation that we foster in ourselves the precious sense of proof, because we can check it any minute by experimental verification. when we are working at a distance from the facts, this sense of proof gets thinner, and there is lost that feeling of responsibility and fear of seeing one's assertions contradicted by a decisive countervailing observation, which is felt by every observer. one acquires the unbearable pride which i note in kant, and one abandons one's self to the spirit of construction. i am speaking from personal experience. i have several times detected within me this bad spirit of construction, i have been seeking to group several facts of observation under the same idea, and then i have discovered that i was belittling and depreciating those facts which did not fit in with the idea. the hypothesis i now present on the relations of the mind and the brain has, for me, the advantage of bringing to light the precise conditions which a solution of this great problem must satisfy for this solution to be worthy of discussion. these conditions are very numerous. i shall not indicate them all successively; but here are two which are particularly important. . the manifestations of the consciousness are conditioned by the brain. let us suspend, by any means, the activity of the encephalic mass, by arresting the circulation of the blood for example, and the psychic function is at once inhibited. compress the carotid, and you obtain the clouding-over of the intellect. or, instead of a total abolition, you can have one in detail; sever a sensory nerve with the bistoury, and all the sensations which that nerve transmits to the brain are suppressed. consciousness appears only when the molecular disturbance reaches the nerve centres; everything takes place in the same way as if this disturbance released the consciousness. consciousness also accompanies or follows certain material states of the nerve centres, such as the waves which traverse the sensory nerves, which exercise reflex action in the cells, and which propagate themselves in the motor nerves. it is to the production, the distribution, and the integrity of this nervous influx that the consciousness is closely linked. it there finds one of the conditions of its apparition. . on the other hand, the consciousness remains in complete ignorance of these intra-cerebral phenomena. it does not perceive the nerve-wave which sets it in motion, it knows nothing of its peculiarities, of its trajectory, or the length of its course. in this sense it may be said that it is in no degree an anatomist; it has no idea of all the peculiarities of the nerve-wave which form part of its cerebral history from the moment when these peculiarities are out of relation with the properties of external objects. one sometimes wonders that our consciousness is not aware that the objects we perceive with our two eyes correspond to a double undulation, namely, that of the right and that of the left, and that the image is reversed on the retina, so that it is the rods of the right which are impressed by objects on our left, and the rods of the upper part by objects below our eyes. these are, it has been very justly said, factitious problems, imaginary difficulties which do not exist. there is no need to explain, for instance, direct vision by a reversed image, because our consciousness is not aware that the image on the retina is reversed. in order to take account of this, we should require another eye to see this image. this answer appears particularly to the point. it will be found that it is absolutely correct if we reflect that this case of the unfelt inversion of the image on the retina is but one example of the anatomical ignorance of the consciousness. it might also be declared, in the same order of ideas, that our consciousness is ignorant, that excitements of the eye cross each other at the level of the chiasma, and pass through the internal capsule, and that the majority of the visual excitements of an eye are received by the opposite hemisphere. a rather confused notion of these facts has formed itself in the minds of several critics, and i can discern the proof of this in the language they use. it will be said, for example, that the idea exists in the consciousness or in the mind, and phrases like the following will be avoided: "i think with my brain"--the suggestion consists in introducing an idea in the brain--"the nerve cell perceives and reasons, &c." ordinarily these forms of speech are criticised because they appear to have the defect of establishing a confusion between two irreducible elements, the physical and the mental. i think the error of language proceeds from another cause, since i do not admit this distinction between the physical and the mental. i think that the error consists in supposing vaguely that the consciousness comprehends intra-cerebral phenomena, whereas it ignores them. let me repeat that there is no such thing as intra-cerebral sensibility. the consciousness is absolutely insensitive with regard to the dispositions of the cerebral substance and its mode of work. it is not the nervous undulation which our consciousness perceives, but the exciting cause of this wave--that is, the external object. the consciousness does not feel that which is quite close to it, but is informed of that which passes much further off. nothing that is produced inside the cranium interests it; it is solely occupied with objects of which the situation is extra-cranial. it does not penetrate into the brain, we might say, but spreads itself like a sheet over the periphery of the body, and thence springs into the midst of the external objects. there is, therefore, i do not say a contradiction, but a very striking contrast between these two facts. the consciousness is conditioned, kept up, and nourished by the working of the cerebral substance, but knows nothing of what passes in the interior of that substance. this consciousness might itself be compared to a parasitical organism which plunges its tap roots into the nerve centres, and of which the organs of perception, borne on long stalks, emerge from the cranium and perceive everything outside that cranium. but this is, of course, only a rough image. strictly, it is possible to explain this distribution of the conscience, singular as it is at first sight, by those reasons of practical utility which are so powerful in the history of evolution. a living being has to know the world external to himself in order to adapt and preadapt himself to it, for it is in this outer world that he finds food, shelter, beings of his own species, and the means of work, and it is on this world of objects that he acts in every possible way by the contractions of his muscles. but with regard to intracephalic actions, they are outside the ordinary sphere of our actions. there is no daily need to know them, and we can understand that the consciousness has not found very pressing utilitarian motives for development in that direction. one must be an histologist or a surgeon to find an appreciable interest in studying the structure of the nerve cell or the topography of the cerebral centres. we can therefore explain well enough, by the general laws of adaptation, the reason of the absence of what might be called "cerebral sensibility," but, here as elsewhere, the question of the "why" is much easier to solve than that of the "how." the question of the "how" consists in explaining that the consciousness, directly aroused by a nerve-wave, does not perceive this undulation, but in its stead the external object. let us first note that between the external object and the nervous influx there is the relation of cause to effect. it is only the effect which reaches us, our nerve cells, and our consciousness. what must be explained is how a cognition (if such a word may be employed here) of the effect can excite the consciousness of the cause. it is clear that the effect does not resemble the cause, as quality: the orange i am looking at has no resemblance with the brain wave which at this moment is traversing my optic nerve; but this effect contains everything which was in the cause, or, more exactly, all that part of the cause of which we have perception. since it is only by the intermediary of our nervous system that we perceive the object, all the properties capable of being perceived are communicated to our nervous system and inscribed in the nerve wave. the effect produced therefore is the measure of our perception of the cause. this is absolutely certain. all bodies possess an infinity of properties which escape our cognitions; because, as excitants of our organism, these properties are wanting in the intensity or the quality necessary to make it vibrate; they have not been tuned in unison with our nervous chords. and, inversely, all we perceive of the mechanical, physical, and chemical properties of a body is contained in the vibration this body succeeds in propagating through our cerebral atmosphere. there is in this a phenomenon of transmission analogous to that which is produced when an air of music is sent along a wire; the whole concert heard at the other extremity of the wire has travelled in the form of delicate vibrations. there must therefore exist, though unperceived by our senses, a sort of kinship between the qualities of the external objects and the vibrations of our nerves. this is sometimes forgotten. the theory of the specific energy of the nerves causes it to be overlooked. as we see that the quality of the sensation depends on the nerve that is excited, one is inclined to minimise the importance of the excitant. it is relegated to the position of a proximate cause with regard to the vibration of the nerve, as the striking of a key on the piano is the proximate cause of the vibration of a string, which always gives the same degree of sound whether struck by the forefinger or third finger, or by a pencil or any other body. it will be seen at once that this comparison is inexact. the specific property of our nerves does not prevent our knowing the form of the excitant, and our nerves are only comparable to piano strings if we grant to these the property of vibrating differently according to the nature of the bodies which strike them. how is it that the nerve wave, if it be the depository of the whole of the physical properties perceived in the object, resembles it so little? it is because--this is my hypothesis--these properties, if they are in the undulation, are not there alone. the undulation is the work of two collaborators: it expresses both the nature of the object which provokes it and that of the nervous apparatus which is its vehicle. it is like the furrow traced in the wax of the phonograph which expresses the collaboration of an aërial vibration with a stylus, a cylinder, and a clock-work movement. this engraved line resembles, in short, neither the phonographic apparatus nor the aërial vibration, although it results from the combination of the two. similarly, i suppose that if the nervous vibration resembles so little the excitant which gives it birth, it is because the factor nervous system adds its effect to the factor external object. each of these factors represents a different property: the external object represents a cognition and the nervous system an excitement. let us imagine that we succeed in separating these two effects. it will be conceived, theoretically, that a separation of this kind will lay bare the hidden resemblances, giving to each collaborator the part which belongs to it. the excitement, for instance, will be suppressed, and the cognition will be retained. is it possible to make, or at least to imagine, such an analysis? perhaps: for, of these two competing activities, one is variable, since it depends on the constantly changing nature of the objects which come into relation with us; the other, on the contrary, is a constant, since it expresses the contribution of our nerve substance, and, though this last is of very unstable composition, it necessarily varies much less than the series of excitants. we consequently see faintly that these two elements differ sufficiently in character for us to be able to suppose that they are separable by analysis. but how could this analysis be made? evidently not by chemical or physical means: we have no need here of reagents, prisms, centrifugal apparatus, permeable membranes, or anything of that kind. it will suffice to suppose that it is the consciousness itself that is the dialyser. it acts by virtue of its own laws--that is to say, by changes in intensity. supposing that sensibility increases for the variable elements of the undulation, and becomes insensible for the constant elements. the effect will be the same as a material dissociation by chemical analysis: there will be an elimination of certain elements and the retention of others. now, all we know of the consciousness authorises us to entrust this rôle to it, for it is within the range of its habits. we know that change is the law of consciousness, that it is effaced when the excitements are uniform, and is renewed by their differences or their novelty. a continued or too often repeated excitement ceases in time to be perceived. it is to condense these facts into a formula that bain speaks of the law of relativity of cognition, and, in spite of a few ambiguities on the part of spencer and of bain himself in the definition of this law,[ ] the formula with the sense i have just indicated is worth preserving. let us see what becomes of it, when my hypothesis is adopted. it explains how certain excitements proceeding from the objects--that is to say, forming part of the variable element--cease to be perceived when they are repeated and tend to become constant. _a fortiori_, it seems to me, should the same law explain how the constant element _par excellence_, the one which never varies from the first hour, is never perceived. there is, in the concert of the sounds of nature, an accompaniment so monotonous that it is no longer perceived; and the melody alone continues to be heard. it is in this precisely that my hypothesis consists. we will suppose a nerve current starting from one of the organs of the senses, when it is excited by some object or other, and arriving at the centre of the brain. this current contains all the properties of the object, its colour, its form, its size, its thousand details of structure, its weight, its sonorous qualities, &c., &c., properties combined with and connected by the properties of the nerve-organ in which the current is propagated. the consciousness remains insensible to those nervous properties of the current which are so often repeated that they are annulled; it perceives, on the contrary, its variable and accidental properties which express the nature of the excitant. by this partial sensibility, the consciousness lays bare that which, in the nerve current, represents the object--that is to say, a cognition; and this operation is equivalent to a transformation of the current into a perception, image, or idea. there is not, strictly speaking, a transformation, but an analysis; only, the practical result is the same as that of a transformation, and is obtained without its being necessary to suppose the transmutation of a physical into a mental phenomenon. let us place ourselves now at the moment when the analysis i am supposing to be possible has just been effected. our consciousness then assists at the unrolling of representations which correspond to the outer world. these representations are not, or do not appear to be, lodged in the brain; and it is not necessary to suppose a special operation which, taking them in the brain, should project them to the periphery of our nerves. this transport would be useless, since for the consciousness the brain does not exist: the brain, with its fibres and cells, is not felt; it therefore supplies no _datum_ to enable us to judge whether the representation is external or internal with regard to it. in other words, the representation is only localised in relation to itself; there is no determinate position other than that of one representation in relation to another. we may therefore reject as inexact the pretended law of eccentricity of the physiologists, who suppose that sensation is first perceived as it were centrally, and then, by an added act, is localised at the peripheric extremity of the nerve. this argument would only be correct if we admitted that the brain is perceived by the consciousness of the brain. i have already said that the consciousness is not an anatomist, and that therefore this problem does not present itself. such as it is, this hypothesis appears to me to present the advantage of explaining the reason why our consciousness coincides, in certain circumstances, with the actions of the brain, and, in others, does not come near them. in other words, it contains an explanation of the unconscious. i can show this by quoting certain exact facts, of which the explanation has been hitherto thought to present difficulties, but which become very easy to understand on the present hypothesis. the first of these facts relates to the psychology of the motor current. this current has been a great feature in the studies which have been made on the feeling of effort and on the physical basis of the will. the motor current is that which, starting from the cerebral cells of the motor region, travels by way of the fibres of the pyramidal tract into the muscles of the body; and it is centrifugal in direction. researches have been made as to whether we are or may be conscious of this current; or rather, the question has been put in somewhat different terms. it has been asked whether a psychological state can be the counterpart of this motor current,--if, for example, the feeling of mental effort produced in us at the moment of executing a difficult act or of taking a grave resolution, might not have this motor current for a basis. the opinion which has prevailed is in the negative. we have recognised--a good deal on the faith of experiment, and a little also for theoretical reasons--that no sensation is awakened by the centrifugal current. as to the sensation of effort, it has been agreed to place it elsewhere. we put it among the centripetal sensations which, are produced as the movement outlines itself, and which proceed from the contracted muscles, the stretched ligaments, and the frictional movements of the articulations. effort would therefore form part of all the psychical phenomenology, which is the duplicate of those sensory currents which are centripetal in direction. in the long run, i can see no sort of theoretical reason for subordinating the consciousness to the direction of the nerve current, and for supposing that the consciousness is aroused when this current is centripetal, and that it cannot follow the centrifugal current. but this point matters little. my hypothesis would fairly well explain why the motor current remains unconscious; it explains the affair by taking into consideration the nature of this current and not its direction. this current is a motor one because it is born in the central cells, because it is a discharge from these cells, and is of entirely nervous origin. since it does not correspond with the perception of an object--the ever varying object--it is always the same by nature. it does not carry with it in its monotonous course the _débris_ of an object, as does the sensory current. thus it can flow without consciousness. this same kind of hypothesis supplies us with the reasons why a given sensory current may be, according to circumstances, either conscious or unconscious. the consciousness resulting from the analysis of the molecular wave is, as it were, a supplementary work which may be subsequently added to the realised wave. the propagation of the wave is the essential fact--there is always time to become conscious of it afterwards. it is thus that we happen, in moments of abstraction, to remain insensible to certain even very powerful excitements. our nervous system registers them, nevertheless, and we can find them again, later on, within the memory. this is the effect of a belated analysis. the converse phenomenon occurs much more frequently. we remark many actions and perceptions which occur the first time with consciousness, emotion, and effort. then, when they are repeated, as coordination becomes stronger and easier, the reflex consciousness of the operation becomes feebler. this is the law of habit, which slowly carries us towards automatism. these observations have even been extended, and the endeavour made to apply them to the explanation of the origin of reflex actions and of instincts which have all started with consciousness. this is a rather bold attempt, for it meets with many serious difficulties in execution; but the idea seems fairly correct, and is acceptable if we may limit it. it is certain that the consciousness accompanies the effort towards the untried, and perishes as soon as it is realised. whence comes this singular dilemma propounded to it by nature: to create something new or perish? it really seems that my hypothesis explains this. every new act is produced by nerve currents, which contain many of those variable elements which the consciousness perceives; but, in proportion as the action of the brain repeats itself and becomes more precise and more exact, this variable element becomes attenuated, falls to its lowest pitch, and may even disappear in the fixation of habit and instinct. my hypothesis much resembles the system of parallelism. it perfects it, as it seems to me, as much as the latter has perfected materialism. we indeed admit a kind of parallelism between the consciousness and the object of cognition; but these two series are not independent, not simply placed in juxtaposition as is possible in ordinary parallelism; they are united and fused together so as to complete each other. this new theory appears to me to represent a better form of the series of attempts which have been inspired by the common necessity of making the phenomena of consciousness accord with the determinism of physical facts. i hold fast to this physical determinism, and accept a strictly mechanical conception of the functions of the nervous system. in my idea, the currents which pass through the cerebral mass follow each other without interruption, from the sensorial periphery to the motor periphery; it is they, and they alone, which excite the movements of the body by acting on the muscles. parallelism recognises all these things, and i do likewise. let us now see the advantages of this new system. first, it contains no paralogism, no logical or psychological error, since it does not advance the supposition that the mental differs by its nature from the physical phenomenon. we have discussed above the consequences of this error, they are here avoided. in the second place, it is explanatory, at least in a certain measure, since the formula we employ allows us to understand, better than by the principle of a simple juxtaposition, why certain nerve currents flow in the light of consciousness, while others are plunged into the darkness of unconsciousness. this law of consciousness, which bain called the law of relativity, becomes, when embodied with my theory of the relations of the physical to the moral, an explanation of the distribution of consciousness through the actions of the brain. i ask myself whether the explanation i have devised ought to be literally preserved. perhaps not. i have endeavoured less to present a ready-made solution than to indicate the direction in which we ought to look for one. the law of consciousness which i have used to explain the transformation of a nerve current into perception and images is only an empirical law produced by the generalisation of particular observations. until now there has been, so far as i know, no attempt to ascertain whether this law of consciousness, notwithstanding the general nature which some authors incline to ascribe to it, might not explain itself by some more general facts, and might not fit, as a particular case, into a more comprehensive frame. to be brief, this is very possible. i have not troubled myself about it, and i have made a transcendental use of this empirical law; for i have impliedly supposed it to be a first principle, capable of accounting for the development of the consciousness, but itself incapable of explanation. if other observers discover that that which to me has appeared inexplicable, may be explained by quite peculiar causes, it is clear that my theory must be abandoned or modified. new theories must then be sought for, which will probably consist in recognising different properties in the consciousness. a little thought will discover several, i have no doubt. by way of suggestion, i will indicate one of these hypothetical possibilities: "the consciousness has the faculty of reading in the effect that which existed in the cause." it is not rash to believe that by working out this idea, a certain solution would be discovered. moreover, the essential is, i repeat, less to find a solution than to take account of the point which requires one; and metaphysics seem to me especially useful when it shows us where the gap in our knowledge exists and what are the conditions required to fill this gap. above all, i adhere to this idea, which has been one of the guiding forces of this book: there exists at the bottom of all the phenomena of the intelligence, a duality. to form a true phenomenon, there must be at once a consciousness and an object. according to passing tendencies, either of temperament or of fashion, preponderance has been given sometimes to one of the terms of this couple, sometimes to the other. the idealist declares: "thought creates the world." the materialist answers: "the matter of the brain creates thought." between these two extreme opinions, the one as unjustifiable as the other in the excesses they commit, we take up an intermediate position. looking at the balance, we see no argument capable of being placed in the scale of the consciousness which may not be neutralised by an argument placed in the scale of the object; and if we had to give our final verdict we should say: "the consciousness and matter have equal rights," thus leaving to every one the power to place, in this conception of an equality of rights, the hopes of survival of which his heart has need. footnotes: [footnote : the _équivoque_ perpetrated by bain and spencer consists in supposing that the consciousness bears solely on differences. this is going too far. i confine myself to admitting that, if sensation is not changed from time to time, the consciousness becomes weaker and disappears.] chapter vi recapitulation i ask permission to reproduce here a communication made by me in december to the société française de philosophie. i there set forth briefly the ideas which i have just developed in this book. this succinct _exposé_ may be useful as a recapitulation of the argument. _description of matter._--the physicists who are seeking for a conception of the inmost structure of matter in order to explain the very numerous phenomena they perceive, fancy they can connect them with other phenomena, less numerous, but of the same order. they thus consider matter in itself. we psychologists add to matter something more, viz. the observer. we consider matter and define it by its relations to our modes of knowledge--that is to say, by bearing in mind that it is conditioned by our external perception. these are two different points of view. in developing our own standpoint, we note that of the outer world we are acquainted with nothing but our sensations: if we propound this limit, it is because many observations and experiments show that, between the external object and ourselves, there is but one intermediary, the nervous system, and that we only perceive the modifications which the external object, acting as an excitant, provokes in this system. let us provisionally apply to these modifications the term sensations, without settling the question of their physical or mental nature. other experiments, again, prove to us that our sensations are not necessarily similar to the objects which excite them; for the quality of each sensation depends on what is called the specific energy of the nerve excited. thus, whether the optic nerve be appealed to by a ray of light, an electric current, or a mechanical shock, it always gives the same answer, and this answer is the sensation of light. it follows that our nervous system itself is only known to us as regards its structure by the intermediary of sensations, and we are not otherwise more informed upon its nature than upon that of any other object whatever. in the second place, a much more serious consequence is that all our sensations being equally false, so far as they are copies of the excitants which provoke them, one has no right to use any of these sensations to represent to ourselves the inmost structure of matter. the theories to which many physicists still cling, which consist in explaining all the modalities of matter by different combinations of movement, start from false premises. their error consists in explaining the whole body of our sensations by certain particular sensations of the eye, of the touch, and of the muscular sense, in which analysis discovers the elements and the source of the representation of motion. now these particular sensations have no more objective value than those of the tongue, of the nose, and of the ear; in so far as they are related to the external excitant of which it is sought to penetrate the inmost nature, one of them is as radically false as the other. it is true that a certain number of persons will think to escape from our conclusion, because they do not accept our starting point. there exist, in fact, several systems which propound that the outer world is known to us directly without the intermediary of a _tertium quid_, that is, of sensation. in the first place, the spiritists are convinced that disembodied souls can remain spectators of terrestrial life, and, consequently, can perceive it without the interposition of organs. on the other hand, some german authors have recently maintained, by rather curious reasoning, that the specific energy of our nervous system does not transform the excitants, and that our sensations are the faithful copies of that which causes them. finally, various philosophers, reid, hamilton, and, in our own days, the deep and subtle mind of m. bergson, have proposed to admit that by direct comprehension we have cognisance of the objects without mystery and as they are. let this be admitted. it will change nothing in our conclusions, and for the following reasons. we have said that no kind of our sensations--neither the visual, the tactile, nor the muscular--permits us to represent to ourselves the inmost structure of matter, because all sensations, without exception, are false, as copies of material objects. we are now assured that we are mistaken, and that our sensations are all true--that is to say, are faithful copies of the objects. if all are true, it comes to the same thing as if all are false. if all are true, it is impossible to make any choice among them, to retain only the sensations of sight and touch, and to use them in the construction of a mechanical theory, to the exclusion of the others. for it is impossible for us to explain some by the others. if all are equally true, they all have the same right to represent the structure of matter, and, as they are irreconcilable, no theory can be formed from their synthesis. let us, consequently, conclude this: whatever hypothesis may be built up on the relations possibly existing between matter and our sensations, we are forbidden to make a theory of matter in the terms of our sensations. that is what i think of matter, understood as the inmost structure of bodies--of unknowable and metaphysical matter. i shall not speak of it again; and henceforth when i use the word matter, it will be in quite a different acceptation--it will be empirical and physical matter, such as it appears to us in our sensations. it must therefore be understood that from this moment we change our ground. we leave the world of _noumena_ and enter that of phenomena. _definition of mind._--generally, to define the mind, we oppose the concept of mind to the concept of matter, with the result that we get extremely vague images in our thoughts. it is preferable to replace the concepts by facts, and to proceed to an inventory of all mental phenomena. now, in the course of this inventory, we perceive that we have continually to do with two orders of elements, which are united in reality, but which our thought may consider as isolated. one of these elements is represented by those states which we designate by the name of sensations, images, emotions, &c.; the other element is the consciousness of these sensations, the cognition of these images, the fact of experiencing these emotions. it is, in other words, a special activity of which these states are the object and, as it were, the point of application--an activity which consists in perceiving, judging, comparing, understanding, and willing. to make our inventory orderly, let us deal with these two elements separately and begin with the first. we will first examine sensation: let us put aside that which is the fact of feeling, and retain that which is felt. thus defined and slightly condensed, what is sensation? until now we have employed the word in the very vague sense of a _tertium quid_ interposed between the object and ourselves. now we have to be more precise, and to inquire whether sensation is a physical or a mental thing. i need not tell you that on this point every possible opinion has been held. my own opinion is that sensation should be considered as a physical phenomenon; sensation, be it understood, in the sense of impression felt, and not in that of capacity to feel. here are the arguments i invoke for the support of my thesis: in the first place, popular opinion, which identifies matter with what we see, and with what we touch--that is to say, with sensation. this popular opinion represents a primitive attitude, a family possession which we have the right to retain, so long as it is not proved to us to be false: next, this remark, that by its mode of apparition at once unexpected, the revealer of new cognitions, and independent of our will, as well as by its content, sensation sums up for us all we understand by matter, physical state, outer world. colour, form, extent, position in space, are known to us as sensations only. sensation is not a means of knowing these properties of matter, it is these properties themselves. what objections can be raised against my conclusion? one has evidently the right to apply the term psychological to the whole sensation, taken _en bloc_, and comprising in itself both impression and consciousness. the result of this terminology will be that, as we know nothing except sensations, the physical will remain unknowable, and the distinction between the physical and the mental will vanish. but it will eventually be re-established under other names by utilising the distinction i have made between objects of cognition and acts of cognition;--a distinction which is not verbal, and results from observation. what is not permissible is to declare that sensation is a psychological phenomenon, and to oppose this phenomenon to physical reality, as if this latter could be known to us by any other method than sensation. if the opinion i uphold be accepted, if we agree to see in sensation, understood in a certain way, a physical state, it will be easy to extend this interpretation to a whole series of different phenomena. to the images, first, which proceed from sensations, since they are recurring sensations; to the emotions also, which, according to recent theories, result from the perception of the movements which are produced in the heart, the vessels, and the muscles; and finally, to effort, whether of will or of attention, which is constituted by the muscular sensations perceived, and consequently also results from corporeal states. the consequences must be clearly remarked. to admit that sensation is a physical state, is to admit, by that very fact, that the image, idea, emotion, and effort--all those manifestations generally ascribed to the mind alone--are also physical states. what, then, is the mind? and what share remains to it in all these phenomena, from which it seems we are endeavouring to oust it? the mind is in that special activity which is engaged in sensation, image, idea, emotion, and effort. for a sensation to be produced; there must be, as i said a little time ago, two elements: the something felt--a tree, a house, an animal, a titillation, an odour,--and also the fact of feeling this something, the consciousness of it, the judgment passed on it, the reasoning applied to it--in other terms, the categories which comprehend it. from this point of view, the dualism contained in sensation is clearly expressed. sensation as a thing felt, that is, the physical part, or matter; sensation as the fact of feeling or of judging, that is, the mind. mark the language i use. we say that matter is the something felt; but we do not say for the sake of symmetry, that the mind is the something which feels. i have used a more cautious, and, i think, a more just formula, which places the mind in the fact of feeling. let me repeat again, at the risk of appearing too subtle: the mind is the act of consciousness; it is not a subject which has consciousness. for a subject, let it be noted, a subject which feels, is an object of cognition--it forms part of the other group of elements, the group of sensations. in practice we represent by mind a fragment of our own biography, and by dint of pains we attribute to this fragment the faculty of having a consciousness; we make it the subject of the relation subject-object. but this fragment, being constituted of memories and sensations, does not exactly represent the mind, and does not correspond to our definition; it would rather represent the mind sensationalised or materialised. from this follows the curious consequence that the mind is endowed with an incomplete existence; it is like form, which can only be realised by its application to matter of some kind. one may fancy a sensation continuing to exist, to live and to provoke movements, even after ceasing to be perceived. those who are not uncompromising idealists readily admit this independence of the objects with regard to our consciousness, but the converse is not true. it is impossible to understand a consciousness existing without an object, a perception without a sensation to be perceived, an attention without a point of application, an empty wish which should have nothing to wish for; in a word, a spiritual activity acting without matter on which to act, or more briefly still--mind without matter. mind and matter are correlative terms; and, on this point, i firmly believe that aristotle was much closer to the truth than many modern thinkers. i have convinced myself that the definition of mind at which we have just arrived is, in its exactness and soberness, the only one which permits psychology to be distinguished from the sciences nearest to it. you know that it has been discovered in our days that there exists a great difficulty in effecting this delimitation. the definitions of psychology hitherto proposed nearly all have the defect of not agreeing with the one thing defined. time fails us to review them all, but i shall point out one at least, because our discussion on this particular formula will serve as a preparation for taking in hand the last question that remains to be examined--the relation of the mind to the body. according to the definition i am aiming at, psychology would be the science of internal facts, while the other sciences deal with the external. psychology, it has also been said, has as its instrument introspection, while the natural sciences work with the eye, the touch, the ear--that is to say, with the senses of extrospection. to this distinction, i reply that in all sciences there exist but two things: sensations and the consciousness which accompanies them. a sensation may belong to the inner or the outer world through accidental reasons, without any change in its nature; the sensation of the outer world is the social sensation which we share with our fellows. if the excitant which provokes it is included in our nervous system, it is the sensation which becomes individual, hidden to all except ourselves, and constituting a microcosm by the side of a macrocosm. what importance can this have, since all the difference depends on the position occupied by the excitant? but we are persistently told: there are in reality two ways of arriving at the cognition of objects--from within and from without. these two ways are as opposite as the right and wrong side of a stuff. it is in this sense that psychology is the science of the within and looks at the wrong side, while the natural sciences reckon, weigh, and measure the right side. and this is so true, they add, that the same phenomenon absolutely appears under two forms radically different from each other according as they are looked at from one or the other of the two points of view. every one of our thoughts, they point out to us, is in correlation with a particular state of our cerebral matter; our thought is the subjective and mental face, the corresponding cerebral process is the objective and material face. though this dualism is frequently presented as an observed truth, i think it is possible to show its error. take an example: i look at the plain before me, and see a flock of sheep pass through it. at the same time an observer, armed with a microscope _à la_ jules verne, looks into my brain and observes there a certain molecular dance which accompanies my visual perception. thus, on the one hand, is my representation; on the other, a dynamic state of the nerve cells. this is what constitutes the right and the wrong sides of the stuff. we are told, "see how little resemblance there is in this; a representation is a psychical, and a movement of molecules a material, thing." but i, on the contrary, think there is a great resemblance. when i see the flock passing, i have a visual perception. the observer who, by the hypothesis, is at that moment looking into my brain, also experiences a visual perception. granted, they are not the same perception. how could they be the same? i am looking at the sheep, he is looking at the interior of my brain; it is not astonishing that, looking at objects so different, we should receive images also very different. but, notwithstanding their difference of object--that is, of content--there are here two visual perceptions composed in the same way; and i do not see by what right it can be said that one represents a material, the other a physical, phenomenon. in reality, each of these perceptions has a two-fold and psycho-physical value--physical in regard to the object to which it applies, and psychical inasmuch as it is an act of perception, that is to say, of consciousness. for one is just as much psychical as the other, and as much material, for a flock of sheep is as material a thing as is my brain. if we keep this conclusion in our minds, when we come to make a critical examination of certain philosophical systems, we shall easily see the mistake they make. spiritualism[ ] rests on the conception that the mind can subsist and work in total independence of any tie to matter. it is true that, in details, spiritualists make some modification in this absolute principle in order to explain the perceptions of the senses and the execution of the orders of the will; but the duality, the independence, and the autonomy of the soul and the body remain, in any case, the peculiar dogma of the system. this dogma appears to me utterly false; the mind cannot exist without matter to which it is applied; and to the principle of heterogeneity, so often invoked to forbid all commerce between the two substances, i reply by appealing to intuition, which shows us the consciousness and its different forms, comparison, judgment, and reasoning, so closely connected with sensation that they cannot be imagined as existing with an isolated life. materialism, we know, argues quite differently; it imagines that a particular state of the nerve centres has the virtue of generating a psychical phenomenon, which represents, according to various metaphors, property, function, effect, and even secretion. critics have often asked how, with matter in motion, a phenomenon of thought could be explained or fabricated. it is very probable that those who admit this material genesis of thought, represent it to themselves under the form of something subtle, like an electric spark, a puff of wind, a will-of-the-wisp, or an alcoholic flame. materialists are not alone responsible for these inadequate metaphors, which proceed from a metaphysics constructed of concepts. let us recollect exactly what a psychical phenomenon is. let us banish the will-o'-the-wisps, replace them by a precise instance, and return to the visual perception we took as an example a little while back: without intending a pun, "revenons à nos moutons." these sheep which i see in the plain are as material, as real, as the cerebral movement which accompanies my perception. how, then, is it possible that this cerebral movement, a primary material fact, should engender this secondary material fact, this collection of complicated beings which form a flock? before going any further, let us invite another philosophical system to take a place within the circle of our discussion; for the same answer will suffice for it as well as for the preceding one, and it will be as well to deal with both at once. this new system, parallelism, in great favour at the present day, appears to me to be a materialism perfected especially in the direction of caution. to escape the mystery of the genesis of the mind from matter, this new system places them parallel to each other and side by side, we might almost say experimentally, so much do parallelists try to avoid talking metaphysics. but their position is untenable, and they likewise are the victims of the mirage of concepts; for they consider the mental as capable of being parallel to the physical without mingling with it, and of subsisting by itself and with a life of its own. such a hypothesis is only possible by reason of the insufficient definition given to the mind. if it be recognised that the mind has an incomplete existence and is only realised by its incarnation in matter, the figure which is the basis of parallelism becomes indefensible. there is no longer on the one hand the physical, and on the other the mental, but on one side the physical and the mental combined, and on the other the same combination; which amounts to saying that the two faces to a reality, which it was thought had been made out to be so distinct, are identical. there are not two faces, but one face; and the monism, which certain metaphysicians struggle to arrive at by a mysterious reconciliation of the phenomenal duality within the unity of the noumenon, need not be sought so far afield, since we already discover it in the phenomenon itself. the criticisms i have just pointed out to you, only too briefly, are to be found in several philosophers, confusedly in berkeley, and with more precision in m. bergson's book on _matière et mémoire_. the latter author, remarking that our brain and the outer world are to us images of the same order, refuses to admit that the brain, which is only a very small part of these images, can explain and contain the other and much larger part, which comprises the vast universe. this would amount to saying that the whole is comprised in the part. i believe that this objection is analogous to the one just stated with less ingenuity. it is interesting to see how m. bergson gets out of the difficulty which he himself raised. being unwilling to bring forth from the molecular movement of the brain the representation of the world, or to superpose the representation on this movement as in the parallelist hypothesis, he has arrived at a theory, very ingenious but rather obscure, which consists in placing the image of the world outside the brain, this latter being reduced to a motor organ which executes the orders of the mind. we thus have four philosophical theories, which, while trying to reconcile mind with matter, give to the representation a different position in regard to cerebral action. the spiritualist asserts the complete independence of the representation in relation to cerebral movement; the materialist places it after, the parallelist by the side of, the cerebral movement; m. bergson puts it in front. i must confess that the last of these systems, that of m. bergson, presents many difficulties. as he does not localise the mind in the body, he is obliged to place our perception--that is to say, a part of ourselves--in the objects perceived; for example, in the stars when we are looking at them. the memory is lodged in distant planes of consciousness which are not otherwise defined. we understand with difficulty these emigrations, these crumblings into morsels of our mind. this would not matter if our author did not go so far as to maintain that the sensory nerves of the brain are not sensory nerves, and that the severance of them does not suppress sensations, but simply the motor efforts of these sensations. all the physiologist in me protests against the rashness of these interpretations. the principal difficulties of the problem of the union between the mind and the body proceed from the two following facts, which seem incompatible. on the one hand, our thought is conditioned by a certain intra-cerebral movement of molecules and atoms; and, on the other hand, this same thought has no consciousness of this molecular movement. it does not know the path of the wave in our nerves; it does not suspect, for example, that the image of the objects is reversed in the retina, or that the excitements of the right eye for the most part go into the left hemisphere. in a word, it is no anatomist. it is a very curious thing that our consciousness enters into relation only with the extra-cerebral, the external objects, and the superficies of our bodies. from this, this exact question suggests itself: a molecular wave must come as far as our visual cerebral centre for us to have the perception of the object before our eyes; how is it that our consciousness is unaware of this physiological event from which it depends, and is borne towards the distant object as if it sprang forth outside our nervous system? let us first remark, that if we do not perceive this wave, yet it must contain all we know of the external object, for it is evident that we only know of it that part of its properties which it transmits to our nerves and our nerve centres. all the known substance of the external object is, then, implied in this vibration; it is there, but it is not there by itself. the vibration is the work of two collaborators; it expresses at once the nature of the object which provokes it, and the nature of the nerve apparatus which transports it, as the furrow traced in the wax of the phonograph implies the joint action of an aërial vibration with a stylus, a cylinder, and, a clock-work apparatus. i therefore suppose--and this is, i say it plainly, but an hypothesis--that if the nervous vibration so little resembles the external excitant which generates it, it is because the factor nervous system superadds its effect to the factor excitant. let us imagine, now, that we have managed to separate these two effects, and we shall understand that then the nervous event so analysed might resemble only the object, or only the nervous system. now, of these two effects, one is constant, that one which represents the action of the nervous system; there is another which varies with each new perception, and even with every moment of the same perception--that is to say, the object. it is not impossible to understand that the consciousness remains deaf to the constant and sensitive to the variable element. there is a law of consciousness which has often been described, and fresh applications of which are met with daily: this is, that the consciousness only maintains itself by change, whether this change results from the exterior by impressions received, or is produced from the interior by movements of the attention. let us here apply this empirical law, and admit that it contains a first principle. it will then be possible for us to understand that the consciousness formed into a dialyser of the undulation may reject that constant element which expresses the contribution of the nervous system, and may lay bare the variable element which corresponds to the object: so that an intestinal movement of the cerebral substance, brought to light by this analytical consciousness, may become the perception of an object. by accepting this hypothesis, we restore to the sensory nerves and to the encephalic centres their property of being the substrata of representation, and avoid the objection made above against materialism and parallelism, that they did not explain how a cerebral movement, which is material, can engender the perception of an object which differs greatly from it and is yet as material as the movement itself. there is not here, properly speaking, either generation, transformation, or metamorphosis. the object to be perceived is contained in the nerve current. it is, as it were, rolled up in it; and it must be made to go forth from the wave to be seen. this last is the work of the consciousness. footnotes: [footnote : see [note ] on p. .] index abstractions, character of, "archives de psychologie," aristotle, , , , - , , association, "inseparable," automatism, bain, , , , , , , belfast, congress at, bergson, , ; theory of images and brain, - ; refutation of, - ; , , berkeley, , , , , , berthelot, binet, , ; theory of mind and brain, , body, union with mind, ; aristotle on body and soul, brain, , , ; and consciousness, , , brieux, brillouin, categories, , , , , change, law of consciousness, cognition, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , comte, auguste, concepts, method of, , ; metaphysics of, , conclusion, - condillac, condition, normal, consciousness, , ; anatomical ignorance of, , ; definition of: relation subject-object, categories of the understanding, separability of the consciousness from its object, idealism, - ; as dialyser, ; law of, , ; and nerve current, - ; manifestations of, ; of a state, ; origin of, ; phenomena of, , , , , ; useless luxury, contiguity, law of, , , current, motor, psychology of, , ; nerve, , , , , , ; sensory, dantec, "les lois naturelles," dastre, "la vie et la mort," , democritus, descartes, , , , , , "discours de la méthode," dreams, , dualism, of mind and matter, , , , , , , , duality, of sensation, ; of ideation, ; of consciousness and object, ; of nature, ; of soul and body, duhem, evolution of mechanics, ebbinghaus, , eccentricity, law of, effort, psychological nature of, ; sensation of, , ego, , , , , , ; and non-ego, , , emotions, definitions of the, - , energy, , enumeration, method of, epiphenomenon, "Étude expérimentale de l'intelligence" (binet), excitant, the, , , , , , , , existence or reality, , externospection, - fathers of the church, fechner, ferrier, finality, definition of, flournoy, , , , , geneva, congress of, philosophy at, goblot, e., "la finalité sans intelligence," habit, law of, hallucinations, , , hamilton, william, , , ; "philosophy" of, herbart, , herrick, c. l., heterogeneity, axiom of, , ; principle of, , , , , , , , , , , "histoire du matérialisme" (lange), hume, , huxley, , idealism, principle of, , , - ; refutation of, - ideation, duality of, , identity, image, definition of the, - , intellectualism, definition of, intelligence, only inactive consciousness, ; materialist explanation of, inter-actionism, introspection, - intuition, james, william, theory of emotion, - ; , "journal of philosophy," kant, , , , , , , kelvin, lord, knowable, the, , , knowledge and its object, - ; two groups of, külpe, "l'ame et le corps," "la finalité sans intelligence" (goblot), "la nouvelle monadologie" (renouvier et prat), "la philosophie de hamilton," "la vie et la mort" (dastre), ladd, _note_[ ] lange, theory of emotion, ; "histoire du matérialisme," law of contiguity, _note_[ ], , , law of eccentricity, law of mental expression rejected, _note_[ ]; mental distinguished from physical, law, psychological compared with natural, , law of relativity of cognition, law of similarity, _note_[ ], , le bon, gustave ("l'evolution de la matière"), "le paralogisme psycho-physiologique" (bergson), "le personnellisme" (renouvier), "leçons de philosophie" (rabier), leibnitz, , , littré, locke, "logical and psychological distinction between the true and the real" (herrick), lotze, , lyons, mach, materialism, origin and definition of, - ; refutation of, - ; , "matière et mémoire" (bergson), , , , , matter, definition of, - ; description of, - ; distinct from mind, ; domain of physics, ; mechanical theories of, - ; non-significant properties of, , ; _x_ of; , , , mechanics, fetichism of, mechanism, nervous, to imitate intellectual act, metaphysics, _note_[ ], , "métaphysique et psychologie" (flournoy), method, rule of, ; of concepts and enumeration, meudon, mill, john stuart, , , , , , mind, definition of, - ; - ; distinction between, and matter, ; domain of psychology, ; incomplete life of, - ; inseparability of, and matter, ; inventory of ; "mind and body" (bain), , monadism, monism, , motion, movement, molecular, ; vibratory, müller, münsterberg, nerves, motor, , ; power of distinction, ; specific energy of, , , ; sensory, , , , , ; vibrations of, , ; nervous system, , , , , , , , , , , , , , noumena, , , , , _note_[ ], , object. see _subject_ observation, organ, function of, material, ostwald, panmaterialism, panpsychism, , , parallelism, definition of, - ; refutation of, - ; ; , - ; parallelist theory, perceptible, the, , perception, intermediate character of, ; of a child, personality, formation of, phenomena, auditory, ; physical, , ; visual, phenomenism of berkeley, _note_[ ] "philosophical review," philosophy, history of, "philosophy of hamilton" (j. s. mill), pilon, plato, preadaptation, process of, - prince, morton, probabilism forced upon us, "psychical review," "psychologie," "psychologie du raisonnement" (binet), psychology, definitions of, - , , rabier, e., , , radio-activity, reason developed according to law, recapitulation, - reid, thomas, , , relativity, principle of, , , renouvier, , , , , "revue générale des sciences," "revue de métaphysique et de morale," , "revue de philosophie," raymond, du bois, ribot, search, direction of, , sensation, , , , , , , ; definition of, - ; mistrusted by physicists, - ; only means of acquaintance with outer world, - , , - ; physical or mental, - ; visual, sensibility, cerebral, , ; employment in physiology, separation of consciousness from its object, - similarity. see _law_ simon, dr., société française de philosophie, soul, distinct from body, ; union of body and, - souls, disembodied, specificity of nerves. see _nerves_ spencer, herbert, spiritualism, refutation of, , , , strong, m., subject, defined and distinguished from object, substance, definition of, substantialism, symbols, mechanical theories of matter, - system, nervous, , , , , , , , , , , , , , taine, theories, modern, - thought, not a movement, , ; characteristics of, truth, , tyndall, , unconsciousness, - understanding, categories of the, - unknowable, the, , union of mind and body, problem of, ; of soul and body, - verne, jules, vogt, karl, wave, molecular, , , ; nerve, will, the most characteristic psychical function, , world, assembly of sensations, ; our ideas, ; external known only by our sensations, - ; , - _x_ of matter, , , , zoologist, visual sensations of, * * * * * the international scientific series. each book complete in one volume. crown vo. cloth, _s._ unless otherwise described. i. forms of water: in clouds and rivers, ice and glaciers. by j. tyndall, ll.d., f.r.s. with illustrations. twelfth edition. ii. physics and politics; or, thoughts on the application of the principles of 'natural selection' and 'inheritance' to political society. by walter bagehot. tenth edition. iii. foods. by edward smith, m.d., ll.b., f.r.s. with illustrations. tenth edition. iv. mind and body: the theories of their relation. by alexander bain, ll.d. with four illustrations. ninth edition. v. the study of sociology. by herbert spencer. eighteenth edition. vi. the conservation of energy. by balfour stewart, m.a., ll.d., f.r.s. with illustrations. eighth edition. vii. animal locomotion; or, walking, swimming, and flying. by j. b. pettigrew, m.d., f.r.s., &c. with illustrations. fourth edition. viii. responsibility in mental disease. by henry maudsley, m.d. fifth edition. ix. the new chemistry. by professor j. p. cooke, of the harvard university. with illustrations. eleventh edition. x. the science of law. by professor sheldon amos. eighth edition. xi. animal mechanism: a treatise on terrestrial and aërial locomotion. by professor e. j. mahey. with illustrations. fourth edition. xii. the doctrine of descent and darwinism. by professor oscar schmidt (strasburg university). with illustrations. eighth edition. xiii. the history of the conflict between religion and science. by j. w. draper, m.d., ll.d. twenty-second edition. xiv. fungi: their nature, influences, uses, &c. by m. c. cooke, m.a., ll.d. edited by the rev. m. j. berkeley, m.a., f.l.s. with illustrations, fifth edition. xv. the chemistry of light and 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and plants. by h. m. vernon, m.a., m.d. london: kegan paul, trench, trÜbner, & co., ltd. the higher powers of mind and spirit by ralph waldo trine author of "in tune with the infinite," etc. london g. bell and sons, ltd. first published may reprinted november . reprinted , , , . printed in great britain by robert maclehose and co. ltd. the university press, glasgow foreword we are all dwellers in two kingdoms, the inner kingdom, the kingdom of the mind and spirit, and the outer kingdom, that of the body and the physical universe about us. in the former, the kingdom of the unseen, lie the silent, subtle forces that are continually determining, and with exact precision, the conditions of the latter. to strike the right balance in life is one of the supreme essentials of all successful living. we must work, for we must have bread. we require other things than bread. they are not only valuable, comfortable, but necessary. it is a dumb, stolid being, however, who does not realize that life consists of more than these. they spell mere existence, not abundance, fullness of life. we can become so absorbed in making a living that we have no time _for living_. to be capable and efficient in one's work is a splendid thing; but efficiency _can be made_ a great mechanical device that robs life of far more than it returns it. a nation can become so possessed, and even obsessed, with the idea of power and grandeur through efficiency and organisation, that it becomes a great machine and robs its people of the finer fruits of life that spring from a wisely subordinated and coordinated individuality. here again it is the wise balance that determines all. our prevailing thoughts and emotions determine, and with absolute accuracy, the prevailing conditions of our outward, material life, and likewise the prevailing conditions of our bodily life. would we have any conditions different in the latter we must then make the necessary changes in the former. the silent, subtle forces of mind and spirit, ceaselessly at work, are continually moulding these outward and these bodily conditions. he makes a fundamental error who thinks that these are mere sentimental things in life, vague and intangible. they are, as great numbers are now realising, the great and elemental things in life, the only things that in the end really count. the normal man or woman can never find real and abiding satisfaction in the mere possessions, the mere accessories of life. there is an eternal something within that forbids it. that is the reason why, of late years, so many of our big men of affairs, so many in various public walks in life, likewise many women of splendid equipment and with large possessions, have been and are turning so eagerly to the very things we are considering. to be a mere huckster, many of our big men are finding, cannot bring satisfaction, even though his operations run into millions in the year. and happy is the young man or the young woman who, while the bulk of life still lies ahead, realises that it is the things of the mind and the spirit--the fundamental things in life--that really count; that here lie the forces that are to be understood and to be used in moulding the everyday conditions and affairs of life; that the springs of life are all from within, that as is the inner so always and inevitably will be the outer. to present certain facts that may be conducive to the realisation of this more abundant life is the author's purpose and plan. r. w. t. _sunnybrae farm, croton-on-hudson, new york._ contents chapter page i. the silent, subtle building forces of mind and spirit ii. soul, mind, body--the subconscious mind that interrelates them iii. the way mind through the subconscious mind builds body iv. the powerful aid of the mind in rebuilding body--how body helps mind v. thought as a force in daily living vi. jesus the supreme exponent of the inner forces and powers: his people's religion and their condition vii. the divine rule in the mind and heart: the unessentials we drop--the spirit abides viii. if we seek the essence of his revelation, and the purpose of his life ix. his purpose of lifting up, energising, beautifying, and saving the entire life: the saving of the soul is secondary; but follows x. some methods of attainment xi. some methods of expression xii. the world war--its meaning and its lessons for us xiii. our sole agency of international peace, and international concord xiv. the world's balance-wheel the higher powers of mind and spirit i the silent, subtle building forces of mind and spirit there are moments in the lives of all of us when we catch glimpses of a life--our life--that is infinitely beyond the life we are now living. we realise that we are living below our possibilities. we long for the realisation of the life that we feel should be. instinctively we perceive that there are within us powers and forces that we are making but inadequate use of, and others that we are scarcely using at all. practical metaphysics, a more simplified and concrete psychology, well-known laws of mental and spiritual science, confirm us in this conclusion. our own william james, he who so splendidly related psychology, philosophy, and even religion, to life in a supreme degree, honoured his calling and did a tremendous service for all mankind, when he so clearly developed the fact that we have within us powers and forces that we are making all too little use of--that we have within us great reservoirs of power that we have as yet scarcely tapped. the men and the women who are awake to these inner helps--these directing, moulding, and sustaining powers and forces that belong to the realm of mind and spirit--are never to be found among those who ask: is life worth the living? for them life has been multiplied two, ten, a hundred fold. it is not ordinarily because we are not interested in these things, for instinctively we feel them of value; and furthermore our observations and experiences confirm us in this thought. the pressing cares of the everyday life--in the great bulk of cases, the bread and butter problem of life, which is after all the problem of ninety-nine out of every hundred--all seem to conspire to keep us from giving the time and attention to them that we feel we should give them. but we lose thereby tremendous helps to the daily living. through the body and its avenues of sense, we are intimately related to the physical universe about us. through the soul and spirit we are related to the infinite power that is the animating, the sustaining force--the life force--of all objective material forms. it is through the medium of the mind that we are able consciously to relate the two. through it we are able to realise the laws that underlie the workings of the spirit, and to open ourselves that they may become the dominating forces of our lives. there is a divine current that will bear us with peace and safety on its bosom if we are wise and diligent enough to find it and go with it. battling against the current is always hard and uncertain. going with the current lightens the labours of the journey. instead of being continually uncertain and even exhausted in the mere efforts of getting through, we have time for the enjoyments along the way, as well as the ability to call a word of cheer or to lend a hand to the neighbour, also on the way. the _natural, normal life_ is by a law divine under the guidance of the spirit. it is only when we fail to seek and to follow this guidance, or when we deliberately take ourselves from under its influence, that uncertainties arise, legitimate longings go unfulfilled, and that violated laws bring their penalties. it is well that we remember always that violated law carries with it its own penalty. the supreme intelligence--god, if you please--does not punish. he works through the channel of great immutable systems of law. _it is ours to find these laws._ that is what mind, intelligence, is for. knowing them we can then obey them and reap the beneficent results that are always a part of their fulfilment; knowingly or unknowingly, intentionally or unintentionally, we can fail to observe them, we can violate them, and suffer the results, or even be broken by them. life is not so complex if we do not so continually persist in making it so. supreme intelligence, creative power works only through law. science and religion are but different approaches to our understanding of the law. when both are real, they supplement one another and their findings are identical. the old hebrew prophets, through the channel of the spirit, perceived and enunciated some wonderful laws of the natural and normal life--that are now being confirmed by well-established laws of mental and spiritual science--and that are now producing these identical results in the lives of great numbers among us today, when they said: "and thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, this is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand and when ye turn to the left." and again: "the lord is with you, while ye be with him; and if ye seek him, he will be found of you; but if ye forsake him, he will forsake you." "thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee; because he trusteth in thee." "the lord in the midst of thee is mighty." "he that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall abide under the shadow of the almighty." "thou shalt be in league with the stones of the field, and the beasts of the field shall be at peace with thee." "commit thy way unto the lord: trust also in him and he shall bring it to pass." now these formulations all mean something of a _very definite nature_, or, they mean nothing at all. if they are actual expressions of fact, they are governed by certain definite and immutable laws. these men gave us, however, no knowledge of _the laws_ underlying the workings of these inner forces and powers; they perhaps had no such knowledge themselves. they were intuitive perceptions of truth on their part. the scientific spirit of this, our age, was entirely unknown to them. the growth of the race in the meantime, the development of the scientific spirit in the pursuit and the finding of truth, makes us infinitely beyond them in some things, while in others they were far ahead of us. but this fact remains, and this is the important fact: if these things were actual facts in the lives of these early hebrew prophets, they are then actual facts in our lives right now, today; or, if not actual facts, then they are facts that still lie in the realm of the potential, only waiting to be brought into the realm of the actual. these were not unusual men in the sense that the infinite power, god, if you please, could or did speak to them alone. they are types, they are examples of how any man or any woman, through desire and through will, can open himself or herself to the leadings of divine wisdom, and have actualised in his or her life an ever-growing sense of divine power. for truly "god is the same yesterday, and today, and forever." his laws are unchanging as well as immutable. none of these men taught, then, how to recognise the divine voice within, nor how to become continually growing embodiments of the divine power. they gave us perhaps, though, all they were able to give. then came jesus, the successor of this long line of illustrious hebrew prophets, with a greater aptitude for the things of the spirit--the supreme embodiment of divine realisation and revelation. with a greater knowledge of truth than they, he did greater things than they. he not only did these works, but he showed how he did them. he not only revealed _the way_, but so earnestly and so diligently he implored his hearers to follow _the way_. he makes known the secret of his insight and his power: "the words that i speak unto you i speak not of myself: but the father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works." again, "i can of my own self do nothing." and he then speaks of his purpose, his aim: "i am come that ye might have life, and that ye might have it more abundantly." a little later he adds: "the works that i do ye shall do also." now again, these things mean something of a very definite nature, or they mean nothing at all. the works done, the results achieved by jesus' own immediate disciples and followers, and in turn their followers, as well as in the early church for close to two hundred years after his time, all attest the truth of his teaching and demonstrate unmistakably the results that follow. down through the intervening centuries, the teachings, the lives and the works of various seers, sages, and mystics, within the church and out of the church, have likewise attested the truth of his teachings. the bulk of the christian world, however, since the third century, has been so concerned with various theories and teachings _concerning_ jesus, that it has missed almost completely the real vital and vitalising teachings _of_ jesus. we have not been taught primarily to follow his injunctions, and to apply the truths that he revealed to the problems of our everyday living. within the last two score of years or a little more, however, there has been a great going back directly to the teachings of jesus, and a determination to prove their truth and to make effective their assurances. also various laws in the realm of mental and spiritual science have become clearly established and clearly formulated, that confirm all his fundamental teachings. there are now definite and well-defined laws in relation to thought as a force, and the methods as to how it determines our material and bodily conditions. there are now certain well-defined laws pertaining to the subconscious mind, its ceaseless building activities, how it always takes its direction from the active, thinking mind, and how through this channel we may connect ourselves with reservoirs of power, so to speak, in an intelligent and effective manner. there are now well-understood laws underlying mental suggestion, whereby it can be made a tremendous source of power in our own lives, and can likewise be made an effective agency in arousing the motive powers of another for his or her healing, habit-forming, character-building. there are likewise well-established facts not only as to the value, but the absolute need of periods of meditation and quiet, alone with the source of our being, stilling the outer bodily senses, and fulfilling the conditions whereby the voice of the spirit can speak to us and through us, and the power of the spirit can manifest in and through us. a nation is great only as its people are great. its people are great in the degree that they strike the balance between the life of the mind and the spirit--all the finer forces and emotions of life--and their outer business organisation and activities. when the latter become excessive, when they grow at the expense of the former, then the inevitable decay sets in, that spells the doom of that nation, and its time is tolled off in exactly the same manner, and under the same law, as has that of all the other nations before it that sought to reverse the divine order of life. the human soul and its welfare is the highest business that any state can give its attention to. to recognise or to fail to recognise the value of the human soul in other nations, determines its real greatness and grandeur, or its self-complacent but essential vacuity. it is possible for a nation, through subtle delusions, to get such an attack of the big head that it bends over backwards, and it is liable, in this exposed position, to get a thrust in its vitals. to be carried too far along the road of efficiency, big business, expansion, world power, domination, at the expense of the great spiritual verities, the fundamental humanities of national life, that make for the real life and welfare of its people, and that give also its true and just relations with other nations and their people, is both dangerous and in the end suicidal--it can end in nothing but loss and eventual disaster. a silent revolution of thought is taking place in the minds of the people of all nations at this time, and will continue for some years to come. a stock-taking period in which tremendous revaluations are under way, is on. it is becoming clear-cut and decisive. ii soul, mind, body--the subconscious mind that interrelates them there is a notable twofold characteristic of this our age--we might almost say: of this our generation. it is on the one hand a tremendously far-reaching interest in the deeper spiritual realities of life, in the things of the mind and the spirit. on the other hand, there is a materialism that is apparent to all, likewise far-reaching. we are witnessing the two moving along, apparently at least, side by side. there are those who believe that out of the latter the former is arising, that we are witnessing another great step forward on the part of the human race--a new era or age, so to speak. there are many things that would indicate this to be a fact. the fact that the _material alone_ does not satisfy, and that from the very constitution of the human mind and soul, it cannot satisfy, may be a fundamental reason for this. it may be also that as we are apprehending, to a degree never equalled in the world's history, the finer forces in nature, and are using them in a very practical and useful way in the affairs and the activities of the daily life, we are also and perhaps in a more pronounced degree, realising, understanding, and using the finer, the higher insights and forces, and therefore powers, of mind, of spirit, and of body. i think there is a twofold reason for this widespread and rapidly increasing interest. a new psychology, or perhaps it were better to say, some new and more fully established laws of psychology, pertaining to the realm of the subconscious mind, its nature, and its peculiar activities and powers, has brought us another agency in life of tremendous significance and of far-reaching practical use. another reason is that the revelation and the religion of jesus the christ is witnessing a _new birth_, as it were. we are finding at last an entirely new content in his teachings, as well as in his life. we are dropping our interest in those phases of a christianity that he probably never taught, and that we have many reasons now to believe he never even thought--things that were added long years after his time. we are conscious, however, as never before, that that wonderful revelation, those wonderful teachings, and above all that wonderful life, have a content that can, that does, inspire, lift up, and make more effective, more powerful, more successful, and more happy, the life of every man and every woman who will accept, who will appropriate, who will live his teachings. look at it, however we will, this it is that accounts for the vast number of earnest, thoughtful, forward looking men and women who are passing over, and in many cases are passing from, traditional christianity, and who either of their own initiative, or under other leadership, are going back to those simple, direct, god-impelling teachings of the great master. they are finding salvation in his teachings and his example, where they _never could_ find it in various phases of the traditional teachings _about_ him. it is interesting to realise, and it seems almost strange that this new finding in psychology, and that this new and vital content in christianity, have come about at almost identically the same time. yet it is not strange, for the one but serves to demonstrate in a concrete and understandable manner the fundamental and essential principles of the other. many of the master's teachings of the inner life, teachings of "the kingdom," given so far ahead of his time that the people in general, and in many instances even his disciples, were incapable of fully comprehending and understanding them, are now being confirmed and further elucidated by clearly defined laws of psychology. speculation and belief are giving way to a greater knowledge of law. the supernatural recedes into the background as we delve deeper into the supernormal. the unusual loses its miraculous element as we gain knowledge of the law whereby the thing is done. we are realising that no miracle has ever been performed in the world's history that was not through the understanding and the use of law. jesus did unusual things; but he did them because of his unusual understanding of the law through which they could be done. _he_ would not have us believe otherwise. to do so would be a distinct contradiction of the whole tenor of his teachings and his injunctions. ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free, was his own admonition. it was the great and passionate longing of his master heart that the people to whom he came, grasp the _interior meanings_ of his teachings. how many times he felt the necessity of rebuking even his disciples for dragging his teachings down through their material interpretations. as some of the very truths that he taught are now corroborated and more fully understood, and in some cases amplified by well-established laws of psychology, mystery recedes into the background. we are reconstructing a more natural, a more sane, a more common-sense portrait of the master. "it is the spirit that quickeneth," said he; "the flesh profiteth nothing; the words that i speak unto you, _they_ are spirit and _they_ are life." shall we recall again in this connection: "i am come that ye might have life and that ye might have it more abundantly"? when, therefore, we take him at his word, and listen intently to _his_ words, and not so much to the words of others about him; when we place our emphasis upon the fundamental spiritual truths that he revealed and that he pleaded so earnestly to be taken in the simple, direct way in which he taught them, we are finding that the religion of the christ means a clearer and healthier understanding of life and its problems through a greater knowledge of the elemental forces and laws of life. ignorance enchains and enslaves. truth--which is but another way of saying a clear and definite knowledge of law, the elemental laws of soul, of mind, and body, and of the universe about us--brings freedom. jesus revealed essentially a spiritual philosophy of life. his whole revelation pertained to the essential divinity of the human soul and the great gains that would follow the realisation of this fact. his whole teaching revolved continually around his own expression, used again and again, the kingdom of god, or the kingdom of heaven, and which he so distinctly stated was an inner state or consciousness or realisation. something not to be found outside of oneself but to be found _only within_. we make a great error to regard man as merely a duality--mind and body. man is a trinity,--soul, mind, and body, each with its own functions,--and it is the right coordinating of these that makes the truly efficient and eventually the perfect life. anything less is always one-sided and we may say, continually out of gear. it is essential to a correct understanding, and therefore for any adequate use of the potential powers and forces of the inner life, to realise this. it is the physical body that relates us to the physical universe about us, that in which we find ourselves in this present form of existence. but the body, wondrous as it is in its functions and its mechanism, is not the life. it has no life and no power in itself. it is of the earth, earthy. every particle of it has come from the earth through the food we eat in combination with the air we breathe and the water we drink, and every part of it in time will go back to the earth. it is the house we inhabit while here. we can make it a hovel or a mansion; we can make it even a pig-sty or a temple, according as the soul, the real self, chooses to function through it. we should make it servant, but through ignorance of the real powers within, we can permit it to become master. "know ye not," said the great apostle to the gentiles, "that your body is the temple of the holy ghost which is in you, which ye have of god, and ye are not your own?" the soul is the self, the soul made in the image of eternal divine life, which, as jesus said, is spirit. the essential reality of the soul is spirit. spirit--being--is one and indivisible, manifesting itself, however, in individual forms in existence. divine being and the human soul are therefore in essence the same, the same in quality. their difference, which, however, is very great--though less in some cases than in others--is a difference _in degree_. divine being is the cosmic force, the essential essence, the life therefore of all there is in existence. the soul is individual personal existence. the soul while in this form of existence manifests, functions through the channel of a material body. _it is the mind that relates the two._ it is through the medium of the mind that the two must be coordinated. the soul, the self, while in this form of existence, must have a body through which to function. the body, on the other hand, to reach and to maintain its highest state, must be continually infused with the life force of the soul. the life force of the soul is spirit. if spirit, then _essentially one_ with infinite divine spirit, for spirit, being, is one. the embodied soul finds itself the tenant of a material body in a material universe, and according to a plan as yet, at least, beyond our human understanding, whatever may be our thoughts, our theories regarding it. the whole order of life as we see it, all the world of nature about us, and we must believe the order of human life, is a gradual evolving from the lower to the higher, from the cruder to the finer. the purpose of life is unquestionably unfoldment, growth, advancement--likewise the evolving from the lower and the coarser to the higher and the finer. the higher insights and powers of the soul, always potential within, become of value only as they are realised and used. evolution implies always involution. the substance of all we shall ever attain or be, is within us now, waiting for realisation and thereby expression. the soul carries its own keys to all wisdom and to all valuable and usable power. it was that highly illumined seer, emanuel swedenborg, who said: "every created thing is in itself inanimate and dead, but it is animated and caused to live by this, that the divine is in it and that it exists in and from the divine." again: "the universal end of creation is that there should be an external union of the creator with the created universe; and this would not be possible unless there were beings in whom his divine might be present as if in itself; thus in whom it might dwell and abide. to be his abode, they must receive his love and wisdom by a power which seems to be their own; thus, must lift themselves up to the creator as if by their own power, and unite themselves with him. without this mutual action no union would be possible." and again: "every one who duly considers the matter may know that the body does not think, because it is material, but the soul, because it is spiritual. all the rational life, therefore, which appears in the body belongs to the spirit, for the matter of the body is annexed, and, as it were, joined to the spirit, in order that the latter may live and perform uses in the natural world.... since everything which lives in the body, and acts and feels by virtue of that life, belongs to the spirit alone, it follows that the spirit is the real man; or, what comes to the same thing, man himself is a spirit, in a form similar to that of his body." spirit being the real man, it follows that the great, central fact of all experience, of all human life, is the coming into a conscious, vital realisation of our source, of our real being, in other words, of our essential oneness with the spirit of infinite life and power--the source of all life and all power. we need not look for outside help when we have within us waiting to be realised, and thereby actualised, this divine birthright. browning was prophet as well as poet when in "paracelsus" he said: truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise from outward things, whate'er you may believe. there is an inmost centre in us all, where truth abides in fulness; and around wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in, this perfect, clear perception--which is truth. a baffling and perverting carnal mesh binds it, and makes all error: and, to know rather consists in opening out a way whence the imprisoned splendour may escape, than in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without. how strangely similar in meaning it seems to that saying of an earlier prophet, isaiah: "and thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, this is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand and when ye turn to the left." all great educators are men of great vision. it was dr. hiram corson who said: "it is what man draws up from his sub-self which is of prime importance in his true education, not what is put into him. it is the occasional uprising of our sub-selves that causes us, at times, to feel that we are greater than we know." a new psychology, spiritual science, a more commonsense interpretation of the great revelation of the christ of nazareth, all combine to enable us to make this occasional uprising our natural and normal state. no man has probably influenced the educational thought and practice of the entire world more than friedrich froebel. in that great book of his, "the education of man," he bases his entire system upon the following, which constitutes the opening of its first chapter: "in all things there lives and reigns an eternal law. this all-controlling law is necessarily based on an all-pervading, energetic, living, self-conscious, and hence eternal, unity.... _this unity is god._ all things have come from the divine unity, from god, and have their origin in the divine unity, in god alone. god is the sole source of all things. all things live and have their being in and through the divine unity, in and through god. all things are only through the divine effluence that lives in them. the divine effluence that lives in each thing is the essence of each thing. "it is the destiny and life work of all things to unfold their essence, hence their divine being, and, therefore, the divine unity itself--to reveal god in their external and transient being. it is the special destiny and life work of man, as an intelligent and rational being, to become fully, vividly, conscious of this essence of the divine effluence in him, and therefore of god. "the precept for life in general and for every one is: _exhibit only thy spiritual, thy life, in the external, and by means of the external in thy actions, and observe the requirements of thy inner being and its nature._" here is not only an undying basis for all real education, but also the basis of all true religion, as well as the basis of all ideal philosophy. yes, there could be no evolution, unless the essence of all to be evolved, unfolded, were already involved in the human soul. to follow the higher leadings of the soul, which is so constituted that it is the inlet, and as a consequence the outlet of divine spirit, creative energy, the real source of all wisdom and power; to project its leadings into every phase of material activity and endeavour, constitutes the ideal life. it was emerson who said: "every soul is not only the inlet, but may become the outlet of all there is in god." to keep this inlet open, so as not to shut out the divine inflow, is the secret of all higher achievement, as well as attainment. there is a wood separated by a single open field from my house. in it, halfway down a little hillside, there was some years ago a spring. it was at one time walled up with rather large loose stone--some three feet across at the top. in following a vaguely defined trail through the wood one day in the early spring, a trail at one time evidently considerably used, it led me to this spot. i looked at the stone enclosure, partly moss-grown. i wondered why, although the ground was wet around it, there was no water in or running from what had evidently been at one time a well-used spring. a few days later when the early summer work was better under way, i took an implement or two over, and half scratching, half digging inside the little wall, i found layer after layer of dead leaves and sediment, dead leaves and sediment. presently water became evident, and a little later it began to rise within the wall. in a short time there was nearly three feet of water. it was cloudy, no bottom could be seen. i sat down and waited for it to settle. presently i discerned a ledge bottom and the side against the hill was also ledge. on this side, close to the bottom, i caught that peculiar movement of little particles of silvery sand, and looking more closely i could see a cleft in the rock where the water came gushing and bubbling in. soon the entire spring became clear as crystal, and the water finding evidently its old outlet, made its way down the little hillside. i was soon able to trace and to uncover its course as it made its way to the level place below. as the summer went on i found myself going to the spot again and again. flowers that i found in no other part of the wood, before the autumn came were blooming along the little watercourse. birds in abundance came to drink and to bathe. several times i have found the half-tame deer there. twice we were but thirty to forty paces apart. they have watched my approach, and as i stopped, have gone on with their drinking, evidently unafraid--as if it were likewise their possession. and so it is. after spending a most valuable hour or two in the quiet there one afternoon, i could not help but wonder as i walked home whether perchance the spring may not be actually happy in being able to resume its life, to fulfil, so to speak, its destiny; happy also in the service it renders flowers and the living wild things--happy in the service it renders even me. i am doubly happy and a hundred times repaid in the little help i gave it. it needed help, to enable it effectively to keep connection with its source. as it became gradually shut off from this, it weakened, became then stagnant, and finally it ceased its active life. containing a fundamental truth deeper perhaps than we realise, are these words of that gifted seer, emanuel swedenborg: "there is only one fountain of life, and the life of man is a stream therefrom, which if it were not continually replenished from its source would instantly cease to flow." and likewise these: "those who think in the light of interior reason can see that all things are connected by intermediate links with the first cause, and that whatever is not maintained in that connection must cease to exist." there is a mystic force that transcends any powers of the intellect or of the body, that becomes manifest and operative in the life of man when this god-consciousness becomes awakened and permeates his entire being. failure to realise and to keep in constant communion with our source is what causes fears, forebodings, worry, inharmony, conflict, conflict that downs us many times in mind, in spirit, in body--failure to follow that light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world, failure to hear and to heed that voice of the soul, that speaks continually clearer as we accustom ourselves to listen to and to heed it, failure to follow those intuitions with which the soul, every soul, is endowed, and that lead us aright and that become clearer in their leadings as we follow them. it is this guidance and this sustaining power that all great souls fall back upon in times of great crises. this single stanza by edwin markham voices the poet's inspiration: at the heart of the cyclone tearing the sky, and flinging the clouds and the towers by, is a place of central calm; so, here in the roar of mortal things i have a place where my spirit sings, in the hollow of god's palm. "that the divine life and energy _actually lives in us_," was the philosopher fichte's reply to the proposition--"the profoundest knowledge that man can attain." and speaking of the man to whom this becomes a real, vital, conscious realisation, he said: "his whole existence flows forth, softly and gently, from his inward being, and issues out into reality without difficulty or hindrance." there are certain faculties that we have that are not a part of the active thinking mind; they seem to be no part of what we might term our _conscious intelligence_. they transcend any possible activities of our regular mental processes, and they are in some ways independent of them. through some avenue, suggestions, intuitions of truth, intuitions of occurrences of which through the thinking mind we could know nothing, are at times borne in upon us; they flash into our consciousness, as we say, quite independent of any mental action on our part, and sometimes when we are thinking of something quite foreign to that which comes to, that which "impresses" us. this seems to indicate a source of knowledge, a faculty that is distinct from, but that acts in various ways in conjunction with, the active thinking mind. it performs likewise certain very definite and distinct functions in connection with the body. it is this that is called the _subconscious mind_--by some the superconscious or the supernormal mind, by others the subliminal self. just what the subconscious mind is no man knows. it is easier to define its functions and to describe its activities than it is to state in exact terms what it is. it is similar in this respect to the physical force--if it be a physical force--electricity. it is only of late years that we know anything of electricity at all. today we know a great deal of its nature and the laws of its action. no man living can tell exactly what electricity is. we are nevertheless making wonderful _practical applications_ of it. we are learning more _about it_ continually. some day we may know what it _actually is_. the fact that the subconscious mind seems to function in a realm apart from anything that has to do with our conscious mental processes, and also that it has some definite functions as both directing and building functions to perform in connection with the body, and that it is at the same time subject to suggestion and direction from the active thinking mind, would indicate that it may be the true connecting link, the medium of exchange, between the soul and the body, the connector of the spiritual and the material so far as man is concerned. iii the way mind through the subconscious mind builds body when one says that he numbers among his acquaintances some who are as old at sixty as some others are at eighty, he but gives expression to a fact that has become the common possession of many. i have known those who at fifty-five and sixty were to all intents and purposes really older, more decrepit, and rapidly growing still more decrepit both in mind and body, than many another at seventy and seventy-five and even at eighty. history, then, is replete with instances, memorable instances, of people, both men and women, who have accomplished things at an age--who have even begun and carried through to successful completion things at an age that would seem to thousands of others, in the captivity of age, with their backs to the future, ridiculous even to think of accomplishing, much less of beginning. on account of a certain law that has always seemed to me to exist and that i am now firmly convinced is very _exact_ in its workings, i have been interested in talking with various ones and in getting together various facts relative to this great discrepancy in the ages of these two classes of "old" people. within the year i called upon a friend whom, on account of living in a different portion of the country, i hadn't seen for nearly ten years. conversation revealed to me the fact that he was then in his eighty-eighth year. i could notice scarcely a change in his appearance, walk, voice, and spirit. we talked at length upon the various, so-called, periods of life. he told me that about the only difference that he noticed in himself as compared with his middle life was that now when he goes out to work in his garden, and among his trees, bushes, and vines--and he has had many for many years--he finds that he is quite ready to quit and to come in at the end of about two hours, and sometimes a little sooner, when formerly he could work regularly without fatigue for the entire half day. in other words, he has not the same degree of endurance that he once had. among others, there comes to mind in this connection another who is a little under seventy. it chances to be a woman. she is bent and decrepit and growing more so by very fixed stages each twelvemonth. i have known her for over a dozen years. at the time when i first knew her she was scarcely fifty-eight, she was already bent and walked with an uncertain, almost faltering tread. the dominant note of her personality was then as now, but more so now, fear for the present, fear for the future, a dwelling continually on her ills, her misfortunes, her symptoms, her approaching and increasing helplessness. such cases i have observed again and again; so have all who are at all interested in life and in its forces and its problems. what is the cause of this almost world-wide difference in these two lives? in this case it is as clear as day--the mental characteristics and the mental habits of each. in the first case, here was one who early got a little philosophy into his life and then more as the years passed. he early realised that in himself his good or his ill fortune lay; that the mental attitude we take toward anything determines to a great extent our power in connection with it, as well as its effects upon us. he grew to love his work and he did it daily, but never under high pressure. he was therefore benefited by it. his face was always to the future, even as it is today. this he made one of the fundamental rules of his life. he was helped in this, he told me in substance, by an early faith which with the passing of the years has ripened with him into a demonstrable conviction--that there is a spirit of infinite life back of all, working in love in and through the lives of all, and that in the degree that we realise it as the one supreme source of our lives, and when through desire and will, which is through the channel of our thoughts, we open our lives so that this higher power can work definitely in and through us, and then go about and do our daily work without fears or forebodings, the passing of the years sees only the highest good entering into our lives. in the case of the other one whom we have mentioned, a repetition seems scarcely necessary. suffice it to say that the common expression on the part of those who know her--i have heard it numbers of times--is: "what a blessing it will be to herself and to others when she has gone!" a very general rule with but few exceptions can be laid down as follows: the body ordinarily looks as old as the mind thinks and feels. shakespeare anticipated by many years the best psychology of the times when he said: "it is the mind that makes the body rich." it seems to me that our great problem, or rather our chief concern, should not be so much how to stay young in the sense of possessing all the attributes of youth, _for the passing of the years does bring changes_, but how to pass gracefully, and even magnificently, and with undiminished vigour from youth to middle age, and then how to carry that middle age into approaching old age, with a great deal more of the vigour and the outlook of middle life than _we ordinarily do_. the mental as well as the physical helps that are now in the possession of this our generation, are capable of working a revolution in the lives of many who are or who may become sufficiently awake to them, so that with them there will not be that--shall we say--immature passing from middle life into a broken, purposeless, decrepit, and sunless, and one might almost say, soulless old age. it seems too bad that so many among us just at the time that they have become of most use to themselves, their families, and to the world, should suddenly halt and then continue in broken health, and in so many cases lie down and die. increasing numbers of thinking people the world over are now, as never before, finding that this is not necessary, that something is at fault, that that fault is in ourselves. if so, then reversely, the remedy lies in ourselves, in our own hands, so to speak. in order to actualise and to live this better type of life we have got to live better from both sides, both the mental and the physical, this with all due respect to shakespeare and to all modern mental scientists. the body itself, what we term the physical body, whatever may be the facts regarding a finer spiritual body within it all the time giving form to and animating and directing all its movements, is of material origin, and derives its sustenance from the food we take, from the air we breathe, the water we drink. in this sense it is from the earth, and when we are through with it, it will go back to the earth. the body, however, is not the life; it is merely the material agency that enables the life to manifest in a material universe for a certain, though not necessarily a given, period of time. it is the life, or the soul, or the personality that uses, and that in using shapes and moulds, the body and that also determines its strength or its weakness. when this is separated from the body, the body at once becomes a cold, inert mass, commencing immediately to decompose into the constituent material elements that composed it--literally going back to the earth and the elements whence it came. it is through the instrumentality or the agency of thought that the life, the self, uses, and manifests through, the body. again, while it is true that the food that is taken and assimilated nourishes, sustains and builds the body, it is also true that the condition and the operation of the mind through the avenue of thought determines into what shape or form the body is so builded. so in this sense it is true that mind builds body; it is the agency, the force that determines the shaping of the material elements. here is a wall being built. bricks are the material used in its construction. we do not say that the bricks are building the wall; we say that the mason is building it, as is the case. he is using the material that is supplied him, in this case bricks, giving form and structure in a definite, methodical manner. again, back of the mason is his mind, acting through the channel of his thought, that is directing his hands and all his movements. without this guiding, directing _force_ no wall could take shape, even if millions of bricks were delivered upon the scene. so it is with the body. we take the food, the water, we breathe the air; but this is all and always acted upon by a higher force. thus it is that mind builds body, the same as in every department of our being it is the great builder. our thoughts shape and determine our features, our walk, the posture of our bodies, our voices; they determine the effectiveness of our mental and our physical activities, as well as all our relations with and influence or effects upon others. you say: "i admit the operation of and even in certain cases the power of thought, also that at times it has an influence upon our general feelings, but i do not admit that it can have any direct influence upon the body." here is one who has allowed herself to be long given to grief, abnormally so--notice her lowered physical condition, her lack of vitality. the new york papers within the past twelve months recorded the case of a young lady in new jersey who, from _constant_ grieving over the death of her mother, died, fell dead, within a week. a man is handed a telegram. he is eating and enjoying his dinner. he reads the contents of the message. almost immediately afterward, his body is a-tremble, his face either reddens or grows "ashy white," his appetite is gone; such is the effect of the mind upon the stomach that it literally refuses the food; if forced upon it, it may reject it entirely. a message is delivered to a lady. she is in a genial, happy mood. her face whitens; she trembles and her body falls to the ground in a faint, temporarily helpless, apparently lifeless. such are the intimate relations between the mind and the body. raise a cry of fire in a crowded theatre. it may be a false alarm. there are among the audience those who become seemingly palsied, powerless to move. it is the state of the mind, and within several seconds, that has determined the state of these bodies. such are examples of the wonderfully quick influence of the mind on the body. great stress, or anxiety, or fear, may in two weeks' or even in two days' time so work its ravages that the person looks ten years or even twenty years older. a person has been long given to worry, or perhaps to worry in extreme form though not so long--a well-defined case of indigestion and general stomach trouble, with a generally lowered and sluggish vitality, has become pronounced and fixed. any type of thought that prevails in our mental lives will in time produce its correspondences in our physical lives. as we understand better these laws of correspondences, we will be more careful as to the types of thoughts and emotions we consciously, or unwittingly, entertain and live with. the great bulk of all diseases, we will find, as we are continually finding more and more, are in the mind before being in the body, or are generated in the body through certain states and conditions of mind. the present state and condition of the body have been produced primarily by the thoughts that have been taken by the conscious mind into the subconscious, that is so intimately related to and that directs all the subconscious and involuntary functions of the body. says one: it may be true that the mind has had certain effects upon the body; but to be able _consciously_ to affect the body through the mind is impossible and even unthinkable, for the body is a solid, fixed, material form. we must get over the idea, as we quickly will, if we study into the matter, that the body, in fact anything that we call material and solid, is really solid. even in the case of a piece of material as "solid" as a bar of steel, the atoms forming the molecules are in continual action each in conjunction with its neighbour. in the last analysis the body is composed of cells--cells of bone, vital organ, flesh, sinew. in the body the cells are continually changing, forming and reforming. death would quickly take place were this not true. nature is giving us a new body practically every year. there are very few elements, cells, in the body of today that were there a year ago. the rapidity with which a cut or wound on the body is replaced by healthy tissue, the rapidity with which it heals, is an illustration of this. one "touches" himself in shaving. in a week, sometimes in less than a week, if the blood and the cell structure be particularly healthy, there is no trace of the cut, the formation of new cell tissue has completely repaired it. through the formation of new cell structure the life-force within, acting through the blood, is able to rebuild and repair, if not too much interfered with, very rapidly. the reason, we may say almost the sole reason, that surgery has made such great advances during the past few years, so much greater correspondingly than medicine, is on account of a knowledge of the importance of and the use of antiseptics--keeping the wound clean and entirely free from all extraneous matter. so then, the greater portion of the body is really new, therefore young, in that it is almost entirely this year's growth. newness of form is continually being produced in the body by virtue of this process of perpetual renewal that is continually going on, and the new cells and tissues are just as new as is the new leaf that comes forth in the springtime to take the place of and to perform the same functions as the one that was thrown off by the tree last autumn. the skin renews itself through the casting off of used cells (those that have already performed their functions) most rapidly, taking but a few weeks. the muscles, the vital organs, the entire arterial system, the brain and the nervous system all take longer, but all are practically renewed within a year, some in much less time. then comes the bony structure, taking the longest, varying, we are told, from seven and eight months to a year, in unusual cases fourteen months and longer. it is, then, through this process of cell formation that the physical body has been built up, and through the same process that it is continually renewing itself. it is not therefore at any time or at any age a solid fixed mass or material, but a structure in a continually changing fluid form. it is therefore easy to see how we have it in our power, when we are once awake to the relations between the conscious mind and the subconscious--and it in turn in its relations to the various involuntary and vital functions of the body--to determine to a great extent how the body shall be built or how it shall be rebuilt. mentally to live in any state or attitude of mind is to take that state or condition into the subconscious. _the subconscious mind does and always will produce in the body after its own kind._ it is through this law that we externalise and become in body what we live in our minds. if we have predominating visions of and harbour thoughts of old age and weakness, this state, with all its attendant circumstances, will become externalised in our bodies far more quickly than if we entertain thoughts and visions of a different type. said archdeacon wilberforce in a notable address in westminster abbey some time ago: "the recent researches of scientific men, endorsed by experiments in the salpétrière in paris, have drawn attention to the intensely creative power of suggestions made by the conscious mind to the subconscious mind." iv the powerful aid of the mind in rebuilding body--how body helps mind "the body looks," some one has said, "as old as the mind feels." by virtue of a great mental law and at the same time chemical law we are well within the realm of truth when we say: the body ordinarily is as old as the mind feels. every living organism is continually going through two processes: it is continually dying, and continually being renewed through the operation and the power of the life force within it. in the human body it is through the instrumentality of the cell that this process is going on. the cell is the ultimate constituent in the formation and in the life of tissue, fibre, tendon, bone, muscle, brain, nerve system, vital organ. it is the instrumentality that nature, as we say, uses to do her work. the cell is formed; it does its work; it serves its purpose and dies; and all the while new cells are being formed to take its place. this process of new cell formation is going on in the body of each of us much more rapidly and uniformly than we think. science has demonstrated the fact that there are very few cells in the body today that were there twelve months ago. the form of the body remains practically the same; but its constituent elements are in a constant state of change. the body, therefore, is continually changing; it is never in a fixed state in the sense of being a solid, but is always in a changing, fluid state. it is being continually remade. it is the life, or the life force within, acting under the direction and guidance of the subconscious or subjective mind that is the agency through which this continually new cell-formation process is going on. the subconscious mind is, nevertheless, always subject to suggestions and impressions that are conveyed to it by the conscious or sense mind; and here lies the great fact, the one all-important fact for us so far as desirable or undesirable, so far as healthy or unhealthy, so far as normal or aging body-building is concerned. that we have it in our power to determine our physical and bodily conditions to a far greater extent than we do is an undeniable fact. that we have it in our power to determine and to dictate the conditions of "old age" to a marvellous degree is also an undeniable fact--if we are sufficiently keen and sufficiently awake to begin early enough. if any arbitrary divisions of the various periods of life were allowable, i should make the enumeration as follows: youth, barring the period of babyhood, to forty-five; middle age, forty-five to sixty; approaching age, sixty to seventy-five; old age, seventy-five to ninety-five and a hundred. that great army of people who "age" long before their time, that likewise great army of both men and women who along about middle age, say from forty-five to sixty, break and, as we say, all of a sudden go to pieces, and many die, just at the period when they should be in the prime of life, in the full vigour of manhood and womanhood and of greatest value to themselves, to their families, and to the world, is something that is _contrary to nature_, and is one of the pitiable conditions of our time. a greater knowledge, a little foresight, a little care in _time_ could prevent this in the great majority of cases, in ninety cases out of every hundred, without question. abounding health and strength--wholeness--is the natural law of the body. the life force of the body, acting always under the direction of the subconscious mind, _will build, and always does build_, healthily and normally, unless too much interfered with. it is this that determines the type of the cell structure that is continually being built into the body from the available portions of the food that we take to give nourishment to the body. it is affected for good or for bad, helped or hindered, in its operation by the type of conscious thought that is directed toward it, and that it is always influenced by. of great suggestive value is the following by an able writer and practitioner: "god has managed, and perpetually manages, to insert into our nature a tendency toward health, and against the unnatural condition which we call disease. when our flesh receives a wound, a strange nursing and healing process is immediately commenced to repair the injury. so in all diseases, organic or functional, this mysterious healing power sets itself to work at once to triumph over the morbid condition.... cannot this healing process be greatly accelerated by a voluntary and conscious action of the mind, assisted, if need be, by some other person? i unhesitatingly affirm, from experience and observation, that it can. by some volitional, mental effort and process of thought, this sanative colatus, or healing power which god has given to our physiological organism, may be greatly quickened and intensified in its action upon the body. here is the secret philosophy of the cures effected by jesus christ.... there is a law of the action of mind on the body that is no more an impenetrable mystery than the law of gravitation. it can be understood and acted upon in the cure of disease as well as any other law of nature." if, then, it be possible through this process to change physical conditions in the body even after they have taken form and have become fixed, as we say, isn't it possible even more easily to determine the type of cell structure that is grown in the first place? the ablest minds in the world have thought and are thinking that if we could find a way of preventing the hardening of the cells of the system, producing in turn hardened arteries and what is meant by the general term "ossification," that the process of aging, growing old, could be greatly retarded, and that the condition of perpetual youth that we seem to catch glimpses of in rare individuals here and there could be made a more common occurrence than we find it today. the cause of ossification is partly mental, partly physical, and in connection with them both are hereditary influences and conditions that have to be taken into consideration. shall we look for a moment to the first? the food that is taken into the system, or the available portions of the food, is the building material; but the mind is always the builder. there are, then, two realms of mind, the conscious and the subconscious. another way of expressing it would be to say that mind functions through two avenues--the avenue of the conscious and the avenue of the subconscious. the conscious is the thinking mind; the subconscious is the doing mind. the conscious is the sense mind, it comes in contact with and is acted upon through the avenue of the five senses. the subconscious is that quiet, finer, all-permeating inner mind or force that guides all the inner functions, the life functions of the body, and that watches over and keeps them going even when we are utterly unconscious in sleep. the conscious suggests and gives directions; the subconscious receives and carries into operation the suggestions that are received. the thoughts, ideas, and even beliefs and emotions of the conscious mind are the seeds that are taken in by the subconscious and that in this great _realm of causation_ will germinate and produce of their own kind. the chemical activities that go on in the process of cell formation in the body are all under the influence, the domination of this great all-permeating subconscious, or subjective realm within us. in that able work, "the laws of psychic phenomena," dr. thomas j. hudson lays down this proposition: "that the subjective mind is constantly amenable to control by suggestion." it is easy, when we once understand and appreciate this great fact, to see how the body builds, or rather is built, for health and strength, or for disease and weakness; for youth and vigour, or for premature ossification and age. it is easy, then, to see how we can have a hand in, in brief can have the controlling hand in, building either the one or the other. it is in the province of the intelligent man or woman to take hold of the wheel, so to speak, and to determine as an intelligent human being should, what condition or conditions shall be given birth and form to and be externalised in the body. a noted thinker and writer has said: "whatever the mind is set upon, or whatever it keeps most in view, that it is bringing to it, and the continual thought or imagining must at last take form and shape in the world of seen and tangible things." and now, to be as concrete as possible, we have these facts: the body is continually changing in that it is continually throwing out and off, used cells, and continually building new cells to take their places. this process, as well as all the inner functions of the body, is governed and guarded by the subconscious realm of our being. the subconscious can do and does do whatever it is _actually_ directed to do by the conscious, thinking mind. "we must be careful on what we allow our minds to dwell," said sir john lubbock, "the soul is dyed by its thoughts." if we believe ourselves subject to weakness, decay, infirmity, when we should be "whole," the subconscious mind seizes upon the pattern that is sent it and builds cell structure accordingly. this is one great reason why one who is, as we say, chronically thinking and talking of his ailments and symptoms, who is complaining and fearing, is never well. to see one's self, to believe, and therefore to picture one's self in mind as strong, healthy, active, well, is to furnish a pattern, is to give suggestion and therefore direction to the subconscious so that it will build cell tissue having the stamp and the force of healthy, vital, active life, which in turn means abounding health and strength. so, likewise, at about the time that "old age" is supposed ordinarily to begin, when it is believed in and looked for by those about us and those who act in accordance with this thought, if we fall into this same mental drift, we furnish the subconscious the pattern that it will inevitably build bodily conditions in accordance with. we will then find the ordinarily understood marks and conditions of old age creeping upon us, and we will become subject to their influences in every department of our being. whatever is thus pictured in the mind and lived in, the life force will produce. to remain young in mind, in spirit, in feeling, is to remain young in body. growing old at the period or age at which so many grow old, is to a great extent a matter of habit. to think health and strength, to see ourselves continually growing in this condition, is to set into operation the subtlest dynamic force for the externalisation of these conditions in the body that can be even conceived of. if one's bodily condition, through abnormal, false mental and emotional habits, has become abnormal and diseased, this same attitude of mind, of spirit, of imagery, is to set into operation _a subtle and powerful corrective agency that, if persisted in, will inevitably tend to bring normal, healthy conditions to the front again_. true, if these abnormal, diseased conditions have been helped on or have been induced by wrong physical habits, by the violation of physical laws, this violation must cease. but combine the two, and then give the body the care that it requires in a moderate amount of simple, wholesome food, regular cleansing to assist it in the elimination of impurities and of used cell structure that is being regularly cast off, an abundance of pure air and of moderate exercise, and a change amounting almost to a miracle can be wrought--it may be, indeed, what many people of olden time would have termed a miracle. the mind thus becomes "a silent, transforming, sanative energy" of great potency and power. that it can be so used is attested by the fact of the large numbers, and the rapidly increasing numbers, all about us who are so using it. this is what many people all over our country are doing today, with the results that, by a great elemental law--divine law if you choose--_many_ are curing themselves of various diseases, _many_ are exchanging weakness and impotence for strength and power, _many_ are ceasing, comparatively speaking, are politely refusing, to grow old. thought is a force, subtle and powerful, and it tends inevitably to produce of its kind. in forestalling "old age," at least old age of the decrepit type, it is the period of middle life where the greatest care is to be employed. if, at about the time "old age" is supposed ordinarily to begin, the "turn" at middle life or a little later, we would stop to consider what this period really means, that it means with both men and women a period of life where some simple readjustments are to be made, a period of a little rest, a little letting up, a temporary getting back to the playtime of earlier years and a bringing of these characteristics back into life again, then a complete letting-up would not be demanded by nature a little later, as it is demanded in such a lamentably large number of cases at the present time. so in a definite, deliberate way, youth should be blended into the middle life, and the resultant should be a force that will stretch middle life for an indefinite period into the future. and what an opportunity is here for mothers, at about the time that the children have grown, and some or all even have "flown"! of course, mother shouldn't go and get foolish, she shouldn't go cavorting around in a sixteen-year-old hat, when the hat of the thirty-five-year-old would undoubtedly suit her better; but she should rejoice that the golden period of life is still before her. now she has leisure to do many of those things _that she has so long wanted to do_. the world's rich field of literature is before her; the line of study or work she has longed to pursue, she bringing to it a better equipped mind and experience than she has ever had before. there is also an interest in the life and welfare of her community, in civic, public welfare lines that the present and the quick-coming time before us along women's enfranchisement lines, along women's commonsense equality lines, is making her a responsible and full sharer in. and how much more valuable she makes herself, also, to her children, as well as to her community, inspiring in them greater confidence, respect, and admiration than if she allows herself to be pushed into the background by her own weak and false thoughts of herself, or by the equally foolish thoughts of her children in that she is now, or is at any time, to become a back number. life, as long as we are here, should mean continuous unfoldment, advancement, and this is undoubtedly the purpose of life; but age-producing forces and agencies mean deterioration, as opposed to growth and unfoldment. they ossify, weaken, stiffen, deaden, both mentally and physically. for him or her who yearns to stay young, the coming of the years does not mean or bring abandonment of hope or of happiness or of activity. it means comparative vigour combined with continually larger experience, and therefore even more usefulness, and hence pleasure and happiness. praise also to those who do not allow any one or any number of occurrences in life to sour their nature, rob them of their faith, or cripple their energies for the enjoyment of the fullest in life while here. it's those people _who never allow themselves in spirit to be downed_, no matter what their individual problems, surroundings, or conditions may be, but who chronically bob up serenely who, after all, _are the masters of life_, and who are likewise the strength-givers and the helpers of others. there are multitudes in the world today, there are readers of this volume, who could add a dozen or a score of years--teeming, healthy years--to their lives by a process of self-examination, a mental housecleaning, and a reconstructed, positive, commanding type of thought. tennyson was prophet when he sang: cleave then to the sunnier side of doubt, and cling to faith beyond the forms of faith! she reels not in the storm of warring words, she brightens at the clash of "yes" and "no," she sees the best that glimmers through the worst, she feels the sun is hid but for a night, she spies the summer through the winter bud, she tastes the fruit before the blossom falls, she hears the lark within the songless egg, she finds the fountain where they wailed "mirage." v thought as a force in daily living some years ago an experience was told to me that has been the cause of many interesting observations since. it was related by a man living in one of our noted university towns in the middle west. he was a well-known lecture manager, having had charge of many lecture tours for john b. gough, henry ward beecher, and others of like standing. he himself was a man of splendid character, was of a sensitive organism, as we say, and had always taken considerable interest in the powers and forces pertaining to the inner life. as a young man he had left home, and during a portion of his first year away he had found employment on a mississippi steamboat. one day in going down the river, while he was crossing the deck, a sudden stinging sensation seized him in the head, and instantly vivid thoughts of his mother, back at the old home, flashed into his mind. this was followed by a feeling of depression during the remainder of the day. the occurrence was so unusual and the impression of it was so strong that he made an account of it in his diary. some time later, on returning home, he was met in the yard by his mother. she was wearing a thin cap on her head which he had never seen her wear before. he remarked in regard to it. she raised the cap and doing so revealed the remains of a long ugly gash on the side of her head. she then said that some months before, naming the time, she had gone into the back yard and had picked up a heavy crooked stick having a sharp end, to throw it out of the way, and in throwing it, it had struck a wire clothesline immediately above her head and had rebounded with such force that it had given her the deep scalp wound of which she was speaking. on unpacking his bag he looked into his diary and found that the time she had mentioned corresponded exactly with the strange and unusual occurrence to himself as they were floating down the mississippi. the mother and son were very near one to the other, close in their sympathies, and there can be but little doubt that the thoughts of the mother as she was struck went out, and perhaps _went strongly out_, to her boy who was now away from home. he, being sensitively organised and intimately related to her in thought, and alone at the time, undoubtedly got, if not her thought, at least the effects of her thought, as it went out to him under these peculiar and tense conditions. there are scores if not hundreds of occurrences of a more or less similar nature that have occurred in the lives of others, many of them well authenticated. how many of us, even, have had the experience of suddenly thinking of a friend of whom we have not thought for weeks or months, and then entirely unexpectedly meeting or hearing from this same friend. how many have had the experience of writing a friend, one who has not been written to or heard from for a long time, and within a day or two getting a letter from that friend--the letters "crossing," as we are accustomed to say. there are many other experiences or facts of a similar nature, and many of them exceedingly interesting, that could be related did space permit. these all indicate to me that thoughts are not mere indefinite things but that thoughts are forces, that they go out, and that every distinct, clear-cut thought has, or may have, an influence of some type. thought transference, which is now unquestionably an established fact, notwithstanding much chicanery that is still to be found in connection with it, is undoubtedly to be explained through the fact that _thoughts are forces_. a positive mind through practice, at first with very simple beginnings, gives form to a thought that another mind open and receptive to it--and sufficiently attuned to the other mind--is able to receive. wireless telegraphy, as a science, has been known but a comparatively short time. the laws underlying it have been in the universe perhaps, or undoubtedly, always. it is only lately that the mind of man has been able to apprehend them, and has been able to construct instruments in accordance with these laws. we are now able, through a knowledge of the laws of vibration and by using the right sending and receiving instruments, to send actual messages many hundreds of miles directly through the ether and without the more clumsy accessories of poles and wires. this much of it we know--_there is perhaps even more yet to be known_. we may find, as i am inclined to think we shall find, that thought is a form of vibration. when a thought is born in the brain, it goes out just as a sound wave goes out, and transmits itself through the ether, making its impressions upon other minds that are in a sufficiently sensitive state to receive it; this in addition to the effects that various types of thoughts have upon the various bodily functions of the one with whom they take origin. we are, by virtue of the laws of evolution, constantly apprehending the finer forces of nature--the tallow-dip, the candle, the oil lamp, years later a more refined type of oil, gas, electricity, the latest tungsten lights, radium--and we may be still only at the beginnings. our finest electric lights of today may seem--will seem--crude and the quality of their light even more crude, twenty years hence, even less. many other examples of our gradual passing from the coarser to the finer in connection with the laws and forces of nature occur readily to the minds of us all. the present great interest on the part of thinking men and women everywhere, in addition to the more particular studies, experiments, and observations of men such as sir oliver lodge, sir william ramsay, and others, in the powers and forces pertaining to the inner life is an indication that we have reached a time when we are making great strides along these lines. some of our greatest scientists are thinking that we are on the eve of some almost startling glimpses into these finer realms. my own belief is that we are likewise on the eve of apprehending the more precise _nature_ of thought as a force, the methods of its workings, and the law underlying its more intimate and everyday uses. of one thing we can rest assured; nothing in the universe, nothing in connection with human life is outside of the realm of law. the elemental law of cause and effect is absolute in its workings. one of the great laws pertaining to human life is: as is the inner, so always and inevitably is the outer--cause, effect. our thoughts and emotions are the silent, subtle forces that are constantly externalising themselves in kindred forms in our outward material world. like creates like, and like attracts like. as is our prevailing type of thought, so is our prevailing type and our condition of life. the type of thought we entertain has its effect upon our energies and to a great extent upon our bodily conditions and states. strong, clear-cut, positive, hopeful thought has a stimulating and life-giving effect upon one's outlook, energies, and activities; and upon all bodily functions and powers. a falling state of the mind induces a chronically gloomy outlook and produces inevitably a falling condition of the body. the mind grows, moreover, into the likeness of the thoughts one most habitually entertains and lives with. every thought reproduces of its kind. says an authoritative writer in dealing more particularly with the effects of certain types of thoughts and emotions upon bodily conditions: "out of our own experience we know that anger, fear, worry, hate, revenge, avarice, grief, in fact all negative and low emotions, produce weakness and disturbance not only in the mind but in the body as well. it has been proved that they actually generate poisons in the body, they depress the circulation; they change the quality of the blood, making it less vital; they affect the great nerve centres and thus partially paralyse the very seat of the bodily activities. on the other hand, faith, hope, love, forgiveness, joy, and peace, all such emotions are positive and uplifting, and so act on the body as to restore and maintain harmony and actually to stimulate the circulation and nutrition." the one who does not allow himself to be influenced or controlled by fears or forebodings is the one who ordinarily does not yield to discouragements. he it is who is using the positive, success-bringing types of thought that are continually working for him for the accomplishment of his ends. the things that he sees in the ideal, his strong, positive, and therefore creative type of thought, is continually helping to actualise in the realm of the real. we sometimes speak lightly of ideas, but this world would be indeed a sorry place in which to live were it not for ideas--and were it not for ideals. every piece of mechanism that has ever been built, if we trace back far enough, was first merely an idea in some man's or woman's mind. every structure or edifice that has ever been reared had form first in this same immaterial realm. so every great undertaking of whatever nature had its inception, its origin, in the realm of the immaterial--at least as we at present call it--before it was embodied and stood forth in material form. it is well, then, that we have our ideas and our ideals. it is well, even, to build castles in the air, if we follow these up and give them material clothing or structure, so that they become castles on the ground. occasionally it is true that these may shrink or, rather, may change their form and become cabins; but many times we find that an expanded vision and an expanded experience lead us to a knowledge of the fact that, so far as happiness and satisfaction are concerned, the contents of a cabin may outweigh many times those of the castle. successful men and women are almost invariably those possessing to a supreme degree the element of faith. faith, absolute, unconquerable faith, is one of the essential concomitants, therefore one of the great secrets of success. we must realise, and especially valuable is it for young men and women to realise, that one carries his success or his failure with him, that it does not depend upon outside conditions. there are some that no circumstances or combinations of circumstances can thwart or keep down. let circumstance seem to thwart or circumvent them in one direction, and almost instantly they are going forward along another direction. circumstance is kept busy keeping up with them. when she meets such, after a few trials, she apparently decides to give up and turn her attention to those of the less positive, the less forceful, therefore the less determined, types of mind and of life. circumstance has received some hard knocks from men and women of this type. she has grown naturally timid and will always back down whenever she recognises a mind, and therefore a life, of sufficient force. to make the best of whatever present conditions are, to form and clearly to see one's ideal, though it may seem far distant and almost impossible, to believe in it, and to believe in one's ability to actualise it--this is the first essential. not, then, to sit and idly fold the hands, expecting it to actualise itself, but to take hold of the first thing that offers itself to do,--that lies sufficiently along the way,--to do this faithfully, believing, knowing, that it is but the step that will lead to the next best thing, and this to the next; this is the second and the completing stage of all accomplishment. we speak of fate many times as if it were something foreign to or outside of ourselves, forgetting that fate awaits always our own conditions. a man decides his own fate through the types of thoughts he entertains and gives a dominating influence in his life. he sits at the helm of his thought world and, guiding, decides his own fate, or, through negative, vacillating, and therefore weakening thought, he drifts, and fate decides him. fate is not something that takes form and dominates us irrespective of any say on our own part. through a knowledge and an intelligent and determined use of the silent but ever-working power of thought we either condition circumstances, or, lacking this knowledge or failing to apply it, we accept the rôle of a conditioned circumstance. it is a help sometimes to realise and to voice with henley: out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, i thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul. the thoughts that we entertain not only determine the conditions of our own immediate lives, but they influence, perhaps in a much more subtle manner than most of us realise, our relations with and our influence upon those with whom we associate or even come into contact. all are influenced, even though unconsciously, by them. thoughts of good will, sympathy, magnanimity, good cheer--in brief, all thoughts emanating from a _spirit of love_--are felt in their positive, warming, and stimulating influences by others; they inspire in turn the same types of thoughts and feelings in them, and they come back to us laden with their ennobling, stimulating, pleasure-bringing influences. thoughts of envy, or malice, or hatred, or ill will are likewise felt by others. they are influenced adversely by them. they inspire either the same types of thoughts and emotions in them; or they produce in them a certain type of antagonistic feeling that has the tendency to neutralise and, if continued for a sufficient length of time, deaden sympathy and thereby all friendly relations. we have heard much of "personal magnetism." careful analysis will, i think, reveal the fact that the one who has to any marked degree the element of personal magnetism is one of the large-hearted, magnanimous, cheer-bringing, unself-centred types, whose positive thought forces are being continually felt by others, and are continually inspiring and calling forth from others these same splendid attributes. i have yet to find any one, man or woman, of the opposite habits and, therefore, trend of mind and heart who has had or who has even to the slightest perceptible degree the quality that we ordinarily think of when we use the term "personal magnetism." if one would have friends he or she must be a friend, must radiate habitually friendly, helpful thoughts, good will, love. the one who doesn't cultivate the hopeful, cheerful, uncomplaining, good-will attitude toward life and toward others becomes a drag, making life harder for others as well as for one's self. ordinarily we find in people the qualities we are mostly looking for, or the qualities that our own prevailing characteristics call forth. the larger the nature, the less critical and cynical it is, the more it is given to looking for the best and the highest in others, and the less, therefore, is it given to gossip. it was jeremy bentham who said: "in order to love mankind, we must not expect too much of them." and goethe had a still deeper vision when he said: "who is the happiest of men? he who values the merits of others, and in their pleasure takes joy, even as though it were his own." the chief characteristic of the gossip is that he or she prefers to live in the low-lying miasmic strata of life, revelling in the negatives of life and taking joy in finding and peddling about the findings that he or she naturally makes there. the larger natures see the good and sympathise with the weaknesses and the frailties of others. they realise also that it is so consummately inconsistent--many times even humorously inconsistent--for one also with weaknesses, frailties, and faults, though perhaps of a little different character, to sit in judgment of another. gossip concerning the errors or shortcomings of another is judging another. the one who is himself perfect is the one who has the right to judge another. by a strange law, however, though by a natural law, we find, as we understand life in its fundamentals better, such a person is seldom if ever given to judging, much less to gossip. life becomes rich and expansive through sympathy, good will, and good cheer; not through cynicism or criticism. that splendid little poem of but a single stanza by edwin markham, "outwitted," points after all to one of life's fundamentals: he drew a circle that shut me out-- heretic, rebel, a thing to flout, but love and i had the wit to win: we drew a circle that took him in! vi jesus the supreme exponent of the inner forces and powers: his people's religion and their condition in order to have any true or adequate understanding of what the real revelation and teachings of jesus were, two things must be borne in mind. it is necessary in the first place, not only to have a knowledge of, but always to bear in mind the method, the medium through which the account of his life has come down to us. again, before the real content and significance of jesus' revelation and teachings can be intelligently understood, it is necessary that we have a knowledge of the conditions of the time in which he lived and of the people to whom he spoke, to whom his revelation was made. to any one who has even a rudimentary knowledge of the former, it becomes apparent at once that no single saying or statement of jesus can be taken to indicate either his revelation or his purpose. these must be made to depend upon not any single statement or saying of his own, much less anything reported about him by another; but it must be made to depend rather upon the whole tenor of his teachings. jesus put nothing in writing. there was no one immediately at hand to make a record of any of his teachings or any of his acts. it is now well known that no one of the gospels was written by an immediate hearer, by an eye-witness. the gospel of mark, the oldest gospel, or in other words the one written nearest to jesus' time, was written some forty years after he had finished his work. matthew and luke, taken to a great extent from the gospel of mark, supplemented by one or two additional sources, were written many years after. the gospel of john was not written until after the beginning of the second century after christ. these four sets of chronicles, called the gospels, written independently one of another, were then collected many years after their authors were dead, and still a great deal later were brought together into a single book. the following concise statement by professor henry drummond throws much light upon the way the new testament portions of our bible took form: "the bible is not a book; it is a library. it consists of sixty-six books. it is a great convenience, but in some respects a great misfortune, that these books have always been bound up together and given out as one book to the world, when they are not; because that has led to endless mistakes in theology and practical life. these books, which make up this library, written at intervals of hundreds of years, were collected after the last of the writers was dead--long after--by human hands. where were the books? take the new testament. there were four lives of christ. one was in rome; one was in southern italy; one was in palestine; one in asia minor. there were twenty-one letters. five were in greece and macedonia; five in asia; one in rome. the rest were in the pockets of private individuals. theophilus had acts. they were collected undesignedly. in the third century the new testament consisted of the following books: the four gospels, acts, thirteen letters of paul, i john, i peter; and, in addition, the epistles of barnabas and hermas. this was not called the new testament, but the christian library. then these last books were discarded. they ceased to be regarded as upon the same level as the others. in the fourth century the canon was closed--that is to say, a list was made up of the books which were to be regarded as canonical. and then long after that they were stitched together and made up into one book--hundreds of years after that. who made up the complete list? it was never formally made up. the bishops of the different churches would draw up a list each of the books that they thought ought to be put into this testament. the churches also would give their opinions. sometimes councils would meet and talk it over--discuss it. scholars like jerome would investigate the authenticity of the different documents, and there came to be a general consensus of the churches on the matter." jesus spoke in his own native language, the aramaic. his sayings were then rendered into greek, and, as is well known by all well-versed biblical scholars, it was not an especially high order of greek. the new testament scriptures including the four gospels, were then many hundreds of years afterwards translated from the greek into our modern languages--english, german, french, swedish, or whatever the language of the particular translation may be. those who know anything of the matter of translation know how difficult it is to render the exact meanings of any statements or writing into another language. the rendering of a _single word_ may sometimes mean, or rather may make a great difference in the thought of the one giving the utterance. how much greater is this liability when the thing thus rendered is twice removed from its original source and form! the original manuscripts had no punctuation and no verse divisions; these were all arbitrarily supplied by the translators later on. it is also a well-established fact on the part of leading biblical scholars that through the centuries there have been various interpolations in the new testament scriptures, both by way of omissions and additions. reference is made to these various facts in connection with the sayings and the teachings of jesus and the methods and the media through which they have come down to us, to show how impossible it would be to base jesus' revelation or purpose upon any single utterance made or purported to be made by him--to indicate, in other words, that to get at his real message, his real teachings, and his real purpose, we must find the binding thread if possible, the reiterated statement, the repeated purpose that makes them throb with the living element. again, no intelligent understanding of jesus' revelation or ministry can be had without a knowledge of the conditions of the time, and of the people to whom his revelation was made, among whom he lived and worked; for his ministry had in connection with it both a time element and an eternal element. there are two things that must be noted, the moral and religious condition of the people; and, again, their economic and political status. the jewish people had been preeminently a religious people. but a great change had taken place. religion was at its lowest ebb. its spirit was well-nigh dead, and in its place there had gradually come into being a pharisaic legalism--a religion of form, ceremony. an extensive system of ecclesiastical tradition, ecclesiastical law and observances, which had gradually robbed the people of all their former spirit of religion, had been gradually built up by those in ecclesiastical authority. the voice of that illustrious line of hebrew prophets had ceased to speak. it was close to two hundred years since the voice of a living prophet had been heard. tradition had taken its place. it took the form: moses hath said; it has been said of old; the prophet hath said. the scribe was the keeper of the ecclesiastical law. the lawyer was its interpreter. the pharisees had gradually elevated themselves into an ecclesiastical hierarchy who were the custodians of the law and religion. they had come to regard themselves as especially favoured, a privileged class--not only the custodians but the dispensers of all religious knowledge--and therefore of religion. the people, in their estimation, were of a lower intellectual and religious order, possessing no capabilities in connection with religion or morals, dependent therefore upon their superiors in these matters. this state of affairs that had gradually come about was productive of two noticeable results: a religious starvation and stagnation on the part of the great mass of the people on the one hand, and the creation of a haughty, self-righteous and domineering ecclesiastical hierarchy on the other. in order for a clear understanding of some of jesus' sayings and teachings, some of which constitute a very vital part of his ministry, it is necessary to understand clearly what this condition was. another important fact that sheds much light upon the nature of the ministry of jesus is to be found, as has already been intimated, in the political and the economic condition of the people of the time. the jewish nation had been subjugated and were under the domination of rome. rome in connection with israel, as in connection with all conquered peoples, was a hard master. taxes and tribute, tribute and taxes, could almost be said to be descriptive of her administration of affairs. she was already in her degenerate stage. never perhaps in the history of the world had men been so ruled by selfishness, greed, military power and domination, and the pomp and display of material wealth. luxury, indulgence, over-indulgence, vice. the inevitable concomitant followed--a continually increasing moral and physical degeneration. an increasing luxury and indulgence called for an increasing means to satisfy them. messengers were sent and additional tribute was levied. pontius pilate was the roman administrative head or governor in judea at the time. tiberius cæsar was the roman emperor. rome at this time consisted of a few thousand nobles and people of station--freemen--and hundreds of thousands of slaves. even her campaigns in time became virtual raids for plunder. she conquered--and she plundered those whom she conquered. great numbers from among the conquered peoples were regularly taken to rome and sold into slavery. judea had not escaped this. thousands of her best people had been transported to rome and sold into slavery. it was never known where the blow would fall next; what homes would be desolated and both sons and daughters sent away into slavery. no section, no family could feel any sense of security. a feeling of fear, a sense of desolation pervaded everywhere. there was a tradition, which had grown into a well-defined belief, that a deliverer would be sent them, that they would be delivered out of the hands of their enemies and that their oppressors would in turn be brought to grief. there was also in the section round about judæa a belief, which had grown until it had become well-nigh universal, that the end of the world, or the end of the age, was speedily coming, that then there would be an end of all earthly government and that the reign of jehovah--the kingdom of god--would be established. these two beliefs went hand in hand. they were kept continually before the people, and now and then received a fresh impetus by the appearance of a new prophet or a new teacher, whom the people went gladly out to hear. of this kind was john, the son of a priest, later called john the baptist. after his period of preparation, he came out of the wilderness of judæa, and in the region about the jordan with great power and persuasiveness, according to the accounts, he gave utterance to the message: repent ye, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. forsake all earthly things; they will be of avail but a very short time now, turn ye from them and prepare yourselves for the coming of the kingdom of god. the old things will speedily pass away; all things will become new. many went out to hear him and were powerfully appealed to by the earnest, rugged utterances of this new preacher of righteousness and repentance. his name and his message spread through all the land of judea and the country around the jordan. many were baptised by him there, he making use of this symbolic service which had been long in use by certain branches of the jewish people, especially the order of the essenes. among those who went out to hear john and who accepted baptism at his hands was jesus, the son of joseph and mary, whose home was at nazareth. it marks also the beginning of his own public ministry, for which he evidently had been in preparation for a considerable time. it seems strange that we know so little of the early life of one destined to exert such a powerful influence upon the thought and the life of the world. in the gospel of mark, probably the most reliable, because the nearest to his time, there is no mention whatever of his early life. the first account is where he appears at john's meetings. almost immediately thereafter begins his own public ministry. in the gospel of luke we have a very meagre account of him. it is at the age of twelve. the brief account gives us a glimpse into the lives of his father and his mother, joseph and mary; showing that at that time they were not looked upon as in any way different from all of the inhabitants of their little community, nazareth, the little town in galilee--having a family of several sons and daughters, and that jesus, the eldest of the family, grew in stature and in knowledge, as all the neighbouring children grew; but that he, even at an early age, showed that he had a wonderful aptitude for the things of the spirit. i reproduce luke's brief account here: "now, his parents went to jerusalem every year at the feast of the passover. and when he was twelve years old, they went up to jerusalem, after the custom of the feast. and when they had fulfilled the days, as they returned, the child jesus tarried behind in jerusalem: and joseph and his mother knew not of it. but they, supposing him to have been in the company, went a day's journey; and they sought him among their kinsfolk and acquaintances. and when they found him not, they turned back again to jerusalem, seeking him. and it came to pass that after three days they found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them and asking them questions. and all that heard him were astonished at his understanding and answers. "and when they saw him they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and i have sought thee sorrowing. and he said unto them, how is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that i must be about my father's business? and they understood not the saying which he spake unto them. and he went down with them, and came to nazareth, and was subject unto them: but his mother kept all these sayings in her heart. and jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with god and man." nothing could be more interesting than to know the early life of jesus. there are various theories as to how this was spent, that is, as to what his preparation was--the facts of his life, in addition to his working with his father at his trade, that of a carpenter; but we know nothing that has the stamp of historical accuracy upon it. of his entire life, indeed, including the period of his active ministry, from thirty to nearly thirty-three, it is but fair to presume that we have at best but a fragmentary account in the gospel narratives. it is probable that many things connected with his ministry, and many of his sayings and teachings, we have no record of at all. it is probable that in connection with his preparation he spent a great deal of time alone, in the quiet, in communion with his divine source, or as the term came so naturally to him, with god, his father--god, our father, for that was his teaching--my god and your god. the many times that we are told in the narratives that he went to the mountain alone, would seem to justify us in this conclusion. anyway, it would be absolutely impossible for anyone to have such a vivid realisation of his essential oneness with the divine, without much time spent in such a manner that the real life could evolve into its divine likeness, and then mould the outer life according to this ideal or pattern. vii the divine rule in the mind and heart: the unessentials we drop--the spirit abides that jesus had a supreme aptitude for the things of the spirit, there can be no question. that through desire and through will he followed the leadings of the spirit--that he gave himself completely to its leadings--is evident both from his utterances and his life. it was this combination undoubtedly that led him into that vivid sense of his life in god, which became so complete that he afterwards speaks--i and my father are one. that he was always, however, far from identifying himself as equal with god is indicated by his constant declaration of his dependence upon god. again and again we have these declarations: "my meat and drink is to do the will of god." "my doctrine is not mine, but his that sent me." "i can of myself do nothing: as i hear i judge; and my judgment is righteous; because i seek not mine own will, but the will of him that sent me." and even the very last acts and words of his life proclaim this constant sense of dependence for guidance, for strength, and even for succour. with all his divine self-realisation there was always, moreover, that sense of humility that is always a predominating characteristic of the really great. "why callest thou me good? there is none good but one--that is god." it is not at all strange, therefore, that the very first utterance of his public ministry, according to the chronicler mark was: the kingdom of god is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel. and while this was the beginning utterance, it was the keynote that ran through his entire ministry. it is the basic fact of all his teachings. the realisation of his own life he sought to make the realisation of all others. it was, it is, a call to righteousness, and a call to righteousness through the only channel that any such call can be effective--through a realisation of the essential righteousness and goodness of the human soul. an unbiased study of jesus' own words will reveal the fact that he taught only what he himself had first realised. it is this, moreover, that makes him the supreme teacher of all time--counsellor, friend, saviour. it is the saving of men from their lower conceptions and selves, a lifting of them up to their higher selves, which, as he taught, is eternally one with god, the father, and which, when realised, will inevitably, reflexly, one might say, lift a man's thoughts, acts, conduct--the entire life--up to that standard or pattern. it is thus that the divine ideal, that the christ becomes enthroned within. the christ-consciousness is the universal divine nature in us. it is the state of god-consciousness. it is the recognition of the indwelling divine life as the source, and therefore the essence of our own lives. jesus came as the revealer of a new truth, a new conception of man. indeed, the messiah. he came as the revealer of the only truth that could lead his people out of their trials and troubles--out of their bondage. they were looking for their deliverer to come in the person of a worldly king and to set up his rule as such. he came in the person of a humble teacher, the revealer of a mighty truth, the revealer of the way, the only way whereby real freedom and deliverance can come. for those who would receive him, he was indeed the messiah. for those who would not, he was not, and the same holds today. he came as the revealer of a truth which had been glimpsed by many inspired teachers among the jewish race and among those of other races. the time waited, however, for one to come who would first embody this truth and then be able effectively to teach it. this was done in a supreme degree by the judæan teacher. he came not as the doer-away with the law and the prophets, but rather to regain and then to supplement them. such was his own statement. it is time to ascend another round. i reveal god to you, not in the tabernacle, but in the human heart--then in the tabernacle in the degree that he is in the hearts of those who frequent the tabernacle. otherwise the tabernacle becomes a whited sepulchre. the church is not a building, an organisation, not a creed. the church is the spirit of truth. it must have one supreme object and purpose--to lead men to the truth. i reveal what i have found--i in the father and the father in me. i seek not to do mine own will, but the will of the father who sent me. everything was subordinated to this divine realisation and to his divine purpose. the great purpose at which he laboured so incessantly was the teaching of the realisation of the divine will in the hearts and minds, and through these in the lives of men--the finding and the realisation of the kingdom of god. this is the supreme fact of life. get right at the centre and the circumference will then care for itself. as is the inner, so always and invariably will be the outer. there is an inner guide that regulates the life when this inner guide is allowed to assume authority. why be disconcerted, why in a heat concerning so many things? it is not the natural and the normal life. life at its best is something infinitely beyond this. "seek ye first the kingdom of god and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." and if there is any doubt in regard to his real meaning in this here is his answer: "neither shall they say, 'lo here' or 'lo there' for behold the kingdom of god is within you." again and again this is his call. again and again this is his revelation. in the first three gospels alone he uses the expression "the kingdom of god," or "the kingdom of heaven," upwards of thirty times. any possible reference to any organisation that he might have had in mind, can be found in the entire four gospels but twice. it would almost seem that it would not be difficult to judge as to what was uppermost in his mind. i have made this revelation to you; you must raise yourselves, you must become _in reality_ what _in essence_ you really are. i in the father, and the father in me. i reveal only what i myself know. as i am, ye shall be. god is your father. in your real nature you are divine. drop your ideas of the depravity of the human soul. to believe it depraves. to teach it depraves the one who teaches it, and the one who accepts it. follow not the traditions of men. i reveal to you your divine birthright. accept it. it is best. behold all things are become new. the kingdom of god is the one all-inclusive thing. find it and all else will follow. "whereunto shall we liken the kingdom of god? or with what comparison shall we compare it? it is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when it is sown in the earth, is less than all the seeds that be in the earth; but when it is sown, it groweth up, and becometh greater than all herbs, and shooteth out great branches; so that the fowls of the air may lodge under the shadow of it." "whereunto shall i liken the kingdom of god? is it like leaven, which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened?" seek ye first the kingdom, and the holy spirit, the channel of communion between god your source, and yourselves, will lead you, and will lead you into all truth. it will become as a lamp to your feet, a guide that is always reliable. to refuse allegiance to the holy spirit, the spirit of truth, is the real sin, the only sin that cannot be forgiven. violation of all moral and natural law may be forgiven. it will bring its penalty, for the violation of law carries in itself its own penalty, its own punishment--_it is a part of law_; but cease the violation and the penalty ceases. the violation registers its ill effects in the illness, the sickness, of body and spirit. if the violation has been long continued, these effects may remain for some time; but the instant the violation ceases the repair will begin, and things will go the other way. learn from this experience, however, that there can be no deliberate violation of, or blaspheming against any moral or natural law. but deliberately to refuse obedience to the inner guide, the holy spirit, constitutes a defiance that eventually puts out the lamp of life, and that can result only in confusion and darkness. it severs the ordained relationship, the connecting, the binding cord, between the soul--the self--and its source. stagnation, degeneracy, and eventual death is merely the natural sequence. with this divine self-realisation the spirit assumes control and mastery, and you are saved from the follies of error, and from the consequences of error. repent ye--turn from your trespasses and sins, from your lower conceptions of life, of pleasure and of pain, and walk in this way. the lower propensities and desires will lose their hold and will in time fall away. you will be at first surprised, and then dumfounded, at what you formerly took for pleasure. true pleasure and satisfaction go hand in hand,--nor are there any bad after results. all genuine pleasures should lead to more perfect health, a greater accretion of power, a continually expanding sense of life and service. when god is uppermost in the heart, when the divine rule under the direction of the holy spirit becomes the ruling power in the life of the individual, then the body and its senses are subordinated to this rule; the passions become functions to be used; license and perverted use give way to moderation and wise use; and there are then no penalties that outraged law exacts; satiety gives place to satisfaction. it was edward carpenter who said: "in order to enjoy life one must be a master of life--for to be a slave to its inconsistencies can only mean torment; and in order to enjoy the senses one must be master of them. to dominate the actual world you must, like archimedes, base your fulcrum somewhere beyond." it is not the use, but the abuse of anything good in itself that brings satiety, disease, suffering, dissatisfaction. nor is asceticism a true road of life. all things are for use; but all must be wisely, in most cases, moderately used, for true enjoyment. all functions and powers are for use; but all must be brought under the domination of the spirit--the god-illumined spirit. this is the road that leads to heaven here and heaven hereafter--and we can rest assured that we will never find a heaven hereafter that we do not make while here. through everything runs this teaching of the master. how wonderfully and how masterfully and simply he sets forth his whole teaching of sin and the sinner and his relation to the father in that marvellous parable, the parable of the prodigal son. to bring it clearly to mind again it runs: "a certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, father, give me the portion of goods that falleth _to me_. and he divided unto them his living. and not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey to a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. and when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. and he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. and he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him. and when he came to himself, he said, how many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and i perish with hunger! i will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, father, i have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants. and he arose and came to his father. "but when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell upon his neck, and kissed him. and the son said unto him, father, i have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. but the father said to his servants, bring forth the best robe and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry; for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. and they began to be merry. now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. and he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. and he said unto him, thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. and he was angry and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and entreated him, and he answering said to his father, lo, these many years do i serve thee, neither transgressed i at any time thy commandment; and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that i might make merry with my friends: but as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. and he said unto him, son, thou art ever with me, and all that i have is thine. it was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found." it does away forever in all thinking minds with any participation of jesus in that perverted and perverting doctrine that man is by nature essentially depraved, degraded, fallen, in the sense as was given to the world long, long after his time in the doctrine of the fall of man, and the need of redemption through some external source outside of himself, in distinction from the truth that he revealed that was to make men free--the truth of their divine nature, and this love of man by the heavenly father, and the love of the heavenly father by his children. to connect jesus with any such thought or teaching would be to take the heart out of his supreme revelation. for his whole conception of god the father, given in all his utterances, was that of a heavenly father of love, of care, longing to exercise his protecting care and to give good gifts to his children--and this because it is the _essential nature_ of god to be fatherly. his fatherhood is not, therefore, accidental, not dependent upon any conditions or circumstances; it is essential. if it is the nature of a father to give good gifts to his children, so in a still greater degree is it the nature of the heavenly father to give good gifts to those who ask him. as his words are recorded by matthew: "or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? if ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?" so in the parable as presented by jesus, the father's love was such that as soon as it was made known to him that his son who had been lost to him had returned, he went out to meet him; he granted him full pardon--and there were no conditions. speaking of the fundamental teaching of the master, and also in connection with this same parable, another has said: "it thus appears from this story, as elsewhere in the teaching of jesus, that he did not call god our father because he created us, or because he rules over us, or because he made a covenant with abraham, but simply and only because he loves us. this parable individualises the divine love, as did also the missionary activity of jesus. the gospels know nothing of a national fatherhood, of a god whose love is confined to a particular people. it is the individual man who has a heavenly father, and this individualised fatherhood is the only one of which jesus speaks. as he had realised his own moral and spiritual life in the consciousness that god was his father, so he sought to give life to the world by a living revelation of the truth that god loves each separate soul. this is a prime factor in the religion and ethics of jesus. it is seldom or vaguely apprehended in the old testament teaching; but in the teaching of jesus it is central and normative." again in the two allied parables of jesus--the parable of the lost sheep, and the parable of the lost coin--it is his purpose to teach the great love of the father for all, including those lost in their trespasses and sins, and his rejoicing in their return. this leads to jesus' conception and teaching of sin and repentance. although god is the father, he demands filial obedience in the hearts and the minds of his children. men by following the devices and desires of their own hearts, are not true to their real nature, their divine pattern. by following their selfish desires they have brought sin, and thereby suffering, on themselves and others. the unclean, the selfish desires of mind and heart, keep them from their higher moral and spiritual ideal--although not necessarily giving themselves to gross sin. therefore, they must become sons of god by repenting--by turning from the evil inclinations of their hearts and seeking to follow the higher inclinations of the heart as becomes children of god and those who are dwellers in the heavenly kingdom. therefore, his opening utterance: "the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of god is at hand; repent ye, and believe the gospel." love of god with the whole heart, and love of the neighbour, leading to the higher peace and fulfilment, must take the place of these more selfish desires that lead to antagonisms and dissatisfactions both within and without. all men are to pray: forgive us our sins. all men are to repent of their sins which are the results of following their own selfish desires,--those of the body, or their own selfish desires to the detriment of the welfare of the neighbour. all men are to seek the divine rule, the rule of god in the heart, and thereby have the guidance of the holy spirit, which is the divine spirit of wisdom that tabernacles with man when through desire and through will he makes the conditions whereby it can make its abode with him. it is a manifestation of the force that is above man--it is the eternal heritage of the soul. "now the lord is the spirit and where the spirit of the lord is, there is liberty." and therein lies salvation. it follows the seeking and the finding of the kingdom of god and his righteousness that jesus revealed to a waiting world. and so it was the spirit of religion that jesus came to reveal--the real fatherhood of god and the divine sonship of man. a better righteousness than that of the scribes and the pharisees--not a slavish adherence to the law, with its supposed profits and rewards. get the motive of life right. get the heart right and these things become of secondary importance. as his supreme revelation was the personal fatherhood of god, from which follows necessarily the divine sonship of man, so there was a corollary to it, a portion of it almost as essential as the main truth itself--namely, that all men are brothers. not merely those of one little group, or tribe or nation; not merely those of any one little set or religion; not merely those of this or that little compartment that we build and arbitrarily separate ourselves into--but all men the world over. if this is not true then jesus' supreme revelation is false. in connection with this great truth he brought a new standard by virtue of the logic of his revelation. "ye have heard that it hath been said, thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. but i say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your father which is in heaven." struggling for recognition all through the old testament scriptures, and breaking through partially at least in places, was this conception which is at the very basis of all man's relationship with man. and finally through this supreme master of life it did break through, with a wonderful newborn consciousness. the old dispensation, with its legal formalism, was an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. the new dispensation was--"but i say unto you, love your enemies." enmity begets enmity. it is as senseless as it is godless. it runs through all his teachings and through every act of his life. if fundamentally you do not have the love of your fellow-man in your hearts, you do not have the love of god in your hearts and you cannot have. and that this fundamental revelation be not misunderstood, near the close of his life he said: "a new commandment i give unto you, that ye love one another." no man could be, can be his disciple, his follower, and fail in the realisation of this fundamental teaching. "by this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye love one another." and going back again to his ministry we find that it breathes through every teaching that he gave. it breathes through that short memorable prayer which we call the lord's prayer. it permeates the sermon on the mount. it is the very essence of his summing up of this discourse. we call it the golden rule. "whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." not that it was original with jesus; other teachers sent of god had given it before to other peoples--god's other children; but he gave it a new emphasis, a new setting. _he made it fundamental._ so a man who is gripped at all vitally by jesus' teaching of the personal fatherhood of god, and the personal brotherhood of man, simply can't help but make this the basic rule of his life--and moreover find joy in so making it. a man who really comprehends this fundamental teaching can't be crafty, sneaking, dishonest, or dishonourable, in his business, or in any phase of his personal life. he never hogs the penny--in other words, he never seeks to gain his own advantage to the disadvantage of another. he may be long-headed; he may be able to size up and seize conditions; but he seeks no advantage for himself to the detriment of his fellow, to the detriment of his community, or to the detriment of his extended community, the nation or the world. he is thoughtful, considerate, open, frank; and, moreover, he finds great joy in being so. i have never seen any finer statement of the essential reasonableness, therefore, of the essential truth of the value and the practice of the golden rule than that given by a modern disciple of jesus who left us but a few years ago. a poor boy, a successful business man, straight, square, considerate in all his dealings,--a power among his fellows, a lamp indeed to the feet of many--was samuel milton jones, thrice mayor of toledo. simple, unassuming, friend of all, rich as well as poor, poor as well as rich, friend of the outcast, the thief, the criminal, looking beyond the exterior, he saw as did jesus, the human soul always intact, though it erred in its judgment--as we all err in our judgments, each in his own peculiar way--and that by forbearance, consideration, and love, it could be touched and the life redeemed--redeemed to happiness, to usefulness, to service. notwithstanding his many duties, business and political, he thought much and he loved to talk of the things we are considering. his brief statement of the fundamental reasons and the comprehensive results of the actual practice of the golden rule are shot through with such fine insight, such abounding comprehension, that they deserve to become immortal. he was my friend and i would not see them die. i reproduce them here: "as i view it, the golden rule is the supreme law of life. it may be paraphrased this way: as you do unto others, others will do unto you. what i give, i get. if i love you, really and truly and actively love you, you are as sure to love me in return as the earth is sure to be warmed by the rays of the midsummer sun. if i hate you, ill-treat you and abuse you, i am equally certain to arouse the same kind of antagonism towards me, unless the divine nature is so developed that it is dominant in you, and you have learned to love your enemies. what can be plainer? the golden rule is the law of action and reaction in the field of morals, just as definite, just as certain here as the law is definite and certain in the domain of physics. "i think the confusion with respect to the golden rule arises from the different conceptions that we have of the word love. i use the word love as synonymous with reason, and when i speak of doing the loving thing, i mean the reasonable thing. when i speak of dealing with my fellow-men in an unreasonable way, i mean an unloving way. the terms are interchangeable, absolutely. the reason why we know so little about the golden rule is because we have not practised it." was mayor jones a christian? you ask. he was a follower of the christ--for it was he who said: "by this shall all men know ye are my disciples, if ye love one another." was he a member of a religious organisation? i don't know--it never occurred to me to ask him. thinking men the world over are making a sharp distinction in these days between organised christianity and essential christianity. the element of fear has lost its hold on the part of thinking men and women. it never opened up, it never can open up the springs of righteousness in the human heart. he believed and he acted upon the belief that it was the spirit that the master taught--that god is a god of love and that he reveals himself in terms of love to those who really know him. he believed that there is joy to the human soul in following this inner guide and translating its impulses into deeds of love and service for one's fellow-men. if we could, if we would thus translate religion into terms of life, it would become a source of perennial joy. it is not with observation, said jesus, that the supreme thing that he taught--the seeking and finding of the kingdom of god--will come. do not seek it at some other place, some other time. it is within, and if within it will show forth. make no mistake about that,--it will show forth. it touches and it sensitises the inner springs of action in a man's or a woman's life. when a man realises his divine sonship that jesus taught, he will act as a son of god. out of the heart spring either good or evil actions. self-love, me, mine; let me get all i can for myself, or, thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself--the divine law of service, of mutuality--the highest source of ethics. you can trust any man whose heart is right. he will be straight, clean, reliable. his word will be as good as his bond. personally you can't trust a man who is brought into any line of action, or into any institution through fear. the sore is there, liable to break out in corruption at any time. this opening up of the springs of the inner life frees him also from the letter of the law, which after all consists of the traditions of men, and makes him subject to that higher moral guide within. how clearly jesus illustrated this in his conversations regarding the observance of the sabbath--how the sabbath was made for man and not man for the sabbath, and how it was always right to do good on the sabbath. i remember some years ago a friend in my native state telling me the following interesting incident in connection with his grandmother. it was in northern illinois--it might have been in new england. "as a boy," said he, "i used to visit her on the farm. she loved her cup of coffee for breakfast. ordinarily she would grind it fresh each morning in the kitchen; but when sunday morning came she would take her coffee-grinder down into the far end of the cellar, where no one could see and no one could hear her grind it." he could never quite tell, he said, whether it was to ease her own conscience, or in order to give no offence to her neighbours. now, i can imagine jesus passing by and stopping at that home--it was a home known for its native kindly hospitality--and meeting her just as she was coming out of the cellar with her coffee-grinder--his quick and unerring perception enabling him to take in the whole situation at once, and saying: "in the name of the father, aunt susan, what were you doing with your coffee-grinder down in the cellar on this beautiful sabbath morning? you like your cup of coffee, and i also like the coffee that you make; thank god that you have it, and thank god that you have the good health to enjoy it. we can give praise to the father through eating and drinking, if, as in everything else, these are done in moderation and we give value received for all the things that we use. so don't take your grinder down into the cellar on the sabbath morning; but grind your coffee up here in god's sunshine, with a thankful heart that you have it to grind." and i can imagine him, as he passes out of the little front gate, turning and waving another good-bye and saying: "when i come again, aunt susan, be it week-day or sabbath, remember god's sunshine and keep out of the cellar." and turning again in a half-joking manner: "and when you take those baskets of eggs to town, aunt susan, don't pick out too many of the large ones to keep for yourself, but take them just as the hens lay them. and, aunt susan, give good weight in your butter. this will do your soul infinitely more good than the few extra coins you would gain by too carefully calculating"--aunt susan with all her lovable qualities, had a little tendency to close dealing. i think we do incalculable harm by separating jesus so completely from the more homely, commonplace affairs of our daily lives. if we had a more adequate account of his discourses with the people and his associations with the people, we would perhaps find that he was not, after all, so busy in saving the world that he didn't have time for the simple, homely enjoyments and affairs of the everyday life. the little glimpses that we have of him along these lines indicate to me that he had. unless we get his truths right into this phase of our lives, the chances are that we will miss them entirely. and i think that with all his earnestness, jesus must have had an unusually keen sense of humour. with his unusual perceptions and his unusual powers in reading and in understanding human nature, it could not be otherwise. that he had a keen sense for beauty; that he saw it, that he valued it, that he loved it, especially beauty in all nature, many of his discourses so abundantly prove. religion with him was not divorced from life. it was the power that permeated every thought and every act of the daily life. viii if we seek the essence of his revelation, and the purpose of his life if we would seek the essence of jesus' revelation, attested both by his words and his life, it was to bring a knowledge of the ineffable love of god to man, and by revealing this, to instil in the minds and hearts of men love for god, and a knowledge of and following of the ways of god. it was also then to bring a new emphasis of the divine law of love--the love of man for man. combined, it results, so to speak, in raising men to a higher power, to a higher life,--as individuals, as groups, as one great world group. it is a newly sensitised attitude of mind and heart that he brought and that he endeavoured to reveal in all its matchless beauty--a following not of the traditions of men, but fidelity to one's god, whereby the divine rule in the mind and heart assumes supremacy and, as must inevitably follow, fidelity to one's fellow-men. these are the essentials of jesus' revelation--the fundamental forces in his own life. his every teaching, his every act, comes back to them. i believe also that all efforts to mystify the minds of men and women by later theories _about_ him are contrary to his own expressed teaching, and in exact degree that they would seek to substitute other things for these fundamentals. i call them fundamentals. i call them his fundamentals. what right have i to call them his fundamentals? an occasion arose one day in the form of a direct question for jesus to state in well-considered and clear-cut terms the essence, the gist, of his entire teachings--therefore, by his authority, the fundamentals of essential christianity. in the midst of one of the groups that he was speaking to one day, we are told that a certain lawyer arose--an interpreter of, an authority on, the existing ecclesiastical law. the reference to him is so brief, unfortunately, that we cannot tell whether his question was to confound jesus, as was so often the case, or whether being a liberal jew he longed for an honest and truly helpful answer. from jesus' remark to him, after his primary answer, we are justified in believing it was the latter. his question was: "master, which is the great commandment in the law?" jesus said unto him, "thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. this is the first and great commandment. and the second is like unto it. thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets." here we have a wonderful statement from a wonderful source. so clear-cut is it that any wayfaring man, though a fool, cannot mistake it. especially is this true when we couple with it this other statement of jesus: "think not that i am come to destroy the law, or the prophets; i am not come to destroy, but to fulfil." we must never forget that jesus was born, lived, and died a jew, the same as all of his disciples--and they never regarded themselves in any other light. the _basis_ of his religion was the religion of israel. it was this he taught and expounded, now in the synagogue, now out on the hillside and by the lake-side. it was this that he tried to teach in its purity, that he tried to free from the hedges that ecclesiasticism had built around it, this that he endeavoured to raise to a still higher standard. one cannot find the slightest reference in any of his sayings that would indicate that he looked upon himself in any other light--except the overwhelming sense that it was his mission to bring in the new dispensation by fulfilling the old, and then carrying it another great step forward, which he did in a wonderful way--both god-ward and man-ward. we must not forget, then, that jesus said that he did not come to destroy the law and the prophets, but to fulfil them. we must not forget, however, that before fulfilling them he had to free them. the freedom-giving, god-illumined words spoken by free god-illumined men, had, in the hands of those not god-illumined, later on become institutionalised, made into a system, a code. the people were taught that only the priests had access to god. they were the custodians of god's favour and only through the institution could any man, or any woman, have access to god. this became the sacred thing, and as the years had passed this had become so hedged about by continually added laws and observances that all the spirit of religion had become crushed, stifled, beaten to the ground. the very scribes and pharisees themselves, supposed to minister to the spiritual life and the welfare of the people, became enrobed in their fine millinery and arrogance, masters of the people, whose ministers they were supposed to be, as is so apt to be the case when an institution builds itself upon the free, all-embracing message of truth given by any prophet or any inspired teacher. it has occurred time and time again. christianity knows it well. it is only by constant vigilance that religious freedom is preserved, from which alone comes any high degree of morality, or any degree of free and upward-moving life among the people. it was on account of this shameful robbing of the people of their divine birthright that the just soul of jesus, abhorring both casuistry and oppression under the cloak of religion, gave utterance to that fine invective that he used on several occasions, the only times that he spoke in a condemnatory or accusing manner: "now do ye, pharisee, make clean the outside of the cup and the platter; but your inward part is full of ravening and wickedness. woe unto you, scribes and pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are as graves which appear not, and the men that walk over them are not aware of them.... woe unto you also, ye lawyers! for ye lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers.... woe unto you, lawyers! for ye have taken away the key of knowledge: ye entered not in yourselves, and them that were entering in ye hindered." and here is the lesson for us. it is the spirit that must always be kept uppermost in religion. otherwise even the revelation and the religion of jesus could be compressed into a code, with its self-appointed instruments of interpretation, the same as the pharisees did the law and the prophets that he so bitterly condemned, with a bravery so intrepid and so fearless that it finally caused his death. no, if god is not in the human soul waiting to make himself known to the believing, longing heart, accessible to all alike without money and without price, without any prescribed code, then the words of jesus have not been correctly handed down to us. and then again, confirming us in the belief that a man's deepest soul relation is a matter between him and his god, are his unmistakable and explicit directions in regard to prayer. it is so easy to substitute the secondary thing for the fundamental, the by-thing for the essential, the container for the thing itself. you will recall that symbolic act of jesus at the last meeting, the last supper with his disciples, the washing of the disciples' feet by the master. the point that is intended to be brought out in the story is, of course, the extraordinary condescension of jesus in doing this menial service for his disciples. "the feet-washing symbolises the attitude of humble service to others. every follower of jesus must experience it." one of the disciples is so astonished, even taken aback by this menial service on the part of jesus, that he says: thou shall never wash my feet. jesus answered him, "if i wash thee not, thou hast no part with me." in oriental countries where sandals are worn that cover merely the soles of the feet, it was, it is the custom of the host to offer his guest who comes water with which to wash his feet. there is no reason why this simple incident of humble service, or rather this symbolic act of humble service, could not be taken and made an essential condition of salvation by any council that saw fit to make it such. things just as strange as this have happened; though any thinking man or woman _today_ would deem it essentially foolish. it is an example of how the spirit of a beautiful act could be misrepresented to the people. for if you will look at them again, jesus' words are very explicit: "if i wash thee not, thou hast no part with me." but hear jesus' own comment as given in john: "so after he had washed their feet, and had taken his garments, and was set down again, he said unto them, know ye what i have done to you? ye call me master and lord: and ye say well; for so i am. if i then, your lord and master, have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another's feet. for i have given you an example, that ye should do as i have done to you. verily, verily, i say unto you, the servant is not greater than his lord; neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him. if ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them." it is a means to an end and not an end in itself. the spirit that it typifies is essential; but not the act itself. the same could be rightly said of the lord's supper. it is an observance that can be made of great value, one very dear and valuable to many people. but it cannot, if jesus is to be our authority, and if correctly reported, be by any means made a fundamental, an essential of salvation. from the rebuke administered by jesus to his disciples in a number of cases where they were prone to drag down his meanings by their purely material interpretations, we should be saved from this. you will recall his teaching one day when he spoke of himself as the bread of life that a man may eat thereof and not die. some of his jewish hearers taking his words in a material sense and arguing in regard to them one with another said: "how can this man give us his flesh to eat?" hearing them jesus reaffirming his statement said: "verily, verily, i say unto you, except ye eat of the flesh of the son of man, and drink his blood, ye have not life in yourselves.... for my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed." his disciples, likewise, prone here as so often to make a literal and material interpretation of his statements, said one to another: "this is a hard saying; who can hear him?" or according to our idiom--who can understand him? jesus asked them squarely if what he had just said caused them to stumble, and in order to be sure that they might not miss his real meaning and therefore teaching, said: "it is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing: the words that i speak unto you, _they_ are spirit, and _they_ are life." try as we will, we cannot get away from the fact that it was the words of truth that jesus brought that were ever uppermost in his mind. he said, follow me, not some one else, nor something else that would claim to represent me. and follow me merely because i lead you to the father. so supremely had this young jewish prophet, the son of a carpenter, made god's business his business, that he had come into the full realisation of the oneness of his life with the father's life. he was able to realise and to say, "i and my father are one." he was able to bring to the world a knowledge of the great fact of facts--the essential oneness of the human with the divine--that god tabernacles with men, that he makes his abode in the minds and the hearts of those who through desire and through will open their hearts to his indwelling presence. the first of the race, he becomes the revealer of this great eternal truth--the mediator, therefore, between god and man--in very truth the saviour of men. "if a man love me," said he, "he will keep my words: and my father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.... if ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as i have kept my father's commandments and abide in his love." it is our eternal refusal to follow jesus by listening to the words of life that he brought, and our proneness to substitute something else in their place, that brings the barrenness that is so often evident in the everyday life of the christian. we have been taught _to believe in_ jesus; we have not been taught _to believe_ jesus. this has resulted in a separation of christianity from life. the predominating motive has been the saving of the soul. it has resulted too often in a selfish, negative, repressive, ineffective religion. as jesus said: "and why call ye me, lord, lord, and do not the things which i say?" we are just beginning to realise at all adequately that it was _the salvation of the life_ that he taught. when the life is redeemed to righteousness through the power of the indwelling god and moves out in love and in service for one's fellow-men, the soul is then saved. a man may be a believer in jesus for a million years and still be an outcast from the kingdom of god and his righteousness. but a man can't believe jesus, which means following his teachings, without coming at once into the kingdom and enjoying its matchless blessings both here and hereafter. and if there is one clear-cut teaching of the master, it is that the life here determines and with absolute precision the life to come. one need not then concern himself with this or that doctrine, whether it be true or false. later speculations and theories are not for him. jesus' own saying applies here: "if any man will do his will he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of god." he enters into the kingdom, the kingdom of heaven here and now; and when the time comes for him to pass out of this life, he goes as a joyous pilgrim, full of anticipation for the kingdom that awaits him, and the master's words go with him: "in my father's house are many mansions." by thus becoming a follower of jesus rather than merely a believer in jesus, he gradually comes into possession of insights and powers that the master taught would follow in the lives of those who became his followers. the holy spirit, the divine comforter, of which jesus spoke, the spirit of truth, that awaits our bidding, will lead continually to the highest truth and wisdom and insight and power. kant's statement, "the other world is not another locality, but only another way of seeing things," is closely allied to the master's statement: "the kingdom of god is within you." and closely allied to both is this statement of a modern prophet: "the principle of christianity and of every true religion is within the soul--the realisation of the incarnation of god in every human being." when we turn to jesus' own teachings we find that his insistence was not primarily upon the saving of the soul, but upon the saving of the life for usefulness, for service, here and now, for still higher growth and unfoldment, whereby the soul might be grown to a sufficient degree that it would be worth the saving. and this is one of the great facts that is now being recognised and preached by the forward-looking men and women in our churches and by many equally religious outside of our churches. and so all aspiring, all thinking, forward-looking men and women of our day are not interested any more in theories about, explanations of, or dogmas about jesus. they are being won and enthralled by the wonderful personality and life of jesus. they are being gripped by the power of his teachings. they do not want theories about god--they want god--and god is what jesus brought--god as the moving, the predominating, the all-embracing force in the individual life. but he who finds the kingdom of god, whose life becomes subject to the divine rule and life within, realises at once also his true relations with the whole--with his neighbour, his fellow-men. he realises that his neighbour is not merely the man next door, the man around the corner, or even the man in the next town or city; but that his neighbour _is every man and every woman in the world_--because all children of the same infinite father, all bound in the same direction, but over many different roads. the man who has come under the influence and the domination of the divine rule, realises that his interests lie in the same direction as the interests of all, that he cannot gain for himself any good--that is, any essential good--at the expense of the good of all; but rather that his interests, his welfare, and the interests and the welfare of all others are identical. god's rule, the divine rule, becomes for him, therefore, the fundamental rule in the business world, the dominating rule in political life and action, the dominating rule in the law and relations of nations. jesus did not look with much favour upon outward form, ceremony, or with much favour upon formulated, or formal religion; and he somehow or other seemed to avoid the company of those who did. we find him almost continually down among the people, the poor, the needy, the outcast, the sinner--wherever he could be of service to the father, that is, wherever he could be of service to the father's children. according to the accounts he was not always as careful in regard to those with whom he associated as the more respectable ones, the more respectable classes of his day thought he should be. they remarked it many times. jesus noticed it and remarked in turn. we find him always where the work was to be done--friend equally of the poor and humble, and those of station--truly friend of man, teaching, helping, uplifting. and then we find him out on the mountain side--in the quiet, in communion--to keep his realisation of his oneness with the father intact; and with this help he went down regularly to the people, trying to lift their minds and lives up to the divine ideal that he revealed to them, that they in turn might realise their real relations one with another, that the kingdom of god and his righteousness might grow and become the dominating law and force in the world--"thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." it is this kingdom idea, the divine rule, the rule of god in all of the relations and affairs of men on earth that is gripping earnest men and women in great numbers among us today. under the leadership of these thinking, god-impelled men and women, many of our churches are pushing their endeavours out into social service activities along many different lines; and the result is they are calling into their ranks many able men and women, especially younger men and women, who are intensely religious, but to whom formal, inactive religion never made any appeal. when the church begins actually to throw the golden rule onto its banner, not in theory but in actual practice, actually forgetting self in the master's service, careless even of her own interests, her membership, she thereby calls into her ranks vast numbers of the best of the race, especially among the young, so that the actual result is a membership not only larger than she could ever hope to have otherwise, but a membership that commands such respect and that exercises such power, that she is astounded at her former stupidity in being shackled so long by the traditions of the past. a new life is engendered. there is the joy of real accomplishment. we are in an age of great changes. advancing knowledge necessitates changes. and may i say a word here to our christian ministry, that splendid body of men for whom i have such supreme admiration? one of the most significant facts of our time is this widespread inclination and determination on the part of such great numbers of thinking men and women to go directly to jesus for their information of, and their inspiration from him. the beliefs and the voice of the laymen, those in our churches and those out of our churches, must be taken into account and reckoned with. jesus is too large and too universal a character to be longer the sole possession, the property of any organisation. there is a splendid body of young men and young women numbering into untold thousands, who are being captured by the personality and the simple direct message of jesus. many of these have caught his spirit and are going off into other lines of the master's service. they are doing effective and telling work there. remember that when the spirit of the christ seizes a man, it is through the channel of present-day forms and present-day terms, not in those of fifteen hundred, or sixteen hundred, or even three hundred years ago. there is a spirit of intellectual honesty that prevents many men and women from subscribing to anything to which they cannot give their intellectual assent, as well as their moral and spiritual assent. they do not object to creeds. they know that a creed is but a statement, a statement of a man's or a woman's belief, whether it be in connection with religion, or in connection with anything else. but what they do object to is dogma, that unholy thing that lives on credulity, that is therefore destructive of the intellectual and the moral life of every man and every woman who allows it to lay its paralysing hand upon them, that can be held to if one is at all honest and given to thought, only through intellectual chicanery. we must not forget also that god is still at work, revealing himself more fully to mankind through modern prophets, through modern agencies. his revelation is not closed. it is still going on. the silly presumption in the statement therefore--"the truth once delivered." it is well occasionally to call to mind these words by robert burns, singing free and with an untrammelled mind and soul from his heather-covered hills: here's freedom to him that wad read, here's freedom to him that wad write; there's nane ever feared that the truth should be heared but them that the truth wad indict. it is essential to remember that we are in possession of knowledge, that we are face to face with conditions that are different from any in the previous history of christendom. the christian church must be sure that it moves fast enough so as not to alienate, but to draw into it that great body of intellectually alive, intellectually honest young men and women who have the christ spirit of service and who are mastered by a great purpose of accomplishment. remember that these young men and women are now merely standing where the entire church will stand in a few years. remember that any man or woman who has the true spirit of service has the spirit of christ--and more, has the religion of the christ. remember that jesus formulated no organisation. his message of the kingdom was so far-reaching that no organisation could ever possibly encompass it, though an organisation may be, and has been, a great aid in actualising it here on earth. he never made any conditions as to through whom, or what, his truth should be spread, and he would condemn today any instrumentality that would abrogate to itself any monopoly of his truth, just as he condemned those ecclesiastical authorities of his day who presumed to do the same in connection with the truth of god's earlier prophets. and so i would say to the church--beware and be wise. make your conditions so that you can gain the allegiance and gain the help of this splendid body of young men and young women. many of them are made of the stock that jesus would choose as his own apostles. among the young men will be our greatest teachers, our great financiers, our best legislators, our most valuable workers and organisers in various fields of social service, our most widely read authors, eminent and influential editorial and magazine writers as well as managers. many of these young women will have high and responsible positions as educators. some will be heads and others will be active workers in our widely extended and valuable women's clubs. some will have a hand in political action, in lifting politics out of its many-times low condition into its rightful state in being an agent for the accomplishment of the people's best purposes and their highest good. some will be editors of widely circulating and influential women's magazines. some will be mothers, true mothers of the children of others, denied their rights and their privileges. make it possible for them, nay, make it incumbent upon them to come in, to work within the great church organisation. it cannot afford that they stay out. it is suicidal to keep them out. any other type of organisation that did not look constantly to commanding the services of the most capable and expert in its line would fall in a very few months into the ranks of the ineffectives. a business or a financial organisation that did not do the same would go into financial bankruptcy in even a shorter length of time. by attracting this class of men and women into its ranks it need fear neither moral nor financial bankruptcy. but remember, many men and women of large calibre are so busy doing god's work in the world that they have no time and no inclination to be attracted by anything that does not claim their intellectual as well as their moral assent. the church must speak fully and unequivocally in terms of present-day thought and present-day knowledge, to win the allegiance or even to attract the attention of this type of men and women. and may i say here this word to those outside, and especially to this class of young men and young women outside of our churches? changes, and therefore advances in matters of this kind come slowly. this is true from the very nature of human nature. inherited beliefs, especially when it comes to matters of religion, take the deepest hold and are the slowest to change. not in all cases, but this is the general rule. those who hold on to the old are earnest, honest. they believe that these things are too sacred to be meddled with, or even sometimes, to be questioned. the ordinary mind is slow to distinguish between tradition and truth--especially where the two have been so fully and so adroitly mixed. many are not in possession of the newer, the more advanced knowledge in various fields that you are in possession of. but remember this--in even a dozen years a mighty change has taken place--except in a church whose very foundation and whose sole purpose is dogma. in most of our churches, however, the great bulk of our ministers are just as forward-looking, just as earnest as you, and are deeply desirous of following and presenting the highest truth in so far as it lies within their power to do so. it is a splendid body of men, willing to welcome you on your own grounds, longing for your help. it is a mighty engine for good. go into it. work with it. work through it. the best men in the church are longing for your help. they need it more than they need anything else. i can assure you of this--i have talked with many. they feel their handicaps. they are moving as rapidly as they find it possible to move. on the whole, they are doing splendid work and with a big, fine spirit of which you know but little. you will find a wonderful spirit of self-sacrifice, also. you will find a stimulating and precious comradeship on the part of many. you will find that you will get great good, even as you are able to give great good. the church, as everything else, needs to keep its machinery in continual repair. help take out the worn-out parts--but not too suddenly. the church is not a depository, but an instrument and engine of truth and righteousness. some of the older men do not realise this; but they will die off. respect their beliefs. honest men have honest respect for differences of opinion, for honest differences in thought. sympathy is a great harmoniser. "differences of opinion, intellectual distinctions, these must ever be--separation of mind, but unity of heart." i like these words of lyman abbott. you will like them. they are spoken out of a full life of rich experience and splendid service. they have, moreover, a sort of unifying effect. they are more than a tonic: "of all characters in history none so gathers into himself and reflects from himself all the varied virtues of a complete manhood as does jesus of nazareth. and the world is recognising it.... if you go back to the olden time and the old conflicts, the question was, 'what is the relation of jesus christ to the eternal?' wars have been fought over the question, 'was he of one substance with the father?' i do not know; i do not know of what substance the father is; i do not know of what substance jesus christ is. what i do know is this--that when i look into the actual life that i know about, the men and women that are about me, the men and women in all the history of the past, of all the living beings that ever lived and walked the earth, there is no one that so fills my heart with reverence, with affection, with loyal love, with sincere desire to follow, as doth jesus christ.... "i do not need to decide whether he was born of a virgin. i do not need to decide whether he rose from the dead. i do not need to decide whether he made water into wine, or fed five thousand with two loaves and five small fishes. take all that away, and still he stands the one transcendent figure toward whom the world has been steadily growing, and whom the world has not yet overtaken even in his teachings.... i do not need to know what is his metaphysical relation to the infinite. i say it reverently--i do not care. i know for me he is the great teacher; i know for me he is the great leader whose work i want to do; and i know for me he is the great personality, whom i want to be like. that i know. theology did not give that to me, and theology cannot get it away from me." and what a basis as a test of character is this twofold injunction--this great fundamental of jesus! all religion that is genuine flowers in character. it was benjamin jowett who said, and most truly: "the value of a religion is in the ethical dividend that it pays." when the heart is right towards god we have the basis, the essence of religion--the consciousness of god in the soul of man. we have truth in the inward parts. when the heart is right towards the fellow-man we have the essential basis of ethics; for again we have truth in the inward parts. out of the heart are the issues of life. when the heart is right all outward acts and relations are right. love draws one to the very heart of god; and love attunes one to all the highest and most valued relationships in our human life. fear can never be a basis of either religion or ethics. the one who is moved by fear makes his chief concern the avoidance of detection on the one hand, or the escape of punishment on the other. men of large calibre have an unusual sagacity in sifting the unessential from the essential as also the false from the true. lincoln, when replying to the question as to why he did not unite himself with some church organisation, said: "when any church will inscribe over its altar, as its sole qualification of membership, the saviour's condensed statement of the substance of both law and gospel: thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and thy neighbour as thyself, that church shall i join with all my heart and soul." he was looked upon by many in his day as a non-christian--by some as an infidel. his whole life had a profound religious basis, so deep and so all-absorbing that it gave him those wonderful elements of personality that were instantly and instinctively noticed by, and that moved all men who came in touch with him; and that sustained him so wonderfully, according to his own confession, through those long, dark periods of the great crisis, the fact that in yesterday's new york paper--sunday paper--i saw the notice of a sermon in one of our presbyterian pulpits--lincoln, the christian--shows that we have moved up a round and are approaching more and more to an essential christianity. similar to this statement or rather belief was that of emerson, jefferson, franklin, and a host of other men among us whose lives have been lives of accomplishment and service for their fellow-men. emerson, who said: "a man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. in every work of genius we recognise our own rejected thoughts. they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty." emerson, who also said: "i believe in the still, small voice, and that voice is the christ within me." it was he of whom the famous father taylor in boston said: "it may be that emerson is going to hell, but of one thing i am certain: he will change the climate there and emigration will set that way." so thought jefferson, who said: "i have sworn eternal hostility to every form of tyranny over the minds of men." and as he, great prophet, with his own hand penned that immortal document--the declaration of american independence--one can almost imagine the galilean prophet standing at his shoulder and saying: thomas, i think it well to write it so. both had a burning indignation for that species of self-seeking either on the part of an individual or an organisation that would seek to enchain the minds and thereby the lives of men and women, and even lay claim to their children. yet jefferson in his time was frequently called an atheist--and merely because men in those days did not distinguish as clearly as we do today between ecclesiasticism and religion, between formulated and essential christianity. so we are brought back each time to jesus' two fundamentals--and these come out every time foursquare with the best thought of our time. the religion of jesus is thereby prevented from being a mere tribal religion. it is prevented from being merely an organisation that could possibly have his sanction as such--that is, an organisation that would be able to say: this is his, and this only. it makes it have a world-wide and eternal content. the kingdom that jesus taught is infinitely broader in its scope and its inclusiveness than any organisation can be, or that all organisations combined can be. ix his purpose of lifting up, energising, beautifying, and saving the entire life: the saving of the soul is secondary; but follows we have made the statement that jesus did unusual things, but that he did them on account of, or rather by virtue of, his unusual insight into and understanding of the laws whereby they could be done. his understanding of the powers of the mind and spirit was intuitive and very great. as an evidence of this were his numerous cases of healing the sick and the afflicted. intuitively he perceived the existence and the nature of the subjective mind, and in connection with it the tremendous powers of suggestion. intuitively he was able to read, to diagnose the particular ailment and the cause of the ailment before him. his thought was so poised that it was energised by a subtle and peculiar spiritual power. such confidence did his personality and his power inspire in others that he was able to an unusual degree to reach and to arouse the slumbering subconscious mind of the sufferer and to arouse into action its own slumbering powers whereby the life force of the body could transcend and remould its error-ridden and error-stamped condition. in all these cases he worked through the operation of law--it is exactly what we know of the laws of suggestion today. the remarkable cases of healing that are being accomplished here and there among us today are done unquestionably through the understanding and use of the same laws that jesus was the supreme master of. by virtue of his superior insight--his understanding of the laws of the mind and spirit--he was able to use them so fully and so effectively that he did in many cases eliminate the element of time in his healing ministrations. but even he was dependent in practically all cases, upon the mental cooperation of the one who would be healed. where this was full and complete he succeeded; where it was not he failed. such at least again and again is the statement in the accounts that we have of these facts in connection with his life and work. there were places where we are told he could do none of his mighty works on account of their unbelief, and he departed from these places and went elsewhere. many times his question was: "believe ye that i am able to do this?" then: "according to your faith be it unto you," and the healing was accomplished. the laws of mental and spiritual therapeutics are identically the same today as they were in the days of jesus and his disciples, who made the healing of sick bodies a part of their ministration. it is but fair to presume from the accounts that we have that in the early church of the disciples, and for well on to two hundred years after jesus' time, the healing of the sick and the afflicted went hand in hand with the preaching and the teaching of the kingdom. there are those who believe that it never should have been abandoned. as a well-known writer has said: "healing is the outward and practical attestation of the power and genuineness of spiritual religion, and ought not to have dropped out of the church." recent sincere efforts to re-establish it in church practice, following thereby the master's injunction, is indicative of the thought that is alive in connection with the matter today.[a] from the accounts that we have jesus seems to have engaged in works of healing more during his early than during his later ministry. he may have used it as a means to an end. on account of his great love and sympathy for the physical sufferer as well as for the moral sufferer, it is but reasonable to suppose that it was an integral part of his announced purpose--the saving of the life, of the entire life, for usefulness, for service, for happiness. and so we have this young galilean prophet, coming from an hitherto unknown jewish family in the obscure little village of nazareth, giving obedience in common with his four brothers and his sisters to his father and his mother; but by virtue of a supreme aptitude for and an irresistible call to the things of the spirit--made irresistible through his overwhelming love for the things of the spirit--he is early absorbed by the realisation of the truth that god is his father and that all men are brothers. the thought that god is his father and that he bears a unique and filial relationship to god so possesses him that he is filled, permeated with the burning desire to make this newborn message of truth and thereby of righteousness known to the world. his own native religion, once vibrating through the souls of the prophets as the voice of god, has become so obscured, so hedged about, so killed by dogma, by ceremony, by outward observances, that it has become a mean and pitiable thing, and produces mean and pitiable conditions in the lives of his people. the institution has become so overgrown that the spirit has gone. but god finds another prophet, clearly and supremely open to his spirit, and jesus comes as the messiah, the divine son of god, the divine son of man, bringing to the earth a new dispensation. it is the message of the divine fatherhood of god, god whose controlling character is love, and with it the divine sonship of man. an integral part of it is--all men are brothers. he comes as the teacher of a new, a higher righteousness. he brings the message and he expounds the message of the kingdom of god. all men he teaches must repent and turn from their sins, and must henceforth live in this kingdom. it is an inner kingdom. men shall not say: behold it is here or it is there; for, behold, it is within you. god is your father and god longs for your acknowledgment of him as your father; he longs for your love even as he loves you. you are children of god, but you are not true sons of god until through desire the divine rule and life becomes supreme in your minds and hearts. it is thus that you will find the kingdom of god. when you do, then your every act will show forth in accordance with this divine ideal and guide, and the supreme law of conduct in your lives will be love for your neighbour, for all mankind. through this there will then in time become actualised the kingdom of heaven on the earth. he comes in no special garb, no millinery, no brass bands, no formulas, no dogmas, no organisation other than the kingdom, to uphold and become a slave to, and in turn be absorbed by, as was the organisation that he found strangling all religion in the lives of his people and which he so bitterly condemned. what he brought was something infinitely transcending this--the kingdom of god and his righteousness, to which all men were heirs--equal heirs--and thereby redemption from their sins, therefore salvation, the saving of their lives, would be the inevitable result of their acknowledgment of and allegiance to the divine rule. how he embraced all--such human sympathy--coming not to destroy but to fulfil; not to judge the world but to save the world. how he loved the children! how he loved to have them about him! how he loved their simplicity, and native integrity of mind and heart! hear him as he says: "verily i say unto you, whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of god as a little child, he shall not enter therein"; and again: "suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of god." the makers of dogma, in evolving some three hundred years later on the dogma of the inherent sinfulness and degradation of the human life and soul, could certainly find not the slightest trace of any basis for it again in these words and acts of jesus. we find him sympathising with and mingling with and seeking to draw unto the way of his own life the poor, the outcast, the sinner, the same as the well-to-do and those of station and influence--seeking to draw all through love and knowledge to the father. there is a sense of justice and righteousness in his soul, however, that balks at oppression, injustice, and hypocrisy. he therefore condemns and in scathing terms those and only those who would seek to place any barrier between the free soul of any man and his god, who would bind either the mind or the conscience of man to any prescribed formulas or dogmas. honouring, therefore the forms that his intelligence and his conscience allowed him to honour, he disregarded those that they did not. like other good jewish rabbis, for he was looked upon during his ministry and often addressed as rabbi, he taught in the synagogues of his people; but oftener out on the hillsides and by the lake-side, under the blue sky and the stars of heaven. giving due reverence to the law and the prophets--the religion of his people and his own early religion--but in spirit and in discriminating thought so far transcending them, that the people marvelled at his teachings and said--surely this a prophet come from god; no man ever spoke to us as he speaks. by the ineffable beauty of his life and the love and the winsomeness of his personality, and by the power of the truths that he taught, he won the hearts of the common people. they followed him and his following continually increased. through it all, however, he incurred the increasing hostility and the increasing hatred of the leaders, the hierarchy of the existing religious organisation. they were animated by a double motive, that of protecting themselves, and that of protecting their established religion. but in their slavery to the organisation, and because unable to see that it was the spirit of true religion that he brought and taught, they cruelly put him to death--the same as the organisation established later on in his name, put numbers of god's true prophets, jesus' truest disciples to death, and essentially for the same reasons. jesus' quick and almost unerring perception enabled him to foresee this. it did not deter him from going forward with his message, standing resolutely and superbly by his revelation, and at the last almost courting death--feeling undoubtedly that the sealing of his revelation and message with his very life blood would but serve to give it its greatest power and endurance. heroically he met the fate that he perceived was conspiring to end his career, to wreck his teachings and his influence. he went forth to die clear-sighted and unafraid. he died for the sake of the truth of the message that he lived and so diligently and heroically laboured for--the message of the ineffable love of god for all his children and the bringing of them into the father's kingdom. and we must believe from his whole life's teaching, not to save their souls from some future punishment; not through any demand of satisfaction on the part of god; not as any substitutionary sacrifice to appease the demands of an angry god--for it was the exact opposite of this that his whole life teaching endeavoured to make known. it was supremely the love of the father and his longing for the love and allegiance, therefore the complete life and service of his children. it was the beauty of holiness--the beauty of wholeness--the wholeness of life, the saving of the whole life from the sin and sordidness of self and thereby giving supreme satisfaction to god. it was love, not fear. if not, then almost in a moment he changed the entire purpose and content, the entire intent of all his previous life work. this is unthinkable. in his last act he did not abrogate his own expressed statement, that the very essence of his message was expressed, as love to god and love to one's neighbour. he did not abrogate his continually repeated declaration that it was the kingdom of god and his righteousness, which brings man's life into right relations with god and into right relations with his fellow-men, that it was his purpose to reveal and to draw all men to, thereby aiding god's eternal purpose--to establish in this world a state which he designated the kingdom of heaven wherein a social order of brotherliness and justice, wrought and maintained through the potency of love, would prevail. in doing this he revealed the character of god by being himself an embodiment of it. it was the power of a truth that was to save the life that he was always concerned with. therefore his statement that the son of man has come that men might have life and might have it more abundantly--to save men from sin and from failure, and secondarily from their consequences; to make them true sons of god and fit subjects and fit workers in his kingdom. conversion according to jesus is the fact of this divine rule in the mind and heart whereby the life is saved--the saving of the soul follows. it is the direct concomitant of the saved life. in his death he sealed his own statement: "the law and the prophets were until john; since that time the kingdom of god is preached, and every man presseth into it." through his death he sealed the message of his life when putting it in another form he said: "verily, verily, i say unto you, he that heareth my word and believeth on him that sent me hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation: but is passed from death unto life." in this majestic life divinity and humanity meet. here is the incarnation. the first of the race consciously, vividly, and fully to realise that god incarnates himself and has his abode in the hearts and the lives of men, the first therefore to realise his divine sonship and become able thereby to reveal and to teach the divine fatherhood of god and the divine sonship of man. in this majestic life is the atonement, the realisation of the at-one-ment of the divine in the human, made manifest in his own life and in the way that he taught, sealed then by his own blood. in this majestic life we have the mediator, the medium or connector of the divine and the human. in it we have the saviour, the very incarnation of the truth that he taught, and that lifts the minds and thereby the lives of men up to their divine ideal and pattern, that redeems their lives from the sordidness and selfishness and sin of the hitherto purely material self, and that being thereby saved, makes them fit subjects for the father's kingdom. in this majestic life is the full embodiment of the beauty of holiness--whose words have gone forth and whose spirit is ceaselessly at work in the world, drawing men and women up to their divine ideal, and that will continue so to draw all in proportion as his words of truth and his life are lifted up throughout the world. x some methods of attainment after this study of the teachings of the divine master let us know this. it is the material that is the transient, the temporary; and the mental and spiritual that is the real and the eternal. we must not become slaves to habit. the material alone can never bring happiness--much less satisfaction. these lie deeper. that conversation between jesus and the rich young man is full of significance for us all, especially in this ambitious, striving, restless age. abundance of life is determined not alone by one's material possessions, but primarily by one's riches of mind and spirit. a world of truth is contained in these words: "life is what we are alive to. it is not a length, but breadth. to be alive only to appetite, pleasure, mere luxury or idleness, pride or money-making, and not to goodness and kindness, purity and love, history, poetry, and music, flowers, god and eternal hopes, is to be all but dead." why be so eager to gain possession of the hundred thousand or the half-million acres, of so many millions of dollars? soon, and it may be before you realise it, all must be left. it is as if a man made it his ambition to accumulate a thousand or a hundred thousand automobiles. all soon will become junk. but so it is with all material things beyond what we can actually and profitably use for our good and the good of others--and that we actually do so use. a man can eat just so many meals during the year or during life. if he tries to eat more he suffers thereby. he can wear only so many suits of clothing; if he tries to wear more, he merely wears himself out taking off and putting on. again it is as jesus said: "for what shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and lose his own life?" and right there is the crux of the whole matter. all the time spent in accumulating these things beyond the reasonable amount, is so much taken from the life--from the things of the mind and the spirit. it is in the development and the pursuit of these that all true satisfaction lies. elemental law has so decreed. we have made wonderful progress, or rather have developed wonderful skill in connection with things. we need now to go back and catch up the thread and develop like skill in making the life. little wonder that brains are addled, that nerves are depleted, that nervous dyspepsia, that chronic weariness, are not the exception but rather the rule. little wonder that sanitariums are always full; that asylums are full and overflowing--and still more to be built. no wonder that so many men, so many good men break and go to pieces, and so many lose the life here at from fifty to sixty years, when they should be in the very prime of life, in the full vigour of manhood; at the very age when they are capable of enjoying life the most and are most capable of rendering the greatest service to their fellows, to their community, because of greater growth, experience, means, and therefore leisure. jesus was right--what doth it profit? and think of the real riches that in the meantime are missed. it is like an addled-brain driver in making a trip across the continent. he is possessed, obsessed with the insane desire of making a record. he plunges on and on night and day, good weather and foul--and all the time he is missing all the beauties, all the benefits to health and spirit along the way. he has none of these when he arrives--he has missed them all. he has only the fact that he has made a record drive--or nearly made one. and those with him he has not only robbed of the beauties along the way; but he has subjected them to all the discomforts along the way. and what really underlies the making of a record? it is primarily the spirit of vanity. when the mental beauties of life, when the spiritual verities are sacrificed by self-surrender to and domination by the material, one of the heavy penalties that inexorable law imposes is the drying up, so to speak, of the finer human perceptions--the very faculties of enjoyment. it presents to the world many times, and all unconscious to himself, a stunted, shrivelled human being--that eternal type that the master had in mind when he said: "thou fool, this night shall thy soul be required of thee." he whose sole employment or even whose primary employment becomes the building of bigger and still bigger barns to take care of his accumulated grain, becomes incapable of realising that life and the things that pertain to it are of infinitely more value than barns, or houses, or acres, or stocks, or bonds, or railroad ties. these all have their place, all are of value; but they can never be made the life. a recent poem by james oppenheim presents a type that is known to nearly every one:[b] i heard the preacher preaching at the funeral: he moved the relatives to tears telling them of the father, husband, and friend that was dead: of the sweet memories left behind him: of a life that was good and kind. i happened to know the man, and i wondered whether the relatives would have wept if the preacher had told the truth: let us say like this: "the only good thing this man ever did in his life, was day before yesterday: _he died_.... but he didn't even do that of his own volition.... he was the meanest man in business on manhattan island, the most treacherous friend, the crudest and stingiest husband, and a father so hard that his children left home as soon as they were old enough.... of course he had divinity: everything human has: but he kept it so carefully hidden away that he might just as well not have had it.... "wife! good cheer! now you can go your own way and live your own life! children, give praise! you have his money: the only good thing he ever gave you.... friends! you have one less traitor to deal with.... this is indeed a day of rejoicing and exultation! thank god this man is dead!" an unknown enjoyment and profit to him is the world's great field of literature, the world's great thinkers, the inspirers of so many through all the ages. that splendid verse by emily dickinson means as much to him as it would to a dumb stolid ox: he ate and drank the precious words, his spirit grew robust, he knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was dust; he danced along the dingy days, and this bequest of wings was but a book! what liberty a loosened spirit brings! yes, life and its manifold possibilities of unfoldment and avenues of enjoyment--life, and the things that pertain to it--is an infinitely greater thing than the mere accessories of life. what infinite avenues of enjoyment, what peace of mind, what serenity of soul may be the possession of all men and all women who are alive to the inner possibilities of life as portrayed by our own prophet, emerson, when he said: oh, when i am safe in my sylvan home, i tread on the pride of greece and rome; and when i am stretched beneath the pines, where the evening star so holy shines, i laugh at the lore and pride of man, at the sophist schools and the learned clan; for what are they all in their high conceit, when man in the bush with god may meet? it was he who has exerted such a world-wide influence upon the minds and lives of men and women who also said: "great men are they who see that spirituality is stronger than any material force: that thoughts rule the world." and this is true not only of the world in general, but it is true likewise in regard to the individual life. one of the great secrets of all successful living is unquestionably the striking of the right balance in life. the material has its place--and a very important place. fools indeed were we to ignore or to attempt to ignore this fact. we cannot, however, except to our detriment, put the cart before the horse. things may contribute to happiness, but things cannot bring happiness--and sad indeed, and crippled and dwarfed and stunted becomes the life of every one who is not capable of realising this fact. eternally true indeed is it that the life is more than meat and the body more than raiment. all life is from an inner centre outward. as within, so without. as we think we become. which means simply this: our prevailing thoughts and emotions are never static, but dynamic. thoughts are forces--like creates like, and like attracts like. it is therefore for us to choose whether we shall be interested primarily in the great spiritual forces and powers of life, or whether we shall be interested solely in the material things of life. but there is a wonderful law which we must not lose sight of. it is to the effect that when we become sufficiently alive to the inner powers and forces, to the inner springs of life, the material things of life will not only follow in a natural and healthy sequence, but they will also assume their right proportions. they will take their right places. it was the recognition of this great fundamental fact of life that jesus had in mind when he said: "but rather seek ye the kingdom of god; and all these things shall be added unto you,"--meaning, as he so distinctly stated, the kingdom of the mind and spirit made open and translucent to the leading of the divine wisdom inherent in the human soul, when that leading is sought and when through the right ordering of the mind we make the conditions whereby it may become operative in the individual life. the great value of god as taught by jesus is that god dwells in us. it is truly emmanuel--god with us. the law must be observed--the conditions must be met. "the lord is with you while ye be with him; and if ye will seek him, he will be found of you." "the spirit of the living god dwelleth in you." "if any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of god, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. but let him ask in faith, nothing wavering." that there is a divine law underlying prayer that helps to release the inner springs of wisdom, which in turn leads to power, was well known to jesus, for his life abundantly proved it. his great aptitude for the things of the spirit enabled him intuitively to realise this, to understand it, to use it. and there was no mystery, no secret, no subterfuge on the part of jesus as to the source of his power. in clear and unmistakable words he made it known--and why should he not? it was the truth, the truth of this inner kingdom that would make men free that he came to reveal. "the words that i speak unto you i speak not of myself: but the father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works." "my father worketh hitherto and i work.... for as the father hath life in himself; so hath he given to the son to have life in himself.... i can of mine own self do nothing." as he followed the conditions whereby this higher illumination can come so must we. the injunction that jesus gave in regard to prayer is unquestionably the method that he found so effective and that he himself used. how many times we are told that he withdrew to the mountain for his quiet period, for communion with the father, that the realisation of his oneness with god might be preserved intact. in this continual realisation--i and my father are one--lay his unusual insight and power. and his distinct statement which he made in speaking of his own powers--as i am ye shall be--shows clearly the possibilities of human unfoldment and attainment, since he realised and lived and then revealed the way. were not this divine source of wisdom and power the heritage of every human soul, distinctly untrue then would be jesus' saying: "for every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened." infinitely better is it to know that one has this inner source of guidance and wisdom which as he opens himself to it becomes continually more distinct, more clear and more unerring in its guidance, than to be continually seeking advice from outside sources, and being confused in regard to the advice given. this is unquestionably the way of the natural and the normal life, made so simple and so plain by jesus, and that was foreshadowed by isaiah when he said: "hast thou not known? hast thou not heard that the everlasting god, the lord, the creator of the ends of the earth fainteth not, neither is weary? he giveth power to the faint and to them that have no might he increaseth strength. even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall. but they that wait upon the lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint." not that problems and trials will not come. they will come. there never has been and there never will be a life free from them. life isn't conceivable on any other terms. but the wonderful source of consolation and strength, the source that gives freedom from worry and freedom from fear is the realisation of the fact that the guiding force and the moulding power is within us. it becomes active and controlling in the degree that we realise and in the degree that we are able to open ourselves so that the divine intelligence and power can speak to and can work through us. judicious physical exercise induces greater bodily strength and vigour. an active and alert mental life, in other words mental activity, induces greater intellectual power. and under the same general law the same is true in regard to the development and the use of spiritual power. it, however, although the most important of all because it has to do more fundamentally with the life itself, we are most apt to neglect. the losses, moreover, resulting from this neglect are almost beyond calculation. to establish one's centre aright is to make all of life's activities and events and results flow from this centre in orderly sequence. a modern writer of great insight has said: "the understanding that god is, and _all there is_, will establish you upon a foundation from which you can never be moved." to know that the power that is god is the power that works in us is knowledge of transcendent import. to know that the spirit of infinite wisdom and power which is the creating, the moving, and the sustaining force in all life, thinks and acts in and through us as our own very life, in the degree that we consciously and deliberately desire it to become the guiding and the animating force in our lives, and open ourselves fully to its leadings, and follow its leadings, is to attain to that state of conscious oneness with the divine that jesus realised, lived and revealed, and that he taught as the method of the natural and the normal life for all men. we are so occupied with the matters of the sense-life that all unconsciously we become dominated, ruled by the things of the senses. now in the real life there is the recognition of the fact that the springs of life are all from within, and that the inner always leads and rules the outer. under the elemental law of cause and effect this is always done--whether we are conscious of it or not. but the difference lies here: the master of life consciously and definitely allies himself in mind and spirit with the great central force and rules his world from within. the creature of circumstances, through lack of desire or through weakness of will, fails to do this, and, lacking guiding and directing force, drifts and becomes thereby the creature of circumstance. one of deep insight has said: "that we do not spontaneously see and know god, as we see and know one another, and so manifest the god-nature as we do the sense-nature, is because that nature is yet latent, and in a sense slumbering within us. yet the god-nature within us connects us as directly and vitally with the being and kingdom of god within, behind, and above the world, as does the sense-nature with the world external to us. hence as the sense-consciousness was awakened and established by the recognition of and communication with the outward world through the senses, so the god-consciousness must be awakened by the corresponding recognition of, and communication with the being and kingdom of god through intuition--the spiritual sense of the inner man.... the true prayer--the prayer of silence--is the only door that opens the soul to the direct revelation of god, and brings thereby the realisation of the god-nature in ourselves." as the keynote to the world of sense is activity, so the keynote to spiritual light and power is quiet. the individual consciousness must be brought into harmony with the cosmic consciousness. paul speaks of the "sons of god." and in a single sentence he describes what he means by the term--"for as many as are led by the spirit of god, they are the sons of god." an older prophet has said: "the lord in the midst of thee is mighty." jesus with his deep insight perceived the identity of his real life with the divine life, the indwelling wisdom and power,--the "father in me." the whole course of his ministry was his attempt "to show those who listened to him how he was related to the father, and to teach them that they were related to the same father in exactly the same way." there is that within man that is illumined and energised through the touch of his spirit. we can bring our minds into rapport, into such harmony and connection with the infinite divine mind that it speaks in us, directs us, and therefore acts through us as our own selves. through this connection we become illumined by divine wisdom and we become energised by divine power. it is ours, then, to act under the guidance of this higher wisdom and in all forms of expression to act and to work augmented by this higher power. the finite spirit, with all its limitations, becomes at its very centre in rapport with infinite spirit, its source. the finite thereby becomes the channel through which the infinite can and does work. to use an apt figure, it is the moving of the switch whereby we connect our wires as it were with the central dynamo which is the force that animates, that gives and sustains life in the universe. it is making actual the proposition that was enunciated by emerson when he said: "every soul is not only the inlet, but may become the outlet of all there is in god." significant also in this connection is his statement: "the only sin is limitation." it is the actualising of the fact that in him we live and move and have our being, with its inevitable resultant that we become "strong in the lord and in the power of his might." there is perhaps no more valuable way of realising this end, than to adopt the practice of taking a period each day for being alone in the quiet, a half hour, even a quarter hour; stilling the bodily senses and making oneself receptive to the higher leadings of the spirit--receptive to the impulses of the soul. this is following the master's practice and example of communion with the father. things in this universe and in human life do not happen. all is law and sequence. the elemental law of cause and effect is universal and unvarying. in the realm of spirit law is as definite as in the realm of mechanics--in the realm of all material forces. if we would have the leading of the spirit, if we would perceive the higher intuitions and be led intuitively, bringing the affairs of the daily life thereby into the divine sequence, we must observe the conditions whereby these leadings can come to us, and in time become habitual. the law of the spirit is quiet--to be followed by action--but quiet, the more readily to come into a state of harmony with the infinite intelligence that works through us, and that leads us as our own intelligence when through desire and through will, we are able to bring our subconscious minds into such attunement that it can act through us, and we are able to catch its messages and follow its direction. but to listen and to observe the conditions whereby we can listen is essential. jesus' own words as well as his practice apply here. after his admonition against public prayer, or prayer for show, or prayer of much speaking, he said: "but thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy father which is in secret; and thy father which seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly." now there are millions of men, women, and children in the world who have no closets. there are great numbers of others who have no access to them sometimes for days, or weeks, or months at a time. it is evident, therefore, that in the word that has been rendered closet he meant--enter into the quiet recesses of your own soul that you may thus hold communion with the father. now the value of prayer is not that god will change or order any laws or forces to suit the numerous and necessarily the diverse petitions of any. all things are through law, and law is fixed and inexorable. the value of prayer, of true prayer, is that through it one can so harmonise his life with the divine order that intuitive perceptions of truth and a greater perception and knowledge of law becomes his possession. as has been said by an able contemporary thinker and writer: "we cannot form a passably thorough notion of man without saturating it through and through with the idea of a cosmic inflow from outside his world life--the inflow of god. without a large consciousness of the universe beyond our knowledge, few men, if any, have done great things.[c] i shall always remember with great pleasure and profit a call a few days ago from dr. edward emerson of concord, emerson's eldest son. happily i asked him in regard to his father's methods of work--if he had any regular methods. he replied in substance: "it was my father's custom to go daily to the woods--_to listen_. he would remain there an hour or more in order to get whatever there might be for him that day. he would then come home and write into a little book--his 'day-book'--what he had gotten. later on when it came time to write a book, he would transcribe from this, in their proper sequence and with their proper connections, these entrances of the preceding weeks or months. the completed book became virtually a ledger formed or posted from his day-books." the prophet is he who so orders his life that he can adequately listen to the voice, the revelations of the over soul, and who truthfully transcribes what he hears or senses. he is not a follower of custom or of tradition. he can never become and can never be made the subservient tool of an organisation. his aim and his mission is rather to free men from ignorance, superstition, credulity, from half truths, by leading them into a continually larger understanding of truth, of law--and therefore of righteousness. it was more than a mere poetic idea that lowell gave utterance to when he said: the thing we long for, that we are for one transcendent moment. to establish this connection, to actualise this god-consciousness, that it may not be for one transcendent moment, but that it may become constant and habitual, so that every thought arises, and so that every act goes forth from this centre, is the greatest good that can come into the possession of man. there is nothing greater. it is none other than the realisation of jesus' injunction--"seek ye first the kingdom of god and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." it is then that he said--do not worry about your life. your mind and your will are under the guidance of the divine mind; your every act goes out under this direction and all things pertaining to your life will fall into their proper places. therefore do not worry about your life. when a man finds his centre, when he becomes centred in the infinite, then redemption takes place. he is redeemed from the bondage of the senses. he lives thereafter under the guidance of the spirit, and this is salvation. it is a new life that he has entered into. he lives in a new world, because his outlook is entirely new. he is living now in the kingdom of heaven. heaven means harmony. he has brought his own personal mind and life into harmony with the divine mind and life. he becomes a coworker with god. it is through such men and women that god's plans and purposes are carried out. they not only hear but they interpret for others god's voice. they are the prophets of our time and the prophets of all time. they are doing god's work in the world, and in so doing they are finding their own supreme satisfaction and happiness. they are not looking forward to the eternal life. they realise that they are now in the eternal life, and that there is no such thing as eternal life if this life that we are now in is not it. when the time comes for them to stop their labours here, they look forward without fear and with anticipation to the change, the transition to the other form of life--but not to any other life. the words of whitman embody a spirit of anticipation and of adventure for them: joy, shipmate, joy! (pleas'd to my soul at death i cry) one life is closed, one life begun, the long, long anchorage we leave, the ship is clear at last, she leaps. joy, shipmate, joy! they have an abiding faith that they will take up the other form of life exactly where they left it off here. being in heaven now they will be in heaven when they awake to the continuing beauties of the life subsequent to their transition. such we might also say is the teaching of jesus regarding the highest there is in life here and the best there is in the life hereafter. xi some methods of expression the life of the spirit, or, in other words, the true religious life, is not a life of mere contemplation or a life of inactivity. as fichte, in "the way toward the blessed life," has said: "true religion, notwithstanding that it raises the view of those who are inspired by it to its own region, nevertheless, retains their life firmly in the domain of action, and of right moral action.... religion is not a business by and for itself which a man may practise apart from his other occupations, perhaps on certain fixed days and hours; but it is the inmost spirit that penetrates, inspires, and pervades all our thought and action, which in other respects pursue their appointed course without change or interruption. that the divine life and energy actually lives in us is inseparable from religion." how thoroughly this is in keeping with the thought of the highly illumined seer, swedenborg, is indicated when he says: "the lord's kingdom is a kingdom of ends and uses." and again: "forsaking the world means loving god and the neighbour; and god is loved when a man lives according to his commandments, and the neighbour is loved when a man performs uses." and still again: "to be of use means to desire the welfare of others for the sake of the common good; and not to be of use means to desire the welfare of others not for the sake of the common good but for one's own sake.... in order that man may receive heavenly life he must live in the world and engage in its business and occupations, and thus by a moral and civil life acquire spiritual life. in no other way can spiritual life be generated in man, or his spirit be prepared for heaven." we hear much today both in various writings and in public utterances of "the spiritual" and "the spiritual life." i am sure that to the great majority of men and women the term spiritual, or better, the spiritual life, means something, but something by no means fully tangible or clear-cut. i shall be glad indeed if i am able to suggest a more comprehensible concept of it, or putting it in another form and better perhaps, to present a more clear-cut portraiture of the spiritual life in expression--in action. and first let us note that in the mind and in the teachings of jesus there is no such thing as the secular life and the religious life. his ministry pertained to every phase of life. the truth that he taught was a truth that was to permeate every thought and every act of life. we make our arbitrary divisions. we are too apt to deny the fact that the lord is the lord of the week-day, the same as he is the lord of the sabbath. jesus refused to be bound by any such consideration. he taught that every act that is a good act, every act that is of service to mankind is not only a legitimate act to be done on the sabbath day, but an act that _should_ be performed on the sabbath day. and any act that is not right and legitimate for the sabbath day is neither right nor legitimate for the week-day. in other words, it is the spirit of righteousness that must permeate and must govern every act of life and every moment of life. in seeking to define the spiritual life, it were better to regard the world as the expression of the divine mind. the spirit is the life; the world and all things in it, the material to be moulded, raised, and transmuted from the lower to the higher. this is indeed the law of evolution, that has been through all the ages and that today is at work. it is the god-power that is at work and every form of useful activity that helps on with this process of lifting and bettering is a form of divine activity. if therefore we recognise the one divine life working in and through all, the animating force, therefore the life of all, and if we are consciously helping in this process we are spiritual men. no man of intelligence can fail to recognise the fact that life is more important than things. life is the chief thing, and material things are the elements that minister to, that serve the purposes of the life. whoever does anything in the world to preserve life, to better its conditions, who, recognising the divine force at work lifting life up always to better, finer conditions, is doing god's work in the world--because cooperating with the great cosmic world plan. the ideal, then, is men and women of the spirit, open and responsive always to its guidance, recognising the divine plan and the divine ideal, working cooperatively in the world to make all conditions of life fairer, finer, more happy. he who lives and works not as an individual, that is not for his good alone, but who recognises the essential oneness of life--is carrying out his share of the divine plan. a man may be unusually gifted; he may have unusual ability in business, in administration; he may be a giant in finance, in administration, but if for self alone, if lack of vision blinds him to the great divine plan, if he does not recognise his relative place and value; if he gains his purposes by selfishness, by climbing over others, by indifference to human pain or suffering--oblivious to human welfare--his ways are the ways of the jungle. his mind and his life are purely sordid, grossly and blindly self-centred--wholly material. he gains his object, but by divine law not happiness, not satisfaction, not peace. he is outside the kingdom of heaven--the kingdom of harmony. he is living and working out of harmony with the divine mind that is evolving a higher order of life in the world. he is blind too, he is working against the divine plan. now what is the divine call? can he be made into a spiritual man? yes. a different understanding, a different motive, a different object--then will follow a difference in methods. instead of self alone he will have a sense of, he will have a call to service. and this man, formerly a hinderer in the divine plan, becomes a spiritual giant. his splendid powers and his qualities do not need to be changed. merely his motives and thereby his methods, and he is changed into a giant engine of righteousness. he is a part of the great world force and plan. he is doing his part in the great world work--he is a coworker with god. and here lies salvation. saved from self and the dwarfed and stunted condition that will follow, his spiritual nature unfolds and envelops his entire life. his powers and his wealth are thereafter to bless mankind. but behold! by another great fundamental law of life in doing this he is blessed ten, a hundred, a millionfold. material prosperity is or may become a true gain, a veritable blessing. but it can become a curse to the world and still more to its possessor when made an end in itself, and at the expense of all the higher attributes and powers of human life. we have reason to rejoice that a great change of estimate has not only begun but is now rapidly creeping over the world. he of even a generation ago who piled and piled, but who remained ignorant of the more fundamental laws of life, blind to the law of mutuality and service, would be regarded today as a low, beastly type. i speak advisedly. it is this obedience to the life of the spirit that whitman had in mind when he said: "and whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud." it was the full flowering of the law of mutuality and service that he saw when he said: "i saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth. i dream'd that it was the new city of friends. nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love; it led the rest. it was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city and in all their looks and words." it is through obedience to this life of the spirit that order is brought out of chaos in the life of the individual and in the life of the community, in the business world, the labour world, and in our great world relations. but in either case, we men and women of christendom, to be a christian is not only to be good, but to be good for something. according to the teachings of the master true religion is not only personal salvation, but it is giving one's self through all of one's best efforts to actualise the kingdom of heaven here on earth. the finding of the kingdom is not only personal but social and world-affirming--and in the degree that it becomes fully and vitally personal will it become so. a man who is not right with his fellow-men is not right and cannot be right with god. this is coming to be the clear-cut realisation of all progressive religious thought today. since men are free from the trammels of an enervating dogma that through fear made them seek, or rather that made them contented with religion as primarily a system of rewards and punishments, they are now awakening to the fact that the logical carrying out of jesus' teaching of the kingdom is the establishing here on this earth of an order of life and hence of a society where greater love and cooperation and justice prevail. our rapidly growing present-day conception of christianity makes it not world-renouncing, but world-affirming. this modern conception of the function of a true and vital christianity makes it the task of the immediate future to apply christianity to trade, to commerce, to labour relations, to all social relations, to international relations. "and, in the wider field of religious thought," says a writer in a great international religious paper, "what truer service can we render than to strip theology of all that is unreal or needlessly perplexing, and make it speak plainly and humanly to people who have their duty to do and their battle to fight?" it makes intelligent, sympathetic, and helpful living take the place of the tooth and the claw, the growl and the deadly hiss of the jungle--all right in their places, but with no place in human living. the growing realisation of the interdependence of all life is giving a new standard of action and attainment, and a new standard of estimate. jesus' criterion is coming into more universal appreciation: he that is greatest among you shall be as he who serves. through this fundamental law of life there are responsibilities that cannot be evaded or shirked--and of him to whom much is given much is required. it was president wilson who recently said: "it is to be hoped that these obvious truths will come to more general acceptance; that honest business will quit thinking that it is attacked when loaded-dice business is attacked; that the mutuality of interest between employer and employee will receive ungrudging admission; and, finally, that men of affairs will lend themselves more patriotically to the work of making democracy an efficient instrument for the promotion of human welfare. it cannot be said that they have done so in the past.... as a consequence, many necessary things have been done less perfectly without their assistance that could have been done more perfectly with their expert aid." he is by no means alone in recognising this fact. nor is he at all blind to the great change that is already taking place. in a recent public address in new york, the head of one of the largest plants in the world, and who starting with nothing has accumulated a fortune of many millions, said: "the only thing i am proud of--prouder of than that i have amassed a great fortune--is that i established the first manual training school in pennsylvania. the greatest delight of my life is to see the advancement of the young men who have come up about me." this growing sense of personal responsibility, and still better, of personal interest, this giving of one's abilities and one's time, _in addition to one's means_, is the beginning of the fulfilment of what i have long thought: namely, the great gain that will accrue to numberless communities and to the nation, when men of great means, men of great business and executive ability, give of their time and their abilities for the accomplishment of those things for the public welfare that otherwise would remain undone, or that would remain unduly delayed. what a gain will result also to those who so do in the joy and satisfaction resulting from this higher type of accomplishment hallowed by the undying element of human service! you keep silent too much. "have great leaders, and the rest will follow," said whitman. the gift of your abilities while you live would be of priceless worth for the establishing and the maintenance of a fairer, a healthier, and a sweeter life in your community, your city, your country. it were better to do this and to be contented with a smaller accumulation than to have it so large or even so excessive, and when the summons comes to leave it to two or three or to half a dozen who cannot possibly have good use for it all, and some of whom perchance would be far better off without it, or without so much. by so doing you would be leaving something still greater to them as well as to hundreds or thousands of others. significant in this connection are these words by a man of wealth and of great public service:[d] "on the whole, the individualistic age has not been a success, either for the individual, or the community in which he has lived, or the nation. we are, beyond question, entering on a period where the welfare of the community takes precedence over the interests of the individual and where the liberty of the individual will be more and more circumscribed for the benefit of the community as a whole. man's activities will hereafter be required to be not only for himself but for his fellow-men. to my mind there is nothing in the signs of the times so certain as this. "the man of exceptional ability, of more than ordinary talent, will hereafter look for his rewards, for his honours, not in one direction but in two--first, and foremost, in some public work accomplished, and, secondarily, in wealth acquired. in place of having it said of him at his death that he left so many hundred thousand dollars it will be said that he rendered a certain amount of public service, and, incidentally, left a certain amount of money. such a goal will prove a far greater satisfaction to him, he will live a more rational, worthwhile life, and he will be doing his share to provide a better country in which to live. we face new conditions, and in order to survive and succeed we shall require a different spirit of public service." i am well aware of the fact that the mere accumulation of wealth is not, except in very rare cases, the controlling motive in the lives of our wealthy men of affairs. it is rather the joy and the satisfaction of achievement. but nevertheless it is possible, as has so often proved, to get so much into a habit and thereby into a rut, that one becomes a victim of habit; and the life with all its superb possibilities of human service, and therefore of true greatness, becomes side-tracked and abortive. there are so many different lines of activity for human betterment for children, for men and women, that those of great executive and financial ability have wonderful opportunities. greatness comes always through human service. as there is no such thing as finding happiness by searching for it directly, so there is no such thing as achieving greatness by seeking it directly. it comes not primarily through brilliant intellect, great talents, but primarily through the heart. it is determined by the way that brilliant intellect, great talents are used. it is accorded not to those who seek it directly. by an indirect law it is accorded to those who, forgetting self, give and thereby lose their lives in human service. both poet and prophet is edwin markham when he says: we men of earth have here the stuff of paradise--we have enough! we need no other stones to build the stairs into the unfulfilled-- no other ivory for the doors-- no other marble for the floors-- no other cedar for the beam and dome of man's immortal dream. here on the paths of every day-- here on the common human way, is all the stuff the gods would take to build a heaven; to mould and make new edens. ours the stuff sublime to build eternity in time! this putting of divinity into life and raising thereby an otherwise sordid life up to higher levels and thereby to greater enjoyments, is the power that is possessed equally by those of station and means, and by those in the more humble or even more lowly walks of life. when your life is thus touched by the spirit of god, when it is ruled by this inner kingdom, when your constant prayer, as the prayer of every truly religious man or woman will be--lord, what wilt thou have me to do? my one desire is that thy will be my will, and therefore that thy will be done in me and through me--then you are living the divine life; you are a coworker with god. and whether your life according to accepted standards be noted or humble it makes no difference--you are fulfilling your divine mission. you should be, you cannot help being fearless and happy. you are a part of the great creative force in the world. you are doing a man's or a woman's work in the world, and in so doing you are not unimportant; you are essential. the joy of true accomplishment is yours. you can look forward always with sublime courage and expectancy. the life of the most humble can thus become an exalted life. mother, watching over, cleaning, feeding, training, and educating your brood; seamstress, working, with a touch of the divine in all you do--it must be done by some one--allow it to be done by none better than by you. farmer, tilling your soil, gathering your crops, caring for your herds; you are helping feed the world. there is nothing more important. "who digs a well, or plants a seed, a sacred pact he keeps with sun and sod; with these he helps refresh and feed the world, and enters partnership with god." if you do not allow yourself to become a slave to your work, and if you cooperate within the house and the home so that your wife and your daughters do not become slaves or near-slaves, what an opportunity is yours of high thinking and noble living! the more intelligent you become, the better read, the greater the interest you take in community and public affairs, the more effectively you become what in reality and jointly you are--the backbone of this and of every nation. teacher, poet, dramatist, carpenter, ironworker, clerk, college head, mayor, governor, president, ruler--the effectiveness of your work and the satisfaction in your work will be determined by the way in which you relate your thought and your work to the divine plan, and coordinate your every activity in reference to the highest welfare of the greater whole. however dimly or clearly we may perceive it great changes are taking place. the simple, direct teachings of the christ are reaching more and more the mind, are stirring the heart and through these are dominating the actions of increasing numbers of men and women. the realisation of the mutual interdependence of the human family, the realisation of its common source, and that when one part of it goes wrong all suffer thereby, the same as when any portion of it advances all are lifted and benefited thereby, makes us more eager for the more speedy actualising of the kingdom that the master revealed and portrayed. it was sir oliver lodge who in this connection recently said: "those who think that the day of the messiah is over are strangely mistaken; it has hardly begun. in individual souls christianity has flourished and borne fruit, but for the ills of the world itself it is an almost untried panacea. it will be strange if this ghastly war fosters and simplifies and improves a knowledge of christ, and aids a perception of the ineffable beauty of his life and teaching; yet stranger things have happened, and whatever the churches may do, i believe that the call of christ himself will be heard and attended to by a larger part of humanity in the near future, as never yet it has been heard or attended to on earth." the simple message of the christ, with its twofold injunction of love, is, when sufficiently understood and sufficiently heeded, all that we men of earth need to lift up, to beautify, to make strong and godlike individual lives and thereby and of necessity the life of the world. jesus never taught that god incarnated himself in him alone. i challenge any man living to find any such teaching by him. he did proclaim his own unique realisation of god. intuitively and vividly he perceived the divine life, the eternal word, the eternal christ, manifesting in his clean, strong, upright soul, so that the young jewish rabbi and prophet, known in all his community as jesus, the son of joseph and mary and whose brothers and sisters they knew so well,[e] became the firstborn--fully born--of the father. he then pleaded with all the energy and love and fervour of his splendid heart and vigorous manhood that all men should follow the way that he revealed and realise their divine sonship, that their lives might be redeemed--redeemed from the bondage of the bodily senses and the bondage of merely the things of the outer world, and saved as fit subjects of and workers in the father's kingdom. otherwise for millions of splendid earnest men and women today his life-message would have no meaning. to make men awake to their real identity, and therefore to their possibilities and powers as true sons of god, the father of all, and therefore that all men are brothers--for otherwise god is not father of all--and to live together in brotherly love and mutual cooperation whereby the divine will becomes done on earth as it is in heaven--this is his message to we men of earth. if we believe his message and accept his leadership, then he becomes indeed our elder brother who leads the way, the word in us becomes flesh, the christ becomes enthroned in our lives,--and we become co-workers with him in the father's vineyard. xii the world war--its meaning and its lessons for us whatever differences of opinion--and honest differences of opinion--may have existed and may still exist in america in regard to the great world conflict, there is a wonderful unanimity of thought that has crystallised itself into the concrete form--_something must be done in order that it can never occur again_. the higher intelligence of the nation must assert itself. it must feel and think and act in terms of internationalism. not that the feeling of nationalism in any country shall, or even can be eradicated or even abated. it must be made, however, to coordinate itself with the now rapidly growing sense of world-consciousness, that the growing intelligence of mankind, aided by some tremendously concrete forms of recent experience, is now recognising as a great reality. that there were very strong sympathies for both the allied nations and for the central powers in the beginning, goes without saying, how could it be otherwise, when we realise the diverse and complex types of our citizenship? one of the most distinctive, and in some ways one of the most significant, features of the american nation is that it is today composed of representatives, and in some cases, of enormous bodies of representatives, numbering into the millions, of practically every nation in the world. there are single cities where, in one case twenty-six, in another case twenty-nine, and in other cases a still larger number of what are today designated as hyphenated citizens are represented. the orderly removal of the hyphen, and the amalgamation of these splendid representatives of practically all nations into genuine american citizens, infused with american ideals and pushed on by true american ambitions, is one of the great problems that the war has brought in a most striking manner to our attention. not that these representatives of many nations shall in any way lose their sense of sympathy for the nations of their birth, in times of either peace or of distress, although they have found it either advisable or greatly to their own personal advantage and welfare to leave the lands of their birth and to establish their homes here. the fact that in the vast majority of cases they find themselves better off here, and choose to remain and assume the responsibilities of citizenship in the western republic, involves a responsibility that some, if not indeed many, heretofore have apparently too lightly considered. there must be a more supreme sense of allegiance, and a continually growing sense of responsibility to the nation, that, guided by their own independent judgment and animated by their own free wills, they have chosen as their home. there is a difference between sympathy and allegiance; and unless a man has found conditions intolerable in the land of his birth, and this is the reason for his seeking a home in another land more to his liking and to his advantage, we cannot expect him to be devoid of sympathy for the land of his birth, especially in times of stress or of great need. we can expect him, however, and we have a right to demand his _absolute allegiance_ to the land of his adoption. and if he cannot give this, then we should see to it that he return to his former home. if he is capable of clear thinking and right feeling, he also must realise the fundamental truth of this fact. there are public schools in america where as many as nineteen languages are spoken in a single room. our public schools, so eagerly sought by the children of parents of foreign birth, in their intense eagerness for an education, that is offered freely and without cost to all, can and must be made greater instruments in converting what must in time become a great menace to our institutions, and even to the very life of the nation itself, into a real and genuine american citizenship. our best educators, in addition to our clearest thinking citizens, are realising as never before, that our public-school system chiefly, among our educational institutions, must be made a great melting-pot through which this process of amalgamation must be carried on. we are also realising clearly now that, as a nation, we have been entirely too lax in connection with our immigration privileges, regulations and restrictions. we have been admitting foreigners to our shores in such enormous quantities each year that we have not been able at all adequately to assimilate them, nor have we used at all a sufficiently wise discrimination in the admission of desirables or undesirables. we have received, or we have allowed to be dumped upon our shores, great numbers of the latter whom we should know would inevitably become dependents, as well as great numbers of criminals. the result has been that they have been costing certain localities millions of dollars every year. but entirely aside from the latter, the last two or three years have brought home to us as never before the fact that those who come to our shores must come with the avowed and the settled purpose of becoming real american citizens, giving full and absolute allegiance to the institutions, the laws, the government of the land of their adoption. if any other government is not able so to manage as to make it more desirable for its subjects to remain in the land of their birth, rather than to seek homes in the land with institutions more to their liking, or with advantages more conducive to their welfare, that government then should not expect to retain, even in the slightest degree, the allegiance of such former subjects. a hyphenated citizenship may become as dangerous to a republic as a cancer is in the human body. a country with over a hundred hyphens cannot fulfil its highest destiny. we, as a nation, have been rudely shaken from our long dream of almost inevitable national security. we have been brought finally, and although as a nation we have no desire for conquest or empire, and no desire for military glory, and therefore no need of any great army or navy for offensive purposes, we have been brought finally to realise that we do, nevertheless, stand in need of a national strengthening of our arm of defence. a land of a hundred million people, where one could travel many times for a sixmonth and never see the sign of a soldier, is brought, though reluctantly, to face a new state of affairs; but one, nevertheless, that must be faced--calmly faced and wisely acted upon. and while it is true that as a nation we have always had the tradition of non-militarism, it is not true that we have had the tradition of military or of naval impotence or weakness. preparedness, therefore, has assumed a position of tremendous importance, in individual thought, in public discussion, and almost universally in the columns of the public press. one of the most vital questions among us then is, not so much as to how we shall prepare, but how shall we prepare adequately for defensive purposes, in case of any emergency arising, without being thrown too far along the road of militarism, and without an inordinate preparation that has been the scourge and the bane of many old-world countries for so many years, and that quite as much as anything has been provocative of the horrible conflict that has literally been devastating so many european countries. it is clearly apparent that the best thought in america today calls for an adequate preparation for purposes of defence, and calls for a recognition of facts as they are. it also clearly sees the danger of certain types of mind and certain interests combining to carry the matter much farther than is at all called for. the question is--how shall we then strike that happy balance that is the secret of all successful living in the lives of either individuals or in the lives of nations? all clear-seeing people realise that, as things are in the world today, there is a certain amount of preparedness that is necessary for influence and for insurance. as within the nation a police force is necessary for the enforcement of law, for the preservation of law and order, although it is not at all necessary that every second or third man be a policeman, so in the council of nations the individual nation must have a certain element of force that it can fall back upon if all other available agencies fail. in diplomacy the strong nations win out, the weaker lose out. military and naval power, unless carried to a ridiculous excess does not, therefore, lie idle, even when not in actual use. our power and influence as a nation will certainly not be in proportion to our weakness. although righteousness exalteth a nation, it is nevertheless true that righteousness alone will not protect a nation--while other nations are fully armed. national weakness does not make for peace. righteousness, combined with a spirit of forbearance, combined with a keen desire to give justice as well as to demand justice, if combined with the power to strike powerfully and sustainedly in defence of justice, and in defence of national integrity, is what protects a nation, and this it is that in the long run exalteth a nation--_while things are as they are_. while conditions have therefore brought prominently to the forefront in america the matter of military training and military service--an adequate military preparation for purposes of defence, for full and adequate defence, the best thought of the nation is almost a unit in the belief that, for us as a nation, an immense standing army is unnecessary as well as inadvisable. no amount of military preparation that is not combined definitely and completely with an enhanced citizenship, and therefore with an advance in real democracy, is at all worthy of consideration on the part of the american people, or indeed on the part of the people of any nation. pre-eminently is this true in this day and age. observing this principle we could then, while a certain degree of universal training under some system similar to the swiss or australian system is being carried on, and to serve _our immediate needs_, have an army of even a quarter of a million men without danger of militarism and without heavy financial burdens, and without subverting our american ideas--providing it is an industrial arm. there are great engineering projects that could be carried on, thereby developing many of our now latent resources; there is an immense amount of road-building that could be projected in many parts of, if not throughout the entire country; there are great irrigation projects that could be carried on in the far west and southwest, reclaiming millions upon millions of acres of what are now unproductive desert lands; all these could be carried on and made even to pay, keeping busy a large number of men for half a dozen years to come. this army of this number of men could be recruited, trained to an adequate degree of military service, and at the same time could be engaged in profitable employment on these much-needed works. they could then be paid an adequate wage, ample to support a family, or ample to lay up savings if without family. such men leaving the army service, would then have a degree of training and skill whereby they would be able to get positions or employment, all more remunerative than the bulk of them, perhaps, would ever be able to get without such training and experience. an army of this number of trained men, somewhat equally divided between the atlantic and the pacific seaboards, the bulk of them engaged in regular constructive work, _work that needs to be done and that, therefore, could be profitably done_, and ready to be called into service at a moment's notice, would constitute a tremendous insurance against any aggression from without, and would also give a tremendous sense of security for half a dozen years at least. this number could then be reduced, for by that time several million young men from eighteen years up would be partially trained and in first-class physical shape to be summoned to service should the emergency arise. in addition to the vast amount of good roads building, whose cost could be borne in equal proportions by nation, state and county--a most important factor in connection with military necessity as well as a great economic factor in the successful development and advancement of any community--the millions of acres of now arid lands in the west, awaiting only water to make them among the most valuable and productive in all the world, could be used as a great solution of our immigration problem. up to the year when the war began, there came to our shores upwards of one million immigrants every twelve months, seeking work, and most of them homes in this country. the great bulk of them got no farther than our cities, increasing congestion, already in many cases acute, and many of them becoming in time, from one cause or another, dependents, the annual cost of their maintenance aggregating many millions every year. with these vast acres ready for them large numbers could, under a wise system of distribution, be sent on to the great west and southwest, and more easily and directly now since the panama canal is open for navigation. allotments of these lands could be assigned them that they could in time become owners of, through a wisely established system of payments. many of them would thereby be living lives similar to those they lived in their own countries, and for which their training and experience there have abundantly fitted them. they would thus become a far more valuable type of citizens--landowners--than they could ever possibly become otherwise, and especially through our present unorganised hit-or-miss system. they would in time also add annually hundreds of millions of productive work to the wealth of the country. the very wise system that was inaugurated some time ago in connection with the coast defence arm of our army is, under the wise direction of our present secretary of war, to be extended to all branches of the service. for some time in the coast artillery service the enlisted man under competent instruction has had the privilege of becoming a skilled machinist or a skilled electrician. now the system is to be extended through all branches of the military service, and many additional trades are to be added to the curricula of the trade schools of the army. the young man can, therefore, make his own selection and become a trained artisan at the same time that he serves his time in the army, with all expenses for such training, as well as maintenance, borne by the government. he can thereby leave the service fully equipped for profitable employment. this will have the tendency of calling a better class of young men into the service; it will also do away with the well-founded criticism that army life and its idleness, or partly-enforced idleness, unfits a man for useful industrial service after he quits the army. if this same system is extended through the navy, as it can be, both army and navy service will meet the american requirement--that neither military nor naval service take great numbers of men from productive employment, to be in turn supported by other workers. instead of so much dead timber, they are all the time producing while in active service, and are being trained to be highly efficient as producers, when they leave the service. under this system the federal government can build its own ordnance works and its own munition factories and become its own maker of whatever may be required in all lines of output. we will then be able to escape the perverse influence of gain on the part of large munition industries, and the danger that comes from that portion of a military party whose motives are actuated by personal gain. if the occasion arises, or if we permit the occasion to arise, kruppism in america will become as dangerous and as sinister in its influences and its proportions, as it became in germany. another great service that the war has done us, is by way of bringing home to us the lesson that has been so prominently brought to the front in connection with the other nations at war, namely, the necessity of the speedy and thorough mobilisation of all lines of industries and business; for the thoroughness and the efficiency with which this can be done may mean success that otherwise would result in failure and disaster. we are now awake to the tremendous importance of this. it is at last becoming clearly understood among the peoples and the nations of the world that, as a nation, we have no desire for conquest, for territory, for empire--we have no purposes of aggression; we have quite enough to do to develop our resources and our as yet great undeveloped areas. a few months before the war broke, i had conversations with the heads or with the representatives of leading publishing houses in several european countries. it was at a time when our mexican situation was beginning to be very acute. i remember at that time especially, the conversation with the head of one of the largest publishing houses in italy, in milan. i could see plainly his scepticism when, in reply to his questions, i endeavoured to persuade him that as a nation we had no motives of conquest or of aggression in mexico, that we were interested solely in the restoration of a representative and stable government there. and since that time, i am glad to say that our acts as a nation have all been along the line of persuading him, and also many other like-minded ones in many countries abroad, of the truth of this assertion. by this general course we have been gaining the confidence and have been cementing the friendship of practically every south american republic, our immediate neighbours on the southern continent. this has been a source of increasing economic power with us, and an element of greatly added strength, and also a tremendous energy working all the time for the preservation of peace. one can say most confidently, even though recognising our many grave faults as a nation, that our course along this line has been such, especially of late years, as to inspire confidence on the part of all the fair-minded nations of the world. our theory of the state, the theory of democracy, is not that the state is above all, and that the individual and his welfare are as nothing when compared to it, but rather that the state is the agency through which the highest welfare of all its subjects is to be evolved, expressed, maintained. no other theory to my mind, is at all compatible with the intelligence of any free-thinking people. otherwise, there is always the danger and also the likelihood, while human nature is as it is, for some ruler, some clique, or factions so to concentrate power into their own hands, that for their own ambitions, for aggrandisement, or for false or short-sighted and half-baked ideas of additions to their country, it is dragged into periodic wars with other nations. nor do we share in the belief that the state is above morality, but rather that identically the same moral ideals, precepts and obligations that bind individuals must be held sacred by the state, otherwise it becomes a pirate among nations, and it will inevitably in time be hunted down and destroyed as such, however great its apparent power. nor do we as a nation share in the belief that war is necessary and indeed good for a nation, to inspire and to preserve its manly qualities, its virility, and therefore its power. were this the only way that this could be brought about, it might be well and good; but the price to be paid is a price that is too enormous and too frightful, and the results are too uncertain. we believe that these same ideals can be inculcated, that these same energies can be used along useful, conserving, constructive lines, rather than along lines of destruction. a nation may have the most colossal and perfect military system in the world, and still may suffer defeat in any given while, because of those unseen things that pertain to the soul of another people, whereby powers and forces are engendered and materialised that make defeat for them impossible; and in the matter of big guns, it is well always to remember that no nation can build them so great that another nation may not build them still greater. national safety does not necessarily lie in that direction. nor, on the other hand, along the lines of extreme pacificism--surely not as long as things are as they are. the argument of the lamb has small deterrent effect upon the wolf--as long as the wolf is a wolf. and sometimes wolves hunt in packs. the most preeminent lesson of the great war for us as a nation should be this--there should be constantly a degree of preparedness sufficient to hold until all the others, the various portions of the nation, thoroughly coordinated and ready, can be summoned into action. thus are we prepared, thus are we safe, and there is no danger or fear of militarism. in a democracy it should, without question, be a fundamental fact that hand in hand with equal rights there should go a sense of equal duty. a call for defence should have a universal response. so it is merely good common-sense, good judgment, if you please, for all the young men of the nation to have a training sufficient to enable them to respond effectively if the nation's safety calls them to its defence. it is no crime, however we may deprecate war, to be thus prepared. for young men--and we must always remember that it is the young men who are called for this purpose--for young men to be called to the colours by the tens or the hundreds of thousands, unskilled and untrained, to be shot down, decimated by the thoroughly trained and skilled troops of another nation, or a combination of other nations, is indeed the crime. never, moreover, was folly so great as that shown by him or by her who will not see. and to look at the matter without prejudice, we will realise that this is merely policing what we have. it is meeting force with adequate force, _if it becomes necessary_, so to meet it. this is necessary until such time as we have in operation among nations a thoroughly established machinery whereby force will give place to reason, whereby common sense will be used in adjusting all differences between nations, as it is now used in adjusting differences between individuals. our period of isolation is over. we have become a world-nation. equality of rights presupposes equality of duty. in our very souls we loathe militarism. conquest and aggression are foreign to our spirit, and foreign to our thoughts and ambitions. but weakness will by no means assure us immunity from aggression from without. universal military training up to a reasonable point, and the joint sense of responsibility of every man and every woman in the nation, and the right of the national government to expect and to demand that every man and woman stand ready to respond to the call to service, whatever form it may take--this is our armour. all intelligent people know that the national government has always had the power to draft every male citizen fit for service into military service. it is not therefore a question of universal military service. the real and only question is whether these or great numbers of these go out illy prepared and equipped as sheep to the shambles perchance, or whether they go out trained and equipped to do a man's work--more adequately prepared to protect themselves as well as the integrity of the nation. it is not to be done for the love or the purpose of militarism; but recognising the fact that militarism still persists, that with us it may not be triumphant should we at any time be forced to face it. there are certain facts that only to our peril as well as our moral degradation, we can be blind to. said a noted historian but a few days ago: "i loathe war and militarism. i have fought them for twenty years. but i am a historian, and i know that bullies thrive best in an atmosphere of meekness. as long as this military system lasts you must discourage the mailed fist by showing that you will meet it with something harder than a boxing glove. we do not think it good to admit into the code of the twentieth century that a great national bully may still with impunity squeeze the blood out of its small neighbours and seize their goods." we need not fear militarism arising in america as long as the fundamental principles of democracy are preserved and continually extended, which can be done only through the feeling of the individual responsibility of every man and every woman to take a keen and constant interest in the matters of their own government--community, state, national, and now international. we must realise and ever more fully realise that in a government such as ours, the people are the government, and that when in it anything goes wrong, or wrongs and injustices are allowed to grow and hold sway, we are to blame. universal military training has not militarised switzerland nor has it australia. it is rather the very essence of democracy and the very antithesis of militarism. "let each son of freedom bear his portion of the burden. should not each one do his share? to sacrifice the splendid few-- the strong of heart, the brave, the true, who live--or die--as heroes do, while cowards profit--is not fair!" many still recall that not a few well-meaning people at the close of the civil war proclaimed that, with upwards of two million trained men behind him, general grant would become a military dictator, and that this would be followed by the disappearance of democracy in the nation. but the mind, the temper, the traditions of our people are all a guarantee against militarism. the gospel, the hallucination of the shining armour, the will to power, has no attraction for us. we loathe it; nor do we fear its undermining and crushing our own liberties internally. nevertheless, it is true that vigilance is always and always will be the price of liberty. there must be a constant education towards citizenship. there must be an alert democracy, so that any land and sea force is always the servant of the spirit; for only otherwise it can become its master--but otherwise it will become its master. xiii our sole agency of international peace, and international concord the consensus of intelligent thought throughout the world is to the effect that just as we have established an orderly method for the settlement of disputes between individuals or groups of individuals in any particular nation, we must now move forward and establish such methods for the settlement of disputes among nations. there is no civilised country in the world that any longer permits the individual to take the law into his own hands. the intelligent thought of the world now demands the definite establishment of a world federation for the enforcement of peace among nations. it demands likewise the definite establishment of a permanent world court, backed by adequate force for the arbitrament of all disputes among nations--unable to be adjusted by the nations themselves in friendly conference. we have now reached the stage in world development and in world intercourse where peace must be internationalised. our present chaotic condition, which exists simply because we haven't taken time as yet to establish a method, must be made to give place to an intelligently devised system of law and order. anything short of this means a periodic destruction of the finest fruits of civilisation. it means also the periodic destruction of the finest young manhood of the world. this means, in turn, the speedy degeneration of the human race. the deification of force, augmented by all the products and engines of modern science, is simply the way of sublimated savagery. the world is in need of a new dispensation. recent events show indisputably that we have reached the parting of the ways, the family of nations must now push on into the new day or the world will plunge on into a darker night. there is no other course in sight. i know of no finer words penned in any language--this time it was in french--to express an unvarying truth than these words by victor hugo: "there is one thing that is stronger than armies, and that is an idea whose time has come." never before, after viewing the great havoc wrought, the enormous debts that will have to be paid for between fifty and a hundred years to come, the tremendous disruptions and losses in trade, the misery and degradation stalking broadcast over every land engaged in the war--scarcely a family untouched--never before have nations been in the state of mind to consider and to long to act upon some sensible and comprehensive method of international concord and adjustments. if this succeeds, the world, including ourselves, is the gainer. if this does not succeed, though the chances are overwhelmingly in its favour, then we can proclaim to the assembled nations that as long as a state of outlawry exists among nations, that then no longer by chance but by design, we as a nation will be in a state of preparedness broad and comprehensive enough to defend ourselves against the violation of any of the rights of a sovereign nation. it is only in this way that we can show a due appreciation of the struggles and the sacrifices of those who gave us our national existence; it is only in this way that we can, retain our self-respect, that we can command the respect of other nations _while things are as they are_; that we can hope to retain any degree of influence and authority for the diplomatic arm of our government in the council of nations. every neutral nation has suffered tremendously by the war. every neutral nation will suffer until a new world-order among nations is projected and perfected. we owe a tremendous duty to the world in connection with this great world crisis and upheaval. diligently should our best men and women, those of insight and greatest influence, and with the expenditure of both time and means, seek to further the practical working out of a world federation and a permanent world court. public opinion should be thus aroused and solidified so that the world knows that we stand as a united nation back of the idea and the plan. the divine right of kings has gone. it holds no more. we hear now and then, it is true, some silly statement in regard to it, but little attention is paid to it. the divine right of priests has gone except in the minds of the few remaining ignorant and herdable ones. the divine right of dynasties--or rather of dynasties to persist--seems to die a little harder, but it is well on the way. we are now realising that the only divine right is the right of the people--and all the people. never again should it be possible for one man, or for one little group of men so to lead, or so to mislead a nation as to plunge it into war. the growth of democracy compelling the greater participation of all the people in government must prohibit this. so likewise the close relationship of the entire world now must make it forever impossible for a single nation or a group of nations for any cause to plunge a whole world or any part of it into war. these are sound and clear-visioned words recently given utterance to by james bryce: "however much we condemn reckless leaders and the ruthless caste that live for war, the real source of the mischief is the popular sentiment behind them. the lesson to be learned is that doctrines and deep-rooted passions, whence these evils spring, can only be removed by the slow and steady working of spiritual forces. what most is needed is the elimination of those feelings the teachings of which breed jealousy and hatred and prompt men to defiance and aggression." humanity and civilisation is not headed towards ab the cave-man, whatever appearances, in the minds of many, may indicate at the present time. humanity will arise and will reconstruct itself. great lessons will be learned. good will result. but what a terrific price to pay! what a terrific price to pay to learn the lesson that "moral forces are the only invincible forces in the universe"! it has been slow, but steadily the world is advancing to that stage when the individual or the nation that does not know that the law of mutuality, of cooperation, and still more the law of sympathy and good will, is the supreme law in real civilisation, real advancement, and real gain--that does not know that its own welfare is always bound up with the welfare of the greater whole--is still in the brute stage of life and the bestial propensities are still its guiding forces. prejudice, suspicion, hatred, national big-headedness, must give way to respect, sympathy, the desire for mutual understanding and cooperation. the higher attributes must and will assert themselves. the former are the ways of periodic if not continuous destruction--the latter are the ways of the higher spiritual forces that must prevail. significant are these words of one of our younger but clear-visioned american poets, winter bynner: whether the time be slow or fast, enemies, hand in hand, must come together at the last and understand. no matter how the die is cast, or who may seem to win-- we know that we must love at last-- why not begin? the teaching of hatred to children, the fostering of hatred in adults, can result only in harm to the people and the nation where it is fostered. the dragon's tooth will leave its marks upon the entire nation and the fair life of all the people will suffer by it. the holding in contempt of other people makes it sometimes necessary that one's own head be battered against the wall that he may be sufficiently aroused to recognise and to appreciate their sterling and enduring qualities. the use of a club is more spectacular for some at least than the use of intellectual and moral forces. the rattling of the machine-gun produces more commotion than the more quiet ways of peace. all of the powerful forces in nature, those of growth, germination, and conservation, the same as in human life are quiet forces. so in the preservation of peace. it consists rather in a high constructive policy. it requires always clear vision, a constantly progressive and cooperative method of life and action; frank and open dealing and a resolute purpose. it is won and maintained by nothing so much in the long run as when it makes the golden rule its law of conduct. slowly we are realising that great armaments--militarism--do not insure peace. they may lead away from it--they are very apt to lead away from it. peace is related rather to the great moral laws of conduct. it has to do with straight, clean, open dealing. it is fostered by sympathy, forbearance. this does not mean that it pertains to weakness. on the contrary it is determined by resolute but high purpose, the actual and active desire of a nation to live on terms of peace with all other nations; and the world's; recognition of this fact is a most powerful factor in inducing and in actualising such living. our own achievement of upwards of a hundred years in living in peaceable, sympathetic and mutually beneficial relations with canada; canada's achievement in so living with us, should be a distinct and clear-cut answer to the argument that nations need to fortify their boundaries one against another. this is true only where suspicion, mistrust, fear, secret diplomacy, and secret alliances hold instead of the great and eternally constructive forces--sympathy, good will, mutual understanding, induced and conserved by an international joint commission of able men whose business it is to investigate, to determine, and to adjust any differences that through the years may arise. here we have a boundary line of upwards of three thousand miles and not a fort; vast areas of inland seas and not a war vessel; and for upwards of a hundred years not a difference that the high joint commission has not been able to settle amicably and to the mutual advantage of both countries. i know that in connection with this we have an advantage over the old-world nations because we are free from age-long prejudices, hatreds, and past scores. but if this great conflict does not lead along the lines of the constructive forces and the working out of a new world method, then the future of europe and of the world is dark indeed. surely it will lead to a new order--it is almost inconceivable that it will not. the golden rule is a wonderful developer in human life, a wonderful harmoniser in community life--with great profit it could be extended as the law of conduct in international relations. it must be so extended. its very foundation is sympathy, good will, mutuality, love. the very essence of jesus' entire revelation and teaching was love. it was not the teaching of weakness or supineness in the face of wrong, however. there was no failure on his part to smite wrong when he saw it--wrong taking the form of injustice or oppression. he had, as we have seen, infinite sympathy for and forbearance with the weak, the sinful; but he had always a righteous indignation and a scathing denunciation for oppression--for that spirit of hell that prompts men or organisations to seek, to study, to dominate the minds and thereby the lives of others. it was, moreover, that he would not keep silent regarding the deadly ecclesiasticism that bore so heavily upon his people and that had well-nigh crushed all their religious life whence are the very springs of life, that he aroused the deadly antagonism of the ruling hierarchy. and as he, witnessing for truth and freedom, steadfastly and defiantly opposed oppression, so those who catch his spirit today will do as he did and will realise as duty--"while wrong is wrong let no man prate of peace!" peace? peace? peace? while wrong is wrong let no man prate of peace! he did not prate, the master. nay, he smote! * * * * * hate wrong! slay wrong! else mercy, justice, truth, freedom and faith, shall die for humankind.[f] nor did the code and teachings of jesus prevent him driving the money-changers from out the temple court. it was not for the purpose of doing them harm. it was rather to do them good by driving home to them in some tangible and concrete form, through the skin and flesh of their bodies, what the thick skins of their moral natures were unable to comprehend. the resistance of wrongdoing is not opposed to the law of love. as in community life there is the occasional bully who has sometimes to be knocked down in order that he may have a due appreciation of individual rights and community amenities, so among nations a similar lesson is sometimes necessary in order that it or its leaders may learn that there are certain things that do not pay, and, moreover, will not be allowed by the community of nations. making might alone the basis of national policy and action, or making it the basis of settlement in international settlements, but arouses and intensifies hatred and the spirit of revenge. so in connection with this great world crisis--after it all then comes the great problem of reorganisation and rehabilitation, and unless there comes about an international concord strong and definite enough to prevent a recurrence of what has been, it would almost seem that restoration were futile; for things will be restored only in time to be destroyed again. no amount of armament we know now will prevent war. it can be prevented only by a definite concord of the nations brought finally to realise the futility of war. to deny the possibility of a world league and a world court is to deny the ability of men to govern themselves. the history of the american republic in its demonstration of the power and the genius of federation should disprove the truth of this. here we have a nation composed of forty-eight sovereign states and with the most heterogeneous accumulation of people that ever came together in one country, let alone one nation, and great numbers of them from those nations that for upwards of a thousand years have been periodically springing at one another's throats. enlightened self-government has done it. the real spirit and temper of democracy has done it. but it must be the preservation of the real spirit of democracy and constant vigilance that must preserve it. prejudice, suspicion, hatred on the part of individuals or on the part of the people of one nation against the people of another nation, have never yet advanced the welfare of any individual or any nation and never can. the world war is but the direct result of the type of peace that preceded it. the militarist argument reduced to its lowest terms amounts merely to this: "for two nations to keep peace each must be stronger than the other." representative men of other countries do not resent our part in pressing this matter and in taking the leadership in it. but even if they did they would have no just right to. there is, however, a very general feeling that the american republic, as the world's greatest example of _successful federation_, should take the lead in the world federation. this is now going to be greatly fostered by virtue of one great good that the world war will eventually have accomplished--the doom and the end of autocracy. dynasties and privileged orders that have lived and lived alone on militarism, will have been foreclosed on. the people in control, in an increasingly intelligent control of their own lives and their own governments, will be governed by a higher degree of self-enlightenment and mutual self-interest than under the domination or even the leadership of any type of hereditary ruling class or war-lord. in some countries autocracy in religion, through the free mingling and discussions of men of various nationalities and religious persuasions, will be again lessened, whereby the direct love and power of god in the hearts of men, as jesus taught, will have a fuller sway and a more holy and a diviner moulding power in their lives. it was during those long, weary years coupled with the horrible crimes of the thirty years' war that the science of international law began to take form, the result of that notable work, "de jure belli ac pacis," by grotius. it is ours to see that out of this more intense and thereby even more horrible conflict a new epoch in human and international relations be born. as the higher powers of mind and spirit are realised and used, great primal instincts impelling men to expression and action that find their outlet many times in war, will be transmuted and turned from destruction into powerful engines of construction. when a moral equivalent for war of sufficient impelling power is placed before men, those same virile qualities and powers that are now marshalled so easily for purposes of fighting, will, under the guidance and in the service of the spirit, be used for the conserving of human life, and for the advancement and the increase of everything that administers to life, that makes it more abundant, more mutual, and more happy. and god knows that the call for such service is very great. * * * * * and even now comes the significant word that the long, the too long awaited world's bill of rights has taken form. the intelligence and the will of righteous men, duly appointed as the representatives of fourteen sovereign nations, has asserted itself, and the beginning has been made, without which there can be neither growth nor advancement. the constitution of the world league has taken form. it is not a perfect instrument; but it will grow into as perfect an instrument as need be for its purpose. changes and additions to it will be made as times and conditions indicate. partisanship even with us may seek to defeat it. there is no question, however, but that the sober sense of the american people is behind it. one of the most fundamental results, we might say purposes of the great world war, was to end war. it means now that the world's unity and mutuality and its community of interests must be realised and that we build accordingly. it means that the world's peace must be fostered and preserved by the use of brains and guided by the heart; or that every brute force made ghastly and deadly to the n_th_ degree that modern science can devise, be periodically called in to settle the disputes or curb the ambitions that will disrupt the peace of the world. the common people the world over are desiring as near as can be arrived at, some surety as to the preservation of the world's peace; and they will brook no interference with a plan that seems the most feasible way to that end. the whole world is in that temper that gives significance to the words of president wilson when a day or two ago he said: "any man who resists the present tides that run in the world will find himself thrown upon a shore so high and barren that it will seem as if he had been separated from his human kind forever." unless, he might have added--he has and can demonstrate a better plan. the two chief arguments against it, that it will take away from our individual rights and that it will lead us into entangling alliances, no longer hold--for we are entangled already. we are a part of the great world force and it were futile longer to seek to escape our duties as such. they are as essential as "our rights." it is with us now as a nation as it was with that immortal group that gathered to sign our declaration of independence, to whom franklin said: "we must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately." it is well for americans to recall that the first league of nations was when thirteen distinct nationalities one day awoke to the fact that it were better to forget their differences and to a great extent their boundaries, and come together in a common union. they had their thirteen distinct armies to keep up, in order to defend themselves each against the other or against any combination of the others, to say nothing of any outside power that might move against them. jealousies arose and misunderstandings were frequent. so zealous was each of its own rights that when the constitutional convention had completed its work, and the constitution was ready for adoption, there were those who actually left the hall rather than sign it. they were good men but they were looking at stern facts and they wanted no idealism in theirs. good men, some animated by the partisan spirit, it is true, earnest in their beliefs--but unequipped with the long vision. their names are now recalled only through the search of the antiquarian. infinitely better it has been found for the thirteen and eventually the forty-eight to stand together than to stand separately. the thirteen separate states were farther separated so far as means of communication and actual knowledge of one another were concerned, than are the nations of the world today. it took men of great insight as well as vision to formulate our own constitution which made thirteen distinct and sovereign states the united states of america. the formulation of the constitution of the world league has required such men. as a nation we may be proud that two representative americans have had so large a share in its accomplishment--president wilson, good democrat, and ex-president taft, good republican. the greatest international and therefore world document ever produced has been forged--it awaits the coming days, years, and even generations for its completion. and we accord great honour also to those statesmen of other nations who have combined keen insight born of experience, with a lofty idealism; for out of these in any realm of human activities and relations, whatever eventually becomes the practical, is born. xiv the world's balance-wheel it was lincoln who gave us a wonderful summary when he said: "after all the one meaning of life is to be kind." love, sympathy, fellowship is the very foundation of all civilised, happy, ideal life. it is the very balance-wheel of life itself. it gives that genuineness and simplicity in voice, in look, in spirit that is so instinctively felt by all, and to which all so universally respond. it is like the fragrance of the flower--the emanation of its soul. interesting and containing a most vital truth is this little memoir by christine rossetti: "one whom i knew intimately, and whose memory i revere, once in my hearing remarked that, 'unless we love people, we cannot understand them.' this was a new light to me." it contains indeed a profound truth. love, sympathy, fellowship, is what makes human life truly human. cooperation, mutual service, is its fruitage. a clear-cut realisation of this and a resolute acting upon it would remove much of the cloudiness and the barrenness from many a life; and its mutual recognition--and action based upon it--would bring order and sweetness and mutual gain in vast numbers of instances in family, in business, in community life. it would solve many of the knotty problems in all lines of human relations and human endeavour, whose solution heretofore has seemed well-nigh impossible. it is the telling oil that will start to running smoothly and effectively many an otherwise clogged and grating system of human machinery. when men on both sides are long-headed enough, are sensible enough to see its practical element and make it the fundamental basis of all relationships, of all negotiations, and all following activities in the relations between capital and labour, employer and employee, literally a new era in the industrial world will spring into being. both sides will be the gainer--the dividends flowing to each will be even surprising. there is really no labour problem outside of sympathy, mutuality, good-will, cooperation, brotherhood. injustice always has been and always will be the cause of all labour troubles. but we must not forget that it is sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other. misunderstanding is not infrequently its accompaniment. imagination, sympathy, mutuality, cooperation, brotherhood are the hand-maidens of justice. no man is intelligent enough, is big enough to be the representative or the manager of capital, who is not intelligent enough to realise this. no man is fit to be the representative of, or fit to have anything to do with the councils of labour who has not brains, intelligence enough to realise this. these qualities are not synonyms of or in any way related to sentimentality or any weak-kneed ethics. they underlie the soundest business sense. in this day and age they are synonyms of the word practical. there was a time and it was not so many years ago, when heads and executives of large enterprises did not realise this as fully as they realise it today. a great change has already taken place. a new era has already begun, and the greater the ability and the genius the more eager is its possessor to make these his guiding principles, and to hasten the time when they will be universally recognised and built upon. the same is true of the more intelligent in the rank and file of labour, as also of the more intelligent and those who are bringing the best results as leaders of labour. there is no intelligent man or woman today who does not believe in organised labour. there is no intelligent employer who does not believe in it and who does not welcome it. the bane of organised labour in the past has too often been the unscrupulous, the self-seeking, or the bull-headed labour leader. organised labour must be constantly diligent to purge itself of these its worst enemies. labour is entitled to the very highest wage, or to the best returns in cooperative management that it can get, and that are consistent with sound business management, as also to the best labour conditions that a sympathetic and wise management can bring about. it must not, however, be unreasonable in its demands, neither bull-headed, nor seek to travel too fast--otherwise it may lose more than it will gain. it must not allow itself to act as a shield for the ineffective worker, or the one without a sense of mutuality, whose aim is to get all he can get without any thought as to what he gives in return, or even with the deliberate purpose of giving the least that he can give and get away with it. where there is a good and a full return, there should be not only the desire but an eagerness to give a full and honest service. less than this is indicative of a lack of honest and staunch manhood or womanhood. it is incumbent upon organised labour also to remember that it represents but eight per cent of the actual working people of this nation. whether one works with his brains, or his hands, or both, is immaterial. nor does organised labour represent the great farming interests of the country--even more fundamentally the backbone of the nation. the desirable citizen of any nation is he or she who does not seek to prosper at the expense of his fellows, who does not seek the advancement of his group to the detriment of all other groups--who realises that none are independent, that all are interdependent. he who is a teacher or a preacher of class-consciousness, is either consciously or unconsciously--generally consciously and intentionally--a preacher of class-hatred. there is no more undesirable citizen in any nation than he. "do you know why money is so scarce, brothers?" the soap box orator demanded, and a fair-sized section of the backbone of the nation waited in leisurely patience for the answer. a tired-looking woman had paused for a moment on the edge of the crowd. she spoke shortly. "it's because so many of you men spend your time telling each other why, 'stead of hustling to see that it ain't!" he is a fair representative of the class-consciousness, class-hatred type. again he is represented by the theorist constitutionally and chronically too lazy to do honest and constructive work either physically or mentally. again by the one who has the big-head affliction. or again by the one afflicted with a species of insanity or criminality manifesting of late under the name of bolshevism--a self-seeking tyranny infinitely worse than czarism itself. its representatives have proved themselves moral perverts, determined to carry out their theories and gain their own ends by treachery, theft, coersion, murder, and every foul method that will aid them in reducing order to chaos--through the slogan of rule or ruin. through brigandage, coersion, murder, it gets the funds to send its agents into those countries whose governments are fully in the hands of the people, and where if at any time injustice prevails it is solely the fault of the people in not using in an intelligent and determined manner the possessions they already have. or putting it in another way, on account of shirking the duties it is morally incumbent upon them as citizens of free governments to perform. in america, whose institutions have been built and maintained solely by the people, our duty is plain, for orderly procedure has been and ever must be our watch-word. vigilance is moreover nowhere required more than in representative government. whenever the red hand of anarchy, bolshevism, terrorism raises itself it should be struck so instantly and so powerfully that it has not only no time to gain adherents, but has no time to make its escape. it should be the federal prison for any american who allows himself to become so misguided as to seek to substitute terrorism and destruction for our orderly and lawful methods of procedure, or quick deportation for any foreigner who seeks our shores to carry out these purposes, or comes as an agent for those who would do the same. organised labour has never occupied so high a position as it occupies today. that the rank and file will for an instant have commerce with these agencies, whatever any designing leader here and there may seek to do, is inconceivable. that its organisations will be sought to be used by them is just as probable. its duty as to vigilance and determination is pronounced. and unless vigilant and determined the set-backs it may get and the losses it may suffer are just as pronounced. the spirit and temper of the american people is such that it will not stand for coersion, lawlessness, or any unfair demands. public opinion is after all the court of last resort. no strike or no lockout can succeed with us that hasn't that tremendous weapon, public opinion, behind it. the necessity therefore of being fair in all demands and orderly in all procedure, and in view of this it is also well to remember that organised labour represents but eight per cent of the actual working people of this nation. the gains of organised labour in the past have been very great. it is also true that the demands of organised labour even today are very great. in true candor it must also be said that not only the impulse but the sincere desire of the great bulk of employers is in a conciliatory way to grant all demands of labour that are at all consistent with sound economic management, even in many cases to a great lessening of their own profits, as well as to maintain working conditions as befits their workers as valuable and honoured members of our body politic, as they naturally are and as they so richly deserve. for their own welfare, however, to say nothing of the welfare of the nation, labour unions must purge themselves of all anarchistic and destructive elements. force is a two-edged sword, and the force of this nation when once its sense of justice and right is outraged and its temper is aroused, will be found to be infinitely superior to any particular class, whether it be capital or whether it be labour. organised labour stands in the way to gain much by intelligent and honest work and orderly procedure. and to a degree perhaps never before equalled, does it stand in a position to lose much if through self-deception on its own part or through unworthy leadership, it deceives itself in believing itself superior to the forces of law and order. in a nation where the people through their chosen representatives and by established systems of procedure determine their own institutions, when agitators get beyond law and reason and lose sight too completely of the law of mutuality, there is a power backed by a force that it is mere madness to defy. the rights as well as the power of all the people will be found to be infinitely superior to those of any one particular group or class--clear-seeing men and women in any democratic form of government realise that the words mutuality and self-interest bear a very close relationship. the greatest gains in the relations between capital and labour during the coming few years will undoubtedly be along the lines of profit-sharing. some splendid beginnings are already in successful operation. there is the recognition that capital is entitled initially to a fair return; again that labour is entitled to a good and full living wage--when both these conditions are met then that there be an equal division of the profits that remain, between the capital and the skill and management back of the capital invested on the one hand, and labour on the other. without the former labour would have no employment in the particular enterprise; without the workers the former could not carry on. each is essential to the other. labour being not a commodity, as some material thing merely to be bought and sold, but the human element, is entitled to more than a living wage. it has human aspirations, and desires and needs. it has not only its present but its own and its children's future to safeguard. when it is thus made a partner in the business it becomes more earnest and reliable and effective in its work, less inclined to condone the shiftless, the incompetent, the slacker; more eager and resolute in withstanding the ill-founded, reckless or sinister suggestions or efforts of an ill-advised leadership. capital or employer is the gainer also, because it is insured that loyal and more intelligent cooperation in its enterprise that is as essential to its success as is the genius and skill of management. taking a different form but proving most valuable alike for management and capital on the one hand, and its workers on the other, is the case of one of our great industrial plants, the largest of its kind in the world and employing many thousands of workers, where already a trifle over forty per cent. of its stock is in the hands of the workers. their thrift and their good judgment have enabled them to take advantage of attractive prices and easy methods of payment made them by the company's management. there are already many other concerns where this is true in greater or less proportion. these are facts that certain types of labour agitators or even leaders as well as special pleaders for labour, find it convenient to forget, or at least not to mention. the same is true also of the millions that are every year being paid out to make all working conditions and surroundings cheerful, healthful, safe; in various forms of insurance, in retiring pensions. through the initiative of this larger type of employer, or manager of capital, many hundreds of thousands both men and women and in continually increasing numbers, are being thus benefited--outside and above their yearly wage or salary. a new era in connection with capital and labour has for some time been coming into being; the era of democracy in industry has arrived. the day of the autocratic sway on the part of capital has passed; nor will we as a nation take kindly to the autocratic sway of labour. it is obtaining a continually fuller recognition; and cooperation leading in many lines to profit-sharing is the new era we are now passing into. though there are very large numbers of men of great wealth, employers and heads of industrial enterprises, who have caught the spirit of the new industrial age upon which we have already begun to enter, and who are glad to see labour getting its fairer share of the profits of industry and a larger recognition as partners in industry, there are those who, lacking both imagination and vision, attempt to resist the tide that, already turned, is running in volume. they are our american bourbons, our american junkers. they are, considering the ominous undercurrents of change, unrest and discontent that are so apparent in the entire industrial and economic world today, our worst breeders and feeders of bolshevism and lawlessness. if they had their way and their numbers were sufficiently large, the flames of bolshevism and anarchy would be so fed that even in america we would have little hope of escaping a great conflagration. they are the ones who are determined to see that their immense profits are uncurtailled, whose homes must have ten bathrooms each; while great numbers of their workers without whom they would have to close up the industry--hence their essential partners in the industry though not in name--haven't even a single bath-room and with families as large and in many cases larger. they are they who must have three or four homes each, aggregating in the millions to build and to maintain. they are they who cannot see why workmen should discuss such things among themselves, or even question them, though in many cases they are scarcely able to make ends meet in the face of continually advancing or even soaring prices, who never enjoy a holiday, and are unable to lay up for the years to come, when they will no longer be "required" in industry. they are they therefore who have but little if any interest or care for even the physical well-being of their workers, say nothing of their mental and spiritual well-being and enjoyments--beyond the fact that they are well enough fed and housed for the next day's work. they are they who when it is suggested that, recognizing the change and the run of the tide, they be keen-minded enough to anticipate changing conditions and organize their business so that their workers have some joint share in its conditions and conduct, and some share in its profits beyond a mere living wage, reply--"i'll be damned if i do." it doesn't require much of a prophetic sense now however, to be able to tell them--they'll be damned if they don't. there is reason to rejoice also that for the welfare of american institutions, the number of this class is continually decreasing. did they predominate, with the unmistakable undercurrents of unrest, born of a sense of injustice, there would be in time, and in a shorter time than we perhaps realize, but one outcome. steeped in selfishness, making themselves impervious to all the higher leadings and impulses of the soul--less than men--they are not only enemies of their own better selves, but enemies of the nation itself. bolshevism in russia was born, or rather was able to get its hold, only through the long generations of czarism and the almost universal state of ignorance in which its people were held, that preceded it. the great preponderance and the continually growing numbers of men with imagination, with a sense of care, mutuality, cooperation, brotherhood, in our various large enterprises is a force that will save this and other nations from a similar experience. i have great confidence in the russian people. its soul is sound; and after the forces of treachery, incompetence and terrorism have spent themselves, and the better elements are able to organize in sufficient force to drive the beasts from its borders, it will arise and assert itself. there will be builded a new russia that will be one of the great and commanding nations of the world. in the meantime it affords a most concrete and valuable lesson to us and to all other nations--to strike on the one hand, the forces of treachery and lawlessness the moment they show themselves, and on the other hand, to see that the soil is made fertile for neither their entrance nor growth. the strong nation is that in which under the leadership of universal free education and equal opportunities, a due watch is maintained to see that the rights of all individuals and all classes are nurtured and carefully guarded. in such a government the nation and its interests is and must be supreme. then if built upon high ethical and moral standards where mutuality is the watch-word and the governing principle of its life, its motto might through right, power through justice, it becomes a fit and effective member of the society of nations. internationalism is higher than nationalism, humanity is above the nation. the stronger however the individual nation, the stronger necessarily will be the society of nations. love, sympathy, fellowship, is not inconsistent with the use of force to restrain malignant evil, in the case of nations as in the case of individuals. where goodness is weak it is exploited and becomes a victim of the stronger, when, devoid of a sense of mutuality, it is conscienceless. strength without conscience, goodness, ungoverned by the law of mutuality, becomes tyranny. in seeking its own ends it violates every law of god and man. for the safety therefore of the better life of the world, for the very safety and welfare of the society of nations, those nations that combine strength with goodness, strength with good-will, strength with an ever-growing sense of mutuality, which is the only law of a happy, orderly, and advancing human life, must combine to check the power of any people or nation still devoid of the knowledge of this law, lest goodness, truth and all the higher instincts and potentialities of life, even freedom itself perish from the earth. this can be done and must be done not through malice or hatred, but through a sense of right and duty. there is no more diabolical, no more damnable ambition on the part of individuals, organizations or nations than to rule, to gain domination over the minds and the lives of others either for the sake of power and domination or for the material gain that can be made to flow therefrom. as a rule, however, it is both. there is nothing more destructive to the higher moral and ethical life of the individual or the organization controlled by this desire, nothing so destructive to the life of the one or ones so dominated, and as a consequence to the life of society itself as this evil and prostituting desire and purpose. where this has become the clearly controlling motive, malignant and deep-seated, if in the case of a nation, then it is the duty of those nations that combine strength with character, strength with goodness, to combine to check the evil wrought by such a nation. if by persuasion and good-will, well and good. if not, then through the exercise of a restraining force. this is not contrary to the law of love, for the love of the good is the controlling motive. it is only thus that the higher moral law which for its growth and consummation is dependent upon individuals, can grow and gain supremacy in the world. intellectual independence and acumen, combined with a love of truth, goodness, righteousness, love and service for others, is the greatest aid there can be in carrying out the divine plan and purpose in the world. the sword of love therefore becomes the sword of righteousness that cuts out the cancerous growth that is given from to by malignant ill will; the sword of righteousness that strikes down slavery and oppression; the sword of righteousness therefore that becomes the sword of civilization. it is a weapon that does not have to be always used however; for when its power is once clearly understood it is feared. its deterrent power becomes therefore infinitely more effective than in its actual use. so in any new world settlement, any nation or group that is not up to this moral world standard, that would seek to impose its will and its institutions upon any other nations for the sake of domination, or to rob them of their goods, must be restrained through the federated power of the other nations, not by forcing their own beliefs or codes or institutions upon it, but by restraining it and making ineffective any ambitions or purposes that it may plan, or until its people whatever its leadership may be, are brought clearly and concretely to see that such methods do not pay. that jesus to whom we ultimately go for our moral leadership, not only sanctioned, but used and advocated the use of righteous force, when malignant evil in the form of self-seeking sought domination, either intellectual or physical, for its own selfish gain and aggrandizement, is clearly evidenced by many of his own sayings and his own acts. so within the nation during this great reconstruction period, these are times that call for heroic men and women. in a democracy or in any representative form of government an alert citizenship is its only safety. with a vastly increased voting population, in that many millions of women citizens are now admitted to full citizenship, the need for intelligent action and attention to matters of government was never so great. great numbers will be herded and voted by organizations as well as by machines. as these will comprise the most ignorant and therefore the herdable ones, it is especially incumbent upon the great rank and file of intelligent women to see that they take and maintain an active interest in public affairs. politics is something that we cannot evade except to the detriment of our country and thereby to our own detriment. politics is but another word for government. and in a sense we the individual voter are the government and unless we make matters of government our own concern, there are organizations and there are groups of designing men who will steal in and get possession for their own selfish aggrandizement and gain. this takes sometimes the form of power, to be traded for other power, or concessions; but always if you will trace far enough, eventual money gain. or again it takes the form of graft and even direct loot. the losses that are sustained through a lowered citizenship, through inefficient service, through a general debauchery of public institutions, through increased taxation to make up for the amounts that are drawn off in graft and loot are well nigh incalculable--and for the sole reason that you and i, average citizens, do not take the active personal interest in our own matters of government that we should take. clericalism, tammanyism, bolshevism, syndicalism--and all in the guise of interest in the people--get their holds and their profits in this way. it is essential that we be locally wise and history wise. any class or section or organization that is less than the nation itself must be watched and be made to keep its own place, or it becomes a menace to the free and larger life of the nation. even in the case of a great national crisis a superior patriotism is affected and paraded in order that it may camouflage its other and real activities. when at times we forget ourselves and speak of rights rather than duties in connection with our country, it were well to recall and to repeat the words of franklin: "the sun never repents of the good he does nor does he ever demand a recompense." not only is constant vigilance incumbent upon us, but realising the fact that the boys and the girls of today are the citizens of tomorrow--the nation's voters and law-makers--it is incumbent upon us to see that american free education through american free public schools, is advanced to and maintained at its highest possibilities, and kept free from any agencies that will make for a divided or anything less than a whole-hearted and intelligent citizenship. the motto on the shakespeare statue at leicester square in london: "there is no darkness but ignorance," might well be reproduced in every city and every hamlet in the nation. late revelations have shown how even education can be manipulated and prostituted for ulterior purposes. parochial schools whether protestant, catholic, jewish, or oriental, have no place in american institutions--and whether their work is carried on in english or in a foreign language. they are absolutely foreign to the spirit of our institutions. they are purely for the sake of something less than the nation itself. blind indeed are we if we are not history-wise. criminal indeed are we to allow any boys or girls to be diverted to them and to be deprived of the advantages of a better schooling and being brought under the influences of agencies that are thoroughly and wholly american. american education must be made for american institutions and for nothing less than this. the nation's children should be shielded from any power that seeks to get possession of them in order at an early and unaccountable age to fasten authority upon them, and to drive a wedge between them and all others of the nation. the nation has a duty to every child within its borders. to fail to recognize or to shirk that duty, will call for a price to be paid sometime as great as that that has been paid by every other nation that did not see until too late. sectarianism in education stultifies and robs the child and nullifies the finest national instincts in education. it is for but one purpose--the use and the power of the organization that plans and that fosters it. our government profiting by the long weary struggles of other countries, is founded upon the absolute separation of church and state. this does not mean the separation of religion in its true sense from the state; but keeping it free from every type of sectarian influence and domination. it is ours to see that no silent subtle influences are at work, that will eventually make the same trouble here as in other countries, or that will thrust out the same stifling hand to undermine and to throttle universal free public education, and the inalienable right that every child has to it. our children are the wards of and accountable to the state--they are not the property of any organization, group or groups, less than the state. we need the creation of a strong federal department of education of cabinet rank, with ample means and strong powers to be the guiding genius of all our state and local departments of education, with greater attention paid to a more thorough and concrete training in civics, in moral and ethical education, in addition to the other well recognized branches in public school education. it should have such powers also as will enable it to see that every child is in school up to a certain age, or until all the fundamentals of a prescribed standard of american education are acquired. a recent tabulation made public by a federal deputy commissioner of naturalization has shown that a little over one tenth, in round numbers, , , , of our population is composed of unnaturalized aliens. even this however tells but a part of the story; for vast numbers of even those who have become naturalized, have in no sense become americanized. speaking of this class an able editorial in a recent number of one of our leading new york dailies has said: "of the millions of aliens who have gone through the legal forms of naturalization a very large proportion have not in any sense been americanized, and, though citizens, they are still alien in habits of thought, in speech and in their general attitude toward the community. "there are industrial centres not far from new york city that are wholly foreign. there are sections of this city that--except as the children through the schools and association with others of their own age yield to change--are intensely alien. "to penetrate these barriers and open new avenues of communication with the people who live within them is no longer a task to be performed by individual effort. americanization is a work that must be undertaken and directed on a scale so extensive that only through the cooperation of the states and the federal government can it be successfully carried out. it cannot longer be neglected without serious harm to the life and welfare of the nation." some even more startling facts are given out in figures by the department of the interior, figures supplied to it by the surgeon general's office of the army. the war department records show that . per cent. of the draft army examined by that department's agents were unable to read and understand a newspaper, or to write letters home. in one draft in new york state in may, , . per cent. were classed as illiterate. in one draft in connection with south carolina troops in july, , . per cent. where classed as illiterate. in one draft in connection with minnesota troops in july of the same year, . per cent. were classed as illiterate. in other words it means for example that in new york state we have in round numbers , men between and years of age who are illiterate. the same source reveals the fact that in the nation in round numbers over , , are either illiterate or without a knowledge of our language. the south is the home of most of the wholly uneducated, the north of those of foreign speech. and in speaking of this class a recent editorial in another representative new york daily, after making mention of one industrial centre but a few miles out of new york city, in new jersey, where nearly out of every cannot read english, has said: "such people may enjoy the advantages america offers. of its spirit and institutions they can comprehend nothing. they are the easy dupes of foreign agitators, unassimilable, an element of weakness in the social body that might easily be converted into an element of strength. many of them have the vote, controlled by leaders interested only in designs alien to america's welfare. "the problem is national in scope * * *. the best way to keep bolshevism out of america is to reduce ignorance of our speech and everything else to a minimum. however alert our immigration officers may be, foreign agents of social disorder are sure to pass through our doors, and as long as we allow children to grow up among us who have no means of finding out the meaning of our laws and forms of government the seeds of discontent will be sown in congenial soil." profoundly true also are the following words from an editorial in still another new york daily in dealing with that great army of , illiterates within the state, or rather that portion of them who are adults of foreign birth: "the first thing to do is to teach them, and make them realize that a knowledge of the english language is a prerequisite of first class american citizenship. * * * the wiping out of illiteracy is a foundation stone in building up a strong population, able and worthy to hold its own in the world. with the disappearance of illiteracy and of the ignorance of the language of the country will also disappear many of the trouble-breeding problems which have held back immigrants in gaining their fair share of real prosperity, the intelligence and self-respect which are vital ingredients in any good citizenship. real freedom of life and character cannot be enjoyed by the man or woman whose whole life is passed upon the inferior plane of ignorance and prejudice. teach them all how to deserve the benefits of life in america, and they will soon learn how to gain and protect them." it is primarily among the ignorant and illiterate that bolshevism, anarchy, political rings, and every agency that attempts through self-seeking to sow the seeds of discontent, treachery, and disloyalty, works to exploit them and to herd them for political ends. no man can have that respect for himself, or feel that he has the respect due him from others as an honest and diligent worker, whatever his line of work, who is handicapped by the lack of an ordinary education. the heart of the american nation is sound. through universal free public education it must be on the alert and be able to see through bourbonism and understand its methods on the one hand, and bolshevism on the other; and be determined through intelligent action to see that american soil is made uncongenial to both. our chief problem is to see that democracy is made safe for and made of real service to the world. our american education must be made continually more keenly alive to the great moral, ethical and social needs of the time. thereby it will be made religious without having any sectarian slant or bias; it will be made safe for and the hand-maid of democracy and not a menace to it. vast multitudes today are seeing as never before that the moral and ethical foundations of the nation's and the world's life is a matter of primal concern to all. we are finding more and more that the simple fundamentals of life and conduct as portrayed by the christ of nazareth not only constitutes a great idealism, but the only practical way of life. compared to this and to the need that it come more speedily and more universally into operation in the life of the world today, truly "sectarian peculiarities are obsolete impertinences." our time needs again more the prophet and less the priest. it needs the god-impelled life and voice of the prophet with his face to the future, both god-ward and man-ward, burning with an undivided devotion to truth and righteousness. it needs less the priest, too often with his back to the future and too often the pliant tool of the organisation whose chief concern is, and ever has been, the preservation of itself under the ostensible purpose of the preservation of the truth once delivered, the same that jesus with his keen powers of penetration saw killed the spirit as a high moral guide and as an inspirer to high and unself-centred endeavour, and that he characterised with such scathing scorn. there are splendid exceptions; but this is the rule now even as it was in his day. the prophet is concerned with truth, not a system; with righteousness, not custom; with justice, not expediency. is there a man who would dare say that if christianity--the christianity of the christ--had been actually in vogue, in practice in all the countries of christendom during the last fifty years, during the last twenty-five years, that this colossal and gruesome war would ever have come about? no clear-thinking and honest man would or could say that it would. we need again the voice of the prophet, clear-seeing, high-purposed, and unafraid. we need again the touch of the prophet's hand to lead us back to those simple fundamental teachings of the christ of nazareth, that are life-giving to the individual, and that are world-saving. we speak of our christian civilisation, and the common man, especially in times like these, asks what it is, where it is--and god knows that we have been for many hundred years wandering in the wilderness. he is thinking that the kingdom of god on earth that the true teachings of jesus predicated, and that he laboured so hard to actualise, needs some speeding up. there is a world-wide yearning for spiritual peace and righteousness on the part of the common man. he is finding it occasionally in established religion, but often, perhaps more often, independently of it. he is finding it more often through his own contact and relations with the man of nazareth--for him the god-man. there is no greater fact in our time, and there is no greater hope for the future than is to be found in this fact. jesus gave the great principles, the animating spirit of life, not minute details of conduct. the real church of christ is not an hierarchy, an institution, it is a brotherhood--the actual establishing of the kingdom of god in moral, ethical and social terms in the world. among the last words penned by dr. john watson--ian maclaren--good churchman, splendid writer, but above all independent thinker and splendid man, were the following: "was it not the chief mistake and also the hopeless futility of pharisaism to meddle with the minute affairs of life, and to lay down what a man should do at every turn? it was not therefore an education of conscience, but a bondage of conscience; it did not bring men to their full stature by teaching them to face their own problems of duty and to settle them, it kept them in a state of childhood, by forbidding and commanding in every particular of daily life. pharisaism, therefore, whether jewish or gentile, ancient or modern, which replaces the moral law by casuistry, and the enlightened judgment of the individual by the confessional, creates a narrow character and mechanical morals. freedom is the birthright of the soul, and it is by the discipline of life the soul finds itself. it were a poor business to be towed across the pathless ocean of this world to the next; by the will of god and for our good we must sail the ship ourselves, and steer our own course. it is the work of the bible to show us the stars and instruct us how to take our reckoning * * *. "jesus did not tell us what to do, for that were impossible, as every man has his own calling, and is set in by his own circumstances, but jesus has told us how to carry ourselves in the things we have to do, and he has put the heart in us to live becomingly, not by pedantic rules, but by an instinct of nobility. jesus is the supreme teacher of the bible and he came not to forbid or to command, but to place the kingdom of god as a living force, and perpetual inspiration within the soul of man, and then, to leave him in freedom and in grace to fulfil himself."[g] we no longer admit that christ is present and at work only when a minister is expounding the gospel or some theological precept or conducting some ordained observance in the pulpit; or that religion is only when it is labelled as such and is within the walls of a church. that belonged to the chapter in christianity that is now rapidly closing, a chapter of good works and results--but so pitiably below its possibilities. so pitiably below because men had been taught and without sufficient thought accepted the teaching that to be a christian was to hold certain beliefs about the christ that had been formulated by early groups of men and that had come down through the centuries. the chapter that is now opening upon the world is the one that puts christ's own teachings in the simple, frank, and direct manner in which he gave them, to the front. it makes life, character, conduct, human concern and human service of greater importance than mere matters of opinion. it makes eager and unremitting work for the establishing of the kingdom of god, the kingdom of right relations between men, here on this earth, the essential thing. it insists that the telling test as to whether a man is a christian is how much of the christ spirit is in evidence in his life--and in every phase of his life. gripped by this idea which for a long time the forward-looking and therefore the big men in them have been striving for, our churches in the main are moving forward with a new, a dauntless, and a powerful appeal. differences that have sometimes separated them on account of differences of opinion, whether in thought or interpretation,[h] are now found to be so insignificant when compared to the actual simple fundamentals that the master taught, and when compared to the work to be done, that a great interallied church movement is now taking concrete and strong working form, that is equipping the church for a mighty and far-reaching christian work. a new and great future lies immediately ahead. the good it is equipping itself to accomplish is beyond calculation--a work in which minister and layman will have equal voice and equal share. it will receive also great inspiration and it will eagerly strike hands with all allied movements that are following the same leader, but along different roads. britain's apostle of brotherhood and leader of the brotherhood movement there, rev. tom sykes, who has caught so clearly the master's own basis of christianity--love for and union with god, love for and union with the brother--has recently put so much stimulating truth into a single paragraph that i reproduce it here: "the emergence of the feeling of kinship with the unseen is the most arresting and revealing fact of human history. * * * _the union with god_ is not through the display of ritual, but the affiliation and conjunction of life. we do not believe we are in a universe that has screens and folds, where the spiritual commerce of man has to be conducted on the principle of secret diplomacy. the universe is frank and open, and god is straightforward and honourable. _in making the spirit and practice of brotherliness_ the test of religious value, we are at one with him who said: 'inasmuch as ye do it unto one of the least--ye do it unto me.' _we touch the father when we help his child._ jesus taught us not to come to god asking, art thou this or that? but to call him father and live upon it. do not admit that many of our brotherhood meetings are in 'neutral' or 'secular' halls and buildings! 'where two or three gather in my name, there am i.' where he is, there is hallowed ground." we need a stock-taking and a mobilisation of our spiritual forces. but what, after all, does this mean? search as we may we are brought back _every time_ to this same man of nazareth, the god-man--son of man and son of god. and gathering it into a few brief sentences it is this: jesus' great revelation was this consciousness of god in the individual life, and to this he witnessed in a supreme and masterly way, because this he supremely realised and lived. faith in him and following him does not mean acquiring some particular notion of god or some particular belief about him himself. it is the living in one's own life of this same consciousness of god as one's source and father, and a living in these same filial relations with him of love and guidance and care that jesus entered into and continuously lived. when this is done there is no problem and no condition in the individual life that it will not clarify, mould, and therefore take care of; for "[greek transliteration: mê merimnate tê psychê hymôn]"--do not worry about your life--was the master's clear-cut command. are we ready for this high type of spiritual adventure? not only are we assured of this great and mighty truth that the master revealed and going ahead of us lived, that under this supreme guidance we need not worry about the things of the life, but that under this divine guidance we need not think _even of the life itself_, if for any reason it becomes our duty or our privilege to lay it down. witnessing for truth and standing for truth he again preceded us in this. but this, this love for god or rather this state that becomes the natural and the normal life when we seek the kingdom, and the divine rule becomes dominant and operative in mind and heart, leads us directly back to his other fundamental: thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. for if god is my father and if he cares for me in this way--and every other man in the world is my brother and he cares for him in exactly the same way--then by the sanction of god his father i haven't anything on my brother; and by the love of god my father my brother hasn't anything on me. it is but the most rudimentary commonsense then, that we be considerate one of another, that we be square and decent one with another. we will do well as children of the same father to sit down and talk matters over; and arise with the conclusion that the advice of jesus, our elder brother, is sound: "therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." he gave it no label, but it has subsequently become known as the golden rule. there is no higher rule and no greater developer of the highest there is in the individual human life, and no greater adjuster and beautifier of the problems of our common human life. and when it becomes sufficiently strong in its action in this, the world awaits its projection into its international life. this is the truth that he revealed--the twofold truth of love to god and love for the neighbour, that shall make men free. the truth of the man of nazareth still holds and shall hold, and we must realise this adequately before we ask or can expect any other revelation. we are in a time of great changes. the discovery of new laws and therefore of new truth necessitates changes and necessitates advances. but whatever changes or advances may come, the divine reality still survives, independent of jesus it is true, but as the world knows him still better, it will give to him its supreme gratitude and praise, in that he was the most perfect revealer of god to man, of god in man, and the most concrete in that he embodied and lived this truth in his own matchless human-divine life; and stands as the god-man to which the world is gradually approaching. for as goethe has said--"we can never get beyond the spirit of jesus." love it is, he taught, that brings order out of chaos, that becomes the solvent of the riddle of life, and however cynical, skeptical, or practical we may think at times we may be, a little quiet clear-cut thought will bring us each time back to the truth that it is the essential force that leads away from the tooth and the claw of the jungle, that lifts life up from and above the clod. love is the world's balance-wheel; and as the warming and ennobling element of sympathy, care and consideration radiates from it, increasing one's sense of mutuality, which in turn leads to fellowship, cooperation, brotherhood, a holy and diviner conception and purpose of life is born, that makes human life more as it should be, as it must be--as it will be. i love to feel that when one makes glad the heart of any man, woman, child, or animal, he makes glad the heart of god--and i somehow feel that it is true. as our household fires radiate their genial warmth, and make more joyous and more livable the lot of all within the household walls, so life in its larger scope and in all its human relations, becomes more genial and more livable and reveals more abundantly the deeper riches of its diviner nature, as it is made more open and more obedient to the higher powers of mind and spirit. do you know that incident in connection with the little scottish girl? she was trudging along, carrying as best she could a boy younger, but it seemed almost as big as she herself, when one remarked to her how heavy he must be for her to carry, when instantly came the reply: "he's na heavy. he's mi brither." simple is the incident; but there is in it a truth so fundamental that pondering upon it, it is enough to make many a man, to whom dogma or creed make no appeal, a christian--and a mighty engine for good in the world. and more--there is in it a truth so fundamental and so fraught with potency and with power, that its wider recognition and projection into all human relations would reconstruct a world. _i saw the mountains stand silent, wonderful, and grand, looking out across the land when the golden light was falling on distant dome and spire; and i heard a low voice calling, "come up higher, come up higher, from the lowland and the mire, from the mist of earth desire, from the vain pursuit of pelf. from the attitude of self: come up higher, come up higher."_ _james g. clark_ footnotes: [footnote a: the emmanuel movement in boston in connection with emmanuel church, inaugurated some time ago under the leadership and direction of two well-known ministers, dr. worcester and dr. mccomb, and a well-known physician, dr. coriat, and similar movements in other cities is an attestation of this. that most valuable book under the joint authorship of these three men: "religion and medicine," moffat, yard and company, new york, will be found of absorbing interest and of great practical value by many. the amount of valuable as well as interesting and reliable material that it contains is indeed remarkable.] [footnote b: "war and laughter," by james oppenheim--the century company, new york.] [footnote c: henry holt in "cosmic relations."] [footnote d: from a notable article in the new york "times magazine," sunday, april , , by george w. perkins, chairman mayor's food supply commission.] [footnote e: is not this the carpenter, the son of mary, the brother of james, and joses, and of juda, and simon? and are his sisters not here with us?--mark : .] [footnote f: from that strong, splendid poem "buttadeus," by william samuel johnson.] [footnote g: "god's message to the human soul"--_revell_.] [footnote h: the thought of the layman in practically all of our churches is much the same as that of mr. lloyd george when he said: "the church to which i belong is torn with a fierce dispute; one part says it is baptism _into_ the name of the father, and the other that it is baptism _in_ the name of the father. i belong to one of these parties. i feel most strongly about this. i would die for it, but i forget which it is."] * * * * * transcriber's notes made minor punctuation, spelling, and hyphenation changes for consistency. corrected the following typos: page : changed pharasaic to pharisaic. (come into being a pharisaic legalism) page : changed subconsious to subconscious. (the slumbering subconsious mind) page : changed independant to independent. (guided by their own independant judgment) page : changed terriffic to terrific. (what a terriffic price to pay to learn the lesson) page : changed symathy to sympathy. (he had, as we have seen, infinite symathy for and forbearance) page : changed accompaniament to accompaniment. (misunderstanding is not infrequently its accompaniament.) page : changed viligant to vigilant. (and unless viligant and determined) page : changed tyrany to tyranny. (ungoverned by the law of mutuality, becomes tyrany.) page : changed malignent to malignant. (the use of force to restrain malignent evil,) page : changed inaliable to inalienable. (the inaliable right that every child has) page : changed impertinances to impertinences. ("sectarian peculiarities are obsolete impertinances.") page : changed chrisitianity to christianity. (chrisitianity of the christ) page : changed heirarchy to hierarchy. (the real church of christ is not an heirarchy,) page : changed that to than. (human service of greater importance that mere matters of opinion.) +--------------------------------------------------------+ |this book has been transcribed for project gutenberg by | | distributed proofreaders, | | | | in memory of our friend and colleague laura wisewell | | | | --champion of accessibility-- | +--------------------------------------------------------+ psychotherapy by hugo mÜnsterberg m.d., ph.d., litt.d., ll.d. professor of psychology in harvard university new york moffat, yard and company copyright, , by moffat, yard and company _all rights reserved_ published, april, second printing, may, * * * * * recent books by the same author psychology and life, boston, grundzüge der psychologie, leipzig, american traits, boston, die amerikaner, berlin, principles of art education, new york, the eternal life, boston, science and idealism, boston, philosophie der werte, leipzig, on the witness stand, new york, aus deutsch-amerika, berlin, the eternal values, boston, * * * * * to my friend and colleague dr. franz pfaff professor of therapeutics in harvard university * * * * * preface this volume on psychotherapy belongs to a series of books which i am writing to discuss for a wider public the practical applications of modern psychology. the first book, called "on the witness stand," studied the relations of scientific psychology to crime and the law courts. this new book deals with the relations of psychology to medicine. others discussing its relations to education, to social problems, to commerce and industry will follow soon. for popular treatment i divide applied psychology into such various, separated books because they naturally address very different audiences. that which interests the lawyer does not concern the physician, and again the school-teacher has his own sphere of interests. moreover the different subjects demand a different treatment. the problems of psychology and law were almost entirely neglected. i was anxious to draw wide attention to this promising field and therefore i chose the form of loose popular essays without any aim towards systematic presentation of the subject. as to psychology and medicine almost the opposite situation prevails. there is perhaps too much talk afloat about psychotherapy, the widest circles cultivate the discussion, the magazines overflow with it. the duty of the scientific psychologist is accordingly not to stir up interest in this topic but to help in bringing this interest from mere gossip, vague mysticism, and medical amateurishness to a clear understanding of principles. what is needed in this time of faith cures of a hundred types is to deal with the whole circle of problems in a serious, systematic way and to emphasize the aspect of scientific psychological theory. hence the whole first part of this book is an abstract discussion and its first chapters have not even any direct relation to disease. i am convinced that both physicians and ministers and all who are in practical contact with these important questions ought to be brought to such painstaking and perhaps fatiguing inquiry into principles before the facts are reached. to those who seek a discussion of life facts alone, the whole first part will of course appear to be a tedious way around; they may turn directly to the second and third parts. one word for my personal right to deal with these questions, as too much illegitimate psychotherapeutics is heard to-day. for me, the relation between psychology and medicine is not a chance chapter of my science to which i have turned simply in following up the various sides of applied psychology. and still less have i turned to it because it has become the fashion in recent years. on the contrary, it has been an important factor in all my work since my student days. i have been through five years of regular medical studies, three years in leipzig and two years in heidelberg; i have an m.d. degree from the university of heidelberg. in my first year as docent in a german university twenty years ago, i gave throughout the winter semester before several hundred students a course in hypnotism and its medical application. it was probably the first university course on hypnotism given anywhere. since that time i have never ceased to work psychotherapeutically in the psychological laboratory. yet that must not be misunderstood. i have no clinic, and while by principle i have never hypnotized anyone for mere experiment's sake but always only for medical purposes, yet i adjust my practical work entirely to the interests of my scientific study. the limitations of my time force me to refuse the psychotherapeutic treatment of any case which has not a certain scientific interest for me, and of the many hundreds whom i have helped in the laboratory, no one ever had to pay anything. thus my practical work has strictly the character of laboratory research. the chief aim of this book is twofold. it is a negative one: i want to counteract the misunderstandings which overflood the whole field, especially by the careless mixing of mental and moral influence. and a positive one: i want to strengthen the public feeling that the time has come when every physician should systematically study psychology, the normal in the college years and the abnormal in the medical school. this demand of medical education cannot be postponed any longer. the aim of the book is not to fight the emmanuel church movement, or even christian science or any other psychotherapeutic tendency outside of the field of scientific medicine. i see the element of truth in all of them, but they ought to be symptoms of transition. scientific medicine should take hold of psychotherapeutics now or a most deplorable disorganization will set in, the symptoms of which no one ought to overlook to-day. hugo mÜnsterberg. harvard university, march , . contents chapter page i. introduction part i the psychological basis of psychotherapy ii. the aim of psychology iii. mind and brain iv. psychology and medicine v. suggestion and hypnotism vi. the psychology of the subconscious part ii the practical work of psychotherapy vii. the field of psychotherapy viii. the general methods of psychotherapy ix. the special methods of psychotherapy x. the mental symptoms xi. the bodily symptoms part iii the place of psychotherapy xii. psychotherapy and the church xiii. psychotherapy and the physician xiv. psychotherapy and the community i introduction psychotherapy is the practice of treating the sick by influencing the mental life. it stands at the side of physicotherapy, which attempts to cure the sick by influencing the body, perhaps with drugs and medicines, or with electricity or baths or diet. psychotherapy is sharply to be separated from psychiatry, the treatment of mental diseases. of course to a certain degree, mental illness too, is open to mental treatment; but certainly many diseases of the mind lie entirely beyond the reach of psychotherapy, and on the other hand psychotherapy may be applied also to diseases which are not mental at all. that which binds all psychotherapeutic efforts together into unity is the method of treatment. the psychotherapist must always somehow set levers of the mind in motion and work through them towards the removal of the sufferer's ailment; but the disturbances to be treated may show the greatest possible variety and may belong to mind or body. treatment of diseases by influence on the mind is as old as human history, but it has attained at various times very different degrees of importance. there is no lack of evidence that we have entered into a period in which an especial emphasis will be laid on the too long neglected psychical factor. this new movement is probably only in its beginning and the loudness with which it presents itself to-day is one of the many indications of its immaturity. whether it will be a blessing or a danger, whether it will really lead forward in a lasting way, or whether it will soon demand a reaction, will probably depend in the first place on the soberness and thoroughness of the discussion. if the movement is carried on under the control of science, it may yield lasting results. if it keeps the features of dilettanteism and prefers association with the antiscientific tendencies, it is pre-destined to have a spasmodic character and ultimately to be harmful. the chaotic character of psychotherapy in this first decade of the twentieth century can be easily understood. it results from the fact that in our period one great wave of civilization is sinking and a new wave rising, while the one has not entirely disappeared and the other is still far from its height. the history of civilization has shown at all times a wavelike alternation between realism and idealism, that is, between an interest in that which is, and an interest in that which ought to be. in the realistic periods, the study of facts, especially of the facts of nature, is prevalent; in idealistic periods, history and literature appeal to the world. in realistic periods, technique enjoys its triumphs; in idealistic periods, art and religion prevail. such a realistic movement lies behind us. it began with the incomparable development of physics, chemistry, and biology, in the middle of the last century, and it brought with it the achievements of modern engineering and medicine. we are still fully under the influence of this gigantic movement and its real achievements will never leave us; and yet this realistic wave is ebbing to-day and a new period of idealism is rising. if the signs are not deceitful, this new movement may reach its historical climax a few decades hence, when new leaders may give to the idealistic view of the world the same classical expression which darwin and others gave to the receding naturalistic age. the signs are clear indeed that the days of idealistic philosophy and of art, and of religion, are approaching; that the world is tired of merely connecting facts without asking what their ultimate meaning is. the world dimly feels again that technical civilization alone cannot make life more worth living. the aim of the last generation was to explain the world; the aim of the next generation will be to interpret the world; the one was seeking laws, the other will seek ideals. psychotherapy stands in the service of both; it is the last word of the passing naturalistic movement, and yet in another way it tries to be the first word of the coming idealistic movement; and because it is under the influence of both, it speaks sometimes the language of the one, and sometimes the language of the other. that brings about a confusion and a disorder which must be detrimental. to transform this vagueness into clear, distinct relations is the immediate duty of science. indeed it may be said that psychotherapy is the last word of a naturalistic age, because psychotherapy finds its real stronghold in a systematic study of the mental laws, and such study of mental laws, psychology, must indeed be the ultimate outcome of a naturalistic view of the world. realism begins with the analysis of lifeless nature, begins with the study of the stars and the stones, of masses and of atoms. at a higher level, it turns then to the living organism, studies plants and animals and even brings the human organism entirely under the point of view of natural law. when science has thus mastered the whole physical universe, it finally brings even the mental life of man under the naturalistic point of view, treats his inner experiences like any outer objects, tears them in pieces, analyzes them, and studies them as functions of the nervous system. a scientific psychology is thus reached which is the climax of realism, because it means that even the ideas and emotions and volitions of man are treated as natural phenomena, that their causes are sought and that their effects are determined, that their laws are found out. to apply this realistic knowledge of the mind in the interest of therapy is merely to use it in the same way in which the engineer uses his knowledge of physics, when he wants to harness outer nature. as that is possible only when theoretical science has reached a certain height of development, it can indeed be said that practical psychotherapy on a scientific basis can be considered almost as the ultimate point of a realistic movement; it cannot set in until psychology has reached high development, and psychology cannot set in unless biology has preceded it. there is no doubt that we are still far from this last phase of the realistic period. the practical application of scientific psychology is still a new problem. experimental psychology began about twenty-five years ago; at that time there existed one psychological laboratory. to-day there is no university in the world which does not have a psychological workshop. but laboratories for applied psychology are only arising in these present days, and the systematic application of scientific psychology to education and law and industry and social life and medicine is almost at its beginning. while the height of the last realistic wave was in the period of the sixties, seventies, and eighties, of the last century, its last phase, the practical application of physiological psychology, including psychotherapy, is only at its commencement. but while this last great movement has not yet reached its end, the new idealistic movement to come has not yet reached a clear self-expression. a general philosophical interest can be felt, but a great philosophical synthesis seems still lacking. a new sense of duty can vaguely be felt, but great new tasks have not yet found common acknowledgment. above all, the unshaped emotionalism of the masses has not yet been brought into any real contact with the new idealism which grows up on the higher level of scholarly thought. but it is evident, if a new great mood of idealism is to come, one of its popular forerunners must be the demand that the spirit is real in a higher sense than matter, that the mind controls the body, that faith can cure. in such unphilosophic crudeness, no definite thought is expressed, as everything would depend on the definition of spirit, of faith, of mind, of reality. moreover, every inquiry would prove that the idealistic value of such statements as are afloat among the masses to-day is reached only by a juggling with words. that faith can cure appears to point towards the higher world, as the word faith has there the connotation of the faith in a religious sense; and yet the faith which really cures a digestive trouble, for instance, is the faith in the final overcoming of the intestinal disturbance, an idea which belongs evidently in the region of physiological psychology, but not in the region of the church. yet, however clumsy such statements may be, they are surely controlled by the instinctive desire for a new idealistic order of our life, and the time will come when their unreasoning and unreasonable wisdom will be transformed into sound philosophy without losing its deepest impulse. the realistic conviction that even the mind is completely controlled by natural laws and the idealistic inspiration that the mind of man has in its freedom mastery over the body, are thus most curiously mixed in the popular psychotherapy of the day, and too few recognize that the real meaning of mind is an entirely different one in these two propositions. of course the one or the other of these two elements prevails in the systematic treatises on the subject; the realistic one in those written by the psychiatrists, the idealistic one in those written by clergymen or christian scientists. the literature indeed is almost entirely supplied from these two quarters: and yet it is evident that neither the one nor the other party can give to the problem its most natural setting. the student of mental diseases naturally emphasizes the abnormal features of the situation, and thus brings the psychotherapeutic process too much into the neighborhood of pathology. psychotherapy became in such hands essentially a study of hypnotism, with especial interest in its relation to hysteria and similar diseases. the much more essential relation of psychotherapy to the normal mental life, the relation of suggestion and hypnotism to the normal functions seemed too often neglected. whoever wants to influence the mind in the interest of the patient, must in the first place be in intimate contact with psychology. on the other hand, the minister's spiritual interest brings the facts nearer to religion than they really are. that a suggestion to get rid of toothache, or to sleep the next night, is given by a minister, does not constitute it as a religious suggestion. if the belief in religion simply lies alongside of the belief in most trivial effects, and both are applied in the same way for curing the sick, it is evident that not the spiritual meaning of religion is responsible for the cure, but the psychological process of believing. but if that is the case, it is clear that here again the psychologist, and not the moralist, will give the correct account of the real process involved. in short, it is psychology, psychology in its scientific modern form, which has to furnish the basis for a full understanding of psychotherapy. from psychology it cannot be difficult to bridge over to the medical interests, on the one side, to the idealistic ones on the other side. our task here is, therefore, to lay a broad psychological foundation. we must carefully inquire how the modern psychologist looks on mental life and how the inner experiences appear from such a psychological standpoint. the first chapters of this volume may appear like a long, tiresome way around before we come to our goal, the study of the psychotherapeutic agencies. and yet it is the only possible way to overcome the superficiality with which the discussion is too often carried on; we must understand exactly how the psychological analysis and explanation of the scientist differ from the popular point of view. after studying in this spirit the foundation of psychotherapy, we shall carefully examine the practical work, its methods and its results, its possibilities and its limitations. we shall inquire finally into the place which it has to take, looking back upon its history, criticising the present status and outlining the development which has to set in for the future, if a haphazard zigzag movement is not to destroy this great agency for human welfare by transforming it into a source of superstition and bodily danger. part i the psychological basis of psychotherapy ii the aim of psychology the only safe basis of psychotherapy is a thorough psychological knowledge of the human personality. yet such a claim has no value until it is entirely clear what is meant by psychological knowledge. we can know man in many ways. not every study of man's inner life is psychology and the careless mixing of different ways of dealing with man's inner life is largely responsible for the vagueness which characterizes the popular literature of psychotherapy. it is not enough to say that a statement is true or not true. it may be true under one aspect and entirely meaningless under another. for instance, a minister's discussion of man's energies may be full of deep truth and may be inspiring; and yet it may not contain the slightest contribution to a really psychological knowledge of those energies, and would mislead entirely the physician were he to base his treatment of human energies on such a religious interpretation. can we not look from different standpoints even on any part of the outer world? i see before me the ocean with its excited waves splashing against the rocks and shore, i see the boats tossed on the stormy sea and i am fascinated by the new and ever new impulses of the tumultuous waves. the whole appears to me like one gigantic energy, like one great emotional expression, and i feel deeply how i understand this beautiful scenery in appreciating its unity and its meaning. yet would i ever think that it is the only way to understand this turmoil of the waters before me? i know there is no unity and no emotion in the excited sea; each wave is composed of hundreds of thousands of single drops of water, and each drop composed of billions of atoms, and every movement results from mechanical laws under the influence of the pressing water and air. there is hydrogen and there is oxygen, and there is chloride of sodium, and the dark blue color is nothing but the reflection of billions of ether vibrations. but have i really to choose between two statements concerning the waves, one of which is valuable and the other not? on the contrary, both have fundamental value. if i take the attitude of appreciation, it would be absurd to say that this wave is composed of chemical elements which i do not see; and if i take the attitude of physical explanation, it would be equally absurd to deny that such elements are all of which the wave is made. from the one standpoint, the ocean is really excited; from the other standpoint, the molecules are moving according to the laws of hydrodynamics. if i want to understand the meaning of this scene every reminiscence of physics will lead me astray; if i want to calculate the movement of my boat, physics alone can help me. as long as we deal with outer nature, there is hardly a fear of confusing the various attitudes; but it becomes by far more complex when we deal with man and his inner life. we might abstract entirely from æsthetic appreciation or from moral valuation, we might take man just as an object of knowledge; and yet what we know about him may be entirely different in accordance with our special attitude. each kind of knowledge may be entirely true, and yet true only from the particular standpoint. let us consider two extremes. if i meet a friend and we enter into a talk, i try to understand his thoughts and to share his views. i agree or disagree with him; i sympathize with his feelings, i estimate his purposes. in short, he is for me a center of aims and intentions which i interpret: he comes in question for me as a self which has its meaning and has its unity. the more i am interested in his opinions, the more i feel in every utterance, in every gesture, the expression of his will and his purposes; their whole reality for me lies in the fact that they point to something which the speaker intends; his personality lies in his attitude towards the surroundings, towards the world. yet i may take an entirely different relation to the same man. i may ask myself what processes are going on in his mind, what are the real contents of his consciousness, that is, what perceptions and memory pictures and imaginative ideas and feelings and emotions and judgments and volitions are really present in his consciousness. i watch him to find out, i observe his mental states, i do not ask whether i agree or disagree; his will is for me now not something which has a meaning, but simply something which occurs in his inner experience; his ideas now have for me no reference to something in the world, but they are simply contents of his consciousness; his memories now are for me not symbols of a past to which he refers, but they are present pictures in his mind; in short, what i now find is not a self which shows itself in its aims and purposes and attitudes, but a complex content of consciousness which is composed of numberless elements. i might say in the first place that my friend was to me a subject whom i tried to understand by interpreting his meaning, and in the second case, an object which i understand by describing its structure, its elements, and their connections. both ways of looking on man are constantly needed. we might alternate between them in any experience. in the heat of argument, my friend will certainly be for me the subject with whose meanings i try to agree or disagree, whose emotions carry me away, whose ideas open the world to me. yet in the next moment, i may notice that his ideas were shaped and determined by certain earlier experiences; that they linked themselves in memory according to certain laws of mental flow; that the vividness of his ideas made him overlook certain impressions of the surroundings; and that may turn my attention to an entirely different aspect of his inner life. his feelings and emotions, his volitions and judgments now have for me simply the character of processes which go on and which are observed, which coincide and which succeed each other, which fuse and overlap, and which are composed of smaller parts. my interest is now no longer in the meaning and intentions of this self, but it belongs to the structure and the connections in this system of mental facts. at first, i wanted to understand him by living with him, by participating in his attitudes, and by feeling with his will; now i want to understand him by examining all the processes which go on in his consciousness, by studying their make-up and their behavior, their elements and their laws. in one case i wanted to interpret the man, and finally to appreciate him; in the other case i wanted to describe his inner life, and finally to explain it. the man whose inner life i want to share i treat as a subject, the man whose inner life i want to describe and explain i treat as an object. i might express these two standpoints still otherwise. if my neighbor is to me a subject, for instance, in the midst of an ordinary conversation, he comes in question only with reference to his aims and meanings: whatever he utters has a purpose and end. i understand his inner life by taking a purposive point of view. on the other hand, the man whose inner life is to me an object can satisfy my interest only if i understand every particular happening in his mind from its preceding causes. i transform his whole life into a chain of causes and effects. my standpoint is thus a causal one. no doubt in our daily life, our purposive interest and our causal interest may intertwine at any moment. i may sympathize with the hopes and fears of my neighbor in a purposive way, and may yet in the next moment consider from a causal standpoint how these emotions of his are perhaps affected by his fatigue or by some glasses of wine, or by a hereditary disposition, or by a suggestion; in short, at one time i look out for the meaning of the emotion as a part of the expression of a self, and at another time for the structure and appearance of the emotion as a part of a causal chain of events. in both directions i can go on with entire consistency, and there cannot be any part of inner experience which cannot be fully brought under either point of view. how far we have a right to mix the two standpoints in practical life, we shall carefully examine; but it is clear that if we want to understand the true meaning of the study of inner life, we have no longer any right carelessly to mix the two standpoints without being conscious of their fundamental difference. we must understand exactly what the aim of the one and of the other is, and where each has its particular value; science certainly has no right to throw together such different views of life. and now this may be said at once: the causal view only is the view of psychology; the purposive view lies outside of psychology. such a separation does not at all aim to indicate that the one view is more important than the other, or that the one has more scientific dignity than the other; both yield us truth, and both may be carried from the simplest and most trivial observations of daily life to the highest elaborations of scholarship. to those who are inclined to give all value and all credit only to the strictly psychological view, it may be replied at once that surely our most immediate life experience is carried on by the non-psychological attitude. if we love our family and like our friends, and deal with the man of the street, we are certainly moving in a world of purposive reality. we try to understand each other, to agree and to disagree, to be in sympathy and antipathy, without asking how those volitions and feelings and ideas of other people are built as mental structures, and from what causes they arose; we are satisfied to understand what they mean. in the same way with ourselves. we live our lives by hinging them on our aims and purposes and ideas, and do not ask ourselves what are the causes of our attitudes and of our thoughts. this purposive view has in no respect to disappear if we move on from our personal intercourse to a scholarly study of reality. the historian, for instance, who tries to understand the will relations of humanity, is the more the true historian the more he sticks to this purposive view of man. the truth which he seeks is to interpret the personalities, to understand them through their attitudes, to make their will living once more, and to link it by agreement and disagreement, by love and hate, with the will of friends and enemies, groups and parties, nations and mankind. it is only a loose popular way of speaking, if this purposive analysis of a character is often called psychological. in a stricter sense of the word, it is not psychological. if the historian really were to take the psychological attitude, he would make of history simply a social psychology, seeking the laws of the social mind, and treating the individual, the hero, and the leader, merely as the crossing-point of psychological law. for such a psychological view the mental life of the hero would not be more important or more interesting than the mental life of a scoundrel, and the psychology of the king would not draw his interest more than the psychology of the beggar. the historian has to shape all that from an entirely different standpoint: his scientific interest depends upon the importance of men's attitudes and actions, and such importance refers to the world of purposes. in the same way, we have to stick to the non-psychological point of view whenever man's life, his thoughts and feelings and volitions, are to be measured with reference to ideals; that is in ethics and æsthetics and logic, sciences which ask whether the volitions are good or bad, whether the feelings are valuable or worthless, whether the thoughts are true or false. the psychologist does not care; just as the botanist is interested in the weed as much as in the flower, the psychologist is interested in the causal connections of the most heinous crime not less than in those of the noblest deed, in the structure of the most absurd error not less than in that of the maturest wisdom. truth, beauty, and morality are thus expressions of the self in its purposive aspect. we can go one step further. those who narrowly seek every truth only in the scientific understanding, ought to be reminded that this seeking for causal connections is itself, after all, only a life experience which as such is not of causal but of purposive character. "life is bigger than thought." in the immediate reality of our purposive life we aim towards mastering the world by a causal understanding, and for this end we create science; but this aim itself is then a purpose and not an object. the first act is thus for us, the thinkers, not a part of the causal events, but a purposive intention towards an ideal. therefore, our purposes have the first right; they represent the fundamental reality; the value of causal connections and thus of all scientific and psychological explanation, depends on the value of the purpose. causal truth can be only the second word; the first word remains to purposive truth. from this point of view we may understand why there is no conflict between the most consistent causal explanation of mental life on the one side, and an idealistic view of life on the other side; yes, we can see that the fullest emphasis on a scientific psychology--which is necessarily realistic and, to a certain degree, materialistic--is fully embedded in an idealistic philosophy of life, and that without conflict. and we shall see how this consistency in sharply separating the psychological view from the non-psychological, secures much greater safety for true idealism than the inconsistent popular mixing of the two principles, where scientific psychology is constantly encroached upon by demands of faith and religion, and where faith and religion seem constantly in danger of being overturned by new discoveries in physiological psychology. we may, indeed, remove from the start the mistaken fear that a consistent causal aspect of life leads to injustice to the higher aims and ideal purposes of mankind. if we want to have psychology,--and that means if we want to consider the mental life in a system of causes and effects,--we must proceed without prejudices, and without side-thoughts. from a psychological standpoint our own mental life and that of our neighbor, that of the man and that of the child, that of the normal and that of the insane, that of the human being and that of the animal, are to be considered as a series of mental objects. they are to be analyzed, and to be described, and to be classified and to be explained, just as we deal with the physical objects in the outer world. how are these objects of the psychologist different from the objects of the physicist, from the pebbles on the way and the stars in the sky? there is only one fundamental difference and all other differences result from it. those outer objects which we call physical, are objects for everybody. the star which i see is conceived as the same star which you see, the table which i touch is the table which you may grasp, too. but every psychical object is an object for one particular person only. my visual impression of the star, that is, my optical perception, is a content of my own consciousness only, and your impression of the star can be a content of your consciousness only. we both may mean the same by our ideas, but i can never have your perception and you can never have my perception. my ideas are enclosed in my mind. i may awaken in your mind ideas which have the same purpose and meaning, but they are new copies in your mind. we both may be angry, but your anger can never be my anger, and your volitions can never enter my mind. every possible psychical fact thus exists in one consciousness only, while every physical fact exists for every possible consciousness. the psychologist's final task is to explain the appearance and disappearance, the connections and sequences of these mental objects, the contents of consciousness. but before he can start on explanation of the facts, he has to describe them, and describing means analyzing them into their elements and fixating those elements and their combinations for an exact report. such descriptive work is in a way preparatory for the further task of real explanation; yet it is in itself important, complicated, and difficult. of course, it may be easy to separate the complex content into some big groups of facts, to point out that this is a memory idea and this an imaginative idea and the other an abstract idea, and this a perception and that a feeling, this an emotion and that a volition. but such clumsy first discrimination does not go further, perhaps, than does the naturalist's, who tells us that this is a mountain and that a tree, this a pond and that a bird. the real description would demand, of course, an exact measurement of the height of the mountain and the geological analysis of its structure, or an exact classification of the tree and the bird, with a complete description of their organs, and in each organ the various tissues have to be described, and in each tissue the various cells, and the microscopist goes further and describes the structure of the cell. certainly in the same way the psychologist has to go on to resolve every one of those complex structures; he has to examine the mental tissues and the mental cells of which a volition or a memory idea or a perception are composed. and while he cannot use a microscope for these mental elements, yet his studies may cause elements to appear which the naïve observation remains entirely unaware of. perhaps he finds in his consciousness the perception of the table before him which lingers for a little while in his mind. he finds no difficulty in analyzing it into color sensations and tactual sensations; and yet he is aware of so much more in it. the table, for instance, has form for him and he may find that these form perceptions involve the sensations of the eye movements which he makes from one corner of the table to the other; he may find that if the idea lasts in him, he becomes aware of the time by sensations of tension; he finds that in his perception of the table lies an idea of its use, and he discovers that that is made up of elements which are partly memory reproductions of earlier impressions, partly sensations of movement impulses; he also finds that the table feels smooth, and he discovers by his analysis that this impression of smoothness results from a special combination of tactual sensations and movement sensations; and again those movement sensations he analyzes further into sensations of muscle contraction and sensations of pressure in the joints and sensations of tension in the tendons. before a zoölogist has completed his description of a bird in the landscape, he has given account of hundreds of thousands of things; but before the psychologist would complete the enumeration of the mental elements which enter into the seeing of the table, he would have to give account of by far more psychical elements. every point in the surface of the table has its own light value, perhaps different in its quality and intensity and saturation, in its hue and tint and shade from the next one, and at whatever point of the table's edge our attention is directed, each one involves numberless shades in the vividness of all the other points and numberless mental relations of space perception among the various parts of the table. in the thorough analysis of the describing psychologist, every single idea, and in the same way, every single emotion or feeling or judgment becomes complex like a living organism, an aggregate of thousands of mental tissues, and yet made up from "the stuff that dreams are made of." but there is one particular difficulty which makes the psychological description so much harder than that of the physicist, and which gives rise to many disagreements and discussions in psychological literature. the psychologist has not only to tear the complex into pieces and thus to seek the elements, but he has to fixate those elements for the purpose of communication, as, of course, a scientific description demands that he be able to give account to others of what he experiences. the physicist has no difficulty whatever in that line because, as we saw, the world of physical things is the world which all men are sharing together. every element which i find in it, i can show to every other person, and if i cannot show that particular thing, because i cannot yet carry the mountain to another place, then i can at least measure it, as we share those standards of space. thus natural science has in its objective measurements the possibility of describing every part of the physical world. the psychical world, on the other hand, is as we saw, the world which is private property. every effort at description is thus entirely in vain as long as our mental facts cannot somehow be linked with physical happenings. if i say that i have in my mind sweetness or sourness, or bitterness or saltness, i cannot carry any understanding to anyone else and therefore cannot give any description until i have agreed that i mean by sweetness the sensation which sugar gives me, and by saltness the sensation of salt. the sugar and salt i can point out to my neighbor and only in that way i understand what he means if he says that he tastes salt and sweet; otherwise i should have no means whatever to discriminate whether that which he calls a sweet taste sensation is not just what i call headache. where no such direct relation for a physical thing is known, description of the mental element would remain impossible. of course, every perception of the outer world, all our seeing and hearing, and touching and tasting, offers us at once such definite connection between the inner experience and a piece of the physical universe. our own organism is also such a piece of physical nature: just as i describe my tasting or touching, i may describe the perception of my arms and legs or my inner organs. thus everything which is material of perception gives us a handle for a real psychological description. psychology usually calls the elements of these perceptions sensations. whatever is composed of sensations is thus describable. on the other hand, no other way of description is open. if there were mental states which are composed of other elements than sensations, they would necessarily remain indescribable; we could not grasp them because they would not have any definite relation to the common physical world. we might say, for instance, that our mental content is made up of sensations and feelings, but if such feelings were really entirely different from sensations, they would have to remain for all time mysterious and unknown. we could not compare notes. the feeling which i call joy may feel just like the one which you call despair. the consistent development of modern psychology and its emancipation from vagueness and superficial analysis became possible only through the fact that such recourse to indescribable elements has become unnecessary. modern psychology has been able to demonstrate more and more that the same elements which constitute our perceptions are also the elements of the other contents of consciousness. in other words modern psychology has recognized that the volitions and emotions and feelings and judgments, and the whole stream of inner life, are made up of sensations. millions of sensations in all degrees of vividness and clearness, of intensity and fusion, in endless manifoldness of rhythms and relations constitute their whole content. it is a discovery quite similar to the one which chemistry made when it found that the same elements which are part of the inorganic substances are also the only possible elements of the organic world. from a strictly psychological standpoint, the ideas and the not-ideas contain thus nothing but sensations. their grouping, their shading, their combination, their succession decide whether we have before us a perception or an imagination, a volition or an emotion. what are we ourselves then for the psychologist? evidently we ourselves belong also to the inner experiences which we know; and psychology has succeeded in analyzing this idea of our own self just in the same way as it analyzes our idea of the moon. in this analysis, psychology finds its idea of the self as a content of consciousness crystallized about the sensations from the body. every one of our bodily activities is represented in our consciousness by movement sensations, and these sensations form the core of the complex aggregate which develops into the idea of ourselves. organic sensations from our inner organs, pain sensations and pleasure sensations fuse with the movement sensations, and the whole complex shapes itself slowly into the idea of the personality of the self in contrast to the idea of other personalities. we ourselves are for ourselves a complex combination of sensations; and yet all our feelings and emotions and volitions are only a part of it. psychology thus necessarily considers those experiences of feeling and will and character simply as changes in the midst of that central experience of personality which is itself made up of bodily sensations. each bit of will and emotion must be decomposed into its finest elements. there is no passing mood, and no floating half-thought in our mind, no dream and no intuition, no slightest change of attention, no instinct and desire which cannot be analyzed thus into its sensation elements or rather which must not be analyzed, if we are to describe it at all, and that means if we are to give a psychological account. psychology is endlessly far from this ideal to-day. it has been claimed, not without justice, that psychology has reached to-day only the level which physics attained in the seventeenth century; but psychology must insist that its ideal lies in this direction. no one takes a real psychological view of the human mind who does not understand this endless complexity of the material, and who does not see that even the simplest mental state practically presents a most complex problem to scientific analysis. the physician who really aims towards scientifically exact influence on the human mind has reached the first step of his preparation as soon as he understands that the content of consciousness is composed of hundreds of thousands of elements. to treat the mind as if there were only a few large pieces, one thing called memory and one thing called will and one called emotion and so on, is as if a surgeon were to perform an operation, knowing that there are arms and legs, but not knowing the ramifications of the nerves and blood-vessels which his knife may injure. yet the description of these complex facts is only the beginning of psychology. we saw that the real aim is their explanation. iii mind and brain the central aim of the psychologist must be to explain the mental facts. it is not sufficient to describe the procession of mental experiences in us, we must understand the causes which determine that now this and now that appears and disappears, and appears just in this combination of elements. the astronomer is not satisfied with describing the stars, he wants to explain their movements and to determine which movements are to be expected. the psychologist, like the naturalist, aims towards explanation, and it is this demand which forces him to look from the psychical facts to the physical ones, from the mind to the brain. he is under an illusion if he fancies that he can explain mental facts by themselves. the purposive mind has its connection in itself, the causal psychological mind demands for its connection the body. to understand this necessity is the first step towards understanding the relation of mind and brain. the psychologist's problem of explanation is in one way entirely different from that of the physicist. the physicist finds a world of an unlimited number of atoms which are ultimately conceived as all alike, but each one in a different place, and all the changes in the universe, the movements of the stars, the waves of the ocean, are to be explained by the causal connections of the movements of these atoms. the psychologist, on the other hand, finds an endless manifoldness of elements which are not in space, and which have no space form whatever. my will is neither triangular nor oval; my emotion is neither shorter than five feet nor longer; my memory image of a melody has no thickness and no tallness; my contents of consciousness are as such not in space; their elements cannot pass through any space movements like the atoms of the physicist. instead of it, the psychical atoms, the sensations, have different qualities, are blue and green, and cold and warm, and sweet and sour, and toothache and headache. the changes which go on in such a system are thus not changes of position and movements, but changes in kind and strength and vividness and fusion; and exactly such changes are the processes which the psychologist wants to explain. he wants to make us understand why this idea grows up and the other fades away, why this impression stands out with clearness as an attended object while the other lacks vividness and disappears, why this volition grows out of that emotion, why this feeling leads to this imaginative thought. the first step towards such explanation is, of course, in psychology, as in all other sciences, the careful observation of regularities. it quickly leads us to formulate some general laws. psychology has known, for instance, for two thousand years, that if we have perceived two things together, and later we see the one again, the new perception brings us a memory image of the other thing. if we saw a man's face and heard at the same time his name, seeing his face may later awaken in us the memory of his name, or the hearing of his name may later awaken in us a reproduced memory image of his face. on such a basis, for instance, we formulate some general laws of association of ideas, and as soon as we have such laws laid down, we consider the appearance of such a memory image by association as sufficiently explained. we feel that it gives us sufficient basis to predict that in the future this idea will stir up in us the other idea. psychology has formulated plenty of such general statements, and they serve well for a first orientation. yet can this ever be considered as a last word of scientific explanation of psychical facts? can psychology really in this way reach an ideal similar to that of scientific astronomy or chemistry? would the scientist of nature ever be satisfied with this kind of explanation, which is nothing but generalization of certain sequences? does not the explanation of the naturalist contain an entirely different element? he does not merely want to say that this effect has sometimes been observed and that there is thus probability that it will come again, when similar causes are given. no, the physicist wants to understand those connections of cause and effect as necessary ones. he tries to find sequences which cannot be otherwise because they cannot be thought in any other way. therefore he is not satisfied with complex regularities, but analyzes them until he can bring them down to simple physical connections, and these physical connections finally to mechanical processes, which realize for us logical necessities. that matter lasts and cannot disappear is such a presupposition, which comes to us with the necessity of logical thinking. we simply cannot think it otherwise. and the whole idea of natural science is to conceive the physical universe in such a way that all changes in the outer world can be understood as the movements of its parts in accordance with such necessary physical axioms. if we knew all the atoms of the present status of the universe, and we knew every present movement of every atom, we should be able to foresee the position of every atom in the next moment and in the following moment and in all following moments, and all that by the necessary continuation of the substance and its energies. that alone is the background of all special physical inquiry, and we rely on the special laws of physics and chemistry, because we trust that this universe, as a whole, could be ultimately understood as such a system of necessary changes in the positions of the lasting atoms. for the psychologist there is no hope of finding such necessity in the mental processes. the point is not that psychology is to-day too far removed from the fulfillment of such an ideal, the point is rather that such an ideal would be meaningless for the psychologist. his materials, the psychical contents of consciousness, are by their nature unfit to enter into such necessary connections; they cannot do it because they cannot last. the physical object, we saw, is the object which is common property, which we all feel in common, which must thus exist for all time. the things in nature may burn down or decay, but no atom of them can ever disappear from the universe, each must enter into new and ever new combinations and last through all changes. the psychical thing, on the other hand, can exist only for the one immediate experience. every sensation which enters into my ideas or volitions or emotions is a new creation of the instant which cannot last; each one flashes up and is lost with the moment's experience. my will to-day may have the same aim as my will of yesterday, but as psychical object, my will to-day is a new will, is a new creation in every pulse beat of my life. i must will it again, i cannot store it up. and my joy of to-day can never be as psychical fact the same joy which i may have to-morrow. mental objects as such, as psychological material, are not destined to last. it has no meaning whatever to think of their being kept over until another time. it is a coarse materialism to conceive the mental contents like pebbles which may remain on the road from one day to another. our ideas and feelings are mental appearances which have their existence in the act of the one experience; each new experience must be an entirely new creation. if i remember my last year's perception, i do not dig it out from an under-mind, in which it was stored up and buried, but i create an entirely new memory picture, just as i may make to-day a speech which says the same thing which i said last year, and yet my action of speaking is not last year's speech movement. it is a new action, and the movement did not lie over somewhere during the interval. mental life is produced anew in every moment. when the first experience is gone and the second comes, nothing of the stuff from which the first was made still has existence in the content of consciousness. by this fact it becomes entirely impossible ever to conceive necessary connections in the sense of physical necessity in the world of consciousness. the one idea may bring to me another idea by association, but as long as i consider both strictly as mental facts, i can never understand why this association happens, i can never grasp the real mechanism of the connection, i can never see necessity between the disappearance of the one and the appearance of the other. it remains a mystery which does not justify any expectation that the same sequence will result again. whatever belongs to the psychical world can never be linked by a real insight into necessity. causality there remains an empty name without promise of a real explanation. only when we have recognized this fundamental difficulty in the efforts for psychological explanation, can we understand the way which modern psychology has taken most successfully. the end of this way is simply this: every psychical fact is to be thought of as an accompaniment of a physical process and the necessary connections of these physical processes determine, then, the connections of the mental facts. indeed this has become the method of modern psychology. it has brought about the intimate relation between psychology and the physiology of the brain, and has given us, as foundation, the theory of psychophysical parallelism; the theory that there is no psychical process without a parallel brain process. but the real center of the theory lies indeed in the fact which we discussed; it lies in the fact that we cannot have any explanation of mental states as such at all, if we do not link them with physical processes. is it necessary to express again the assurance that such statements of a parallelism between mind and brain in no way interfere with an idealistic view of inner life? have we not seen clearly enough that these mental facts which are conceived parallel to physiological brain processes do not represent the immediate reality of our inner life, that our life reality is purposive and as such outside of all causal explanation, and that we have to take a special, almost artificial, point of view to consider inner life at all as objects, as contents of consciousness, and thus as psychological material? but since we have seen that for certain purposes such a point of view is necessary, as soon as we have taken it we must be consistent. our inner life in its purposive reality has therefore nothing to do with brain processes, but if we are on the psychological track and consider man as a system of psychological phenomena, then to be sure, we must see that our only possible interest lies in the finding of necessary causal connections. but these cannot be found otherwise than by linking the mental facts with the physical ones, the psychological material with the processes of the brain. of course, that mental experience stands in intimate relations to the body is a knowledge which does not wait for such philosophical arguments. that mind and body come in contact is a conviction which goes with every single sense perception. i see and hear because light and sound stimulate my sense organs, and the sense organs stimulate my brain. the explanation of perception through causes in the physical system seems the more natural as it is evident that in such cases there are no psychical causes which might have brought forward the perception. if i suddenly hear bells ringing, there was on the mental side nothing preceding which could be responsible for my sound perception. and the same holds true if the physical source lies in my own body, if perhaps my tooth begins to ache, although no expectation preceded it. in the same way it seems a matter of course that mind and body are connected wherever an action is performed. i have the will to grasp for the book before me, and obediently my arm performs the movement; the muscles contract themselves, the whole physical apparatus comes into motion through the preceding mental fact. the same holds true where no special will act arouses the muscles. if a thought is in my mind and it discharges itself in appropriate words, those words are after all as physical facts the movements of lips and tongue and vocal cords and chest; in short, a whole system of physical responses has set in through a mental experience. but the same thought may be the starting-point for many other bodily changes; it may make me blush, and that means that large groups of blood-vessels become dilated; or i may get pale, the blood-vessels are contracted. or i may cry, the lachrymal gland is working; or it may spoil my appetite, the membranes of my stomach cease to produce; or my muscles may tremble, or my skin may perspire; in short, my whole organism may resound with mental excitement which some words may set up. but it is not only the impression of outer stimuli and the expression of inner thoughts in which mind and body come together. daily life teaches us, for instance, how our mental states are dependent upon most various bodily influences. if the temperature of the blood is raised in fever, the mental processes may go over into far-reaching confusion; if hashish is smoked, the mind wanders to paradise, and a few glasses of wine may give a new mental optimism and exuberance; a cup of tea may make us sociable, a dose of bromide may annihilate the irritation of our mind, and when we inhale ether, the whole content of consciousness fades away. in every one of these cases, the body received the chemical substance, the blood absorbed and carried it to the brain, and the change in the brain was accompanied by a change in the mental behavior. even ordinary sleep at night presents itself surely as a bodily state--the fatigued brain cells demand their rest, and yet at the same time the whole mental life becomes entirely changed. it is not difficult to carry over such observations of daily life to the more exact studies of the psychological laboratory and to examine with the subtle means of the psychological experiment the mental variations which occur with changes of physical conditions. we might feel, without instruments, that our ideas pass on more easily after a few cups of strong coffee, but the laboratory may measure that with its exact methods and study in thousandth parts of a second, the quickening or retarding in the flow of ideas. every subjective illusion is then excluded, our electrical clocks, which measure the rapidity of mental action and of thought association, will show then beyond doubt how every change in the organism influences the processes of the mind. bodily fatigue and indigestion, physical health and blood circulation, everything, influence our mental make-up. in the same way it is the laboratory experiment which shows by the subtlest means that every mental state produces bodily effects where we ordinarily ignore them. as soon as we apply the equipment of the psychological workshop, it is easy to show that even the slightest feeling may have its influence on the pulse and the respiration, on the blood circulation and on the glands; or, that our thoughts give impulse to our muscles and move our organs when we ourselves are entirely unaware of it. again we may turn in another direction. pathology shows us how every physical disablement of the brain is accompanied by mental processes. if the blood supply to the brain is cut off, we faint; a blow on the head may wipe out the memory of the preceding hours, and a hemorrhage in the brain, the bursting of a blood vessel which destroys groups of brain cells, produces serious defects in the mental content. a tumor in the brain may completely change the personality; the bodily disease of certain convolutions in the brain brings with it the loss of the power of speech; paralysis of the brain dissolves the whole mental personality. physical inhibition in the growth of the brain involves, on the mental side, feeble-mindedness and idiocy. of course, all this is not sufficient to bring out a definite parallelism between special mental functions and special physical processes, as the phenomena are extremely complex. if a patient who has suffered from a mental disturbance dies, and his brain is examined, there is no simple correlation before us. it may be difficult to diagnose exactly the mental symptoms. if we have heard that the man was unable to read, we do not know from that what really happened in his brain. he may not have read because he did not see the words, or because the letters were confusing, or because he had lost memory for the meaning, or because he had lost the impulse to speak the words, or because he felt unable to turn his attention, or because the impulse to read aloud was not carried out by his organism, or because an inner voice told him that it is a sin to read, or for many similar reasons; and yet each one represents psychologically an entirely different situation. on the other hand, on the physical side, the destruction is probably not confined to one particular spot. complications have crept over to other places or the disturbance in one part works as inhibitory influence on other brain parts, or a tumor may press on a far-removed part, or the disturbance may be one which cannot be examined with our present microscopic means. in short, we have always a complex mental situation and a complex physical one, and to find definite correlations may be possible only by the comparison of very many cases. other methods, however, may supplement the pathological one. the comparative anatomist shows us that the development of the central nervous system in the kingdom of animals goes parallel to the development of the mental functions, and that it is not only a question of progress along all lines. any special function of the mind may have in certain animal groups an especially high development, and we see certain parts correspondingly developed. the dog has certainly a keener sense of smell than the man--the part of the brain which is in direct connection with the olfactory nerve is correspondingly much bulkier in the dog's brain than in the human organism. here too, of course, research may be carried to the subtlest details and the microscope has to tell the full story. not the differences in the big structure, but the microscopical differences in the brain cells of special parts are to be held responsible. but comparison may not be confined to the various species of animals; it may refer not less to the various stages of man. the genetic psychologist knows how the child's mind develops in a regular rhythm, one mental function after another, how the first days and first weeks and first months in the infant's life have their characteristic mental possibilities, and no mental function can be anticipated there. the new-born child can taste milk, but cannot hear music. the anatomist shows us that correspondingly only certain nervous tracts have the anatomical equipment by which they become ready for functioning. most of the tracts at first lack the so-called medullar sheath, and from month to month new paths are provided with this physical equipment. finally we have the experiment of the physiologist. his vivisectional experiments, for instance, demonstrate that the electrical stimulation of a definite spot on the surface of a dog's brain produces movements which we should ordinarily take as expressions of mental states, movements of the front legs or of the tail, movements of barking or whining. on the other hand, the dog becomes unable to fulfill the mental impulses if certain definite parts of his brain are destroyed. the physiologist may show from the monkey down to the pigeon, to the frog, to the ant, to the worm, how the behavior of animals is changed as soon as certain groups of nervous elements are extirpated. it is the mental emotional character of the pigeon which is changed when the physiologist cuts off parts of his brain. in short, stimulation and destruction demonstrate, by experiments which supplement each other, that mental functions correspond to brain functions. there is thus no lack of demonstration from all quarters that mental facts and brain processes belong together; and yet, however much we may cumulate such popular and scientific observations, they would never by themselves admit of the sweeping generalization that there cannot be any mental state which is not accompanied by a process in the central nervous system. someone might say, to be sure, the perceptions and memory images, the volitions and instincts and impulses, have their physiological basis, but there remain after all acts of attention, or decisions, or subtle feelings, or flights of imagination, which are independent of any brain action. here, indeed, observation cannot settle such a general principle. its real hold lies in the fact with which we started: there is no causal connection in the mental states as such. if we want to understand mental facts as such in a chain, of causal events, we have first to conceive them as parallel to physical events. the principle of psychophysical parallelism, that is, the principle that every psychical process accompanies a physiological change is thus not a mere result of observation. it is simply a postulate. every science begins with postulates and only that which fulfills such postulates has the dignity of truth in the midst of that scientific realm. the astronomer cannot find by observation that there is no star the movements of which are not the effects of foregoing causes. he knows it beforehand, he demands it, he does not recognize any movement as understood until he has found the causes, he presupposes that such causes exist, that no star moves simply by a magic power, and that nowhere in the astronomical universe is the chain of causality broken. he postulates it, and where he does not discover the causes, he is sure that he has not solved the real problem. in the same way the psychologist who aims towards explanation of mental facts must postulate that there cannot be any mental state which is not an accompaniment of a physical brain process, and is as such connected through physical means with the preceding and the following events in the psychophysical system. only when such a general framework of theory is built up by a logical postulate, is the way open to make use of all those observations of the laboratory and of the clinic, of the zoölogist and of the anatomist. it is the theory which has to give the right setting to those scattered observations. however far we may be from being able to point to the special brain process which lies at the bottom of the higher mental state, we know beforehand that there is no shadow of an idea, no fringe of a feeling, no suggestion of a desire which does not correspond to definite processes in the brain. the details may and must be material for diverging theories, but the conflict of such hypothetical opinions has nothing to do with the certainty of the underlying conviction that if we knew the whole truth, we should recognize every single mental happening as parallel to physical processes in the nervous system. to explain mental facts means to think them as parallel to the brain processes which have their own causal connections in the physical world. we started, for instance, from the old observation that two impressions which come to our mind at the same time have a tendency to reawaken one another; and we saw that psychology was well able to formulate these facts in general statements of the association of ideas. but we realized that that in itself is not really explanation. if the odor which we smell awakes in us the name of a chemical substance, and if we now bring this under the general heading of association of ideas, an explanation is not really given by it. that smell sensation itself is not really understood as a cause of those sound sensations of the word. we have no insight into the connection of those two happenings. but the situation is entirely changed, if we consider the smell effect from the point of view of the parallelistic theory. now the association of facts would indicate that we got the first two impressions together, because two brain processes were going on at the same time. my nose brought me the smell stimulus, my ear gave me the sound stimulus, each going on in a particular center, or, to express it in a simplified schematic way, each reaching particular brain cells, and the excitement of these brain cells being accompanied by the particular sensations. the physiologist has many possibilities of conceiving the further stages of the process, in order to satisfy the demand of explanation. he may say the excitement of each of these two brain cells, the one in the olfactory center, the other in the auditory center, irradiates in all directions through the fine branches of the brain fibers. each cell has relations to every other cell in the brain; thus there is also one connecting path between those two cells which were stimulated at once. now if the two ends of an anatomical path are excited at the same time, the path itself becomes changed. the connecting way becomes a path of least resistance, and that means that if, in future, one of the two brain cells becomes excited again, the overflow of the nervous excitement will not now go on easily in all directions, but only just along that one channel which leads to that other brain cell. a theory like this explains in real explanatory terms, in ways which physics and chemistry can demonstrate as necessary, that any excitement of the odor cell runs over into the sound cell and vice versa. in short, the psychological association of ideas, which we should simply have to accept as inexplainable fact, is thus transformed into a connection which we understand as necessary; and the fact is really explained. this simple scheme of the physiology of association for a hundred years has given a most decided impulse to the progress of psychology. as the association process can so easily be expressed in physiological terms, the aim was prevalent to understand the interplay of mental life more and more as the result of association. the underlying thought of this whole association psychology was thus a conviction that whenever two mental experiences occur together, either of them keeps the tendency to reawaken the other at a later time. through the endless combination which life's impressions awaken in the mind from the first hour after birth, the whole stream of memory images and thoughts and aims and imaginations is thus to be explained. the whole theory of physiological associationism works evidently with two factors. first, there are millions of brain cells of which each one may have its particular quality of sensation, and second, each brain cell may work with any degree of energy, to which the intensity of the sensation would correspond. if i distinguish ten thousand different pitches of tone, they would be located in ten thousand different cell groups, each one connected through a special fiber with a special string in the ear. and each of these tones may be loud or faint, corresponding to the amount of excitement in the particular cell group. every other variation must then result from the millionfold connections between these brain cells. indeed, the brain furnishes all possibilities for such a theory. we know how every brain cell resolves itself into tree-like branch systems which can take up excitements from all sides, and how it can carry its own excitement through long connecting fibers to distant places, and how the endings of these fibers clasp into the branches of the next cell, allowing the propagation of excitement from cell to cell. we know further how large spheres of the brain are confined to cells of particular function, that for instance cells which serve visual sensations are in the rear part of the brain hemispheres, and so on. finally we know how millions of connecting fibers represent paths in all directions, allowing very well a coöperation by association between the most distant parts of the brain. the theories found their richest development, when it was recognized that large spheres of our brain centers evidently do not serve at all merely sensory states, but that their cells have as their function only the intermediating between different sensory centers. such so-called association centers are thus like complex switchboards between the various mental centers. their own activity is not accompanied by any mental content, but has only the function of regulating transmission of the excitement from the one to the other. above all their operation would make it possible that through associative processes, the wonderful complexity of our trains of thought may be reached. yet even the highest development of the association theories did not seem to do justice to the whole richness of the inner life. we may well understand through those association processes that a rich supply of memory pictures is at our disposal, that ideas stream plentifully to our minds and enter into new and ever new combinations. but that alone is not an account of our inner experience. if there is anything essential for inner life, it is the attention which gives emphasis to certain states and neglects others. and that means that certain mental contents are growing not only in strength but in vividness and clearness, and that others are losing their vividness, are inhibited and suppressed. here were always the real difficulties of the association theories; they seemed so entirely unable to explain from their own means why certain states become foremost in our minds and others fade away, why some have the power to grow and others are neglected. these facts of attention and vividness, inhibition and fading, worked almost as a temptation to give up the physiological explanation altogether and to rely on some mystical power, some mental influence which could pull and push the ideas without any interference and help from the side of the brain. yet since we have seen that the truth of psychophysical parallelism has the meaning of a postulate which we cannot escape unless we want to give up explanation altogether, it is evident that such falling back into un-physiological agencies would be just as inconsistent as if the naturalist should posit miracles in the midst of chemistry or astronomy. if the facts which cluster about attention cannot be understood by the simple scheme of associationism, the demand must be for a better physiological theory. the development of physiological psychology in recent years has indeed shown the way to such a wider theory, which furnishes the physiological accompaniment also for those experiences of attention and vividness which form the weakness of associationism. this new development has come up with the growing insight that the brain's mental functions are related not only to the sensory impressions, but at the same time to the motor expressions. the older view, still prevalent to-day in popular writings, made the brain the reservoir of physical stimuli, which come from the sense organs to the cortex of the brain hemispheres. there the perceptions arose and through associative interplay the memory pictures and the ideas of action and the feelings arose, and the whole inner life was thus bound up with the processes in these sensorial spheres. when the mind had done its work, finally an impulse was sent to some motor apparatus in the brain which then sent off the impulse to some acting muscles. that whole motor part was thus a kind of appendix to the brain process. the psychical life had nothing to do with it but to give the command for its action. the process in the motor part thus began when the mental proceeding was completed. but it became clear that this view was only the outgrowth of the strong interest which physiology took in the sense processes. if a neutral fair account of the brain actions is attempted, there can hardly be doubt that this whole sensorial view of the brain is only half of the story and that the motor half has exactly the same right to consideration. the cortex of the brain, the functions of which are accompanied by mental processes, is always and everywhere not only the recipient of sensory stimuli but at the same time the starting point of motor impulses. that which is centripetal, leading to the cortex, is therefore not more important for the central process than that which is centrifugal, leading from the cortex. the cortex is the apparatus of transmission between the incoming and the outgoing currents, between the excitements which run to the brain and the discharges which go from the brain, and the mental accompaniments are thus accompaniments of these transmission processes. if the channels of discharge are closed and the transmission is thus impossible, a blockade must result at the central station and the accompanying mental processes must be entirely different from those which happen there when the channels of discharge are wide open. here too all the special theories are still in the midst of tumultuous discord. yet this new emphasis on the motor side of the psychical process seems to influence modern psychology more and more. nobody can deny that first of all this is the necessary outcome of a biological view of the brain. what else can be the brain's function in the midst of nature than the transforming of impressions into expressions, stimuli into actions? it is the great apparatus by which the organism steadily adjusts itself to the surroundings. there would be no use whatever biologically in a brain which had connections with the sense organs, but which had no connections with the muscular system, and on the other hand, a brain which had motor nerves and muscular adjustment would be entirely useless if it had not sensory nerves and sense organs connected with it. in the one case the world would be experienced, but no response would be possible; in the other case, the means for response would be given, but no adjustment could set in because no experience of the surroundings would be possible. adjustment every moment demands the relation of the brain in both directions. through the sensory nerves the brain receives; through the motor nerves the brain directs, and this whole arc from the sense organs through the sensory nerves, through the brain, through the motor nerves and finally to the muscles, is one unified apparatus of which no part can be thought away. the brain in itself would be just as useless for the organism as the heart would be without the arteries and veins. we must keep this intimate and necessary relation between the sensory and motor parts constantly in view, and must understand that there cannot be any sensory process which does not go over into motor response. then only the ways are open to develop physiological views which give a physical basis to the processes of attention and vividness and inhibition, just as well as to the processes of memory and association. such motor theories take many forms. perhaps we shall most quickly bring the most essential factors together, if we say that full vividness belongs only to those sensations for which the channels of motor discharge are open, while those are inhibited for which the channels of discharge are closed; and any channel of discharge is closed, if action is proceeding in the opposite channel. if i open my hand, the motor paths which lead to closing my fist are blocked; and if i close my fist, the channels which lead to the opening of the hand are closed. now if only those ideas are vivid which find the channels open, it is clear that all the ideas which would lead to the opposite action have no chance for development; they remain inhibited, and just this relation between the vividness of certain ideas and inhibition for those ideas which lead to the opposite action is the characteristic of the process of attention. from such a point of view, the total mental life can be brought into the psychophysical scheme. we now have not two variable factors, but three, namely, the qualities of the elements, the intensities of the elements, and, as a third, the vividness of the elements. the quality corresponds, as we saw in the association theory, to the local position and connection of the brain cells; the intensity corresponds to the energy of the excitement; and the vividness, we may add now, corresponds to the relation to motor channels. the whole mental life thus becomes the accompaniment of a steady process of transmitting impressions and memories into reactions. that every experience involves millions of such elements we saw when we spoke of the description of mental life. the effort to explain mental life shows us now that this millionfold manifoldness belongs to a system of reactions of which all parts are in steady correlation: a moving equilibrium of unlimited complexity. surely no one can reduce this wonderful manifoldness to those clumsy concepts with which popular psychology is reporting the story of the mind and its relations to the brain. it may seem that such a psychological view of inner life annihilates that which we feel as the most essential characteristic of our inner experience, its unity and its freedom. in one sense that is certainly true. in the real life which we live and fight through, where our duties and our happiness lie, we know a unity and freedom of our personality which psychology must destroy. of course that does not mean that psychology denies the truth of that freedom and unity. moreover it would condemn itself if it were to deny that which gives meaning to the endeavors of our life and thus also to every search for truth. psychology claims only that we must abstract from it, when we take the psychological standpoint towards life. freedom of our real life means that we must know ourselves in the midst of our life work as guided by aims and obligations, and that in this purposive existence of ourselves we do not feel ourselves as determined by causes. i will the fulfillment of my ideals only because i will them. that this will itself may be the effect of foregoing causes is an aspect which does not belong to my naïve experience. our freedom means that in our real life our will is not related to causes, that the point of view of causality is thus meaningless for the value of our achievements. and the other man's will too comes in question for us as something to be interpreted and to be appreciated, but not to be explained by connection with causes. as long as we move in this sphere of purposive interest, we are free and deal with free selves; but if in the midst of these free aims, the will arises to consider the actions of others and of ourselves from the standpoint of causality, then we have ourselves decided to enter a new sphere in which it would be meaningless to seek for any will which is not determined by causes. as soon as we have chosen the psychological standpoint and are in the midst of the work of causal reconstruction, any will which is not understood as determined by causes is simply an unsolved problem. in the midst of a causal construction, absence of causes would never mean real freedom. in that purposive world of immediate life experience, we also are unities inasmuch as we ourselves know us as the same in every new will of ours. we remain identical with ourselves because every purpose is posited in the midst of, and bound up with, the general purpose of ourselves. and in this internal unity of meaning, nothing breaks ourselves into pieces, and the whole manifold of experience is thus expressed by a personality which knows itself in its purposive unity. but this unity again is denied by our own intention as soon as we decide to take the causal view of inner life. the purposive unity must now transform itself into an endless complexity, and our own self becomes a composite of hundreds of thousands of elements. on the other hand, all this does not mean that psychology cannot have its own consistent conception of the mind's unity and freedom. our psychological mind is a unity because its manifold is a system in which all parts hang together. a change in any one part involves changes in the whole system. the interrelation, to be sure, is not a strictly psychical one, for we have seen that the causal connection as such appears at the physical side. but, inasmuch as there is no psychical process which does not belong to a physiological one, the interconnection of the mental facts is complete and involves the totality of neural processes of which after all a small part only has its psychological record. we might compare those hundreds of millions of neurons in each brain with the hundreds of millions of individuals who make up the population of the nations, and the psychical accompaniment we might compare with the written historical record of mankind. the written records themselves have no direct interconnection, they are only accompaniments of what happens in these millions of men. and again only the higher layer of the neurons in the population sees its doings recorded in the annals of history; and yet whatever those leaders of action and thought and emotion may achieve is dependent upon and working on the actions of those millions of subcortical population neurons. the historical record has its unity through the interrelation of all parts of historical mankind. but after all the psychologist has no less a right to speak of freedom. of course his freedom cannot mean exemption from causality. whatever happens in the psychological system must be perfectly determined by the foregoing causes. but the psychologist has good reason to discriminate between those actions which result from the normal psychophysical factors and such actions as result from broken machinery. if the brain is poisoned by alcohol or in fever, if an infectious disease has destroyed the brain cells, action is no longer the outcome of the normal coöperation of the organs, and even those clusters of neural activities which are accompanied by the consciousness of the own personality lose their control of the motor outcome. the man in delirium or paralysis acts without causal connection with his past; the action is, therefore, not the product of his whole personality, and the psychologist is justified in calling the man unfree. but, whenever the motor response results from the undisturbed coöperation of the normal brain parts, then the inherited equipment and the whole experience and the whole training, the acquired habits and the acquired inhibitions will count in bringing about the reaction. this is the psychological freedom of man. the unity of an interconnected composite and the freedom of causal determination through normal coöperation of all its parts characterize the only personality which the psychologist has to recognize. iv psychology and medicine we are now ready to take the first step towards an examination of the problem of curing suffering mankind. so far we have spoken only of the meaning of psychology, of its principles and of its fundamental theories as to mind and brain. we have moved in an entirely theoretical sphere. now we approach a field in which everything is controlled by a practical aim, the treatment of the sick. yet our discussion of psychology should have brought us much nearer to the point where we can enter this realm of medicine. everything depends on the right point of entrance. that an influence on the inner life of man may be beneficial for his health is a commonplace truth to-day for everybody. every serious discussion of the question has to consider which influences are appropriate, and in which cases of illness the influence on inner life is advisable. the popular treatises usually start this chapter by speaking of the "mental and moral" factors; and this coupling of mental influences and moral influences characterizes large parts of the discussions of the christian scientists and the christian half-scientists. yet we must insist that the right entrance to psychotherapy is missed if the difference between morality and mentality is not clearly recognized from the beginning. the confusion of the two harms every statement. to avoid such a fundamental mistake, we had to take the long way around and to examine carefully what psychology really means and what it does not mean. we know now that inner life can be looked on from two entirely different standpoints: a purposive one and a causal one, and we have seen that these two ways of looking on inner life bring about entirely different aspects of man's inner experience, serve different aims, and stand in different relations to the immediate needs of our real life. we know that the one, the causal aspect, belongs to psychology, while the non-psychological, the purposive aspect, belongs to our immediate mutual understanding in the walks of life. if the physician is to make use of inner experience in the interests of overcoming sickness, he must first decide whether to take the causal or the purposive point of view in dealing with the patient's mind. this problem is too carelessly ignored and through that neglect arises much of the popular confusion. of course just this carelessness becomes in some ways the ground for apparent strength for many a superstition and prejudice. if the doors of the causal mind and of the purposive mind are both open, and the spectator does not notice that there are two, any trick on thought and reason can easily be played. whatever cannot pass through the causal door slips in through the other, and whatever does not go in through the door of purpose marches through the entrance of causality. with such methods anything can be proved, and the most unscrupulous doctrines can be nicely demonstrated. if we are to avoid such logical smuggling, we must see clearly which attitude towards mental life belongs properly to the domain of psychotherapy. but what we have discussed now leaves little doubt as to the necessary decision. the physician is interested in the mental life with the aim of producing a certain effect, namely, that of health. thus the mental life of the whole personality comes in question for him as belonging to a chain of causes and effects; whichever levers he may move, everything is to be a cause which, in accordance with causal laws, is to produce a certain change. inner life is thus, in the interests of medical treatment, necessarily a part of a causal system. this means the standpoint of scientific psychology is the only adequate one. the purposive view of inner life ought not to be in question when the patient enters the doctor's office. to characterize the difference, it may be said at once that it is a purposive view which belongs to the minister. if the minister says to his despairing parishioner, "be courageous, my friend, and be faithful," nothing but a strictly purposive view gives meaning to the situation. the word friend indicates it, that one subject of will approaches another subject of will, with the intention of sympathy and understanding of the attitude of the other; and the advice to be courageous and faithful means an appeal which has its whole meaning in the relation to aims and ends. the speaker and the hearer are both moving in a sphere of will relations, purposes and ideals, sin and virtue, hope and belief. to take the other extreme: if the neurasthenic in his state of depression and in his feeling of inability seeks relief from the nerve specialist, he too may say: "my friend, be courageous and faithful," yet his words have an entirely different purpose. they are not appeals to a common interest of belief; they are subtle tools with which to touch and to change certain psychophysical processes, certain states in mind and brain; there each word is a sound which awakens certain mental associations, and these associations are expected to be causes of certain effects and these effects are to inhibit those disturbing states of emotional depression. if a few grains of sodium bromide were to produce the same effect, they would be just as welcome. the whole consideration moves in a sphere in which only physiological and psychological processes are happening. thus the physician may work with the ideas of religious belief, but those ideas are then no longer religious values but natural psychophysical material, which is to be applied whenever it appears as the right means to secure a certain effect. on the other hand the minister also knows, of course, that every word which he speaks has its psychological effect, but he abstracts from that entirely, as his belief should appeal directly to the struggling will of the man. as minister, he is thus not a psychologist. he works with moral means; the physician, with causal means. the view which the doctor has to take of the man before him is therefore thoroughly psychological; whereas that of the religious friend is thoroughly unpsychological, or better, apsychological. indeed it is misleading, or at least demands a special kind of definition, if people say that the minister has to be a good psychologist. it is just as misleading as the claim, which we hear so often, that for instance shakespeare was a great psychologist. no, the poet deals with human beings from the purposive standpoint of life and the mere resolving of complex purposes into parts of purposes is not psychology in the technical sense of the term. the poet makes us understand the inner life, but he does not describe or explain it; he makes us feel with other people, but he does not make those feelings causally understood. the realistic novelists sometimes undertake this psychological task, but they are then on the borderland of literature, the analysis of their heroes becomes then a psychological one. shakespeare understood human beings better than anyone and therefore the men and women whom his imagination created are so fully lifelike that the psychologist may feel justified in using them as material for his psychological analysis, but shakespeare himself did not enter into that psychological dissection; he kept the purposive point of view. in the same way certainly the minister--the same holds true for the lawyer or the tradesman or anyone who enters into practical dealings with his neighbor--may resolve complex attitudes of will into their components, but each part still remains a will attitude which has to be understood and to be interpreted and to be appreciated, while the psychologist would take every one of those parts as a conscious content to be described and to be explained. but here we abstract from the purposive relations. our attention belongs now to the doctor's dealing with man; for him cause and effect are the only vehicles of connection. thus he has to exclude the purposive interpretation of inner life and has to understand every factor involved from a psychological point of view: his psychotherapy must be thoroughly applied psychology. the day of applied psychology is only dawning. the situation is indeed surprising. the last three or four decades have given to the world at last a really scientific study of psychology, a study not unworthy of being compared with that of physics or chemistry or biology. in the center of the whole movement stood the psychological laboratory with its equipment for the most subtle analysis and explanatory investigation of mental phenomena. the first psychological laboratory was created in leipzig, germany, in . it became the parent institution for laboratories in all countries. at present, america alone has more than fifty psychological laboratories, many of them large institutions equipped with precious instruments for the study of ideas and emotions, memories and feelings, sensations and actions. still more rapid than this external growth of the laboratory psychology was the inner growth of the experimental method. it began with simple experiments on sensations and impulses, and it seemed as if it would remain impossible to attack with the experimental scheme the higher and more complex psychical structures. but just as in physics and chemistry the triumphal march of the experimental method could not be stopped, one part of the psychological field after another was conquered. attention and memory, association and inhibition, emotion and volition, judgment and feeling all became subjected to the scientific scheme of experiment. and that was all supplemented by the progress of physiological psychology, pathological psychology, child psychology, animal psychology. in this way the last decades created a science which of course was by principle a continuation of the old psychology, but yet which had good reason to designate itself as a "new" psychology. but in this whole development, until yesterday, the curious fact remained that it was going on without any narrow contact with practical life; it was a science for the scientist and measured by its practical achievements in daily life, it seemed barren and unproductive. psychology was studied as palæontology and sanscrit were studied, without any direct relation to the life which surrounds us. and yet after all it deals with the mental facts which have to enter into every one of our practical deeds, if we are to consider mental life from a psychological point of view. the psychologists were certainly not to be blamed for sticking to their theoretical interests. more than that, they were certainly justified in their reluctance, as everything was in the making, and incomplete theories can easily do more harm than good. but slowly a certain consolidation has set in; large sets of facts have been secured, and psychology seems better prepared to become serviceable to the practical tasks. on the other hand, it has been noticeable for some time that not a few of the psychological results have gone over into unprofessional hands and have been thrown on the market places and have been brought into many a home where no one knew how to deal with them rightly. thus the need seems urgent that the psychologists give up their over-reserved attitude and recognize it as their duty to serve the needs of the community. it is not sufficient for that end, simply to take odds and ends of psychology and to hand them over to anyone who can see some use for them. we must have a systematic scientific work done for the special purpose of adjusting psychological knowledge to the definite practical tasks and of examining the psychological facts with that practical end in view. a science must be developed which is related to psychology as engineering is related to physics and chemistry. just as the technological laboratories of the engineer bring out many new problems which the physicist would never have approached, in the same way we may expect that special institutions for applied psychology will shape the psychological inquiry in a new way. such a new science of applied psychology of course has before it a field just as large and manifold as the field of technology, where physical engineering, chemical engineering, mechanical engineering, and electrical engineering and so on are separated. such a future psychological technology would deal, for instance, with psychopedagogical problems. there belongs everything which refers to the psychology of memory or attention, of discipline, of fatigue, of habit, of imitation or effort; in short, all those mental factors which have to be considered whenever the schoolchild is looked on from a causal point of view. further there is the psycholegal field where the memory and the perceptions, the suggestibility and the emotions of the witness are to be studied, where the psychological conditions which lead to crime, the means to tap the hidden thoughts of the criminal, the inhibitions for the prevention of crime, the mental effects of punishment and similar causal processes must be determined. there are the psychoscientific problems referring to psychological influences on the observations and judgments and discriminations of the scholar who watches the stars or who translates an inscription. there are the psychoæsthetic problems where the task is to examine causally the factors which lead to the agreeable effects of beautiful surroundings, and from the height of the psychology of æsthetics in painting and sculpture, the inquiry may go to the psychology of the pleasant effects in dress-making or cooking. there are the large groups of psychotechnical problems where the effort refers to the application of psychology in securing the best conditions for labor and industry and commerce. it leads from the mental effects of signals or the mental fatigue in mills to the secrets of advertisements and salesmanship. there are especially important psychodiagnostical studies where the aim is to determine the individual differences of man by experimental methods and to make use of them for the selection of the right man for the right place. there are psychosocial problems where we examine the psychological factors which have to enter into public movements, into social reforms, into legislation and into politics. in this way new and ever new groups may be added; every time the central thought is: how far can causal psychological knowledge help us to reach a certain end? together with these forms of applied psychology, we find the psychomedical problems; here belongs everything which allows the application of causal psychology in the interests of health. it might be answered that this demand for a strictly causal point of view can hardly be fulfilled, because, if i am acting,--it may be in the interest of education or law or technique or medicine,--i must always have an end in view and to select such an end belongs after all to my system of purposes. if i am a teacher and have to deal with children, then it may be said that after all, my knowledge of causal psychology cannot help me if i am uncertain for which ideals i want to educate these children. psychology can tell me that i need these means, if i want to reach certain effects, but i cannot find out by psychology which effects are desirable. psychology may tell me how to make a good business man or a good scholar or a good soldier out of my boy, but whether i want him to become a soldier or a merchant i must decide for myself with reference to general aims, and that leads me back to the purposive view of life. such argument is entirely correct. yes, it is evident that it is in full harmony with our whole understanding of the purpose of psychology. we saw that psychology with its causal treatment of man's mind does not express the immediate reality, but is a certain reconstruction which allows a calculation of certain effects. thus it is itself a system existing for a subject who has certain ends in view. the whole causal view of man is thus a tool in the service of the purposive man. this is the reason why it is indeed utterly absurd to think that psychology can ever help us to determine which end we ought to reach. in education, for instance, very many different ends might be reached; psychology cannot decide anything. the decision as to the aims of education must be made by ethics, which indeed takes not a causal but a purposive attitude. only after ethics has selected the aim, psychology can teach us how to reach it. of course this principle must hold for the physician too. all his causal dealing with the mind presupposes that he has selected a certain end in harmony with his purpose. the only difference is that, in the case of the physician, there can be no possible doubt as to the desirable end; what he aims at is a matter of course, namely, the health of the patient. to desire the health of the sufferer is thus itself a function which belongs entirely to the purposive view of the world, and only in the interest of this purpose does the physician apply his knowledge of psychology or of the causal sciences of physics, physiology, and chemistry. indeed only with this limitation have we the right to say that the psychotherapist takes the causal,--and that means the psychological,--view of his patient. as far as he decides to take care of the health of his patient, this decision itself belongs to the purposive world and to his moral system. the physician is thus ultimately just like the minister and just like anyone who deals with his neighbor, a purposive worker; but while the minister, for instance, remains on this purposive track, the physician puts a causal system into the service of his purpose. he knows the end, and his whole aim is to apply his causal knowledge of the physical and psychical world to the one accepted end of restoring the health of the patient. he has to ask thus in general: what has psychology to-day to offer which can be applied in the interests of medicine? it would be an inexcusable narrowness to confine that chapter of applied psychology which is to deal with the psychomedical problems to the work of psychotherapy. medicine involves diagnosis of illness as well as therapeutics. between the recognition and the treatment of the illness lies the observation of its development and all this is preceded by steps towards the prevention of illness. in every one of these regions, psychology may be serviceable. psychotherapy is thus only one special part of psychomedicine. but the situation becomes still more complex by the fact that the illness to be treated or the disturbance to be removed may stand in different relations to the psychophysical processes. the illness may be a disturbance in the psychophysical brain parts, or it may belong to other brain parts which are only in an indirect way under the influence of mental states or which are themselves indirectly producing changes in the mental life. and finally the disturbance may exist outside of the brain in any part of the body, and yet again through the medium of brain and nervous system it may produce effects in the mind or be open to the influence of the mind. thus we have entirely different groups of medical interests and it would be superficial to ignore the differences. both psychodiagnostic and psychotherapeutic studies must be devoted to cases in which the mind itself is abnormal, further to cases in which the normal minds registers the abnormalities in other parts of the body, and finally to cases in which the normal mind influences abnormal processes in the body. these latter two cases have to be subdivided into those where the bodily disturbance still lies in the brain parts and those where it lies outside of the brain. but the situation becomes still more complex by the mutual relations of those various processes. the impulse to take morphine injections may have reached the character of a mental obsession and thus represent an abnormality of the mind, but yielding to it produces at the same time disturbances in the whole body which thus become again external sources for abnormal experiences in otherwise normal layers of the mind. of course the interest of the psychologist as such remains always related to the psychological factor, but the relation of the psychological factor itself to the total disturbance may be of most different character. if i diagnose or treat the fixed idea of a psychasthenic, the psychological factor itself represents the disturbance. on the other hand, if i study the pain sensations of a patient who suffers from a disease of the spinal cord, then the sensations themselves, the only psychological factor in the case, are only indications of a disease which belongs to an entirely different physical region; the mind itself is normal. or, on the other hand, if i try to educate a sufferer from locomotor ataxia to develop his walking by building up in his mind new motor ideas to regulate his coördinated movements, the mind again is entirely normal but the physician needs his psychology on account of the influence which the mind has on the bodily system. again, we must insist that psychomedicine covers this whole ground. wherever a psychical factor enters into the calculations of the physician either by reason of its own abnormality or by its relation as effect or as cause to a diseased part of the body in the brain or without, there we have a psychomedical task, and as far as it is therapeutic, we have psychotherapy. the psychodiagnostic research lies outside of the compass of our book, but we cannot emphasize sufficiently the great importance which belongs to that work. moreover, just in the field of psychodiagnostics, the methods of the modern experimental psychological laboratory are most promising and successful. let us not forget that we deal with such psychological factors even when we test the functions of eye and ear and skin and nose by examining the sensations and perceptions. the oculist who analyzes the color sensations of a patient and the aurist who finds defects in the hearing of the musical scale and discovers that certain pitches cannot be discriminated, is certainly dealing, for diagnostic purposes, with the material that the psychological laboratory has sifted and studied. even that sensation symptom which enters into so many diseases, the sensation of pain, belongs certainly within the compass of the psychologist and it is only to be regretted that the systematic study of the pain sensations, mostly for evident practical reasons, has been much neglected in the psychological laboratory. the psychologists have been at work all the more eagerly in the fields of association and memory, attention and emotion, habit and volition, distraction and fatigue. here subtle methods have been elaborated, methods which surely common sense cannot supply, and which showed differences of mental behavior with the exactitude with which the microscope reveals the hidden differences of form. if physicians are slow in accepting the help which the psychological laboratory can furnish, it may be in good harmony with the desirable conservative policy in medicine, but finally the time must come when this instinctive resistance against new methods will be overcome. the recent attachment of psychological laboratories to certain leading psychiatric clinics is a most promising symptom. yet the diagnostic studies with the means of the psychological laboratory cannot be confined to the cases of mental disease. the mild abnormalities of the mind, and especially the nervous disturbances which exist outside the field of insanity, demand this support of psychology much more. and even the normal personality will be more safely protected from disease and from social dangers for its mental constitution if the resources of experimental psychology are employed. the more we know of the psychological constitution of the individual, the more we can foresee the development which is to be hoped for or feared and which may be encouraged or retarded. the psychologist may determine, for instance, the degree of attention with its resistance against distracting stimuli, the power of memory under various conditions and on various material, the mental excitability and power of discrimination, the quickness and correctness of perception, the chains of associations, the rapidity of the associative process for various groups, the types of reaction, the forming of habits and their persistence, the conditions of fatigue and of exhaustion, the emotional expressions and the emotional stability, the time needed for recreation and the resistance against drugs, the degree of suggestibility and the power of inhibition: and every result in any of these lines may contribute to the diagnosis and prognosis of cases. the chronoscope here measures the reaction times and association times in thousandths of a second; the kymograph, by the help of the sphygmograph, writes the record of the pulse and its changes in emotional states, while the pneumograph records the variations of breathing, and the plethysmograph shows the changes in the filling of blood vessels in the limbs which is immediately related to the blood supply of the brain. here belongs also the ergograph, which gives the exact record of muscular work with all the influences of will and attention and fatigue, the automatograph which writes the involuntary movements, especially also the galvanoscope which may register the influence of ideas and emotions on the glands of the skin, and thus lead to an analysis of repressed mental states, and hundreds of other instruments which are used in the psychological laboratory. yet it would be misleading to think only of complex apparatus when experimental psychology is in question. an experiment is given whenever the observation is made under conditions which are artificially introduced for the purpose of the observation. thus there is no need of the physical instrument. if i bring a spoonful of soup to my mouth at dinner and i become interested in the combination of warmth sensation and touch sensation and taste sensation and smell sensation, then i have performed an experiment if i take one more spoonful of soup just for the purpose of the observation. the physician too may carry out important psychological experiments, without needing the outfit of a real laboratory. association experiments, for instance, promise to become of steadily growing importance. to make them serviceable to the problems of his office, nothing but a subtle psychological understanding is needed, inasmuch as any routine work schematically applied to every case alike would be utterly useless. give your man perhaps a hundred words and let him speak the very first word which comes to his mind when he hears the given ones. you call rose, and he may say red or flower or lily or thorn; you call frog and he may answer pond or turtle or green or jump, and if you choose your hundred words with psychological insight, his hundred answers will allow a full view of his mental make-up. this is an experiment which does not require any instruments at all but a man's subtle analysis of the replies. that is not seldom sufficient to secure the diagnosis of complex mental variations. the method yields still more if the time for such a reply is measured, but there again not the costly chronoscope of the laboratory is indispensable; a simple stop watch which gives the fifths of a second would be fully sufficient for all practical purposes. from such simple facts of the mental inventory the association experiments may lead to complex questions which slowly may disentangle the confused ideas, for instance, of a dementia præcox, and thus lead to subtle differential diagnosis. the psychological laboratory alone can also elaborate the methods of studying, for instance, the feeble-minded with all the individual variations. new and ever new methods have been tried; the memory was tested by reading and repeating figures or letters, or colored papers were shown or cardboards of different forms or nonsense syllables, and the powers of remembering were studied. or the accuracy of arm movements was examined, or the quickness of understanding associated words, or the success in planning a complex movement like throwing a ball at a target, or the tapping of a key in the rhythm of a metronome, or the discrimination and recognition of the pieces in the game of dominoes and many another scheme. the laboratory has to analyze the conditions for such methods and the psychologist has to prepare the means for the use of the physician, just as the chemist has to prepare the sleeping powders. in a similar way the laboratory may furnish means to analyze the mental disturbances by a comparison with the experimental results of artificial influences, for instance, of over-fatigue or half-sleep, of drugs or alcohol, of poisons and emotional excitements. the psychological resolving of the mental symptoms may of course, in the same way, furnish the diagnosis where the mental variation is only a distant effect of a bodily ailment. the changes in the emotions, for instance, may lead to the recognition of a heart disease; lack of attention may be a hint of the overgrowth of the adenoids; irritability or apathy or delirious character of the mental behavior may indicate whether uræmic acid is in the system or an infectious disease: anæmia and undernutrition may be diagnosed and the psychology of fever demands too a much closer analysis with the means of the psychological laboratory than it has received so far. we have not spoken as yet about those psychological methods which themselves introduce abnormal mental states like hypnotism, and which also not seldom are only means for diagnostic purposes. the hypnotic state may bring to memory forgotten experiences of which the physiological effects may have lasted in the brain and which may have brought injury to the psychophysical system. hypnotic inquiry can thus lead to the recognition of the first causes in many hysterical states and where hypnotism is not the best adjusted tool, a certain dreamlike staring may be more effective. we have to return to much of that later in full detail because just for instance in hysteria, the clear recognition of the sources and of the character of the disease may at the same time prove to be in itself the right starting point for curative treatment. we have spoken so far only about the relations of psychology and medicine from the point of view of diagnosis; the relations from the point of view of therapy will make up the second part of this book. we shall describe the methods and the results, the possibilities and the limitations with manifold detail. that is the chief topic of this volume. all that is needed to prepare for this principal problem is on the one side a preparatory clearing up of some fundamental conceptions, especially of those two which have played the chief rôle in the whole discussion, namely the subconscious and suggestion. and on the other side, we may consider at first some fundamental discriminations which steadily influence the inquiries and controversies in the field. i think of the difference between normal and abnormal mental states, between psychical and physical facts in psychotherapy, between functional and organic diseases, and to return to our starting point, between mental and moral influences. every curative effort presupposes that the normal state of health has been lost and that a diseased state has set in. yet the mental analysis suggests still less than the bodily inquiry, just where the normal functioning is really lost. it would be easy to draw a demarcation line if the pathology of the mind introduced any mental features which are unknown in our normal existence, but the opposite is true. no mental disease introduces elements which do not occur in the sphere of health. a degenerated brain cell looks differently under the microscope from a normal one, but the ideas of a paranoiac, the emotion of a maniac, the volition of a hysteric, the memory idea of a paralytic is each in its own structure not different from such elements in any one of us. the total change lies thus only in the proportion; there is too much or too little of it. the pathological mental life is like a caricature of a face--each feature is contained, as in the ordinary portrait, but the proportion is distorted, there is too much or too little of chin or of nose. but who can indicate exactly the point where the distortion of the features constitutes a caricature? every grotesque change in the relations ruins the healthy state: what makes us sure that the harmony of health is spoiled? certainly we cannot settle it by mere statistics. the norm never means merely a majority. even if the overwhelmingly larger part of mankind suffered from phthisis, the few who were free from it would be recognized as well and all the others would be considered ill. in mental life still more, no one ought to propose that the exceptional function is the symptom of disease. the few persons who never had a dream in their lives differ much in their mental experience from the large majority and yet their peculiarity is certainly not a symptom which needs curative treatment. the only real test of health is the serviceableness to the needs of life. we have an unhealthy state of the personality before us wherever the equilibrium of the human functions is disturbed in a way which diminishes the chances of existence, and the seriousness of the ailment depends upon the degree of this diminishing power. seen from a strictly psychological point of view, we must expect thus a broad borderland region between the entirely normal well-balanced mental life and that unbalanced disorder of functions which really interferes with the chance for self-protection and effectiveness. that the melancholic who declines to take any nourishment, or the paranoiac who misjudges his surroundings, is unable to secure by his own energies the safety of his life cannot be doubted. the balance is completely destroyed and the will and the intellect of the physician and of the nurse must be substituted for his own mental powers, if his life is to be prolonged at all. but the misjudgment and the depression of the insane are only an exaggeration of that which may occur in any man. there are therefore thousands of steps which lead from the normal error or regret to the destructive disturbance. everyone knows persons whose pessimistic temperament makes them inclined to an over-frequent depression, or others whose silly disposition brings out constantly those emotional tendencies which the maniac shows in an exaggerated degree. the stupid mind shows those lacks of association and connection which reach their maximum degree in the mind of the idiot. we know from daily life the timid, undecided man who cannot come to a will impulse; the hasty man who rushes towards decisions; the inattentive man who can never focus his consciousness; and the overattentive man who can never dismiss any subject; the indifferent man on whom nothing produces evident impression and feeling; the over-sensitive man who reacts on slight impressions with exaggerated emotion; and yet every one of such and a thousand similar variations, needs only the projection on a larger scale to demonstrate a mental life which is self-destructive. the silly girl and the stupid boy, the man who has the blues and the reckless creature, are certainly worse equipped for the struggles of existence than those who are intellectually and emotionally and volitionally well-balanced. they will take wrong steps in life, they may be unsuccessful, their stupidity may lead them to the poorhouse, their recklessness may lead them to the penitentiary. and yet we do not speak of them as patients because their disproportionate mental features may be sufficiently corrected by other mental states which are perhaps more strongly developed. further, inasmuch as human life just in its mental functions is related to its social surroundings, much must depend on the external conditions, whether the disproportion and abnormality has to be treated as pathological. the mind which may find perhaps its way under the most simple rural conditions would be unable to protect life under the complex conditions of a great city. the man who in certain surroundings may appear a crank has to be treated as a patient in a different set of life conditions. wherever psychotherapeutic work is in question, perhaps nothing is more important than to keep steadily in mind this continuity between normal and abnormal mental features. the mental disturbance must constantly be looked upon as a change of proportions between functions which, as such, belong to every normal life. we have to train and to develop, and thus to reënforce, that which is too weak, and we have to drain off and to suppress and to inhibit that which is too strong. yet just this functional view of disease must remind us strongly from the beginning that it would be utterly in vain to draw any demarcation line between psychical disturbances and physical ones. we have seen from the start that from the point of view of physiological psychology, there can be no psychical process without an accompanying physiological process in the brain. every disturbance in mental actions is thus at the same time a disturbance in the equilibrium of nervous functions. yet that alone would not exclude the possibility of considering some diseases, for instance, exclusively from the mental side, and we should be justified in doing so if those parts of the brain which are the seat of the mental processes could remain in the diseased state without influence on other parts of the nervous system and of the whole body. in such a case it would indeed be sufficient to consider the psychophysical disturbance from the psychological point of view only, that is, to speak of the disease as a disorder of intellect, of emotion or will, without thinking of changes in the brain cells. but such isolation does not exist in nature. not only the bodily factors like nutrition and circulation and sexual functions have a thousandfold influence on the psychophysical processes, and these in turn change the vegetative functions of the body, but especially the other parts of the brain and nervous system can be affected in most different ways. if we want to consider whether a certain variation of the personality demands curative treatment, we certainly cannot confine ourselves to the mental variations. they are after all only parts of the whole group of changes in the organism and are thus symptoms of a disease which has to be studied in its totality. the mental symptoms alone may be relatively slight variations, which in themselves might be sufficiently balanced not to disturb the equilibrium of life, and yet they may be symptoms of a brain disturbance which as a whole must interfere with the safety of life. on the other hand, mental life may appear like a chaos and yet the disturbance may be the symptom of merely a slight brain affection and the treatment of the mental symptoms in their apparent severity would be a useless effort. the mental disturbance, for instance, of the intoxicated or the hashish smoker, even the delirium of the feverish, does not suggest a fight against the mental symptoms during the attack. on the whole, there is a far-reaching independence between the apparent mental variations and the seriousness of the brain affection. light hysteric states may produce a strong absenting of the mind while severe epileptic conditions of the brain may be accompanied by very slight mental changes. every neurasthenic state may play havoc with mental life, while grave brain destructions may only shade slightly the character or the intellect. to deal with the mental changes as if they belonged to a sphere by itself, to the soul which is well or ill through its own independent alterations without steadily relating the changes to the total organism, leads therefore necessarily to failure. the mind reflects only symptoms of the disease; the disease itself belongs always to the organism. psychotherapy has suffered too much from the belief that the removal of mental symptoms is a cure of disease. certainly the psychophysical symptoms may often stand in the foreground of the disease, and in that case it may be left to the special needs whether we deal with them as psychical or as physical changes. even the patient may be made to see them in one or the other way in accordance with his special needs. to tell him that his brain cells are in disorder and that they can be cured will be the right thing for him who takes only the introspective view of his suffering and is in despair because his own will seems powerless to overcome those mental changes. for the next patient, the opposite may be wiser. the belief that his brain is ill may have induced him to give up effort of the will instead of helping along by steady self-suggestion. he will be helped more if he understands that his mind is working wrongly. but the full truth is that both mind and body are in disorder; the function of the disturbed brain cells accompanies the ineffective will, and to reënforce the will means to bring into equilibrium again the disturbed brain cells. for the psychotherapist the temptation of giving the attention to the mental symptoms only is strong. the more firmly the physician sticks to the standpoint of psychophysiology, the better he will see ailment and cure in their right proportion. this demand for the consideration of the whole personality, mind and body, ought not to be influenced by the popular separation between organic and functional diseases. if we call organic diseases of the mind those in which the mental disturbance is the accompaniment of a brain disturbance, and functional those in which no brain disturbance exists, we leave entirely the ground of modern psychology. as soon as we believe that the mind can be disturbed without a change in the functions of the brain, we give away all that which has brought scientific order into the study of psychological existence. every mental disturbance corresponds to a disorder in the brain's functions. but there cannot be a change in the functions of the brain without a change in its structure. thus we must claim that all those so-called functional disturbances like neurasthenia and hysteria, fixed ideas and obsessions, phobias and dissociations of the personality, as well as the typical insane states of the maniac or paranoiac have their basis in a pathological change of the anatomical structure of the brain. this postulate cannot be influenced by the fact that the microscope has been unable to detect the character of most of these changes. of course all this does not exclude its being perfectly justifiable to separate those diseases for which a definite destruction of the brain parts can be detected, as in paralysis of the brain, from those where that is impossible. we may also expect that those disturbances in the brain which we cannot as yet make visible, may allow more easily an organic repair and thus a restoration to the normal functions. just as a disjointed arm may be brought to function quickly again, a broken arm slowly, an amputated arm never, each brain cell too may suffer lesions which are reparable in different degrees. but it is evident that it remains then an entirely empirical question whether the invisible damage allows repair or not. we have no right to say that where the destruction cannot be seen under the microscope there is no organic change and the disturbance is therefore only a psychical one and can be removed by mental means. all changes are physical and experience has to decide whether they are accessible to psychological influences or not. states like epilepsy may not allow any recognition of definite brain destruction and are yet on the whole inaccessible to mental influence, while many a brain disturbance with visible alterations, resulting perhaps from anæmia or hyperæmia, may be caused to disappear. if on the other hand we say that we can cure with psychotherapeutic means only the functional brain diseases and define as functional simply those diseases which can be cured by such means, we move, of course, in the most obvious circle and yet just that is the too frequent fate of the discussions in certain quarters. every psychical disturbance is organic inasmuch as it is based on a molecular change which deranges the function. some of these changes are beyond restitution; some can be brought back to a well-working structure by strictly physical agencies like drugs or electricity; others can be repaired by physiological stimuli which reach directly the higher brain cells through the sense organs and which we call psychical under one aspect, but which certainly remain physiological influences from another aspect. and these psychophysiological influences of the spoken words or similar agencies are thus indeed for therapeutic effect entirely coördinated with the douche and the bath and the electric current and the opiate. it is a stimulation of certain brain cells, an inhibition of certain others: a subtle apparatus which must be handled with careful calculation of its microscopical causes and effects. that these words from an entirely different point of view may mean a moral appeal and have ethical value, point to moral and religious ideas and reënforce the spiritual personality, lies entirely outside of the psychotherapeutic calculation. as long as the curing of the patient is the aim, the faith in god is not more valuable than the faith in the physician and the moral appeal of no higher order than the influence through the galvanic current. they come in question only as means to an end and they are valuable only in so far as they reach the end. that they can be related to an entirely different series of purposes, to the system of our moral ideas, ought not to withdraw the attention of the psychotherapist from his only aim, to cure the patient. the highest moral appeal may be even a most unfit method of treatment and the religious emotion may just as well do harm as good from the point of view of the physician. psychotherapy has suffered too much from the usual confusion of standpoints. v suggestion and hypnotism psychotherapy has now become for us the effort to repair the disturbed equilibrium of human functions by influencing the mental life. it is acknowledged on all sides that the most powerful of these influences is that of suggestion. this is an influence which is most easily misunderstood and which has most often become the starting point for misleading theories. before we enter into the study of the practical effects of suggestion and the psychotherapeutic results, we must examine this tool in the hand of the psychotherapist from a purely psychological viewpoint. the patient may perhaps sometimes profit from suggestion the more, the less he understands about its nature, but the physician will always secure the better results, the more clearly he apprehends the working of this subtle tool. of course, that does not mean that any psychology is able to explain the process of suggestion to a point where all difficulties are removed, but at least the mysteries can be removed and the effects can be linked with other well-known processes. let us be clear from the start that suggestion is certainly nothing abnormal and exceptional, nothing which leads us away from our ordinary life, nothing which brings us nearer to the great riddles of the universe. there is no human life into which suggestion does not enter in a hundred forms. family life and education, law and business, public life and politics, art and religion are carried by suggestion. a suggestion is, we might say at first, an idea which has a power in our mind to suppress the opposite idea. a suggestion is an idea which in itself is not different from other ideas, but the way in which it takes possession of the mind reduces the chances of any opposite ideas; it inhibits them. it is indeed the best result of any successful education, that the teachings have taken hold of the mind of the young in such a way that all the opposite tendencies and impulses and wishes do not come to development. the well-educated person does not need to participate in a struggle between good and bad motives, for that which has been impressed upon his mind does not allow the other side to come up at all. our life would be crowded with inner conflicts if education had not secured for us from the start preponderance for the suggestions of our educators. the love of family and friends, of our country and our party are in the same way such suggestions. we may hear arguments for the other side, arguments which easily convince the man of the other party, but they do not appeal to us: they are emasculated before they enter our minds; they have no chance to overcome the resistance because suggestions stand in their way. no argument will overwhelm the suggestion which religion has settled in our inner life, and from this strongest suggestion which can stand against any temptation of life small psychological steps lead down to the little bits of suggestion with which our daily chance life is over-flooded. every advertisement in the newspaper, every display in the shop-window, every warm intonation in the voice of our neighbor has its suggestive power, that is, it brings its content in such a way to our minds that the desire to do the opposite is weakened. we do buy the object that we do not need, and we do follow the advice which we ought to have reconsidered. and what would remain of art if it had not this power of suggestion by which it comes to us and wins the victory over every opposing idea? we believe the painter and we believe the novelist, if their technique is good. we do not remember that the inventions of their genius are contrary to our life experience; we feel sympathy with the hero and do not care in the least that he has no real life. the suggestion of art has inhibited in us every contrary idea. such daily experience shows us that suggestive power may belong to different men in different degree. there are lawyers whose arguments and whose presentation open our mind, it seems, to any suggestion: while others leave us indifferent; we understand their idea, we follow their thoughts, and yet we remain accessible to opposite influences. there are teachers whose authority gives to every word such an impressiveness and dignity that every opposite thought disappears, while others throw out words which are forgotten. on the other hand, the readiness to accept suggestions is evidently also quite different with different individuals. from the most credulous to the stubborn, we have every degree of suggestibility, the one impressed by the suggestive power of any idea which is brought to his mind, the other always inclined to distrust and to look over to the opposite argument. such a stubborn mind is indeed not only without inclination for suggestions, but it may develop even a negative suggestibility; whatever it receives awakens an instinctive impulse towards the opposite. moreover we are all in different degrees suggestible at different times and under various conditions. emotions reënforce our readiness to accept suggestions. hope and fear, love and jealousy give to the impression and the idea a power to overwhelm the opposite idea, which otherwise might have influenced our deliberation. fatigue and intoxicants increase suggestibility very strongly. to look out on a wider perspective, we may add at once that an artificial increase of suggestibility is all which constitutes the state of hypnotism. at first, however, we want to understand the ordinary process of suggestion in that normal form in which it enters into every hour of our life and into every relation of our social intercourse. but if we begin to examine the structure of the process, we can no longer be satisfied with the vague reference to ideas and their opposites. what does it mean after all if we speak of opposite ideas? can we not entertain any ideas peacefully together in our consciousness? from a logical standpoint, ideas may contradict each other, but that refers to their meaning. as mere bits of psychological experience, i may have any ideas together in my consciousness. i can think summer and winter or day and night or right and left or black and white or love and hate in one embracing thought. as mere mental stuff, the one idea does not interfere with the other. on the other hand, this is evident: i cannot will to turn to the right and to turn to the left at the same time. there may be a wrangling between those two impulses, but as soon as my will stands for the one, the other is really excluded. any action which i am starting to do thus crowds out the impulse to the opposed action. in the sphere of psychological facts, we have here indeed the only relation between two happenings which necessarily involves an opposition. we could never understand why one brain cell might not work together with any other brain cell, but we do understand that nature must provide for an apparatus by which the impulse to one action makes the impulse to the opposite action ineffective. there is no action which has not its definite opposite. the carrying out of any impulse involves the suppression of the contrary impulse, and the impulse not to do an action involves the suppression of the impulse to do it. when we spoke of the relations of mind and brain, we mentioned that such a corelation of mental centers indeed exists. physiological experiments have demonstrated that the activity of those centers which stimulate a certain action reduce the excitability of those brain parts which awaken the antagonistic action. as far as the world of actions is concerned, the mechanism of the process of suggestion thus seems not inaccessible to a physiological understanding. various ideas of movements to be carried out are struggling for control in the cortex of the brain. that is the normal status which precedes any decision. the channels of motor discharge are open for both possibilities; we may turn to the right or to the left. then the play of associations begins. a larger and larger circle of ideas surrounds the idea of the one and of the other goal. those ideas awaken emotions. on the one side may call our duty and on the other side our pleasure. larger and larger parts of the central content of our consciousness, of our own personality, become involved; our principles and maxims, our memories, our hopes and fears, enter into the battle until deeper strata of the idea of ourselves enter into a firm association with the one side, reënforcing, perhaps, the idea of the goal at the right. this opens wide the channels of discharge for the movement to the right and inhibits thereby the excitability of the center which leads to the opposite action. the channel of discharge to the movement towards the left becomes closed, the idea of that movement fades away and becomes inhibited: we are moving towards the right. the outcome was the product of our total personality. but this result would have been different, if from the start the channels of discharge had not been equally open for both possible movements, and if thus the relative resistance to the impulse had not been equal on both sides. if, for instance, we had gone from the given point frequently to the left, as a result of the habit and training, the impulse to the left would have found less nervous resistance. the channels would have become widened by the repetition and the opposite channels would have been somewhat closed by the lack of use. or if instead of such previous habit, we should see at the decisive moment others turning to the left, the impression would have become the starting point for a reaction of mere instinctive imitation. while we might not have followed that imitative impulse at once, yet the channels would have been widened, the discharge in the direction would have been prepared by it, the resistance would have been lowered and the chances for the opposite movement would have been decreased. those people who moved to the left gave us by their action the same kind of an impulse which they would have furnished if they had begged us with words, or if they had ordered us to follow them with authoritative firmness. in each of these cases, the influence would have amounted to a suggestion. whether we watched the movements of other people or whether their words made an impression on us, in either case the way became prepared for a certain line of action and therefore the way for the opposite action became blocked. the final outcome was thus no longer an entirely free play of motor ideas, but there was a little inequality in play. the one had from the start a better chance, the other was from the start laboring under difficulties. the suggestion of actions is thus nothing but making use of the antagonistic character in the nervous paths which start from the motor centers. that all such phrases as the opening and the closing, the widening and blocking, of channels of discharge are only metaphors hardly needs special emphasis. instead of such comparisons, we ought rather to think of chemical processes which offer various degrees of resistance to the propagation of the nervous excitement. we see from here the direction in which many psychotherapeutic efforts must lie, efforts which are entirely within the limits of the daily normal experience, and belong to the medical practice of every physician, yes, to the helpful influence of every man in practical life. the intemperate man may suffer from his inability to resist his desire for whiskey. the idea of his visit to the saloon finds the channels of discharge open. we argue with him, we tempt him by attractions which lead to other ways, we suggest to him that he spend those evening hours perhaps with friends or with books for which we awaken his interest; we do it as impressively as we can, we appeal to his friendly feeling for us; and if again the hour comes in which the desire for the artificial stimulation sets in with a motor impulse towards the bottle, the channels for discharge have now been blocked. the idea of the opposite action arises, it associates itself with the emotions which we stirred up in his mind, it associates itself with the respect for the adviser, and thus new clusters of thought reënforce that idea of action which we suggested, and this opposite line of action now finds a minimum resistance because our appeal has opened beforehand the gate. the desire for the book works itself out into action while the desire for the cup finds increased resistance. just this is the kind of suggestion with which we correct faulty action everywhere in our social circle; and yet small steps lead on from here to the case where perhaps the desire for alcohol has reached that pathological intensity in which the equilibrium is entirely disturbed and cannot be repaired without suggestions of a much more powerful character, given in a state of artificially increased suggestibility--in hypnotism. the principle of opening certain channels of discharge for the purpose of closing the opposite channels remains in the extreme case the same as in the more ordinary cases. the impulse to drink is a positive one, but the principle is not different where the impulse is negative. a friend who comes from the quiet country may feel unable to pass the busy square of the city. the fear of an accident holds back his steps, he cannot give the impulse to walk through the crowded rush of vehicles. now either by words of advice, by persuasion or by showing the way, we may apply our suggestion, we open the channels of discharge for the necessary movements and thus decrease the excitability of those centers in which nervous fear was playing. and again small steps lead from here to the case of the psychasthenic sufferer whose phobia does not allow him to cross any square and where reënforced suggestion has to break open the ways for the walking movement when the square is reached. thus we are not far from a causal understanding of suggestive influences wherever actions are concerned, where movements are to be reënforced or to be suppressed and where antagonism of the motor paths is involved. but that does not seem to lead us nearer to the much larger group of states in which the whole suggestive process concerns apparently the interplay of ideas alone, where not actions but impressions are controlled by suggestion, where not impulses but thoughts are strengthened or inhibited. here lies the real psychophysical problem which has been by far too much neglected in scientific psychology and has almost been hidden and made to disappear in the wonderful accounts of the hypnotists. but all those mysterious stories as to the achievements of suggestion cannot help so long as we do not understand the working of the process, and we shall have the better chance to understand it the more we keep away from the uncanny and mysterious results which refer to the most complex conditions, and rather seek to analyze the state in its simplest forms and compare it with other simple mental processes. the psychology of suggestion has suffered too much by the fascination which its most complex forms exert on a trivial curiosity. yet the problem of suggestion in the field of ideas stands after all not isolated. instead of connecting it with the weird reports of mystic influence from man to man, let us rather link it with the simple experience of attention. there is no pulse-beat of our life in which attention does not play its little rôle. but does not attention share with suggestion the characteristic feature that some contents of consciousness are reënforced and others are suppressed? this negative, this suppressing character of attention is not a chance by-product, it is most essential. there is no attention without it. if i am studying, i do not hear the conversation around me, and if i listen to the conversation, my studies in hand become inhibited. if i enjoy the play on the stage and give to it my full attention, my memories of the day's work are suppressed; if i think of the happenings of the day, i am not attentive to the play and hardly notice what is going on. the inhibited impression may often disappear entirely. while i am reading i am not at all aware of the tactual and muscular sensations in my legs, and if i am completely absorbed by my book, i may not even notice that the bell rings. in short, we have here as the most characteristic relation, just as in suggestion, the fact that one mental state becomes vivid, and that others are losing ground, become less vivid, are inhibited and perhaps disappear entirely. of course, to point to the similarity between suggestion and attention is not a real explanation. it may be answered that attention simply offers the same difficulties once more. how can we explain in the attention process the fact that one idea, the one attended to, becomes vivid and that others evaporate? the difficulty evidently cannot be removed by simply saying that only one sensorial process can be developed in the brain at one time. the popular descriptions of attention easily make it appear as if such were the solution of the problem. if one sensorial brain part is intensely engaged, the remainder of the brain is condemned to a kind of inactivity. yet such a dogma is hardly better than the old-fashioned one that the soul can have only one idea at a time. we know too well now that the psychophysical system is an extremely complex equilibrium of millions of elements. thus every change must be explained with reference to this complex manifold. above all, the facts simply contradict such an over-simple explanation, inasmuch as it is not at all true that only one content of consciousness can become vivid. our attention does not focus upon one point at all but may illuminate a large field and thus give vividness to various complex groups. if i am thinking about a scientific problem, an abundance of reminiscences of previous reading and imaginative ideas of possible solutions, associative thoughts and conclusions are with equal vividness before my mind and the forthcoming thought may be influenced by this total combination. i have no right whatever to say that the idea of a certain solution excludes there in my mind the consideration of the books which i have read and of the discussions which i have heard. emotions may be superadded. in short, a world of mental states may be held together by one act of attention. and new and ever new thoughts are shooting in, and all still find place there in the field attended to, while on the other hand my slight headache is inhibited and an appointment is forgotten. at a gay banquet, my attention may be given to the whole hall with all its color effects and its flowers, and to all that the table offers and to the music from the orchestra and to the jokes of my neighbors. it is not true that any one of those parts suppresses the vividness of the others, they seem rather to maintain and to help one another; and yet in the next moment, my neighbor may bring me news which absorbs my mind entirely and leaves no room for the flowers and the music and the meal. how far can psychology do justice to these characteristics of attention? there seems to be but one way. the attended-to idea does not exclude every other idea, but it does exclude the opposite idea, and opposite to each other is here again that pair of ideas which lead to opposite actions, to opposite psychophysical attitudes. we must remember here the psychomotor character of our brain processes which we so fully discussed. we recognized the fundamental truth that there is no sensorial state which is not at the same time the starting-point for motor reaction. we recognized that the brain is by its whole psychological development a great switchboard which transfers incoming currents into outgoing ones and that its biological meaning lies in the fact that it is the center piece of an arc which leads from the sense organs to the muscles. we cannot conceive of those relations as complex enough; we know, of course, that millions of nerve fibers lead from the periphery to the highest psychophysical apparatus in the cortex of the brain and that millions of fibers bring about the interrelation between these central stations, but we must never forget that millions of fibers also represent the outgoing paths and that they too lead down to lower central motor instruments which are again in numberless corelations. any impression is thus a starting point for attitudes and reactions and it is an empty abstraction to consider it otherwise. an idea is never, psychophysically considered, the end of the process, it is always also a beginning. no external action may follow, but the mental impulse to such is nevertheless starting in the highest center. if we look at the landscape, every single spot of color, reaching a nerve fiber in our eye and finally a sensory cell in our brain, is there the starting point for an impulse to make an eye movement in the direction of the seen point. the eye may remain entirely quiet as the impulse to move to the right and to the left, to move up and to move down, may be equally strong, but those thousands of impulses work in the motor paths and only their equilibrium results in the suppression of the outer movement. with such motor scheme, we begin to understand the selective process in attention. an impression may be accompanied by other stimuli and associations, by thoughts and ideas, and thousands of sensory excitements may thus arise in the cortex, but only those have a chance for full vividness of development which coöperate in the motor action already started. those impressions which would lead to the opposite actions have no chance because their motor paths are blocked and their own full development is dependent upon their possibility of expression. to close the path means to inhibit the idea which demands such action. we can attend to a hundred thoughts together, if they all lead to the same attitude and deed. we can look at the opera, can see every singer and every singer's gown, can listen to every word, can have the whole plot in mind, can hear the thousands of tones which come from the orchestra; and yet combine all that in one act of attention, because it all belongs to the same setting of our reactive apparatus. whatever the one wants is wanted by the others. but if at the same time our neighbor speaks to us, we do not notice it; his words work as a stimulus which demands an entirely different motor setting as answer. therefore the words remain unvivid and unnoticed. to attend means therefore to bring about a motor setting by which the object of attention finds open channels for discharge in action. which particular action is needed in the state of attention cannot be doubtful. attention demands those motor responses and those inner steps by which the object of attention shows itself more fully and more clearly. when we give attention to the picture we want to see more details, when we give attention to the problem we want to recognize more of the factors involved, when we give attention to the banquet we want to grasp more of the pleasurable features. this aim of attention involves that, as part of such reactions, the sense organs become adjusted; we fixate the eyeball, we listen, and in consequence the object itself becomes clearer, and through the easy passage into the motor channels the whole impression becomes vivid. at the same time, all those associations must be reënforced and become vivid too which lead to the same action. on the other hand, the opening of the one passageway closes the path to the opposite action and inhibits the impressions which would interfere with our interest. every act of attention becomes, therefore, a complex distribution in the reënforcement and inhibition of mental states. now let us come back to suggestion. it shares, we said, with attention, the power to reënforce and to inhibit. but if we examine what is involved in the suggestion of an idea, we find surely more than a mere turning of the attention towards one idea and turning the attention away from another idea. that which characterizes and constitutes suggestion is a belief in the idea, an acceptance of the idea as real and the dismissal of the opposite idea as unreal. yes, we may say directly that it is meaningless to speak of suggesting an idea; we suggest either an action or, if no action is concerned, we suggest belief in an idea. if i suggest to the fearful man at twilight that the willow-tree trunk by the wayside is a man with a gun, i do not turn his attention to an abstract idea of a robber nor do i simply awaken the visual impression of one, but i make him believe that such an idea is there realized, that he really sees the person. if i suggest to him that he hears distant bells ringing or that he feels a slight headache, he may not be suggestible enough to accept it, but if he accepts it he is not simply attending to the idea which i propose but he is convinced of its real existence. the same holds true with the negative; if i suggest to him that the slight headache of which he complained has disappeared or that the smell which he noticed has stopped, i do not simply invite him to think of the absence of such sensations. it becomes for him a suggestion only if he becomes convinced that these disturbances have now become unreal. the same holds true for all those suggestions of ideas which belong to our practical life, the suggestions which art imprints on our minds, or which politics and religion impart. as long as we are under the suggestion of the novelist, we really believe in the existence of the heroine; we really believe in the validity of the political party principle; it is not an argument to which we simply give our attention, it becomes a suggestion only when the belief in its objective existence controls our minds. we may say in general that suggestions which are not suggestions of actions are without exception suggestions of belief. actions and beliefs are the only possible material of any suggestion. yet what else is a belief than a preparation for action? i may think of an object without preparing myself for any particular line of behavior. here in the room i may think of rain or sunshine on the street as a mere idea, but to know that it now really rains or shines means something entirely different. it means a completely new setting in my present attitude, a setting by which i am prepared to act along the one or the other line, to take an umbrella or to take a straw hat, when i am to leave the house. i may think of the door of this room as locked or unlocked without transcending the mere sphere of imagination, but to believe that it is the one or the other means a new setting in my motor adjustments. if it is locked i know that i cannot leave the room without a key. every belief means the preparation for a definite line of action and a new motor adjustment in the whole system of motor paths, an adjustment by which my actions in future will be switched off at once into particular paths. and there is theoretically no difference whether my belief refers to the proposition that the door is locked or that a god exists in heaven. but if every belief is such a new motor setting, then we are evidently brought back to the mechanism which was essential for every suggestion of action on the one side and for every process of attention on the other side, namely, the mechanism of antagonistic movements. to prepare ourselves for one line of action means to close beforehand the channels of discharge for the opposite. the suggestible mind sees the man with a gun on the wayside because he is preparing himself in his expectation for the appropriate action; he is ready for the fight or ready to run away, and every line of the tree trunk is apperceived with reference to this motor setting. the smell, on the other hand, has disappeared under the influence of the suggestion because a new motor adjustment has set in, in which he is prepared to act as if there were no smell. the difference between suggestion and attention lies thus only in this: the motor response in attention aims towards a fuller clearness of the idea, for instance, by fixating, listening, observing, searching; while the motor response in suggestion aims towards the practical action in which the object of the idea is accepted as real. in attention, we change the object in making it clearer; in suggestion, we change ourselves in adapting ourselves to the new situation in which we believe. if you consider attention as a psychophysical process open to physiological explanation, you have surely no reason to seek anything mysterious in the process of suggestion; and no new principle is involved, if we come from the effect of the smallest suggestive hint to the complex and powerful suggestions which overwhelm the whole personality. the two great types of suggestion, the suggestion of actions and the suggestion of ideas, have now come nearer together since we have seen that the suggestion of ideas is really a suggestion of the practical acceptance of ideas, and that means, of a preparation towards a certain line of action. in the one case i suggest the idea of a certain action and this motor idea leads to the action itself, and in the other case i suggest a certain preparatory setting for action and that will lead to the appropriate action whenever the time for action comes. every suggestion is thus ultimately a suggestion of activity. the most effective suggestion for an action results, of course, if both methods are combined, that is, if we suggest not only the will to perform the action, but at the same time the belief that the end of the action will be real. suggestion reaches us usually from without. yet there is again no new principle involved, when the new motor setting results from one's own associations and emotions. then we speak of auto-suggestion. it is the same difference which exists between the attention called forth through an outer impression and the attention directed by our own will. loud noise demands our attention, and even a whispered word may awaken associations which stir up the attention. in both cases the channels for adjustment become opened without our intention. but if we are expecting something of importance, if we start to watch a certain development and to find something which we seek, we open the channels by our own effort beforehand and produce our own settings thus through a voluntary attention. in this way suggestion too may start from without,--by a spoken word, by a movement, by a hint; or may start within us and may give us our caprices and our prejudices. we must not neglect one other feature of the suggestion. not every proposition to action or to belief can be called a suggestion. essential too remains the other side of it, the overcoming of the resistance. a mere request, "please hand me the book on the table," or a mere communication, "it rains," may produce and will produce the fit motor response, the movement towards handing over the book or opening of the umbrella, and yet there may be no suggestive element involved. we have a right to speak of suggestion only if a resistance is to be broken down, that is, if the antagonistic impulse, or the motor setting for the antagonistic action is relatively strong. if i say to the boy, "hand me the book," when he was anxious to hide the book from my eyes and thus had the wish not to hand it to me and the tone of my request overwhelmed his own intention, then to be sure suggestion is at work. the stronger the resistance, the greater the degree of suggestive power which is needed to overcome the motor setting. if i say to the normal man, "it rains," while he sees the blue sky and the dry street, his impression will be stronger than my suggestion; but if he is suggestible and i tell him that it will rain, he may accept it and take an umbrella on his walk, even if no indication makes a change of weather probable. the present impression of the dry street was strong enough to resist the suggestion, the imaginative idea of that which is to be expected in the next hour was too weak, and was overwhelmed by the suggestion of the weather prophecy. it is clear that the whole suggestive effect, being one of a new motor setting, depends thus entirely on the equilibrium of the personality which receives the suggestion. every element which reaches the mind through sense organs or through associations must have influence in helping the one or the other side, that is, in opening the channels of action in the suggested direction or in the antagonistic one. the results appear surprising only if we forget how endlessly complex this psychomotor apparatus really is. if we disregard this complexity we may easily have the feeling that one person has an unexplainable influence over another, as if the will of the one could control in a mysterious way the will of the other. but as soon as we see that every action is the result of the coöperation of hundreds of thousands of psychomotor impulses which are in definite relation to antagonistic energies, and that the result depends upon the struggling and balancing of this most complex apparatus, then we understand more easily how outer influences may help the one or the other side to preponderance: as soon as the balance turns to the one side, a completely new adjustment must set in. and we understand especially that there is nowhere a sharp demarcation line between receiving communications and receiving suggestions. by small steps suggestion shades over into the ordinary exchange of ideas, propositions, and impressions, just as attention shades over into a neutral perception. to be suggestible means thus to be provided with a psychophysical apparatus in which new propositions for actions close easily the channels for antagonistic activity. such an apparatus carries with it the disadvantage that the personality may too easily be guided contrary to his own knowledge and experience. he will be carried away by every new proposition and will accept beliefs which his own thoughts ought to reject. on the other hand, it has the advantage that he will be open to new ideas, be ready to follow good examples, never stubbornly close his mind to the unaccustomed and the uncomfortable. it is easy to determine the degree of suggestibility. take this case. i draw on the blackboard of a classroom two circles of an equal size, and write in the one the number fourteen and in the other the number eighty-nine, and ask the children which is the larger circle. the suggestible ones will believe that the circle with the higher number in it is really larger than the other, the unsuggestible children will follow the advice of their senses and call both equal, and there may be a few children with negative suggestibility who would call the circle with the higher number the smaller circle. what happened to the suggestible ones was that the higher number brought about a motor attitude which faced that whole complex as being more imposing and this new motor setting was with them strong enough to overcome the motor adjustment which the circles alone produced. such experiments of the psychological laboratory can be varied a thousandfold, and it might not be unwise to introduce them into many practical fields. everybody knows for instance how much may depend upon the suggestibility of the witness in court. the suggestible witness believes himself to have seen and heard what the lawyer suggests. the memory picture which such a witness has in mind offers, of course, much less resistance to the opposite action and attitude and belief than the immediate impression. if i show the witness a colored picture of a room and close the book and ask him whether there were three or four chairs in the picture and whether the curtain was green or red, the suggestible man will decide for one or the other proposition, even if there were only two chairs and a blue curtain. the perception would have resisted the suggestion, the fading memory image cannot resist it. thus suggestibility is really a practical factor in every walk of life. and it is in the highest interests of psychotherapy that this intimate connection between suggestion and ordinary talk and intercourse, between suggestion and ordinary choice of motives, between suggestion and attention be steadily kept in view and that suggestion is not transformed into a kind of mysterious agency. to be sure, the importance of suggestion for psychotherapy is not confined to these suggestive processes of daily life. they play a rôle there, as we shall see, and we shall claim that even the mere presence of the physician may have its suggestive power and so may every remedy which he applies. but no doubt many of his suggestive effects depend on a power which far transcends the suggestions of our daily life. yet the psychologist must insist again that no new principle is involved, that even in the strongest forms of suggestion, in hypnotism, nothing depends upon any special influence emanating from the mind of the hypnotizer or upon any special power flowing over from brain to brain; but that everything results from the change of equilibrium in the psychomotor processes of the hypnotized, and thus upon the interplay of his own mental functions. all that is needed is a higher degree of suggestibility than is found in the normal life. in a more suggestible mind even the direct sense impressions may be overwhelmed by the proposition for an untrue belief and the strongest desires may yield to the new propositions of action. this library may then become a garden where the hypnotized person picks flowers from the floor, and the wise man stands on one leg and repeats the alphabet, if the hypnotizer asks him to do so. let us consider at first this extreme case. by a few manipulations i have brought a man into a deep hypnotic state. he is now unable to resist any suggestion, either suggestion of impulse or suggestion of belief, and as every one of the hypnotic phenomena can be explained in this way, we may claim that the hypnotic state is in its very nature a state of reënforced suggestibility. whether i say, "you will not move your arm," or whether i say, "you cannot move your arm," awakening in the one case the impulse to the suppression of the movement, in the other case the belief in the impossibility of the movement, in either case the result is the same; the arm remains stiff and any effort of his to move it is inhibited. i may go to the extreme and tell him that our friend by my side has left the room; he will not see him, he will not even hear a word which the friend speaks. if i take a hat in my hand and put it on the friend's head, the hat appears to hang in the air. every impression of sound or sight or touch which comes from the friend is entirely inhibited. the direct sense impression of eye and ear is thus completely overwhelmed by the suggestion. what has happened? are the manipulations which i applied sufficient to produce the changes by their physical influence? certainly not; they are of the most different kinds and yet all may have the same effect. perhaps i may have used the easy method of making the subject stare at a shining button held in front of his forehead. or i may have used slight tactual impressions, while he was lying with closed eyes, or i may have produced the abnormal state by monotonous noises of falling waterdrops, or i may have simply spoken to him and asked him to think of sleep and to relax and to feel tired, while i held my hand on his forehead or while i held his hand in mine. or i may have relied upon mild talking without touching him at all; and yet every time the result was reached in the same degree. there is thus certainly no special physical energy which like a magnetic force flows over. it cannot even be said that my will is engaged. i have often hypnotized without even thinking of the subject before me, going through adjusted manipulations while my thoughts were engaged in something else. i have even hypnotized over the telephone; and a written note may be substituted with the same result. i write to the patient that two minutes after receiving this letter by mail, he will fall into hypnotic sleep. the effect sets in; and yet at that time, i may not remember sending the note at all. it is thus entirely evident that the hypnotic effect results only from the mental conditions of the subject. whatever may stimulate his mind to the right kind of reaction will produce the desired result. the increased suggestibility thus sets in by his own imagination which may be stirred up by slight visual or tactual or acoustic stimuli or by monotonous words or by feelings of relaxation and especially by words which encourage sleep. but just because it is the play of his own imagination, the most essential factor certainly is the will and expectation of the subject. no one can really be hypnotized against his own will. and to expect strong hypnotic effect from a certain hypnotist is often in itself sufficient to produce hypnotic sleep. thus there is no special personal power necessary to produce hypnotism. everybody can hypnotize. and almost with the same sweeping statement it may be said everybody can be hypnotized, provided that he is willing to enter into this play of imagination. the young child or the insane person is therefore unfit. of course, not everybody can be hypnotized to the same degree. just as the normal suggestibility showed itself very different with different persons, the degree of artificial reënforcement varies still more. practically everybody can be brought to that breakdown of the resistance in which he can no longer open the eyes against the order of the hypnotist, but rather few can be brought to the point of seeing extended hallucinations, or accepting the disappearance of persons who are speaking, or of yielding to the impulse to a dangerous action. the highest reported degree, in which even criminal actions are performed by honest men, exists in my opinion only in the imagination of amateurs; it is certainly not difficult to produce sham crimes for performance sake, with paper daggers and toy pistols, but that is no proof at all that the hypnotized person would commit a crime under conditions under which he has the conviction that he faces a real criminal situation. but if we abstract from real crime, we certainly have to acknowledge that actions can be performed which appear in striking contrast with the habits and character of the normal personality, upset his knowledge, and are based on beliefs which would be immediately rejected under ordinary conditions. these higher degrees of hypnotic state are easily followed by complete loss of memory for all that happened during the abnormal state. how have we to interpret such a surprising alteration of mind? it lies near to compare it with sleep. the brain seems powerless to produce its normal ideas, the associations do not arise, the normal impulses have disappeared and a general ineffectiveness has set in; in short, the brain cells seem unable to function. of course, the explanation of sleep itself may offer difficulties. is it a chemical substance which poisons the brain during the sleep, or are the brain cells contracted so that the excitement cannot run over from the branches of one nerve cell into those of another? or are the blood-vessels contracted so that an anæmic state makes their normal function impossible? but whatever the physical condition of sleep may be, have we really a right to emphasize the similarity between sleep and hypnosis? after all that we have discussed, we ought rather to recognize that the hypnotic state too comes much nearer to the process of attention than to the process of sleep. we saw that in every act of attention the process of inhibition is essential. all that is not in harmony with the attended idea is suppressed. yet we should hesitate to say that in attention parts of our brain are asleep. we should feel reluctance to group such inhibition together with sleep because it would be a sleep which at any moment can pass from one part of the brain to others and which certainly leaves at every moment most of the cell groups unaffected. we saw that attention does not at all focus on one narrow point, but that an abundance of impressions, of ideas and associations, of thoughts and emotions can enter the field of attention, if they all lead to one and the same motor attitude, and that only the one part is inhibited which involves the opposite action. such a jumping sleep which at every moment selects a special part would be, of course, just the contrary of that which characterizes the sleep state of the fatigued brain. but exactly these characteristics of attention belong to hypnotism too. it is not true that the mind of the hypnotized is asleep and that perhaps only one or the other idea can be pushed into his mind. on the contrary, his mind is open to an abundance of ideas, just as in the normal state. if i tell him that this is a landscape in switzerland, he sees at once the mountains and the lakes, and his mind provides all the details of his reminiscences, and his imagination furnishes plenty of additions. his whole mind is awake; the feelings and emotions and volitions, the memories and judgments and thoughts are rushing on, and only that is excluded which demands a contrary attitude. this selective process stands decidedly in the center of the hypnotic experience and makes it very doubtful whether we are psychophysically on the right track, if we make much of the slight similarity between hypnosis and sleep. this has nothing to do with the fact that hypnosis is best brought about by suggesting the idea of sleep, that is, the belief that sleep will set in. this belief is indeed effective in removing all the ideas which are awake in the mind which would interfere with the willingness to submit to the suggestions of the hypnotizer. but the fact that belief in sleep and expectation of sleep bring with them the hypnotic state is not a proof that the hypnotic state itself is sleep. even the mental experiences which can remain in sleep, the dreams, are characteristically different from the hypnotic experience. thus the dreams show that unselective awakening of ideas which is to be expected from a general decrease of functioning. the hypnotic variation is characterized just by its selective narrowing of consciousness. for the same reason, hypnotism is strikingly different from such diseases of the mind as dementia. certainly in dementia too, many associations are cut off, but it is not a selective inhibition, it is a haphazard destruction resulting from the degeneration in the brain. the fundamental principle of the hypnotic state lies in its selective character. inhibited and cut off are those states which are antagonistic to the beliefs in the suggested ideas, and as their antagonism consists in their connection with opposite actions, the whole is again a question of motor setting. no doubt, such new motor setting can precede the normal sleep too; thus the sleeper may be insensitive to any surrounding noises, but perhaps awake at the slightest call from a patient who is intrusted to his care. in that case, one special feature of hypnotism is superadded to sleep but the sleep itself is not hypnotic. again sleep may go over into a state which shares many characteristic features with hypnotism, that is, somnambulism, and it may be said with a certain truth that hypnotism is artificial somnambulism. but somnambulism, while arising in sleep, is not at all a feature of sleep. while sleep is characterized by a decrease of sensitiveness and of selective powers, the selective process of hypnotism rather reënforces sensitiveness and memory in every field which is covered by the suggestive influence. stimuli may become noticeable which the normal man is unable to perceive, and long-forgotten experiences which seem inaccessible to the search of the waking mind may reproduce themselves and may vividly enter consciousness. again we have there symptoms which rather characterize the state of over-attention than the state of sleep. we might add further that we know states with all the characteristics of hypnotism in which even the subjective idea of sleep is entirely absent, for instance, all those which are usually called states of fascination. a certain shining light or a glimpse of an uncanny eye may startle and upset the imagination of the subject and throw him into a state of abnormally increased suggestibility. it is well known that whole epidemics of such captivation have occurred and have resulted in hysterias of the masses in which the subjects become the slaves of their impulse, perhaps to imitate what they see or hear, or to realize ideas in which they believe without logical warrant. they surely are not asleep, are not even partially asleep. every center of their brains would be ready to work, if the captivated attention were not forcing the mind in one direction and selectively suppressing every impulse to opposite actions. the developed hypnotism finally shades off into innumerable states of hypnoid character in which the sleeplike symptoms are entirely in the background. thus the increased suggestibility of the hypnotic state will result not from a partial sleeplike decrease of functioning but the decrease of function is a motor inhibition which results from over-attention. in the ordinary attention, our motor setting secures only an increase in clearness and vividness of the attended ideas, but in an abnormal over-attention the new motor setting produces a complete acceptance with all its consequences. abnormal or heightened attention thus goes directly over into the belief and into the impulse without resistance. there is no hypnotism which does not contain from the first stage this definite relation to certain objects of attention, usually to a particular person. all the manipulations, passes, fixation, monotonous speaking, and so on narrow the contents of consciousness but hold the idea of the hypnotizing person steadily in the center of attention. the awakened expectation of sleep, the associated feeling of tiredness all help to cut off attention from the remainder of the world, but as no real sleep sets in, this cutting off from the remainder reënforces the focusing of attention on the one central idea of the hypnotizing personality. every word and every movement of this personality become therefore absorbed with that over-attention which leads at once from a mere perceiving and grasping to a complete sinking into the suggested idea with the suppression of all opposites, and thus to a blind acceptance and belief. we saw before that such belief is indeed nothing else but a motor setting in which certain ways of action are prepared. we are to think in accordance with the belief in the suggested idea and the channels for discharge in the opposite direction are closed. even the ordinary life shows us everywhere that the step from attention to belief is a short one. the effort to grasp the object clearly works as a suggestion to accept that which we are seeking as really existing, and that from which we are to abstract and which we are to rule out through our attention, we believe to be non-existent. the prestidigitator does his tricks in order to sidetrack our attention, but he succeeds in making us believe that we see or do not see whatever he wishes. that the motor setting alone determines those changes and that a real sleeplike inability of the centers does not set in, can also be demonstrated by the results of later hypnotizations. i ask my hypnotized subject not to perceive the friend in the room; he is indeed unable to see him or to hear him. yet his visual and acoustic centers are not impaired, the defect is only selective, inasmuch as he sees me, the hypnotizer, and not the friend. but even this selection inhibits only the attitude and not the sensorial excitement. if i hypnotize him again to-morrow and suggest to him now to remember all that the friend did and said during yesterday's meeting, he is able to report correctly the sense impressions which he got, which were inhibited only as long as they contradicted the suggestion, but now rush to consciousness as soon as the suggestion is reversed. as a matter of course, he must therefore have received impressions through eye and ear in his hypnotic sleep of yesterday from all that happened, only he was not aware of it because the channels of the accepting attitude were blocked. as soon as the over-attention has produced the acceptance of the belief, all further effects are automatic and necessary. if i tell the hypnotized person that he cannot speak and he absorbs this proposition, with that completeness in which he accepts it as a fact, not speaking itself unavoidably results. the motor ideas with which the speech movement has to start are cut off and the subject yields passively to the fate that he cannot intonate his voice. thus a special influence on the will is in no way involved. if the idea is accepted, and that means, if the preparatory setting for the action has been completed, the ideas of opposite activity must remain ineffective; the suggested idea must discharge itself in action without resistance. as a matter of course the new line of action will then surround itself with its own associations and will thus give to the subject the impression that he is acting from his own motives. as soon as the psychophysical principles are understood, there is indeed no difficulty in going from the simplest experience to those spectacular ones where we may suggest to the profoundly hypnotized person that he is a little child or that he is george washington. in the one case, he will speak and cry and play and write as in his present imagination a child would behave; in the other case, he will pose in an attitude which he may have seen in a picture of washington. there is nothing mysterious and his utterances are completely dependent upon his own ideas, which may be very different from the real wisdom of a washington and the real unwisdom of a child. i may suggest to him to be the czar, by that he will not become able to speak russian. in the same way i may suggest changes of the surroundings; he may take my room for the river upon which he paddles his canoe, or for the orchard in which he picks apples from my bookshelves. finally there is no new principle involved, if the action which is prepared by any belief has to set in after the awaking from hypnotic sleep, the so-called post-hypnotic suggestion. as a matter of course, just these have an eminent value for psychotherapy. i may suggest to-day that the subject will overcome to-morrow his desire for the morphine injection, or that he will feel to-night the restfulness which will overcome his insomnia. but if the suggestion of an idea means belief, and if belief means a preparation for action, we have indeed no new factor before us if the action for which we prepare the subject is from the start related to a definite time. if we do not link it with the consciousness of a special time or of a special occasion which will occur later, the suggestion soon fades away. that my library is an orchard is forgotten perhaps within ten minutes, if i have not come back to it in the conversation. but if i say that after awaking as soon as i shall knock on my desk three times, you will be in the orchard again, the psychophysical apparatus is prepared, a new setting has set in, the three knocks will bring about the complete transformation. in short the difficulties disappear as soon as we are consistent in interpreting all suggestive influences as changes in the motor setting and as the result of the antagonistic character of all of our motor paths. we say the difficulties disappear. of course, that is meant in a relative sense only. it means essentially that we are able to bring the complex state of hypnotism down to the similar state of attention and motor adjustment, but of course we must not forget that we are far from a satisfactory explanation of the process in attention itself. we know that the opening of motor channels in one direction somewhat closes the channels for discharge in the opposite direction, but what mechanism does that work is still very obscure. whichever principle of hypothetical explanation we might prefer, it certainly leads to difficulties in view of the extreme complexity of attention in states of suggestion and hypnotism. we might think of a mechanism which through the medium of the finest blood-vessels should produce a localized anæmia in those centers which lead to the antagonistic action. or we might fancy that by extremely subtle machinery the resistance is increased in those tissues which lie between the various neurons, or we might even think of toxic and antitoxic processes in the cerebral regions; and any day may open entirely new ways of explanation. we may add that even if the mechanism of attention were completely explained, we are also still far from understanding the physiological changes which go on in the sphere of the blood-vessels or of the glands and the internal organs. we understand easily that the idea of the subject that he cannot move his arm keeps the arm stiff; but that his idea to blush really dilates the blood-vessels of his cheek is much less open to our causal understanding; still less that in very exceptional cases perhaps a part of the skin becomes inflamed, if we make believe that we touch it with a glowing iron. and yet here too we see that we move in the same direction and that we have to explain these exceptional and bewildering results by comparing them with the simpler and simpler forms, that the process of attention contains all the germs for the whole development. in claiming that hypnotism depends upon the over-attention to the hypnotizing person, we admit that the increased suggestibility belongs entirely to suggestions which come from without. only that which at least takes its starting point from the words or the movements of the hypnotizer finds over-sensitive suggestibility. ideas which arise merely from the associations of the subject himself have no especially favorable chance for acceptance. but surely we also know states in which the suggestibility for certain of one's own ideas is abnormally increased. great individual differences exist in that respect in normal life. there are normal hypochondriacs who believe that they feel the symptoms of widely different diseases under the influence of their own ideas, and others who are torturing themselves with fears on account of unjustified beliefs. but the abnormal increase of suggestibility parallel to that of hypnotism for suggestions from without exists for suggestions from within, mainly in nervous diseases, especially in neurasthenic, hysteric, and psychasthenic states. within certain limits, we might almost say that this increase of suggestibility for autosuggestion is the fundamental characteristic of these diseases, just as increase of suggestibility for heterosuggestions characterizes hypnotism. especially in earlier times, the theory was often proposed that hypnosis is an artificial hysteria. such a view is untenable to-day; but that hysteria too shows abundant effects of increased suggestibility is correctly indicated by such a theory. the hysteric patient may by any chance pick up the idea that her right arm is paralyzed or is anaesthetic and the idea at once transforms itself into a belief and the belief clings to her like an obsession and produces the effect that she is unable to move the arm or that she does not feel a pinprick on the skin. these autosuggestions may take a firmer hold of the mind than any suggestions from without, but surely such openness to selfimplanted beliefs must be acknowledged as symptomatic of disease, while hypnosis with its impositions can be broken off at any moment and thus should no more be classed among the diseases than are sleep and dreams. the hysteric or psychasthenic autosuggestion resists the mere will of breaking it off. here, therefore, is the classical ground for strong mental counterinfluences, that is, for psychotherapeutic treatment. experience shows that the strongest chance for the development of such autosuggestive beliefs exists wherever an emotional disposition is favorable to the arriving belief. but emotion too is after all fundamentally a motor reaction. the whole meaning of emotion in the biological sense is that it focuses the actions of man into one channel, cutting off completely all the other impulses and incipient actions. emotion is therefore for the expressions of man what attention is for the impressions. an emotional disposition means thus in every case a certain motor setting by which transition to certain actions is facilitated. it is thus only natural that a belief can settle the more easily, the more it is favored by an emotional disposition, as the motor setting for the one must prepare the other. hypnosis and hysteria thus represent the highest degrees of suggestibility, the one artificial, the other pathological; the one for suggestions from without, the other for suggestions from within. but between these two and the normal state there lie numberless steps of transition. the normal variations themselves may go to a limit where they overlap the abnormal artificial product, that is, the suggestibility of many normal persons may reach a degree in which they accept beliefs hardly acceptable to other persons in mild hypnotic condition. thus there is no sharp demarcation between suggestions in a waking state and suggestions in a hypnoid state. and the expectation of coming under powerful influence may produce a sufficient change in the motor setting to realize any wonders. moreover probably every physician who has a long experience in hypnotizing has found that his confidence in the effectiveness of the deep hypnotic states has been slowly diminished, while his belief in the surprising results of slight hypnotization and of hypnoid states has steadily grown and has encouraged him in his psychotherapeutic efforts. vi the subconscious the story of the subconscious mind can be told in three words: there is none. but it may need many more words to make clear what that means, and to show where the misunderstanding of those who give to the subconscious almost the chief rôle in the mental performance sets in. the psychology of suggestion, for instance, which we have now fully discussed without even mentioning the word subconscious, figures in most popular books in the treatises of both physicians and ministers as a wonderful dominance of the subconscious mind. the subconscious mind alone receives the suggestions and makes them effective, the subconscious mind controls the suggestive processes in consciousness, and the subconscious mind comes into the foreground and takes entire hold of the situation when the hypnotic state sets in. but we are always assured that there is no need of turning to the mystery of suggestion and hypnotism to find that uncanny subpersonality in us. we try to remember a name, or we think of the solution of a problem; what we are seeking does not come to consciousness and now we turn to other things; and suddenly the name flashes up in our mind or the solution of the problem becomes clear to us. who can doubt that the subconscious mind has performed the act? while our attention was given over to other questions, the subconscious mind took up the search and troubled itself with the problem and neatly performed what our conscious mind was unable to produce. moreover in every situation we are performing a thousand useful and well-adapted acts with our body without thinking of the end and aim. what else but the subconscious mind directs our steps, controls our movements, and adjusts our life to its surroundings? and is not every memory picture, every reminiscence of earlier experiences a sufficient proof that the subconscious mind holds its own? the poem which we learned years ago did not remain somewhere lingering in our consciousness, and if we can repeat it today, it must be because our subconscious mind has kept it carefully in its store and is ready to supply us when consciousness has need for it. surely if we think how this, our subconscious mind, is able to hold all our memories and all our learning, and how it transacts all the work of controlling our useful actions and of bringing up the right ideas, we may well acknowledge that compared with it our conscious life is rather a small part. it is as with the iceberg in the ocean; we know that only a small part is visible above the surface of the water and a ten times larger mountain swims below the sea. it seems, therefore, only logical to attach this whole subconscious mental life to a special subconscious personality. then we come to the popular theory of the two minds in us, the upper and the lower, of which we can hardly doubt that the lower one has on the whole the larger part of the business to perform. and we certainly have no right to give to the word lower mind the side-meaning that the activity is of a lower order. the most brilliant thoughts of the genius are not manufactured in his upper consciousness, they spring suddenly into his mind, their whole creation belongs thus to the assiduous work of the subconscious neighbor. there the inventor and discoverer gets his guidance, there the poet gets his inspiration, there the religious mind gets its beliefs. in short, the constitution of the mental state allows on the whole to the upper consciousness a rather decorative part while the real work is left for the lower house. yet it must be acknowledged that the scholars somewhat disagree as to the dignity of the lower mind. considering the usually accepted fact that in hypnotism the lower mind comes entirely over the surface, just these hypnotic events can indeed suggest two different views of the subconscious and this doubleness is reënforced if we still add the entertaining material which comes to light by the automatic writing of mediums in their trance. the hypnotized person is ready to perform any foolishness, is not influenced by any considerations of tact and taste and wisdom and respect, and thus some of the chief believers in the subconscious personality stick to the diagnosis that the lower mind in us which shows up in hypnotism is a rather brutal, stupid, lazy, cowardly, immoral creature which ordinarily rather deserves to be subdued by our noble and wise upper personality. and the automatic writings of the mediums indorse this disrespectful view, for it is difficult to gather more idiotic slang than the emanations of these letters of the planchette. on the other hand, the hypnotized person shows an increase of sensitiveness and hyperæsthesia in which perhaps optical impressions or smells may be noticed which the ordinary man cannot perceive. moreover the memory of the hypnotized is, as we saw, abnormally sharpened. entirely forgotten experiences may awake again. the same holds true for the hysteric in whom also, of course, the subconscious takes hold of the inner life. thus it seems entirely safe to say that the powers of the subconscious personality far surpass those of the upper conscious fellow, and that agrees with all those facts as to the subconscious origin of the work of the genius. further, has it not been found again and again that the hypnotized and the hysteric cannot only remember long-forgotten parts of the past but have telepathic knowledge for distant events and even mysterious premonitions of the field of occurrences of the future? hypnotism is essentially the same as the old mesmerism, and mesmerism was widely acknowledged as clairvoyance, and all that harmonizes again with the experiences of the mediums whose subconscious mind in trance enters into contact with the spirits of the dead. the subconscious personality is thus really a metaphysical power which transcends the limitations of the earthly person altogether and has steady connection with the endless world of spirit and the inner soul of the universe. most popular books, it is true, do not demand from their readers the choice between the one or the other type of the lower personality, between that brutal, vicious, ignorant creature and that far-seeing, inspired, powerful soul. they simply mix the two and adapt the special faculties of this underground man to the special requirements of the particular chapter, the subconscious being unusually wise or unusually stupid in accordance with the special facts which are just then to be explained. even that does not always settle all difficulties. they may discover, for instance, that the subconscious mind with which we deal in the hypnotized person has again itself a subconsciousness. if we tell the hypnotized person not to see a certain picture on the wall, this subconscious personality perceives the whole room with the exception of the picture. yet after all someone sees this picture, because if we hypnotize him the next time and ask him what the picture contained, he now knows its contents. thus they must have been recognized in a sub-subconsciousness, and we therefore come to a personality which lives on a floor still below the basement. but experiment can demonstrate that even this most hidden personality has still its secrets which are handed downwards. in short, we finally have not merely two but a number of personalities in us. but now let us leave these fantasies of psychological fiction. let us turn to the concrete facts, let us see them in the spirit of modern scientific psychology, let us try to explain them in harmony with the principles of psychological explanation, and let us discriminate the various groups of facts which have led to that easy-going hypothesis of the subconscious. discrimination indeed is needed, as it would be impossible to bring the whole manifold of facts under one formula, but there is certainly no unification reached by simply putting the same label on all the varieties and behaving as if they are all at once explained when they are called the functions of the subconscious. two large groups may be separated. facts are referred to the subconscious mind which do not belong to the mind at all, neither to a conscious nor to a subconscious one, but which are simply processes in the physical organism; and secondly, facts are referred to the subconscious mind which go on in the conscious mind but which are abnormally connected. thus the subconscious mental facts are either not mental but physiological, or mental but not subconscious. what does the scientific psychologist really mean by consciousness? we must now think back to our discussion of the principles which control the fundamental conceptions of modern psychology. we saw clearly that the psychology which is a descriptive and explanatory science of mental phenomena can by no means have the ambition to be a full interpretation of the inner reality. our inner life, we saw, is not a series of phenomena, is not a chain of objects which we are aware of and which we therefore can describe, and which finally we can explain. but in its living reality, we saw that it is purposive, has a meaning and aim, is will and intention, and can thus be understood in its true character, not by describing and explaining it but by interpreting it and appreciating it. this is the life attitude towards personalities when we deal man to man. we do not at first consider ourselves or our fellows as mental objects to be explained but always as subjects to be understood in their meaning. if we pass from this primary attitude to the attitude of the scientific psychologist we gain, as we saw, an artificial perspective. we must consider then our inner experience of ourselves with all our states as a series of objects made up of elements connected by law. instead of the real things which in our real life are objects of will and purpose, tools and means for us, the psychologist knows only objects of awareness, objects which have no meaning, but which simply exist and which are no longer related to a will but are connected with other objects as causes and effects. now we deal no longer with the chairs and tables before us but from a psychological point of view they become perceptive ideas of chairs and tables, ideas which are not in the room but in our own minds. while these objects of our will and of our personality become mere ideas, our will and personality themselves become, too, a series of phenomena. our self is now no longer the purposive will but is that group of sensations and ideas which clusters about the perception of our organism and its actions; in short, our self itself becomes an object of awareness. our whole inner experience thus becomes a manifold of objects. our self and the actions of our self are thus alike for the psychologist mere phenomena, mere objects which are perceived. will and emotion, memory idea and thought--they all are now passing appearances like the sunshine and rain, the flowers and waves. by this transformation the immediate will character of real life is given up, but instead of it a system of objects is gained, that allows description and explanation. if we are to deal at all with inner life not from a purposive but from a causal point of view, we are obliged to admit this reconstruction. without it we cannot have any science of the mind, without it we can understand the intentions of our neighbor and appreciate the truth and morality of his meanings but we cannot causally explain his experiences or determine which effects are to be expected. it is thus not an arbitrary substitution but a procedure just as necessary and logically obligatory as the work of the chemist who substitutes trillions of invisible atoms for the glass of water which he drinks. the possibility of causal explanation of the successive facts demands this remolding of the outer and of the inner world. we have discussed that before and now only have to draw the consequences. thus for the psychologist the mental world is a system of mental objects. to be an object means of course to be object of some subject which is aware of it. what else could it mean to exist at all as object if not that it is given to some possible subject? but the world of objects is twofold; we have not only the mental objects of the psychologist but also the physical objects of the naturalist. science must characterize the difference between those two and we pointed once before to the only fundamental difference. physical objects are those which are possible objects of awareness for every subject; psychical objects are those which are possible objects of awareness for one subject only. the tree which i see is as physical tree object for every man, it is the same tree which you and i see; my psychical perception of the tree is object for one subject only. my perception can never be your perception. our perceptions may agree but each has his own. as to the physical objects, we can entirely abstract from such reference to the subjects. we say simply: the tree exists or is part of nature; and only the philosopher is aware that we silently mean by it that it exists for every subject and that it is therefore not necessary to refer to any particular subject. but the perception of the tree which is either your idea or my idea evidently gets its existence only if it is referred and attached to a particular subject which is aware of it. such subject of awareness is that which the psychologist calls consciousness and all the ideas and volitions and emotions and sensations and images which make up the mental life are then contents of the consciousness or objects of the consciousness. to have psychical existence at all means thus to be object of awareness for a consciousness. something psychical which simply exists but is not object of consciousness is therefore an inner contradiction. consciousness is the presupposition for the existence of the psychical objects. psychical objects which enjoy their existence below consciousness are thus as impossible as a wooden piece of iron. if consciousness is nothing but the subject of awareness for the individual objects, we see at once certain consequences which are too often forgotten in the popular, haphazard psychology. in the scientific system of psychology, consciousness has for instance nothing whatever to perform, that is, consciousness itself is in no way active. the active personality of real life has been left behind and has itself been transformed into that self which is merely content of consciousness. the person who acts and performs the deeds of our life is then only a central content of our consciousness which is crystallized about the idea of our organism. it has thus become one of the contents of which consciousness itself is passively aware. consciousness is an inactive spectator for the procession of the contents. thus consciousness itself cannot change anything in the content nor can it connect the contents. no other function is left to consciousness but merely that of awareness. every change and every fusion and every process must be explained through the relations of the various contents to one another. consciousness has, therefore, not the power to prefer the one idea or to reject the other, to reënforce the one sensation and to inhibit the other. from a psychological point of view, we have seen before that even attention does not mean an activity of consciousness but a change in the content of consciousness. certain sensations become more impressive, more clear, and more vivid, and others fade away, become indistinct and disappear, but all that goes on in the content of consciousness and the spectator, consciousness itself, simply becomes aware of those changes. consciousness has also in itself no special span, ideas appear or disappear not because consciousness expands or narrows itself but because the causal conditions awaken or suppress the various contents. consciousness has in itself no limit; all organization belongs to the content. whatever psychical states are attributed to one organism belong thus to its consciousness but all the connections are entirely connections of the content. we, therefore, have not even the right to say that consciousness, as such, has unity. unity too belongs to the organization of the content. one part of the content hangs together with the other parts but consciousness is only the constant condition for their existence. where there is no unity, there it cannot have any meaning to speak of the double or triple existence. there may be a disconnection in the various parts of the content and a dissociation by which the normal ties between the various contents may be broken but consciousness itself cannot fall asunder. thus consciousness cannot have any different degrees. the same consciousness experiences the distinct clear content and the vague fading confused content. thus also consciousness can never be aware of itself and the word self-consciousness is easily misleading. in psychology, it can never mean that the consciousness which is a subject of all experience is at the same time object of any experience. its whole meaning lies in its being the passive spectator. that of which consciousness becomes aware in self-consciousness is the idea of the personality, which is certainly a content. the personality, the actor of our actions, is thus never anything but an object in psychology, and consciousness never anything but a subject. consciousness itself is thus in no way altered when the idea of the personality is changing. only if all this is carelessly confused, if consciousness is sometimes treated as meaning subject of consciousness, and at another time as meaning the content of consciousness, and again at another time the unified organization of the content, and at still another time the connection of the content with the personality, and if finally all that is confused with the purposive reality of the immediate personal life--only then, do we find the way open to those tempting theories of the subconscious personality. * * * * * if, instead, we stick to the scientific view, we find the following facts. first, we have everywhere with us the fact that the earlier experiences may again enter into consciousness as memory images or as imaginative ideas, that is, in the order in which they are experienced a long time before or in a new order, either with a feeling of acquaintance or without it. certainly at no time is the millionth part of what we may be able to reproduce present in our consciousness. where are those words of the language, those faces of our friends, those landscapes, and those thoughts; where have they lingered in the time of their seclusion? scientific psychology has no right to propose any other theory as explanation but that no mental states at all remain and that all which remained was the disposition of physiological centers. when i coupled the impression of a man with the sound of his name, a certain excitement of my visual centers occurred together with the excitement of my acoustical centers; the connecting paths became paths of least resistance, and any subsequent excitement of the one cell group now flows over into the other. it is the duty of physiology to elaborate such a clumsy scheme and to make us understand in detail how those processes in the neurons can occur and it is not the duty of psychology to develop detailed physiological hypotheses. psychology has to be satisfied with the fact that all the requirements of the case can be furnished by principle through physiological explanation. least of all ought we to be discouraged by the mere complexity of the process. if a simple sound and a simple color sensation, or a simple taste and simple smell sensation, can associate themselves through mere nervous conditions of the brain, then there is nothing changed by going over to more and more complex contents of consciousness. we may substitute a whole landscape for a color patch or the memory of a book for a word, but we do not reach by that a point where the physiological principle of explanation, once admitted, begins to lose its value. complexity is certainly in good harmony with the bewildering manifoldness of those thousands of millions of possible connections between the brain cells. every experience leaves the brain altered. the nerve fibers and the cells have gone into new stages of disposition for certain excitements. this disposition may be slowly lost. in that case the earlier experience cannot be reproduced; we have forgotten it. but as long as the disposition lasts--it is quite indifferent whether we conceive it more in terms of chemical changes or physical variations, as processes in the nerve cells or between the nerve cells--the physiological change alone is responsible for the awakening of the memory idea under favoring associative conditions. of course, someone might reply: can we not fancy that there remains on the psychical side also a disposition? each idea which we have experienced may have left a psychical trace which alone may make it possible that the idea may come back to us again. but what is really meant and what is gained by such a hypothesis? first, do not let us forget that such a proposition could only have one possible end in view, namely, the explanation of the reappearance of memories. but when we discussed the basis of physiological psychology, we convinced ourselves that mental facts as such are not causally connected anyhow. our real inner life has its internal connections, connections of will and purpose, but as soon as we have taken that great psychological step and look on inner life as merely psychological objects, then the material is connected only through the underlying physiological processes and we can never explain causally the appearance of an idea through the preceding existence of another idea. we may expect one after the other, but we have no insight into the mechanism which makes the second follow after the first. such insight into necessary connection we find only on the physical side, and we saw that just here lies the starting point for the modern view of physiological psychology. if that holds true for the connections between idea and idea, of course it holds true in the same way for the connection between mental disposition and the corresponding memory. we can understand causally that a chemical disposition in the nerve fibers brings about a chemical excitement in those neurons, but how a mental disposition is to create mental experience we could not understand; and to explain it casually, we should need again a reference to the underlying physiological processes. the hypothesis of mental dispositions would thus be an entirely superfluous addition by which we transcend the real experience without gaining anything for the explanation. secondly, if we really needed a mental disposition for each memory picture, in addition to the physiological disposition of the brain cells, can we overlook that exactly the same thing would then be necessary for every perception also? the outer impression produces, perhaps through eye or ear or skin, an excitement of the brain cell and this excitement is accompanied by a sensation; and no one fancies that the appearance of this sensation is dependent upon a special disposition for it on the mental side. no one fancies it, because it is evident that such a hypothesis again would be entirely useless. if every new perception needed such a special mental disposition, we should have to presuppose dispositions for everything which possibly can come into our surroundings. every smell, every word, every face which comes anew to us would need its special ready-made disposition. in other words, our mind would contain the disposition for every possible idea and that would mean that these dispositions would be in no way helps for explanation. if the disposition exists for everything, no one particular thing can be explained by the existence of that disposition. again we should have to rely entirely upon the physiological brain excitement for explaining that this word or that word is perceived by our mind. but if the brain excitement alone is sufficient to explain the new perception in the mind, then no reason can be found why the renewed brain excitement would not be sufficient to renew the mental experience. thus there is nowhere room for mental dispositions below the level of consciousness. thirdly, what could we really mean by such mental dispositions? a physiological disposition for a physiological action is certainly not the action itself. the finger movement in piano playing finds only a disposition in my brain centers, in case i am trained; the movement itself does not last. but the disposition is at least itself a change in the physical world. the molecules are somehow differently placed, the disposition has thus as much objective existence as the resulting movement. nothing at all similar can be imagined in the sphere of psychical contents. such mental dispositions would have to exist entirely outside the world of concrete mental experiences and, if we scrutinize carefully, we soon discover that such theories are only lingering reminiscences of the purposive view of life, and do not fit at all into the causal one. if we take the purposive attitude, then every idea and every will contains indeed all that its meaning involves and everything which we can logically develop out of it is by intention contained in it. all mathematical calculations are then contained in the thought of figures and forms, but they are contained there only by intention, they are logically inclosed; psychologically the consciousness of the figures and forms does not contain any disposition for the development of mathematical systems. we indeed have no right to throw into a psychological subconsciousness all that which is not present but involved by intention in the ideas and volitions of our purposive life. if thus the memory idea is linked with the past experience entirely by the lasting physiological change in the brain, we have no reason to alter the principle, when we meet the memory processes of the hypnotized person or the hysteric. it is true their memory may bring to light earlier experiences which are entirely forgotten by the conscious personality, but that ought to mean, of course, only that nerve paths have become accessible in which the propagation of the excitement was blocked up before. that does not bring us nearer to the demand for a subconscious mental memory. the threshold of excitability changes under most various conditions. cells which respond easily in certain states may need the strongest stimulation in others. the brain cells which are too easily excited perhaps in maniacal exultation would respond too slowly in a melancholic depression. hypnotism, too, by closing the opposite channels and opening wide the channels for the suggested discharge, may stir up excitements for which the disposition may have lingered since the days of childhood and yet which would not have been excited by the normal play of the neurons. quite secondary remains the question of how these reproduced images finally appear in consciousness, that is, whether they appear with reference to earlier happenings and are thus felt as remembrances, or whether they enter as independent imaginations, or whether they finally, under special conditions, take the character of real, new perceptions. the latter case is well-known in crystal-gazing, where long-forgotten memory ideas project themselves into the visual field like hallucinations. but for the theory of the subconscious, even these uncanny crystal visions do not mean more than the simplest awakening of the experience of a landscape image of yesterday. we turn to a second group of facts and again we have no fault to find with the observation of the facts, even of the most surprising and exceptional ones. our objection refers to the interpretation of them. this second group contains the active results of such physiological nervous dispositions. in the first group, the dispositions come in question only as conditions for a new excitement which was accompanied by mental experience. in this second group, the dispositions are causes for other physiological processes which either lead to actions or to influences on other mental processes. the dispositions are here working like the setting of switches which turn the nervous process into special tracks. in the simple cases, of course no one doubts that a purely physiological basis is involved. the decapitated frog rubs its skin where it is touched with a drop of muriatic acid in a way which is ordinarily referred to the trained apparatus of his spinal cord, as no brain is left, and the usefulness of the action and its adjustment is very well understood as the result of the connecting paths in the nervous system. from such simple adjustment of reactions of the spinal cord, we come step by step to the more complex activities of the subcortical brain centers, and finally to those which are evidently only short-cuts of the higher brain processes. that we react at every change of position with the right movements to keep our bodily balance, that we walk without thinking of our steps, that we speak without giving conscious impulse for the various speech movements, that we write without being aware of the motor activity which we had to learn slowly, that we play the piano without thinking of the special impulses of the hands, that we select the words of a hasty speech, if we have its aim in mind, without consciously selecting the appropriate words--all that is by continuous transitions connected with those simplest automatic reactions. and from here again, we are led over gradually perhaps to the automatic writings of the hysteric who writes complex messages without having any idea of their content in consciousness. it is in such cases certainly a symptom of disease that the activity of these lower brain centers can go over into the motor impulse of writing without producing secondary effects in the highest conscious brain centers; it is hysterical. but that the message of the pencil can be brought about by such operation of lower brain centers, or at least with imperfect coöperation of the higher brain centers, is certainly entirely within the limits of the same physiological explanation. on the other hand, nothing is changed in the theoretic principles of the case if the effect of these automatic processes in the nervous system is not an external muscle action at first, but an influence on other brain centers which may furnish the consciousness with new contents. we try to remember a name, that is, a large number of neuron processes are setting in which normally lead to the excitement of that particular process which furnishes us the memory image of the name. but those brain cells may not respond, the channels may be blocked somehow or the excitability of those cells may be lowered. now new excitements engage our psychophysical system. we are thinking of other problems. in the meantime, by the new equilibrium in the brain the blockade in these first paths may slowly disappear or the threshold of excitability may be changed. the physiological excitement may now be carried effectively into those tracts. the cell response sets in and suddenly the name comes to our mind. this purely physiological operation in our brain paths must thus have exactly the same result which it would have had, if more parts of the process had been accompanied by conscious experience. and again from mere remembering a forgotten name, we come by slow steps to the solution of a problem, to the invention, and finally to the creation of the genius. superficiality of thought is easily inclined to object to such a physiological interpretation and perhaps to denounce it pathetically as a crude materialism which lowers the dignity of mental work. nothing shows more clearly the confusion between a purposive and causal view of the mind. in the purposive view of our real life, only our will and our personality have a meaning and can be related to the ideas and higher aims. nature is there nothing but the dead material which is the tool of our will and which has to be mastered by the personality. in that world alone lie our duty and our morality. but as soon as we have gone over to the causal aspect of our life and have taken the point of view of the psychologist, making our inner life a series of contents of consciousness, of psychical phenomena, we have transformed our inner experience in such a way that it has become itself nothing but nature. it is mental nature, nature of psychical stuff, but each part of it is nothing but a mental element, a mental atom without any meaning and without any value; nothing but a link in the chain, nothing but a factor in the explanation of the whole, nothing to which any ethical or æsthetic or logical or religious significance can any longer be attached. the psychical sensations and the physical atoms are equally material for naturalistic explanation. to understand causally a certain effect, for instance the creation of a work of art, of a discovery or a thought or a deed as the product of psychical processes, is thus in no way more dignified or more valuable than to understand it as the product of physiological brain processes. the one is not more dignified than the other because both alike have nothing whatever to do with dignity. both alike are the necessary results of the foregoing processes, and to attach a kind of sentimental preference to the explanation through conscious factors is nothing but a confused reminiscence again of the entirely different purposive view of life. and surely nothing is gained for the higher values of life if this confusion sets in, because if the popular mind becomes unable to discriminate between the secondary, causal, artificial aspect of science and the primary, purposive aspect of life, the opposite effect lies still nearer: the values of the real life suffer and are crowded out by the knowledge of the scientific facts. man's moral freedom is then wrongly brought in question, as soon as it is learned that every action is the product of brain processes. life and science alike will gain the more, the more clearly the purposive and the causal point of view are separated and the more it is understood that this causal aspect itself is demanded by certain purposes of life. the oratory of those who denounce the physiological theories as lacking idealism in reality undermines true moral philosophy. there is no idealism which can really flourish merely by ignoring the progress of science and confusing the issues. the true values of the higher life cannot be safely protected by that thoughtless idealism which draws its life from vagueness and which therefore has to be afraid of every new discovery in scientific psychology. our real ideals do not lie at all in the sphere in which the problem of causally explaining the psychological phenomena arises. our conscious experiences are thus indeed not only here and there, but usually the products of chains of processes which go on entirely on the physiological side. we have no reason at all to seek for those preceding actions any mental accompaniment outside of consciousness, that means, any subconscious mental states. then, of course, this physiological explanation also covers entirely those after-effects of earlier experiences, especially emotional experiences, which the physician nowadays likes to call subconscious "complexes." we shall see what an important rôle belongs to these facts, especially in the treatment of hysteria and psychasthenia, but the interpretation again ought to avoid all playing with the conception of the subconscious. emotional experiences may produce there some strong stable dispositions in the brain system which become mischievous in reënforcing or inhibiting certain thoughts and actions without awakening directly conscious experiences. the whole psychological switch system may have been brought into disorder by such abnormal setting of certain parts, but the connection of each resulting accident with the primary emotional disturbances does not contradict the fact that all the causes lie entirely in disturbances of the central paths. it is a change in the neurons and their connections. to discover it we may have to go back to early conscious experiences, but in the process itself there is no mental factor, and therefore no subconscious emotion is responsible for the mischief carried out. both groups of facts which we have studied so far, have dealt with processes which were indeed not conscious but which we had no right to call subconscious inasmuch as they contained no mental process at all but only physiological dispositions and actions. we turn finally to the other smaller and more abnormal group of so-called subconscious facts in which the facts are mental indeed and not only physiological, but not at all outside of consciousness and thus again not subconscious. a conscious fact may easily suggest the appeal to subconscious theories to those who have accepted such theories for other reasons. there are, for instance, plenty of mental experiences which we do not notice or which we do not recognize. yet if we find later that they must have influenced our mind, we are easily inclined to refer them to subconscious activity. but it is evident that to be content of consciousness means not at all necessarily to be object of attention or object of recognition. awareness does not involve interest. if i hear a musical sound, i may not recognize at all the overtones which are contained in it. as soon as i take resonators and by them reënforce the loudness of those overtones, they become vivid for me and i can now notice them well even when the resonators are removed. i surely was aware of them, that is, had them in consciousness all the time but there were no contrast feelings and no associations in consciousness which gave them sufficient clearness to attract attention. in this way i may be again led by gradual stages to more and more complex experiences. i may overlook and yet include within my content of consciousness most various parts of my surroundings; and yet the neglected is not less in consciousness itself than the attended. much that figures in literature as subconscious means indeed nothing else but the unattended. but it belongs to the elements of psychological analysis to recognize that the full content of consciousness is always larger than the narrow field of attention. this narrow field on the other hand has certainly no sharp demarcation line. there is a steady shading off from the most vivid to the least vivid. we cannot grasp those least vivid contents of consciousness, we cannot fixate them as such, because as soon as we try to hold them, they move from the periphery of the content into its center and become themselves vivid and clear. but as we are surely aware of different degrees of clearness and vividness in our central mass of contents, we have no difficulty in acknowledging the existence of still lower degrees of vividness in those elements which are blending and fusing into a general background of conscious experiences. nothing stands out there, nothing can be discriminated in its detail. that background is not even made up of whole ideas and whole memories and whole emotions and feelings and judgments and volitions, but of loose fragments; half ideas and quarter ideas, atoms of feelings and incipient impulses and bits of memory images are always mixed in that half-dark background. and yet it is by principle not less in consciousness, and consciousness itself is not different for these contents. it is not half-clear consciousness, not a lower degree of awareness, only the objects of awareness are crumbled and fading. whether these background objects really exist can only be made out by studying carefully the changes which result under different conditions, the influences which those loose parts have on the structure of the whole, and the effect of their complete disappearance. i may never really notice a little thing in my room and yet may be aware that it has been taken away. the visual image of it was an element of my mental background, when i was sitting at my desk, but it never before moved to the center of my conscious content. but this center itself is also constantly changing. sometimes the one, sometimes the other idea may enter into it, but in this alternation that which is not in the focus either remains in consciousness unattended or when it disappears from it it loses its mental character altogether. if i attend a tiresome lecture while my mind is engaged with a practical problem of my own life, there may be a steady rivalry between the words which come with the force of outer stimulus to my brain and make me listen and my inner difficulties which claim my attention. i listen for a while, and then suddenly, without noticing it, my own thoughts may have taken the center of the stage and again without sudden interruption a word may catch my attention. while i was thinking of my own problem the sounds of the lecturer were really outside of my field of attention, yet some remark now pushes itself again into the center. that does not mean that a subconscious mind is listening while my lucid mind was thinking, but it does mean that those words were unattended and remained in the periphery of the field of consciousness. but when some of the sentences stirred up in that peripheral field some important associations, they were strong enough to produce a new motor reaction by which the mental equilibrium became changed again and by which the lecturer overwhelmed my private thoughts. yet even this state of mind, without any break, can go over into an absolutely physiological process. i may for a while really inhibit the lecturer's voice completely and remain in the thoughts of my own imagination. after a minute or two, the resistance against the acoustical stimulus will certainly be broken and the sound will again enter into my consciousness, but in that interval there was no subconscious and not even any unattended mental function; there was no mental process at all. the sound reached my brain but as the motor setting was adverse, the sounds did not bring about that highest act of physiological transmission which is accompanied by mental contents. thus it became entirely physiological. yet of course every word reached my brain and left traces there. if i were hypnotized after the lecture and thus the threshold for the real awakening of brain excitements lowered, it might not be impossible that some of the thoughts of the lecturer which did not enter my consciousness at all, are now afterwards in the hypnotic state stirred up in me. yet even that would not indicate that they had become mental and thus subconscious at the time of the lecture. the so-called subconscious, which in reality is fully in consciousness but only unnoticed, easily shades over into that unconscious which is also in consciousness but dissociated from the idea of the own personality and thus somewhat split off from the interconnected mass of conscious contents. wherever we meet such phenomena, we are in the field of the abnormal. the normal mental life is characterized by the connectedness of the contents. yet even that holds true, of course, only if we think of those mental states which exist at one and the same instant in consciousness. as soon as we consider the succession of mental events, we cannot doubt that even normal experience shows breaks, lapses, and complete annihilation of that which a moment before was a real content in our consciousness. we may have looked at our watch and certainly had in glancing at the dial a conscious impression, but in the next moment we no longer know how late it is. the impression did not connect itself with our continuous personal experience, that is, with that chief group of our conscious contents which we associate with the perception of our personality. under abnormal conditions of the brain, larger and larger parts of the completely conscious experience may thus be cut off from the continuity of conscious life. but to be in consciousness, and therefore to be not-subconscious, does not mean to be through memory ties connected with the idea of our own personality. the somnanbulist, for instance, may get up at night time and write a letter, then go to bed again and not know anything of the event when he awakes in the morning. we have no reason to claim that he had no knowledge of the letter in his consciousness when he wrote it. it is exactly the same consciousness from a psychological standpoint as the one with which he wakes up. only that special content has in an abnormal way entirely disappeared, has not left a possibility of awakening a memory image, and the action of the personality in writing has thus become separated and cut off from the connected experiences of the man. but while the nocturnal episode may be entirely forgotten, it was not less in consciousness for the time being, than if a normal man should leave his bed hastily to write a letter. moreover under abnormal conditions, as for instance in severe hysteric cases, those dissociated contents may form large clusters of mental experiences in the midst of which a new idea of the own personality may develop. considering that through such disconnection many channels of discharge are blocked, while others are abnormally opened, it seems only natural that the idea of the own acting personality becomes greatly changed. thus we have in such an episode a new second personality which may be strikingly different in its behavior and in its power, in its memories and in its desires, from the continuous normal one, and this secondary personality may now develop its own continuity and may arise under special conditions in attacks which are connected among one another by their own memory bonds. the two personalities may even alternate from day to day and the normal one may itself become pathologically altered. in that case the two alternating personalities would both be different from the original one. but again we have even in such most complex and exceptional cases only an alternation in the contents, not an alternation in the consciousness itself. different ideas of the own personality with different associations and impulses follow each other in consciousness and the abnormality of the situation lies in the lack of memory connections and of mutual influences, but consciousness remains the same throughout. it remains the same, just as we do not change consciousness if we feel ourselves in one hour as members of our family, in the next hour as professional workers in our office, again later as social personalities at a party or as citizens at a political meeting or as æsthetic subjects at the theater. each time we are to a high degree a different personality, the idea of our self is each time determined by different groups of associations, memories, emotions, and impulses. the differentiation is to be considered as normal only because broad memory bridges lead over from one to the other. the connection of the various contents with the various ideas of the own personality constitutes thus in no way a break of consciousness itself and relegates no one content into a subconscious sphere. finally the same holds true, if the idea of the personality as content of consciousness in the patient is split into two simultaneous groups, of which each one is furnished with its own associations. yet the interpretation here becomes extremely difficult and arbitrary. take the case that a patient in severe hysteria at our request writes down the history of her life. we should not hesitate to say that she is doing it consciously but now we begin to talk with her and slowly the conversation takes her attention while her pencil is continuing to write down the connected story of her youth. again the conversation by itself gives the impression of completely conscious behavior. as both functions go on at the same time, the person who converses does not know what the person who writes is writing, and the writer is uninfluenced by the conversation. various interpretations are possible. indeed we might think that by such double setting in the pathological brain two independent groups in the content of consciousness are formed, each one fully in consciousness and yet both without any mutual influence and thus without mutual knowledge. in the light of such interpretation, it has been correctly proposed to speak of coconscious processes, rather than subconscious. or we may interpret it more in harmony with the ordinary automatic writing or with other merely physiological reactions. then we should suppose that as soon as the conversation sets in, the brain centers which control the writing movement work through channels in which no mental factors are involved. one of the two characteristic reaction systems would then be merely physiological. we saw before that the complexity of the process is no argument against the strictly physiological character of the event. that various activities can coexist in such a way that one of them may at any time slide down from the conscious centers to the merely physical ones, we all know by daily experience. we may go home through the streets of the busy town engaged with our thoughts. for a while the idea of our way and of the sidewalk is in our consciousness, when suddenly we reach our house and notice that for a long while we have no longer had any thought at all of the way. we were absorbed by our problems, and the motor activity of walking towards our goal was going on entirely in the physiological sphere. but whether we prefer the physiological account or insist on the coconscious phenomena, in either case is there any chance for the subconscious to slip in? that a content of consciousness is to a high degree dissociated or that the idea of the personality is split off is certainly a symptom of pathological disturbance, but it has nothing to do with the constituting of two different kinds of consciousness or with breaking the continuous sameness of consciousness itself. the most exceptional and most uncanny occurrences of the hospital teach after all the same which our daily experience ought to teach us: there is no subconsciousness. part ii the practical work of psychotherapy vii the field of psychotherapy we have discussed the psychological tools with which the psychotherapist has to work but we have not spoken as yet of psychotherapy itself. all that we have studied has been by way of preparation; and yet the right preparation is almost the most important factor for the right kind of work. to rush into psychotherapy with hastily gathered conceptions of mental life may be sometimes successful for the moment, but must always be ultimately dangerous. it is often most surprising what a haphazard kind of psychology is accepted as a basis for psychotherapy even by scientifically schooled physicians who would never believe that common sense would be sufficient to settle the problems of anatomy and physiology; as soon as the mind is in question, no serious study seems needed. can we be surprised then that in the amateur medicine of the country within and without the church any fanciful idea of mental life may flourish? if we are to recognize the rights and wrongs of psychotherapy in a scientific spirit, a sober analysis of the mental facts involved was indeed at the very first most essential. now we can easily draw the conclusions from our findings. we recognized from the start the fundamental difference between two different attitudes which we can take towards the inner life of any personality, the purposive view and the causal. we recognized the sphere to which each belongs and we saw that all medical treatment demands the causal view, thus dealing with inner life as part of the causal chain of events. each inner experience became therefore a series of so-called contents of consciousness. these contents can be described and must be analyzed into their elements. the basis of psychotherapy is therefore an analytic psychology which conceives the inner experience as a combination of psychical elements. but the final aim was the causal connection. the appearance and disappearance of those millions of elements and their connection had to be explained. we recognized that such an explanation of the contents of consciousness was possible only through the connections between the accompanying brain processes. every psychical change had to be conceived as parallel to a physiological change. the psychology which is to be the basis of psychotherapy had to be therefore a physiological psychology. we recognized that these psychophysiological processes were processes of transmission between impressions and expressions, that is, between incoming nervous currents and outgoing nervous currents, between stimuli and reactions. thus we have no central process which is not influenced by the surroundings and which is not at the same time the starting point of an action. we have normal health of the personality as long as there is a complete equilibrium in the functions of the organism which adjusts the activities to the surroundings. every abnormality is a disturbance of this equilibrium. a psychology which is the basis of psychotherapy thus conceives every mental process in relation to both the ideas and the actions; it avoids all one-sidedness by which the mind is cut off either from its resources or from its effects. the relations to the impressions are usually the less neglected: and we must the more emphasize the fact that the psychology needed for psychotherapy knows no mental fact which does not start an action and that every change in the system of actions involves a change in the central experience. wherever this equilibrium of adjusted functions is disturbed, some therapy of the physician has to set in: whether psychotherapy is in order depends upon the special conditions. we have recognized that there are no mental facts outside of those which are in consciousness and that from a psychological point of view consciousness itself does not have different degrees and different levels, that all varieties of experience refer thus only to the special content and its organization. there is thus no subconscious. on the other hand, we saw that there is no conscious experience which is not based on a bodily brain process. by these two fundamental facts of scientific psychology, every possible psychotherapy gets from the start its clear middle way between two extreme views which are popular today. the one school nowadays lives from the contrast between consciousness and subconsciousness and makes all psychotherapy work with and through and in the subconscious. the other school creates a complete antithesis between mind and body and makes psychotherapy a kind of triumph of the mind over the body. practically every popular treatise on psychotherapeutic subjects in recent years belongs to the one or the other group; and yet both are fundamentally wrong. and while, of course, this mistake is one of theoretical interpretation, it evidently has its practical consequences. the fantastic position allowed to a subconscious mind easily gives to the doctrine a religious or even a mystical turn and the artificial separation between the energies of the mind and those of the body leads easily to a moral sermon. whether this amalgamation of medicine with religion or with morality may not be finally dangerous to true morality and true religion is a question which will interest us much later. here we only have to ask whether it is not harmful to the interests of the patient and thus to the rights of medicine, and indeed that must be evident here at the very threshold. both schools must have the tendency to extend psychotherapy at the expense of bodily therapy and to narrow down psychotherapy itself to a therapy by appeals which in the one case are suggestions to the subconscious and in the other case persuasions and encouragements to the conscious will. as soon as we have overcome the prejudices of those two rival schools and have recognized that both are wrong, that there is no subconscious and that there is no psychological fact which is not at the same time a physiological one, we see at once that this common procedure of both schools is unjustified and dangerous. mental therapy and physical therapy ought to be most intimately connected parts of the same therapeutic effort and mental therapy includes by far more than mere suggestions and appeals. all that involves of course that its systematic application belongs in the hands of the well-trained physician and of nobody else, but on the other hand, it involves that every physician ought to be well schooled in psychology. as soon as a disturbance to be cured is considered as a lack of equilibrium in psychophysical functions, every mental influence, every suggestion and appeal becomes itself an excitement or an inhibition of nerve cells. the sharp demarcation line between a psychical agency and a physical one disappears altogether; the spoken word is then considered as physical airwaves which stimulate certain brain centers and in the given paths this stimulation is carried to hundreds of thousands of neurons. the protracted warm bath or the cold douche influences, too, large brain parts by changing the blood circulation which controls the activity of those neurons; or the bromides absorbed in the digestive apparatus, or the morphine injected, also reach the neurons and again have a different kind of influence on them, and the electric current may stimulate the nervous system in still a different way. it may be, and under many conditions certainly is, essential to influence the brain cells just in that particular way which results from the spoken word, but there too the causal influence remains a function of the physical effect and thus by principle there is no sharp separation from other physical means. thus to believe in psychotherapy ought never to mean that we have a right to make light of the other means which, as experience shows, may help towards the treatment of disturbances in the central equilibrium. suggestions and bromides together may secure an effect which neither of them alone will bring about. it is most unfortunate that not without some guilt on the part of the physicians themselves, the large public has begun to believe that orthodox psychotherapy has to mean a rejection of drugs and a contempt for the doctors who prescribe them. of course a discussion of psychotherapy cannot enter into the study of these physical agencies of treatment, but at the threshold, we have to insist that there exists no opposition between psychophysiological and physiological means of influencing the brain. it may be true that drugs and baths and electricity have no influence on the subconscious, but the trouble is not that the drugs are inefficient but that they cannot influence what does not exist. in the same way disappears now that new boundary line for psychotherapy which wants to limit it to mere suggestion and appeal. if psychotherapy employs all the means by which we can influence mental states in the interest of the health of the personality, we have no reason to confine it either to a persuasion of the subconscious through suggestion and hypnotism or a persuasion of the conscious, in which it works as a moral appeal. suggestion and hypnotism certainly must play a large part in psychotherapy and that part does not become smaller by the fact that we reject the subconscious interpretation of them and consider them entirely as psychophysical processes. and in the same way undoubtedly we have to acknowledge the psychophysiological effect of persuasion and of the appeals to the conscious intellect and will. but for us as psychotherapists all those factors have no moral value but only a therapeutic one, and thus stand in line with any other influence that may help, even though from a purposive point of view it stands on a much lower level. a mere mental distraction by enjoyment and play and sport, an æsthetic influence through art, a mere stimulus to automatic imitation, an enforced mental rest, an involuntary discharge of suppressed ideas, and many similar schemes and even tricks of the mental physician belong with the same right to psychotherapy. it is really doubtful whether the moral and religious appeals are always helpful and not sometimes or often even dangerous for the health of the individual; and it is not doubtful that morally and religiously indifferent mental influences are often of the highest curative value. the more we abstract from everything which suggests either the mysticism of the subconscious or the moral issues of a mind which is independent of the body, the more we shall be able to answer the question as to the means by which health can be restored. this question is neither a moral nor a philosophical one but strictly one of experience. in this connection, we must remember that we also have had to give up the artificial demarcation line between organic and functional diseases. we recognized that every so-called functional disease has its organic basis too, and that it is entirely secondary whether we are able to find visible traces of the organic disturbance. we had to acknowledge, to be sure, the difference between reparable and irreparable disturbances, but such grouping expresses only in another form the fact that experience alone can show whether the methods of treatment which we know so far will be successful or not. not a few disturbances of the equilibrium which appeared irreparable to an earlier time yield to the treatment of to-day, and no one can determine whether much which appears irreparable today may not be accessible either to psychotherapeutic or to physical therapeutic means to-morrow. if we were carelessly to identify the reparable troubles with those which we cannot recognize visibly, we should be at a loss to understand why, for instance, many forms of insanity are entirely beyond our psychotherapeutic influences. on the other hand, every physician who uses psychotherapeutic means is surprised to see the effective bodily readjustment where serious disturbances perhaps of the circulatory system or the digestive system existed. what the methods can do and what they cannot do must simply be left to experience, but of course to an experience which is eager to expand itself by ever new experimental curative efforts. from this point of view we can see clearly the general division of the whole field of possible psychotherapy. psychotherapy influences psychophysical states in the interest of health. there are only two possibilities open: either the disturbance is in the psychophysical system itself or it is outside of it, that is in the other parts of the body which are somehow under the influence of the mind. in the first case when the disturbance occurs in the mind-brain system itself, we ought to separate two large groups, first those cases in which the system itself is normal and the disturbance comes from without, and second those in which the constitution of the system itself was abnormal and led to disturbances under conditions in which a normal system would not have suffered. we have to consider both groups somewhat more in detail, as each again allows a large variety of cases. thus we have before us, first the normal mind-brain system into which a disturbance breaks, injuring more or less severely and for a longer or shorter time the equilibrium of the psychophysical functions. here belong any bodily processes which produce pain or any bodily defects which produce blanks in the content of consciousness; the pain of sciatica or of rheumatism, or the defect of the blind or of the deaf, certainly interferes in a disturbing way with the perfect harmony of psychophysical activities. but here also belongs the suffering which results from conditions in the surroundings, the loss of a friend, a disappointment in life, any source of worry and grief. social and bodily conditions alike may thus work to break up the equilibrium. the pain sensation interferes with the normal flow of mental life and the grief may undermine the mental interests. the psychotherapeutic effort may be directed toward removing the source of the disturbance, bringing the patient under other conditions, curing the diseased organ, and where that is not possible, may work directly on the psychophysical state, inhibiting the pain, suppressing the emotion, substituting pleasant ideas, distracting the whole mind, filling it with agreeable feelings, until the normal equilibrium is restored. the psychophysical system itself was not really harmed by such influences. in the following groups, such is no longer the case. we here think at first of those severe injuries which have their sources in abnormal processes outside of the brain. the anæmia of the patient or the low state of his nutrition or the fever heat of his blood impairs the harmony of the mental functions. another and for the psychotherapist much more important group is that in which the impairment results from toxic influences. alcohol, morphine, cocaine, tobacco, and many other drugs may have been misused and may have produced a most marked alteration in the mind-brain system. desires may have developed which completely destroy the balance of the normal functions and yet the satisfaction of which increases the poisoning effect. but here belongs further the effect of poisons which the body itself produces: the toxic disturbance of uræmia or the coma in diabetes, or especially the grave disturbances resulting from the abnormal action of the thyroid gland, the source of cretinism. many indications suggest that a near future will consider this group much larger than we are really justified in doing today, probably soon connecting a number of other mental diseases like dementia præcox with toxic effects of bodily origin. experience shows that in this group not a few chances exist for successful psychotherapeutic influence. yet the means may be various in character and their effect may be a direct or an indirect one. a psychical shock may remove directly the mental disturbance of the alcoholic state, but it is more important that mental suggestion can remove the alcoholic disturbance indirectly by suppressing the desire for alcoholic excesses. even where cure by psychotherapeutic means is out of the question, as is the case with feverish delirium or uræmic excitements, no skilled physician ignores the aid which a well-adjusted mental influence can offer to the patient. we come to a third group. some outside cause has harmed the central nervous system directly, and has left it in a disabled state after the cause itself has disappeared. such causes may have been at first purely functional: for instance, a neglect of training, or a wrong training, or an over-activity, but the ill-adjusted function which involved, of course, every time an ill-adjusted organic activity or lack of activity, has led to a lasting or at least relatively lasting disturbance in the system of paths. the neglect of training, for instance, in periods of development may have resulted in the retardation which yields the symptoms of a feeble-minded brain, or the wrong training may have created vicious habits, firmly established in the mind-brain system and gravely disturbing the equilibrium. above all, the overstrain of function, especially of emotional functions, may lead to that exhaustion which produces the state of neurasthenia. it is true that not a few would doubt whether we have the right to class neurasthenia here where we speak of the harm done to the normal brain. many neurologists are inclined to hold that neurasthenia demands a special predisposition and is therefore dependent upon a neurotic constitution of the brain itself. but if defenders of such a view, as for instance, dubois, acknowledge that "we might say that everybody is more or less neurasthenic," we can no longer speak of any special predisposition. certainly there exists a constitutional neurasthenia sometimes but we have hardly a right to deny that overstrain in the brain activity may produce a series of neurasthenic symptoms in any brain, and the special predisposition is responsible rather for the particular selection among the innumerable symptoms. neurasthenia certainly is the classical ground for the psychotherapist. the patient's insomnia and his headache, his feeling of tiredness and his disgust with himself, his capricious manias and his absurd phobias, his obsessions and his fixed ideas all may yield to the "appeal to the subconscious," and as a neurasthenic easily believes in the existence of various organic diseases in his body, christian science can perform here even "miracles." in the case of retardation, the psychical influence will have to be in the first place one of training. yet it would be narrow to overlook that in neurasthenia, too, suggestion has to be only a part of the psychical treatment. training and rest, distraction and sympathy and many other factors have to enter into the plan. incomparably small, on the other hand, is the aid which psychotherapy can offer in cases of real destructions in the brain, as in the case of tumors, hemorrhage, paresis or the degeneration by senility. more effective may be its work in concussion of the brain and especially with traumatic neuroses, as in the case when a railroad accident has put the mind-brain system out of gear. so far we presupposed that the central system itself was normal. no sharp separation line, however, lies between all these disturbances and the equally large group of psychophysical disabilities resulting from a defective constitution of the brain. the normal brain shades over by smallest differences into the abnormal one; yes, even the varieties of temperament and character and intellectual capacity and industry and energy represent, in the midst of our social surroundings, large deviations from the standard. that which might still pass as normal under certain conditions of life would be unadjusted and thus abnormal under other conditions. in the same way, we certainly cannot point out where the natural constitution of a brain ceases to be fit for its organic purposes and where the structural variations are ill-prepared for the struggle for existence. just as we claimed that an entirely normal brain might be brought by an emotional overstrain to a state of exhaustion and disability, we may claim on the other side that a brain which nature has poorly provided may yet be protected against damage and injury. the inborn factor does not alone decide the fate. psychophysical prophylaxis may secure steadiness of equilibrium to a system which inherited little resistance. yet this large borderland region, where an ill-adjusted brain may be saved or lost in accordance with favorable or unfavorable circumstances, shades off again to the darker regions where the inner evolution leads by necessity to disaster even under favorable conditions. we might begin this large group of the constitutional disturbances with that neurasthenia which develops on the basis of inherited disability. lack of energy resulting from a feeling of tiredness, a quick exhaustion, a mood of depression, an easy irritation, even despair and self-accusation, sullenness and fits of anger, cranky inclinations and useless brooding over problems, headache and insomnia characterize the picture which everyone finds more or less developed in some of his acquaintances. if we classify symptoms, we may separate from it that which we nowadays are inclined to call psychasthenia. an abnormal suggestibility for autosuggestions stands in the foreground. fixed ideas and fixed emotions, especially fears, trouble the patient. he may pick up his obsession by any chance experience and no good-will liberates him from the intrusion perhaps for years. the patient is perfectly well aware that his ideas and his emotions are unjustified, he himself does not believe in them, and yet they come with the strength of an outer perception and with the vividness of a real attitude, and his whole mental equilibrium may be upset by the continuous fight against these involuntary interferences. in the light cases, sometimes the one and sometimes the other autosuggestion may hold the stage; in the severe cases, mental life turns more and more around certain definite fears and yet it may all still be in the limits where the daily work can go on and the world may not know of the hidden tortures. here belongs the fear of open places or the fear of touching certain objects, the fear of doing harm to others or the fear of deciding actions wrongly, the fear of destroying valuable things or the fear of being the center of public attention, the fear of crowds or of closed doors, of altitudes or of bridges. and in all cases emotional reaction may set in with anxieties, and bodily symptoms such as palpitation of the heart may result, whenever an effort is made to disregard the nervous fear. there is perhaps no group of patients which so much deserves the most careful efforts of the psychotherapist. still more than the hysterics they suffer from the fate of seeing their ills counted as not real. for them everybody has the good advice that they ought to overcome their fancies; and yet they feel their life ruined with their endless fight against the overpowering enemy. and if anywhere, it is here that the psychotherapist is successful. psychasthenic fear can be removed, while the developed melancholic depression, for instance, is entirely beyond the reach of psychical influence. we have after all the same psychasthenic state before us when the obsession has impulsive character, from the mere abnormal impulse of lying, or making noise in a quiet place or crying in the dark, or touching certain places, to that of stealing, indecent speech, arson, and perhaps even murder. the symptoms might easily be mistaken for those of graver diseases. yet the fact that the patient himself really does not will the effect at which he is aiming separates, mostly without difficulty, the diagnosis of psychasthenia from that of insanity. quite nearly related to it are the manifold variations of abnormal and perverse sexual tendencies. the psychiatrists are perhaps too much inclined to bring all these pathological impulses and desires, fears and anxieties, into the nearest neighborhood to real insanity. the indisputable success of psychotherapy in these spheres ought to add a warning against these expansions of the strictly psychiatric domain. the psychologist will be more inclined to emphasize their relation to simple neurasthenia which itself imperceptibly shades over into our normal life. all neurasthenic and psychasthenic disabilities show a certain emotional continuity and uniformity. it is the emotional instability and the quick alternation of symptoms which characterize hysteria or rather the hysterias. it seems as if science were near to the point of explaining the hysterical disease by one common principle, but certainly the symptoms are an inexhaustible manifold. the rapid changes of the intense moods of the patient usually stand in the center. torturing obsessions, abnormal impulses, over-suggestibility, hypochondriac depressions, paralysis of arms or legs, anæsthesia and paræsthesia, a mental stupor and confusion, illusions and perceptions of physiological symptoms may work together in spite of his, or rather her clear intelligence. it is probably on a hysteric basis also that somnambulic states arise during the night, and from them a straight way leads to those mental attacks after which the memory is entirely lost, or for which fundamental associative connections are cut off. and from here we come to the exceptional cases of alternating personality. the more we recognize the myriad symptoms in the hysteric patient as products of the emotional instability, of autosuggestibility and of inhibition, the more we understand the almost miraculous result of psychotherapeutic treatment. autosuggestions can be fought by countersuggestions, anæsthesia and paræsthesia can be removed often in an instant, dissociated personalities may be built up again through hypnotism, the most severe bodily symptoms may disappear by influences in a waking state. hysteria alone would justify the demand that every physician in his student days pass with open eyes through the field of psychology. quite near stand chorea and the epidemic impulses to imitative movements. and we might bring into this neighborhood also the disturbance in the equilibrium of the speech movements through all degrees of stammering and severe impairment. up to a certain degree, though not often completely, they too yield easily to psychotherapeutic influence. we enter now that region of constitutional disturbances in which psychotherapy is of small help. it leads from epilepsy to the periodic diseases, especially the maniacal depressive insanity, the paranoia which develops late, and finally to states of idiocy which cover the whole life. we are far from claiming that psychical influences are entirely powerless, the more as we insisted that psychotherapy goes much beyond mere suggestions and appeals. no psychiatrist will work without psychological tools when he deals with the exultations of the maniac and the depressions of the melancholic, with the hallucinations of persecution or the erotic insanities of the paranoiac. still more the whole register of psychology has to be used, when we are to educate the idiot and the imbecile. but the disappearance of the disease or of the chief symptoms through the mental agencies is in all these cases out of the question. only in incipient cases, especially of melancholia and mania, the psychotherapeutic work seems not entirely hopeless; and for epilepsy some distinct successes cannot be denied. we have reviewed the whole field of psychophysical disturbances, those produced through external conditions in the normal brain and those resulting from abnormal brain constitution. we have seen that the work of the psychotherapist is of very unequal value in different parts of the field; in some, as in neurasthenia, in psychasthenia, in hysteria and similar regions most effective, in others like paresis or paranoia reduced to an almost insignificant factor. where it can help and where not we recognize as a mere question of experience. certainly the severity of the symptoms alone does not decide it. as the treatment is entirely empirical, no one can foresee whether or not the situation may change to-morrow. we may find psychotherapeutic schemes by which epilepsy or maniacal depressive insanity or traumatic neuroses may become accessible. we simply do not know why we may remove stammering or synthesize a dissociated personality or overcome an inborn sexual perversity, while we are unable to remove the depression of the melancholic. certainly the symptoms of the circulatory insanity disappear completely in the free intervals; there is no reason to give up hope that psychotherapy might find the way to hasten the appearance of such a normal period. but we have emphasized from the start that the psychotherapeutic work has not only to set in when the disturbance itself lies in the psychophysical system. we may utilize the influence which the mind-brain system has for the whole body and thus may apply the psychical tool to work on the disturbances in the bodily apparatus. we may discriminate a direct and an indirect influence in the psychical treatment of bodily diseases. transition from the foregoing group of psychical disturbances offers itself perhaps most easily through the state of insomnia. the causes of sleeplessness may still lie in the psychophysical sphere; restless thoughts may inhibit the idea of sleep. the effect of sleep is again in the sphere of the mind, the annihilation of conscious contents. but the center which regulates and creates the sleep, probably by contracting the blood-vessels, lies outside of the psychophysical system in the lower centers of the brain. the real disturbance thus lies in the inactivity of this purely bodily apparatus and mental influence which is to create sleep has therefore to work downwards from the mind to a bodily organ. in the same way many other non-psychical centers of the brain may be brought to efficiency through psychophysical regulation. but the therapeutic effect is certainly not confined to the central nervous system. whithersoever the centrifugal nerves lead there the mind-brain system may have its curative influence. in the most startling way that is true for the digestive apparatus. the secretions of the stomach, the activity of the intestines can be influenced to a decree which it is difficult to explain. important also is the relation to the circulatory system, especially the disturbances of the heart: innervation may be corrected, abnormal dilations and contractions of blood-vessels may be regulated. the bladder, uterus, even the pancreas and the liver seem to be influenced by the peripheral effects of the central excitement. and while no warning can be serious enough against the absurd belief that diseases like cancer or tuberculosis can be cured by faith, it must be admitted that psychical influences under special conditions may have a retarding influence on any pathological process in the organism. much of that certainly is indirect influence but the physician would be reckless if he should ignore the aid which may result from such indirect assistance. even if psychotherapy could not do more in the treatment of bodily diseases than to secure a joyful obedience to the strict demands of the physician, it would yet have to be accredited with an extremely important service. in a parallel line comes the effective aid by the stimulation of hope and the suppression of fear, by suggestion of a feeling of encouragement and the inhibition of the emotions of worry. this is a field where even the average physician is most easily inclined to play the amateur psychotherapist. he knows how convalescence is disturbed by psychical depression and how much more quickly health returns, if it is confidently expected; he knows how many dangerous operations are disturbed by despondency and helped by bravery; he knows what a blessed change has come into the treatment of tuberculosis since a psychical factor of social interest has set in; he knows how many ills disappear when regular occupation and interesting work are established or the strain of distasteful work removed. even the mere suppression of the pain works backwards on the bodily disease which produces it. the pain was a starting point for disturbing reactions; with its disappearance through psychotherapeutic influence, the reactions of the irritated brain come to rest, the diseased body can carry on its struggle without interference and may win the day. often the psychical influence may not even change the symptoms at all but may remove other troublesome effects. the sufferer from locomotor ataxia may learn to walk again through mental education without any restitution of his spinal cord. in short, there are endless ways in which psychical influence may work towards the general health and towards the victory over bodily disease; and all that may be acknowledged without the slightest concession to the metaphysical creeds of mental healers and christian scientists. but to make use of those means and to harness such influences, it cannot be enough to rely on the common-sense of the physician any more than we should trust the common-sense of the surgeon to use his knife without condescending to the study of anatomy. the psychological study of the anatomy of the soul shows a not less complicated system of mental tissues and mental elements. to enter into the full richness of this whole, large field of course lies entirely beyond the scope of our short discussion, which seeks as its only aim a clear recognition of the principles. yet it seems essential to illustrate at least this sketch of the field by a more detailed account of actual developments. various ways of procedure might appear in order and the most natural one would be, of course, to pass down from disease to disease and sketch special cases from diagnosis to cure. we might go through the various stages of neurasthenia and then through psychasthenia and then through hysteria and so on. and if we had to write a handbook for physicians, it would certainly be the desirable way, in spite of the too frequent repetitions which would become necessary. but as our aim is only a discussion of principles of psychotherapy, we have no right to use this method. moreover, such a method would suggest the misleading view that the psychotherapist is called and is able to treat diseases. all that he treats are symptoms and he ought not to pretend that he can do more, as long as he abstracts from all other therapeutic agencies. psychotherapeutic influence may remove the phobia of a psychasthenic or the obsession of a neurasthenic or the emotion of a hysteric, and thus may bring not only momentary relief but a change which may be favorable for general improvement, but certainly the neurasthenia and psychasthenia and hysteria are not really removed by it. of course, even the treatment of symptoms demands a constant reference to the whole background of the disease. the depression of the neurasthenic must not be treated like the depression of the melancholic, the obsession of the psychasthenic must not be mixed with the fixed ideas of a paranoiac, the hysteric inability to walk must not be confused with an injury of the motor nerves; in short, each symptom has to be treated as part of a complete situation. the efforts of the psychotherapist will move over as large a part of the disease as possible and cover, perhaps, the causes of the disturbance as far as they are of psychical origin. yet it would remain dilettanteism if we were to accept the popular view that the mere psychotherapeutic aid is a sufficient treatment of the whole disease. the physician has to be much more than a psychotherapist. our discussion only seeks to point out that whatever else he may be, he must be also a psychotherapist. the more conservative method which befits us may be, therefore, the method of dealing with symptoms only and abstracting from the more ambitious plan of discussing the diseases entire. we simply separate the mental symptoms and the bodily symptoms which the psychotherapist is to remove. and just in order to classify somehow the manifold mental symptoms, we might separate those in the sphere of ideas, those in the sphere of emotions, and those in the sphere of volitions. of course, nothing is further from such a plan than the old-fashioned belief that intellect, feeling, and will represent three independent faculties of the soul. modern psychology has not only substituted the millionfold phenomena for the schematic faculties, but emphasizes above all the interconnectedness of the mental facts. there is no experience into which ideas, and feelings, and impulses do not enter together. and correspondingly we emphasized that on the physiological side too, every sensory excitement is at the same time the middle point of central irradiation and the starting point of motor activity. thus there can be no disturbance of ideas which does not influence feeling and will, and vice versa. yet it would be artificial to deny that any one of those various sides of the psychical process may come to prominence, sometimes the impulse, sometimes the emotion, and sometimes the interplay of ideas. the separation means only an abstraction, but it is an abstraction which is justified and suggested by the actual experiences. thus we shall deal with the psychical treatment of ideational, emotional, volitional, and bodily symptoms. common to our discussions will be only the effort to avoid everything which is exceptional and by its unusual complications apparently unexplainable and mysterious. the greater complexity of the case certainly adds much fascination. yet since we do not want to stimulate mere curiosity but clear understanding of the elements, we avoid every startling record. we confine ourselves carefully to those perhaps trivial experiences which daily enter into the view of those who come in contact with suffering mankind. there will be no startling stories of dissociated personalities, such as appear perhaps every few years on the horizon of the medical world, but we shall speak of those who every day in every town carry their trouble to the waiting room of the doctor and who might return more happily if he had more well-trained interest in the psychotherapeutic factors. yet before we analyze some typical symptoms, it might be wise to review the whole series of means and tools which the psychotherapist finds at his disposal. viii the general methods of psychotherapy the psychological work of the physician does not begin with his curative efforts. therapy is always only the last step. diagnosis and observation have to precede, and an inquiry into the causes of the disease is essential, and in every one of these steps psychology may play its rôle. the means of psychodiagnostic are not less manifold than those of psychotherapy. moreover there the technique may be more complex and subtle. the whole equipment of the modern laboratory ought to be put at its disposal. perceptions and associations, reactions and expressions ought to be examined with the same carefulness with which the conscientious physician examines the blood and the urine. a particular difficulty of the task more or less foreign to every other medical inquiry is the intentional or unintentional effort of the patient to hide the sources of the trouble and to mislead as to their true character. too often he is entirely unconscious of the sources of trouble or else he has social reasons to deceive the world and himself, and ultimately the physician. and yet no psychical treatment can start successfully so long as the patient is brooding on secret thoughts at the bottom of his mind. the desire to hide them may often be itself a part of the disease. it is surprising how often unsuspected vistas of thoughts and impulses and emotions are opened by an inquiring analysis where the direct report of the patient does not awaken the least suspicion. in the field of insanity, naturally the physician at once goes to an examination on his own account, but in the borderland regions of the psychasthenics and hysterics and neurasthenics, the intellectual clearness of the patient too easily tempts one into trusting the sincerity of his story; and yet the most important ideas clustering perhaps about love or ambition, about vice or crime, about business failure or family secrets, about inherited or acquired diseases may be cunningly withheld and may frustrate every psychotherapeutic influence. where suspicion is awake and mere confidential talk and persuasion seem insufficient, the physician may feel justified in the interest of his patient in drawing the thoughts out of their hiding-place by artificial means. skill, tact, and experience are needed there. as a matter of course, in the overwhelming mass of cases the frankness and the good will of the patient himself will support the physician and accordingly his examination is not obliged to trap the patient but simply to guide him to important points. but then begins the most essential study of diagnostical differentiation. with all the means not only of psychology but of neurology and internal medicine, he has to separate the particular case from similar ones and to examine whether he deals with, for instance, a hysteric or with a paranoiac, with a neurasthenic or with a case of dementia præcox; and he will not forget that there exist almost no symptoms of serious diseases which the nervous system of the hysteric may not imitate for a time. not ours is the task of analyzing special methods of neurological and mental differential diagnosis such as are used in the psychiatric clinic and in the office of the nerve specialist. there the family history with reference to nervous and other diseases, the history of the patient himself, the infectious diseases which he has passed through, his habits and anomalies, his use of alcohol and of drugs, his experiences in social life, the demands of his profession, his recent troubles and their first origin are to be recorded carefully. then begins the physical examination, the study of his sense organs and his nerves, of the motor inabilities, the pains, the local anæsthesias and paræsthesias, the disturbances of the reflexes, of the spasms, tremors, convulsions, and incoördinations, of the vasomotor and trophic disorders, and so on. in a similar way the psychical examination tests the hallucinations and illusions, the variations and defects of memory and attention, of judgment and reasoning, of orientation and self-consciousness, of emotions and volitions, of intellectual capacities and organized actions. but we do not have to enter here into a discussion of such diagnostic means; our chief interest belongs to the therapy. the variety of the psychotherapeutic methods is great and only some types are to be characterized here. but one rule is common to all of them: never use psychotherapeutic methods in a schematic way like a rigid pattern. schematic treatment is a poor treatment in every department of medicine, but in psychotherapeutics it is disastrous. there are no two cases alike and not only the easily recognizable differences of sex and age, and occupation and education, and financial means, and temperament and capacity are decisive, but all the subtle variations of prejudices and beliefs, preferences and dislikes, family life and social surroundings, ambitions and prospects, memories and fancies, diet and habits must carefully be considered. every element of a man's life history, impressions of early childhood, his love and his successes, his diseases and his distresses, his acquaintances and his reading, his talent, his character, his sincerity, his energy, his intelligence--everything--ought to determine the choice of the psychotherapeutic steps. as it is entirely impossible to determine all those factors by any sufficient inquiry, most of the adjustment of method must be left to the instinct of the physician, in which wide experience, solid knowledge, tact, and sympathy ought to be blended. even the way in which the patient reacts on the method will often guide the instinct of the well-trained psychotherapist. it is therefore certainly not enough that the knowledge of the physician simply decide beforehand on a definite course of psychical treatment and leave the carrying out to a well-meaning minister or any other medical amateur who schematically follows the indicated path. the finest adjustment has to come in during the treatment itself and the response of the patient often has to suggest entirely new lines of procedure. more than in any other field of medicine, the physician himself has to extend his influence far beyond the office hours and the strictly medical relations. and yet, on the other hand, there is no department of medicine in which the treatment might not profit by the psychotherapeutic influence. with a few vague words of encouragement mechanically uttered, or with a routine of tricks of suggestion by bread pills and colored water and tuning forks, not much will be gained even in the ordinary physician's practice. subtle adjustment to the personal needs and to the individual conditions is necessary in every case where the psychical factor is to play an important rôle. it cannot be denied that the one great obstacle in the work of the routine physician is the lack of time and patience which is needed for successful treatment. to prescribe drugs is always quicker than to influence the mind; to cure a morphinist by hyoscine needs less effort than to cure him by suggestion. the first method to bring back the psychophysical equilibrium is of course the one which is also demanded by common-sense, namely, to remove the external sources of the disturbance. external indicates there not only the outer world but also the own body outside the conscious parts of the brain. if we take it in the widest meaning, this would evidently include every possible medical task from filling a painful tooth to operating on a painful appendix, as in every case where pain results, the mental equilibrium is disturbed by it and the normal mental life of the patient reduced in its efficiency. but in the narrower sense of the word, we shall rather think of those sources of trouble in the organism itself which interfere directly with the mental functions. the examination of any public school quickly leads to the discovery that much which is taken for impaired mental activity, for lack of attention, for stupidity, or laziness may be the result of defective hearing or sight or abnormal growth of the adenoids. growths in the nose may be operated upon, the astigmatic or the short-sighted eye may be corrected by glasses, the child who is hard of hearing may at least be seated near the teacher; and the backward children quickly reach the average level. no doubt in the life of the adult as well, often almost insignificant and from a strictly physical point of view unimportant abnormities in the bodily system, especially in the digestive and sexual spheres, are sources of irritation which slowly influence the whole personality. to be sure, the brain disturbance may have reached a point where the mere removal of the original affliction is not sufficient to reinstate the normal balance of mental energies, but wherever such a bodily irritation goes on, it is never too late to abolish it in the interests of psychotherapy. the less evident and yet even more important source of the painful intrusions may lie outside of the organism in the social surroundings and conditions of life. most of that has to be accepted. the physician cannot bring back the friend who died or the fortune which was lost in speculation or the man who married another girl. he will even avoid suggesting far-reaching social changes in the private life of the patient, changes like divorce in an unhappy marriage or the breaking of the home ties, however often he may get the impression that such a liberation would stop the source of the mental trouble. he will be the more careful not to overstep his medical rights as he seldom has the possibility to judge fairly on the basis of the one-sided complaint, and the probability is great that the character and temperament of the complainant may be a more essential factor of the ailment than the personalities which surround him. yet even the conservative physician will find abundant opportunities for advice which will remove disturbing energies from the social surroundings of the sufferer. even a short release from the burdening duties, a short vacation from the incessant needs of the nursery, a break in the monotony of the office, may often do wonders with a neurasthenic. often within a surprisingly short time the brain gathers the energies to overcome the frictions with unavoidable surroundings. yet here the physician has to adjust the prescribed dose of outing very carefully to the special case. we may be guided by the psychological experiments which have been made in the interest of testing the fatigue induced by mental work. if perhaps four hours of concentrated work are done without pauses, experiment shows that the quality of the work deteriorates, measured for instance by the number of mistakes in quick calculation. if certain relatively long pauses are introduced, the standard of work can be kept high all through. but if frequent pauses are made, and each short, the result is with many individuals the opposite. the experiment indicates that these frequent pauses are working as interruptions which hinder the perfect adjustment to the work in hand. that is suggestive. our neurasthenic may complain about the life which he has to live and yet after all he is frequently so completely adjusted to it that it may not be in his interest to remove him far away from the conditions which cannot ultimately be changed but to which he has to return. the instinct of the physician has to find the middle way between a temporary removal of irritation which really allows a development of new energies and a mere interruption which simply damages the acquired relative adjustment. every cause of friction which can be permanently annihilated for the patient certainly should be removed. this negative remedy demands its positive supplement. the patient must be brought under conditions and influences which give fair chances for the recuperation of his energies. too often from the standpoint of the psychologist, the prescription is simply rest. as far as rest involves sleep, it is certainly the ideal prescription. there is no other influence which builds up the injured central nervous system as safely as sound natural sleep, and loss of sleep is certainly one of the most pernicious conditions for the brain. again rest is a great factor in those systematic rest cures which for a long while were almost the fashion with the neurologist. experience has shown that their stereotyped use is often unsuccessful, and moreover that the advantage gained by those months spent in bed completely isolated and overfed is perhaps due to the separation and changed nutrition more than to the overlong absolute rest. yet used with discrimination, the physiological and the psychical effect of lying in bed for a few weeks has certainly often been a marked improvement, especially with young women. but more often the idea of rest in bed during daytime is not meant at all when the nerve specialist recommends rest to his over-strained patient. it is simply meant that he give up his fatiguing daily work, even if that work is made up of a round of entertainments and calls and social engagements. the neurasthenic and all similar varieties are sent away from the noise of the city, away from the rush of their busy life, away from telephones and street cars, away from the hustling business and politics. indeed it is the dogma of most official and unofficial doctors that the restlessness and hurry and noise which all are characteristic of the technical conditions of our time are the chief sources of the prevailing nervousness. there was no time in the history of civilization in which the average man was overwhelmed by so many demands on his nerve energy, no time which asked such an abundance of interests even from the school child. the wild chase for luxury in the higher classes, reënforced by the commercialism of our time, the hard and monotonous labor in our modern mills and mines for the lower classes, the over-excitement brought to everybody by the sensationalism of our newspapers and of our public life all injure the brain cells and damage the equilibrium. that is a story which we hear a thousand times nowadays. yet it is doubtful whether there is really much truth in such a claim and whether much wise psychotherapy can be deduced from it. we may begin even with the very justifiable doubt whether nervousness really has increased in our time. earlier periods had not so many names for those symptoms and were not able to discriminate them with the same clearness. above all, the milder forms of abnormities were not looked on as pathological disturbances. if a man has a pessimistic temperament, or has fits of temper, or cannot get rid of a sad memory idea, or imagines that he feels an illness which he does not have, or has no energy to work, even today most people are still without suspicion that a neurasthenic or a psychasthenic or a hysteric disturbance of the nervous system may be in its beginning. earlier times surely may have treated even the stronger varieties of this kind as troublesome variations in the sphere of the normal. on the other hand, there can be no doubt that, for instance, the middle ages developed severe diseases of the nervous system in an almost epidemic way which is nearly unknown to our time. as to the conditions of life itself, there are certainly many factors at work which secure favorable influences for our cerebral activity. the progress of scientific hygiene has brought everyone much nearer to a harmonious functioning of the organism, and the progress of technique has removed innumerable difficulties from the play of life. of course, we stand today before a much more complex surrounding than our ancestors but still more quickly than the complexity have grown the means to master it. we have to know more: yet the effort has not become greater since it has become easier to acquire knowledge. we have to endure much disturbing noise, and yet we forget how the sense organs of our forefathers must have been maltreated, for instance, by flickering light. we are in a rush of work and stand in thousandfold connections; and yet the neural energy which is demanded is not large because a thousand devices of our technical life have become our obedient servants. there is no nation on earth which is more proud of its rush and its hurry than the american people; and yet what an abundance of time is leisurely wasted that would have to be used for work if the country could not live from its richness. moreover our life has probably become cooler, there is less emotionalism, less sentimentality, more business-like attitude, and that all means less inner friction and excitement; in public life too, less fear of war and less religious struggle. all has become a question of administration and efficiency. our time is certainly not worse off on the score of neurasthenia than its predecessors. above all the intensity of mental stimuli is always relative. the psychologist knows the experiments which determine that we perceive the difference of impressions as alike when the stimuli are proportional. if i have a ten-pound weight in one hand, i may find that i must have one pound more in the other hand to discriminate the difference. now if i take twenty pounds in the one hand, then it is not sufficient to have one pound more in the other, but i must have twenty-two pounds in the other to feel a difference, and if i take thirty pounds, the other weight must be thirty-three. we feel equal differences when the weights stand in the same relation. the man who owns a hundred dollars will enjoy the gain of five and regret the loss of five just as much as the owner of a hundred thousand dollars would feel the gain or loss of five thousand. this fundamental law of the relativity of psychical impressions controls our whole life. the rush of stimuli which might mean a source of nervous disturbance for the villager whose quiet country life has brought about an adjustment to faint impressions may cause very slight stimulation for the metropolitan accustomed for a lifetime to the rhythm of the surroundings. yet that quiet countryman may react in his narrow system not less when the modest changes in his surroundings provoke him. the gossip of his neighbor may undermine his nervous system just as much as a political fight or the struggles of the exchange that of the city man. the same holds true for the purely intellectual engagements. the work which the scholar undertakes should not be measured by the effect which the same appeal to concentrated attention would make on the average man of practical life. there, too, an adjustment to the demand has resulted during the whole period of training and professional work. every effort should be estimated with reference to the standard of the particular case. this relativity of the mental reaction on the demands of life must always be in the foreground of the psychotherapeutic régime. even the best physicians too often sin against this principle and accuse the life which a man or woman leads as too exhausting and overstraining simply because it would be overstraining and exhausting to others who are not adjusted to that special standard. simply to withdraw a patient from the one kind of life and to force on him a new kind with new standards may not be a gain at all. a new adjustment begins and smaller differences from the standard may bring about the same strong intensities of reaction as the large differences brought before. complete rest, for instance, for a hard brain-worker hardly ought to be recommended unless a high degree of exhaustion has come on. if routine prescriptions are to be admitted at all, they should not be complete rest or complete change of life for any length of time but a continuation of the life for which adjustment has been learned with a reasonable reduction of the demands and stimulations. the intellectual worker ought to decrease his work, the overbusy society woman ought to stay in bed one day in the week, the man in the midst of the rush of life ought to cut down his obligations, but probably each of them does better to go on than simply to swear off altogether. their rest ought to have the character of vacation; that means interruptions without the usual activity ought to be short periods spent with the distinct feeling that they are interruptions of that which must last and that they are not themselves to become lasting states. thus the inner adjustment to the work ought to be kept up and ought not to be substituted by a new adjustment to a less exacting life. in this way the episode of the vacation rest ought to be in a way included in the strenuous life almost as a part of its programme. strenuosity must not mean an external rush with the gestures of overbusy excitement, but certainly the doctrine of the lazy life is wretched psychotherapy, as long as no serious illness is in question. by far the best alteration is, therefore, even in the periods of interruption, not simply rest but new engagements which awaken new interests and stimulate neglected mental factors, disburdening the over-strained elements of mental life. the most effective agency for this task is contact with beauty, beauty in nature and life, beauty in art and literature and music. to enjoy a landscape ought to be not merely a negative rest for the man of the office building, and good literature or music absorbs the mental energies and harmonizes them. in the second place come games and sport, which may enter into their right if fatigue can be avoided. harmonious joyful company, as different as possible from the depressing company of the sanitariums, will add its pleasantness. while the advice of the physician ought thus to emphasize the positive elements which work, not towards rest, but toward a harmonious mental activity, we must not forget some essential negative prescriptions. everything is to be avoided which interferes with the night's sleep. furthermore, in the first place, alcohol must be avoided. there cannot be any doubt that alcoholic intemperance is one of the chief sources of brain disturbances and that the fight against intemperance, which in this country is essentially the fight against the disgusting saloon, is a duty of everyone who wants to prevent nervous disaster. there may and must be divergence of opinion as to the safest way to overcome intemperance. the conservative physician will feel grave doubt whether the hasty recommendation of complete prohibition is such a safe way, whether it does not contain many conditions of evil, and whether the fight against the misuse of alcohol will not be more successful if a true education for temperance is accepted as the next goal. but for the man of neurasthenic constitution and for any brain of weak resistance, the limit for permissible alcoholic beverages ought to be drawn very narrow and in such cases temporary abstinence is usually the safest advice. individual cases must indicate where a glass of light beer with the meal or a glass of a mild wine may be permissible. strong drinks like cocktails are absolutely to be excluded. in the same way a strong reduction is advisable in tobacco, tea, and especially coffee. a complete withdrawal of all stimulations to which a nervous system has been accustomed for years is not wise, or at least mild substitutes ought to be suggested, but if coffee can be ruled out at once, often much is gained. in the same way all passionate excitements are to be eliminated and sexual life to be wisely regulated. an especial warning signal is to be posted before all strong emotions, and if the patient cannot be asked to leave his worry at home, he can at least be asked to avoid situations which will necessarily lead to excitement and quarrel and possible disappointment. it is one of the surest tests of psychotherapeutic skill to discriminate wisely whether one or the other of these features of general treatment ought to be emphasized. they usually demand more insight than specific forms of psychotherapy like hypnotic suggestions. these general efforts are also much more directed against the disease itself where the specific methods are merely directed against the symptoms. the separation from disturbing surroundings, the reduction of engagements and work, the complete rest, the suppression of artificial stimulants, the enjoyment of art, of nature, of sport, the distractions of social life, each might be in one case a decisive help and indifferent, perhaps even harmful in another. all is a matter of choice and adjustment to the particular needs in which all the personal factors of inherited constitution, acquired adjustments, social surroundings, temperament, and education, and the probable later development have to be most tactfully weighed. yet this general treatment may take and very often ought to take the opposite direction, not towards rest but towards work, not towards light distraction but towards serious effort, not towards reduction of engagements but towards energetic regulation. we said that it was an exaggeration to blame the external conditions of our life, the technical manifoldness of our surroundings as the source of the widespread nervousness. the mere complexity of the life, the rapidity of the demands, the amount of intellectual effort is in itself not dangerous and our time is not more pernicious than the past has been; but it is perhaps no exaggeration to say that our time is by many of its features more than the past tending towards an unsound inner attitude of man. much of the present civilization leads the average man and woman to a superficiality and inner hastiness which undermines sound mental life much more than the external factors. we look with a condescending smile at the old-fashioned periods in which the demands of authority and discipline controlled the education of the child and after all the education of the adult to his last days. we have substituted for it the demand of freedom with all its blessings, but instead of the blessings we too often get all its vices. a go-as-you-please method characterizes our whole society from the kindergarten to the height of life. we eulogize the principle of following the paths of own true interest and mean by that too often paths of least resistance. study becomes play, the child learns a hundred things but does not learn the most important one, to do his duty and to do it accurately and with submission to a general purpose. the power of attention thus never becomes trained, the energy to concentrate on that which is not interesting by its own appeal is slowly lost, a flabby superficiality must set in which is moved by nothing but the personal advantage and the zigzag impulses of the chance surroundings. he who has never learned obedience can never become his own master, and whoever is not his own master through all his life lacks the mental soundness and mental balance which a harmonious life demands. flippancy and carelessness, haphazard interests and recklessness must result, mediocrity wins the day, cheap aims pervade the social life, hasty judgments, superficial emotions, trivial problems, sensational excitements, and vulgar pleasures appeal to the masses. yellow papers and vaudeville shows--vaudeville shows on the stage, in the courtroom, on the political platform, in the pulpit of the church--are welcome, and of all the results, one is the most immediate, the disorganization of the brain energies. a sound mind is a well-organized mind in which a controlling idea is able to inhibit the opposites and is in no danger of being overrun by any chance intrusion into the mind. this power is the act of attention. an attention which is trained and disciplined can hold its ideas against chance impulses. an untrained attention is attracted by everything which is loud and shining, big and amusing. the trouble is not with the rush and hurry of the impressions which demand our attention; the trouble is with our attention which seeks a quick change of new and ever new impressions because it is not disciplined to hold firmly to one important interest. we want the hundred short-cut superficial magazines because we lack the energy to study one large volume; we want the thousand engagements because we are not concentrated enough to devote ourselves fully to one ideal task. the strong mind may find its sound adjustment even without such training for concentrated attention through obedience and discipline but the weak mind has to pay the penalty. for not a few it will mean social disaster. yet our society is sufficiently adapted to this state so that it gives some good social chances to the superficial too, and this not only to the rich, but to those on every level. only the nervous system cannot so easily be adjusted to the new régime. the loose interplay of the brain cells without the serious training of discipline must involve disorganization of the mind-brain system which may count often most powerfully in those spheres in which the mere needs of life are felt the least. there is only one great remedy: discipline, training for concentrated attention, for a work in submission of will to a steady purpose. and psychotherapeutic effort will often demand such a training for work rather than a reduction of work and rest. the most alarming product of the neglect in training is found in many of those retarded children who at fifteen show the intelligence of a boy of eight. they are not imbeciles and do not belong in the psychiatric domain; their development has simply been suspended by a mistaken education. of course no neglect would have led to it without a constitutional, inherited weakness of the central nervous system, but the weakness would never have led to the retardation if perhaps a mistaken parental indulgence had not allowed a life without forced effort and, therefore, without progress. even such extreme cases may not show on the surface. the boy may pass as all right if we meet him at a ball; only his tutor knows the whole misery. still less does the surface view of many a grown-up neurasthenic alarm us who seems to live a well-ordered, perhaps an enviable life, and yet who suffers the penalty of a life without concentrated effort, really without anything to do in spite of a thousand engagements. moreover this lack of important activity may often be forced on our patients. married women without children, without household responsibilities, and without interests of their own and without strong nervous constitution will soon lose the power of effort and their brain will succumb. a dreary monotony is dangerous even for the worker; for the non-worker it may be ruinous. yet mere flippant excitement and superficial entertainment is nothing but a cheap counterfeit of what is needed. voluntary effort is needed, and this is the field where the psychotherapist must put in his most intelligent effort. there is no one for whom there is not a chance for work in our social fabric. the prescription of work has not only to be adjusted to the abilities, the knowledge, and social condition, but has to be chosen in such a way that it is full of associations and ultimately of joyful emotions. useless work can never confer the greatest benefits; mere physical exercises are therefore psychophysically not as valuable as real sport while physically, of course, the regulated exercises may be far superior to the haphazard work in sport. to solve picture puzzles, even if they absorb the attention for a week, can never have the same effect as a real interest in a human puzzle. there is a chance for social work for every woman and every man, work which can well be chosen in full adjustment to the personal preference and likings. not everybody is fit for charity work, and those who are may be entirely unfitted for work in the interest of the beautification of the town. only it has to be work; mere automobiling to charity places or talking in meetings on problems which have not been studied will, of course, be merely another form of the disorganizing superficiality. the hysterical lady on fifth avenue and the psychasthenic old maid in the new england country town both simply have to learn to do useful work with a concentrated effort and a high purpose. from a long experience i have to confess that i have seen that this unsentimental remedy is the safest and most important prescription in the prescription book of the psychotherapist. there is one more feature of general treatment which seems almost a matter of course, and yet which is perhaps the most difficult to apply because it cannot simply be prescribed: the sympathy of the psychotherapist. the feelings with which an operation is performed or drugs given do not determine success, but when we build up a mental life, the feelings are a decisive factor. to be sure, we must not forget that we have to deal here with a causal and not with a purposive point of view. our sympathy is therefore not in question in its moral value but only as a cause of a desired effect. it is therefore not really our sympathy which counts but the appearance of sympathy, the impression which secures the belief of the patient that sympathy for him exists. the physician who, although full of real sympathy, does not understand how to express it and make it felt will thus be less successful than his colleague who may at heart remain entirely indifferent but has a skillful routine of going through the symptoms of sympathy. the sympathetic vibration of the voice and skillful words and suggestive movements may be all that is needed, but without some power of awakening this feeling of personal relation, almost of intimacy, the wisest psychotherapeutic treatment may remain ineffective. that reaches its extreme in those frequent cases in which social conditions have brought about an emotional isolation of the patient and have filled him with an instinctive longing to break his mental loneliness, or in the still more frequent cases where the patient's psychical sufferings are misunderstood or ridiculed as mere fancies or misjudged as merely imaginary evils. again everything depends upon the experience and tact of the physician. his sympathy may easily overdo the intention and further reënforce the patient's feeling of misery or make him an hypochondriac. it ought to be sympathy with authority and sympathy which always at the same time shows the way to discipline. under special conditions it is even advisable to group patients with similar diseases together and to give them strength through the natural mutual sympathy; yet this too can be in question only where this community becomes a starting point for common action and common effort, not for mere common depression. in this way a certain psychical value must be acknowledged for the social classes of tuberculosis as they have recently been instituted. from sympathy it is only one step to encouragement, which indeed is effective only where sympathy or at least belief in sympathy exists. he who builds up a new confidence in a happy future most easily brings to the patient also that self-control and energy which is the greatest of helping agencies. the physical and mental efforts of the physician are alike deprived of their best efficiency if they are checked by worry and fear that the developments of the disease will be disastrous. as soon as new faith in life is given, and given even where a sincere prognosis must be a sad one, a great and not seldom unexpected improvement is secured. there is no doubt that the routine physician is doing by far too little in these respects. his instinctive feeling that disease is a causal process, and that he should therefore keep away from the purposive attitude, leads him too easily to a dangerous narrowness. he treats disease as if it were an isolated process and overlooks the thousandfold connections in which the nervous system stands with the patient's whole life experience in past and future. the physician is thus too easily inclined to underestimate the good which may come in the fight against disease from the ideas and emotions which form the background of the mind of the patient. even if the disease cannot be vanquished, the mental disturbances which result from it, the pains and discomforts, may be inhibited, as soon as hopes and joyful purposes gain a dominating control of the mind. the nervous patient often needs a larger hold upon life, while the routine prescriptions may too easily reduce that hold by fixing the attention on the symptoms. here then is the right place for the moral appeal and the religious stimulation. how psychotherapy is related to the church will interest us later. at this moment morality and religion are for us not inspirations but medicines. but from such a causal point of view, we should not underestimate the manifold good which can come from the causal effect of religious and ethical ideas. those faith curists who bring mutual help by impressing each other with the beauty and goodness of the world really bring new strength to the wavering mind; and the most natural channel for religious help remains, of course, the word of the minister and the own prayer. religion may work there causally in a double way. the own personality is submerging into a larger all-embracing hold and thus inhibits the small cares and troubles of merely personal origin. the consciousness sinks into god, a mental process which reaches its maximum in mysticism. the haphazard pains of the personality disappear and are suppressed by the joy and glory of the whole. this submission of will under a higher will and its inhibitory effect for suppression of disturbing symptoms must be wonderfully reënforced by the attitude of prayer. even the physiological conditions of it, the clasping of the hands, the kneeling, and monotonous sounds reënforce this inhibition of the insignificant dissatisfactions. on the other hand, contact with the greater will must open the whole reservoir of suppressed energies, and this outbreak of hidden forces may work towards the regeneration of the whole psychophysical system. neglected functions of the brain become released and give to the mind an energy and discipline and self-control and mastery of difficulties which restitutes the whole equilibrium, and with the equilibrium comes a new calmness and serenity which may react almost miraculously on the entire nervous system and through it on the whole organism and its metabolism. seen from a causal point of view, however, there is no miracle in it at all. on the contrary, it is a natural psychophysical process which demands careful supervision not to become dangerous. it is not the value of the religion which determines the improvement, and it is not god who makes the cure; or to speak less irreligiously, the physician ought to say that if it is god who cures through the prayer, it is not less god who cures in other cases through bromide and morphine, and on the other side just as god often refuses to cure through the prescribed drugs of the drug store, god not less often refuses to cure through prayer and church influence. but the real standpoint of the physician will be to consider both the drugs and the religious ideas merely as causal agencies and to try to understand the conditions of their efficiency and the limits which are set for them. from such a point of view, he will certainly acknowledge that submission to a greater power is a splendid effect of inhibition and at the same time a powerful effect for the stimulation of unused energies; but he will recognize also that the use of those silent energies is not without dangers. certainly nature has supplied us with a reservoir of normally unused psychophysical strength, to which we may resort just as the tissues of our body may nourish us for a few days when we are deprived of food, but such supply, which in exceptional cases may become the last refuge, cannot be used without a serious intrusion and interference with the normal household of mind and body. to extract these lowest layers of energies may mean for the psychophysical system a most exhausting effort which may soon bring a reaction of physical and nervous weakness. the chances are great that such a religious excitement, if it is really to have a deep effect, may go over into a mystic fascination which leads to hysteria or into an exhausting eruption of energies which ends in neurasthenic after-effects. the immediate successes of the strong religious influence on the weakened nervous system, especially on the nervous system of a weak inherited constitution, are too often stage effects which do not last. from a mere purposive point of view, they may be complete successes. they may have turned the immoral man into a moral man, the skeptic into a believer, but the physician cannot overlook that the result may be a moral man with a crippled nervous system, a believer with psychasthenic symptoms. from the point of view of the church, there cannot be too much religion; from a therapeutic point of view, religion works there like any other nervous remedy of which five grains may help and fifty grains may be ruinous. moreover this power of inhibiting the little troubles of the body and of bringing to work and effectiveness the deepest powers of the mind belongs not less to any other important idea and overpowering purpose. the soldier in battle does not feel the pain of his wound, and in an emergency everybody develops powers of which he was not aware. the same effect which religion produces may thus be secured by any other deep interest: service for a great human cause, enthusiasm for a gigantic plan, even the prospect of a great personal success. thus in a psychotherapeutic system, religion has only to take its place in line with many other efforts to inhibit the feeling of misery and to reënforce will and self-control by submission under a greater will. that in the case of religion this submission, from an entirely different purposive point of view, also has a moral and religious value, has in itself no relation to the question of its therapeutic character. it ought not to lead to any one-sided preference, inasmuch as religiously indifferent agencies may be in the particular case a more reliable means of improvement. moreover the psychological symptoms are, after all, only a fraction of the disease and very different bodily factors, digestion and nutrition, heart and lungs and sexual organs may be most intimately connected with the disturbance of the equilibrium. medicine today no longer believes that hysteria originates in the diseases of the uterus or that neurasthenia necessarily results from insufficiencies of the stomach, but it would be a graver mistake to believe that mental factors alone decide the progress of the disease, however prominent the mental symptoms may be in it. from the physician's encouragement and the minister's influence towards new faith in life, a short way leads to the influence of suggestion. it is on the whole the way which leads from the general psychotherapeutic treatment to the specific one directed against particular symptoms. ix the special methods of psychotherapy of course there is no abrupt division between special and general methods. yet the different tendency is easily recognized, if we turn only, for instance, from the mere sympathy and encouragement to the method of reasoning with the patient about the origin of his special complaint. just now the medical profession moves along this line a great deal. of course no well-trained psychotherapist will make the blunder of arguing with the insane. to dispute by argument with the paranoiac and to try to convince him would not be only without success, but easily irritating. this does not mean that the not less amateurish way ought to be taken of accepting his delusions and appearing to be in full agreement with him. a tactful middle way, preferably a disciplinary ignoring attitude, ought to be taken. but it is entirely different with the mental states of the psychasthenic. the mere statement and objective proof that his obsession is based on an illusion would be ineffective. he knows that himself, but he may take the disturbance as the beginning of a brain disease, as a form of insanity, as a lasting damage which lies entirely beyond his control. now the physician explains to him how it all came about. he shows to him that the symptoms resulted merely from autosuggestion or are the after-effects of a suggestion from without or of a forgotten emotional experience of the past. that is a new idea to the patient and one which changes the aspect and may have an inhibitory influence. of course, the patient does not accept the explanation at once. he feels sure that he is not accessible to suggestion and that he has least of all a tendency to autosuggestions, but the skillful psychotherapist will find somewhere an opening for the entering wedge. he may develop to the patient the modern theories of the origin of neurotic disturbances, all with entire sincerity and yet all shaped in a way which gives to the special case an especially harmless appearance. he may even enter into experimental proof that the patient is really accessible to autosuggestions. a very simple scheme for instance is to put some interesting looking apparatus with a few metal rings on the fingers of the subject and connect it with a battery and electric keys. the key is then pushed down in view of the patient and he is to indicate the time when and the place where he begins to feel the galvanic current. the feeling will come up probably very soon in the one or the other finger, and as soon as he feels sure that the sensation is present, the physician can show him that there was no connection in the wires, that the whole galvanic sensation was the result of suggestion. such a method demands patience and good will. the prejudices and deeply-rooted hypochondriac ideas, foolish theories of the patient and pessimistic emotions which have become habitual, must be removed piece by piece until the central symptoms themselves can be undermined and explored. it often takes hours of careful and fatiguing reasoning, in which at any time the patient may suddenly slip back to his old ideas. yet if the explanatory arguments have once succeeded in making the patient himself believe firmly that his whole trouble resulted from suggestion only, the inhibitory effect of this idea may be an excellent one. the only serious defect of the method is that it often does not work. the credit which neurologists of today give to its effectiveness seems to me much too high. even slight neurasthenic and psychasthenic disturbances remain too often in complete power when the patient is fully convinced that they originated with an emotional excitement which has long since lost its feeling value or that it resulted from a chance suggestion picked out from indifferent surroundings. the patient knows it and yet goes on suffering from the fruitless fight of his will against the intruder. where mere reasoning is entirely successful, i am inclined to suspect that an element of suggestion has always been superadded. the authority of the physician has created a state of reënforced suggestibility in which the argument convinces, not by its logic but by its impressiveness. this element of suggestion is quite obvious when the argument takes the form of persuasion, a psychotherapeutic method which has found its independent development. whoever seeks to persuade relies on the mental fringe of his propositions. the idea is not to work by its own meaning but by the manner of its presentation, by its impressiveness, by the authority, by the warmth of the voice, by the sympathy which stands behind it, by the attractiveness with which it is offered, by the advantages which are in sight. thus persuasion relies on personal powers to secure conviction where the logic of the argument is insufficient to overcome contradictions. but just for that reason persuasion is after all only a special kind of suggestion. other methods work on the same basis. prominent among them is the psychotherapeutic effect of a formal assurance. the psychotherapist assures the patient that he will sleep the next night or that the pain will disappear or that he will be able to walk with such firmness that the counter-idea is undermined. it depends on the type of patient whether such suggestions of belief work better when it is assured with an air of condescension, spoken with an authority which simply ignores every possible contradiction, or with an air of sympathy and hope. experience shows that it is favorable to connect such assurance with the entrance of a definite signal. "you will sleep to-night when the clock strikes ten," "the pain will disappear when you enter the door of your house," or perhaps, "read this letter three times quietly in a low voice, and at the end of the third reading your fear will suddenly stop." psychological insight will further decide whether it is wiser in the particular case to assure the patient of the resulting effect or rather of the power to bring about the effect. with some people, it works better to insist that the result will happen, with others to promise that they themselves can secure it; in the one case they feel themselves as passive instruments, in the other as real actors. to some hysterics, it is better to say: "you will walk," to others, "you can walk." this belief in the future entrance of a change frequently demands an artificial reënforcement. there belongs first the application of external factors which awaken in the background of the mind the supporting idea that something has been changed in the whole situation or that some helpful influence has made the improvement possible. medicines of colored and flavored water, applications of electric instruments without currents, in extreme cases even the claptrap of a sham operation with a slight cut in the skin, may touch those brain cells which words alone cannot reach with sufficient energy and may thus secure the desired psychophysical effect. the patient who by merely mental inhibition has lost his voice for weeks may get it back as soon as the physician has looked into his larynx with a mirror and has held an electrode without battery connection on the throat. another way of helping by make-believe methods is to give the impression that a decided improvement is noticeable. the uneducated patient believes it easily when the physician at his very entrance into the office expresses his surprise about the external symptoms of a change for the better, perhaps seen in the color of the skin or the shading of the iris in the eye and reaffirmed by some pseudotests of the muscle reflexes. all that is not very edifying and the decent physician, who justly feels somewhat dragged down to the level of the quack in applying such means frequently, will abstain from them wherever possible. he knows that in the long run, even the psychasthenics are best treated with frankness and sincerity and he will therefore only in exceptional cases resort to such short-cut treatment by making believe. yet that it is sometimes almost the only way to help the patient cannot be denied. a neater way to secure the sufferer's belief in the possibility of a cure is by securing the desired effect at least once through little devices. as soon as it is once reached, the patient knows that it can be reached and this knowledge works as a suggestion. the hysteric who cannot speak when he thinks of his words, or who cannot walk when he thinks of his legs, may by the skillful physician be brought to a few words or steps before he himself is aware of it by completely turning his attention to something else and producing the stimulus toward the movement in a reflex-like way. still more successful is the effort to resolve the inhibited action into its component parts and to show to the patient who cannot perform the action as a whole that he can go through the parts of it after all. as soon as he has passed through a few times, a new tactual-visual image of the whole complex is secured for his consciousness and this image works then as a new cue for the entire voluntary action, overcoming the associated counter-idea. another excellent way to overpower a troublesome idea or impulse or emotion is to reënforce the opposite idea by breaking open the paths for its motor expression. the effort to hold the counter-idea before consciousness may be unsuccessful so long as it is only an idea which tries in vain to produce any motor effect; but if the action itself has been repeatedly gone through, the idea will find it easier to settle and it becomes vivid in proportion to the openness of the channels of motor discharge. this holds true even for emotional states. a certain word perhaps picked up by the psychasthenic in a particular experience may produce whenever it is seen a shock and a depressing emotion. if we ask the patient to go artificially through the movements which express joy and hilarity, make him intentionally grin and open wide the eyes and expand the arms and inhale deeply, and after training this movement complex of joyful expression, speak the dreaded word at the height of the movement a new feeling combination clusters about the sound and may overcome the antagonism. sometimes you will give to the desirable idea sufficient strength by mere repetition, sometimes you force the attention better by unusual accentuation, connecting the suggestion with a kind of shock. from here it is only one step to the suggestion in the form of a sharp order which breaks down the resistance just by its suddenness and loudness, supported perhaps by a quick arm movement which gives a cue for imitative reflexes. in the case of a youngster even a slap may add to the nervous shock; also a sudden clapping of the hands may favor effectiveness of the suggestive order. often it is wise to give the suggestion, not from without but to prescribe it in the form of autosuggestions. for instance, advise the patient not only to have the good will and intention of suppressing a certain fixed idea or by producing a certain inhibited impulse but to speak to himself in an audible voice, every morning and every evening, saying that he will overcome it now. here, too, the autosuggestion may become effective by the frequency of the repetition or by the urgency of the expression or by the accompanying motor reactions. as a matter of course any associations which reënforce the idea may be used for assistance. especially near-lying is the appeal to the man's conscience, but just such associations which touch the idea of the own personality and its deepest layers of feelings are always risky. they may touch and stir up old memories which interfere with success or they may awaken a feeling of contrast between duty and fulfillment which may disturb the whole equilibrium. if the physician knows that the good-will of the patient is insufficient to overcome the pathological disturbance, he ought not to make him feel ashamed or guilty, and that not only for moral reasons but also for strictly psychotherapeutic reasons. in certain easily recognizable cases, it is essential to give the suggestion with avoidance of any emphasis, only as a hint, passing as if the suggestion almost slipped from the tongue of the doctor without his real intention. the hysteric who is resisting the suggestion which is intentionally given to her is sometimes surprisingly trapped by a half-hidden suggestion, perhaps not spoken to the patient herself at all but spoken in a low voice to a colleague in the room. sometimes we have to trick those who suffer by "negativism," that is by an obstinacy which exaggerates that of the ordinary stubborn man. in such cases the suggestion not to perform an action works best if we want the action performed. there is hardly an end to the list of such methods for bringing beliefs and attitudes with suggestive power to the mind of the sufferer. definitely to describe the conditions under which the one or the other form ought to be applied would be no wiser than to tell a statesman what steps are to be taken in every possible diplomatic situation. the instinctive selection of the right means among the many possible ones characterizes both the true statesman and the true doctor. so far we have spoken only about the character of the suggestion, presupposing that the receiver remains in his natural state. this presupposition is certainly often entirely correct, but as far as it is correct, the results of the suggestion vary greatly with the different individuals. on the whole, we might say that such suggestions given to the subject in his normal state are effective only when the subject is by nature a suggestible being. in considering the psychology of suggestion, we recognized at once that the degree of natural suggestibility varies excessively. the non-suggestible mind is only to a slight degree influenced by any of these proposed forms of suggestion as long as the suggestibility itself is not heightened. to be sure, the question whether the person is suggestible by nature or not cannot be settled simply by his own impression. many of the most suggestible persons believe firmly that they are superior to any suggestive influence. to bring suggestions to greater effectiveness and to exert their influence practically upon every possible subject, we have thus not only to give suggestions or to advise autosuggestion but in both cases we have to secure, especially for the naturally less suggestible patients, a somewhat heightened suggestibility. yet no one can overlook that some of the methods which we described have in themselves the tendency to reënforce the mental suggestibility. those methods of emphasis and order, of assurance and make-believe, of practical training and of awakening counter-ideas, of persuasion and even of reasoning, wherever they are in a high degree successful probably always gain a certain part of their success by the increased suggestibility which the whole situation brings with it. this reënforcement of the psychophysical readiness for suggestions results indeed quite directly both from expectation of the unknown and of the half-way mysterious, and from the confidence in the doctor. of course it can work very differently. the expectation can upset the nervous system and produce unrest instead of suggestibility and, instead of confidence, the patient may feel that discouraging diffidence which settles easily upon those who have tried one fashionable physician after another. but where there is real confidence, based perhaps on the fame of the doctor and on the reports of his powerful achievements, there the conditions for effective suggestions are greatly strengthened. still better is it if this confidence in the man is combined with a sincere hope for recovery. to lie down on a lounge on which hundreds have been cured fascinates the imagination sufficiently to give to every suggestion a much better chance to overcome the counter-idea. the expectation that something wonderful will happen can even produce an almost hypnoid state. the effect will be the greater, the less the barriers of systematic knowledge hinder the entrance of suggested ideas. the uneducated will on the whole offer less resistance to suggestions, just as superstitions find the freest play in the minds of the untrained. it is not by chance that the earlier epidemics of pathological suggestibility have on the whole disappeared with the better popular education. in a similar way work fatigue and exhaustion. the resistance has grown weaker, the suggested idea goes automatically into activity. skillful artificial means can still surpass the effect of these natural conditions. here belongs everything which accentuates the authority and dignity of the originator of the suggestion. the psychologically trained physician has no difficulty in heightening the effect by simple surprises, if he cares for such tricks. if the patient for whom a mental treatment is recognized as necessary shows himself too skeptical to submit to the powers of the psychotherapist, such captivation of his belief can easily be secured. let the man perhaps fixate a penny on the table with his right eye, while the left is closed and you show him that you can make another penny suddenly disappear when you move it a certain distance to the right and appear again when you move it still further. as the man has never heard of the blind spot in the retina, he accredits you with a special power. many similar psychological illusions can well be used to prepare the mind for unsuspected healing powers. still stronger is the effect of personal contact. the psychophysiology of love indicates the most complex influence which contact sensations have on the whole nervous system and especially on the vasomotor apparatus of the body. probably such vasomotor effect enters in, changing the blood circulation in the brain, when a personal contact between the transmitter and receiver of the suggestion is brought about. if the physician's hand rests quietly on the forehead of the patient who lies with closed eyes, or if he holds for a long while the hand of the patient, he may secure a nervous repose and submission which gives to the suggestions the most fertile soil. needless to say that here again everything depends upon the accessories. an unsympathetic doctor may be entirely powerless where his neighbor has complete success. neither a lifeless hand nor an agitating one will bring the desired repose, neither a cold nor a rough one. there must be strength and energy and even discipline, and yet sympathy in the pressure of the fingers. again a psychologically different effect and yet one often to be preferred results from mild stroking movements, the stroke always to be repeated in the same direction, never up and down. the slow change in the position of the tactual sensations evidently produces a rather strong influence on the equilibrium of nervous impulses, and here again vasomotor reflexes seem to arise easily. another variety of such bodily influences is given by artificial changes of the positions, for instance by bending the head of the subject backward while the eyes are closed. it may be that a certain lack of balance sets in in which the self-equilibrium is disturbed and an external influence can thus more easily get control of the psychophysical system. again a certain monotony of speaking may easily add to the increase of the suggestibility. everyone knows that another most fruitful cause of this change is any mystic inspiration, any emotion in which the individual feels himself in contact with something higher or larger or stronger. of course, the church can secure this effect easily, and here again the maximum will be reached if a bodily contact with the symbol of religious exaltation can be established. the patient who can touch the relics of the saints or bathe in the waters of lourdes or at least feel on his forehead the hand of the minister, is wrought up to a state of suggestibility which makes suggestions easily effective. the objective value of religion again has nothing to do with it, as exactly the same effect can result from the most barbarous superstition. the amulets of a gypsy might secure the same resetting of the psychophysical system which the most sacred symbols awaken, and even many an educated person is unable to cross the threshold of a palmist or an astrologist, or to attend the performance of a spiritist, or to sit down with a purchasable trance medium without feeling an uncanny mental state which is objectively characterized by an increased suggestibility. but finally, the same effect sets in when the symbols of other emotional spheres are applied, perhaps for the patriotic soldier the flag of his country. all the states of increased suggestibility which we have characterized so far still remain within the limit of normal wakefulness. we may turn now to the methods of the psychotherapist which produce in the interest of the suggestions an artificial state. however we have no right superficially to claim that the effectiveness of the suggestions is always greater in such unnatural states. on the contrary, we know that sometimes well applied suggestions work on wide-awake persons with increased suggestibility more strongly than on hypnotized subjects. here even the instinct of the experienced physician may easily go astray, and it may need practical tests to find out which way will be the most accessible to the particular case. often a certain rôle belongs even to natural sleep. it cannot be denied that some people can be influenced to some degree by words spoken to them during sleep. most adults either wake up or show no signs of influence beyond effects on their dreams. but some absorb especially whispered words in such a way that their power becomes evident after the waking of the sleeper. much more is this true of children. a suggestion to give up vicious habits, perhaps in the sexual sphere, or to speak fluently and no longer stammer may thus be beneficial. yet the danger of this method is not small and extensive use of it is certainly not advisable. the more easily it can be carried into every bedchamber and can thus give to every mother and nurse the tools of a rather powerful therapy, the more a danger signal ought to be displayed. interference with the natural sleep by outer influences creates abnormal conditions which cannot be removed at will. the chances are great that many unintended bad effects slip in and that not a few hysterias may be created by a method at the first glance so startling. much less objectionable is it to make use of the effect of that period of half-sleep which precedes the natural sleep, and which is for many a period of increased suggestibility for autosuggestions. a resolution or the formulation of a belief which would be ineffective in a wide-awake state seems to get an accentuated effect on the mind, if it is repeatedly expressed in this transitional state. the psychasthenic who in such a half-dozing stage assures himself that he will no longer be afraid of going over a bridge or hearing a thunderstorm or will feel a disgust for whiskey or will have the energy for work, has a certain chance that such autosuggestions become reality the next morning. with many others there seems no effect to be obtained and not a few seem unable to catch the right moment. as soon as they begin to speak they become wide awake or fall asleep before they talk. incomparably more value belongs to the artificial sleep, the mesmeric state of earlier days, the hypnotism of our time. we have discussed its theory and recognized that an abnormally increased suggestibility is indeed its chief feature. we know hypnotism in most various degrees; the lowest can be reached practically by everyone, the highest by rather few. it is almost arbitrary to decide where those waking states with high tension of suggestibility end and the hypnotic states begin, and not less arbitrary to call the higher degrees only hypnotism and to designate the lower degrees as hypnoid states. if we do it, we certainly should acknowledge from the start that the hypnoid states are for therapeutic purposes not a bit less important than the full hypnotic states. certainly the hypnoid states do not allow complex hallucinations and absurd post-hypnotic actions, but they offer excellent starting points for the removal of light obsessions and phobias and for the reënforcement of desirable impulses, volitions, and emotions. many persons cannot under any circumstances be brought beyond such a hypnoid degree. the physician who has not theoretical experiments but practical success in view ought therefore never to trouble himself with the inquiry exactly which degree has been reached. this advice is given because nothing interferes with the progress of hypnotic influence so badly as the constant testing. it must naturally often lead to a point where the subject finds that he can very well still do what the hypnotizer told him not to do. if the doctor assures him that he can no longer move his arm and the patient is yet able to move it, the doctor secures the very superfluous knowledge that this special degree of suggestibility has not been reached, but the patient is sliding backward and the lower degree which actually had been reached will be less accessible later. the physician might rather resort to the opposite course and assure the patient, even after the first treatment which might have been a slight success, that he saw from definite symptoms that hypnosis had set in. that will greatly smooth the way for real hypnotic effects the next time. the best method of hypnotizing is the one which relies essentially on the spoken word, awakening through speech the idea of the approach of sleep. if the hypnotizer assures the subject in monotonous words that a feeling of fatigue is setting in, that he is feeling a tiredness creeping over his shoulders and arms and legs, that his memories are fading away and that he is now hypnotized, for not a few all is done that is needed. the hypnotic state will come and will hold until the verbal suggestion takes it off again. perhaps the hypnotizer says that he will count three and at three the subject is to open his eyes and feel perfectly comfortable. it is wise to tell the patient beforehand that he will not lose consciousness and that he will remember afterward whatever happens as many people believe that loss of memory belongs to the hypnotic state, and that they were not hypnotized if they can remember what happened. such a skeptical after-attitude can seriously interfere with the success of the treatment. yet in most cases, it will be safer not to rely on words only but to supplement them by manipulations which all converge towards the effect of increasing the suggestibility and thus of overcoming the resistance to the suggestions introduced. it is well known that for this purpose it is advisable to begin the influence with some slight fatiguing stimulations. the effect is most easily reached when the patient fixates perhaps a shining button held over his eyes or listens to monotonous sounds. a particularly strong effect belongs again to very slight touch stimuli. if the subject with his eyes closed is touched perhaps by two pencils at various and unexpected points of the face and hands, a skillful playing on his tactual senses soon produces a half-dozing state of hypnoid character. in the same group belong those so-called passes which evidently have a reflex influence in the blood-vessel system. it is advisable to combine the various elements in such a way that at first physical stimuli upon eye or skin produce an over-suggestible state and that only as soon as this state is reached the verbal suggestion sets in, perhaps with the words, "i shall hypnotize you now." under such conditions every subject may soon be brought to that degree of hypnotization which is accessible to him. yet more than one treatment is usually necessary for the higher degrees. much less importance for therapeutic purposes belongs to that hypnoid state which is reached without the idea of sleep where the subject comes with open eyes into a kind of fascination, produced perhaps by a sudden flash of light or by the firm eye of the hypnotizer. it is a state which can lead to a strong submission of will and which has its legal importance. therapeutically it can hardly secure an effect which cannot better be secured through the real sleeplike hypnotism. under certain conditions, chemical substances may well prepare for the hypnotic treatment, for instance bromides or alcohol. others rely on the suggestive effect of flavored water. but all that is unwise. the confidence of the patient is the best preparation for the securing of the helpful degree of hypnotism. of course only a small part of the therapeutic usefulness is secured during the hypnotic state itself. a pain may be removed, sleep be secured, an idea be inhibited, a movement be reënforced in cases where non-hypnotic suggestions would have found insurmountable obstacles. during the hypnosis we may also open the storehouse of memory and bring to light the ideas which disturbed the equilibrium of the suffering mind. further in those most complex hysteric cases of dissociated personality, new memory connections may be formed during the hypnosis by which a synthesis of the double or triple personalities into the old one may be secured. yet the general effect which the physician has to hope for from hypnotic treatment is the post-hypnotic one. not what happens during the hypnosis but what the suggestion will produce after hypnosis is essential to him. the fixed idea is to disappear forever, the paralyzed limb is under control, the desire for morphine and cocaine is gone for all future time, the perverse longing is annihilated, the old energy is to remain again for all time. it is the post-hypnotic after-effectiveness which gives to the hypnoid and to the hypnotic states their importance for the treatment of the most exasperating symptoms. to be sure, the treatment often must be a prolonged one. a man who for years has used thirty grains of morphine a day cannot be rid of the desire after two or three hypnotic sittings. in such a case the treatment may cover three or four months, if it is to be of lasting value and without any damage during the treatment. still we are not at the end of the psychotherapeutic methods and we may turn to a fascinating group of curative efforts which has especially come to the foreground in recent years. we mentioned before that mischief cannot seldom be traced back to earlier experiences with a strong unpleasurable feeling. in certain cases, the subject remembers such particular experiences as the beginning of his discomfort; in others, especially those of hysteric character, the starting point may have long been forgotten, and yet that early impression evidently left traces in the brain which produce disturbances in conscious life. the psychotherapist nowadays calls these groups of traces "complexes." we recognized clearly that there is no reason to refer such forgotten remainders of the past to any subconscious mind; they are physical after-effects which keep their influence over the equilibrium of the psychophysical system. now modern psychotherapy finds that the entire disturbances which arise from such emotional disagreeable experiences, forgotten or not forgotten, can often be removed by psychical means. two ways in particular seem open. as soon as the idea is fully brought back to consciousness again, the patient must be made to express the primary emotion with full intensity. subtle analysis has repeatedly shown that many of the gravest hysteric symptoms result from such a suppression of emotions at the beginning and disappear as soon as the primary experience comes to its right motor discharge and gains its normal outlet in action. the whole irritation becomes eliminated, the emotion is relieved from suppression and the source of the cortical uproar is removed forever. practically still more important seems the other case which refers alike to hysterics and psychasthenics and which is applicable for the forgotten experience not less than for the well-remembered ones. this second way demands that the psychotherapist bring this primary experience strongly to consciousness and then by a new training link it with new and more desirable associations and reactions. the disturbing idea is thus not to be discharged but to be sidetracked so that in future it leads to harmless results. the new setting works towards an entirely new equilibrium. what was a starting point for abnormal fears now becomes an indifferent object of interest and all its evil consequences are cut off. it may be acknowledged that the full elaboration of these methods still belongs to the future. both methods, the discharging, or the so-called cathartic one, and the side-tracking method evidently demand the discovery of the starting point in the service of the therapy and here again several methods are at the disposal of the psychologist. a promising way to this end is the inexhaustible association test which we mentioned when we discussed the contributions of the psychological laboratory to the medical diagnosis. a series of short words are spoken to the patient and, as soon as he hears one, he is to pronounce as quickly as possible the first word which comes to his mind. if we use fifty words, we should be able to learn something as to the inner states of the man and as to the working of his mind, if we analyze carefully his particular choices. but two further conditions ought to be fulfilled. the time of the association ought to be measured. of course there will be wide differences. a word which is often in a certain connection will quickly bring the habitual association. abstract words will call forth their associations more slowly than concrete words, familiar words more rapidly than unfamiliar words. to measure such association time with fullest accuracy, as it is necessary for the purpose of scientific investigations, delicate electrical instruments are needed that indicate thousandths parts of a second. for the purpose of the practical physician such accuracy would be superfluous. his examination will be perfectly successful if it is carefully done with a stop-watch which shows the fifth part of a second, like those which are used at races. he speaks a word, presses at the same time the button of the watch, and presses the stopper when he sees the lips of the patient moving. he is thus able to examine not only the involuntary choice of association but also the time of every associative process. but a second condition ought also to be fulfilled. after some indifferent words, others ought to be mixed into the series which touch in a tentative way on various spheres corresponding to the possible suspicions. the groups to which the hidden thoughts of psychasthenics, for instance, belong are not many. as soon as our series of words strikes such a group, the reaction of the mind may be discriminated. the effect may be a general perturbation resulting either in an unusual delay of the fitting association or in an effort to cover the sore spot by an unfitting association. sometimes the dangerous association may rush forward even with unusual rapidity but, as soon as it is uttered, it gives a shock to the mental system, brings the whole associative process into disorder, and the result is that the next following associations are abnormally delayed. the skilled psychologist will quickly take such a change as a cue for the selection of the later words in his series. of course, he will at first return to neutral words, but as soon as he has found a danger spot, he will approach it from various sides, perhaps in every fourth or fifth word, and may then find out which particular experiences are disquieting the patient. words like women or money or career or family or disease are often sufficient to get the first inkling of a mental story. with less diagnostic elegance we sometimes reach the same end by taking careful records of pulse and breathing and involuntary movements during an apparently harmless conversation. the instruments at the disposal of the psychologist are those familiar to every psychological laboratory: the pneumograph, which registers the movements of respiration; the sphygmograph, which writes the pulsation of the artery in the wrist; the automatograph, or other instruments, which register the slight unintentional movements of the arm. if the examiner is skillful, he will not fail to discover the changes in breathing and pulse and reaction as soon as the painful groups of ideas are approached. more of theoretic interest and too cumbersome for practical diagnosis is the unfailing galvanic reaction from the skin in which the glands change their activity and their resistance to the galvanic current under the influence of hidden emotions. yet all these methods, with exception of the last, are essentially useful only if the starting experience is still accessible to the memory of the patient. he may be unaware that it had anything to do with his nervous symptoms but he recognizes the experience still as soon as his attention is directed towards it. the psychologically more interesting but probably more exceptional situation is the one in which it is not only forgotten but cannot be recognized when it is brought to consciousness. the shortest way to get hold of such past impressions is the hypnotic one. the hypnotic state sharpens the memory and experiences of early childhood or apparently insignificant experiences of later life may be brought back when they would have been inaccessible to any intentional effort of the attention. even still more surprising is the success if the association is left to a dreamy play of ideas suggested perhaps by gazing into a crystal ball or by a meaningless talking. perhaps the patient lies with closed eyes on the couch while the physician holds his hand. a few words are given to him as a starting point and then he is thoughtlessly to pronounce whatever comes to his mind, not only unfinished sentences but loose phrases, single words, apparently without meaning and slowly ideas arise which betray the original intrusion. at last memories and lost emotions come again to the surface, and the watchful psychotherapist may discover the complex, which is then to be removed by discharge or by side-tracking. this is the so-called psychoanalytic method. finally the psychotherapist may go still one step further. after all it often seems inexplainable that just this or that emotional experience made such a deep and lasting impression while a thousand other experiences passed by without leaving any mischievous after-effect. it seems that indeed the conditions are still more complicated. that emotional disturbance operated dangerously perhaps only because it itself appealed to a suppressed desire and this seems to hold true especially for suppressed emotions of the sexual sphere. the desire for gratification in normal or abnormal channels was perhaps attached by the mind to some group of objects. it was completely suppressed but it left an abnormal tension in the central system. if now a chance experience touches on this group of ideas, there results an explosive reaction; and movements, convulsions, spasms, obsessions, and fears set in which get their particular character not through the secondary intrusion but from the primary desire. to discharge that intrusion leads therefore only to the elimination of those symptoms which resulted from it, but the primary disturbance goes on and any new chance intrusion will produce new explosions. the psychotherapist should therefore go deeper and relieve the mind from those primary desires which may belong to early youth and which are entirely forgotten. even the method of automatic writing may here sometimes lead to an unveiling of those deepest layers of suppressed desires. in the same way a careful, subtle analysis of dreams may support the search for the hidden source of interference. we have spoken of the technical methods of the psychotherapist. it would be short-sighted to ignore the great manifoldness of secondary methods which he shares with the ordinary intercourse between man and man, the methods which the teacher uses in the schoolroom, which the parents use in the nursery, which the neighbor uses with his neighbor, methods which build up the mind, methods which train the mind, methods which reënforce good habits and suppress unwholesome ones, methods which stimulate sound emotions and inhibit a quarrelsome temper, methods which indeed are not less important in the psychiatric clinic and in the hospital than in our daily life, and which certainly have central importance in that borderland region which is the particular working field of the psychotherapist. x the mental symptoms we have discussed both the psychological theory and the practical work of psychotherapy in a systematic order without any reference to personal chance experience. after studying the fundamental principles, we have sketched the whole field of disturbances in which psychotherapeutic influence might be possible and all the methods available. it seems natural that our next step should be an illustrating of such work by a number of typical cases. here it seems advisable to leave the track of an objective system and to turn to the record of personal observation. as this is not a handbook for the physician, dealing with the special forms of disease, we emphasized before that we avoid even any attempt in such a direction because it would have to introduce not only the questions of diagnosis, but above all the highly important questions of treatment by physical agencies. we saw that for us nothing else can be desirable, but to show the way in which the various symptoms which suggest mental treatment occur, and how they yield to the psychical methods. we had also agreed beforehand that for a first survey we might separate the mental from the bodily symptoms and group the mental ones with reference to the predominance of ideational, emotional, and volitional factors. and finally it may be said that we abstain from everything which is exceptional or even unusual, and confine ourselves to the routine observations with which the psychotherapist comes in contact every day and the simplest country physician surely every week. thus i turn from systematic objectivity to my unsystematic reminiscences of many years. of course, they abound with eccentric abnormities and startling phenomena. as i have devoted myself to psychotherapeutics, always and only from scientific interest, as a part of my laboratory studies and therefore have refused to spend any time on cases which offered no special psychological interest to me, the striking and sensational cases have prevailed in my practice even to an unusual degree. yet they are unessential for our purposes here, the more as their interest lies mostly in the complex structure of the mental state while the curative features are in the background. our purpose of demonstrating practical cases as they occur in every village, and as they ought to be understood and treated by every doctor, thus rules out just those experiences which would be prominent in a theoretical study of abnormal psychology. we want to select only simple commonplace cases. only those who have not learned to see are unaware that such cases are everywhere about them. as a matter of course, i also leave out everything which refers to insanity, that is, every mental disturbance which lies essentially outside of the domain of psychotherapy. the helpful influence which psychical factors can exert in the asylums for the insane is, as we emphasized, entirely secondary. the psychotherapeutic methods in the narrower sense of the word are in the present state of our knowledge ineffective in the insane asylum. i should also be unable to speak of laboratory experience with insanity, as i insist on sanitarium treatment in every such case. the question of how to differentiate the diagnosis of insanity from that of the other mental abnormities is not our question at this moment. i select the few illustrations which seem to me desirable for the purpose of making more concrete our abstract discussion of methods, essentially from the class of neurasthenics, psychasthenics, hysterics, and so on. in all these reports, i shall confine the account to the few points which are to illustrate the psychical factors, thus abstaining entirely from the further details which any medical history of the cases would demand and from all results of further examination and other particulars. as a matter of course, i exclude the possibility of identifying the patient. i may start with a typical case of obsessing ideas of simplest character and with simple routine treatment illustrating the emphasis on antagonistic ideas. a man of mature age, well educated, well built and in every respect in good health, without nervous history and without other nervous symptoms, suffered vehemently by the persistent recurrence of a visual image which entirely absorbed his attention. he knew exactly the development of his trouble. a woman acquaintance of his had committed suicide by poisoning herself. he knew her slightly and the emotion of personal loss played hardly any rôle in the case. but he had met her at a gay dinner a short time before her death. the news of the suicide came to him when he was overtired from work. the idea of the contrast between seeing his friend partaking of the dinner and imagining her drinking the poison gave him a strong shock. there was hardly any grief mixed in. he remembers that he shivered at the thought of the contrast, and in that moment the visual image of the woman raising a glass of poison to her mouth flashed into his mind and thus became almost a part of the shock. from that time on, the memory image of this scene returned more and more frequently. at first it associated itself with any chance mentioning of death or suicide and to a very slight degree with the idea of a meal. more and more any element of a meal and of social life, the word soup or meat, the word gown or dance, brought up at once the picture of the woman, which had in the meantime lost every element of personal relation. any sad thought of her ending had faded away. it remained merely a troublesome impression. the man fought against it by trying to suppress the idea but the more he fought against it, the more insistently it rushed forward through new and ever new association paths. any advertisement in the newspaper referring to food, anything in a shop window referring to ladies' dresses, any household utensils related to a meal, and especially the meals themselves, forced the visual image into the centre and captured the attention to such a degree that a confusing distraction from the real surroundings resulted. the struggle against the idea became more and more exasperating, made life a torture, almost suggested despair, even faint thoughts of suicide, and especially a growing fear that it was a symptom of the beginning of insanity. when he came to me, a number of physical cures, especially bromides and electricity, had been tried in vain by the physician. some weeks in the country had not changed the distress. he came to me with the direct request as a last resort to try hypnotic treatment. i found in spite of the fact that he and his physician had constantly spoken of visual hallucinations that the visual image had no hallucinatory character at all, that is, he never believed that he saw the image of that woman as if it were actually present, he never took the product of his imagination for reality, nor had it the vividness and character of reality. it was hardly more vivid than any landscape which he tried to remember, only that it controlled the interplay of ideas in such a persistent way. i found that he was a strong visualizer and easily suggestible. i told him beforehand that i should hypnotize him only to a slight degree, that he would not lose consciousness, that he would remember everything which i told him. then i asked him to lie down and had him gaze on a crystal only for half a minute, then close the eyes. i asked him to relax and to think of sleep. with the two blunt points of a compass, i touched his two cheeks at corresponding places, then his forehead. and now i told him that i would begin with the hypnotic influence. i put my hand on his forehead and spoke to him in a monotonous way, saying that he felt a fatigue in his shoulders, and in his arms, creeping over his whole body and assured him that he was now fully hypnotized. to what degree he really was hypnotized cannot be said as no effort was made to test it by any experiments, thus avoiding any possible reaction against the feeling of submission. expression and breathing indicated a slight hypnoid state. then i removed my hand and spoke to him in a warm and assuring way. i told him that in future he would give his full attention to his meal, and not give the slightest attention to any image of his friend. if he should think of the friend the memory would appear indifferent, he would not even notice the image and would give his whole mind to the objects with which he was engaged. in the same way, when he should be reading newspapers or looking in shopwindows, his whole attention would belong to that which he really perceived. any passing inner image would be ignored. then i awoke him from his sleep. he was unwilling to believe that he had been in hypnosis at all. i told him that the effect would prove it and in his fully wakeful state i explained to him why there was not the slightest fear of insanity justified, that it was a psychasthenic state resulting from fatigue and shock and from a wrong attitude of his attention during the past months, and then i asked him to return the next day. intentionally i had not given the suggestion that the image would disappear. i could not expect it would disappear entirely after a first treatment and even a faint appearance of it would have at once fascinated the attention and brought about the whole disturbance of the equilibrium which might become habitual. instead of it i gave the impulse to the counter-idea, that is, i reënforced the attention towards that which he really saw around him and thus withdrew the attention from the rival image in the mind. the success was complete. he came the next day in a much happier frame of mind, reporting that he still had seen the image of the woman every few minutes, especially strongly at the breakfast table, but it had no longer troubled him. it was more in the background of consciousness, sometimes it appeared transparent, it no longer held his attention, and he felt free to give his full attention to the actual surroundings. on that basis i hypnotized him the second day and he had hardly heard me saying that he ought to try to sleep when he was evidently in a much deeper hypnotic state than the first time. again i suggested only the opposite attitude, the positive turning to the surroundings and the complete neglect and indifference for the possible memory image. this time the effect was still stronger. on the third day he reported that he still saw the image but he no longer minded it, as it was like a veil through which he looked at real objects and that left him entirely indifferent. his mind was hardly engaged with it any more. the real spell of the attention was broken. on the basis of this situation, i took the last step and suggested that the image of the woman would disappear altogether and would not trouble him any more. in the next twenty-four hours, it still returned two or three times, but colorless and faint. the following day i was able to eliminate it altogether. even when the last trace of the inner struggle between the memory and the perceived surroundings had disappeared, i went on with two hypnotic sittings to give stability to the new equilibrium, to insist that the image would not come back and to settle completely that inner repose with which every fear of possible disease evaporated. i feel sure that the cure would not have been reached so quickly, possibly not at all, if the second suggestion, the disappearance of the image, had been given at the first step. the improvement was secured because the antagonistic process itself was used for the suggestion. on the other hand, there was no doubt that in this case the strong will of the patient or suggestion in a normal state would not alone have been sufficient. the hypnotic treatment was indicated by the symptoms and justified by the results. i may take another typical case in which also the obsession was brought about by an idea without emotional value or at least by an idea which had lost its emotional character; the idea came somewhat nearer to hallucination, but had its chief elements on tactual ground where the transition from image to hallucinatory perception is easier. i add this case to demonstrate that hypnosis is not the only open way of treatment in such cases and that the variations must always be adjusted to the special conditions. the case gains importance by the fact that the patient was himself a physician well trained in mental observation. the patient is a highly educated physician of middle age. he reports that he had been neurasthenic all his life with slight ever-changing symptoms. he has always been troubled by the "perseveration" of tactual images which had a strong feeling tone and which were associated with seen or heard reports of the experiences of others. for instance, when he read in a newspaper that someone had hurt his hand with a pin, or that someone had cut his foot on a nail, he immediately felt a not directly painful but uncomfortable sensation at the particular place in the hand or in the foot, together with a shrinking of the whole body and such tactual sensation usually returned during the following days in fainter and fainter form until it faded away. most troublesome had always been the reading of any torture processes in historical books or in fiction. yet there had never been a case in which the sensations really had the vividness of hallucinations and never a case in which the after effects had not disappeared at least in a few weeks. this time the effect had already lasted four months and it became more and more troublesome. the patient had not the slightest fear of mental disease and no anxiety, but he felt a very serious disturbance by the instinctive effort to get rid of the intrusion. the place of the disturbance was the wrists. the starting point was a definite experience. on an unusually hot summer day the physician had listened for a long time to the complaints of a female patient who suffered vehemently from a nervous fear of scissors and knives and who was afraid that she would cut her artery at the wrist. he believes that it was the exhausting heat of the day which weakened him to a point where the story of his patient affected him very strongly and made him think of it all the time. yet there was no sensation element involved. a few hours later, he sat in a hotel at his dinner. just in front of him a butler started to carve a duck with a long, sharp knife. in that moment he felt as if the knife passed through the wrists of both arms. he felt for a moment almost faint; arms and legs were contracted and an almost painful sensation lingered in the skin, and did not disappear for hours. from that day at the sight of knives or razors, not only in his hands or his direct neighborhood, but also in a store and finally in a picture, stirred up at once the optical image of that carving knife cutting into the skin of the wrist, only with the difference that it seldom was found in both arms, usually in the one or the other. the sensation became a strictly tactual one with optical overtone, but there was no emotion in it. the pain element had disappeared. also the shock, which still recurred in the first days slowly disappeared. the longer the symptom lasted, the more the optical factor faded away, and the tactual factor came into the foreground after three or four weeks. perhaps seeing a razor in a store window or a pocket knife open no longer stirred up the image of cutting the wrist, but simply a strong tactual sensation, as if the skin of the wrist was scratched and pinched. finally, after about two months, the association character disappeared to a high degree and the scratching and cutting sensation in the skin became independent and automatic. the patient awoke in the morning with a vivid tactual hallucination of being cut without associating with it any picture of a knife. throughout the day, in the midst of work and in the midst of conversation, sometimes one and sometimes the other wrist became the center of the exasperating sensation, easily bringing with it involuntary reactions as if to withdraw the arm. this became more and more frequent and more and more vivid. the doctor, fully aware of the borderland character of this experience, felt sure that his inner fight against the disturbance would get control of it. the usual tonics did not show any influence. on the other hand, there were no other nervous symptoms and, with his most acute analysis, he did not find the slightest trace of emotion any longer. when the symptoms reached a point at which they seriously interfered with his comfort, he asked me for psychotherapeutic treatment, under the condition that i was not to apply hypnotism. he was absolutely averse to the use of hypnotism in his own case because he was afraid that to be hypnotized would mean for him a certain disposition to fall into hypnotic sleep by auto-suggestion, as he knew the vividness of his imaginative sensations. he wanted to avoid that the more as his own professional work might sometimes demand hypnotizing in his own practice. in any case he had an aversion to it and asked for other means. under these circumstances, it seemed to me the most logical conclusion that the counter idea with its antagonistic reactions might be reënforced by direct perception. the abnormal tactual sensation forced on consciousness the idea of the cutting of the wrist. the necessary counter action would be to force to consciousness the idea of the uninjured wrist and the corresponding reactions. as the wrist can be easily made accessible to sight and as i anticipated that the visual sensations would be more forceful than the tactual ones, i told him to look straight at his own wrists for ten minutes three times a day after waking, after luncheon, and before going to bed. he had to hold his two forearms close in front of his eyes and stare at them, giving his full attention to the visual impression of the smooth, uninjured skin of the wrist. if during this process, the tactual counter-sensations were vivid, he had to go on with the staring at both arms, both held near together until the perception had crowded out the rival touch sensation. when this performance had been carried out six times, he did not notice the coming up of the tactual sensation with vividness any longer. from the third day it had disappeared entirely. i told him to go on with the process still every morning for some weeks. the physician himself considered the cure as complete. our first case dealt with hypnosis, our second case removed the intruding idea by a perception in a waking state. to point at once to the variety of methods which we sketched, we may turn again to a case of emotionless idea removed by the method of switching off and side-tracking the originating and physiological "complex." the patient is a school-teacher in the middle west, a nervous, thin-looking woman of about twenty-five. her only complaint is a persistent idea that she may at any time get a child. she has had this idea "as long as she can remember," according to her first expression. she never had any intimate acquaintance with any man, she was never engaged, she hated bitterly every thought of immorality, she knows and has assured herself by much reading that it is entirely impossible that she might get a child without sexual contact. yet this thought recurs to her all the time, even when she is talking with other people. it embarrasses her in school, in spite of her teaching only girls in a private institution. this thought keeps her away from company and the effect of its embarrassing occurrence depresses her, but she is sure that the thought itself does not include any emotion. it is a mere thinking of it with a full consciousness that it is absurd, and yet she cannot suppress it. i began at once to try to find the origin of her queer obsession. after some efforts to pierce into her memories, we came to an experience of her youth. when she was about thirteen years of age, a young girl whom she had admired much for her beauty, living in the neighborhood of her parents, suddenly got a child which died after a few days. at that time no thought of immorality seems to have entered into that news. it was evidently mere sadness about the quick death of the child which gave to the experience its emotional tone. she was at that time completely naïve. she received an intense shock in the thought that an unmarried girl may suddenly get a child which would then quickly die. she cannot tell whether the thought that she herself would get a child had ever entered her mind before this occurrence in her neighborhood, nor can she say that it occurred immediately or very soon after it. she now knows only that she has always had that thought, but whether that means more than ten years, she does not know. i considered it a justifiable hypothesis that this strong emotional experience early in life had become the starting point for that secondary absurd thought. i considered that primary experience as cause for a deep physiological brain excitement which had irradiated towards the ideas of her personality. it had stirred up there associations which kept their psychological character while the primary disturbance had long lost its psychical accompaniment. it worked its mischief in a physiological sphere but was probably still the starting point for the persistent obsession. my aim was to remove this cause. it would have brought little improvement simply to suppress the freak idea as long as that physiological source was active. on the other hand i should not have the means to stop the physiological after-effects of that real experience: i had to sidetrack it and to secure thus a reduction. i decided therefore to work on the basis of that hypothesis, to accept that physiological complex as existing, but to switch it off by linking it with appropriate associations, thus setting it right in the whole system of her thoughts. for that purpose i brought her into a hypnoid state, bending her head backwards and speaking to her with slow voice until i saw that a slight drowsy state was reached. in this state i asked her to think back as vividly as she could of that experience of her youth, to fancy herself meeting that pretty girl, her neighbor, once more. she is to imagine that she speaks with her. now i make her talk with me and she assures me that she sees the scene distinctly. she believes she sees the girl on the street. i ask her to tell the girl how indignant she feels over her behavior; she is to tell her that she understands now all which she did not understand in her childhood, that she knows now that she must have lived an immoral life; that she must have had a friend and that a pure girl like herself could never under any circumstances come into such a situation, that no pure girl could suddenly have a child. she is to express to the other girl her deepest disapproval of such conduct and her own feeling of happiness that anything like that could never happen to her. in accordance with my demands, she worked herself entirely into the scene: without using audible voice, she internally spoke with great vividness to her neighbor. when i awoke her from her drowsy state, she was quite exhausted from the excitement. i repeated that scene with her four times. she assured me that she felt it every time more dramatically. the power of the obsession weakened from the first day. after the fourth time, it had disappeared. the subcortical complex had evidently found its normal channels of discharge. in discussing this method of side-tracking the complex, we mentioned that in other cases the result is reached by bringing the memory of that first experience to a vivid motor discharge, without substituting any other ideas. for that purpose no direct personal influence is necessary. treatment might just as well be performed "by correspondence," provided that the right starting point is discovered and that right suggestions are given. as an illustration, i may choose a case which shows at least the maximum distance treatment by mail, from boston to seattle. this particular case presented no difficulty in getting hold of the starting point as my correspondent, whom i have never seen, himself at once pointed to the original source of his obsessing idea. the patient who lived with his family in seattle wrote to me the following: "----i shall undertake to describe in a few words a condition which the writer has fought against for about eight years and which has subjected him to untold mental anguish.----i was backward in a social way but altogether happy. after working in a bank about a year, was discovered one evening by the cashier smoking a cigar in the basement, was unable to look him in the face at the time. went home that night and thought very little about it, but on the following morning during the regular course of business, i stepped up to him to ask some question, and as usual, unconsciously looked him in the face. his glance was questioning and suspicious, and that was the beginning of a life of anguish for me. at first i could not look him in the eyes, then when looking at some other person, i happened to think of it and so on, until in two or three days it was impossible to look at anyone who came to my window. the cashier did everything he could for me. no use: i quit my position, lost most of my friends, had to leave a happy home and came to seattle to work for an old school friend. in the first year, owing to new environments, i managed to conceal my mental condition to a certain degree. all of a sudden, i was again plunged into the depths of black despair. it took me about two years to (partially) forget it, when the same thing occurred again, and i lost my grip. the last time about eighteen months ago was almost more than i could stand. these three or four instances i speak of were cases of extreme despondency, but my usual mental condition is extremely unhappy. if occasions arise where i have to sit and talk to anyone for ten minutes, controlling myself is such an effort that it leaves me with a case of the blues.... i shall come and see you as the relief would give me a new lease on life." this letter was written on the twenty-third of january, . i replied to him at once that he certainly ought not to come from the pacific to the atlantic, but that i wanted him to write to me much more about that first occurrence. as he was evidently right in considering that episode as the starting point of his troublesome associations, i supposed that these associated ideas had not yet become independent but were still the effect of that first "complex." therefore i wanted to bring that to complete discharge. accordingly i wrote him to think himself once more into that happening of years ago, to pass through it with all the power of his imagination, to describe it to me then in as full a statement as possible and to express in the letter also his conviction that there was no reason to avoid the eyes of his superior, that he might have looked straight into his face. as soon as he got my reply, he wrote to me on the sixth of february a description of that first episode, filling nineteen pages, telling me all about his relations to those various men and every minute detail was brought clearly to consciousness again. i did not add anything further, but the expected occurred. on the eighteenth of february, he writes to me: "in the last week or ten days, the writer has noted a decided improvement regarding mental condition. the result is a new interest in life. if you can spare the time, would like to have you write me a few lines. gratefully yours." at the end of the month he writes: "received your letter about half an hour ago. hasten to assure you with a great deal of pleasure that i am feeling much better. since sending you the letter regarding the first case, i have noticed day by day an improvement." on the eighth of march: "since writing you last i have noticed a gradual improvement. it has given me wonderful encouragement." on the tenth of march: "just a line to say that i am still improving." on the twelfth of april: "i desire to say that since the taking up of treatment with you, life has had a far different appearance to me than it has had for the last ten years." on the twenty-first of april: "since my first letter to you, there has been such an improvement that i have accepted a position which carries with it much responsibility." this case leads over to the large group in which the obsessing idea involves the relation to a particular person. i find in such cases autosuggestion more liberating than heterosuggestion if the development has not gone too far. of course autosuggestion can never take hypnotic character, but makes use with profit of the transition state before normal sleep. the type of these cases which are everywhere about us may be indicated by the following letter. the writer is a young woman of twenty-four, whom i did not know personally. she wrote to me as follows: "i am a writer by profession and during the last year and a half have been connected with a leading magazine. in my work, i was constantly associated with one man, the managing editor. this man exerted a very peculiar influence over me. with everyone else connected with the magazine, i was my natural self and at ease, but the minute this man came into the room, i became an entirely different person, timid, nervous, and awkward, always placing myself and my work in a bad light. but under this man's influence, i did a great deal of literary work, my own and his too. i felt that he willed me to do it. the effect of this influence was that i suffered constantly from deep fits of depression almost amounting to melancholia. this lasted until last fall, when i felt that i should lose my mind if i stayed under his influence any longer. so i resigned my position and broke away. then i felt like a person who, having a drug to stimulate him to do a certain amount of work, has that drug suddenly taken away, and without it i am unable to write at all...." i wrote to the young lady that she could cure herself without hypnotism and without my personal participation. i urged her simply to speak to herself early in the morning and especially in the evening before going to sleep, and to say to herself that the man had never helped her at her work, but that she did it entirely of her own power, and that he had never had any influence on it, and that she can write splendidly since she has left the place, and much better than before. a few months later, she came to cambridge and thanked me for the complete success which the auto-suggestive treatment had secured. she was completely herself again and was fully successful in filling a literary position in which she had to write the editorials, the book reviews, the dramatic criticisms, and the social news. as a matter of course, such treatment had removed only the symptom. the over-suggestible constitution had not been and could not be changed. thus it was not surprising that in the meantime, while her full literary strength had come back, she had developed some entirely different symptoms of bodily character which i had to remove by hypnotism. as soon as the obsessing idea of the influence of another person takes still a stronger hold and develops systems, the suspicion of insanity always lies near; especially when hallucinations are superadded, the probability is great that we then have to do with the delusions of a paranoiac, and thus no case for psychotherapeutic treatment. yet it is always wise to keep a psychasthenic interpretation in view as long as the insanity is not evident. i may mention such an extreme case. the patient, a man of middle age, highly educated, for years had heard voices calling his name. a man with whom he had some personal quarrel, had, as he believed, hypnotized him from a distance and made him act queerly or do things which he really did not want to do, by telepathic influence. it is a development which is found quite frequently. abnormal organic sensations or abnormal impulses and inhibitions which the patient cannot account for by his own motives become connected with some vague ideas which are in the air, like wireless telegraphy or telepathy or hypnotism from a distance or electrical influence, or magnetism or telephoning, these then attached to an acquaintance who stands in a certain emotional relation. here, too, some organic sensations evidently had been the starting point and the idea of the man with whom he quarreled had been secondarily attached. from this starting point more and more detail was reached. every action was brought into connection with the powerful enemy who controlled more and more even the normal and reasonable doings of the patient. my first impression was decidedly that of a paranoiac. yet in some ways the case suggested another view. there had remained an insight into the unreality of the obsession. the patient did not really believe the theory of the telepathic hypnotic influence. he felt it more as an idea which he could not get rid of and he did not know clearly himself whether he requested hypnotic treatment on my part for the purpose of counteracting the hypnotic power of his enemy or for the purpose of liberating him from his exasperating fixed idea. moreover, i found that his voices had no hallucinatory character, but were merely sound images. i decided to make the experiment without great hope of success. i hypnotized the man deeply and suggested that no one can have power over his actions, that he is the responsible originator of everything that he does and that no one can influence him and that from that hour he would feel free from any telepathic intrigue. the effect of the very insistent and urgently repeated hypnotic suggestion during the first rather long treatment was such a surprisingly good one that i decided to continue the psychotherapeutic cure. i hypnotized him daily for two weeks. the belief in the real wrong doings of an enemy disappeared entirely from the first. it was at once apprehended as a mere obsessing idea in the own mind and this idea itself began to be resolved. it lost its unity; the absurd impulses were still felt but they became less and less connected with the idea of another man, and as soon as they were rightly understood as doings of the own mind, the opposite motives gained in strength. a stronger and stronger appeal to his own power made these motives more and more influential. slowly the association of the influence of the other man faded away entirely. i intentionally had not given any attention to the pseudo-voices, inasmuch as they had not taken any relation to the ideational delusion. i therefore did not include them in my suggestions, as i consider it wise to confine hypnotic suggestions always to as few points as possible. yet these voices decreased too. at a certain point in the cure i substituted--to save my own time--an autosuggestive influence, or rather a mixed one, inasmuch as i had him read ten times a day a letter of mine which contained appropriate suggestions. after about six weeks, all the disturbances for which he had sought my advice had disappeared. obsessing ideas of such personal influence involve of course always a certain amount of emotional excitement and they may lead us to the unlimited field of disturbances in which the persecuting idea is surrounded by emotional attitudes. analysis shows easily that the emotion is an essential factor and that it persists in the disease while the ideas to which it clings may change. central is the emotion of fear; nearest to it that of worry, but any emotion may give color to the particular case. again any number of methods may be applied and a few illustrations with quite different ways of treatment may indicate more fully the character of the trouble. there is no doctor in the city and none in the remotest village who may not find such cases in his near neighborhood. of course slight degrees are easily hidden by the patient's own inhibition of external expression. if such suppression by the own will secures a real overcoming of the unjustified emotion, this is surely better than to begin any medical treatment. but as the suppression usually means simply lack of discharge and thus offers all the conditions for an unhealthy inner growth of the trouble, the neglect of such disturbances is most regrettable, and frankness of the patient must be encouraged. such situation demands a careful observation of the whole case and a subtle adjustment of the treatment to the individual needs. it may perhaps be helpful at first simply to indicate the varieties of the more frequent disturbances of this kind by quoting from various letters. each case belongs to a type which can easily be removed by psychotherapeutic influence, generally even by a skillfully directed autosuggestion. the writer is a young man. "i have always, as long as i can remember, been very nervous and sensitive. when about seven years of age, i was attacked by st. vitus' dance. before that i cannot say whether i was particularly nervous or not. afterward it was impressed upon me by the remarks of relatives that i was nervous, so that i soon took note of this condition myself. the manner in which this weakness has been especially troublesome is that it has caused me to be very shy. i shrank from new acquaintances and disliked being observed. often in walking along on the street, i imagined myself closely noticed by the passerby and i always felt uncomfortable. "about three years ago i suffered from typhoid fever and after recovering, a new form of the old trouble showed itself. this time i imagined that when eating i chewed my food in a manner that was ridiculous and which made people hardly keep from laughter in observing me. often i had to leave the table when half through because i felt i could not bear having critical eyes upon me any longer. about three months ago i determined to be troubled no further by my own foolish fancies and by constantly schooling myself i have improved very much. still, however, when i walk alone along the street, i must fortify myself mentally before passing each group of people. if once i allow myself to think that they are looking at me, i feel almost paralyzed, my feet seem too heavy to lift, my arms do not seem to swing naturally, and in attempting to look placid and unconcerned, i feel that i am failing utterly. also when at table, i must still tell myself before each mouthful that i have no need for fear, that my manner at table is equal and perhaps superior to the others beside me. i have gone a certain length in my self-training, and have relieved myself of a great deal of the mental distress, but now i believe i can advance no further. what seems needful now is to do away with the self-consciousness which brought on my worries, though whether this is possible is hard to say." here the letter of a young woman, the type which fills the army of the mind healers and faith curists. "for years i have been seeking, or perhaps to be more accurate i should say waiting, for a mind to drift toward me; a mind that would understand my particular case of fear brought on by the constant bullying and nagging from my earliest childhood by those in my home. this fear of brutality has greatly depleted my nervous system and has unfitted me for the strong, useful, forceful life i should have expressed. if i could only rid my mind of the thought that i am always displeasing, or rather, going to displease people, for i hardly do displease them; if i could get rid of the fear of caring what the attitude of other minds toward me is, i feel that i should then strike out into a strong life of helpfulness to others. in other words i have always felt behind me a great force pressing me out into public work. when i was a child, it was so strong that i was sat down upon brutally, to so great an extent that i feared to voice my convictions and that fear still clings to me like a nemesis. it seems that every individual personality in a public or private audience rises up to overwhelm me, causing my tongue to grow heavy and my mind to become a blank. this enervating fear blends into every thought i have, whether sleeping or waking. i have fought with all my might to rid myself of it but so far in vain." here an expression of a very frequent variety. the writer is a middle-aged man. "i am possessed of a fear that is constantly with me that something dreadful is going to happen and i do not seem to be able to overcome it. i am told by physicians that i am bodily sound, although very nervous, and that the fear is generated entirely by autosuggestion. when at its worst, it weakens and terrorizes me and in my better moments i am tormented with a fear of a recurrence of a bad spell. it is fear of a fear. a year ago at this time i had a very bad spell but got along fairly well through the summer, but i am afraid that i will soon again be in a bad condition and lose all that i may have gained." the "fear of a fear" is indeed a symptom which the psychotherapist has to fight extremely often, but as soon as he has really recognized it and analyzed the whole mental condition, he will hardly have any difficulty in uprooting it. i add a letter of a school-teacher in new york. he writes: "i am teaching in a high school. i am of a nervous temperament and constitutionally limited in endurance. often my work is done in a condition of greater or less exhaustion. i find that i blush very easily in purely freakish ways, when there is no occasion for it. i find this blushing connecting itself with certain of the girl pupils of my classes in a conspicuous way. it occurs hardly ever except when my class is facing me and i seem to be powerless to overcome it. i have always tried to live a careful moral life, but my early life was very much secluded. i lacked entirely the free intercourse young people usually have together and i felt awkward with others for a long time. in the matter of the blushing, it sometimes occurs in the case of girls who are especially pleasing to me but also not infrequently in the case of some who are not at all so. the whole thing might be passed over were it not that it has considerable effect in causing constraint toward my students and in some cases affecting them very strongly in an emotional way at the very time of life when such things can do most harm. i regard the matter as being so serious that it brings directly in question my right to teach, but i do not feel at all sure i could find other work that i could do if i give up my present position. the very thought that on a particular occasion it would be extremely awkward to blush makes it almost impossible for me to avoid it." but we have rather now to consider the therapeutic side, and we may begin again with a routine method of a simple hypnotic treatment. the patient is a young university professor. his intellectual work is perfect in all directions. there are no nervous symptoms, though there are some slight disturbances of digestion. he suffers as soon as he comes into a crowd of people and as soon as he is on any high place, where he has to look down; the worst when both conditions are combined, as for instance, at a concert or a theatre in a balcony seat. but every meeting of many persons, even at church, produces all the symptoms of nervous excitement. he was easily brought into hypnotic state by verbal suggestions. when he was in hypnosis, i reënforced the conditions for an opposite attitude. i told him that as soon as he was in a crowd of persons he would feel especially comfortable, would enjoy himself, would fully enter into the spirit of the occasion and feel especially secure in their presence. whenever he should be on a high place, he would enjoy the safety of the ground on which he was standing or the seat on which he was sitting. i assured him that he would neglect entirely whatever he saw and would rely completely on his safe feeling resulting from his tactual impressions. after having hypnotized him three times the disturbance disappeared completely, and even an evening at the theatre in an exposed box on the balcony was enjoyed without any discomfort. after about a year, at a period of fatiguing work, some traces of the anxiety appeared again. this time two hypnotic sittings were sufficient to remove the disturbance of the equilibrium, which as far as i know has not come back. the same hypnotic treatments were used in a secondary way to remove the digestive trouble. i again quote the case of a teacher, a profession in which the psychasthenics are unusually frequent. it is a case of a young woman from the middle west. the young lady wrote me: "i come of a race of strong women and am not hysterical or easily frightened by many things that disturb women. since my fifteenth year i have been seized by hallucinations of absurd or serious nature which no reasoning could explain away and which have gradually undermined my power of resistance to them. at the age of twenty-two, after a year of unusually hard work, my nervous endurance gave way, and with this breakdown came a sense of fear and a horror of crime that i have been unable to overcome. i have never felt the slightest inclination toward wrongdoing. it is a feeling rather that my shrinking from any mention of evil makes it impossible for me to listen or think rationally when such things are discussed. this feeling has seemed to change my whole attitude toward life and has left me without power to control my facial expression or carriage when it takes possession of me. i have been able to teach more successfully than i could hope, but it is only by cutting myself off from the friendships and pleasures incident to my life that i am able to accomplish my work. i have fought this trouble alone and will still do so if there is no help, but the thought that it is the source of great distress to those dear to me makes it very hard." a few weeks later the lady insisted on coming to cambridge. i found that there had never been any hallucinations and that she used the word in her letter only to indicate some insistent memory images which had never taken the vividness of real impressions. in the presence of her friend, i hypnotized her deeply and strengthened through urgent suggestions her consciousness of her having done the morally right thing at every situation in her life and her conviction that she never did and never would commit a crime. here as always, if possible, i left alone the emotional idea but reënforced the opposite. the effect was an immediate one. she felt freer the next day than she had felt for years. i repeated the treatment a few times and she assured me that the feeling had disappeared entirely. i take the rather severe case of a woman of fifty. the highly educated and refined lady had lost her husband by an accident in switzerland, which had been misrepresented by some of the newspapers as suicide. two years later she wrote to me: "i feel as if i had received indelible photographs on my brain which have since greatly affected my health and from which i may never recover. this winter the symptoms i have been able to control returned and i have been ill. i unfortunately saw the newspaper headlines with my husband's supposed suicide. though i exclaimed then, 'how outrageous,' i felt as if i had been struck and since then i can seldom read a paper without dread and apprehension, and the hearing of anyone's suicide fills me with terror. when i hurried to europe, on the ocean a week from the day of my husband's death, i had a curious and overwhelming shock. on opening a drawer and seeing a pair of scissors, they looked to me like a dagger and suddenly the whole cabin seemed filled with implements of death. the doctors said that i would find it hard to get over such impressions but i told them i would, as i had courage and will. but i have been realizing in these two years that i may be suffering from something that may be beyond the control of will. i often become so nervously sensitive that scissors are unbearable for me to see, or a steel knife or anything that might express death. our family physicians are still against hypnotism, and if i should go to a neurologist of my own selection, it might be to one who believed still only in nerve foods, baths, or a sanitarium." the lady came from the south, with her nurse, to boston and insisted on being hypnotized by me. i cannot say whether a really deep hypnotic state was produced at once as i refrained from testing it. there was certainly no amnesia. probably it began only with a slight drowsiness but at the fifth treatment i found a relatively deep hypnosis. it was a capricious case in which the improvement was fluctuating but clearly setting in from the first day. i trained her in hearing and seeing words like death and suicide with a reënforced feeling of strength and calmness; i forced her to see and touch scissors with an artificial attitude of strength and indifference. at the same time i reënforced her good mood and her enjoyment in life. when she left for england a few weeks later, she felt herself mentally cured, and throughout the summer her letters testified the wonderful change which the treatment had brought about. half a year later, as the result of an exhausting physical local treatment, the psychophysiological symptoms came back to a certain degree. she requested me by a letter from england to give her some help by suggestion to suppress again the recurring intrusions. as i had observed her strong suggestibility, i sent her over the ocean a little pencil of mother-of-pearl which she had seen in my hand, and advised her to look at it until she counted twenty slowly and then to close her eyes and simply to sleep. the autosuggestive effect was unusually strong. she writes from london: "when i saw the enclosure of your letter i felt as if it would burn through my hand and the feeling became so overpowering that i locked it away with my jewels, but as the days ran into a week i felt i could not live with it in my apartment any more, and i felt almost ill, until it occurred to me i could seal it and take it to my bankers. i felt as dreamy and absent-minded and paralyzed as if you had just treated me." nevertheless the effect was on the whole the desired one and she returned to america with a wholesome freedom of mind. i hypnotized her twice again and she writes in her last letter: "i can never repay you for what you have done for me. you have given me back my courage and my love of life in its vividness and interest and color, all that through the last years i had so entirely lost." even in cases where the disease itself is inaccessible to psychotherapeutic treatment, the superadded grief and worry brought on by the disease might yield to the mental influence and the whole situation would to a high degree be transformed for the better by it. i have often been asked to hypnotize in such cases, where the depression was wrongly taken as a part of the nervous disease; sometimes i agreed to do it in spite of feeling sure that the disease itself could not be removed. i quote an instance. a young woman afflicted with epilepsy was brought up in the belief that she had only from time to time fainting attacks from overwork, and with them secondarily neurasthenic symptoms, especially spells of depression colored by a constant fear of the next fainting. she had heard voices all her life and they frightened her in an intolerable way. i produced a very slight hypnotic state. i concentrated my effort entirely on suggestions which were to give her new interest in life, and diminished the emotional character of the voices without even trying to make them disappear. i proceeded for several months. the young woman herself believed that the fainting attacks came less frequently afterwards; yet i am inclined to think that that is an illusion. but there was no doubt that her whole personality became almost a different one with the new share in the world. the epilepsy remained probably unchanged but all the superadded emotions were annihilated and she felt an entirely new courage which allowed her to control herself between her regular attacks. she had been unable to undertake any regular work before for a long while, but all that improved. more than a year afterward, she wrote me: "i have really worked most of the time this past winter and spring and i think i can see a steady though slow gain. i am reading quite a little and doing it for the most part easily. to be sure i have, after i have read, hard times with the voices but their character is usually less determined and fearful than formerly. several times i have thought i must come again to you but each time i have started again to fight it out for myself, but now, as i am gaining, i can better estimate the great help your influence was to me at a juncture when everything seemed so hopeless and helpless." even in slight psychasthenic disturbances, the psychotherapeutic influence is not always successful, especially if there is no time for full treatment. but it is very interesting to see how even in such cases the symptom is somehow changing, almost breaking to pieces. it becomes clear that a protracted effort in the same direction would destroy the trouble completely. typical is a case like the following. an elderly woman has been troubled her life long by a disproportionate fear of thunderstorms with almost hysterical symptoms. as she had no other complaint, i hardly found it worth while to enter into a systematic treatment and could not expect much of a change from a short treatment, considering that her hysteric response had lasted through half a century. as she begged for some treatment, i brought her into a drowsy state and told her that she would in future enjoy the thunderstorms as noble expressions of nature. the whole procedure took a few minutes. yet after some summer months she wrote me a letter which clearly indicated this characteristic compromise between the habitual dread and the reënforced counter idea. "i have the same sick dread at the sight of thunder clouds that i have always had, but i seem to have gotten somehow a most desperate determination to control my fear. i have done this to the extent of keeping my eyes open and looking at the storm. is that hypnotism or pride?" another thunderstorm case may lead us to other methods of treatment. here again in the field of emotional response, we may consider the methods of going back to primary experience, known or forgotten. a young married woman of the west had suffered always from hysterical attacks in response to any sharp sudden impressions, especially sudden loud noises. the banging of a door, but worst of all a thunderstorm, could produce hours of weeping and crying and desperate mental condition with all expressions of excitement. her husband wanted me to hypnotize her but i preferred another way. i tried to get her memory back to the earliest case of which she could think of this hysterical response. as long as we were in ordinary conversation, she could not trace it beyond about her twelfth year. but when i brought her into a drowsy state, her memory revived older experiences and finally settled at a school experience in her seventh year of age. she then had an excitable country school-teacher who relied on whipping the children. once her neighbor in the class did something forbidden. her teacher mistook her for the culprit and began to whip her most forcibly before she could explain anything; and while the punishment was going on and she began to bleed from a wound, she all the time felt that she wanted to express her innocence and could not speak. after that, evidently the first attack of hysteric character followed. from that time on any sudden impression released the same group of reactions. the suppressed emotion had evidently become a psychophysical "complex." as soon as i had reached this starting point of her pathological history, i asked her to bring back to consciousness as many details as possible of that first incident. she told me all the names and described the classroom and brought herself vividly into the whole situation. then i asked her to tell me the whole story once more and to express strongly her innocence and the wrongness of the punishment, and when she had completed her account, brought out with fullest indignation, i had her tell the whole thing once more and then a third and a fourth time, until she was quite tired out from it. that was all i did. very soon after, the husband reported that there was a great improvement in every respect, no hysteric attacks, only slight discomfort. most of the stimuli which had previously produced strong reactions now passed without any disturbance and even thunderstorms were experienced with relative ease. a year later they came once more to cambridge, and she simply passed once more through the same process of discharge which seems now to have removed the symptoms still further. by far more reliable, however, is the method of side-tracking the starting experience into a new associational track. a gentleman with a decidedly psychasthenic constitution developed a tendency to hesitate in walking on the street. it was not a complete stumbling but a disturbing inhibition, which set in when he was walking alone and his attention was not absorbed by something on the street. he believed that it came on most strongly when he looked down at the pavement. he suffered from it vehemently and avoided going on the street alone. he was unable to connect it with any starting point. he interpreted it as merely a symptom of overwork. but going with him through all kinds of experiences which he had had on the street in previous years, we finally found that once he was running to catch a street car, when he suddenly saw almost immediately before him a big hole dug out for laying gas pipes. he was able to stop himself quickly enough not to fall into the hole but he got a strong emotional shock from the experience. he, himself, did not think that his walking troubles set in immediately after this shock. yet the hypothesis seemed to me sufficiently justified that there existed a connection, even though some weeks lay between that first experience and the first observation of the abnormal inhibition in walking. on that basis i tried to train a new associative connection. i made him drowsy and asked him to think himself once more into the situation of his run for the car but as soon as he reached the hole to jump over it. he went through this motor feature on ten successive days with new and ever new energy and from that time up to the present the trouble on the street has disappeared entirely. to mention at least one case of the large group in which suppressed sexual emotion was the evident source of an anxiety-neurosis, i mention the case of a woman who showed very strong symptoms of anxiety and oppression and who was cured by a simple advice. the woman, aged thirty-two, was a saleswoman in a large store selling gentlemen's gloves and ties. she suffered from time to time by attacks of vague anxiety in which her heart showed vehement palpitation. there were paleness and perspiration and at the height a nervous trembling together with a feeling of despair. these attacks were not frequent, separated sometimes by weeks, sometimes by months, but troubling her exceedingly. she had been assured by a physician that her heart was normal and that she was probably overworked. she could find absolutely no source of the disturbance. after a long conversation, i was also unable to discover any direct or indirect causes until i worked on the basis of those theories which we have discussed, the theories which connect hysteric symptoms with chance intrusions which stand in relations to past suppressed emotions of sexual character. the patient absolutely denied any present sexual emotions. she had been engaged about eight years before and acknowledged that at that time there were strong sexual feelings connected with her fiancé, who broke the engagement. psychoanalytic methods now brought it to full clearness that she had her first attack after selling a pair of gloves and fitting them to the hand of a male customer who had a certain similarity to her fiancé. it was not possible to trace this in the same way for later cases too, but it seems that bodily contact with a man by fitting gloves preceded every attack. all this was brought out partly by questions, partly by free ascending associations while she, herself, believed that she simply pronounced nonsense words as they came to her mind, and partly it was secured in a half-hypnotic state. i came to the conclusion that the suppressed sexual emotions at the breaking of the engagement were the primary cause of the disease. the similarity of the first customer together with the tactual sensations had evidently touched that complex and brought the suppressed emotion to an explosion which frequently takes the form of palpitation and similar symptoms. later the mere tactual sensation alone produced by the contact with the hand of a man, possibly with a similar optical impression, perhaps also with the sound of the voice, brought back the reaction. instead of giving treatment, i insisted that she change stores, and become saleswoman in a house where she would have to do only with women, and to sell articles which did not bring her into personal contact with customers. after more than six months of work in her new place, she reported that the attacks had not come back again. of course it may readily be acknowledged that this method does not allow a sharp demarcation line between its various factors. it cannot be denied that an element of straight suggestion may be included. the man whom i train in the forming of a new antagonistic motor response feels it of course all the time also as a silent suggestion to overcome the old disturbance. it is thus to a certain degree impossible to say where the effect of the discharge ends and where that of the hidden suggestion begins. yet there certainly cannot be any doubt that this revival of the first experience and its improved discharge works directly towards the removal of the troublesome symptom. abnormal fear is also the essential factor in most cases of stammering. the patients usually know it themselves. for instance, a lawyer writes to me: "i have been a stammerer the greater part of my life and have visited every stammering school in the country, but the relief obtained has been temporary and in most cases i was not benefited at all. i am convinced that stammering is due wholly to an abnormal mental condition, which consists of an unreasoning fear that takes possession of the individual when he attempts to utter certain sounds. it is simply a lack of confidence inspired by numberless failures to articulate properly and is not caused by any organic trouble, because, taking my own case for example, i can at times talk as fluently and easily as anyone. i am firmly convinced that stammering can be cured by hypnotic suggestion. if you could get me in the hypnotic state and suggest to me repeatedly that from thenceforth i would have easy fluent speech, i feel absolutely certain that such would be the case." or an engineer writes to me: "at times i stammer very badly. in an ordinary conversation it is scarcely perceptible, but it is almost impossible for me to make an explanation or relate an incident or tell an anecdote. i began to stammer when i was about seven years of age--i am twenty-nine now--and continued until i was seventeen, when i broke myself of it by reading aloud. it came back on me about a year ago, at which time i was laboring under a very severe nervous strain on account of business matters. i have since tried to break myself of it in the way that i did at first, reading aloud, but have been unable to do so. can it be cured by hypnotic treatment or suggestion? can any hypnotist of ordinary ability do it?" i should affirm this question, which is one of the most frequent put to the psychotherapist. and yet, if i myself have entirely given up the cure of stammerers in recent years, it was not only because there was little chance to learn anything new scientifically from it but also because it was ultimately disappointing, as the severe cases cannot be cured entirely. every hypnotist can quickly secure a strong improvement. in even new cases i found an almost surprising improvement in the first two weeks, an improvement which stirs up the most vivid hopes of the sufferers. then the improvement becomes slower and finally it stops before a complete cure is reached. the patient notices it and it easily works back on his emotion and thus begins again to disturb the speech, unless a very careful continuous counter-suggestion is given. slight disturbances, to be sure, can be removed entirely. the essential point will always be to suggest to the stammerer the full belief that he is able to speak every word and that he is able to speak it in every situation. but where there is a limit for improvement, we must take for granted that the disturbing fear is only superadded to an organic trouble. in such cases, probably the inability of certain nervous paths was primarily irreparable. these inabilities then became the source of discomfort and of fear and this fear added greatly to the disturbance. hypnotism then quickly removes that part of the disturbance which had been superadded by the mental emotion but it cannot remove that primary factor, the objective inability, and every cure thus finds its limit there. near the field of emotions stand also the many varieties of sexual abnormities and perversities. i abstain from discussing any special cases but it may be said that suggestive treatment is in this region powerful to an almost surprising degree. even homosexual tendencies which go back to the beginnings of the memory of the individual yield, as my experience shows, in a few weeks, if again the suggestion is not so much directed towards the suppression as to the creation of the antagonistic reaction, that means in this case, of the normal sexual desire. both ideas and emotions, of course, lead to actions. moreover we always insisted that the resulting action is an essential part of the psychophysical situation and that every mental experience has to be characterized as a starting point for action. yet this factor of activity and of attitude sometimes stands in the foreground. the controlling idea is then the idea of an end of action, the predominant emotion, the emotion anticipated from a certain activity. typical for that are those disturbances in which an abnormal impulse or an abnormal desire awakes perhaps a desire for ruinous drugs like morphine or cocaine or an impulse to criminal deeds, like stealing. but the disturbances of the psychomotor factor are not less present when the central complaint is a lack of energy, the most frequent symptom of the neurasthenic; and our whole discussion has made it clear that a mere lack of attention belongs to the same category. of course, the abnormal impulse is psychophysically not different, whether it leads to a legally important result like the impulse to kill or leads to an indifferent result. the subjective suffering may be the same in both cases. the starting point of the impulse may be any chance experience. the psychasthenic may pick up such impulses from any model for imitation or from any haphazard report. it may be entirely freakish and yet beyond conscious control. a physician had read in a well-known book on hysteria about a case in which a girl was troubled by a constant effort to move the big toe in her shoes. this idea worked on him as a suggestion for several months. at my advice he fought it by auto-suggestion. he brought himself into a slightly drowsy state by staring into a crystal ball and assuring himself by spoken sentences with monotonous repetition for a long while that he has perfectly the power to hold the toe at rest. from the second day only a slight kinæsthetic sensation remained; the movement itself disappeared. or a more unusual case. a young lady once noticed in a man a different color in the two eyes. it gave her an uncanny feeling, together with the natural impulse to compare the two eyes. accordingly she shifted her own eyes from one eyeball to the other in the man's face. the accent which this shifting impulse had received by the disagreeable feeling evidently forced her to repeat this movement with everyone. at first it became half a play, but soon a disturbing habit and finally an intolerable impulse. whenever she talked with anyone, she lost control of her eyes and was obliged to enter into a kind of pendulum movement from eye to eye. the situation became so unendurable that the thought of suicide began to occur to her. i hypnotized her four times, suggesting to her complete indifference as to the face of those with whom she spoke and at the same time certain new habits of fixation. the impulse lost its hold and when i saw her last, it had completely disappeared. by far more frequent than such neutral impulses are the desires, for instance, of the alcoholist. on the whole it may be said that psychotherapy can gain its easiest triumphs in the field of alcoholism and a wide propagation of psychotherapeutic methods and of a thorough understanding of psychotherapy would be fully justified, even if no other field were accessible but that of the desire for alcoholic intemperance. the moral disaster and economic ruin resulting from alcoholic intemperance, the physical harm to the drinker and to his offspring is so enormous, and the temporary cure of the victim is so probable that the movement certainly deserves most serious interest. yet i speak of temporary cure and i refer here especially to the restriction with which i introduced the psychotherapeutic methods in general. they do not deal with diseases but with symptoms; and they certainly do not deal with constitutions, but with results of the coöperation of constitution and circumstances. that the given constitution may be brought anew under conditions which again stir up similar symptoms is always possible, and just with alcoholism the danger lies near unless beneficial influences remain in power. certainly no one has a right to neglect such psychotherapeutic aid simply because relapses are possible. even a temporary relief can be a great blessing. moreover, the temporary relief is the safest basis to work towards the prevention of a recurrence of the evil. only in two directions is further restriction needed. psychotherapeutic methods are in my opinion of very small avail in cases of periodic drinkers. such periodic attacks of patients who have not even a desire for alcohol in intervals between the attacks, intervals which may last a quarter of a year, are related to epilepsy. it seems that constant hypnotic influence during the interval has a certain power to reduce the periodic impulse. i personally have not seen any special improvement from it. the second restriction would be that the drinker has to be under constant supervision during the first days of hypnotic treatment. no patient, not even the morphinist, is so skillful in deceiving his friends and even the physician. even the most emphatic gestures of sincerity ought to be distrusted. only a short time ago i dealt with a young man whom his parents and a chauffeur had accompanied to boston, exclusively for the purpose of watching him constantly while i was to attempt to cure him from excessive whiskey drinking. the chauffeur accompanied him from his room in the boston hotel to the threshold of my laboratory. all through the day he was with his parents, and at the hotel the management had given the strictest orders not to sell any drink to the young spendthrift. he was an earlier student of mine and had attached himself to me with such an apparent sincerity as removed every possible doubt of his pledge. intentionally i had not even asked him for a pledge not to drink but only for a pledge to confess to me the next day if he ever should take any alcohol. in a tentative way i suggested to him in a half hypnotic state on the first day that he would feel disgust for whiskey. i did not expect much of an improvement before at least three or four treatments. i was therefore most surprised when he most solemnly assured me the next day that he awoke in the morning with an assured feeling that he should never touch whiskey again and that he had not the slightest desire for it. instead of a systematic development of suggestions, i confined myself therefore to a mere repetition of the treatment of the first day and as every morning the same assurance came forth, there seemed to be no need for any variation. it was not before the fifth day that i discovered that he had taken from the start a pint of whiskey every day. when he first arrived he had bribed a laundress of the hotel to bring to his room every day the whiskey hidden in the laundry and he drank it during the night. then i declined any further participation. the danger of deceit is of course less imminent when not the family but the patient himself takes the initiative. yet even here distrust is wise. the patient has sometimes the most sincere intention to be cured, but under pressure of his craving he admits compromises which he hides from the physician. having reduced the large quantity of alcohol to which he was accustomed, he hides the fact that he yet takes a few drinks, which he thinks cannot prevent the cure. yet inasmuch as a complete cure has to rely on psychical factors, this consciousness of deceiving even with small transgressions interferes badly with progress and, inasmuch as the cunningness of the patient is itself a symptom of the disturbance, the strongest possible precaution is advisable at the beginning. for that reason it is also not best to begin at once with complete prohibition, but to lead to a total abstinence in about one week. but certainly in the case of every drunkard, total abstinence is the only desirable goal. a pronounced drinker ought never to be transformed simply into a moderate one. the return to intemperance would result rapidly. on the other hand it would be unfair to deny that psychotherapy has cured the symptom if the desire really once disappeared completely, even if, after years, new temptations develop a new desire. i myself had diphtheria three times in my life; my constitution is thus probably especially favorable to that disease but i do not estimate less the fact that i was perfectly cured the second time, in spite of the fact that i caught it a few years later a third time. to be sure, such experiences of relapse cannot be spared any psychotherapist. i may give a typical instance. a well-known professional man of fifty years, through a long bachelorhood, was accustomed to close his work at four o'clock and then to sit comfortably in his study with a book and an unlimited supply of brandy. he took one cognac after another and every evening he was completely intoxicated. he married a young wife and felt the need of changing his habits, the more as he himself saw symptoms of his excess which alarmed him. when he came to me, i saw that he was seriously wishing to give up, and he understood himself that there was only the one way, namely, complete abstinence. he felt that he could not reach it by his own will power alone and sought my aid. i hypnotized him six times, suggesting at first a reduction to four drinks, then to two, then to one and then to pure mineral water. i concentrated my effort on stirring up the antagonistic attitude, the dislike of the smell of brandy and the aversion to its taste. the effect was excellent. after the fifth time the mental torture which he had felt in the first afternoons had completely disappeared. i considered further hypnotizing superfluous and felt sure after the sixth time that the man was cured. for about a year he remained abstinent, but in the meantime his professional life brought severe disappointments, and with cool consideration he decided that he might have at least some pleasure from life and forget its miseries. accordingly after a year he determined again to take some brandy in his study, and of course, that led rapidly to an increase of the dose and today he is probably at the old point. and yet it may be said with correctness that psychotherapy had done its duty. if at the right moment before he took the first step again, even the slightest counter-suggestion had been applied, the disastrous second development could have been easily avoided. my experience indicates the best results where the suggestions are from the start directed as much against the unfavorable social conditions, with their temptations and impulses to imitation, as against the alcoholic beverages themselves. on the whole it is easier to break the vicious drinking habits of the social drinker than those of the lonely drinker, a point which ought to be well considered in settling the complex problem of prohibition versus the temperance movement. the situation of alcoholism repeats itself in still more ruinous forms with morphinism and cocainism, vices which grow in this country to an alarming degree. the psychotherapeutic treatment of such drug habits demands much patience and much skillful adjustment to the psychological conditions. its general difference from the treatment of alcoholism is given by the circumstance that any too rapid withdrawing of the drug is certainly dangerous, if the organism is adjusted to a relatively strong dose. on the other hand, i may say that i have not seen a single case in which a really patient and insistent treatment of morphinism has not been successful, even if the destructive dose of forty grains a day had become habitual. the condition is only that the patient himself have the best will, a will which yet is not strong enough to win the fight without psychotherapeutic help. but no one ought to expect that the psychotherapist can secure miracles like some of the pill cures which treat the drug fiend in three days. moreover neither physician nor patient ought to believe that the worst is to come at the beginning. on the contrary, it is the end which is hardest, the reduction of the small dose to nothing. as illustration, i give an extreme case. a man who was formerly station master on a railroad had been operated on in a hospital after an accident, and as some pain in the hip remained which disturbed his sleep, the physician of the hospital gave him some morphine and provided him with the material for morphine injection after leaving the hospital. then began the usual story. he became more and more dependent upon his injection, the dose was steadily increased, he found unscrupulous physicians who yielded to his demand for morphine prescriptions; he lost his position with the railway by the growing effects of the morphine poisoning, he became divorced, sank lower and lower, his daily dose fluctuating between thirty-five and forty grains a day, and when he came to me, he presented a picture of the lowest type of hopeless manhood. he spent practically the whole day in bed and was only able to totter slowly along with a cane. he assured me that life was hell for him. he could not sleep, he could not eat, he could not think, he had made up his mind to commit suicide if i could not help him. i foresaw that it would in the best case demand months of insistent energy to make a man out of that unfortunate wreck. he had gone through three different morphine cures in three sanitariums and none had helped him, and every physician whom he had consulted had declared his case as beyond any physical cure. i decided to make the somewhat disproportionate sacrifice of time in order to study whether even such an extreme case of morphinism is accessible to psychotherapeutic treatment. four months later, he left my laboratory looking like an athlete, strong and vigorous, joyful and energetic. for three weeks he had not received any morphine, had good appetite, slept well, and had happily married. as his wife was a trained nurse, she will take good care that no new slip shall ever occur. there was nothing remarkable in those four months of treatment. he was easily hypnotized, and i hypnotized him at first every day, then every second day, then every week. it was without difficulty that i reduced the forty grains to about six grains a day. then the struggle began. to test the case as a strictly psychological problem i left the effort entirely to his own will, that is, i did not deprive him of the morphine supply but left the regulation in his own hands. during that whole winter he had a bottle with a thousand morphine tablets standing on his desk. thus he would have been entirely able to satisfy any craving, but by his own will he followed my suggestions and never took more than i permitted. it meant a terrible struggle. the tortures which he had to pass through were perhaps worse than those which he had experienced at the time of his lowest downfall. they came to a focus when he tried to go from five grains to three grains a day and then again when he approached half a grain. from there he had to move to a fourth of a grain, then to an eighth, and even that had still to be divided into four different doses which were then reduced to three, to two, and finally to one dose and ultimately to injections of warm water. a rapid increase in general strength and a return of appetite for food began when he had reached the five grain limit. i did not allow on any occasion the introduction of a substitute. on the other hand, i added every day suggestions covering the various secondary symptoms, especially the pains in the stomach and the feelings of faintness and the emotional depression. there, is no doubt that under favorable conditions, especially if the dose of morphine is not too strong, autosuggestion can bring about a similar effect. a reduction of ten per cent every week can be carried through, if a pledge is given to one's self in a drowsy state. the great value of autosuggestion showed itself not seldom in the fact that morphinists who had applied to me by mail for a cure in the mistaken belief that i do work in a professional way for payment and who got from me a written reply that i could not receive them, but that they can help themselves, wrote to me that my letter gave them strength to reduce their dose considerably. quite similar is the situation with cocainism or with the combination of morphine and cocaine which is so frequent nowadays with young physicians. i have repeatedly seen cures where the case already gave the impression of insanity. again i give a rather extreme case. a physician had acquired the habit of using and misusing cocaine for the treatment of a disease of his nose. the habit grew to a craving for cocaine while the cocaine itself poisoned the brain. acoustical hallucinations began; he heard voices from every corner of the room, and on the street the voices took persecutory character. he connected them with his brother living in europe, heard his voice in the denunciations, and developed a pathological system of ideas around the central thought that his brother had a telepathic influence on him. his reason succumbed, he lost all consciousness of delusion, and believed himself really to be under the control of the absent brother. when he came to me he had been without sleep and without food for several days, and he was not seeking my help to get rid of the mental disturbance but to overcome the power of his older brother. he did not connect the fear at all with his misuse of cocaine. when i discovered the rôle which the cocaine played, i determined to try the suggestive influence, the more as i found that he was in a half-hypnotic state as soon as he had entered my room. i suggested to him to sleep and to take food and to reduce the cocaine dose by a fourth. the next day he was an entirely different man by the effect of ten hours' sleep and a large breakfast. now i concentrated my efforts on the reduction of the cocaine. after ten days of hypnotic treatment he gave up cocaine entirely, after three weeks the voices disappeared and slowly the other symptoms faded away. the pathological idea of the telepathic influence lasted a while after the voices had gone until this idea, too, yielded to suggestion. it still took six weeks before he himself felt that he was entirely normal. the way in which the average physician nowadays neglects the simple tool of suggestive treatment, when it can be used for the protection of society, is perhaps nowhere so reckless as in the case of the morphinist and cocainist. to give a typical case of this neglect i may mention that of a highly intelligent young man who had been in the habit of using both cocaine and morphine for ten years when at his own request he was sent to a new york hospital. he had been taking alternately morphine for a year or two, then cocaine for a year or two, and had sometimes alternated and sometimes combined both in an irregular way. when he entered the hospital in may, , he was in a cocaine period and was taking the enormous dose of one hundred and eighty grains of cocaine every day. in the hospital they withdrew the drug altogether. during the first weeks, he was entirely sleepless. they energetically refused him any substitutes and after six weeks he began to feel comfortable. he gained steadily in weight and after three months, when he left, he had gained fifty pounds, felt entirely comfortable, and seemed in all respects normal again. before twelve hours had passed after leaving the hospital, he had again taken thirty grains of cocaine and ten grains of morphine, and this dose rapidly grew until after a few weeks it again reached a hundred grains of cocaine and up to sixty grains of morphine a day. then came the complete breakdown. if that man in the last two or three weeks of the hospital treatment, when he felt entirely comfortable and normal and had gained his normal weight, had received even a slight suggestive treatment suppressing any desire for cocaine or morphine, he would easily have been saved. to let such a man after a drug career of ten years go out again to the places of his old associations, where the desire had to be stirred up, is inexcusable at a time when psychotherapeutics has won its triumphs in this field. it might have been sufficient to give him preventive treatment at least for the first three days of his freedom. and such a case is typical of hundreds. the overstrong impulse and overstrong desire finds its counterpart in the abnormal lack of energy and lack of attention. the patient--and it is especially the neurasthenic patient--has lost his usual strength, he shrinks from every undertaking, he cannot decide upon any action, he needs a disproportionate effort for the smallest task, and cannot concentrate his attention in spite of his best will. the varieties of this lack of power and inertia are familiar to every physician. they certainly often need much more than merely psychotherapeutic treatment, although on the physical side no schematic method is admissible. the laziness of the anæmic needs a different treatment from the laziness of the exhausted but in every case psychological factors can be of decisive influence, whatever the physical and chemical treatment besides them may be. a few letters may again illustrate the varieties. here again there is no sharp demarcation line between the normal and the abnormal. letters like the two following, for instance, are hardly letters of patients. they show a variation which is still entirely within normal limits and yet a source of suffering; it is a disturbance which usually can be removed by psychotherapeutic means. "i do almost everything with effort, nothing spontaneously. i have been writing for five years but am a mood writer of the worst type. the mood comes at such uncertain times that i seem to be absolutely at the mercy of caprice. this might not in itself be a misfortune but writing is my only calling and i suffer the proverbial torments of lost spirits when i am idle. the necessity of driving myself to every piece of work, aggravated by the fact that my parents allowed my constitutional inertness to have full play, has hitherto prevented me from forming any regular habit of labor. i am now thirty-eight. would you suppose that if i kept my nose to the grindstone for one, two or three years, i might yet hope to work with some ease and regularity? that is, if i compelled myself to write a certain number of hours every day as a discipline, regardless of the quality of matter i produce, is there any probability that i might ultimately overcome the fearful paralysis that so often grips my faculties? can constitutional indolence be overcome by determination? i put in a little time on a couch every day. when worried i get neurasthenia and all kinds of phobias. just now i am afraid to look at the newspapers on account of the cholera in st. petersburg, and i have seen the time when i found it difficult to drink water after i had boiled it myself." also the next man is familiar to all of us. "plainly we are told every man is born into the world to fill some purpose, or at least be of some benefit to himself or his fellowmen. for some reason i do not make friends among men. i have not the zeal or ambition to carry or even begin a conversation that will interest the individual man. i worry a great deal. i have never been able to concentrate my mind to study and figure out problems. i can read them zealously but apparently do not get to the bottom and cannot retain what i do read. if i could just get hold of the power of thinking and dig out that tangible something that holds me back, i could go forward and make myself what i know i should be. but i feel that so far i am a total failure. if i only had that one great gift, the power of concentration and will power, i would make what i so much desire, a success of myself." a similar effect and yet psychologically a different condition exists where the lack of energy results from the suggestive power of the opposite, producing a constant indecision. "i am thirty years old and nearly all my life since childhood i have been fearfully troubled with the habit of indecision and regretting whatever i do. it has grown into a habit so fixed that at times i am fearful of losing my mind. i feel anxious to do something and decide to do it, then as soon as it is done, i nearly go wild with regrets until i have to undo it, if possible, and then only to regret that. i am this way about the most trifling things and about the most serious. i can't perform any duty well. in business and in social affairs, it is always with me. it has me in its clutches, a horrible monster dragging me down. my friends misinterpret me and wonder what i mean by doing so when all the time i want to do what is for the best and cannot for this tyrant who is ever present with me. i will plod for hours and hours at a time, and at every turn i am handicapped. i am intelligent naturally and appear a perfect fool." from the report of such chronic cases we may turn to the acute ones. here a characteristic letter of, a typical neurasthenic young modern poet. "these are my plans but i hardly think that i can carry them through, although perhaps you can help me by suggestion. i have the feeling that through the whole of last year my development did not go forward but backward. it is as if by a mental or physical overstrain, my whole personality has entered into a transition. i have no joy in life, no sensation in love, no satisfaction in labor. my will has become weak where it was strong. i am lazy, up to an absolute dislike of everything, while i have been energy itself. often i have only the one desire, to end my life from mere fatigue. if there had been any external reason for ending my life, i should perhaps have done it long ago. i am so apathetic that i no longer take myself seriously. my successes do not please me; the idea of writing anything gives me anxiety. i have become less resisting, more sweet, more soft, i should almost like to say, more feminine. i became infatuated with a girl, simply because i knew that she hates all men. the inaccessible is still the only thing which can stimulate me somewhat. i have even written a poem on her, but nothing can satisfy me in love. i consider my state a disease of the will as a result of nervous exhaustion. i must find some one who, with kindly power, reënforces my will system. i need a strong mind--it may be a man or a woman. it would even be possible in the latter case that i might marry her. "even the writing of this letter has fatigued me so much that i should like best to sleep. in moments like the present i should like best to throw myself down on the street or ... quickly ... sink ... into the ocean. (i regret having made the little points. they look as if my expressions are a pose.) yet there are moods in which i am entirely normal and no one fancies what i am passing through. i have even become superstitious lately. are there perhaps beings which can absorb our energy? perhaps another being has drunk up my energy." authors run easily into such states. here is another. "i am a neurasthenic, and i am beginning to believe, a professional one. my object in writing is to ask concerning the advisability of my visiting you for treatment. i am ready to take the next train if you say the word, if you believe you can help me. it seems that the regular practitioner, who is very irregular, cannot. if there is one good doctor i have not consulted, i would like to know his name. i was doing editorial work in x and broke down. still the doctor said that if i liked my work, i should go back to it and pitch in. i did. it lasted a few days and then i had to give up altogether, couldn't grind out another word. then to another doctor----also the best in the city. he told me to give up all work, which i did, and then i went on a farm for six months. that did not help me either. later i went west and spent some time in the mountains. i felt no better there. then i went to arizona and lived in a tent out on the desert; that did not help me. there was always a sensation of exhaustion and any physical exertion put me on my back, even when it was light and pleasant exercise. then i went to california; it did me little good. it is a perfect paradise for anyone who has not got neurasthenia. i still have not got myself in hand. i cannot do or say or write just what i wish, and cannot concentrate my thoughts. to try to read a book is punishment because i forget as fast as i read." and so on. i answered him certainly not to come but tried to induce some autosuggestions. a few weeks later, he wrote me: "ever since you wrote me, i am now feeling somewhat improved." yet i cannot judge how far the improvement belonged to the psychical factor only, inasmuch as i had advised him also to take some bromides. the really effective treatment would have been heterosuggestion and i had no time to enter into the case. where direct suggestion is used, the effect is often surprising. a young lawyer after a period of overwork had come to a state of complete lack of energy. he could not find strength to write a letter and he came to me at a day when he did not see any way but suicide open for himself. he complained that, as soon as he began to grasp a thought, it was evaporating. he stared absently about the room and felt sure that he would never again achieve anything. he had not even the energy to read the newspaper. i hypnotized him three times, each time waking in him the pleasure in a definite piece of work, at first simply in a novel which he was to read, then in some letters which he was to write, and then in his professional work. there was always an interval of three days. the fourth time he declared himself that the hypnotic influence was unnecessary, as he felt that he was again in the midst of his work. as a rule the effect is a much slower one, but if all personal factors are well considered and especially physical disturbances are excluded, the result is usually satisfactory. very different from such neurasthenics, of course, is the lack of attention in the feeble-minded, and suggestion of the ordinary type is hardly advisable, but it is surprising how much can be reached by a systematic psychical régime. i give one typical instance, representative of many. a boy of twelve years when he was brought to me showed the mental powers of a stupid child of four. in a silly way he repeated every question which he heard without answering it; he talked steadily to himself in a nonsensical manner, mostly repeating nursery rhymes without end, never holding his attention to anything in the room, giving the impression that there was no attention whatever. the boy was a child of rich parents; he had his own teachers, but was for a large part of the year under the influence of the parents only, who very naturally yielded to every desire of the unfortunate child. i insisted on a complete change of the education. it was my effort to build up the mind by a rigorous training and by development of the power of inhibition. i absolutely forbade any meaningless material like the nursery rhymes, insisted that the child should never be allowed to talk to himself, and whenever he began to speak to himself he was to be addressed sharply, and if he yet went on, to be slapped on his hands. in the same way he was not allowed to repeat a question, but the question was repeated until he answered it, the question always formulated in simple words. he was forced to go through simple reading and writing without being allowed to make his silly diversions. his whole life was brought under strict discipline and no parental indulgence was permitted. six months later the child was completely changed. it seemed as if he had gone through an improvement of three years. i regulated the whole of his elementary studies in accordance with the successful principle. the training of inhibition stood in the foreground and every haphazard reaction was severely rebuked. the summer vacations spent with the parents in the fashionable surroundings, to be sure, had always a retarding influence, but the main part of the year in which it was possible to carry through the strict discipline showed such steady and inspiring progress that the boy, while of course feeble-minded for life, can yet live externally a harmonious life. a systematic training of the power of inhibition is indeed the fundamental factor in all psychotherapeutic treatment when the disturbance is in the volitional sphere, but the inhibition is secured most safely by reënforcement of the antagonistic attitude. from these volitional variations on the one side, from the ideational disturbances on the other, only a few steps lead to those dissociations of the personality which are characteristic of many graver cases of hysteria. but to give to them any adequate analysis, it would be insufficient to refer in this brief way to particular cases. psychopathological literature possesses some excellent analyses of such complex disturbances. as i said before, i abstain entirely here from such complex phenomena, as they enter too seldom into the sphere of the practitioner and as the bewildering manifoldness of their symptoms does not allow us so easily to recognize the fundamental principles which alone were to be illustrated by our short survey of practical cases. xi the bodily symptoms the discussion of the bodily symptoms which may yield to psychotherapeutic treatment, naturally forms only a short appendix to our discussion of the mental symptoms. our interest was from the beginning essentially a psychological one. i shall have to be the more brief as my personal experience in the treatment of bodily diseases through mental therapy is entirely secondary and accidental. the psychological laboratory would, of course, be an entirely unfit place to struggle with diseases of which the chief symptoms are not psychophysical. yet in spite of frequent testimonies of well-known physicians to the contrary, i am still inclined to think that this is also the situation at large. i think that in medicine in general the psychophysical effect of mental treatment is by far more important and by far more extended than the healing effect on diseased peripheral organs. of course these peripheral parts of the body may be favorably influenced in an indirect way by the mental treatment; we shall have to take notice of this important result but that is strictly not a therapeutic effect on the bodily symptoms. moreover, purely psychical effects may give an impression as if the bodily symptom itself has been removed. to begin with the latter case, it is especially the inhibition of pain which easily makes one believe that a bodily disturbance is successfully treated. i have repeatedly seen cases in which i tried by suggestion to soften the pain resulting from a peripheral disturbance like inflammations, rheumatism, decayed teeth and so on. the effect was often such a total disappearance of the pain that the patient himself was inclined to believe that the objective disease had been ended, while in reality the state of the diseased organ was not changed at all. it has often happened that i tried to cure a person of certain mental symptoms by suggestion, ignoring entirely the existence of some pain resulting from a bodily disease with which i had nothing to do. yet the suggestion of improvement seemed almost to irradiate and the pain disappeared in spite of having been ignored by the hypnotizer. for instance, i treated a woman who suffered from psychasthenic obsessions, fearing all the time that something would happen to her child. i did not give any direct attention to the fact that she had had for years a painful disease of the bladder for which she was constantly treated by a specialist. but while i did not mention the bladder in my hypnotic suggestion, yet the abdominal pain disappeared together with the obsession and the situation might easily have suggested that the bladder trouble was a nervous one which had been cured by the hypnotic sleep. the fact was that the bladder disease was not influenced by the mental treatment at all, and needed a continuation of the same local treatment. it was only the psychophysical pain in the brain which had been inhibited. quite parallel to the disappearance of the organic pain sensation is the arising of a general feeling of improvement. this organic sensation of general betterment may again be a strictly mental occurrence without any objective reference to a real improvement in the bodily conditions. yet again that easily gives the impression of an important change in the bodily conditions themselves. the miraculous cures of various diseases through mystic agencies generally belong to this category. there is no doubt that often the migrating charlatans who advertise themselves by a free treatment of the sick and invalids on the theater stage of small towns, produce momentary effects which are sufficient to deceive. the quack handles the diseased organ, perhaps a goiter or a leg crippled by rheumatism, with a cruel rudeness and overwhelms the suggestible mind so completely that the first autosuggestion is that of a complete change, and that means cure. the disastrous results follow later. but from such barbarisms we come by gradual steps to the suggestion of improvement where the feeling of betterment can be in itself an important factor for the cure. yet even there we must not mistake the possible secondary effect of a mental change from a psychotherapeutic cure of the bodily disease. not seldom the removal of physical disability seems secured as soon as certain mental disturbances are removed. there is no reason to believe for instance that suggestion can have an important influence on a diseased sense organ, and yet hypnotic influence and even autosuggestive influence can under certain circumstances greatly improve seeing and hearing. especially in the field of hearing the central factor is of enormous importance. hyperæmic and anæmic conditions in the brain centers of hearing control the vividness of the received sound. the patient who cannot hear a certain watch more than one foot distant may be able to hear it after some glasses of wine at a distance of three or four feet. thus it is only natural that a hypnotic influence can produce similar changes on the psychophysical centers in such cases in which the source of the trouble is a psychophysical laziness in the acoustical center. sometimes even this laziness itself is the result of psychical autosuggestion which can be fought by counter-suggestion. i saw, for instance, a distinct improvement in hearing in the case of a young woman who had increasing deafness while the aurists declared that the ears were in proper condition. i found that she lived with a father who suffered from a severe middle-ear catarrh and that she was simply controlled by a hidden fear that she might have inherited the ear disease of her father. i removed this fear, partly by reasoning, partly by suggestion, and partly by tricks which surprised her, for instance, making her hear her watch with unaccustomed strength when she took it between her teeth and closed both ears. the autosuggestive fear was uprooted by these and the central ear organs slowly came to normal functioning. the purely psychical character is still more evident in the frequent hysterical anæsthesias. no one doubts that here the sensations are inhibited only and that the mental influence removes this inhibition without any influence on the sense organs proper. frequently also organic troubles like stomach diseases appear cured when in reality hysterical disturbances are at the bottom. the stomach may be sensitive to any pressure and may produce severe pains and vomiting on taking any food and everything may indicate a serious local disturbance. yet hypnotic treatment may quickly remove the symptoms because the whole reaction may have resulted from the shock which perhaps a too hot piece of potato caused. the removal of this mental starting point results in a cure of the apparent stomach disease. again in other cases, the appearance of a physical cure is given by the creation of psychophysical substitutes. i do not believe that hypnotism or suggestive treatment can influence the brain parts which have suffered from a hemorrhage. yet the paralysis of the arm, for instance, which resulted from such a breaking of a blood-vessel in the brain may be to a high degree repaired by building up new motor images in the psychophysical system, which become starting points for a new learning of movements. the patient did not understand how to make the most out of those motor paths which had been left. the destruction of the chief channels of discharge had inhibited in his mind the idea of possible movement. he no longer believes that he can move and it needs new suggestions to overcome this inhibition. the curative effect on bodily disabilities is thus often an illusory one. that does not mean that the field in which psychotherapeutics may work directly on the body is not after all a large and interesting one. theoretically it is still little open to real understanding. the explanation has essentially to rest on the acceptance of a given physiological apparatus. a certain psychophysical excitement produces by existing nerve connections a certain effect, for instance, on the blood-vessels or on the glands of a certain region, or on a certain lower nervous center. that such apparatus exists, the physiological experiment with persons who are hypnotized to a high degree can easily demonstrate. their nose bleeds at a command; a blister may arise on a part of the skin which is simply covered with a penny, when the suggestion is given that the penny is glowing hot. with some subjects, the pulse can become slower and quicker in accordance with the suggestion; with some even the bodily temperature can change on order. our understanding of these indubitable facts indeed does not go further than the acknowledgment that the paths for such central connections exist. that means we simply describe the facts once more in the terms of anatomy. but after all in the same way we rely on the nervous connections, if a thought makes us blush and ultimately if our will moves our arm or if our ideas move our speech apparatus. we do not choose the muscles of our arm, we hardly know them; we know still less in speaking, of the movements of our vocal cords, and in blushing of the dilated blood-vessels. that ideas work on the lower centers of our central nervous system, centers which regulate the actions of our muscles and blood-vessels and glands, must simply be accepted as the machinery of our physiological theory. the connection of such theories with purely physical facts is given by the experience that an electrical stimulation of the nerve may have the same influence as ideas. the electric current, too, can regulate the beat of the heart, or contract and dilate the vessels, or reënforce and relax the contraction of the muscles, or strengthen and weaken the functions of the glands. nearest to the psychophysical processes stands the bodily symptom of insomnia. there is no doubt possible that the work of the psychotherapist can be very beneficial in producing sleep by suggestion. that autosuggestions for sleep play an important rôle is popularly accepted. next to the most immediate means such as lying down, or cutting off sense stimuli, or trying not to think, or avoiding movements, certainly the most well known factor is the expectation of sleep with the belief that sleep will come. this belief may be reënforced to strong autosuggestion which may then overcome other factors that hinder sleep. for instance, i have repeatedly received letters from strangers containing expressions of gratitude with news which under other circumstances would at least not flatter an author. they wrote to me that immediately after reading one or another essay of mine on hypnotism, they fell into deep sleep. yet as they were always patients who had suffered from insomnia, i was pleased with this unintended effect of my writings. but in most cases a real cure demands heterosuggestion. there is room for any variety of effects; often they enter immediately. the other day i gave sleep suggestion to a young woman who had overworked herself in literary production. for months she had not slept more than three or four hours a night and even that only after taking narcotics. i intentionally did not allow her to come into a hypnotic sleep but kept her fully awake, increasing her suggestibility while her eyes were wide open. i suggested to her to take a walk, then to eat her dinner, and after that to go to bed at once. she went to bed at seven o'clock and slept without waking until ten o'clock the next morning, and after fifteen hours' sleep she was like a different being. a regular eight hour sleep is sometimes secured, even where no immediate direction has been given for it. on the other hand, i cannot deny that i have sometimes been entirely unsuccessful in securing better sleep by the first three hypnotic treatments. when the first three treatments were unsuccessful, i always gave it up on account of lack of time. yet the experience of others shows that in such cases, often after a long continued hypnotic treatment insomnia yields to suggestion. one of the great factors which work against the mental treatment is the habit of so many sufferers of relying on their sleeping powders which, to be sure, remain effective only by increasing the dose and thus finally by making them dangerous. every chemical narcotic has in itself suggestive power and strengthens the belief of the sleep-seeker that he cannot find rest without his dose. to overcome the monopoly of the opiates is one of the most important functions of psychotherapy. it is not surprising that the relations of psychotherapy to sleep show such a great variety. the factors which coöperate in normal sleep are many and the disturbance can have very different character. we had to speak of the psychophysics of sleep when we discussed the theoretical relation of sleep to hypnotism and insisted that it is misleading to consider hypnosis simply as partial sleep. we claimed a fundamental difference between the selective inhibition in hypnotism and the general reduction of functions in sleep. to understand sleep, we have to recognize it as one of the fundamental instincts, comparable with the instinct for food or for sexual satisfaction. every one of such instincts has a circular character. mental processes, subcortical processes, and physical effects are involved in such a way that each reënforces the others. the physical effect of the sleep instinct, comparable with the pepsin secretion in the food instinct, or with the hyperæmia of the sexual organs in the sexual instinct, is a change in the cortex by which the sensory and motor brain centers are put out of action. what kind of a change that is, is quite indifferent. it may be a chemical one but more probably it is a circulatory one. let us say it is a contraction of blood-vessels which by the resulting anæmia makes the sensory centers unfit for perception and the motor centers unfit for action. in this way the brain becomes protected by sleep against the demands of the surroundings. the mental reactions are eliminated and the central nervous substance has an opportunity to build itself up. this protective physical activity is now evidently itself controlled by a subcortical center, just as secretion and sexual hyperæmia are controlled. this center probably lies in the medulla oblongata. some theorists, to be sure, are inclined to think that the fatigued brain cells enter directly through their exhaustion into the protective sleep state. but that simplifies the situation too much. it is quite true, as these theorists claim, that monotonous stimulation of the senses produces sleep. but it is evident that the sleep occurs even then not only in the particular overtired brain cells. a monotonous stimulation of the acoustical center raises the threshold of perception for all the senses and brings sleep to the whole brain. this control of the whole apparatus is thus surely regulated by one definite center. but this lower center, which controls the anæmia of the cortex, is itself directly dependent again upon a mental condition, the mental experience of fatigue. the fatigue sensation, which is possibly the result of toxic processes, works on that lower sleep center, just as the appetizing impression or the sensual images work on the centers of the other two instincts. on the other hand this protective blood-vessel contraction creates again as in the other cases a characteristic organic sensation, the sensation of rest which arises when the threshold of perception and activity is raised. the world begins to appear dim and far away, no impulse for action excites us. this organic feeling of rest associates itself with the fatigue feeling. the fatigue sensation, the subcortical sleep center, the contraction of the vessels in the cortex, and finally the rest sensation form together the complete circle. the difficulty which arises in this case lies only in the fact that the cortex gone to sleep annihilates also, of course, the fatigue sensation and the rest sensation. for that reason the real circle can appear only in the preparatory stages of sleep. as soon as sleep itself sets in, the circle is broken. the circle character of every instinct must lead the physical effect upward to a higher and higher degree. not to become excessive, the physical effect must be checked somehow. in all other spheres, it finds its end in satisfaction, for instance, by eating or by the sexual act. in sleep the circular process ends automatically by its own effect as soon as complete sleep is reached. its causes, the fatigue and the rest feeling, are stopped, as soon as the effect, the anæmia, is secured. we see now how widely different starting points can lead to sleep and can understand from it how widely different disturbances can prevent sleep. sleep must result when fatigue is coming, but sleep must also result when the elements of the rest feeling are produced, and as we saw that the components of the rest feeling were the sensations of decreased sensitiveness and decreased activity, sleep must result when either the sensations and associations are absent and actions are suppressed, or when monotonous sensations and automatic actions raise the threshold. sleep must arise further if our will associates the mere idea of such rest, and finally physical or chemical means may produce a sleep bringing effect either on the lower center or on the blood-vessels and cells of the cortex. correspondingly sleep may be prevented by disturbances in any one of these spheres. there may be no normal fatigue, there may be no fatigue sensation, there may be no rest feeling on account of perceptions, or on account of associations, or on account of impulses to action; there may be no normal response in the subcortical center, there may be no physical effect in the cortex on account of an existing hyperæmia or on account of an abnormal condition of the cells. the psychotherapeutic treatment must carefully analyze which element would be fit to supply the last link in the circular chain. sometimes we need the suggestion of fatigue, sometimes the inhibition of ideas, sometimes the suppression of impulses, sometimes the suggestion of rest, and so on. a mere general suggestion of sleep is on the whole effective only in the cases of those persons in whom this idea in itself awakens those various components. very often it is entirely ineffective in this general form. sometimes it is possible to carry the hypnotic state itself directly over into sleep, but it seems more in the interest of the patient to separate those two states distinctly. we are still confined to processes in the brain itself if we turn to headache. if it were only a question of inhibiting the pain by mental suggestion, the case would not be different from inhibiting the pain of a peripheral organ without attempting to cure the diseased organ itself. but in the case of headaches, it seems justified to claim that in certain varieties of this multifold symptom, not only the pain is suppressed but the disturbance itself is removed. especially where the headache seems to result from hyperæmia, the trouble seems to be accessible to psychotherapeutics. on the other hand i have never seen any lasting effect on the so-called sick headache or migraine. while continuous headaches or headaches which occur daily yielded to my influence, sometimes completely, i was unable to prevent even by preparatory hypnotization any migraine which appears periodically, for instance, simultaneously with menstruation. a few words only as to the general diseases and disturbances for which a very strong therapeutic effect has been claimed by masters of the craft like wetterstrand, moll, dubois, and others. from my own experience i can affirm the often lasting effect in the disturbances of the functions of the digestive apparatus. the stomach and the intestines seem to a high degree under nervous influences which can be changed through hypnotic suggestion. if we consider what intimate connection exists between the functions of these organs and the normal emotions, it seems hardly surprising that mental factors can regulate their disturbances. vomiting, diarrhea, and especially constipation, often yield to slight suggestions, even in a superficial hypnotic state. here, too, i have seen repeatedly a complete regulation of a long-standing disturbance as an unintended by-product of hypnotic suggestion directed towards the cure of psychical troubles. much value is claimed for hypnotic method in the treatment of anæmic conditions. it is said that anæmia improves after a few hypnotic treatments, the appetite becomes better, the cold hands and feet grow warmer, the headaches disappear, the capacity for work increases rapidly, and most surprising of all the leucorrhea ceases. as to heart disease, we ought to think in the first place of the disturbances of nervous innervation. i have seen repeatedly a remarkable decrease of nervous palpitation of the heart through direct mental influence, abstracting here from the secondary effect of suppressing mental excitement and fear. where organic heart diseases are surely present, it seems that hypnotism can sometimes act beneficially if the heart trouble is accompanied by anæmia and general debility; of course a developed valvular disease cannot be removed. in the same way it seems that in bright's disease, certain painful symptoms may be suppressed, but the kidneys certainly cannot be influenced. at least open to serious suspicion are the insistent claims that diabetes can be cured by suggestion. dr. quackenbos of new york, for instance, gives to some of his diabetes patients a hypnotic suggestion by the following words: "if your pancreas be crippled in its production of the natural ferment which is given off to blood and lymph and which conditions the normal condition of sugar in the body or restrains the output of sugar from the liver tissues, you will see that it forthwith pours into your blood or lymph the sufficient quantity of sugar oxidizing ferments." it certainly transcends our present understanding if we are to believe that a suggestion of this type will change the action of the pancreas. it is hardly worth while to enter into the still more extravagant claims from other sides like those for curing cancer and phthisis. on the other hand, in the light of all that we have discussed, there is no difficulty in understanding the easily observable influence in the regulation of menstruation, in the cure of contractions, local congestions, and incontinency of urine. i may mention finally the use of hypnotism for helping in a safe and quick confinement. but in addition to all this, we have the great help which psychotherapy may bring indirectly in the treatment of physical diseases. i said, for instance, that i do not believe in a real help by mere suggestion in cases of diabetes. but no one ought to underestimate the value which may result for the treatment from a suggestion of a well-adapted diet. the patient who feels a craving for bread and potatoes and perhaps sweets, and is too weak to resist it, is indeed brought into safety if suggestion liberates him from such desires. the same holds true for every other diet and for any medical régime of life which does not harmonize with the natural instincts of the patient. for not a few sufferers, reënforcement of the interdict against coffee and tea or alcohol and tobacco is more important than any medicine. hypnotic suggestion can easily create dislike of the prohibited material and can build up new desires and inclinations. in the same way it is indirectly most important to stir up, for instance, the sensations and feelings of appetite and thus to make normal nutrition possible. also in cases of anæmia or tuberculosis, such indirect assistance can produce some beneficial consequences. the same holds true of the power of the psychotherapist to secure sleep. the fight against insomnia which we discussed referred only to that sleeplessness which is itself an expression of the disease. but as a matter of course, the loss of sleep can accompany most different diseases, as an almost accidental result. to secure sleep means then not to treat the symptoms of the disease but a by-product; and yet every physician knows how much is gained if the lost energies are restituted by a sound sleep. and finally we have the indirect help towards the cure by the suggestive removal of pain. we have no right to say that it is a pure advantage for the treatment of the disease if the pain is centrally inhibited. pain surely has its great biological significance and is in itself to a certain degree helpful towards the cure, inasmuch as it indicates clearly the seat and character of the trouble and warns against the misuse of the damaged organ which needs rest and protection. to annihilate pain may mean to remove the warning signal and thus to increase the chance for an injury. if we had no pain, our body would be much more rapidly destroyed in the struggle for existence. but that does not contradict the other fact that pain is exhausting and that the fight against the pain decreases the resistance of the organism. as soon as the disease is well recognized through the medium of pain and the correct treatment is inaugurated, not only the subjective comfort of the patient but the objective interest of his cure makes a removal of pain most desirable. while it would be absurd to say that hypnotism can cure tuberculosis or cancer, it is fully justifiable to say that hypnotic treatment in tuberculosis or cancer is to a high degree beneficial, inasmuch as it can secure sleep, appetite, and freedom from pain, three factors which indirectly help to fight the disease. the elimination of pain may sometimes also play its rôle in slight operations where other methods of narcosis seem for any reason undesirable, and very frequently hypnotic suggestion has been used for this purpose at childbirth. the same importance which belongs to the removal of bodily pain in the treatment of a peripheral disease may be given to its mental counterpart, to the worry, excitement, and emotional shock. they all stand in the way of a real success in any cure. even the chances of a dangerous operation are entirely different for the patient who goes to it with free mind and a happy mood, with full confidence in its success, from those of a patient who has worked himself into a state of fear and anxiety. here again the depression and the excitement are not in question as symptoms of a disease, as they were when we discussed the phobias and despondencies of the neurasthenic and of the hysteric. they are merely normal side-effects of the bodily disease, accentuated perhaps by a suggestible temperament. to eliminate all these emotions means to change most helpfully the whole atmosphere of the sick-room and to deprive invalidism of its saddest feature. this negative factor corresponds of course most directly to the positive feature of building up new hope and joyful expectation. he who creates confidence makes convalescence rapid and strengthens the power to overcome disease. it would be medical narrowness if the physician were strictly to deny that the effect of such emotional change may sometimes lead far beyond the ordinary suggestive influences and that in this sense the miraculous really happens. when out of a despondent mood in a suggestible brain an absorbing emotion of confidence breaks through, a completely new equilibrium of the psychophysical system may indeed result. in such cases, improvements may set in which no sober physician can determine beforehand. central inhibitions which may have interfered a life long with the normal functioning of the organism may suddenly be broken down and in an entirely unexpected way the mental influence gives to the forces of the body a new chance to help themselves. the reasoning of the scientific physician may easily stand in the way there. he may be afraid of such overstrong emotion because he knows too well that such unregulated powers may just as well destroy the good as in another case the bad; in short, that ruin may result just as well as health. but that does not exclude the fact that indeed almost mysterious cures can be made without really contradicting the scientific theories. such are the means by which the mystical cults earn their laurels. a chance letter of the type which often swells the mail of the psychologist may illustrate this effect. i choose it because it is evidently written by a skeptic. a short quotation from the lengthy epistle is sufficient. "my condition was horrible in the extreme. i had consumption of the lungs and other supposedly fatal troubles, complicated by wrecked nerves. at the present writing, i am robust and splendidly healthy, looking twenty years younger than i did at the period previously described. the christian scientist saw my condition but appeared unconcerned and unafraid, i being absolutely hopeless, skeptical, and deeply contemptuous meanwhile. on the third day of her treatment i was desperate for sleep, she having forbidden drugs, and i deliberately took an overdose of chloral, thinking to die at once and end it. my condition justified the act. she brought me out of the coma of the chloral after three hours of mental work, and the next day i felt decidedly calmer and less afraid of the coming of night, should i live to meet it, which seemed doubtful. at noon she left me to go to her home to lunch. i was pondering seriously on her reiterated 'god is love and fills the universe and there is nothing beside him,' when i suddenly had a sensation of being lifted up or rising slowly and becoming lighter in body. a rush of power that i have no way of describing to you filled me. i seemed to be a tremendous dynamo in the air several inches above the ground and still ascending. when i noticed everything around me becoming prismatic and more or less translucent, i could have walked on water without sinking, and i had distinct understanding that matters seemed to be disintegrating and dissolving around me. i was frightened but self-conscious and quiet. i remained in this state for about three hours, my consciousness seeming to have reached almost cosmic greatness. i could have cured, i felt, any human ill, was filled with an absorbing altruistic desire to help suffering. it was tremendous and totally foreign to my everyday attitude. at the end of the day, towards twilight, i became wearied of the tremendous throbbing and exalted state in which i still remained and gave utterance to the thought aloud. almost before i had formulated it the condition left me, and like the sudden dropping of a weight, i struck the ground, the same dull, ordinary person of everyday experience, but with the vast difference of perfect health, radiant and lasting to the present writing. my father like myself is baffled and wondering. we are both pretty hard skeptics. i want the truth, whether it be terrible or otherwise. i am profoundly grateful to the christian scientist, if i regained my health through her ministrations, but i have not so far been able to label myself and rise in their church services to tell what has been done on me. the performance repels me as crude and rather bad taste. i swear to you on my honor as an american woman and a mother that what i have written you is true, absolutely. if you can give me any light or if my experience may perchance give you a helping ray, my renewed lease on life may have had some purpose after all, which i have often questioned in my cynical moods." the unprejudiced psychotherapist will be perfectly able to find room for such cures and, if it is the duty of the scientific physician to make use of every natural energy in the interest of the patient's health, he has no right to neglect the overwhelming powers of the apparently mysterious states. some of this power ought to irradiate from his eye and his voice whenever he crosses the threshold of a sick-room. some of that power ought to emanate from him with every pill and drug which he prescribes. the psychotherapeutic energies which work for real health outside of the medical profession form a stream of vast power, but without solid bed and without dam. that stream when it overfloods will devastate its borders and destroy its bridges. the physicians are the engineers whose duty it is to direct that stream into safe channels, to distribute it so that it may work under control wherever it is needed, and to take care that its powerful energy is not lost for suffering mankind. part iii the place of psychotherapy xii psychotherapy and the church the belief in supernatural energies has cured diseases at all times and among all peoples. everywhere the patient sought help through the agents of higher forces and everywhere these agents themselves utilized their therapeutic success for strengthening the belief in their over-natural power. the psychologist would say that it was always the same story, the influence of suggestion on the imagination of those who suffer. yet the variety of forms is abundant. not only the special symbols but the whole attitude may take most varied character, and every special appearance is intimately related to the whole mystical background and to the religious, scientific, and social ideas of the time. if nevertheless, even at the same time in the same country, very different forms of religious suggestion are at work, it must not be forgotten that those who live together in any nation and are united in many common purposes represent, after all, different stages in the development of civilization. it has always been true that those whose minds are saturated with the real culture of their time are working together with those whose culture belongs to earlier centuries and with others whose minds are essentially of the type of the primitive peoples. let us glance at the life of the savages. in darkest africa, we find a special caste with its professional secrets which accepts new members only after long tests. they are evidently persons with over-sensitive nervous systems and liable to hallucinations. as soon as they have their attacks of abnormal excitement, they are conceived to be agents of superhuman powers, and on account of this they are able to prescribe the cure of any diseases. in australia, therapeutic power belongs to the koonkie, a man who as a child had a vision of a demonic god. from him he received the power to heal the sick. he goes to the patient, touches the painful parts and rubs them and after a few minutes, he shows a little piece of wood which he had hidden in his hand and which he claims to have extracted from the body of the sufferer. the native feels actually cured after such manipulation of the koonkie, who evidently believes himself in his power. in siberia, we find shamanism. the shaman stands between man and the gods. these shamans are excitable persons with epileptic tendencies, or at least over-suggestible men or women who by autosuggestion and imitation can bring themselves into ecstatic convulsions. they alone know from the gods the means to treat diseases and their personal influence overcomes the ailment. in early america, before the european discovery, the cure of disease belonged in the same way to the middleman between the gods and human beings. in the antilles, for instance, the bohuti heals the diseases which are regarded as punishments of the gods for human neglect. the priest by inhaling a certain powder brings himself into an ecstatic condition, then presses the painful organs of the patient, sucks at various parts of his body until he finally produces some little bone or piece of meat which until then he kept hidden in his mouth. the disease disappears, and the extracted bone is used as an amulet which secures good harvests. other indians had their piachas. they were selected from among the boys of about ten years old and were then sent to lonely forests where they had to live for years upon plants and water without any friends, seeing only at night the older priests from whom they learned the ceremonies for curing the sick. here too their art consisted mostly in touching the painful parts of the body with the lips and sucking them to bring the evil saps out of the body by their supernatural power. in short, at the most primitive stages in africa and asia, in america and australia, therapy was acknowledged to be a special power of men who had superhuman forces derived from good or evil gods. all this repeats itself in the so-called half-civilizations. among the masses of china, mental and bodily diseases were ascribed to the fox, which plays such a large part in the superstitions of eastern asia. the priest has the power to banish the fox by mystical writings which he pastes on the wall of the sick-room, and the patient recovers, as the fox has to leave his body. in old japan the mountain monks, who inherited their superhuman powers from a martyr of the fifth century, can remove the diseases which have magical origin or which are induced by the devil. they also supply the magical papers covered with writings and pictures of birds, to prevent the appearance of smallpox and pestilence and to cure a number of diseases. india, the classical land of suggestion and hypnosis, shows the most extensive connection between religious and magical powers among which the cure of diseases is only one feature. such cure may be with medicaments or without, but the essential part always belongs to the prayers which make the good and evil spirits obedient to the healer. these prayers were often spoken in sanscrit, which the people did not understand and which thus added to the mystic solemnity of the procedure. this suggestive influence of the use of older languages for religious solemnities, known only to the priests, repeats itself also at all times and among all nations. in assyria and babylonia, too, medicine was exclusively a branch of mysticism and essentially in the hands of the priests, who by words and magical beverages annihilated the influence of the malevolent demons. it is well known how the old testament reports the same traits of belief among the jewish nation. we hear there that miriam became leprous, white as snow, and moses cried unto the lord, saying: "heal her now, oh god, i beseech thee." and after seven days miriam was cured in consequence of moses' prayer. and again, "the lord sent fiery serpents among the people and they bit the people and much people of israel died.--and moses prayed for the people.--and moses made a serpent of brass and put it upon a pole and it came to pass that if a serpent had bitten any man, when he beheld the serpent of brass, he lived." among the old egyptians, it was especially isis who discovered many remedies and had been much experienced in medicine, and after having become immortal, it was her greatest pleasure to cure the sick and to announce the right remedies in dreams to those who came to sleep in her temples. many who could not be cured by any physician, and who had lost their sight and hearing or could not move their limbs, became well again when they took refuge in her temples. the same holds true for the serapis temple; even the best known men go there to sleep to get from the goddess cures for themselves or for their friends. it is well known again that in other ways the old greeks attached medical influence to temples and sacred springs and rivers and tombs. there were sacred springs which cured everybody who drank from them, there were statues which removed every disease when offerings were brought to them. here again the most frequent is the cure of paralytic symptoms and of obsessions. the orphic priests of old greece most nearly resembled the shamans of the savages. those who are inclined to give to the life of christ a rationalistic interpretation have often pointed out that the therapeutic effects described in the gospels might also be understood as effects of suggestion by word and tactual impressions, produced especially on hysterics, epileptics, paralytics, and psychasthenics. such rationalistic interpretations could also explain in the same way through the suggestive influence in the minds of the sick, those cures which christ effected through others without being present himself. here belongs perhaps the cure of the servant of the centurion in capernaum or the cure of the daughter of the woman of canaan. "and when he had called unto him his twelve disciples, he gave them power against unclean spirits to cast them out and to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease." the acts give us the full details of how peter and paul cured the lame and how special miracles were performed by their hands. no doubt this belief in the curative effect of the disciples and their successors fills the first centuries after christ. eusebius tells us how they healed the sick by laying on of hands. the forms were frequently changing through the history of christianity but the essence remains the same. sometimes more emphasis is laid on the personal factor of the priest, sometimes more on the sacred origin of the symbol as in the case of the relics, sometimes more on prayer and godly works, but it is always the religious belief which cures. typical are the therapeutic wonders of francis de assisi. he banishes devils, cures gout, lameness, and blindness. the traditional means of suggestion, prayer and the laying on of hands, had in the meantime been supplemented by the sign of the cross which the church had added. moreover whatever he had only touched became a remedy for the sick. protestantism brought no change in this respect. martin luther writes: "the physicians consider in the diseases only the natural causes from which a disease results and want to remove them by their medicines, and they are quite right in it. but they do not see that the devil often sends to one a disease which has no natural causes. therefore there must exist a higher medicine, namely, the religious belief and the prayer through which the spiritual medicine can be found in the word of god." the broad undercurrent of religious cures, especially in the catholic church and in the greek church, but with fewer symbols also outside of them, has up to the present time never ceased to flow. but independent of it the therapeutic belief has again and again been focused on certain individuals or certain sects or certain schools, in the midst of the steady progress of scientific medicine and sometimes synthesizing the religious claims with new-fashioned scholarly ideas. in the seventeenth century, for instance, the irish nobleman greatrakes became a famous center of attraction. he felt himself to be the bearer of a divine mission and healed the sick, appealing to their belief by laying on of hands and by movements which we nowadays call passes. much more influential in the eighteenth century was pastor gassner in germany. gassner succeeded in producing with his religious psychotherapy such a tremendous stir that many thousands who needed cure from functional diseases, and thousands of curious people, too, streamed to his church in ellwangen, and his methods of cure spread almost contagiously among the ministers of the country: an emmanuel church movement of the eighteenth century. gassner, too, discriminated between the diseases which have natural causes, that is the organic diseases, which he did not treat, and the functional ones, which were obsessions of the devil. to determine to which group the disease belonged, he ordered the devil to produce the symptoms of the sickness. when in this way the obsessional character of the disease was recognized, the minister began with his suggestive influences to banish the devil. he demanded firm confidence in the name of christ, reënforced his effectiveness by narration of the cures he had perfected, used further certain manipulations such as the rubbing of the skin and passes on the head, and finally gave his suggestions with authoritative firmness. many ministers who became his pupils treated like him with skillful combination of religion and hypnoid influences the spasms, catalepsies, neurasthenias, paralysis, and deafness, of neurotic patients. there is no need to follow in detail the frequent similar occurrences between gassner's time and our own. we all know where we are to-day. the medical profession and the medical science with its bacteriology and serum therapy, its roentgen rays and its organic chemistry is far away from the church and without concession to religious aspects. on the other hand there are the yearly processions of thousands and thousands who make their pilgrimage to the sacred waters of lourdes, guided by the catholic priests, half-hypnotized by the hope that the virgin will cure them. in every niche of the catholic churches in all europe, there are kneeling before the burning candles those who pray for nothing but their health; and their belief will sometimes yield almost miraculous cures. in england the society of emmanuel was founded by men and women to whom it seemed necessary to bring back to the minds of christians the undoubted fact that christ taught and worked for physical heath and to revive this sense of power over disease. thousands were treated and the results have been "most encouraging." among the cases successfully treated may be mentioned "one of cancer in which case the specialist called in had given the sufferer only three months to live while by means of the laying on of hands in prayer, a complete cure was effected." not dissimilar in its proceedings, though much more elaborate in its metaphysics than this movement in the midst of the church of england, we find in america the christian science movement started by mrs. eddy. it was new as a therapeutic system, however old its philosophic elements. mrs. mary baker eddy writes: "in the year i discovered the christ science or divine laws of life and named them christian science. god had been graciously fitting me during many years for the reception of a final revelation of the absolute divine principle of scientific being and healing." the disease is cured for the christian scientist by the belief in god because a true belief in god includes the insight that god is all reality and that reality therefore cannot include the ungodlike, that is, error and sin and disease. disease is thus recognized as unreal and if it has become unreal, of course it has disappeared as part of our real life. thousands and thousands have been cured under this symbol. and as the latest chapter of this history of five thousand years, we find the movement which dr. worcester has started in boston and which, too, spreads rapidly over the continent and awakens the ambition of many a minister in every denomination in the land. the aim is to cure the patient by reënforcing in him through religious persuasion, through the contact with the symbols of the church and with godly men and through religious suggestion, a confident belief which gives new unity and through it new strength to the mind of the sufferer until it overcomes the functional disease of the body. the physician at first examines whether or not an irreparable organic disease has attacked the body, but if he does not find such organic destruction, then the patient is to be handed over to the minister, who will take care that through his religious belief and inspiration the mind will triumph over the weakness of the body. whoever looks in this way over the history of mankind can no longer doubt that belief in supernatural powers is really an agency for the overcoming of disease. we may be interested in it from the standpoint of religion or from the standpoint of psychology or from the standpoint of ethnology. in every case we have to acknowledge that he who believes may be cured. if we abstract first from the religious point of view and consider the problem as a scientific one, we have to interpret all those curative effects of belief as results of suggestion. the attitude of the one who gives the suggestion has gone in the history of mankind through all possible variations. he may have been filled with fervent belief, rejecting any interpretation except the religious one, or he may have produced the suggestion of belief almost with the intentions of a physician who simply relies on the physiological effects of any suggestion; and between these two extremes any number of steps is possible. moreover the suggestion may have been detached from any personality and may have belonged to any symbol of religious energies, like the relics of the catholic church. even the most skeptical of ethnologists ought to acknowledge that very little in this history of religious psychotherapy points to a conscious fraud. those shamans of the savages from siberia to south africa, from australia to mexico, are in ecstasies which make them really believe in the mysterious power of their manipulations. the ethnologist finds indeed as most common characteristics of all those primitive movements that those who cure are chosen from among neurotics who by epileptic attacks or hallucinations and obsessions are predisposed to feel themselves as bearers of a higher mission. yet whether the attitude of the transmitter is religious or half-scientific, is inspired or insincere, the receiver of the suggestion is always in the same condition: he is believing in his cure through religious influence and through his belief he is helped, if he is helped at all. this uniformity does not exclude the fact that the patients too may show a manifoldness of mental states. they may remain in a completely waking state with reënforced suggestibility, or they may go over into a drowsy or hypnoid state or deeply into a hypnotic state, or may receive the suggestions as we saw even in sleep. further their minds may be entirely filled with fine religious emotions and the therapeutic effect be only an appendix or, on the other hand, this confident expectation of the relief from pain may be their central content of consciousness and may control the whole mental interplay. the practical problem of the scientist is to consider how far these religious energies ought to be used today in the interests of the cure of diseases. from a scientific standpoint such a discussion can hardly be fruitful with those who consistently take the religious point of view only. a view of the world which demands the faith that religious belief moves an almighty power to cure a diseased organ, or that the disease has no reality for one who lives in god, is invulnerable to merely scientific arguments. the sick woman who kneels between the candles before the picture of the virgin, praying that her heart, which the physicians declare incurable on account of a valvular disease, be cured, moves in a sphere of thought which lies entirely outside of the medical study of causes and effects. the same holds true, for instance, of christian science. this statement is in itself no criticism and no argument; it only acknowledges that any possible exchange of opinions has to be carried over from the scientific psychological ground to that of metaphysics and philosophy. it is quite different with modern movements of the type of the emmanuel church movement, where the religious thought is intertwined with the psychological theory and where an actual coöperation of physician and minister is sought. here church and science really meet on common ground, and it is important to examine objectively whether it is wise and beneficial to encourage the spreading of this tempting enterprise. the movement has reached the large cities between the atlantic and the pacific and is beginning to captivate the ministers of the small towns and villages. it seems as if an epoch has come for the church--the church which too long has ministered only to the spiritual needs of the community will at last remember again that christ healed the sick, that mind and body are one, that the personality must be understood in its unity, and that endless fields of blessed influence may again be opened to the church when the minister becomes the physician of his congregation. whoever knows the suggestive power of such a social movement, and considers the ease with which triumphant successes may be reached in this field and the disappointing and discouraging reduction of power which the church shows everywhere in its purely spiritual hold on the community, can foresee that all the conditions are favorable for a rapid spread and that the church clinics will become the american fashion of the near future. it cannot be denied that the christian church takes in hand there once more a work which belonged to it through centuries. but they were centuries in which the priest was in a certain degree the physician, just as he was the educator and teacher, simply because in the church there was centered all cultural influences which the community knew. the complexity of modern times has for centuries demanded the opposite system. centralization is allowed only to the purely administrative influence of the state, while all the active functions are divided among specialists. we rely on the expert in education, we demand the expert in medicine: is more gained or lost if the religious leader now again suddenly undertakes a part of the functions which belong to the physician? it is true that the ministers of this school do not propose to undertake the physician's work to its full extent. they leave to him the first and in some respects most important step, the diagnosis, and abstain from the treatment of such cases as the physician declares inaccessible to psychical influences. they do not heal cancer and phthisis like the emmanuel movement in england or like the mental healers in america. but is not perhaps just this compromise dangerous in another direction, inasmuch as it awakens a feeling of safety in those who feel in sympathy with scientific medicine? they have passed the hand of the physician and believe accordingly that because their illness is recognized as functional, the minister can really perform all that ought to be done. is this belief justified? at the threshold, it occurs to every one that such a diagnosis by physicians may be erroneous and that the chances for such error are under the conditions of the church clinic much greater than under the conditions of a regular medical treatment. the diagnostician who treats the patient himself has ever new chances to remodel his diagnosis and to correct it under the influence of therapeutic effects. the danger is great that under the proposed conditions, the activity of the physician will be superficial, because he is deprived of his chief means, the constant observation. but we may abstract from this possibility of error. does the fact that the disease is one the symptoms of which may yield to psychical treatment really make it advisable that the further treatment be handed over to the clergyman? to begin at the beginning, the usefulness of psychical treatment does not at all exclude the strong desirability of physical treatment at the same time. the emphasis which is laid on religious persuasion and inspiration, on prayer and spiritual uplift practically excludes the use of baths and douches, of massage and electricity, of tonics and sedatives. and yet it is not caprice or sham when every well-schooled medical specialist applies such means in the treatment of these so-called functional diseases of the nervous system. the minister applies and can apply only one of many possible methods for cure and yet, if we really want to make use of the resources of modern knowledge, we have to adapt most carefully all possible means to the individual case. if we take the strictly religious standpoint the situation is of course different, but if we speak of psychophysiological effects, we may acknowledge the healing influence of prayer and yet rely in the special case still more on bromide or strychnine. yet the religious psychotherapists not only neglect the physical help but usually emphasize the antagonism. some of the strongest supporters proclaim it as a non-drug healing, thus deciding adversely about a medical method regarding which they have no means at all to judge. parallel to this neglect of physical theory goes, of course, the neglect of the physical factors in the disease. the physician may have justly diagnosed that the case is "merely" neurasthenia or hysteria and not a brain tumor or paralysis of the brain. yet that does not mean in the least that a real treatment which remains in harmony with the progress of modern medicine ought to ignore the hundred physical elements which enter daily into the disease. there are the most complex digestive problems involved which demand a thorough understanding of chemical metabolism, there are still more complex problems of the sexual organs which the minister certainly ought not to discuss with his female parishioners, there are bacteriological questions, there are questions of the peripheral nervous system and sense organs; in short, questions which belong to a world into which the minister as minister has never looked. even if he believes he might gather in an amateurish way some information as to those questions which lie so far from his experience as student of divinity, how can his half-baked knowledge compare with the experienced study of the regular physician? such physical questions cannot be settled by the preparatory examination of the physician; they come up every day during the treatment and what the spiritual diet which the minister offers may help, may at the same time be ruined by the physical diet about which the minister without chemistry cannot judge. but let us abstract from the bodily aspect. is the situation really very different for the mental one? the appeal to the religious emotion, the reënforcement of religious faith is from the religious point of view certainly the one central effort from which everything has to irradiate. the unity of this controlling thought is the glory of such inspiration. but as soon as we handle this thought as a psychotherapeutic remedy, destined to restitute the disturbed psychological equilibrium, it becomes evident that the very uniformity of it makes it a clumsy, inadjustable pattern. if there is anything which impresses the careful student of psychology, it is the over-rich manifoldness, the complexity of mental life. even the simplest content of consciousness is a tissue woven from millions of threads and any stereotyped influence means crudeness and destruction. the minister's attitude towards inner life is there directly opposite to that of the psychologist. he cannot enter into those endless interplays of associations and memories, or inhibitions and sensations and impulses, he cannot examine from which remote psychological sources those ideas have arisen, how the feelings become disturbed and the judgments sidetracked. he should not analyze even if he could, because his whole aim is to synthesize. he asks for the meaning and not for the structure, for the aims and not for the elements. his therapeutic effort is therefore not even directed towards a careful rebuilding of the injured parts of the mind, but it is nothing more than a general stimulation to the mind to help itself. by touching on one of the deepest emotional layers of the mind, the layer of religious ideas, the minister gives to the soul an intense shock and expects that in the resulting perturbation, everything will be shaken and may then settle itself by its own energies in a healthful way. it is a fact that that can sometimes happen and under certain conditions the chances for it are even favorable. under many other conditions the chances are unfavorable and the result does not happen at all. but whether or not a cure results, in any case it is certainly not an effort which can be said to be in harmony with modern science. the idea of science is always to understand the complex from its elements and to restore the disturbed complex object by recognizing the disturbances in the elements and by bringing those disturbed elements into right shape again. certainly the psychologist, too, in examining carefully the injured mental mechanism may discover emotional injuries which might be cured by the introduction of religious ideas, but he will not give to them a value different from the introduction of any other ideas and emotions, for instance, those of art and music and poetry, those of social company or civic interest, of travel or sport or politics. each may have its particular value and to cure every mind with religious emotion would be from a psychological point of view as one-sided as it would be to cure every disturbed stomach by milk alone. moreover in very frequent cases, for instance, of neurasthenia or hysteria or psychasthenia, such wholesale remedies can form only the background of the treatment, but all the details have to be furnished with reference to a most subtle analysis of the special symptoms, and a particular organic symptom or a particular memory idea or a special inhibition by a well-selected counter-idea will do much more than any great emotional revival. stereotyped religious appeal is not only insufficient in an abundance of cases--it must never be forgotten that those who nowadays go to the minister for their health are already selected cases more open to religious suggestion than the average--but can easily be decidedly harmful. of course that holds true for every physical remedy too, and the judgment of the exact limit is one of the chief duties of the physician. it holds also for the other mental factors like sympathy. a certain amount of sympathy may save a neurasthenic from despair, and only a little more may make his disease much worse and may develop in him a consciousness of misery which makes him a complete invalid. still more is it true for the religious emotion, from the standpoint of nervous physiology the strongest next to the sexual emotion, that it can be the healing drug or the destructive poison. everything depends upon the degree of the intrusion and upon the resistance of the psychophysical system. from a purposive point of view there cannot be faith enough, from a causal point of view there can easily be too much of the faith emotion. religious fervor has at all times helped to create hysteria and to develop psychasthenias. it cannot be otherwise. a group of ideas which has such tremendous power over man must easily be able to produce inhibitions and exertions which become dangerous to a nervous system the constitution of which is pathological. to leave such a dangerous and powerful remedy entirely in the hands of men who by their profession must aim towards a maximum dose of religious influence can certainly not be in the interests of the patients or of the community. even the whole technique of this movement awakens the fear of possible harmful consequences. on the one hand we have the movement itself as a popular suggestion for the suggestible masses. the patient who seeks the help of a scientific neurologist hardly becomes a center of psychical contagion, but the church services for the sick offer favorable conditions for an epidemic development of hysterical symptoms. but more important are the influences on the individual patient. the whole purpose of the treatment demands the highest possible degree of suggestibility brought about by the ministerial persuasion. but it is evident that this degree of suggestibility means at the same time the most fertile soil for every chance suggestion and for influences which are perhaps entirely unintended. the physician and the psychologist, considering the mental state with reference to its elements, will make most careful use of those accessory influences. the minister, who necessarily has his spiritual aim in mind, cannot even become aware of all the involuntary influences which reach the mind in its most suggestible state. there can be no doubt that it would often need psychological art to avoid the creation of new pathological symptoms in such half-hypnotized patients. yet the minister even goes so far as to make use of the sleeping mind without any consideration of the possible damage which may be done to his subject. he goes to the bedside of a sleeping girl and whispers his suggestions and is satisfied when they show their effects the next day. it does not lie in his horizon to consider the grave consequences which such suggestions during sleep may produce during future years in the brain the sleep of which has been transformed into such half-somnambulic relations. hysterias may be created by such methods. no one can blame the minister for his remoteness from such doubts and problems, but the physician is to be blamed if he encourages the belief that all this still belongs to the proper sphere of the ministerial worker in abnormal psychology. those engaged in such work were not long in finding out that the mere emotional inspiration is often no sufficient remedy, and the development went along the same lines in which it has gone everywhere for some thousands of years. not to disappoint the sufferers, the religion had to become in very many cases simply an inactive side issue and the real cure was performed by the same methods with which any worldly neuropathologist would go to work. if the woman who cannot sleep is cured from her insomnia by being made to listen to the beats of a metronome, it may sometimes be effective, however crude, but it is certainly no longer religion, even though the metronome stands in a minister's room. the more the movement spreads to those who have no psychological training and knowledge, the more it must be necessary for them to import the whole claptrap of the quack hypnotist and soon the minister may discover that in certain cases physical means and drugs help still better. thus he simply enters into competition with the regular physician, only with the difference that he has never studied medicine. the chances are great that in his hands even such remedies and drugs may do harm and finally, even if they were effective, is not the question justified: will not religion suffer? indeed we have so far considered the question from one side only. we have confined ourselves to the question of how far such a movement is sound for the interests of the patient; but can we be blind to the other side and overlook the not less important problem of whether it lies in the interests of religion and of the church to amalgamate its spiritual work with a medical one? we are not thinking of those widespread, unfair arguments to the effect that this whole movement is undignified because it is instituted by the desire to fill the empty pews or to make competition with the success of christian science. that is utterly unjust. but there are intrinsic factors in the movement which interfere with the true aims of religion. first of all it cheapens religion by putting the accent in the meaning of life on personal comfort and absence of pain. the originators of the emmanuel movement stand well above such error, but their national congregations do not. certainly the longing for pleasure and a well feeling and the abhorrence of pain and illness pervades our practical life and keeps in motion all our utilitarian efforts. but if there is one power in our life which ought to develop in us a conviction that pleasure is not the highest goal and that pain is not the worst evil, then it ought to be philosophy and religion. it is only the surface appearance if it seems as if the religious therapeutics minimizes the importance of pain; in truth it does the opposite. it tries to abolish pain, but not because it thinks little of pain; on the contrary, because it thinks so much of pain that it is willing even to put the whole of religion into the service of this strife for bodily comfort. the longing for freedom from pain becomes the one aim for which we are to be religious. in a time which denies all absolute ideals, which seeks the meaning of truth only in a pragmatic usefulness, it may be quite consistent to seek the meaning of religion in its service for removal of pain, and personal enjoyment. but in that case the ideal of both religion and truth is lost. it is finally not less undignified for religion to seek support for the religious belief in effects which it shares and knows that it shares with any superstitious belief on earth. granted that the church can cure: the shaman of siberia can cure too, and the amulets of thibet not less. the psychologizing church knows, therefore, that it is not the value of the religion which restores the unbalanced nervous system; and yet it wants to provide for the spreading of true belief by the miraculous cures which it exhibits. this situation naturally produces the desire of the church to substitute a religious explanation for a psychological one. it is claimed that after all it is not the mental effect of the prayer, but the prayer itself, not the psychophysical emotion of religion, but the value of religion which determines the cure. yet in that moment the whole movement in its modern shape comes into a still more precarious position. if the cure results from the inner value of the religion how can we confine it to the so-called functional diseases and abstain from any hope in organic diseases? luther, from his religious point of view, still had the right to separate the two groups because only those functional diseases were effects of the devil, obsessions which could be banished by the minister and by prayer, while the other diseases did not result from the devil, but merely from natural causes. such a definition does not fit into the modern system. to-day from a really religious point of view, both groups of diseases must be acknowledged to be natural or with mrs. eddy, as the work of the unholy spirit. christian science is indeed by far more consistent. if the cure results through the meaning and value of religion, there is no reason whatever why cancer and diphtheria and paralysis should not be cured as well as psychasthenia. and if, on the other hand, organic diseases cannot be cured because the psychophysical process of the religious emotion has no influence over diphtheria bacilli, then the whole process is removed to the causal sphere and it is acknowledged that the purposive meaning of religion is not in question at all. the whole system of such religious psychotherapeutics is therefore in its inner structure contradictory. it contains causal and purposive elements without any possibility of unifying them. they are loosely mixed, and the power of prayer means on one page something entirely different from what it means on another. in these respects christian science is by far more unified and in harmony with itself; its therapeutics is really anchored in a system. from a scientific point of view, its dangerousness is of course much greater inasmuch as it extends its methods over every organic disease and thus applies merely psychical treatment where from a standpoint of scientific medicine, physical treatment would be absolutely necessary. moreover its philosophy is after all only a pseudophilosophy; its tempting equations of disease and error and sin and unreality are ultimately a mere playing with conceptions. if we were to point to the root of the misunderstanding in christian science, we should say that everything depends on the philosophical commonplace that the objects with which we deal in our life are ideas and that our whole experience is mind. "christian science reveals incontrovertibly that mind is all-in-all, that the only realities are the divine mind and idea." but now silently this mental character of the real world is identified with the mental experience which stands in contrast to the physical experience. there results the impression that physical experience therefore, does not belong to the world of reality. it is evident, however, that mental in contrast to physical means something entirely different from mental in the philosophical sense. in the latter meaning of the word, we all agree that the world is mental; the word mental indicates there that the world has reality not in itself but only as experience of subjects. in the second sense, mental or psychical means that it is experience for one particular subject only and not for every possible subject. the physical thing, for instance this table, is indeed different from my mental memory idea of a table, inasmuch as every possible subject can experience this table while my mental memory image belongs to me alone. the physical table and the mental memory image of it are both equally mental in the philosophical sense, inasmuch as the physical which is object for every possible subject and in this sense not mental is therefore not less given to subjects. every physical body with its disease is thus in one sense taken as something not mental while in another sense as mental; if we use the same word in two entirely different meanings, it indeed cannot be difficult to demonstrate any metaphysical consequences. but we do not have to deal here with the metaphysics of "science and health." if it is brought down to the concrete application, we stand before the same confusion which characterizes all compromises. causal effects are sought in a sphere which belongs to purposive values. the psychological effects of the emotion of faith are sought and are misinterpreted as the emanations of religious powers. religious psychotherapeutics in all its forms seeks to demonstrate to us the triumph of the soul over the body, while in reality it deals only with the mental mechanism which as such belongs to the chain of causal events in the same natural way as the organism. the soul, as spiritual agency in its sphere of purposes and ideals, does not enter the machinery of psychotherapy, and the psychological material on which psychotherapy is applied is not freer and not better and does not stand higher than the material of the bodily cells and tissues. the emmanuel movement deserves the highest credit for bringing about a systematic contact between religious faith cure and scientific medicine, but the time in which the minister himself undertook the medical treatment had to be a time of transition. it had to lead to a new relation in which the ministerial function is confined to the spiritual task of upbuilding a mind while the therapeutic function remains entirely in the hands of the physician. where the physician believes that the psychomedical treatment demands a new equilibrium of the patient to be secured by religion, there the minister should be called for assistance. psychotherapeutic hospitals would offer the most favorable conditions for such coöperation. but the minister ought to enter even such a hospital with a strictly spiritual aim, and he should never forget that the task of the church stands much higher than the utilitarian task of removing pain from the sick room. but if those psychotherapeutic hospitals will flourish and the physicians will at last make use of psychical factors in their regular practice, they ought not to forget on their part that the important step forward was taken under the pressure of popular religious movements. the ministers first saw what the physicians ought to have seen before, but the physicians will see it more fully and more correctly. xiii psychotherapy and the physician every thought of the physician moves in a world the structure of which is determined by the thought forms of cause and effect. he knows the effect which he wants to produce; it is the restitution of the organic equilibrium. he studies the causes which can secure that end. and again the disturbance of the equilibrium itself, the disease, is for him an effect which he seeks to understand by an analysis of the preceding causes. the means which he applies can therefore be valued only in reference to their efficiency; no other point of view belongs to his world. the religiously valuable may be indifferent or even undesirable in the interplay of causes, and the morally indifferent may be most important for the physician's interests. the religious emotion accordingly has to stand in line with any other mental excitement or with a hundred physical means which the laboratory and the drug store supply. the physician will welcome the methods of treatment without reference to metaphysical systems or to religious beliefs. to him it is an empirical fact that many disturbances of mind and body which interfere with the equilibrium of life can be repaired by influences on certain psychophysical organs. a part of these repairing influences he finds in the sense stimuli, for instance, of spoken or written words which reach the brain and awaken associative and reactive processes. he finds further that these influences can be reënforced in their effectiveness by certain general conditions of the nervous system and again finds that these can be secured partly by sense impressions, and once more especially by words. it is a matter of course to the physician that application of any sense influence on the brain demands a most subtle analysis of the psychophysical situation. therefore he gives no less attention to the disentangling of the whole history of the individual brain, to its stored-up energies and to its mental possibilities. if he knows the psychophysical status, and finally if he knows the means of influencing those psychophysical organs which stimulate or inhibit the disturbed central parts, he can foresee the psychophysical effects with a certain definiteness. thus everything depends upon the sharpest possible, almost microscopic, mental analysis, together with a most thorough examination of the whole nervous system and the most careful calculation of the mental influences applied. the vagueness of the religious appeal transforms itself into an exact calculation and the unity of the soul which seeks spiritual uplift transforms itself into a mental mechanism of bewildering complexity, and yet not more complex than the physical organism, to which for instance, the chemical means of the physician administer. to-day medical science is certainly only in the beginning of this great movement. especially the analysis of the psychophysical conditions still lacks a sufficient refinement of method. but at least the causal principle is now fully recognized and the scientific man of today no longer doubts that this whole play of psychotherapeutic processes goes on as a causal process in the psychophysical system of the individual without any mysteriousness, without any magnetic influences, without any miraculous interference, without any agencies except those which are working in our ordinary mental life in attention and reaction, in memory and sleep. it is surprising how late this recognition appeared in the history of human knowledge. it occurred here as in so many places in the history of human civilization that the simple is the late outcome of the complex. just as in technique the apparatus often began in a complex, cumbersome way and then became steadily simplified, so it is with explanations. the complex machinery of cosmic influences and obsessions by demons and magnetic mysteries was at first necessary until the simple explanation was found that all the results depend upon the working of the mind itself. yet in technique and explanation alike, such progress to the simpler means always at the same time the making use of much richer knowledge. to explain an obsession or a sleep state by the agencies of evil spirits or magnetic fluids is certainly an unnecessary side conception. but to understand it from the working of the mind presupposes after all the whole modern physiological psychology, and thus had to be the latest step. the effects themselves were certainly observed in all times. even the phenomena of hypnotism date probably back some thousands of years, however difficult it may sometimes be to discriminate between the artificial hypnotic states and hysteric or hystero-epileptic occurrences in the past. certainly it may be acknowledged that the yogi in india cultivated in the most remote times the methods of autosuggestion which evidently led to hypnotic states, and everywhere around the mediterranean, antiquity knew the hypnotizing effect of staring on polished metals and crystals. so in egypt, so in greece and rome; and it has often been claimed that the priestesses of delphi and the sibyls of the romans were in states of hystero-hypnotic character. as to the therapeutic use, especially the greek physicians applied hypnotic means. excited patients were brought to repose by methods of stroking. the efforts to explain scientifically the mysterious powers which men can gain over the mind and will of another begin at the end of the middle age and were developed quite naturally from the prevailing astrological doctrines. astrology worked on the theory that the human fate depends upon the stars. these stars have an effect on the human organism. that proves that an influence can exist between distant bodies. it is, therefore, not more surprising that one organism can also have an influence on another organism. well known since antiquity were such influences from one object to another, as in the case of the magnet. thus there may be a kind of magnetic power which creates relations between all objects in the universe. pomponnazi explained thus at the end of the fifteenth century the therapeutic effects of the human soul by the mutual influence which stars and men have on each other. this theory comes to much more important development in the writings of the physician paracelsus. one individual by the power of his effort can influence the will of another individual, can fight with it, and suppress it; and all through energies which are analogous to the magnetic power which binds stars and men. in the middle of the seventeenth century, helmont connects this power of magnetic attraction and repulsion with an ethereal element which penetrates all bodies and keeps them in motion. through it man, too, can by his mere imagination work on other men. this will can also be effective on drugs which get through it a special therapeutic power. somewhat different was the theory of a scotch physician, maxwell, in the second half of the seventeenth century. the ethereal spirit, which is identical with light, can be artificially cumulated in any organism and that secures its health. as one man can influence this vivifying ether in any other man, he can produce cures even from a great distance. all diseases are merely reductions of this ethereal spirit in the organism. but the general stream of the explanation continued in the direction of the magnetic doctrine. it was especially mesmer in the eighteenth century who, in a long life of fantastic mysticism and yet of universal serious study, surely contributed much to the development of the theory. he had started to use, like others, the magnet in his medical practice. but he discovered that the same therapeutic successes could be gained without applying the magnet itself, but by simply using his own hands. the patients became cured when he moved his hands slowly from their heads to their feet. the magnetic power was therefore evidently in man himself. it was an animal magnetism in opposition to the mineral one which belonged to the magnet and to the stars. he believed further that he was able to infuse this magnetic power into any lifeless thing, which would then have curative influence on the nerves. there can be no doubt that, whatever may have been the value of his theories, he cured a large number of patients, evidently producing a state which we would call today a hypnoid state and often simply appealing to the natural suggestibility of the impressionable minds. among his pupils, usually called mesmerists, was puysèyur, who discovered, in , the state which was called artificial somnambulism, a kind of sleep in which the ideas and feelings of the magnetized can be guided by the magnetizer. here evidently was the first recognition of the psychotherapeutic variation which we call today hypnotism. there followed a period in which the scientific interest of the physicians was somewhat sidetracked by an unsound connection of these studies with mystic speculations and with clairvoyance. but especially in germany animal magnetism in mesmer's form and in the form of artificial somnambulism grew in influence through the first decades of the nineteenth century and succeeded in entering the medical schools. the reaction came through popular misuse. at about the third decade of the century, interest ceased everywhere. the portuguese faria insisted in , practically as the first, that all those so-called magnetic influences, including the delusions, the amnesias after awaking, and the actions at a command, did not result from a magnetic power but from the imagination of the subject himself. he believed that the effect depended upon a disposition of the individual which resulted from a special thinness of blood. he abstained therefore from the magnetic manipulations and produced the somnambulic state by making the patients simply fixate his hands and by ordering them to sleep. thus he is the first who understood these changes as results of mental suggestion. the next great step was due to the english surgeon, braid, who in the forties studied the magnetic phenomena and like faria insisted on the merely mental origin of the abnormal state. he proved that a person can bring himself into such an artificial state and that it is therefore entirely independent of energies from without. he examined especially the influence of staring at a shining object, a method which not seldom was called braidism. he also introduced the word hypnotism. in america mesmerism was generally known under the name of electrobiology; and grimes in particular came to results similar to those of braid. yet the influence of these movements on the medical world remained insignificant until a new great wave of psychotherapeutics by means of suggestion began in france in the sixties. of course this development from astrology to magnetism and from magnetism to hypnotism represented only one side of psychotherapy. parallel to it goes the progress in the treatment of the insane. in the first half of the eighteenth century, they are still on the whole thrown together with the criminals but the more the disease character of the disturbance is acknowledged, and the more special hospitals for the insane are created, and finally the more the humane treatment in them supersedes the brutal, the more psychotherapy enters into the work. england showed the way. especially arnold, crichton, and perfect became influential; and soon pinel and esquirol followed in france; and reil and langermann in germany. reil recognized clearly at the threshold of the nineteenth century that "both psychical and physical diseases may be cured by psychical means, but at the same time psychical diseases may also be cured by physical means." and in his "rhapsodies," rhapsodies on the application of psychical methods in the treatment of mental disturbances, he declared, "that the medical faculties will soon be obliged to add to the two existing medical degrees still a third, namely, the doctorate in psychotherapy." this stream became broader and broader and every new development of psychiatry in the last hundred years did new justice to the influence of psychological means in the treatment of mental diseases; to be sure, without allowing up to the present day the hope that mental factors as such can cure the grave forms of insanity. the borderland cases and the incipient mild forms alone allow the hope of a cure. outside of them the work of psychotherapy in the insane asylum meant essentially improvement and relief only. again, in another direction, the general dietetic influence of sound mental life may be called a part of psychotherapy and this engaged not a few of the leading medical thinkers in all countries during the last century, especially the nerve physicians who gave serious attention to the wholesome engagements of the mind. finally, might not much be attributed to psychotherapy, which offically belongs to the doctrines of homeopathy? but we may return to the new heralds of suggestion. liébeault's book on the artificial sleep in became the starting point of the new great movement. yet at first it remained unnoticed. it is claimed that for a long time only one copy was sold. but he continued to make his hypnotic experiments on the poor population of nancy and they finally attracted the attention of some of the leading medical men there. bernheim became convinced and dumont, the physiologist beaunis joined the movement, and in the eighties we find nancy the center of hypnotic interest to which medical men from everywhere made their pilgrimage. this latter phase was paralleled by charcot's studies in paris, who brought hypnotism into nearest neighborhood with hysteria. and also the later development of the paris school by richer, and especially the brilliant work of janet, kept hysteria in the foreground of the therapeutic interest. liébeault's experiment had brought the psychology of suggestion entirely into the center of this whole circle of phenomena and this view controlled the development of the last few decades, which was essentially an elaboration of the special treatment of diseases. forel in switzerland, moll and vogt in germany, wetterstrand in sweden became the chief exponents of therapy by hypnotism. others, like dubois, in switzerland, emphasized more the suggestive treatment through persuasion. in england at first carpenter, later hack-tuke gave serious attention to hypnotism, in russia bechterew, and in the last few years the literature on therapy by suggestion became developed in practically all countries. in america beard, hammond, and others belong to the older school; osgood, prince, peterson, putnam, sidis, and others to the most recent years. at the same time, under the leadership of kraepelin, ziehen, sommer, and others, the methods of the psychological laboratory, especially the reaction and association methods, were made useful for the purposes of psychopathology. but interest in suggestion does not represent to-day the last step of psychotherapy. the latest movement, which is entirely in its beginning, the development of which no one can foresee, but which promises wide perspectives, is connected with the name of freud in vienna. the entirely new turn of psychotherapy is given by the fact that his aim is not to overcome a symptom by suggestion but to make it disappear by removing the ultimate mental cause. he found that large groups of mental disturbances result from a psychical trauma, a disagreeable idea which, inhibited in the mind, becomes the source of mischief and produces phobias and obsessions and hysterical motions. the cure of the symptoms demands the recognition of this first mental accident, which may lie back for years and which may no longer be in the memory of the patient. as soon as this earlier experience is brought to consciousness again, it needs only a natural discharge and a normal expression and the symptoms which it brought about will disappear. thus the cure itself needs no hypnotism and no persuasion or suggestion but the reawakening of forgotten situations, and only in the service of this effort hypnotism may be used to reënforce the memory. yet this represents only the first period of freud's activity, in which he collaborated with breuer, a phase which is represented by their book on hysteria, in . but there followed a further development which is still more essential. the hysterical disturbance may indeed have started with such an accidental traumatic impression but that does not explain why just this impression had such a strong effect. other impressions of equal strength and emotional vividness may have passed without leaving any damaging result. and therefore there must be some prior cause in the subject which makes just this particular impression so injurious; and here is the point of freud's fundamental discovery, which for the layman appears on the surface to have little probability but which has proved of greatest consequence for clinical work. it was found that only those situations become injurious and become starting points for hysterical symptoms which touch on repressed and artificially inhibited ideas of the sexual sphere. entirely new perspectives have been opened by these studies. above all, now for the first time there is in sight a psychotherapy which not only aims to remove symptoms but which really uproots the disease itself. that earlier method of bringing the trauma to consciousness and making it discharge, the so-called cathartic method, removes only the particular group of disturbances but the patient remains a hysteric, and if ever new accidents should happen which would touch again those inmost repressed ideas, new hysterical symptoms would develop. but if we can go back to that starting point, if we can discover those first suppressions of desired gratifications which often most indirectly are related to the sexual sphere, and if we can liberate the mind from those primary strangulated affections, then the patient is really cured. freud himself practically abstained from the help which hypnotism can give for the reawakening of forgotten experiences, while some of his pupils still prefer this short way to the forgotten memories. his way is, on the whole, to let the imagination bring up any chance material of associated ideas and then to study their connections and follow the hints they give. he calls it the psychoanalytic method. others prefer the methods of association tests, again others tap the lower layers by automatic writing, but the chief problem remains always to discover those repressed desires and to understand through them the injurious effects of accidental experiences. the whole field of hysteria, and perhaps still more that of the anxiety neurosis, has come into new perspective through this pioneer work which men like bleuler, jung, and stekel have developed in various directions. thus in recent decades the thorough work of scientific physicians has developed a psychotherapy of considerable extent and of indubitable usefulness, far removed from the simultaneous efforts of the churches and of the popular mental healing cures. a number of eminent men in all countries have tested the methods and have published the results. but the curious side of it is that all this is essentially a movement of leaders while the masses of the profession hesitate to follow. it is a set of officers without an army. every large city has one or another specialist who applies suggestive therapy, one or another nerve specialist who hypnotizes, but the average physician moves on without any serious effort to utilize psychotherapy. it is as if the prescription of the modern chemical drugs were confined to some leading scholars in the country, while the thousands abstained from it in their office work and in their family practice. in reality psychotherapy ought to be used by every physician, as it fits perfectly the needs of the whole suffering community. its almost exceptional use in the hands of a few scholarly leaders deprives it of its true importance. it is the village doctor who needs psychotherapy much more than he needs the knife and the electric current. why does the medical profession on the whole show this shyness in the face of such surprising results? in other fields they do not show any reluctance in taking up the newer developments of method. even the roentgen ray apparatus has quickly won its way, and psychotherapy is less expensive. to be sure, the most important reason is probably one which is most honorable. the physicians do not like to touch a tool which has been misused so badly. psychotherapy has come too much into the neighborhood of superstition and humbug. where miracles are performed, the man of science prefers to leave the field. the less one knows about those groups of problems, the less one is able to see the sharp demarcation line between true scientific studies, for instance, in hypnotism, and the pseudo-scientific fancies of psychical research. experiments in suggestibility are then easily mixed with experiments in telepathy, and those go over by gradual degrees to clairvoyance and premonitory apparitions, and from there the way is not far to the reappearance of the dead and the routine performances of the spiritists. it seems to many as if there is no point where they have a reason to stop. if they begin with such abnormal phenomena at all, it seems as if they are necessarily carried over to all the mysteries of supernatural energies. even the competition with christian science, and other mental healers whose judgment is not hampered by any previous study of medicine, might seem rather unattractive to the serious physician. further not a few have the impression that such suggestive treatment directly demands from them that they also begin to humbug their patients or to throw out suggestions which they themselves do not believe, in short, that they be brought down to the level of the miracle performer. yet, however much all that speaks in favor of the conscientious instinct in the physician, it is ultimately based upon a misinterpretation. the line between real science and its counterfeit is here as everywhere a distinct one, and the true man of science ought not to hesitate in doing his duty from fear that he might not be discriminated from the charlatan. a well-conducted psychotherapeutic treatment as a scientific physician ought to carry it out, is entirely different in meaning and appearance, from the first step of diagnosis to the last treatment of after-effects, from every unscientific faith cure. it is also in no way necessary that the psychotherapist ever leave the path of complete sincerity. there is no reason at all for promising that the patient will be entirely cured if the physician believes that a real cure through suggestion is impossible. the more the true physicians undertake psychotherapeutic work, the more it will carry with it that dignity which is now too often lost by the predominance of those who treat without diagnosis and cure by mere appeal to superstition. all that does not mean that other motives do not hold the physician back. not seldom he is afraid of unfavorable consequences. he does not feel sure that, for instance, a deep hypnosis is without dangerous results or that he will be able to produce it in the technically correct way. but all these objections mean nothing but insufficient acquaintance with the facts. of course every technique needs its period of preparation for the task, but it is now sufficiently demonstrated that hypnotism carried through in a scientific spirit will never have any injurious consequences. the morphine injection and the roentgen rays are by far more dangerous. those who think that for hypnotizing especially inborn power is needed stand, of course, outside of a serious discussion. they do not even know the elements of the modern theories. every physician has in himself the necessary means for a psychotherapeutic treatment in every form. more scientific insight belongs to the argument that most of these psychotherapeutic schemes are essentially for treatment of symptoms. we have acknowledged that throughout. the possibility of a relapse or of a new obsession is thus to a high degree open, and that is certainly a discouraging feature. yet we have seen sufficiently that as soon as the symptoms are removed, there is no lack of means, also by psychotherapy, to prevent the recurrence. moreover, to remove the present symptoms is in any case a great gain and in many cases a decisive gain. and whatever can be secured by such methods is of such a character that hardly any other method could have been substituted. it can be said with certainty that hundreds of thousands leave the offices of their doctors every year without relief where relief could be secured by psychotherapeutic means. to be sure, one reply of the physicians is not infrequent and carries some weight. psychotherapeutic methods demand much time and patience and skill. to relieve a cocainist of his desire by mere suggestion may demand an assiduity which the average physician simply cannot afford; and nothing requires more time than a real use of freud's psychoanalytic method. hours and hours of conversation about the most trivial occurrences have to be spent to relieve the repressed ideas and to give them a chance for a free ascension. it cannot be denied that most of the really illuminating work in all these fields has been done by scholars who combine a strong theoretical interest with their effort to cure the patients, and who therefore examine and treat the individual case primarily from the wish to get new insight into the laws of nature. the average physician whose time is his income may be the less willing to enter into such time-devouring schemes, as the patients too easily may think that the physician did not do much for them when he simply was sitting down and gossiping with them. yet after all, behind all of it stands one motive which has held back the development of psychotherapy in the medical profession more than anything else. the physician feels instinctively that a real success can be reached in every one of these fields, only if he possesses a reasonable amount of knowledge of psychology. he feels that wherever he touches the patient's body, examines his lungs or his heart or his reflexes, that a large background of anatomical knowledge and of general pathology gives meaning to every single observation. but in the field of mental abnormities, in the whole world of ideas and emotions and volitions, he simply lacks that background. everything seems to him without reference to real knowledge. he feels as amateurish as if he were to operate on the abdomen without knowing its anatomy. he is instinctively aware that even the simplest mental life represents a bewildering complexity and that to stimulate ideas or feelings or to suppress emotions, to inhibit volitions, must demand always a most subtle disentanglement of the most widely different components. he abstains from approaching that ground at all rather than to blunder by his ignorance of psychology. and after all, he is right. but is he right in allowing that ignorance? can the medical profession afford to send into the world every year thousands of young doctors who are unable to use some of the most effective tools of modern medicine, and tools which do not belong to the specialist but just to the average practitioner, simply because they have not learned any psychology? indeed the times seem ripe for a systematic introduction of psychological studies into every regular medical course. it is not a question of mental research in the psychological laboratory where advanced work is carried on, but a solid foundation in empirical psychology can be demanded of everyone. he ought to have as much psychology as he has physiology. moreover the psychological study ought not to be confined to the normal mental life. again we do not speak of psychiatry. what is needed is abnormal psychology, entirely independent of the therapeutic interests of the alienist. the mental variations within the limits of normal life and the borderland cases ought to be studied there as well as the complete derangements. the ideal demand would be that the future physician should spend at least a year of his undergraduate time on empirical psychology, especially on experimental and physiological psychology. he would take perhaps half a year's lecture course on the whole field of psychology as covered in the english language by the well-known text-books of james, wundt, titchener, judd, royce, calkins, angell, baldwin, kuelpe, ebbinghaus, thorndike, stout, ziehen, ladd, and so on. in the second half-year the course ought to be either advanced psychology entering into the more complex phenomena or a practical training course in elementary laboratory psychology as indicated for instance by titchener's "experimental psychology. a manual of laboratory practice." if the undergraduate can possibly afford the time in his college course, he ought to add courses which either lead him towards the philosophical problems of psychology or towards the comparative aspect of psychology. if he can find time for a year of post-graduate work between college and medical school, he could hardly spend it more profitably than by a year of research in a well-conducted psychological laboratory to become really acquainted with an independent analysis of mental states. on the other hand in the medical school, room must be found for a course in abnormal psychology, which of course presupposes a thorough knowledge of normal psychology and, if possible, follows the courses on nervous diseases and precedes the course on psychiatry. for the average future physician, it would be wiser to omit even the psychiatry studies than those in abnormal psychology. the latter ought to lead him far enough to discriminate early between a mere neurasthenia, for instance, and a beginning of insanity. as soon as the discrimination is perfected and insanity is found, he has to give the case out of his care anyhow and hand it over to the specialist and to the asylum. the knowledge of psychiatric treatment is, therefore, not essential for the average practitioner. but no one can relieve him from the responsibility for those borderland cases, for the hysterias and psychasthenias and neurasthenias, and he can never master them without normal and abnormal psychology. moreover it must not be forgotten that mental factors may enter into every disease. the psychology of pain, for instance, and of comfort feeling, the psychology of hunger and thirst, of nausea and dizziness, the psychology of the sexual feelings, the psychology of hope and fear, of confidence and discouragement, of laziness and energy, of sincerity and cunningness play their rôle in almost every sick room. and if the physician haughtily declares that he does not care for the methods of suggestion, it might justly be asked whether he can be a physician at all if he does not apply some suggestions; yes, if his very entrance into the sick room does not suggest relief and improvement from the start. the introduction of a serious study of psychology is the most immediate need of the medical curriculum. instructorships in abnormal psychology must be created in every medical school; institutes for psychotherapy should soon follow. but in all this, there is nowhere to appear any artificial antithesis between mind and body, any more than between organic and functional diseases; we have discussed all that with full detail. only the physician who has a thorough psychological preparation can fulfill the manifold demands which modern life must raise; he alone is prepared to coöperate with the other factors of the community in the development of a sound and healthful nation, to work towards the hygiene of the nervous system and of the mental life; and to correct the injuries which the perversities of our civilization inflict. in all that he will not avoid the comradeship of the clergyman. he will, of course, not forget the fundamental difference of attitude between them, he will not forget that the minister seeks for the meaning and values of inner life while he, the physician, has to consider that same inner life from a causal point of view and thus has to work with it as with natural material for the normal functioning of the organism. but the interrelation between them can be intimate in spite of the difference of their standpoints. the minister, to be sure, ought not to consider health as such as the greatest good, but he will not forget that a wholesome devotion to ideals cannot be carried through when the attention is absorbed by the sufferings of the body and the mental powers are debilitated. only in a sound mind the full ideal meanings of life can be realized. the minister must therefore seek the health of his congregation not because health is the ideal of life but because the true ideals cannot be appreciated by the mental cripple. on the other hand, the physician from his standpoint should in no way feel it his duty to play the amateur minister and to put emphasis on the spiritual uplifting of his patients. but he knows well that not a few of the suggestive influences which are needed for the relief from disease are most effective when an emotional emphasis can be given to the suggestions and that this emphasis is for large numbers most powerfully supplied by the religious emotion. thus the minister will be a very important assistant to him and the church will most successfully do for many patients what for other patients perhaps travel or music or the theatre, sport or social life, may do. just in the relation to the church, the physician will need subtlest discrimination, and he will not forget that while even a strong religious emotion may be without damage for a normal man, it may well be injurious to the unstable brain. but if the physician uses tact and wisdom, he will be surprised to find how often the religious stimulation can indeed be helpful for his purposes and the division of labor demands that this be supplied not by himself but by the minister. he will advise the consulting sufferer to seek the influence of a godly man who awakens in him upbuilding wholesome emotions and volitions. the minister may in this way very well become the assistant of the physician. but whether this coöperation is looked on from the one or from the other point of view, in every case it needs absolute clearness. nothing is gained and too much is lost if the two functions are carelessly mixed together. it is never the task of the minister to heal a mind and never the task of a physician to uplift a mind. one moves in the purposive sphere, the other in the causal sphere. their friendship can seriously endure only as long as they remain conscious of the fact that they have two entirely different functions in the service of mankind. xiv psychotherapy and the community both the physician and the patient find their place in the community the life interests of which are superior to the interests of the individual. it is an unavoidable question how far from the higher point of view of the social mind the psychotherapeutic efforts should be encouraged or suppressed. are there any conditions which suggest suspicion of or direct opposition to such curative work? of course society has to be sure that no possible misuse and damage are to result from such practice. fears in that direction have been uttered repeatedly, but from very different standpoints. one which is perhaps most often heard in popular circles results from an entire misunderstanding and deserves hardly any discussion after our detailed study of the processes involved. it is claimed that suggestive power, especially in the form of hypnotization, may be secretly misused to make anyone without his knowledge and against his will a passive instrument of the hypnotist's intent. often this is coupled with telepathic fancies. the hypnotist is believed to have mystic power to bring any person in a distant region under his mental control and thus to be able to carry out any sinister plans by the help of his innocent victim. all hypnotizing therefore ought to be interdicted by the state. the presuppositions of such a view are, as we know now, entirely absurd. we know that hypnotism is not based on any special power of the hypnotizer; there is no magnetic fluid in the sense of the old mesmerism. the imagination of the hypnotized person is the only hypnotizing agency. thus no one can be hypnotized without his knowledge or against his will. the story of telepathic mysteries which is often brought before the public is probably always the outcome of a diseased brain. it is indeed a frequent symptom in paranoia and other insanities that the patient who feels abnormal organic sensations and abnormal unaccountable impulses interprets them as influences of a distant enemy. whole pamphlets have been written with elaboration of such insane misinterpretations and requests to legislatures have been made in that spirit, but the physician recognizes easily throughout the whole argumentation the well-known phenomena of the mental disease. to be sure, while no one can be hypnotized against his will, many a person is liable to accept suggestions from others and thus to carry out the wishes of others almost without knowing and certainly without willing that the other mind interfere with the interplay of the own motives. but if we were to strike out all suggestive influences from social life, we should give up social life itself. suggestion is given wherever men come in contact; in itself it is neither good nor bad. the good resolution and the bad one can be suggested, the good example and the bad can be effective; both encouragement of the noble and imitation of the evil may work with the same mental technique. certainly there are some persons who have a stronger influence than others on the imagination of those with whom they come in contact; their expression awakens confidence, their voice and their words reach deeper layers of the mind, their calmness and firmness overwhelm more easily the antagonistic ideas. but the chief difference lies after all in the different degrees of suggestibility among those who receive such impressions. the easily suggestible person cannot be protected by any interdict; he may catch suggestions everywhere, any advertisement in the newspaper and any display in the shop-window may overrun his own intentions. what he needs is training in firmness. the application of reënforced suggestion or even of hypnotism in the doctor's office is even for him no possible source of danger. on a higher level are objections which come from serious quarters and which are not without sympathy with true science. in recent times this opposition has repeatedly found eloquent expression. it is an objection from the standpoint of morality, belonging therefore entirely to the purposive view of the mind, but we have now reached a point where it is our duty to do justice to this purposive view too. as long as we discussed the problem entirely from the standpoint of the physician, no other view of mental life except the causal one could be in question. as soon as we look at it from the standpoint of the community, it becomes our duty to bring the causal and the purposive view into harmony, and it would be narrow and short-sighted simply to draw the practical consequences of a naturalistic view of the mind without inquiring whether or not serious interests in the purposive sphere are injured. if there is moral criticism against suggestive therapy, it is the duty of the community to consider it. this opposition argues as follows: hypnotic influence brings the patient under the will control of the hypnotizer and thus destroys his own freedom. whatever the patient may reach in the altered states is reached without his own effort, while he is the passive receiver of the other man's will. his achievement has therefore no moral value, and if he is really cured of his drunkenness or of his perverse habits, of his misuse of cocaine or of his criminal tendencies, he has lost the right to be counted a moral agent. it would be better if there were more suffering in the world than that the existence of the moral will should be undermined. no one ought to take such arguments lightly. the spirit which directs them is needed more than anything else in our time of reaching out for superficial goods. no one can insist too earnestly that life is worth living only if it serves moral duties and moral freedom and is not determined by pleasures and absence of pain only. those who set forth this argument are entirely willing to acknowledge the profound effect which suggestive therapeutics may create. more than this, they have to acknowledge it to gain a basis for their attack. just because the hypnotizer can entirely change the desires and passions, the habits and perversities of the suffering victim, he seems to them a moral wrongdoer who negates the principle of human freedom. a forcible book of recent days calls the suggestive power of the psychotherapist "the great psychological crime." it says to the hypnotist: "by your own testimony, you stand convicted of applying a process which deprives your subjects of the inalienable right and power of individual self-control. in proportion as you deprive him of the power of self-control, you deprive him of that upon which his individual responsibility and moral status depend. in proportion as you deprive him of the free control and exercise of those powers of the soul upon which his individual responsibility and moral status depend, you thereby rob him of those powers upon which he must depend for the achievement of individual immortality." but this censure too is entirely mistaken, not because it urges the purposive views against the causal but because it is in error as to the facts. such critics are fully under the influence of the startling results which are reached; they do not take the trouble to examine the long and difficult way which has had to be traversed with patience and energy. it is quite true that if i hypnotize a man and suggest to him to take up after awaking the book which lies on my table, he follows my suggestion without conflict and in a certain sense without freedom. he feels a simple impulse to go to the table and lift the book and, as no stronger natural desire and no moral objection stand in the way, he carries out that meaningless impulse and perhaps even invents a foolish motive to explain to himself why he wanted to look at that book. but after a long experience, i have my doubts as to whether a man was ever cured in such a way by hypnotism of serious disturbances and of those anomalous actions which the critics want to see overcome by the patient's own moral efforts. on the contrary, every suggestion has to rely on the efforts and struggles of the patient himself and all that the psychotherapists can give him is help in his own moral fight. his own will is presupposition for being hypnotized and for realizing the suggestion. if again and again i hesitate to undertake new cases, it is just because i have to see during the treatment too much of this daily and hourly striving against overpowering impulses. the joy of removing some obstacles from the way of the patients is too much overshadowed by the deep pity and sympathy with their suffering and craving during the whole period of successive treatments. to make a man fight where despair is inevitable, and where the enemy is necessarily stronger than his own powers, can certainly not be the moral demand. morality postulates that everyone find conditions in which he can be victorious if he puts his strongest efforts to the task. in our discussion of the mental symptoms i reported as an illustration of the suggestive treatment of the drug passion the case of a morphinist. to make clear this purposive side of the case as against the causal one which alone interested the physician, i may add a few features to the short report as a typical example. when that man left my laboratory for the last time to go out to work and happiness, you might well have believed from his joyful face that it had been an easy and pleasant time in which hypnotic influence smoothly removed from him the dangerous desire for morphine. in truth it was the result of four months of the most noble and courageous suffering and struggling. he had been for years a slave to his passion. to quote from his little autobiography: "when i realized that i was addicted to morphine, i was at first not at all worried as i did not then understand the real horror of the thing, and did not then realize all the future suffering and misery that is coming to anyone who is the user of opium or any of its alkaloids. for the first few months, i found great relief after every injection of morphine, but soon i could not get the same easy feeling and could eat but very little and what sleep i got was in the daytime. i finally went to the sanitarium of a doctor but it was simply a money-making business for him; if he ever cured anyone, i never heard of it. i then tried another one; it was the same kind of a place as the former. when i first went to see the professor in the harvard psychological laboratory, i was using between thirty-two and thirty-eight grains of morphine daily. he put me under his treatment october th and that day cut me down by hypnotic treatment to nine grains a day or three doses of three grains a day. i took my hypodermic as directed, but on the following day i lay on the bed too exhausted to get up even to get around the room, and i could not eat and only drank a very little water. the desire for the drug was something terrible. but in about four days i got used to the loss of so much morphine and stayed on this amount for a week, seeing the professor every other day for hypnotic treatment and then returning to my room where i spent twenty-two hours of the twenty-four on the bed, but did not sleep more than two or three hours a day. at the end of the week i was cut off by hypnotic suggestion half a grain and this put me to fighting the desire again. this lasted two or three days and then i began to feel better and began to sleep a little more. but at the end of the week i was cut off another half grain, and the whole fight would have to be begun over. these reductions of the dose were made a week apart and sometimes only two days. the worst time of all was a cut from four injections of a fourth of a grain each to four of one eighth of a grain each, which was about january th. at this time i had the worst two days of my life. i tried whiskey, but it gave relief only for about half an hour and then the desire was worse than ever." in this way every few days i gave the poor fellow under hypnotic influence the suggestion to reduce the dose of morphine in a prescribed way, and with enormous effort he withstood his craving for more, in spite of the fact that he had during all this winter a bottle with a thousand tablets of morphine, prescribed by an unscrupulous physician, in his writing desk. he was thus at every moment during the day and night in full possession of the deadly poison with which he could have fully satisfied his craving. it was a moral victory when he finally reached the point at which he went for several weeks without any desire for morphine and finally presented the remaining tablets to a hospital. and yet there would not have been the least chance for his winning this ethical victory without the outer help of the hypnotist. we do not eliminate the moral will but we remove some unfair obstacles from its path. we have no mystic power by which our will simply takes hold of the other man's will, but we inhibit and suppress by influence on the imagination those abnormal impulses which resist the sound desires. if that were immoral, we should have to make up our minds that all education and training were perverted with such immoral elements. every sound respect for authority which makes a child willing to accept the advice and maxims of his elders is just such an influence. if it were really a moral demand that the will be left to its own resources and that no outside influence come to strengthen its power or remove its hindrances or smooth its path, then we ought to let the children grow up as nature created them and ought not to try to suppress from without by discipline and training, by love and encouragement, the willful impulses and the ugly habits. even every good model for imitation is such a suggestive influence from without and every solemn appeal to loyalty and friendship, to patriotism and religion, increases the degree of suggestibility. that is the glory of life that the suggestive power may belong to moral values instead of mere pleasures, but it is not the aim of life to remain untouched by suggestion. and he who by suggestion helps the weak mind to overcome obstacles which the strong mind can overthrow from its inborn resources works for the good of the individual and of the community in the spirit of truest morality. much more justified than such ethical objections are the fears which move entirely in the causal sphere. it must be acknowledged that a method which has such powerful influence over the mind that it can secure ideas and emotions and impulses which the own will of the patient cannot produce, ought to be allowed only to those who are prepared for its skillful use. to hypnotize or to perform any persistent psychotherapeutic treatment may thus be dangerous, if it is done by the unfit. we have discussed before the injuries which might result from the administration of such powerful psychotherapeutic effects through the best meaning minister, but we can extend this fear to anyone who has not systematically studied medicine and to a certain degree normal and abnormal psychology. the possibilities of overlooking symptoms which ought to suggest an entirely different treatment, or of adjusting the treatment badly to the special physical conditions, or of ignoring the desirable physical supplement by drugs, or of creating unintentionally by suggestion injurious effects, are always open when medical amateurs undertake such work. certainly there is no physician who is not liable to make mistakes, and a physician who has never given any attention to psychology and psychiatry would also be a rather poor agent of psychotherapeutic methods, but the probability is that such a physician would simply abstain by principle from all psychotherapeutic methods; his mistake only begins if from his lack of acquaintance with the subject he draws the conclusion that the method itself is undesirable. that his real preparation ought to include psychological studies we have pointed out before, and the time seems ripe for the community to urge such a reform of the studies. all that involves the conviction that even the experimental psychologist as such is not prepared to enter into medical treatment; and a "psychological clinic," managed by a psychologist who is not a doctor of medicine, is certainly not better than a church clinic. i cannot even acknowledge the right of psychologists to make hypnotic experiments merely for the psychological experiment's sake. nobody ought to be brought into a hypnotic or otherwise abnormal state of mind if it is not suggested by the interests of the subject himself. science has the right to make hypnotic experiments, or experiments with abnormal mental states, only under the one condition that a physician has hypnotized the subject in the interests of his health and that the patient has agreed beforehand to allow in the presence of witnesses certain psychological studies. needless to say that any hypnotization for mere amusement and as a parlor trick ought to be considered as criminal. on some other objections which interest the community as such we had to touch before, and there is no need of returning to them with any fullness of argument. we spoke of the danger which the mental cures carry with them when they are based on any particular creed, and especially when they are tied up with a semi-religious arbitrary metaphysics. what is gained if some nervous disorders are helped by belief, if the belief itself devastates our intellectual culture and brings the masses down again to a view of the world which has all the earmarks of barbarism? that is indeed one of the central dangers of all non-medical suggestive cures, that while any belief may cure through the mere emotional power of the act of believing, the content of the belief gains an undeserved appearance of truth. any absurd superstition can become accredited because its curative value may be equal to a truly valuable suggestion. the intellectual life of the community would have to suffer greatly if the way to be freed from bodily suffering had to be the belief in the metaphysical doctrines of mrs. eddy's "science and health." from a cultural viewpoint, too, suggestive therapeutics must stand the higher, the more sharply it is separated from special philosophical or religious doctrines. no theory of the world and of god ought to gain authority over the mind from such an external motive as a belief in its curative effects. freest from such implications is certainly the hypnotic method of the physician who does not need the strong religious reënforcement of the suggestion because he reënforces instead the suggestibility of the patient by slight influences on his senses. even where sound religion without superstition and without pseudophilosophy stands behind the therapeutic work, the community will not give up the question whether the church does not necessarily neglect by it the interests which are superior. the community becomes more and more strongly aware that too many factors of our modern society urge the church to undertake non-religious work. social aid and charity work ought to be filled with religious spirit, but to perform it is not itself religion. still more that is true of the healing of the sick. whether or not such expansion of church activity in different directions saps the vital strength of religion itself is indeed a problem for the whole community. the fear suggests itself that the spiritual achievement may become hampered, that in the competition of the church with the other agencies of social life the particular church task may be pushed to the background, and that thus the church in imitating that which others can do just as well or better loses the power to do that which the church alone can do. the final outcome is therefore practically in every way the same. from whatever starting point we may come, we are led to the conviction that the physician alone is called to administer psychotherapeutic work, but that he needs a thorough psychological training besides his medical one. but the interest of the community is not only a negative one. society does not only ask where psychical treatment can be dangerous, but asks with not less right whether the scheme and the method might not be fructified for other social ends besides the mere healing of the sick. if psychotherapy demonstrates that for instance hypnotism makes possible the reshaping of a pathological mind, it is a natural thought to use the same power for remodeling perhaps the lazy or the intemperate, the careless or the inattentive, the dishonest or the criminal mind. both educators and criminologists have indeed often raised such questions, and social reformers have not seldom seen there wide perspectives for social movements in future times. there can be no doubt that the possibility of such remodeling activity is given, but as far as education is concerned certainly grave misgivings ought to be felt. when we spoke of the treatment of the sick, we had always to emphasize that the suggestion cures symptoms but not diseases. in the same way hypnotic suggestion might reënforce a single trait but would not reform the personality of the child. yes, the artificial reënforcement of such special features would deprive education of that which is the most essential, namely, the development of the power to overcome difficulties by own energy. wherever a reasonable amount of own will force and attention can be expected to overcome the antagonistic influence, there artificial hypnotic influence ought to be avoided. everything ought to be left in that case to suggestions within normal limits, in the form of good example and persuasions, authority and discipline, love and sympathy. that holds true even for very slight abnormalities which seem still within the limits where the own energies can bring about the cure. for instance, i have steadily refused requests of students and others to use hypnotism for the purpose of overcoming merely bad habits, such as the habit of biting the nails. a child who finds some difficulty in sticking seriously to his tasks might learn now this and now that under the influence of hypnotic suggestions but he would remain entirely untrained for mastering the next lesson. in the same way some naughty traits might be artificially removed but the child would not gain anything towards the much more important power of suppressing an ugly tendency by his own effort. all that finds its limits where the inhibitions or obstacles in the brain of the child are too strong possibly to be overcome by the own good will, but in that case we already stand in the field of abnormal mental life and then of course psychotherapy has its right. the feeble-minded and the retarded child, the perverse child and the emotionally unstable child, belong under the care of the physician, and in such a case he ought not to hesitate to use the whole supply of psychotherapeutic methods which are at his disposal. still more complex is the criminological problem. it sounds like an easy remedy for the greatest social calamity, if it is proposed simply to hypnotize the criminal and to supplant his antisocial will by a moral one. and if the absurdity of such a proposal is recognized it seems to many justified to demand such an intrusion at least in the case of the born criminal, even if the occasional criminal cannot be reached. but the conception of the born criminal is also only a label which is superficially used for a great variety of minds. that men are born with a brain which necessarily produces criminal actions is not indicated by any facts. the varieties which nature really produces are brains which are more liable than others to produce antisocial actions. we recognized from the start that the abnormal mind never introduces any new elements but is characterized only by a change of proportions. there is too much or too little of a certain mental process and just for that reason there must be a steady and continuous transition from the normal to the entirely abnormal. here again we have not a special class of brains which are criminal; but we have an endless variety of brains with a greater or smaller predisposition for antisocial outbreaks. the variations which produce this criminal effect may lie in most different directions. the brain may be for instance inclined to overstrong impulses, so that any desire rushes to action before the inhibiting counter-idea gets to work. or, on the other hand, the brain may have unusually weak counter-ideas so that even a normal impulse does not find its normal checking. the fact that selfish and thus antisocial desires awake in the mind is not abnormal at all; only if they are not normally inhibited, the disturbance sets in. furthermore the associative apparatus of the brain may work especially slowly; it may thus bring it about that the counteracting ideas do not arise in time. or the emotions of a person may be unusually strong. or there may be strong suggestibility, by which a bad example or a strong temptation has especially easy access. or there may be negative suggestibility, by which a moral admonition stirs up a vivid idea of the opposite. in short, there may be a large number of factors, sometimes even in combination, each one of which increases the chances that the individual may come in danger in the midst of developed society. yet no one of those factors involves just the necessity of crime. the same kinds of brains might simply show stupidity or credulity or inconsiderateness or brutality or stubbornness or egotism, and might by each of those factors decrease their chances in the community without directly running into conflict with the law. the criminal is therefore never born as such. he is only born with a brain which is in some directions inefficient and which thus, under certain unfavorable conditions, will more easily come to criminal deeds than the normal brain. with the idea of a stereotyped born criminal there disappears also the idea of a uniform treatment against criminal tendencies. that men are different in their power of resistance or in their power of efficiency or in their intellect or in their emotions, we have to accept as the fundamental condition with which every society starts. it would be absurd to remodel them artificially after a pattern. the result would be without value anyhow, inasmuch as our appreciation is relative. no character is perfect. the more the differences were reduced, the more we should become sensitive even for the smaller variations. all that society can do is, therefore, not to remodel the manifoldness of brains, but to shape the conditions of life in such a way that the weak and unstable brains also have a greater chance to live their lives without conflicts with the community. the situation is different as soon as the particular surroundings have brought it about that such a brain with reduced powers has entered a criminal career. the thought of crime now becomes a sort of obsession or rather an autosuggestion. the way to this idea has become a path of least resistance, and as soon as such an unfortunate situation has settled itself, the chances are overwhelming that a criminal career has been started. if such cases should come early to suggestive treatment which really would close the channels of the antisocial autosuggestion, much harm might be averted. yet again the liability of the brain to become antisocial would not have been removed, and thus not much would be secured unless such a person after the treatment could be kept under favorable conditions. with young boys who through unfortunate influence have caught a tendency, for instance, to steal, and where the fault does not yield to sympathetic reasoning and to punishment, an early hypnotic treatment might certainly be tried. i myself have seen promising results. but if the impulse has irresistible character in such a way that the good will is powerless, we are again in the field of disease and the point of view of the physician has to be substituted for that of the criminologist. whether pedagogy and criminology are to make use of the services of psychotherapy is thus certainly an open question. it would be short-sighted to overlook the serious obstacles which stand in the way. but while the social life outside of the circle of real disease may better go on without direct interference by psychotherapeutic influences, it is certainly the duty of the community to make the underlying principles of psychotherapy useful for the sound development of society. the artificial over-suggestions which are needed to overcome the pathological disturbances of mental equilibrium may be left for the cases of illness. but we saw that every mental symptom of disease was only an exaggeration of abnormal variations which occurred within the limit of health. to reduce these abnormalities means to secure a more stable equilibrium and thus to avoid social damages, and at the same time to prevent the growth of the abnormality to pathological dimensions. to counteract these slighter variations, these abnormalities which have not yet reached the degree of disease, will demand the same principles of treatment, only in a weaker form. it is in a way not psychical therapy but psychical hygiene. and this is no longer confined to the physician but must be intrusted to all organs of the community. and here more than in the case of disease, the causal point of view of the physician ought to be brought into harmony with the purposive view of the social reformer, of the educator and of the moralist. the ideal of such mental hygiene is the complete equilibrium of all mental energies together with their fullest possible development. to work towards this end does not mean to aim towards the impossible and undesirable end of making all men alike, but to give to all, in spite of the differences which nature and society condition, the greatest possible inner completeness and outer usefulness. the efforts in that direction have to begin with the earliest infancy and are at no age to be considered as finished; the whole school work and to a high degree the professional work has to be subordinated to such endeavor. society has further to take care that those spheres of life which stand less under systematic principles, such as the home life of the child and the social life of the man, his family life and his public life, are steadily under the pressure of influences which urge in the same direction. harmonious development without one-sidedness, and yet with full justice to the individual talents and equipments, should be secured. that means from the start an effort to secure balance between general education and particular development. the latter has to strengthen those powers by which the boy or girl by special natural fitness promises to be especially efficient and happy. it has to be supplemented later by a wise and deliberate choice of such a vocation as brings these particular abilities most strongly to a focus. yet this alone would mean a one-sidedness in which the equilibrium would be lost. more important, it would leave undeveloped that power which the youth especially needs to acquire by serious education, the power to master what does not appeal to the personal likings and interests. an equilibrium is secured only if at the same time full emphasis is given to the learning and training in all which is the common ground of our social existence. from the multiplication table to the highest cultural studies in college, the youth is to be adjusted to the material of our civilization without any concession to the emasculating desire to adjust civilization simply to the particular youth. he has to learn learning and not only to play with knowledge, he has to learn to force his attention in adjustment to those factors of civilization which are foreign to his personal tendencies and perhaps unsympathetic. free election of life's work and unyielding mental discipline in the service of the common demands should thus steadily coöperate. the one without the other creates a lack of mental balance which is the most favorable condition for a pathological disturbance. the mere learning is of course on both sides only a fraction of what the community has to develop in the youth. mental hygiene begins with physiological hygiene. the nourishment of the child, the care for the child's sense organs, the recesses and the rest from fatigue, and especially the undisturbed sleep are essential conditions. the interferences with sufficient sleep are to a high degree responsible for the later disturbances of the mental life. it must not be forgotten that the decomposition of the brain molecules can never be restituted by anything but rest, and ultimately by sleep. physical exercise is certainly not such restitution. in the best case it brings a certain rest to some brain centers by engaging other brain parts. the child needs sleep and fresh air and healthful food more than anything else, if his mind is active. the careful examination of the sense organs and of the unhindered breathing through the nose is most important. even a slight defect in hearing may become the cause of an under-development of attention. more important than mere physical hygiene is the demand that a sound character and a sound temperament are also to be built up, at the side of a sound interest. here again everything depends upon a wise balance between the development of that which is given by nature to the particular individual and the reënforcement of that which society demands and which belongs therefore to the common equipment. the emotional stability and emotional enlargement of the mind is perhaps most neglected in our educational schemes. on the one side it demands a systematic discipline of the emotions, on the other a healthy stimulation of emotions. here is the place where imagination in play and later in art come in. the biological value of play always lies in the training for the functions of later life, and especially for the emotional functions. the play of our children is too little adjusted to this task. for this reason it leaves too many unprepared for the world of art and for the emotional experiences of real life. both lack of emotional discipline and narrow one-sidedness of emotions interfere with the harmonious development. destructive emotions like terror ought to be kept away and not needlessly brought near by uncanny stories and mystic superstitions. it is the healthy love and sympathy of the home which contributes most strongly to the normal development of emotions. again in the field of will, we want the strong, spontaneous, independent will which is not frightened by discomfort and not discouraged by obstacles, and yet we want the will which is not stubborn and selfish but which subordinates itself to the larger will of the social group and to the eternal will of the norm. there is no balance where independence and subordination do not supplement each other. a wide education not only trains for both but also secures habits which work as autosuggestions in both directions. but all this harmonious development of intellect and temperament and character has to go on when the school days are over and just here begins the duty of the community as a whole. the special functions of the teachers have to be taken up by the public institutions. the whole social life must shape itself in such a way that everyone finds the best possible chances to perfect this harmonious growth. in the field of the intellect, the community must take care that thoroughness of training and accuracy of information is rigidly demanded and not thrust out by an easy-going superficiality. the expert ought to replace the amateur in every field. every society which allows successes to superficiality diminishes its chances for mental health. yet while thoroughness demands concentration in one direction, society must with the same earnestness insist on well-rounded general education and continuity of general interests through life. literature and the libraries, the newspapers and the magazines play there a foremost rôle, and again the mental health of the community has to pay the penalty if its newspapers work against general culture. in the emotional field art and music, fiction and the theater on the one side, the church on the other side, remain the great schools for a development of sound emotions. where literature becomes trivial, where the stage becomes degraded, and where the church becomes utilitarian and uninspiring, great powers for possible good in emotional education are lost. but with this enrichment of feelings the disciplinary influence too has to go through the whole social life. where art is sensational and the church hysterical,--in short, where the community stirs up overstrong feelings,--the wholesome balance is lost again. in a similar way the public demands should throughout stimulate the energy and ambitions and initiative of the man, and yet should keep his desires and impulses in control. few factors are more influential in all these directions than the administration of law. sound sober lawmaking and fair judgment in court secure to the community a feeling of safety which gives stability to emotions and feelings. the disorganization which results from arbitrary laws, from habitual violation of laws, from corruption and injustice works like a poison on the psychophysical system. a similar unbalancing influence emanates from overstrong contrasts of poverty and comfort. a poverty which discourages and leaves no chances and a wealth which annihilates the energies and effaces the consciousness of moral equality, create alike pernicious conditions for mental balance. unlimited furthermore are the influences which depend upon the sexual ideas of the society. it is the sphere in which it may be most difficult to indicate the way towards a development without dangers. there is no doubt the arbitrary suppression of the sexual instinct must be acknowledged as the source of nervous injury while indulgence may lead to disease and misery. but in any case frivolous habits and easy divorce contribute much to the unbalanced life which ruins the unstable individual. not less difficult and not less connected with the mental hygiene is the alcohol problem. for normal adult men mild doses have through their power to relieve the inhibitions undeniable value for the sound development of the community. its intemperate use or its use by young people and by pathological persons is one of the gravest dangers. whether intemperance ought to be fought by prohibition or rather by an education to temperance is a difficult question in which the enthusiastic women and ministers, backed by the well justified fears of psychiatrists, will hardly be on the same side as the sober judgment of scientists, unprejudiced physicians, and historians. in any case the saloon and its humiliating indecency must disappear and every temptation to intemperance should be removed. above all, from early childhood the self-control has to be strengthened, the child has to learn from the beginning to know the limits to the gratification of his desires and to abstain from reckless over-indulgence. with such a training later on even the temptations of alcoholic beverages would lose their danger. not less injurious than the strong drinks are the cards. all gambling from the child's play to the stock exchange is ruinous for the psychophysical equilibrium. the same is true of any overuse of coffee and tea and tobacco, and as a matter of course still more the habitual use of the drugs like the popular headache powders and sleeping medicines. the life at home and in public ought to be manifold and expansive but ought to avoid over-excitement and over-anxiety. a good conscience, a congenial home, and a serious purpose are after all the safest conditions for a healthy mind, and the community works in preventive psychotherapy wherever it facilitates the securing of these three factors. for that end society may take over directly from the workshop of the psychotherapist quite a number of almost technical methods. suggestion is one of them. the means of suggestion through education and art, through the church and through public opinion, through example and tradition, and even through fashion and prejudices, are millionfold, but not less numerous are the channels for antisocial and antihygienic suggestions. no one can measure the injury done to the psychophysical balance of the weaker brains, for instance, by the sensational court gossip and reports of murder trials in the newspapers for the masses. but while the influence of suggestion is on the whole familiar to public opinion, the community is much less aware of another factor which we found important in the hands of the psychotherapist. we recognized that mental disturbances were often the result of suppressed emotion and repressed wishes. for the cure the psychotherapist has to aim toward the cathartic result. the suppressed ideas had to be brought to consciousness again and then to be discharged through vivid expression. society ought to learn from it that few factors are more disturbing for the mental balance than feelings and emotions which do not come to a normal expression. it is no chance that in countries of mixed protestant and catholic civilization, the number of suicides is larger in protestant regions than in the catholic ones where the confessional relieves the suppressed emotions of the masses. this is also the most destructive effect of social and legal injustice; emotions are strangulated and then begin to work mischief. the community should take care early that secret feelings are avoided, that the child is cured from all sullenness which stores up the emotion instead of discharging it. certainly all education and social life demands inhibition and also the child has to learn not to give expression to every passing feeling. to find there the sound middle way is again the real hygienic ideal. too much in our social life and especially in the sphere of sexuality forces on the individual a hypocrisy and secrecy which is among the most powerful conditions of later mental instability. of course the background of a hygienic life of the community remains the philosophy of life which gives unity to the scattered energies and consequently steadiness to the individual through all his hazards of fate. it might seem doubtful whether society could get the prescription for such a steady view of the world also from the workshop of the psychotherapist. to the superficial observer the opposite might seem evident, as every word of our psychotherapeutic study indicated that that is a view of life which makes man's inner experience simply an effect of foregoing causes. all life becomes a psychophysical mechanism and from that point of view man's thinking and acting become the necessary outcome of the foregoing conditions. nothing seems more unfit to give a deeper meaning to life and a higher value. and yet if there was one thought which controlled our discussion from the beginning, it was certainly the conviction that this causal view itself is only an instrument in the service of idealistic endeavors; the reality of man's life is the reality of will and freedom directed towards ideals. one of these ideals is the reconstruction of the world in the thought forms of causality. in the service of our ideals we may thus transform the world into a mechanism: out of our freedom we desire to conceive ourselves as necessary products. whenever we aim to produce changes in the world, we must calculate the effects through the means of this causal construction, but we never have a right to forget that this calculation itself is therefore only a tool and that our reality, in which our duties and our real aims lie, is itself outside of this construction. the psychotherapist wants to produce effects inasmuch as he wants to cure disease. he is therefore obliged to adjust his work as such entirely to the causal aspect of man, as soon as he wants to seek the means by which he can reach the end. but even the fact that he decides in favor of those ends, that he aims towards their realization, binds him to a world of purposes, and therefore, he, too, with his whole psychophysical work, stands with both feet in a reality of will which is controlled not by causes but by purposes, not by natural laws but by ideals. index abnormal, abstinence, action, , , adenoids, adjustment, Æsthetic, alcohol, alcoholism, alternation, , anæmia, anæsthesia, , analysis, antagonistic, anxiety, appeal, applied psychology, appreciation, art, association, , , association experiment, , , associationism, astrology, assurance, assyria, ataxia, atoms, attention, , , , , , attitudes, authority, automatic, , autosuggestion, , , , , awareness, , beauty, belief, , blood-vessels, blushing, braidism, brain, , , , cancer, cathartic, , causality, , , cell, , , china, church, christianity, christian science, , , , , , chronoscope, circulation, clairvoyant, clearness, cocainism, coconscious, communication, community, company, comparative anatomy, complex, , , confidence, , conscience, consciousness, , , , contact, cortex, cretinism, crime, criminology, dementia, depression, , , description, diabetes, diagnosis, , , digestive, , dilettanteism, discharge, , , , , , discipline, disposition, , dissociation, , dream, drugs, , education, effort, efficiency, egyptians, electrobiology, emmanuel church, , , , emotion, , , , , , encouragement, energy, , epidemic, epilepsy, , equilibrium, ergograph, ethics, ethnology, examination, exhaustion, experimental psychology, , explanation, , , faith, , fascination, , fear, , , feeble-minded, , feelings, freedom, , functional diseases, , galvanoscope, genetic psychology, gospels, greeks, , half-sleep, hallucination, hastiness, headache, hearing, heart disease, heterosuggestion, history, hygiene, hypnoid, , hypnotism, , , , , , , hysteria, , , , idealism, , , illness, imagination, impulse, improvement, indecision, indians, inherited, inhibition, , , , , , insanity, , insomnia, , instinct, intemperance, intensity, interruption, japan, jews, kymograph, knowledge, lawyer, learning, magnetism, make-believe, memory, mesmerism, , minister, , , , , monotony, moral, , morality, morphinism, , motor process, , , movement sensation, mystic, , naturalism, negativism, nervousness, neurasthenia, , , , neuron, nutrition, , obedience, object, , obsession, opposite idea, oppression, organic diseases, , organism, pain, , , , , , parallelism, , , passes, pathology, pauses, pedagogy, perception, , , personality, , , persuasion, perversity, phobia, physical, physician, , physicotherapy, pneumograph, , poet, posthypnotic, , postulate, prayer, prohibition, protestantism, psychasthenia, , , psychiatry, psychical, psychoanalytic, , psychological laboratory, , , , , psychology, , , , , pulse, , purposes, , purposive, , , , , reactions, , realism, reality, reasoning, recklessness, recuperation, relapse, relativity, religion, , , , reparable, reservoir, resistance, rest, retardation, , revival, savages, secrets, self, , self-consciousness, sensation, , sense organ, shamanism, sidetracking, , , sleep, , , , , somnambulism, , , sphygmograph, , stammering, , stomach, subconscious, , subcortical, , subject, suggestibility, , , suggestion, , , , , superficiality, supervision, surroundings, sympathy, symptoms, , temperance, tones, toxic, unity, , vacation, vividness, will, , witness, worry, yogi, +----------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |inconsistencies in hyphenation reflect the original | | text. | +----------------------------------------------------+ none [illustration] the works of aristotle the famous philosopher containing his complete masterpiece and family physician; his experienced midwife, his book of problems and his remarks on physiognomy complete edition, with engravings * * * * * the midwife's vade-mecum containing particular directions for midwives, nurses, etc. * * * * * some genuine recipes for causing speedy delivery. * * * * * approved directions for nurses. * * * * * [illustration: medical knowledge] [illustration] * * * * * part i.--book i the masterpiece _on marriage and at what age young men and virgins are capable of it: and why so much desire it. also, how long men and women are capable of it._ there are very few, except some professional debauchees, who will not readily agree that "marriage is honourable to all," being ordained by heaven in paradise; and without which no man or woman can be in a capacity, honestly, to yield obedience to the first law of the creation, "increase and multiply." and since it is natural in young people to desire the embraces, proper to the marriage bed, it behoves parents to look after their children, and when they find them inclinable to marriage, not violently to restrain their inclinations (which, instead of allaying them, makes them but the more impetuous) but rather provide such suitable matches for them, as may make their lives comfortable; lest the crossing of those inclinations should precipitate them to commit those follies that may bring an indelible stain upon their families. the inclination of maids to marriage may be known by many symptoms; for when they arrive at puberty, which is about the fourteenth or fifteenth year of their age, then their natural purgations begin to flow; and the blood, which is no longer to augment their bodies, abounding, stirs up their minds to venery. external causes may also incline them to it; for their spirits being brisk and inflamed, when they arrive at that age, if they eat hard salt things and spices, the body becomes more and more heated, whereby the desire to veneral embraces is very great, and sometimes almost insuperable. and the use of this so much desired enjoyment being denied to virgins, many times is followed by dismal consequences; such as the green weesel colonet, short-breathing, trembling of the heart, etc. but when they are married and their veneral desires satisfied by the enjoyment of their husbands, these distempers vanish, and they become more gay and lively than before. also, their eager staring at men, and affecting their company, shows that nature pushes them upon coition; and their parents neglecting to provide them with husbands, they break through modesty and satisfy themselves in unlawful embraces. it is the same with brisk widows, who cannot be satisfied without that benevolence to which they were accustomed when they had their husbands. at the age of , the menses, in virgins, begin to flow; then they are capable of conceiving, and continue generally until , when they cease bearing, unless their bodies are strong and healthful, which sometimes enables them to bear at . but many times the menses proceed from some violence done to nature, or some morbific matter, which often proves fatal. and, hence, men who are desirous of issue ought to marry a woman within the age aforesaid, or blame themselves if they meet with disappointment; though, if an old man, if not worn out with diseases and incontinency, marry a brisk, lively maiden, there is hope of him having children to or years. hippocrates says, that a youth of , or between that and , having much vital strength, is capable of begetting children; and also that the force of the procreating matter increases till , , and , and then begins to flag; the seed, by degrees, becoming unfruitful, the natural spirits being extinguished, and the humours dried up. thus, in general, but as to individuals, it often falls out otherwise. nay, it is reported by a credible author, that in swedland, a man was married at years of age to a girl of years, and had many children by her; but his countenance was so fresh, that those who knew him not, imagined him not to exceed . and in campania, where the air is clear and temperate, men of marry young virgins, and have children by them; which shows that age in them does not hinder procreation, unless they be exhausted in their youths and their yards be shrivelled up. if any would know why a woman is sooner barren than a man, they may be assured that the natural heat, which is the cause of generation, is more predominant in the man than in the woman; for since a woman is more moist than a man, as her monthly purgations demonstrate, as also the softness of her body; it is also apparent that he does not much exceed her in natural heat, which is the chief thing that concocts the humours in proper aliment, which the woman wanting grows fat; whereas a man, through his native heat, melts his fat by degrees and his humours are dissolved; and by the benefit thereof are converted into seed. and this may also be added, that women, generally, are not so strong as men, nor so wise or prudent; nor have so much reason and ingenuity in ordering affairs; which shows that thereby the faculties are hindered in operations. * * * * * chapter ii _how to beget a male or female child; and of the embryo and perfect birth; and the fittest time for the copula._ when a young couple are married, they naturally desire children; and therefore adopt the means that nature has appointed to that end. but notwithstanding their endeavours they must know that the success of all depends on the blessing of the gods: not only so, but the sex, whether male or female, is from their disposal also, though it cannot be denied, that secondary causes have influence therein, especially two. first, the general humour, which is brought by the arteria praeparantes to the testes, in form of blood, and there elaborated into seed, by the seminifical faculty residing in them. secondly, the desire of coition, which fires the imagination with unusual fancies, and by the sight of brisk, charming beauty, may soon inflame the appetite. but if nature be enfeebled, some meats must be eaten as will conduce to afford such aliment as makes the seed abound, and restores the exhaustion of nature that the faculties may freely operate, and remove impediments obstructing the procreating of children. then, since diet alters the evil state of the body to a better, those subject to barrenness must eat such meats as are juicy and nourish well, making the body lively and full of sap; of which faculty are all hot moist meats. for, according to galen, seed is made of pure concocted and windy superfluity of blood, whence we may conclude, that there is a power in many things, to accumulate seed, and also to augment it; and other things of force to cause desire, as hen eggs, pheasants, woodcocks, gnat-snappers, blackbirds, thrushes, young pigeons, sparrows, partridges, capons, almonds, pine nuts, raisins, currants, strong wines taken sparingly, especially those made of the grapes of italy. but erection is chiefly caused by scuraum, eringoes, cresses, crysmon, parsnips, artichokes, turnips, asparagus, candied ginger, acorns bruised to powder and drank in muscadel, scallion, sea shell fish, etc. but these must have time to perform their operation, and must be used for a considerable time, or you will reap but little benefit from them. the act of coition being over, let the woman repose herself on her right side, with her head lying low, and her body declining, that by sleeping in that posture, the cani, on the right side of the matrix, may prove the place of conception; for therein is the greatest generative heat, which is the chief procuring cause of male children, and rarely fails the expectations of those that experience it, especially if they do but keep warm, without much motion, leaning to the right, and drinking a little spirit of saffron and juice of hissop in a glass of malaga or alicant, when they lie down and arise, for a week. for a female child, let the woman lie on her left side, strongly fancying a female in the time of procreation, drinking the decoction of female mercury four days from the first day of purgation; the male mercury having the like operation in case of a male; for this concoction purges the right and left side of the womb, opens the receptacles, and makes way for the seminary of generation. the best time to beget a female is, when the moon is in the wane, in libra or aquaries. advicenne says, that when the menses are spent and the womb cleansed, which is commonly in five or seven days at most, if a man lie with his wife from the first day she is purged to the fifth, she will conceive a male; but from the fifth to the eighth a female; and from the eighth to the twelfth a male again: but after that perhaps neither distinctly, but both in an hermaphrodite. in a word, they that would be happy in the fruits of their labour, must observe to use copulation in due distance of time, not too often nor too seldom, for both are alike hurtful; and to use it immoderately weakens and wastes the spirits and spoils the seed. and this much for the first particular. the second is to let the reader know how the child is formed in the womb, what accidents it is liable to there, and how nourished and brought forth. there are various opinions concerning this matter; therefore, i shall show what the learned say about it. man consists of an egg, which is impregnated in the testicles of the woman, by the more subtle parts of the man's seed; but the forming faculty and virtue in the seed is a divine gift, it being abundantly imbued with vital spirit, which gives sap and form to the embryo, so that all parts and bulk of the body, which is made up in a few months and gradually formed into the likely figure of a man, do consist in, and are adumbrated thereby (most sublimely expressed, psalm cxxxix.: "i will praise thee, o lord, for i am fearfully and wonderfully made.") physicians have remarked four different times at which a man is framed and perfected in the womb; the first after coition, being perfectly formed in the week if no flux happens, which sometimes falls out through the slipperiness of the head of the matrix, that slips over like a rosebud that opens suddenly. the second time of forming is assigned when nature makes manifest mutation in the conception, so that all the substance seems congealed, flesh and blood, and happens twelve or fourteen days after copulation. and though this fleshy mass abounds with inflamed blood, yet it remains undistinguishable, without form, and may be called an embryo, and compared to seed sown in the ground, which, through heat and moisture, grows by degrees to a perfect form in plant or grain. the third time assigned to make up this fabric is when the principal parts show themselves plain; as the heart, whence proceed the arteries, the brain, from which the nerves, like small threads, run through the whole body; and the liver, which divides the chyle from the blood, brought to it by the vena porta. the two first are fountains of life, that nourish every part of the body, in framing which the faculty of the womb is bruised, from the conception of the eighth day of the first month. the fourth, and last, about the thirtieth day, the outward parts are seen nicely wrought, distinguished by joints, from which time it is no longer an embryo, but a perfect child. most males are perfect by the thirtieth day, but females seldom before the forty-second or forty-fifth day, because the heat of the womb is greater in producing the male than the female. and, for the same reason, a woman going with a male child quickens in three months, but going with a female, rarely under four, at which time its hair and nails come forth, and the child begins to stir, kick and move in the womb, and then the woman is troubled with a loathing for meat and a greedy longing for things contrary to nutriment, as coals, rubbish, chalk, etc., which desire often occasions abortion and miscarriage. some women have been so extravagant as to long for hob nails, leather, horse-flesh, man's flesh, and other unnatural as well as unwholesome food, for want of which thing they have either miscarried or the child has continued dead in the womb for many days, to the imminent hazard of their lives. but i shall now proceed to show by what means the child is maintained in the womb, and what posture it there remains in. the learned hippocrates affirms that the child, as he is placed in the womb, has his hands on his knees, and his head bent to his feet, so that he lies round together, his hands upon his knees and his face between them, so that each eye touches each thumb, and his nose betwixt his knees. and of the same opinion in this matter was bartholinus. columbus is of opinion that the figure of the child in the womb is round, the right arm bowed, the fingers under the ear, and about the neck, the head bowed so that the chin touches the breast, the left arm bowed above both breast and face and propped up by the bending of the right elbow; the legs are lifted upwards, the right so much that the thigh touches the belly, the knee the navel, the heel touches the left buttock, and the foot is turned back and covers the secrets; the left thigh touches the belly, and the leg lifted up to the breast. * * * * * chapter iii _the reason why children are like their parents; and that the mother's imagination contributes thereto; and whether the man or the woman is the cause of the male or female child._ in the case of similitude, nothing is more powerful than the imagination of the mother; for if she fix her eyes upon any object it will so impress her mind, that it oftentimes so happens that the child has a representation thereof on some part of the body. and, if in act of copulation, the woman earnestly look on the man, and fix her mind on him, the child will resemble its father. nay, if a woman, even in unlawful copulation, fix her mind upon her husband, the child will resemble him though he did not beget it. the same effect has imagination in occasioning warts, stains, mole-spots, and dartes; though indeed they sometimes happen through frights, or extravagant longing. many women, in being with child, on seeing a hare cross the road in front of them, will, through the force of imagination, bring forth a child with a hairy lip. some children are born with flat noses and wry mouths, great blubber lips and ill-shaped bodies; which must be ascribed to the imagination of the mother, who has cast her eyes and mind upon some ill-shaped creature. therefore it behoves all women with child, if possible, to avoid such sights, or at least, not to regard them. but though the mother's imagination may contribute much to the features of the child, yet, in manners, wit, and propension of the mind, experience tells us, that children are commonly of the condition with their parents, and possessed of similar tempers. but the vigour or disability of persons in the act of copulation many times cause it to be otherwise; for children begotten through the heat and strength of desire, must needs partake more of the nature and inclination of their parents, than those begotten at a time when desires are weaker; and, therefore, the children begotten by men in their old age are generally weaker than, those begotten by them in their youth. as to the share which each of the parents has in begetting the child, we will give the opinions of the ancients about it. though it is apparent that the man's seed is the chief efficient being of the action, motion, and generation: yet that the woman affords seed and effectually contributes in that point to the procreation of the child, is evinced by strong reasons. in the first place, seminary vessels had been given her in vain, and genital testicles inverted, if the woman wanted seminal excrescence, for nature does nothing in vain; and therefore we must grant, they were made for the use of seed and procreation, and placed in their proper parts; both the testicles and the receptacles of seed, whose nature is to operate and afford virtue to the seed. and to prove this, there needs no stronger argument, say they, than that if a woman do not use copulation to eject her seed, she often falls into strange diseases, as appears by young men and virgins. a second reason they urge is, that although the society of a lawful bed consists not altogether in these things, yet it is apparent the female sex are never better pleased, nor appear more blythe and jocund, than when they are satisfied this way; which is an inducement to believe they have more pleasure and titulation therein than men. for since nature causes much delight to accompany ejection, by the breaking forth of the swelling spirits and the swiftness of the nerves; in which case the operation on the woman's part is double, she having an enjoyment both by reception and ejection, by which she is more delighted in. hence it is, they say, that the child more frequently resembles the mother than the father, because the mother contributes more towards it. and they think it may be further instanced, from the endeared affection they bear them; for that, besides their contributing seminal matters, they feed and nourish the child with the purest fountain of blood, until its birth. which opinion galen affirms, by allowing children to participate most of the mother; and ascribes the difference of sex to the different operations of the menstrual blood; but this reason of the likeness he refers to the power of the seed; for, as the plants receive more nourishment from fruitful ground, than from the industry of the husbandman, so the infant receives more abundance from the mother than the father. for the seed of both is cherished in the womb, and then grows to perfection, being nourished with blood. and for this reason it is, they say, that children, for the most part, love their mothers best, because they receive the most of their substance from their mother; for about nine months she nourishes her child in the womb with the purest blood; then her love towards it newly born, and its likeness, do clearly show that the woman affords seed, and contributes more towards making the child than the man. but in this all the ancients were very erroneous; for the testicles, so called in women, afford not only seed, but are two eggs, like those of fowls and other creatures; neither have they any office like those of men, but are indeed the ovaria, wherein the eggs are nourished by the sanguinary vessels disposed throughout them; and from thence one or more as they are fecundated by the man's seed is separated and conveyed into the womb by the ovaducts. the truth of this is plain, for if you boil them the liquor will be of the same colour, taste and consistency, with the taste of birds' eggs. if any object that they have no shells, that signifies nothing: for the eggs of fowls while they are on the ovary, nay, after they are fastened into the uterus, have no shell. and though when they are laid, they have one, yet that is no more than a defence with which nature has provided them against any outward injury, while they are hatched without the body; whereas those of women being hatched within the body, need no other fence than the womb, by which they are sufficiently secured. and this is enough, i hope, for the clearing of this point. as for the third thing proposed, as whence grow the kind, and whether the man or the woman is the cause of the male or female infant--the primary cause we must ascribe to god as is most justly his due, who is the ruler and disposer of all things; yet he suffers many things to proceed according to the rules of nature by their inbred motion, according to usual and natural courses, without variation; though indeed by favour from on high, sarah conceived isaac; hannah, samuel; and elizabeth, john the baptist; but these were all extraordinary things, brought to pass by a divine power, above the course of nature. nor have such instances been wanting in later days; therefore, i shall wave them, and proceed to speak of things natural. the ancient physicians and philosophers say that since these two principles out of which the body of man is made, and which renders the child like the parents, and by one or other of the sex, viz., seed common to both sexes and menstrual blood, proper to the woman only; the similitude, say they, must needs consist in the force of virtue of the male or female, so that it proves like the one or the other, according to the quantity afforded by either, but that the difference of sex is not referred to the seed, but to the menstrual blood, which is proper to the woman, is apparent; for, were that force altogether retained in the seed, the male seed being of the hottest quality, male children would abound and few of the female be propagated; wherefore, the sex is attributed to the temperament or to the active qualities, which consists in heat and cold and the nature of the matter under them--that is, the flowing of the menstruous blood. but now, the seed, say they, affords both force to procreate and to form the child, as well as matter for its generation; and in the menstruous blood there is both matter and force, for as the seed most helps the maternal principle, so also does the menstrual blood the potential seed, which is, says galen, blood well concocted by the vessels which contain it. so that the blood is not only the matter of generating the child, but also seed, it being impossible that menstrual blood has both principles. the ancients also say that the seed is the stronger efficient, the matter of it being very little in quantity, but the potential quality of it is very strong; wherefore, if these principles of generation, according to which the sex is made were only, say they, in the menstrual blood, then would the children be all mostly females; as were the efficient force in the seed they would be all males; but since both have operation in menstrual blood, matter predominates in quantity and in the seed force and virtue. and, therefore, galen thinks that the child receives its sex rather from the mother than the father, for though his seed contributes a little to the natural principle, yet it is more weakly. but for likeliness it is referred rather to the father than to the mother. yet the woman's seed receiving strength from the menstrual blood for the space of nine months, overpowers the man's in that particular, for the menstrual blood rather cherishes the one than the other; from which it is plain the woman affords both matter to make and force and virtue to perfect the conception; though the female's be fit nutriment for the male's by reason of the thinness of it, being more adapted to make up conception thereby. for as of soft wax or moist clay, the artificer can frame what he intends, so, say they, the man's seed mixing with the woman's and also with the menstrual blood, helps to make the form and perfect part of man. but, with all imaginary deference to the wisdom of our fathers, give me leave to say that their ignorance of the anatomy of man's body have led them into the paths of error and ran them into great mistakes. for their hypothesis of the formation of the embryo from commixture of blood being wholly false, their opinion in this case must of necessity be likewise. i shall therefore conclude this chapter by observing that although a strong imagination of the mother may often determine the sex, yet the main agent in this case is the plastic or formative principle, according to those rules and laws given us by the great creator, who makes and fashions it, and therein determines the sex, according to the council of his will. * * * * * chapter iv _that man's soul is not propagated by their parents, but is infused by its creator, and can neither die nor corrupt. at what time it is infused. of its immortality and certainty of its resurrection._ man's soul is of so divine a nature and excellency that man himself cannot comprehend it, being the infused breath of the almighty, of an immortal nature, and not to be comprehended but by him that gave it. for moses, relating the history of man, tells us that "god breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and he became a living soul." now, as for all other creatures, at his word they were made and had life, but the creature that god had set over his works was his peculiar workmanship, formed by him out of the dust of the earth, and he condescended to breathe into his nostrils the breath of life, which seems to denote both care and, if we may so term it, labour, used about man more than about all other living creatures, he only partaking and participating of the blessed divine nature, bearing god's image in innocence and purity, whilst he stood firm; and when, by his fall, that lively image was defaced, yet such was the love of the creator towards him that he found out a way to restore him, the only begotten son of the eternal father coming into the world to destroy the works of the devil, and to raise up man from that low condition to which sin and his fall had reduced him, to a state above that of the angels. if, therefore, man would understand the excellency of his soul, let him turn his eyes inwardly and look unto himself and search diligently his own mind, and there he shall see many admirable gifts and excellent ornaments, that must needs fill him with wonder and amazement; as reason, understanding, freedom of will, memory, etc., that clearly show the soul to be descended from a heavenly original, and that therefore it is of infinite duration and not subject to annihilation. yet for its many operations and offices while in the body it goes under several denominations: for when it enlivens the body it is called the soul; when it gives knowledge, the judgment of the mind; and when it recalls things past, the memory; when it discourses and discerns, reason; when it contemplates, the spirit; when it is the sensitive part, the senses. and these are the principal offices whereby the soul declares its powers and performs its actions. for being seated in the highest parts of the body it diffuses its force into every member. it is not propagated from the parents, nor mixed with gross matter, but the infused breath of god, immediately proceeding from him; not passing from one to another as was the opinion of pythagoras, who held a belief in transmigration of the soul; but that the soul is given to every infant by infusion, is the most received and orthodox opinion. and the learned do likewise agree that this is done when the infant is perfected in the womb, which happens about the twenty-fourth day after conception; especially for males, who are generally born at the end of nine months; but in females, who are not so soon formed and perfected, through defect of heat, until the fiftieth day. and though this day in either case cannot be truly set down, yet hippocrates has given his opinion, that it is so when the child is formed and begins to move, when born in due season. in his book of the nature of infants, he says, if it be a male and be perfect on the thirtieth day, and move on the seventieth, he will be born in the seventh month; but if he be perfectly formed on the thirty-fifth day, he will move on the seventieth and will be born in the eighth month. again, if he be perfectly formed on the forty-fifth day, he will move on the ninetieth and be born in the ninth month. now from these paring of days and months, it plainly appears that the day of forming being doubled, makes up the day of moving, and the day, three times reckoned, makes up the day of birth. as thus, when thirty-five perfects the form, if you double it, makes seventy the day of motion; and three times seventy amounts to two hundred and ten days; while allowing thirty days to a month makes seven months, and so you must consider the rest. but as to a female the case is different; for it is longer perfecting in the womb, the mother ever going longer with a girl than with a boy, which makes the account differ; for a female formed in thirty days does not move until the seventieth day, and is born in the seventh month; when she is formed on the fortieth day, she does not move till the eightieth and is born in the eighth month; but, if she be perfectly formed on the forty-fifth day she moves on the ninetieth, and the child is born in the ninth month; but if she that is formed on the sixtieth day, moves on the one hundred and tenth day, she will be born in the tenth month. i treat the more largely of love that the reader may know that the reasonable soul is not propagated by the parents, but is infused by the almighty, when the child has its perfect form, and is exactly distinguished in its lineaments. now, as the life of every other creature, as moses shows, is in the blood, so the life of man consists in the soul, which although subject to passion, by reason of the gross composures of the body, in which it has a temporary confinement, yet it is immortal and cannot in itself corrupt or suffer change, it being a spark of the divine mind. and that every man has a peculiar soul plainly appears by the vast difference between the will, judgment, opinions, manners, and affections in men. this david observes when he says: "god hath fashioned the hearts and minds of men, and has given to every one his own being and a soul of its own nature." hence solomon rejoiced that god had given him a soul, and a body agreeable to it. it has been disputed among the learned in what part of the body the soul resides; some are of opinion its residence is in the middle of the heart, and from thence communicates itself to every part, which solomon (prov. iv. ) seems to confirm when he says: "keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life." but many curious physicians, searching the works of nature in man's anatomy, do affirm that its chief seat is in the brain, from whence proceed the senses, the faculties, and actions, diffusing the operations of the soul through all parts of the body, whereby it is enlivened with heat and force to the heart, by the arteries, corodities, or sleepy arteries, which part upon the throat; which, if they happen to be broken or cut, they cause barrenness, and if stopped an apoplexy; for there must necessarily be ways through which the spirits, animal and vital, may have intercourse and convey native heat from the soul. for though the soul has its chief seat in one place, it operates in every part, exercising every member which are the soul's instruments, by which she discovers her power. but if it happen that any of the original parts are out of tune, its whole work is confused, as appears in idiots and mad men; though, in some of them, the soul, by a vigorous exertion of its power, recovers its innate strength and they become right after a long despondency in mind, but in others it is not recovered again in this life. for, as fire under ashes, or the sun obscured from our sight by thick clouds, afford not their native lustre, so the soul, overwhelmed in moist or morbid matter, is darkened and reason thereby overclouded; and though reason shines less in children than it does in such as are arrived at maturity, yet no man must imagine that the soul of an infant grows up with the child, for then would it again decay; but it suits itself to nature's weakness, and the imbecility of the body wherein it is placed, that it may operate the better. and as the body is more capable of recovering its influence, so the soul does more and more exert its faculties, having force and endowment at the time it enters the form of a child in the womb; for its substance can receive nothing less. and thus much to prove that the soul does not come from the parents, but is infused by god. i shall next prove its immortality and demonstrate the certainty of our resurrection. of the immortality of the soul that the soul of man is a divine ray, infused by the sovereign creator, i have already proved, and now come to show that whatever immediately proceeds from him, and participates of his nature, must be as immortal as its original; for, though all other creatures are endowed with life and motion, they yet lack a reasonable soul, and from thence it is concluded that their life is in their blood, and that being corruptible they perish and are no more; but man being endowed with a reasonable soul and stamped with a divine image, is of a different nature, and though his body is corruptible, yet his soul being of an immortal nature cannot perish; but at the dissolution of the body returns to god who gave it, either to receive reward or punishment. now, that the body can sin of itself is impossible, because wanting the soul, which is the principle of life, it cannot act nor proceed to anything either good or evil; for could it do so, it might even sin in the grave. but it is plain that after death there is a cessation; for as death leaves us so judgment will find us. now, reason having evidently demonstrated the soul's immortality, the holy scriptures do abundantly give testimony of the truth of the resurrection, as the reader may see by perusing the th and th chapters of job and th of john. i shall, therefore, leave the further discussion of this matter to divines, whose province it is, and return to treat of the works of nature. * * * * * chapter v _of monsters and monstrous births; and the several reasons thereof, according to the opinions of the ancients. also, whether the monsters are endowed with reasonable souls; and whether the devils can engender; is here briefly discussed._ by the ancients, monsters are ascribed to depraved conceptions, and are designated as being excursions of nature, which are vicious in one of these four ways: either in figure, magnitude, situation, or number. in figure, when a man bears the character of a beast, as did the beast in saxony. in magnitude, when one part does not equalise with another; as when one part is too big or too little for the other parts of the body. but this is so common among us that i need not produce a testimony. [illustration: there was a monster at ravenna in italy of this kind, in the year .] i now proceed to explain the cause of their generation, which is either divine or natural. the divine cause proceeds from god's permissive will, suffering parents to bring forth abominations for their filthy and corrupt affections, which are let loose unto wickedness like brute beasts which have no understanding. wherefore it was enacted among the ancient romans that those who were in any way deformed, should not be admitted into religious houses. and st. jerome was grieved in his time to see the lame and the deformed offering up spiritual sacrifices to god in religious houses. and keckerman, by way of inference, excludes all that are ill-shapen from this presbyterian function in the church. and that which is of more force than all, god himself commanded moses not to receive such to offer sacrifice among his people; and he also renders the reason leviticus, xxii. , "lest he pollute my sanctuaries." because of the outward deformity, the body is often a sign of the pollution of the heart, as a curse laid on the child for the incontinency of its parents. yet it is not always so. let us therefore duly examine and search out the natural cause of their generation, which (according to the ancients who have dived into the secrets of nature) is either in the mother or in the agent, in the seed, or in the womb. the matter may be in default two ways--by defect or by excess: by defect, when the child has only one arm; by excess, when it has four hands or two heads. some monsters are begotten by a woman's unnatural lying with beasts; as in the year , there was a monster begotten by a woman's generating with a dog; which from the navel upwards had the perfect resemblance of its mother: but from its navel downwards it resembled a dog. [illustration] the agent or womb may be in fault three ways; firstly, the formative faculty, which may be too strong or too weak, by which is procured a depraved figure; secondly, to the instrument or place of conception, the evil confirmation or the disposition whereof will cause a monstrous birth; thirdly, in the imaginative power at the time of conception; which is of such a force that it stamps the character of the thing imagined on the child. thus the children of an adulteress may be like her husband, though begotten by another man, which is caused through the force of imagination that the woman has of her own husband at the act of coition. and i have heard of a woman, who, at the time of conception, beholding the picture of a blackamoor, conceived and brought forth an ethiopian. i will not trouble you with more human testimonies, but conclude with a stronger warrant. we read (gen. xxx. ) how jacob having agreed with laban to have all the spotted sheep for keeping his flock to augment his wages, took hazel rods and peeled white streaks on them, and laid them before the sheep when they came to drink, which coupling together there, whilst they beheld the rods, conceived and brought forth young. [illustration: "where children thus are born with hairy coats heaven's wrath unto the kingdom it denotes"] another monster representing a hairy child. it was all covered with hair like a beast. that which made it more frightful was, that its navel was in the place where its nose should stand, and its eyes placed where the mouth should have been, and its mouth placed in the chin. it was of the male kind, and was born in france, in the year , at a town called arles in provence, and lived a few days, frightening all that beheld it. it was looked upon as a forerunner of desolations which soon after happened to that kingdom, in which men to each other were more like brutes than human creatures. there was a monster born at nazara in the year . it had four arms and four legs. the imagination also works on the child, after conception, of which we have a pregnant instance. a worthy gentlewoman in suffolk, who being with child and passing by a butcher who was killing his meat, a drop of blood sprung on her face, whereupon she said her child would have a blemish on its face, and at the birth it was found marked with a red spot. [illustration] likewise in the reign of henry iii, there was a woman delivered of a child having two heads and four arms, and the bodies were joined at the back; the heads were so placed that they looked contrary ways; each had two distinct arms and hands. they would both laugh, both speak, and both cry, and be hungry together; sometimes the one would speak and the other keep silence, and sometimes both speak together. they lived several years, but one outlived the other three years, carrying the dead one (for there was no parting them) till the survivor fainted with the burden, and more with the stench of the dead carcase. [illustration] it is certain that monstrous births often happen by means of undue copulation; for some there are, who, having been long absent from one another, and having an eager desire for enjoyment, consider not as they ought, to do as their circumstances demand. and if it happen that they come together when the woman's menses are flowing, and notwithstanding, proceed to the act of copulation, which is both unclean and unnatural, the issue of such copulation does often prove monstrous, as a just punishment for doing what nature forbids. and, therefore, though men should be ever so eager for it, yet women, knowing their own condition, should at such times positively refuse their company. and though such copulations do not always produce monstrous birth, yet the children, thus begotten, are generally heavy, dull, and sluggish, besides defective in their understandings, lacking the vivacity and loveliness with which children begotten in proper season are endowed. [illustration] [illustration] in flanders, between antwerp and mechlin, in a village called uthaton, a child was born which had two heads, four arms, seeming like two girls joined together, having two of their arms lifted up between and above their heads, the thighs being placed as it were across one another, according to the figure on p. . how long they lived i had no account of. by the figure on p. you may see that though some of the members are wanting, yet they are supplied by other members. it remains now that i make some inquiry whether those that are born monsters have reasonable souls, and are capable of resurrection. and here both divines and physicians are of opinion that those who, according to the order of generations deduced from our first parents, proceed by mutual means from either sex, though their outward shape be deformed and monstrous, have notwithstanding a reasonable soul, and consequently their bodies are capable of resurrection, as other men's and women's are; but those monsters that are not begotten by men, but are the product of women's unnatural lusts in copulating with other creatures shall perish as the brute beasts by whom they were begotten, not having a reasonable soul nor any breath of the almighty infused into them; and such can never be capable of resurrection. and the same is also true of imperfect and abortive births. some are of opinion that monsters may be engendered by some infernal spirit. of this mind was adigus fariur, speaking of a deformed monster born at craconia; and hieronimus cardamnus wrote of a maid that was got with child by the devil, she thinking it had been a fair young man. the like also is recorded by vicentius, of the prophet merlin, that he was begotten by an evil spirit. but what a repugnance it would be both to religion and nature, if the devils could beget men; when we are taught to believe that not any was ever begotten without human seed, except the son of god. the devil then being a spirit and having no corporeal substance, has therefore no seed of generation; to say that he can use the act of generation effectually is to affirm that he can make something out of nothing, and consequently to affirm the devil to be god, for creation belongs to god only. again, if the devil could assume to himself a human body and enliven the faculties of it, and cause it to generate, as some affirm he can, yet this body must bear the image of the devil. and it borders on blasphemy to think that god should so far give leave to the devil as out of god's image to raise his own diabolical offspring. in the school of nature we are taught the contrary, viz., that like begets like; therefore, of a devil cannot man be born. yet, it is not denied, but the devils, transforming themselves into human shapes, may abuse both men and women, and, with wicked people, use carnal copulation; but that any unnatural conjunction can bring forth a human creature is contrary to nature and all religion. * * * * * chapter vi _of the happy state of matrimony, as it is appointed by god, the true felicity that rebounds thereby to either sex; and to what end it is ordained._ without doubt the uniting of hearts in holy wedlock is of all conditions the happiest; for then a man has a second self to whom he can reveal his thoughts, as well as a sweet companion in his labours, toils, trials, and difficulties. he has one in whose breast, as in a safe cabinet, he can confide his inmost secrets, especially where reciprocal love and inviolable faith is centred; for there no care, fear, jealousy, mistrust or hatred can ever interpose. for base is the man that hateth his own flesh! and truly a wife, if rightly considered, as adam well observed, is or ought to be esteemed of every honest man as "bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh," etc. nor was it the least care of the almighty to ordain so near a union, and that for two causes; the first, for the increase of posterity; the second, to restrain man's wandering desires and affections; nay, that they might be yet happier, when god has joined them together, he "blessed them," as in gen. ii. an ancient writer, contemplating this happy state, says, in the economy of xenophon, "that the marriage bed is not only the most pleasant, but also profitable course of life, that may be entered on for the preservation and increase of posterity. wherefore, since marriage is the most safe, and delightful situation of man he does in no ways provide amiss for his own tranquillity who enters into it, especially when he comes to maturity of years." there are many abuses in marriage contrary to what is ordained, the which in the ensuing chapter i shall expose to view. but to proceed: seeing our blessed saviour and his holy apostles detested unlawful lusts, and pronounced those to be excluded the kingdom of heaven that polluted themselves with adultery and whoring, i cannot conceive what face people have to colour their impieties, who hating matrimony, make it their study how they may live licentiously: for, in so doing, they take in themselves torment, enmity, disquietude, rather than certain pleasure, not to mention the hazard of their immortal soul; and certain it is that mercenary love (or as the wise man called it harlot-smiles) cannot be true and sincere and therefore not pleasant, but rather a net laid to betray such as trust in them with all mischief, as solomon observes of the young man void of understanding, who turned aside to the harlot's house, "as a bird to the snare of the fowler, or as an ox to the slaughter, till a dart was struck through his liver." nor in this case can they have children, those endearing pledges of conjugal affection; or if they have, they will rather redound to their shame than comfort, bearing the odious brand of bastards. harlots, likewise are like swallows, flying in the summer season of prosperity; but the black stormy weather of adversity coming, they take wing and fly into other regions--that is, seek other lovers; but a virtuous, chaste wife, fixing her entire love upon her husband, and submitting to him as her head and king, by whose directions she ought to steer in all lawful courses, will, like a faithful companion, share patiently with him in all adversities, run with cheerfulness through all difficulties and dangers, though ever so hazardous, to preserve and assist him, in poverty, sickness, or whatsoever misfortunes befall him, acting according to her duty in all things; but a proud, imperious harlot will do no more than she lists, in the sunshine of prosperity; and like a horse-leech, ever craving, and never satisfied; still seeming displeased, if all her extravagant cravings be not answered; not regarding the ruin and misery she brings on him by those means, though she seems to doat upon him, used to confirming her hypocrisy with crocodile tears, vows and swoonings, when her cully has to depart awhile, or seems but to deny immediate desires; yet this lasts no longer than she can gratify her appetite, and prey upon his fortune. now, on the contrary, a loving, chaste and even-tempered wife, seeks what she may to prevent such dangers, and in every condition does all she can to make him easy. and, in a word, as there is no content in the embraces of a harlot, so there is no greater joy in the reciprocal affection and endearing embraces of a loving, obedient, and chaste wife. nor is that the principal end for which matrimony was ordained, but that the man might follow the law of his creation by increasing his kind and replenishing the earth; for this was the injunction laid upon him in paradise, before his fall. to conclude, a virtuous wife is a crown and ornament to her husband, and her price is above all rubies: but the ways of a harlot are deceitful. * * * * * chapter vii _of errors in marriages; why they are, and the injuries caused by them._ by errors in marriage, i mean the unfitness of the persons marrying to enter into this state, and that both with respect to age and the constitution of their bodies; and, therefore, those who design to enter into that condition ought to observe their ability and not run themselves into inconveniences; for those that marry too young may be said to marry unseasonably, not considering their inability, nor examining the forces of nature; for some, before they are ripe for the consummation of so weighty a matter, who either rashly, of their own accord, or by the instigation of procurers or marriage-brokers, or else forced thereto by their parents who covet a large dower take upon them this yoke to their prejudice; by which some, before the expiration of a year, have been so enfeebled, that all their vital moisture has been exhausted; which had not been restored again without great trouble and the use of medicines. therefore, my advice is: that it is not convenient to suffer children, or such as are not of age, to marry, or get children. he that proposes to marry, and wishes to enjoy happiness in that state, should choose a wife descended from honest and temperate parents, she being chaste, well bred, and of good manners. for if a woman has good qualities, she has portion enough. that of alcmena, in plautus, is much to the purpose, where he brings in a young woman speaking thus:-- "i take not that to be my dowry, which the vulgar sort do wealth and honour call; that all my wishes terminate in this:---- i'll obey my husband and be chaste withall; to have god's fear, and beauty in my mind, to do those good who are virtuously inclined." and i think she was in the right, for such a wife is more precious than rubies. it is certainly the duty of parents to bring up their children in the ways of virtue, and to have regard to their honour and reputation; and especially to virgins, when grown to be marriageable. for, as has been noted, if through the too great severity of parents, they may be crossed in their love, many of them throw themselves into the unchaste arms of the first alluring tempter that comes in the way, being, through the softness and flexibility of their nature, and the strong desire they have after what nature strongly incites them to, easily induced to believe men's false vows of promised marriage, to cover their shame: and then too late, their parents repent of their severity which has brought an indelible stain upon their families. [illustration: conception first month second month third month fourth month] [illustration: fifth month sixth month seventh month eighth month ninth month] another error in marriage is, the inequality of years in the parties married; such as for a young man, who, to advance his fortune, marries a woman old enough to be his grandmother: between whom, for the most part, strife, jealousies, and dissatisfaction are all the blessings which crown the genial bed, is being impossible for such to have any children. the like may be said, though with a little excuse, when an old doting widower marries a virgin in the prime of her youth and her vigour, who, while he vainly tries to please her, is thereby wedded to his grave. for, as in green youth, it is unfit and unseasonable to think of marriage, so to marry in old age is just the same; for they that enter upon it too soon are soon exhausted, and fall into consumptions and divers other diseases; and those who procrastinate and marry unseemingly, fall into the like troubles; on the other side having only this honour, if old men, they become young cuckolds, especially if their wives have not been trained up in the paths of virtue, and lie too much open to the importunity and temptation of lewd and debauched men. and thus much for the errors of rash and inconsiderate marriages. * * * * * chapter viii _the opinion of the learned concerning children conceived and born within seven months; with arguments upon the subject to prevent suspicion of incontinency, and bitter contest on that account. to which are added rules to know the disposition of man's body by the genital parts._ many bitter quarrels happen between men and their wives upon the man's supposition that the child comes too soon, and by consequence, that he could not be the father; whereas, it is the want of understanding the secrets of nature which brings the man into that error; and which, had he known, might have cured him of his suspicion and jealousy. to remove which, i shall endeavour to prove, that it is possible, and has been frequently known, that children have been born at seven months. paul, the counsel, has this passage in the th book of pleadings, viz.: "it is now a received truth, that a perfect child may be born in the seventh month, by the authority of the learned hippocrates; and therefore, we must believe that a child born at the end of the seventh month in lawful matrimony may be lawfully begotten." galen is of opinion that there is no certain time set for the bearing of children; and that from pliny's authority, who makes mention of a woman that went thirteen months with child; but as to what concerns the seventh month, a learned author says, "i know several married people in holland that had twins born in the seventh month, who lived to old age, having lusty bodies and lively minds. wherefore their opinion is absurd, who assert that a child at seven months cannot be perfect and long lived; and that it cannot in all parts be perfect until the ninth month." thereupon the author proceeds to tell a passage from his own knowledge, viz.: "of late there happened a great disturbance among us, which ended not without bloodshed; and was occasioned by a virgin, whose chastity had been violated, descending from a noble family of unspotted fame. several charged the fact upon the judge, who was president of a city in flanders, who firmly denied it, saying he was ready to take his oath that he never had any carnal copulation with her, and that he would not father that, which was none of his; and farther argued, that he verily believed it was a child born in seven months, himself being many miles distant from the mother of it when it was conceived. upon which the judges decreed that the child should be viewed by able physicians and experienced women, and that they should make their report. they having made diligent inquiry, all of them with one mind, concluded the child, without discussing who was the father, was born within the space of seven months, and that it was carried in the mother's womb but twenty-seven weeks and some odd days; but if she should have gone full nine months, the child's parts and limbs would have been more firm and strong, and the structure of the body more compact; for the skin was very loose, and the breast bone that defends the heart, and the gristles that lay over the stomach, lay higher than naturally they should be, not plain, but crooked and sharp, rigid or pointed, like those of a young chicken hatched in the beginning of spring. and being a female, it wanted nails upon the joints of the fingers; upon which, from the masculous cartilaginous matter of the skin, nails that are very smooth do come, and by degrees harden; she had, instead of nails, a thin skin or film. as for her toes, there were no signs of nails upon them, wanting the heat which was expanded to the fingers from the nearness of the heart. all this was considered, and above all, one gentlewoman of quality that assisted, affirming that she had been the mother of nineteen children, and that divers of them had been born and lived at seven months, though within the seventh month. for in such cases, the revolution of the month ought to be observed, which perfects itself in four bare weeks, or somewhat less than twenty-eight days; in which space of the revolution, the blood being agitated by the force of the moon, the courses of women flow from them; which being spent, and the matrix cleansed from the menstruous blood which happens on the fourth day, then, if a man on the seventh day lie with his wife, the copulation is most natural, and then the conception is best: and the child thus begotten may be born in the seventh month and prove very healthful. so that on this report, the supposed father was pronounced innocent; the proof that he was miles distant all that month in which the child was begotten; as for the mother she strongly denied that she knew the father, being forced in the dark; and so, through fear and surprise, was left in ignorance." as for coition, it ought not to be used unless the parties be in health, lest it turn to the disadvantage of the children so begotten, creating in them, through the abundance of ill humours, divers languishing diseases. wherefore, health is no better discerned than by the genitals of the man; for which reasons midwives, and other skilful women, were formerly wont to see the testicles of children, thereby to conjecture their temperature and state of body; and young men may know thereby the signs and symptoms of death; for if the cases of the testicles be loose and feeble, which are the proofs of life, are fallen, but if the secret parts are wrinkled and raised up, it is a sign that all is well, but that the event may exactly answer the prediction, it is necessary to consider what part of the body the disease possesseth; for if it chance to be the upper part that is afflicted, as the head or stomach, then it will not so then appear by the members, which are unconnected with such grievances; but the lower part of the body exactly sympathising with them, their liveliness, on the contrary, makes it apparent; for nature's force, and the spirits that have their intercourse, first manifest themselves therein; which occasions midwives to feel the genitals of children, to know in what part the gulf is residing, and whether life or death be portended thereby, the symptoms being strongly communicated to the vessels, that have their intercourse with the principal seat of life. * * * * * chapter ix _of the green-sickness in virgins, with its causes, signs and cures; together with the chief occasions of barrenness in women, and the means to remove the cause, and render them fruitful._ the green-sickness is so common a complaint amongst virgins, especially those of a phlegmatic complexion, that it is easily discerned, showing itself by discolouring the face, making it look green, pale, and of a dusty colour, proceeding from raw and indigested humours; nor doth it only appear to the eye, but sensibly affects the person with difficulty of breathing, pains in the head, palpitation of the heart, with unusual beatings and small throbbings of the arteries in the temples, back and neck, which often cast them into fevers when the humour is over vicious; also loathing of meat and the distention of the hypochondriac part, by reason of the inordinate effluxion of the menstruous blood of the greater vessels; and from the abundance of humours, the whole body is often troubled with swellings, or at least the thighs, legs and ankles, all above the heels; there is also a weariness of the body without any reason for it. the galenical physicians affirm, that this distemper proceeds from the womb; occasioned by the gross, vicious and rude humours arising from several inward causes; but there are also outward causes which have a share in the production of it; as taking cold in the feet, drinking of water, intemperance of diet, eating things contrary to nature, viz., raw or burnt flesh, ashes, coals, old shoes, chalk, wax, nutshells, mortar, lime, oatmeal, tobacco pipes, etc., which occasion both a suppression of the menses and obstructions through the whole body; therefore, the first thing necessary to vindicate the cause, is matrimonial conjunction, and such copulation as may prove satisfactory to her that is afflicted, for then the menses will begin to flow according to their natural and due course, and the humours being dispersed, will soon waste themselves; and then no more matter being admitted to increase them, they will vanish and a good temperament of body will return; but in case this best remedy cannot be had soon enough, then let blood in the ankles, and if she be about sixteen, you may likewise do it in the arm, but let her be bled sparingly, especially if the blood be good. if the disease be of any continuance, then it is to be eradicated by purging, preparation of the humour being first considered, which may be done by the virgin's drinking the decoction of guaiacum, with dittany of erete; but the best purge in this case ought to be made of aloes, agaric, senna, rhubarb; and for strengthening the bowels and removing obstructions, chaly-beate medicines are chiefly to be used. the diet must be moderate, and sharp things by all means avoided. and now, since barrenness daily creates discontent, and that discontent breeds indifference between man and wife, or, by immediate grief, frequently casts the woman into one or another distemper, i shall in the next place treat thereof. of barrenness. formerly, before women came to the marriage-bed, they were first searched by the mid-wife, and those only which she allowed of as fruitful were admitted. i hope, therefore, it will not be amiss to show you how they may prove themselves and turn barren ground into fruitful soil. barrenness is a deprivation of the life and power which ought to be in the seed to procreate and propagate; for which end men and women were made. causes of barrenness may be over much cold or heat, drying up the seed and corrupting it, which extinguishes the life of the seed, making it waterish and unfit for generation. it may be caused also, by the not flowing or over-flowing of the courses by swellings, ulcers, and inflammation of the womb, by an excrescence of flesh growing about the mouth of the matrix, by the mouth of the matrix being turned up to the back or side by the fatness of the body, whereby the mouth of the matrix is closed up, being pressed with the omentum or caul, and the matter of the seed is turned to fat; if she be a lean and dry body, and though she do conceive, yet the fruit of her body will wither before it come to perfection, for want of nourishment. one main cause of barrenness is attributed to want of a convenient moderating quality, which the woman ought to have with the man; as, if he be hot, she must be cold; if he be dry, she must be moist; as, if they be both dry or both moist of constitution, they cannot propagate; and yet, simply considering of themselves, they are not barren, for she who was before as the barren fig-tree being joined to an apt constitution becomes as the fruitful vine. and that a man and woman, being every way of like constitution, cannot create, i will bring nature itself for a testimony, who hath made man of a better constitution than woman, that the quality of the one, may moderate the quality of the other. signs of barrenness. if barrenness proceeds from overmuch heat, if she is a dry body, subject to anger, has black hair, quick pulse, and her purgations flow but little, and that with pain, she loves to play in the courts of venus. but if it comes by cold, then the signs are contrary to the above mentioned. if through the evil quality of the womb, make a suffumigation of red styrax, myrrh, cassia-wood, nutmeg, and cinnamon; and let her receive the fumes into her womb, covering her very close; and if the odour so received passes through the body to the mouth and nostrils, she is fruitful. but if she feels not the fumes in her mouth and nostrils, it argues barrenness one of these ways--that the spirit of the seed is either extinguished through cold, or dissipated through heat. if any woman be suspected to be unfruitful, cast natural brimstone, such as is digged out of mines, into her urine, and if worms breed therein, she is not barren. prognostics. barrenness makes women look young, because they are free from those pains and sorrows which other women are accustomed to. yet they have not the full perfection of health which other women enjoy, because they are not rightly purged of the menstruous blood and superfluous seed, which are the principal cause of most uterine diseases. first, the cause must be removed, the womb strengthened, and the spirits of the seed enlivened. if the womb be over hot, take syrup of succory, with rhubarb, syrup of violets, roses, cassia, purslain. take of endive, water-lilies, borage flowers, of each a handful; rhubarb, mirobalans, of each three drachms; make a decoction with water, and to the straining of the syrup add electuary violets one ounce, syrup of cassia half an ounce, manna three drachms; make a potion. take of syrup of mugwort one ounce, syrup of maiden-hair two ounces, pulv-elect triasand one drachm; make a julep. take prus. salt, elect. ros. mesua, of each three drachms, rhubarb one scruple, and make a bolus; apply to the loins and privy parts fomentations of the juice of lettuce, violets, roses, malloes, vine leaves and nightshade; anoint the secret parts with the cooling unguent of galen. if the power of the seed be extinguished by cold, take every morning two spoonfuls of cinnamon water, with one scruple of mithridate. take syrup of calamint, mugwort and betony, of each one ounce; waters of pennyroyal, feverfew, hyssop and sage, of each two ounces; make a julep. take oil of aniseed two scruples and a half; diacimini, diacliathidiamosei and diagla-ongoe, of each one drachm, sugar four ounces, with water of cinnamon, and make lozenges; take of them a drachm and a half twice a day, two hours before meals; fasten cupping glasses to the hips and belly. take of styrax and calamint one ounce, mastick, cinnamon, nutmeg, lign, aloes, and frankincense, of each half ounce; musk, ten grains, ambergris, half a scruple; make a confection with rosewater, divide it into four equal parts; one part make a pomatum oderation to smell at if she be not hysterical; of the second, make a mass of pills, and let her take three every other night: of the third make a pessary, dip it in oil of spikenard, and put it up; of the fourth, make a suffumigation for the womb. if the faculties of the womb be weakened, and the life of the seed suffocated by over much humidity flowing to those parts: take of betony, marjoram, mugwort, pennyroyal and balm, of each a handful; roots of alum and fennel, of each two drachms; aniseed and cummin, of each one drachm, with sugar and water a sufficient quantity; make a syrup, and take three ounces every morning. purge with the following things; take of the diagnidium, two grains, spicierum of castor, a scruple, pill foedit two scruples, with syrup of mugwort, make six pills. take apeo, diagem. diamoser, diamb. of each one drachm; cinnamon, one drachm and a half; cloves, mace and nutmeg, of each half a drachm; sugar six ounces, with water of feverfew; make lozenges, to be taken every morning. take of decoction of sarsaparilla and virga aurea, not forgetting sage, which agrippa, wondering at its operation, has honoured with the name of _sacra herba_, a holy herb. it is recorded by dodonoeus in the _history of plants_, lib. ii. cap. , that after a great mortality among the egyptians, the surviving women, that they might multiply quickly, were commanded to drink the juice of sage, and to anoint the genitals with oil of aniseed and spikenard. take mace, nutmeg, cinnamon, styrax and amber, of each one drachm; cloves, laudanum, of each half a drachm; turpentine, a sufficient quantity; trochisks, to smooth the womb. take roots of valerian and elecampane, of each one pound; galanga, two ounces; origan lavender, marjoram, betony, mugwort, bay leaves, calamint, of each a handful; make an infusion with water, in which let her sit, after she hath her courses. if barrenness proceed from dryness, consuming the matter of the seed; take every day almond milk, and goat's milk extracted with honey, but often of the root satyrion, candied, and electuary of diasyren. take three wethers' heads, boil them until all the flesh comes from the bones, then take melilot, violets, camomiles, mercury, orchia with their roots, of each a handful; fenugreek, linseed, valerian roots, of each one pound; let all these be decocted in the aforesaid broth, and let the woman sit in the decoction up to the navel. if barrenness be caused by any proper effect of the womb, the cure is set down in the second book. sometimes the womb proves barren where there is no impediment on either side, except only in the manner of the act; as when in the emission of the seed, the man is quick and the woman is slow, whereby there is not an emission of both seeds at the same instant as the rules of conception require. before the acts of coition, foment the privy parts with the decoction of betony, sage, hyssop and calamint and anoint the mouth and neck of the womb with musk and civet. the cause of barrenness being removed, let the womb be strengthened as follows; take of bay berries, mastic, nutmeg, frankincense, nuts, laudanum, giapanum, of each one drachm, styracis liquid, two scruples, cloves half a scruple, ambergris two grains, then make a pessary with oil of spikenard. take of red roses, lapididis hoematis, white frankincense, of each half an ounce. dragon's blood, fine bole, mastic, of each two drachms; nutmeg, cloves, of each one drachm; spikenard, half a scruple, with oil of wormwood; make a plaster for the lower part of the belly, then let her eat candied eringo root, and make an injection only of the roots of satyrion. the aptest time for conception is instantly after the menses have ceased, because then the womb is thirsty and dry, apt both to draw the seed and return it, by the roughness of the inward surface, and besides, in some, the mouth of the womb is turned into the back or side, and is not placed right until the last day of the courses. excess in all things is to be avoided. lay aside all passions of the mind, shun study and care, as things that are enemies to conception, for if a woman conceive under such circumstances, however wise the parents may be, the children, at best, will be but foolish; because the mental faculties of the parents, viz., the understanding and the rest (from whence the child derives its reason) are, as it were, confused through the multiplicity of cares and thought; of which we have examples in learned men, who, after great study and care, having connection with their wives, often beget very foolish children. a hot and moist air is most suitable, as appears by the women in egypt, who often bring forth three or four children at one time. * * * * * chapter x _virginity, what it is, in what it consists, and how vitiated; together with the opinions of the learned about the change of sex in the womb, during the operation of nature in forming the body._ there are many ignorant people that boast of their skill in the knowledge of virginity, and some virgins have undergone harsh censures through their ignorant conclusions; i therefore thought it highly necessary to clear up this point, that the towering imaginations of conceited ignorance might be brought down, and the fair sex (whose virtues are so illustriously bright that they excite our wonder and command our imitation), may be freed from the calumnies and detractions of ignorance and envy; and so their honour may continue as unspotted, as they have kept their persons uncontaminated and free from defilement. virginity, in a strict sense, signifies the prime, the chief, the best of anything; and this makes men so desirous of marrying virgins, imagining some secret pleasure is to be enjoyed in their embraces, more than in those of widows, or of such as have been lain with before, though not many years ago, a very great personage thought differently, and to use his own expression:--"the getting a maidenhead was such a piece of drudgery, that it was fitter for a coal heaver than a prince."[ ] but this was only his opinion, for i am sure that other men think differently. the curious inquirers into the secrets of nature, have observed, that in young maidens in the _sinus pudoris_, or in what is called the neck of the womb, is that wonderful production usually called the _hymen_, but in french _bouton de rose_, or rosebud, because it resembles the expanded bud of a rose or a gilly flower. from this the word _defloro_, or, deflower, is derived, and hence taking away virginity is called deflowering a virgin, most being of the opinion that the virginity is altogether lost when this membrane is fractured and destroyed by violence; when it is found perfect and entire, however, no penetration has been effected; and in the opinion of some learned physicians there is neither hymen nor expanded skin which contains blood in it, which some people think, flows from the ruptured membrane at the first time of sexual intercourse. now this _claustrum virginale_, or flower, is composed of four little buds like myrtle berries, which are full and plump in virgins, but hang loose and flag in women; and these are placed in the four angles of the _sinus pudoris_, joined together by little membranes and ligatures, like fibres, each of them situated in the testicles, or spaces between each bud, with which, in a manner, they are proportionately distended, and when once this membrane is lacerated, it denotes _devirgination_. thus many ignorant people, finding their wives defective in this respect on the first night, have immediately suspected their chastity, concluding that another man had been there before them, when indeed, such a rupture may happen in several ways accidentally, as well as by sexual intercourse, viz. by violent straining, coughing, or sneezing, the stoppage of the urine, etc., so that the entireness or the fracture of that which is commonly taken for a woman's virginity or maidenhead, is no absolute sign of immorality, though it is more frequently broken by copulation than by any other means.[ ] and now to say something of the change of the sexes in the womb. the genital parts of the sexes are so unlike each other in substance, composition, situation, figure, action and use that nothing is more unlike to each other than they are, and the more, all parts of the body (the breasts excepted, which in women swell, because nature ordained them for suckling the infant) have an exact resemblance to each other, so much the more do the genital parts of one sex differ, when compared with the other, and if they be thus different in form, how much more are they so in their use. the venereal feeling also proceeds from different causes; in men from the desire of emission, and in women from the desire of reception. all these things, then, considered i cannot but wonder, he adds, how any one can imagine that the female genital organs can be changed into the male organ, since the sexes can be distinguished only by those parts, nor can i well impute the reason for this vulgar error to anything but the mistake of inexpert midwives, who have been deceived by the faulty conformation of those parts, which in some males may have happened to have such small protrusions that they could not be seen, as appears by the example of a child who was christened in paris under the name of _ivan_, as a girl, and who afterwards turned out to be a boy, and on the other hand, the excessive tension of the clytoris in newly-born female infants may have occasioned similar mistakes. thus far pliny in the negative, and notwithstanding what he has said, there are others, such as galen, who assert the affirmative. "a man," he says, "is different from a woman, only by having his genitals outside his body, whereas a woman has them inside her." and this is certain, that if nature having formed a male should convert him into a female, she has nothing else to do but to turn his genitals inward, and again to turn a woman into a man by a contrary operation. this, however, is to be understood of the child whilst it is in the womb and not yet perfectly formed, for nature has often made a female child, and it has remained so for a month or two, in its mother's womb; but afterwards the heat greatly increasing in the genital organs, they have protruded and the child has become a male, but nevertheless retained some things which do not befit the masculine sex, such as female gestures and movements, a high voice, and a more effeminate temper than is usual with men; whilst, on the other hand, the genitals have become inverted through cold humours, but yet the person retained a masculine air, both in voice and gesture. now, though both these opinions are supported by several reasons, yet i think the latter are nearer the truth, for there is not that vast difference between the genitals of the two sexes as pliny asserts; for a woman has, in a way, the same _pudenda_ as a man, though they do not appear outwardly, but are inverted for the convenience of generation; one being solid and the other porous, and that the principal reason for changing sexes is, and must be attributed to heat or cold, which operates according to its greater or lesser force. footnotes: [ ] attributed to george iv (translator). [ ] a young man was once tried at rutland assizes for violating a virgin, and after close questioning, the girl swearing positively in the matter, and naming the time, place and manner of the action, it was resolved that she should be examined by a skilful surgeon and two midwives, who were to report on oath, which they did, and declared that the membranes were intact and unlacerated, and that, in their opinion, her body had not been penetrated. this had its due effect upon the jury, and they acquitted the prisoner, and the girl afterwards confessed that she swore it against him out of revenge, as he had promised to marry her, and had afterwards declined. * * * * * chapter xi _directions and cautions for midwives; and, first, what ought to be the qualifications of a midwife._ a midwife who wishes to acquit herself well in her employment, ought certainly not to enter upon it rashly or unadvisedly, but with all imaginable caution, remembering that she is responsible for any mischief which may happen through her ignorance or neglect. none, therefore, should undertake that duty merely because of their age or because they themselves have had many children, for, in such, generally, many things will be found wanting, which she should possess. she ought to be neither too old nor too young, neither very fat, nor so thin, as to be weak, but in a good habit of body; not subject to illness, fears, nor sudden frights; well-made and neat in her attire, her hands small and smooth, her nails kept well-trimmed and without any rings on her fingers whilst she is engaged in her work, nor anything upon her wrists that may obstruct her. and to these ought to be added activity, and a due amount of strength, with much caution and diligence, nor should she be given to drowsiness or impatience. she should be polite and affable in her manners, sober and chaste, not given to passion, liberal and compassionate towards the poor, and not greedy of gain when she attends the rich. she should have a cheerful and pleasant temper, so that she may be the more easily able to comfort her patients during labour. she must never be in a hurry, though her business may call her to some other case, lest she should thereby endanger the mother or the child. she ought to be wary, prudent, and intelligent, but above all, she ought to be possessed by the fear of god, which will give her both "knowledge and discretion," as the wise man says. * * * * * chapter xii _further directions to midwives, teaching them what they ought to do, and what to avoid._ since the duties of a midwife have such a great influence on the well-doing or the contrary of both women and children, in the first place, she must be diligent in gaining all such knowledge as may be useful to her in her practice, and never to think herself so perfect, but that it may be possible for her to add to her knowledge by study and experience. she should, however, never try any experiments unless she has tried them, or knows that they can do no harm; practising them neither upon rich nor poor, but freely saying what she knows, and never prescribing any medicines which will procure abortion, even though requested; for this is wicked in the highest degree, and may be termed murder. if she be sent for to people whom she does not know, let her be very cautious before she goes, lest by attending an infectious woman, she runs the danger of injuring others, as sometimes happens. neither must she make her dwelling a receiving-house for big-bellied women to discharge their load, lest it get her a bad name and she by such means loses her practice. in attending on women, if the birth happens to be difficult, she must not seem to be anxious, but must cheer the woman up and do all she can to make her labour easy. she will find full directions for this, in the second part of this book. she must never think of anything but doing well, seeing that everything that is required is in readiness, both for the woman and for receiving the child, and above all, let her keep the woman from becoming unruly when her pains come on, lest she endanger her own life, and the child's as well. she must also take care not to be hurried over her business but wait god's time for the birth, and she must by no means allow herself to be upset by fear, even if things should not go well, lest that should make her incapable of rendering that assistance which the woman in labour stands in need of, for where there is the most apparent danger, there the most care and prudence are required to set things right. and now, because she can never be a skilful midwife who knows nothing but what is to be seen outwardly, i do not think it will be amiss but rather very necessary, modestly to describe the generative parts of women as they have been anatomised by learned men, and to show the use of such vessels as contribute to generation. * * * * * chapter xiii _the external, and internal organs of generation in women._ if it were not for the public benefit, especially for that of the professors and practitioners of the art of midwifery, i would refrain from treating the secrets of nature, because they may be turned to ridicule by lascivious and lewd people. but as it is absolutely necessary that they should be known for the public good, i will not omit them because some may make a wrong use of them. those parts which can be seen at the lowest part of the stomach are the _fissure magna_, or the _great cleft_, with its _labia_ or lips, the _mons veneris_, or mountain of venus, and the hair. these together are called the _pudenda_, or things to be ashamed of because when they are exposed they cause a woman _pudor_, or shame. the _fissure magna_ reaches from the lower part of the _os pubis_, to within an inch of the _anus_, but it is less and closer in virgins than in those who have borne children, and has two lips, which grow thicker and fuller towards the pubis, and meeting on the middle of the _os pubis_, form that rising hill which is called the _mons veneris_, or the hill of venus. next come the _nymphae_ and the _clitoris_, the former of which is a membrany and moist substance, spongy, soft and partly fleshy, of a red colour and in the shape of two wings, which are joined at an acute angle at their base, producing a fleshy substance there which covers the clitoris, and sometimes they extend so far, that an incision is required to make room for a man's instrument of generation. the _clitoris_ is a substance in the upper part of the division where the two wings meet, and the seat of venereal pleasure, being like a man's _penis_ in situation, substance, composition and power of erection, growing sometimes to the length of two inches out of the body, but that never happens except through extreme lustfulness or some extraordinary accident. this _clitoris_ consists of two spongy and skinny bodies, containing a distinct original from the _os pubis_, its tip being covered with a tender skin, having a hole or passage like a man's yard or _penis_, although not quite through, in which alone, and in its size it differs from it. the next things are the fleshy knobs of the great neck of the womb, and these knobs are behind the wings and are four in number, resembling myrtle berries, and being placed quadrangularly one against the other, and here the orifice of the bladder is inserted, which opens into the fissures, to evacuate the urine, and one of these knobs is placed before it, and closes up the passage in order to secure it from cold, or any suchlike inconvenience. the lips of the womb, which appear next, disclose its neck, if they are separated, and two things may be observed in them, which are the neck itself and the _hymen_, or more properly, the _claustrum virginale_, of which i have spoken before. by the neck of the womb we must understand the channel that lies between the above-mentioned knobs and the inner bone of the womb, which receives the penis like a sheath, and so that it may be more easily dilated by the pleasure of procreation, the substance is sinewy and a little spongy. there are several folds or pleats in this cavity, made by tunicles, which are wrinkled like a full blown rose. in virgins they appear plainly, but in women who are used to copulation they disappear, so that the inner side of the neck of the womb appears smooth, but in old women it is more hard and gristly. but though this channel is sometimes crooked and sinks down yet at the times of copulation, labour, or of the monthly flow, it is erected or distended, which overtension occasions the pain in childbirth. the hymen, or _claustrum virginale_, is that which closes the neck of the womb, and is broken by the first act of copulation; its use being rather to check the undue menstrual flow in virgins, rather than to serve any other purpose, and usually when it is broken, either by copulation, or by any other means, a small quantity of blood flows from it, attended with some little pain. from this some observe that between the folds of the two tunicles, which constitute the neck of the womb there are many veins and arteries running along, and arising from, the vessels on both sides of the thighs, and so passing into the neck of the womb, being very large; and the reason for this is, that the neck of the bladder requires to be filled with great vigour, so as to be dilated, in order that it may lay hold of the penis better; for great heat is required in such motions, and that becomes more intense by the act of friction, and consumes a considerable amount of moisture, for supplying which large vessels are absolutely necessary. another cause of the largeness of the vessels is, that menses make their way through them, which often occasions pregnant women to continue menstruating: for though the womb be shut up, yet the passages in the neck of the womb through which these vessels pass, are open. in this case, we may further observe, that as soon as the _pudenda_ are penetrated, there appear two little pits or holes which contain a secretion, which is expelled during copulation, and gives the woman great pleasure. * * * * * chapter xiv _a description of the fabric of the womb, the preparing vessels and testicles in women. also of the different and ejaculatory vessels._ the womb is joined to its neck in the lower part of the _hypogastrium_ where the hips are the widest and broadest, as they are greater and broader there than those of men, and it is placed between the bladder and the straight gut, which keeps it from swaying, and yet gives it freedom to stretch and dilate, and again to contract, as nature requires. its shape is somewhat round and not unlike a gourd, growing smaller and more acute towards one end, being knit together by its own ligaments; its neck likewise is joined by its own substance and by certain membranes that fasten into the _os sacrum_ and the share-bone. its size varies much in different women, and the difference is especially great between those who have borne children and those who have had none. its substance exceeds a thumb's breadth in thickness, and so far from decreasing conception, it rather increases; and in order to strengthen it it is interwoven with fibres which cross it from side to side, some of which are straight and some winding, and its proper vessels are veins, arteries and nerves. amongst these there are two small veins which pass into the womb from the spermatic vessels, and two larger ones from the neck: the mouth of these veins pierces as far as the inward cavity. [illustration: position of a child in the womb just before delivery.] [illustration: the action of quickening] the womb has two arteries on both sides of the spermatic vessels and the hypogastric, which accompany the veins; and besides these, there are several little nerves in the form of a net, which extend throughout it, from the bottom of the _pudenda_; their chief function is sensibility and pleasure, as they move in sympathy between the head and the womb. it may be further noted that the womb is occasionally moveable by means of the two ligaments that hang on either side of it, and often rises and falls. the neck of the womb is extremely sensitive, so that if it be at any time out of order through over fatness, moisture or relaxation, it thereby becomes subject to barrenness. with pregnant women, a glutinous matter is often found at the entrance to the womb so as to facilitate the birth; for at the time of delivery, the mouth of the womb is opened as wide as the size of the child requires, and dilates equally from top to bottom. the spermatic vessels in women, consist of two veins and two arteries, which differ from those of men only in size and the manner of their insertion; for the number of veins and arteries is the same as in men, the right vein issuing from the trunk of the hollow vein descending and besides them there are two arteries, which flow from the aorta. these vessels are narrower and shorter in women than in men; but it must be noticed that they are more intertwined and contorted than in men, and shrink together by reason of their shortness that they may, by their looseness, be better stretched out when necessary: and these vessels in women are carried in an oblique direction through the lesser bowels and testicles but are divided into two branches half way. the larger goes to the stones and forms a winding body, and wonderfully inoculates the lesser branches where it disperses itself, and especially at the higher part of the bottom of the womb, for its nourishment, and that part of the courses may pass through the vessels; and seeing that women's testicles are situated near the womb, for that cause those vessels do not fall from the peritoneum, nor do they make so much passage as in men, as they do not extend to the share-bone. the stones of woman, commonly called _testicles_, do not perform the same function as in men, for they are altogether different in position, size, temperature, substance, form and covering. they are situated in the hollow of the muscles of the loins, so that, by contracting greater heat, they may be more fruitful, their office being to contain the ova or eggs, one of which, being impregnated by the man's seed engenders the child. they are, however, different from those of the male in shape, because they are smaller and flatter at each end, and not so round or oval; the external superficies is also more unequal, and has the appearance of a number of knobs or kernels mixed together. there is a difference, also, in the substance, as they are much softer and more pliable, and not nearly so compact. their size and temperature are also different for they are much colder and smaller than in men, and their covering or enclosure is likewise quite different; for as men's are wrapped in several covers, because they are very pendulous and would be easily injured unless they were so protected by nature, so women's stones, being internal and thus less subject to being hurt, are covered by only one membrane, and are likewise half covered by the peritoneum. the ejaculatory vessels are two small passages, one on either side, which do not differ in any respect from the spermatic veins in substance. they rise in one place from the bottom of the womb, and do not reach from their other extremity either to the stones or to any other part, but are shut up and impassable, and adhere to the womb as the colon does to the blind gut, and winding half way about; and though the testicles are not close to them and do not touch them, yet they are fastened to them by certain membranes which resemble the wing of a bat, through which certain veins and arteries passing from the end of the testicles may be said to have their passages going from the corners of the womb to the testicles, and these ligaments in women are the _cremasters_[ ] in men, of which i shall speak more fully when i come to describe the male parts of generation. footnotes: [ ] muscles by which the testicles are drawn up. * * * * * chapter xv _a description of the use and action of the several generative parts in women._ the external parts, commonly called the _pudenda_, are designed to cover the great orifice and to receive the man's penis or yard in the act of sexual intercourse, and to give passage to the child and to the urine. the use of the wings and knobs, like myrtle berries, is for the security of the internal parts, closing the orifice and neck of the bladder and by their swelling up, to cause titillation and pleasure in those parts, and also to obstruct the involuntary passage of the urine. the action of the clitoris in women is similar to that of the penis in men, viz., _erection_; and its lower end is the glans of the penis, and has the same name. and as the _glans_ of man are the seat of the greatest pleasure in copulation, so is this in the woman. the action and use of the neck on the womb is the same as that of the penis, viz., erection, brought about in different ways: first, in copulation it becomes erect and made straight for the passage of the penis into the womb; secondly, whilst the passage is filled with the vital blood, it becomes narrower for embracing the penis; and the uses of this erection are twofold:--first, because if the neck of the womb were not erected, the man's yard could find no proper passage to the womb, and, secondly, it hinders any damage or injury that might ensue through the violent striking of the _penis_ during the act of copulation. the use of the veins that pass through the neck of the womb, is to replenish it with blood and vigour, that so, as the moisture is consumed by the heat engendered by sexual intercourse, it may be renewed by those vessels; but their chief business is to convey nutriment to the womb. the womb has many properties belonging to it: first, the retention of the impregnated egg, and this is conception, properly so called; secondly, to cherish and nourish it, until nature has fully formed the child, and brought it to perfection, and then it operates strongly in expelling the child, when the time of its remaining has expired, becoming dilated in an extraordinary manner and so perfectly removed from the senses that they cannot injuriously affect it, retaining within itself a power and strength to eject the foetus, unless it be rendered deficient by any accident; and in such a case remedies must be applied by skilful hands to strengthen it, and enable it to perform its functions; directions for which will be given in the second book. the use of the preparing vessels is this; the arteries convey the blood to the testicles; some part of it is absorbed in nourishing them, and in the production of these little bladders (which resemble eggs in every particular), through which the _vasa preparantia_ run, and which are absorbed in them; and the function of the veins is to bring back whatever blood remains from the above mentioned use. the vessels of this kind are much shorter in women than in men, because they are nearer to the testicles; this defect is, however, made good by the many intricate windings to which those vessels are subject; for they divide themselves into two branches of different size in the middle and the larger one passes to the testicles. the stones in women are very useful, for where they are defective, the work of generation is at an end. for though those bladders which are on the outer surface contain no seed, as the followers of galen and hippocrates wrongly believed, yet they contain several eggs, generally twenty in each testicle; one of which being impregnated by the animated part of the man's seed in the act of copulation, descends through the oviducts into the womb, and thus in due course of time becomes a living child. * * * * * chapter xvi _of the organs of generation in man._ having given a description of the organs of generation in women, with the anatomy of the fabric of the womb, i shall now, in order to finish the first part of this treatise, describe the organs of generation in men, and how they are fitted for the use for which nature intended them. the instrument of generation in men (commonly called the yard, in latin, _penis_, from _pendo_, to hang, because it hangs outside the belly), is an organic part which consists of skin, tendons, veins, arteries, sinews and great ligaments; and is long and round, and on the upper side flattish, seated under the _os pubis_, and ordained by nature partly for the evacuation of urine, and partly for conveying the seed into the womb; for which purpose it is full of small pores, through which the seed passes into it, through the _vesicula seminalis_,[ ] and discharges the urine when they make water; besides the common parts, viz., the two nervous bodies, the septum, the urethra, the glans, four muscles and the vessels. the nervous bodies (so called) are surrounded with a thick white, penetrable membrane, but their inner substance is spongy, and consists chiefly of veins, arteries, and nervous fibres, interwoven like a net. and when the nerves are filled with animal vigour and the arteries with hot, eager blood, the penis becomes distended and erect; also the neck of the _vesicula urinalis_,[ ] but when the influx of blood ceases, and when it is absorbed by the veins, the penis becomes limp and flabby. below those nervous bodies is the urethra, and whenever they swell, it swells also. the penis has four muscles; two shorter ones springing from the _cox endix_ and which serve for erection, and on that account they are called _erectores_; two larger, coming from _sphincters ani_, which serve to dilate the urethra so as to discharge the semen, and these are called dilatantes, or wideners. at the end of the penis is the _glans_, covered with a very thin membrane, by means of which, and of its nervous substance, it becomes most extremely sensitive, and is the principal seat of pleasure in copulation. the outer covering of the _glans_ is called the _preputium_ (foreskin), which the jews cut off in circumcision, and it is fastened by the lower part of it to the _glans_. the penis is also provided with veins, arteries and nerves. the _testiculi_, stones or testicles (so called because they testify one to be a man), turn the blood, which is brought to them by the spermatic arteries into seed. they have two sorts of covering, common and proper; there are two of the common, which enfold both the testes. the outer common coat, consists of the _cuticula_, or true skin, and is called the scrotum, and hangs from the abdomen like a purse; the inner is the _membrana carnosa_. there are also two proper coats--the outer called _cliotrodes_, or virginales; the inner _albugidia_; in the outer the cremaster is inserted. the _epididemes_, or _prostatae_ are fixed to the upper part of the testes, and from them spring the _vasa deferentia_, or _ejaculatoria_, which deposit the seed into the _vesicule seminales_ when they come near the neck of the bladder. there are two of these _vesiculae_, each like a bunch of grapes, which emit the seed into the urethra in the act of copulation. near them are the _prostatae_, about the size of a walnut, and joined to the neck of the bladder. medical writers do not agree about the use of them, but most are of the opinion that they produce an oily and sloppy discharge to besmear the urethra so as to defend it against the pungency of the seed and urine. but the vessels which convey the blood to the testes, from which the seed is made, are the _arteriae spermaticae_ and there are two of them also. there are likewise two veins, which carry off the remaining blood, and which are called _venae spermaticae_. footnotes: [ ] seminal vesicle. [ ] urinary vesicle. * * * * * chapter xvii _a word of advice to both sexes, consisting of several directions with regard to copulation._ as nature has a mutual desire for copulation in every creature, for the increase and propagation of its kind, and more especially in man, the lord of creation and the masterpiece of nature, in order that such a noble piece of divine workmanship should not perish, something ought to be said concerning it, it being the foundation of everything that we have hitherto been treating of, since without copulation there can be no generation. seeing, therefore, so much depends upon it, i have thought it necessary, before concluding the first book, to give such directions to both sexes, for the performance of that act, as may appear efficacious to the end for which nature designed it, but it will be done with such caution as not to offend the chastest ear, nor to put the fair sex to the blush when they read it. in the first place, then, when a married couple from the desire of having children are about to make use of those means that nature has provided for that purpose, it is well to stimulate the body with generous restoratives, that it may be active and vigorous. and the imagination should be charmed with sweet music, and if all care and thoughts of business be drowned in a glass of rosy wine, so that their spirit may be raised to the highest pitch of ardour, it would be as well, for troubles, cares or sadness are enemies to the pleasures of venus. and if the woman should conceive when sexual intercourse takes place at such times of disturbance, it would have a bad effect upon the child. but though generous restoratives may be employed for invigorating nature, yet all excess should be carefully avoided, for it will check the briskness of the spirits and make them dull and languid, and as it also interferes with digestion, it must necessarily be an enemy _to_ copulation; for it is food taken moderately and that is well digested, which enables a man to perform the dictates of nature with vigour and activity, and it is also necessary, that in their mutual embraces they meet each other with equal ardour, for, if not, the woman either will not conceive, or else the child may be weak bodily, or mentally defective. i, therefore, advise them to excite their desires mutually before they begin their conjugal intercourse, and when they have done what nature requires, a man must be careful not to withdraw himself from his wife's arms too soon, lest some sudden cold should strike into the womb and occasion miscarriage, and so deprive them of the fruits of their labour. and when the man has withdrawn himself after a suitable time, the woman should quietly go to rest, with all calmness and composure of mind, free from all anxious and disturbing thoughts, or any other mental worry. and she must, as far as possible, avoid turning over from the side on which she was first lying, and also keep from coughing and sneezing, because as it violently shakes the body, it is a great enemy to conception. * * * * * a private looking-glass for the female sex * * * * * part ii * * * * * chapter i _treating of the several maladies incident to the womb, with proper remedies for the cure of each._ the womb is placed in the _hypogastrium_, or lower part of the body, in the cavity called the _pelvis_, having the straight gut on one side to protect it against the hardness of the backbone, and the bladder on the other side to protect it against blows. its form or shape is like a virile member, with this exception, that the man's is outside, and the woman's inside. it is divided into the neck and body. the neck consists of a hard fleshy substance, much like cartilage, and at the end of it there is a membrane placed transversely, which is called the hymen. near the neck there is a prominent pinnacle, which is called the door of the womb, because it preserves the _matrix_ from cold and dust. the greeks called it _clitoris_, and the latins _praeputium muliebre_, because the roman women abused these parts to satisfy their mutual unlawful lusts, as st. paul says, romans . . the body of the womb is where the child is conceived, and this is not altogether round, but dilates itself into two angles; the outward part is full of sinews, which are the cause of its movements, but inside it is fleshy. it is wrongly said, that in the cavity of the womb there are seven divided cells or receptacles for the male seed, but anatomists know that there are only two, and also that those two are not divided by a partition, but only by a line or suture running through the middle of it. at the bottom of the cavity there are little holes called _cotyledones_, which are the ends of certain veins or arteries, and serve breeding women to convey nourishment to the child, which is received by the umbilical and other veins, to carry the courses to the _matrix_. as to menstruation, it is defined as a monthly flow of bad and useless blood, and of the super-abundance of it, for it is an excrement in quality, though it is pure and incorrupt, like the blood in the veins. and that the menstruous blood is pure in itself, and of the same quality as that in the veins, is proved in two ways.--first, from the final object of the blood, which is the propagation and preservation of mankind, that man might be conceived; and that, being begotten, he might be comforted and preserved both in and out of the womb, and all allow that it is true that a child in the matrix is nourished by the blood. and it is true that when it is out of it, it is nourished by the same; for the milk is nothing but the menstruous blood made white in the breast. secondly, it is proved to be true by the way it is produced, as it is the superfluity of the last aliment of the fleshy parts. the natural end of man and woman's being is to propagate. now, in the act of conception one must be an active agent and the other passive, for if both were similarly constituted, they could not propagate. man, therefore, is hot and dry, whilst woman is cold and moist: he is the agent, and she the passive or weaker vessel, that she may be subject to the office of the man. it is necessary that woman should be of a cold constitution, because a redundancy of nature for the infant that depends on her is required of her; for otherwise there would be no surplus of nourishment for the child, but no more than the mother requires, and the infant would weaken the mother, and like as in the viper, the birth of the infant would be the death of the parent. the monthly purgations continue from the fifteenth to the forty-sixth or fiftieth year; but a suppression often occurs, which is either natural or morbid: the courses are suppressed naturally during pregnancy, and whilst the woman is suckling. the morbid suppression remains to be spoken of. * * * * * chapter ii _of the retention of the courses._ the suppression of the menstrual periods, is an interruption of that accustomed evacuation of blood, which comes from the matrix every month, and the part affected is the womb. cause. the cause of this suppression is either external or internal. the external cause may be heat or dryness of air, want of sleep, too much work, violent exercise, etc., whereby the substance is so consumed, and the body so exhausted that nothing is left over to be got rid of, as is recorded of the amazons who, being active and constantly in motion, had their courses very little, if at all. or it may be brought about by cold which is very frequent, as it vitiates and thickens the blood, and binds up the passages, so that it cannot flow out. the internal cause is either instrumental or material; in the womb or in the blood. in the womb, it may be in various ways; by humours, and abscesses and ulcers, by the narrowness of the veins and passages, or by the adipose membrane in fat bodies, pressing on the neck of the matrix, but then they must have hernia, zirthilis, for in men the membrane does not reach so low; by too much cold or heat, the one vitiating the action, and the other consuming the matter through the wrong formation of the uterine parts; by the neck of the womb being turned aside, and sometimes, though rarely, by a membrane or excrescence of the flesh growing at the mouth or neck of the womb. the blood may be in fault in two ways, in quantity and in quality; in quantity, when it is so consumed that no surplus is left over, as in viragoes or virile women, who, through their heat and natural strength, consume it all in their last nourishment; as hippocrates writes of prethusa, for when her husband praised her overmuch, her courses were suppressed, her voice changed and she got a beard with a manly face. but i think, rather that these must be _gynophagi_, or woman-eaters, rather than women-breeders, because they consume one of the principles of generation, which gives a being to the world, viz., the menstruous blood. the blood may likewise be lost, and the courses checked by nosebleeding, by bleeding piles, by dysentery, commonly called the bloody flux, by many other discharges, and by chronic diseases. secondly, the matter may be vitiated in quality, and if it be sanguineous, sluggish, bilious or melancholy, and any of these will cause an obstruction in the veins. signs. signs which manifest the disease are pains in the head, neck, back and loins; weariness of the whole body (but especially of the hips and legs, because the womb is near those parts); palpitation of the heart. the following are particular signs:--if the suppression arises from a cold, the woman becomes heavy, sluggish, pale and has a slow pulse; venus' combats are neglected, the urine is thick, the blood becomes watery and great in quantity, and the bowels become constipated. if it arises from heat, the signs are just the opposite. if the retention be natural and arises from conception, this may be known by drinking hydromel, i.e., water and honey, after supper, before going to bed, by the effect which it has; for if after taking it, she feels a heating pain about the navel and the lower parts of the abdomen, it is a sign that she has conceived, and that the suppression is natural. prognostics. the whole body is affected by any disorder of the womb, and especially the heart, the liver and the brain, and there is a singular sympathy between the womb and those three organs. firstly, the womb communicates with the heart by the mediation of those arteries which come from the aorta. hence, when menstruation is suppressed, fainting, swooning, a very low pulse, and shortness of breath will ensue. secondly, it communicates with the liver by the veins derived from the hollow vein. obstructions, jaundice, dropsy, induration of the spleen will follow. thirdly, it communicates with the brain by the nerves and membranes of the back; hence arise epilepsy, madness, fits of melancholy, pains in the back of the head, unaccountable fears and inability to speak. i may, therefore, well agree with hippocrates that if menstruation be suppressed, many dangerous diseases will follow. cure. in the cure of this, and of all the other following cases, i shall observe the following order:--the cures will be taken from surgical, pharmaceutical and diuretical means. the suppression has a plethoric effect, and must be removed by the evacuation; therefore we begin with bleeding. in the middle of the menstrual period, open the liver vein, and two days before, open the saphena in both feet; if the repletion is not very great apply cupping glasses to the legs and thighs, although there may be no hope of removing the suppression. as in some women, the cotyledones are so closed up that nothing but copulation will open them, yet it will be well to relieve the woman as much as possible by opening the hemoroid veins by applying a leech. after bleeding let the place be prepared and made flexible with syrup of stychas, calamint, betony, hyssop, mugwort, horehound, fumitary, maidenhair. bathe the parts with camomiles, pennyroyal, savias, bay-leaves, juniper-berries, rue, marjoram, feverfew. take a handful each of nep, maidenhair, succory and betony leaves and make a decoction, and take three ounces of it, syrup of maidenhair, mugwort and succory, half an ounce of each. after she comes out of her bath, let her drink it off. purge with _pill agaric, fleybany, corb, feriae_. in this case, galen recommends _pilulae of caberica coloquintida_; for, as they are good for purging the bad humours, so also they open the passages of the womb, and strengthen it by their aromatic qualities. if the stomach be over-loaded, let her take an emetic, yet such a one as may work both ways, lest if it only works upwards, it should check the humours too much. take two drachms of trochisks of agaric, infuse this in two ounces of oxymel in which dissolve one scruple and a half of _electuary dissarum_, and half an ounce of _benedic laxit_. take this as a purge. after the humour has been got rid of, proceed to more suitable and stronger remedies. take a drachm and a half of trochisk of myrrh; ten grains of musk with the juice of smallage; make twelve pills and take six every morning, or after supper, on going to bed. take half an ounce of cinnamon, two drachms each of smirutium, or rogos, valerin aristolochia; two scruples each of astrumone root and saffron; two drachms of spec. diambia; four scruples of trochisk of myrrh; two scruples tartari vitriolari; make half into a powder; make lozenges with mugwort water and sugar, and take one drachm of them every morning; or mix a drachm of the powder with one drachm of sugar, and take it in white wine. take two drachms each of prepared steel and spec. hair; one scruple each of borax and spec. of myrrh, with savine juice; make it up into eighty-eight lozenges and take three every other day before dinner. take one scruple of castor, half a drachm of wild carrot seed with syrup of mugwort, and make four pills, take them in the morning fasting, for three days following, before the usual time of purging. take five drachms each of agaric, aristolochia, and juice of horehound; six drachma each of rhubarb, spikenard, aniseed, guidanum, asafoetida, mallow-root, gentian, of the three peppers and of liquorice: make an electuary with honey, and take three drachms for a dose. for phlegmatic constitutions nothing can be better than the decoction of guaiacum wood with a little disclaim, taken fasting in the morning, for twelve days consecutively, without producing sweating. treat the lower parts of the body to suffumigating, pessaries, ointments and injections; for fumigating use cinnamon, nutmeg, the berries of the bay tree, mugwort, galbanum, molanthium, amber, etc. make pessaries of figs and the bruised leaves of dog's mercury, rolled up in lint, and if a stronger one is required, make one of myrrh, opopanax, ammoniac, galbanum, sagepanum, mithridate, agaric, coloquintida, tec. make injections of a decoction of origane mugwort, dog's mercury, betony, and eggs; inject into the womb with a female syringe. take half an ounce each of oil of almonds, lilies, capers, camomiles; two drachms each of laudanum and oil of myrrh; make a salve with wax, with which anoint the place; make injections of fenugreek, camomiles, melilot, dill, marjoram, pennyroyal, feverfew, juniper berries and calamint; but if the suppression arises from a lack of matter, then the courses ought not to be brought on until the spirits be raised and the amount of blood increased; or if it arises from affections of the womb itself, as dropsy or inflammation, then particular care must be used; but i will not lay stress on this here, but will mention the remedies in their order. if the retention comes from repletion or fullness, if the air be hot and dry, take moderate exercise before meals, and very light diet and drinks, and with your food take garden savory--thyme and origane, if it arises from emptiness and defect of matter: if the weather be moist and moderately hot, avoid exercise and late hours; let your food be nourishing and easy of digestion, such as raw eggs, lamb, chickens, almonds, milk and the like. * * * * * chapter iii _of excessive menstruation._ the learned say, that truth is manifested by comparing contraries, and so, as i have above spoken of the suppression of menstruation, it is now necessary that i should treat of excessive menstruation, which is no less dangerous than the former. this immoderate monthly flow is defined as a sanguineous discharge, as it consists merely of blood, wherein it differs from the false courses or whites, of which i shall speak further on. secondly, it is said to proceed from the womb; for there are two ways in which the blood issues forth; one by the internal veins of the body of the womb (and this is properly called the monthly flow), the other is by those veins which terminate in the neck of the matrix, which aetius calls haemorrhoids of the womb. in quantity, hippocrates said, it should be about eighteen ounces, and they should last about three days: and when the faculties of the body are weakened by their flow, we may take it that the discharge is inordinate. in bodies which abound in gross humours, this immoderate flow sometimes unburdens nature of her load and ought not to be checked without a physician's advice. cause. the cause is either internal or external. the internal cause is threefold; in the substance, the instrument or the power. the matter, which is the blood, may be vitiated in two ways; first, by the heat of the constitution, climate or season, heating the blood, whereby the passages are dilated, and the power weakened so that it cannot retain the blood. secondly, by falls, blows, violent motions, rupture of the veins, etc. the external cause may be the heat of the air, heavy burdens, unnatural childbirth, etc. signs. in this excessive flow the appetite is lessened, conception is checked and all the functions weakened; the feet swell, the colour of the face changes, and the whole body is weakened. if the flow comes from the rupture of a vein, the body is sometimes cold, the blood flows out in streams, suddenly, and causes great pain. if it arises from heat, and the orifice of the vein is dilated, there is little or no pain, but yet the blood flows faster than it does when caused by erosion, but not so fast as it does in a rupture. if caused by erosion, the woman feels a scalding of the passage, and it differs from the other two, in so much as it does not flow so quickly or so freely as they do. if it is caused by weakness of the womb, the woman feels a dislike for sexual intercourse. lastly, if it proceeds from the defective quality of the blood let some of it drop into a cloth, and when it is dry, you may judge, of the quality by the colour. if it be passionate it will be yellow; if melancholy, it will be black, and if phlegmatic, it will be waterish and whitish. prognostics. if convulsions are joined to the flow, it is dangerous, because that intimates that the noble parts are affected, convulsions caused by emptiness are deadly. if they continue long, they will be very difficult to cure, and it was one of the miracles which our saviour christ wrought, to cure a woman of this disease of twelve years standing. to conclude, if the flow be excessive, many diseases will follow, which will be almost impossible to cure; the blood, being consumed together with the innate heat, either morbid, dropsical, or paralytical diseases will follow. cure. the cure consists in three particulars. first, in expelling and carrying away the blood. secondly, in connecting and removing the fluxibility of the matter. thirdly, in incorporating the veins and faculties. for the first, to get rid of the superfluous blood, open a vein in the arm, and draw off as much blood as the strength of the patient will allow; not all at one time, but at intervals, for by those means the spirits are less weakened, and the reaction so much the greater. apply cupping glasses to the breasts and also over the liver, and to correct the flexibility of the matter, purgative means, moderated by astringents, may be employed. if it is caused by erosion, and salt phlegm, prepare with syrup of violets, wormwood, roses, citron peel, succory, etc. then make the following purge:--mirabolans, half an ounce; trochisks of agaric, one drachm; make a decoction with the plantain-water, and add syrup of roses lax. three ounces, and make a draught. if caused by any mental excitement, prepare the body by syrup of roses, myrtles, sorrel and parsley, mixed with plantain-water, knot-grass and endive. then purge with the following draught:--take one drachm each of the void of mirabolans, and rhubarb, cinnamon fifteen grains; infuse for a night in endive water; add to the strained water half an ounce of pulp of tamarinds and of cassia, and make a draught. if the blood be waterish as it is in dropsical subjects and flows out easily on account of its thinness, it will be a good plan to draw off the water by purging with agaric, elaterium and coloquintida. sweating is also useful in this case, as by it the noxious matter is carried off, and the motion of the blood to other parts. to produce sweating, employ cardus water, and mithridate, or a decoction of guaiacum and sarsaparilla. gum guaiacum is also a great producer of perspiration, and sarsaparilla pills, taken every night before going to bed are also highly to be recommended. if the blood pours out, without any evil quality in itself, then strengthening means only should be employed, which is a thing to be done in cases of inordinate discharge. take one scruple of ol. ammoniac, one drachm of treacle, half an ounce of conserve of roses and make an electuary with syrup of myrtle, or if the discharge be of long standing take two drachms of matrix, one drachm of olilanum troch. de carbara, a scruple of balustium; make into a powder and form into pills with syrup of quinces, and take one before every meal. take two scruples each of troch. dechambede, scoriaferri, coral and frankincense; pound these to a fine powder, and make into lozenges with sugar and plantain water. asses' dung is also approved of, whether taken inwardly with syrup of quinces or applied outwardly with steeled water. galen by sending the juice of it into the womb by means of a syringe for four days consecutively, cured this immediate flow, which could not be checked in any other way. let the patient take one scruple and a half of pilon in water before going to bed; make a fumigation for the womb of mastic, frankincense and burnt frogs, adding the hoof of a mule. take an ounce each of the juice of knot-grass, comfoly and quinces; a drachm of camphor; dip a piece of silk or cotton into it and apply it to the place. take half an ounce each of oil of mastic, myrtle, and quinces; a drachm each of fine bole and troch. decardas, and a sufficient quantity of dragon's blood, make an ointment and apply it before and behind. take an ounce and a half each of plantain, shepherd's purse and red rose leaves; an ounce of dried mint, and three ounces of bean flour; boil all these in plantain water and make two plasters:--apply one before and one behind. if the blood flows from those veins which are terminated at the neck of the matrix, then it is not called an undue discharge of the _menses_, but haemorrhoids of the womb. the same remedy, however, will serve for both, only the instrumental cure will be a little different; for in uterine haemorrhoids, the ends of the veins hang over like teats, which must be removed by cutting, and then the veins closed with aloes, fine bole, burnt alum, myrrh, mastic, with comfoly-juice and knot grass, laid upon it like a plaster. [illustration: _position of the embryos in a plural conception_] [illustration: process of delivery.] the air should be cold and dry, and all motion of the body should be prohibited. her diet should consist of pheasants, partridges, grouse, rabbits, calves' feet, etc., and her drink should be mixed with the juice of pomegranates and quinces. * * * * * chapter iv _of the weeping of the womb._ the weeping of the womb is an unnatural flow of blood, coming from it in drops, like tears, and causing violent pains in it, and occurring at no fixed period or time. by some it is supposed to be produced by the excessive flow of the courses, as they flow copiously and freely; this is continued, though only little at a time, and accompanied by great pain and difficulty of passing it, and on this account it is compared to the strangury. the cause is in the power, instrument or matter; in the power, on account of its being enfeebled so that it cannot expel the blood, and which, remaining there, makes that part of the womb grow hard, and distends the vessels, and from that, pains in the womb arise. in the instrument, from the narrowness of the passage. lastly, it may be the matter of the blood which is at fault, and which may be in too great quantities; or the quality may be bad, so that it is thick and gross and cannot flow out as it ought to do, but only in drops. the signs will best be ascertained by the patient's own account, but there will be pains in the head, stomach and back, with inflammation, difficulty of breathing and excoriation of the matrix. if the patient's strength will permit it, first open a vein in the arm, rub the upper parts and let a cord be fastened tightly round the arm, so that the force of the blood may be carried backward; then apply such things as may relax the womb, and assuage the heat of the blood, as poultices made of bran, linseed, mallows, dog's mercury and artiplex. if the blood be viscous and thick, add mugwort, calamint, dictain and betony to it, and let the patient take about the size of a nutmeg of venic treacle, and syrup of mugwort every morning; make an injection of aloes, dog's mercury, linseed, groundsel, mugwort, fenugreek, with sweet almond oil. sometimes it is caused by wind, and then bleeding must not be had recourse to, but instead take one ounce of syrup of feverfew; half an ounce each of honey, syrup of roses, syrup of stachus; an ounce each of calamint water, mugwort, betony and hyssop, and make a julep. if the pain continues, use this purge:--take a drachm of spec. hitrae, half an ounce of diacatholicon, one ounce of syrup of roses and laxative, and make a draught with a decoction of mugwort and the four cordial flowers. if it proceeds from weakness, she must be strengthened, but if from grossness of blood, let the quality of it be altered, as i have shown in the preceding chapter. lastly, if her bowels are confined, move them by an injection of a decoction of camomiles, betony, feverfew, mallows, linseed, juniper-berries, cumminseed, aniseed, melilot, and add to it half an ounce of diacatholicon; two drachms of hiera piera, an ounce each of honey and oil and a drachm and a half of sol. nitre. the patient must abstain from salt, acid and windy food. * * * * * chapter v _the false courses, or whites._ from the womb, not only the menstruous blood proceeds, but many evacuations, which were summed up by the ancients under the title of _rhoos gunaikeios_,[ ] which is the distillation of a variety of corrupt humours through the womb, which flow from the whole body or a part of it, varying both in courses and colour. cause. the cause is either promiscuously in the whole body, by a cacochymia; or weakness of it, or in some of its parts, as in the liver, which by a weakness of the blood producing powers, cause a production of corrupt blood, which then is reddish. sometimes, when the fall is sluggish in its action, and does not get rid of those superfluities engendered in the liver, the matter is yellowish. sometimes it is in the spleen when it does not cleanse the blood of the dregs and rejected particles, and then the matter which flows forth is blackish. it may also come from a cold in the head, or from any other decayed or corrupted member, but if the discharge be white, the cause lies either in the stomach or loins. in the stomach, by some crude substance there, and vitiated by grief, melancholy or some other mental disturbance; for otherwise, if the matter were only crude phlegm and noways corrupt, being taken into the liver it might be converted into the blood; for phlegm in the ventricle is called nourishment half digested; but being corrupt, though sent into the liver it cannot be turned into nutriment, for the second decoction in the stomach cannot correct that which the first corrupted; and therefore the liver sends it to the womb, which can neither digest nor reject it, and so it is voided out with the same colour which it had in the ventricle. the cause may also be in the veins being overheated whereby the spermatical matter flows out because of its thinness. the external causes may be moistness of the air, eating bad food, anger, grief, sloth, too much sleep, costiveness. the signs are bodily disturbances, shortness of breathing, and foul breath, a distaste for food, swollen eyes and feet, and low spirits; discharges of different colours, as red, black, green, yellow and white from the womb. it differs from the flowing of the courses and from too abundant menstruation, in so far as it keeps no certain period, and is of many colours, all of which spring from blood. if the flux be phlegmatic, it will last long and be hard to cure, but if sickness or diarrhoea supervene, it carries off the humour and cures the disease. if it is abundant it does not last so long, but it is more dangerous, for it will cause a cleft in the neck of the womb, and sometimes also an excoriation of the matrix; if melancholy, it must be dangerous and obstinate. the flux of the haemorrhoids, however, assists the cure. if the matter which flows out be reddish, open a vein in the arm; if not, apply ligatures to the arms and shoulders. galen boasts that he cured the wife of brutus, who was suffering from this disease, by rubbing the upper part with honey. if it is caused by the brain, take syrup of betony and marjoram. give as a purgative _pill. coch._ or _agaric_; make nasalia of sage, or hyssop juice, betony, flagella, with one drop of oil of _elect. dianth. rosat. diambrae, diamosci dulus_, one drachm of each, and make lozenges to be taken every morning and evening. _auri alexandrina_, half a drachm at night on going to bed. if these things have no effect, try suffumigation and plasters, as they are prescribed above. if it arises from crudities of the stomach or from a cold, disordered liver, take a decoction of _lignum sanctum_ every morning, purge with _pill de agaric, de hermadact, de hiera, diacolinthis, foetid-agrigatio_; take two drachms of elect. aromet-roses, one scruple each of dried citron peel, nutmeg, long pepper; one drachm of draglanga; half a scruple each of _fantalum album_, ling, aloes; six ounces of sugar, with mint water: make lozenges of it, and take them before meals. if there be repletion besides the rigidity of the liver, purging by means of an emetic is to be recommended, for which take three drachms of the electuary diasatu. galen allows diuretical remedies, such as _aqua petrofolma_. if the discharge be angry, treat it with syrup of roses, violets, endive and succory; give a purge of mirabolans, manna, rhubarb, and cassia. take two drachms of rhubarb, one of aniseed, and one scruple and a half of cinnamon; infuse them into six ounces of syrup of prunes, and add one ounce of strained manna, and take it in the morning as required. take one drachm each of the following drugs: _diatonlanton, diacorant, diarthod, abbaris, dyacydomei_, four ounces of sugar, and make into lozenges with plantain water. if the gall be sluggish, and does not stir the bowels, give warm injections of a decoction of the four mollifying herbs, with honey of roses and aloes. if the flow be bilious, treat the patient with syrup of maiden-hair; epithynium, polypody, borage, buglos, fumitary, hart's tongue and syrups, bisantius, which must be made without vinegar, else it will assist the disease instead of nature, for melancholy is increased by the use of vinegar, and both hippocrates, silvius and avenzoar reject it as injurious for the womb, and therefore not to be used internally in uterine diseases. _pilulae sumariae, pilulae lud. delupina, lazuli diosena_ and _confetio hamec_ are purges of bile. take two ounces of pounded prunes, one drachm of senna, a drachm and a half each of epithimium, polypody and fumitary, and an ounce of sour dates, and make a decoction with endive water; take four ounces of it and add three drachms of hamesech and three of manna. or take a scruple each of _pil. indic. foetid, agarici, trochis ati_; one scruple of rhubarb pills, six grains of lapis lazuli, make into pills with epithimium, and take them once a week. take three drachms of elect. loetificans. galen three drachms, a drachm each of _diamargaritum, calimi, diamosci dulus_; a drachm of conserve of borage, violets and burglos; one drachm of candied citron peel, seven ounces of sugar, and make into lozenges with rose water. lastly let the womb be cleansed of all corrupt matter, and then be strengthened. in order to purify it, make injections of the decoction of betony, feverfew, spikenard, bismust, mercury and sage, and add two ounces each of sugar and sweet almond oil; pessaries may also be made of silk or cotton, softened in the juice of the above mentioned herbs. you must prepare trochisks, thus, to strengthen the womb. take one ounce each of mugwort, feverfew, myrrh, amber, mace, storax, ling aloes and red roses, and make lozenges or troches with mucilage of tragacanth; throw one of them on to hot coals and fumigate the womb with red wine, in which mastic, fine bole, malustia and red roots have been decocted; anoint the matrix with oil of quinces and myrtles, and apply a plaster to it, for the womb; and let the woman take _diamosdum dulco_, _aract_, and _slemoticum_ every morning. a drying diet is recommended as best, because in these cases the body abounds with phlegmatic and crude humours. on this account, hippocrates advises the patient to go to bed supperless. her food should consist of partridges, pheasant and grouse, roasted rather than boiled, too much sleep must be prohibited whilst moderate exercise is very advisable. footnotes: [ ] the female flowing. * * * * * chapter vi _the suffocation of the mother._ this, which if simply considered, will be found to be merely the cause of an effect, is called in english, "the suffocation of the mother," not because the womb is strangled, but because by its retraction towards the midriff and stomach, which presses it up, so that the instrumental cause of respiration, the midriff, is suffocated, and acting with the brain, cause the animating faculty, the efficient cause of respiration, also to be interrupted, when the body growing cold, and the action weakened, the woman falls to the ground as if she were dead. some women remain longer in those hysterical attacks than others, and rabbi moses mentions some who lay in the fit for two days. rufus writes of one who continued in it for three days and three nights, and revived at the end of the three days. and i will give you an example so that we may take warning by the example of other men. paroetus mentions a spanish woman who was suddenly seized with suffocation of the womb, and was thought to be dead. her friends, for their own satisfaction, sent for a surgeon in order to have her opened, and as soon as he began to make an incision, she began to move, and come to herself again with great cries, to the horror and surprise of all those present. in order that the living may be distinguished from the dead, old writers prescribe three experiments. the first is, to lay a feather on the mouth, and by its movements you may judge whether the patient be alive or dead; the second is, to place a glass of water on the breast, and if it moves, it betokens life; the third is, to hold a bright, clean, looking-glass to the mouth and nose, and if the glass be dimmed with a little moisture on it, it betokens life. these three experiments are good, but you must not depend upon them too much, for though the feather and the glass do not move, and the looking-glass continues bright and clear, yet it is not a necessary consequence that she is dead. for the movement of the lungs, by which breathing is produced, may be checked, so that she cannot breathe, and yet internal heat may remain, which is not evident by the motion of the breast or lungs, but lies hidden in the heart and arteries. examples of this we find in flies and swallows, who seem dead to all outward appearances, breathless and inanimate, and yet they live by that heat which is stored up in the heart and inward arteries. at the approach of summer, however, the internal heat, being restored to the outer parts, they are then brought to life again, out of their sleeping trance. those women, therefore, who apparently die suddenly, and from no visible cause, should not be buried until the end of three days, lest the living be buried instead of the dead. cure. the part affected is the womb, of which there are two motions--natural and symptomatic. the natural motion is, when the womb attracts the male seed, or expels the infant, and the symptomatical motion, of which we are speaking, is a convulsive drawing up of the womb. the cause is usually in the retention of the seed, or in the suppression of the menses, which causes a repletion of the corrupt humours of the womb, from which a windy refrigeration arises, which produces a convulsion of the ligaments of the womb. and just as it may arise from humidity or repletion, so also, as it is a convulsion, it may be caused by dryness or emptiness. lastly also, it may arise from abortion or from difficult childbirth. signs. on the approach of suffocation of the womb the face becomes pale, there is a weakness of the legs, shortness of breathing, frigidity of the whole body, with a spasm in the throat, and then the woman falls down, bereft of sense and motion; the mouth of the womb is closed up, and feels hard when touched with the finger. when the paroxysm or the fit is over, she opens her eyes, and as she feels an oppression of the stomach, she tries to vomit. and lest any one should be deceived into taking one disease for another, i will show how it may be distinguished from those diseases which most resemble it. it differs from apoplexy, as it comes without the patient crying out; in hysterical fits also the sense of feeling is not altogether destroyed and lost, as it is in apoplexy; and it differs from epilepsy, as the eyes are not distorted, and there is spongy froth from the mouth. that convulsive motion also, which is frequently accompanied by symptoms of suffocation, is not universal, as it is in epilepsy, but there is some convulsion, but that without any violent agitation. in syncope both breathing and the pulse fail, the face grows pale, and the woman faints suddenly; but in hysterical attacks there are usually both breathing and pulse, though these are indistinct; the face is red and she has a forewarning of the approaching fit. it cannot, however, be denied that syncope may accompany this feeling of suffocation. lastly, it can be distinguished from lethargy by the pulse, which is rapid in the former, but weak in the latter. cure. in the cure of this affection, two things must be taken care of:--_in the first place_, nature must be stimulated to expel these hurtful humours which obscure the senses, so that the woman may be brought back from that sleepy fit. _secondly_, during the intervals of the attack, proper remedies must be employed, in order to remove the cause. to stimulate nature, apply cupping-glasses to the hips and navel: apply ligatures to the thighs, rub the extremities with salt, mustard and vinegar, and shout and make a great noise in her ears. hold asafoetida to the nose, or sacopenium steeped in vinegar; make her sneeze by blowing castor-powder, white pepper and hellebore up her nose; hold burnt feathers, hair, leather, or anything else with a strong, stinking smell under her nose, for bad odours are unpleasant to nature, and the animal spirits so strive against them, that the natural heat is restored by their means. the brain is sometimes so oppressed, that it becomes necessary to burn the outer skin of the head with hot oil, or with a hot iron, and strong injections and suppositories are useful. take a handful each of sage, calamint, horehound, feverfew, marjoram, betony and hyssop; half an ounce of aniseed; two drachma each of coloquintida, white hellebore and salgem; boil these in two quarts of water till reduced to half; add two ounces of castor oil and two drachms of hiera piera and make an injection of it. or take two ounces of boiled honey, half a scruple of spurge, four grains of coloquint, two grains of hellebore and drachm of salt; make a suppository. hippocrates mentions a hysterical woman who could only be relieved of the paroxysms by pouring cold water on her: yet this is a strange cure, and should only be administered in the heat of summer, when the sun is in the tropic of cancer. if it be caused by the retention and corruption of the seed, let the mid-wife take oil of lilies, marjoram and bay leaves, and dissolve two grains of civet in them, and the same quantity of musk, and at the moment of the paroxysm let her dip her finger into the mixture and put it into the neck of the womb, and tickle and rub it with it. when the fit is over, proceed to remove the cause. if it arises from suppression of the menses, look in chapter xi, p. , for the cure. if it arises from the retention of the seed, a good husband will administer the cure, but those who cannot honourably obtain that remedy, must use such means as will dry up and diminish the seed, as diaciminum, diacalaminthes, etc. the seed of the agnus castus is highly valued as a draught, whether taken inwardly, applied outwardly or used as a suffumigation. it was held in high esteem by the athenian women, for by its means they remained as pure vessels and preserved their chastity, by only strewing it on the bed on which they lay, and hence the name of _agnus castus_, which was given to it, as denoting its effects. make an issue on the inside of each leg, four inches below the knee, and then make lozenges of two scruples of agric, half a scruple each of wild carrot seed and ligne aloes; three drachms of washed turpentine, and make a bolus with a conserve of flowers. eight drachms of castor taken in white wine are very useful in this case, or you may make pills of it with dog's tooth, and take them on going to bed. take an ounce of white briony root dried and cut up like carrots, put it into a little wine and place it on the fire, and drink when warm. take one scruple each of myrrh, castor and asafoetida; four grains each of saffron and rue-seed, and make eight pills and take two every night on going to bed. galen, from his own experience, recommends powdered agaric, of which he frequently gave one scruple in white wine. put a head of bruised garlic on the navel at bed time, and fasten it with a swathing band. make a girdle for the waist of galbanum, and also a plaster for the stomach, and put civet and musk on one part of it, which must be applied to the navel. take two drachms each of pulvis benedict, and of troches of agaric, a sufficient quantity of mithridate, and make two pessaries, and that will purge the matrix of wind and phlegm; foment the private parts with salad oil in which some feverfew and camomiles have been boiled. take a handful of roseleaves and two scruples of cloves, sew them in a little cloth and boil them for ten minutes in malmsey; then apply them, as hot as they can be borne, to the mouth of the womb, but do not let the smell go up her nose. a dry diet must still be adhered to and the moderate use of venus is advisable. let her eat aniseed biscuits instead of bread, and roast meat instead of boiled. * * * * * chapter vii _of the descending or falling of the womb._ the descent of the womb is caused by a relaxation of the ligatures, whereby the matrix is carried backward, and in some women it protrudes to the size of an egg, and there are two kinds of this, distinguished by a descending and a precipitation. the descending of the womb is, when it sinks down to the entrance of the private parts, and appears either very little or not at all, to the eye. its precipitation is when it is turned inside out like a purse, and hangs out between the thighs, like a cupping glass. cause. this is either external or internal. the external cause is difficult childbirth, violent pulling away, or inexperience in drawing away the child, violent coughing, sneezing, falls, blows, and carrying heavy burdens. the internal cause, is generally the flow of too much moisture into these parts, which hinders the operation of the womb, whereby the ligaments by which the womb is supported are relaxed. the particular cause, however, lies in the retention of the _semen_, or in the suppression of the monthly courses. signs. the principal gut and the bladder are often so crushed, that the passage of both evacuations is hindered. if the urine flows out white and thick, and the midriff is interfered with, the loins suffer, the private parts are in pain, and the womb descends to them, or else comes clean out. prognostics. if an old woman is thus affected, the cure is very difficult, because it weakens the womb, and therefore, though it may be put back into its proper place, yet it is apt to get displaced again, by a very slight amount of illness. and also with younger women, if this disease is inveterate, and if it is caused by putrefaction of the nerves, it is incurable. cure. the womb, being placed by nature between the straight gut and the bladder, ought not to be put back again until the powers of both are excited. now that nature is relieved of her burden, let the woman be laid on her back so that her legs may be higher than her head; let her feet be drawn up towards her private parts, and her knees spread open. then apply oil of sweet almonds and lilies, or a decoction of mallows, beet, fenugreek and linseed, to the swelling; when the inflammation is reduced, let the midwife rub her hand with oil of mastic, and restore the womb to its proper place. when the matrix is up, the patient's position must be changed. her legs must be put out quite straight and laid together, and apply six cupping glasses to her breast and navel. boil feverfew, mugwort, red rose leaves and comfrey in red wine; make a suffumigation for the matrix, and apply sweet scents to her nose. when she comes out of her bath, give her an ounce of syrup of feverfew with a drachm of dog's tooth (_mithridate_). take three drachms each of laudanum and mastic, and make a plaster for the navel of it, and then make pessaries of asafoetida, saffron, comfrey, and mastic, adding a little castor oil.--parius in such cases makes his pessaries only of cork, shaped like a small egg; he covered them with wax and mastic dissolved together, and fastening them to a thread, he put them into the womb. the immediate danger being now removed and the matrix returned to its natural place the remote cause must be got rid of. if she be of full habit of body open a vein, after preparing her with syrup of betony, calamint, hyssop and feverfew. give a purge, and if the stomach be oppressed with any crude matter relieve it by emetics and by sudorifics of lignum sanctum and sassafras taken twenty days consecutively, which dry up the superfluous moisture, and consequently suppress the cause of the disease. the air should be hot and dry, and her diet hot and attenuating. let her abstain from dancing, jumping, sneezing, as well as from all mental and bodily emotions, eat sparingly, not drink much, and be moderate in her sleep. * * * * * chapter viii _of the inflammation of the womb._ the phlegmon, or inflammation of the matrix, is a humour which affects the whole womb, and is accompanied by unnatural heat, by obstruction and by an accumulation of corrupt blood. cause. the cause of this affection is suppression of the courses, fullness of body, the immoderate use of sexual intercourse, frequent handling the genitals, difficult child-birth, violent motions of the body, falls, blows, to which may be added, the use of strong pessaries, whereby the womb is frequently inflamed, cupping glasses, also, fastened to the _pubis_ and _hypogastrium_, draw the humours of the womb. signs. the signs are pains in the lower parts of the body and head, humours, sickness, coldness in the knees, throbbing in the neck, palpitation of the heart. often, also, there is shortness of breath because of the heart which is close to the midriff, and the breasts sympathising with the swollen and painful womb. besides this, if the front of the matrix be inflamed, the privates suffer, and the urine is suppressed, or only flows with difficulty. if the hinder part be inflamed, the loins and back suffer, and the bowels are very costive; if the right side be inflamed, the right hip suffers, and the right leg is heavy and moves slowly, so that at times she seems almost lame. if, however, the left side of the womb be inflamed, then the left hip suffers and the left leg is weaker than the right. if the neck of the womb is affected, by putting her finger in, the midwife feels that its mouth is contracted and closed up, and that it is hard round it. cure. in the cure, first of all, let the humours which flow to the womb be expelled. to effect this, after the bowels have been loosened by cooling clysters bleeding will be necessary. therefore, open a vein in the arm, if she is not with child; the day after strike the saphena in both feet, fasten ligatures and cupping glasses to the arm, and rub the upper part. purge gently with cassia, rhubarb, senna and myrobalan. take one drachm of senna, a scruple of aniseed, myrobalan, half an ounce, with a sufficient quantity of barley water. make a decoction and dissolve syrup of succory in it, and two ounces of rhubarb; pound half an ounce of cassia with a few drops of oil of aniseed and make a draught. at the commencement of the disease, anoint the private parts and loins with oil of roses and quinces: make plasters of plantain, linseed, barley meal, melilot, fenugreek, white of eggs, and if the pain be intense, a little laudanum; foment the genitals with a decoction of poppy-heads, purslace, knot-grass and water-lilies. make injections of goat's milk, rose water, clarified whey and honey of roses. when the disease is on a decline, use injections of sage, linseed, mugwort, pennyroyal, horehound, fenugreek, and anoint the lower parts of the stomach with oil of camomiles and violets. take four ounces each of lily and mallow roots, a handful of dog's mercury, a handful and a half each of mugwort, feverfew, camomile flowers and melilot, bruise the herbs and roots, and boil them in a sufficient quantity of milk; then add two ounces each of fresh butter, oil of camomiles and lilies, with a sufficient quantity of bran, make two plasters, and apply one before and the other behind. if the tumour cannot be removed, but seems inclined to suppurate, take three drachms each of fenugreek, mallow roots, boiled figs, linseed, barley meal, dove's dung and turpentine; half a drachm of deer's suet, half a scruple of opium and make a plaster of wax. take bay leaves, sage, hyssop, camomiles, and mugwort, and make an infusion in water. take half a handful of wormwood and betony and half a pint each of white wine and milk, boil them until reduced to half; then take four ounces of this decoction and make an injection, but you must be careful that the humours are not brought down into the womb. take three drachms each of roast figs, and bruised dog's mercury; three drachms each of turpentine and duck's grease, and two grains of opium; make a pessary with wax. the room must be kept cool, and all motions of the body, especially of the lower parts, must be prohibited. wakefulness is to be recommended, for humours are carried inward by sleep, and thus inflammation is increased. eat sparingly, and drink only barley water or clarified whey, and eat chickens and chicken broth, boiled with endive, succory, sorrel, bugloss and mallows. * * * * * chapter ix _of scirrhous tumours, or hardness of the womb._ a _scirrhus_, or a hard unnatural swelling of the matrix is generally produced by neglected, or imperfectly cured phlegm, which, insensibly, hinders the functions of the womb, and predisposes the whole body to listlessness. cause. one cause of this disease may be ascribed to want of judgment on the part of the physician, as many empirics when attending to inflammation of the womb, chill the humour so much that it can neither pass backward nor forward, and hence, the matter being condensed, turns into a hard, stony substance. other causes may be suppression of the menses, retention of the _lochein_, commonly called the after purging; eating decayed meat, as in the disordered longing after the _pleia_ to which pregnant women are often subject. it may, however, also proceed from obstructions and ulcers in the matrix or from some evil affections of the stomach or spleen. if the bottom of the womb be affected, she feels, as it were, a heavy burden representing a mole,[ ] yet differing from it, in that the breasts are attenuated, and the whole body grows less. if the neck of the womb be affected, no outward humours will appear; its mouth is retracted and feels hard to the touch, nor can the woman have sexual intercourse without great pain. prognostics. confirmed scirrhus is incurable, and will turn to cancer or incurable dropsy, and when it ends in cancer it proves fatal, because as the innate heat of these parts is almost smothered, it can hardly be restored again. cure. where there is repletion, bleeding is advisable, therefore open a vein in one arm and in both feet, more especially if the menses are suppressed. treat the humours with syrup of borage, succory made with a poultice, and then take the following pills, according to the patient's strength. hiera piera six drachms, two and a half drachms each of black hellebore and polypody; a drachm and a half each of agaric, lapis lazuli, sal indiae, coloquintida, mix them and make two pills. after purging, mollify the hardness as follows:--the privy parts and the neck of the womb with an ointment of decalthea and agrippa; or take two drachms each of opopanax, bdellium, ammoniac and myrrh, and half a drachm of saffron; dissolve the gum in oil of lilies and sweet almond and make an ointment with wax and turpentine. apply diacatholicon ferellia below the navel, and make infusions of figs, mugwort, mallows, pennyroyal, althea, fennel roots, melilot, fenugreek and the four mollifying herbs, with oil of dill, camomiles and lilies dissolved in it. take three drachms of gum bdellium, put the stone pyrites on the coals, and let her take the fumes into her womb. foment the privy parts with a decoction of the roots and leaves of dane wort. take a drachm each of gum galbanum and opopanax, half an ounce each of juice of dane wort and mucilage of fenugreek, an ounce of calve's marrow, and a sufficient quantity of wax, and make a pessary. or make a pessary of lead only, dip it in the above mentioned things, and put it up. the atmosphere must be kept temperate, and gross and salt meats such as pork, bull beef, fish and old cheese, must be prohibited. footnotes: [ ] _mole_: "a somewhat shapeless, compact fleshy mass occurring in the uterus, due to the retention and continued life of the whole or a part of the foetal envelopes, after the death of the foetus (a _maternal or true mole_); or being some other body liable to be mistaken for this, or perhaps a polypus or false mole." (_whitney's century dictionary_.) * * * * * chapter x _of dropsy of the womb._ uterine dropsy is an unnatural swelling, caused by the collection of wind or phlegm in the cavity, membranes or substance of the womb, on account of the want of innate heat and of sufficient alimentation, and so it turns into an excrescence. the causes are, too much cold and moisture of the milt and liver, immoderate drinking, eating insufficiently cooked meat, all of which by causing repletion, overpower the natural heat. it may likewise be caused by undue menstruation, or by any other immoderate evacuation. to these may be added abortions, subcutaneous inflammations and a hardened swelling of the womb. signs. the signs of this affection are as follows:--the lower parts of the stomach, with the genitals, are swollen and painful; the feet swell, the natural colour of the face is lost, the appetite becomes depraved, and there is a consequent heaviness of the whole body. if the woman turns over in bed a noise like flowing water is heard, and sometimes water is discharged from the womb. if the swelling is caused by wind and the stomach feels hot, it sounds like a drum; the bowels rumble, and the wind escapes through the neck of the womb with a murmuring noise. this affection may be distinguished from true conception in many ways, as will be shown in the chapter on _conception_. it is distinguished from common dropsy, by the lower parts of the stomach being most swollen. again, it does not appear so injurious in this blood-producing capability, nor is the urine so pale, nor the face so altered. the upper parts are also not so reduced, as in usual dropsy. prognostics. this affection foretells the ruin of the natural functions, by that peculiar sympathy it has with the liver, and that, therefore, _kathydria_, or general dropsy will follow. cure. in the cure of this disease, imitate the practice of hippocrates, and first mitigate the pain with fomentations of melilot, dog's mercury, mallows, linseed, camomiles and althoea. then let the womb be prepared with syrup of stoebis, hyssop, calamint, mugwort, with distilled water, a decoction of elder, marjoram, sage, origan, spearage, pennyroyal, and betony. purge with senna, agaric, rhubarb, and claterium. take spicierum hier, a scruple each of rhubarb, agaric lozenges, and make into pills with iris juice. when diseases arise from moistness, purge with pills, and in those affections which are caused by emptiness or dryness, purge by means of a draught. apply cupping glasses to the stomach and also to the navel, especially if the swelling be flatulent. put a seton on to the inside of each leg, the width of a hand below the knee. take two drachms each of sparganium, diambrae, diamolet, diacaliminti, diacinamoni, myrrh lozenges, and a pound of sugar; make these into lozenges with betony water, and take them two hours before meals. apply a little bag of camomiles, cummin and melilot boiled in oil of rue, to the bottom of the stomach as hot as it can be borne; anoint the stomach and the privates with unguent agripp, and unguent aragon. mix iris oil with it, and cover the lower part of the stomach with a plaster of bay berries, or a cataplasm made of cummin, camomiles, briony root, adding cows' and goats' dung. our modern medical writers ascribe great virtues to tobacco-water, injected into the womb by means of a clyster. take a handful each of balm of southernwood, origanum, wormwood, calamint, bay berries and marjoram, and four drachms of juniper berries; make a decoction of these in water, and use this for fomentations and infusions. make pessaries of storax, aloes, with the roots of dictam, aristolochia and gentian, but instead of this you may use the pessary prescribed at the end of chapter xvii. let her take aromatic electuary, disatyrion and candied eringo roots, every morning. the air must be hot and dry, moderate exercise is to be taken and too much sleep prohibited. she may eat the flesh of partridges, larks, grouse, hares, rabbits, etc., and let her drink diluted urine. * * * * * chapter xi _of moles[ ] and false conceptions._ this disease may be defined as an inarticulate shapeless piece of flesh, begotten in the womb as if it were true conception. in this definition we must note two things: ( ) because a mole is said to be inarticulate or jointless, and without shape, it differs from monstrosities which are both _formata_ and _articulata_; ( ) it is said to be, as it were a true conception, which makes a difference between a true conception, and a mole, and this difference holds good in three ways. first, in its genus, because a mole cannot be said to be an animal: secondly, in the species, because it has not a human figure and has not the character of a man; thirdly, in the individual, for it has no affinity to the parent, either in the whole body, or in any particular part of it. cause. there is a great difference of opinion amongst learned writers as to the cause of this affection. some think, that if the woman's seed goes into the womb, and not the man's, that the mole is produced thereby. others declare that it springs from the menstruous blood, but if these two things were granted, then virgins, by having their courses or through nocturnal pollutions, might be liable to the same things, which none have ever been yet. the true cause of this fleshy mole is due both to the man and from the menstruous blood in the woman both mixing together in the cavity of the womb. nature finding herself weak there (and yet wishing to propagate her species), labours to bring forth a defective conception rather than nothing and instead of a living creature produces a lump of flesh. signs. the signs of a mole are these. the _menses_ are suppressed, the appetite becomes depraved, the breasts swell and the stomach becomes inflated and hard. so far the symptoms in a pregnant woman and in one that has a mole are the same, but now this is how they differ. the first sign of difference is in the movements of a mole. it may be felt moving in the womb before the third month, whereas an infant cannot be so felt; yet this motion cannot proceed from any intelligent power in the mole, but from the capabilities of the womb, and of the seminal vigour, distributed through the substance of the mole, for it does not live an animal, but a vegetable life, like a plant. _secondly_, in a mole the stomach swells suddenly, but in true conception it is first contracted, and then rises by degrees. _thirdly_, if the stomach is pressed with the hand, the mole gives way, and returns to its former position as soon as the hand is removed. but a child in the womb does not move immediately though pressed with the hand, and when the hand is removed it returns slowly or not at all. _lastly_, no child continues in the womb more than eleven months, but a mole continues for four or five years, more or less, sometimes according as it is fastened to the matrix; and i have known a mole pass away in four or five months. if, however, it remains until the eleventh month, the woman's legs grow weak and the whole body wastes away, but the stomach still increases, which makes some women think that they are dropsical, though there is no reason for it, for in dropsy the legs swell and grow big, but in a mole they wither and fall away. cure. in the school of hippocrates we are taught that bleeding causes abortion, by taking all the nourishment which should preserve the life of the embryo. in order, therefore, that this faulty conception may be deprived of that nourishing sap by which it lives, open the liver vein and saphena in both feet, apply cupping glasses to the loins and sides of the stomach, and when that has been done, let the uterine parts be first softened, and then the expulsive powers be stimulated to get rid of the burden. in order to relax the ligatures of the mole, take three handfuls of mallows with their roots, two handfuls each of camomiles, melilot, pellitory of the wall, violet leaves, dog's mercury, fennel roots, parsley, and one pound each of linseed and fenugreek; boil them in oil and let the patient sit in it up to her navel. when she comes out of her bath, she should anoint her private parts and loins with the following ointment:--"take one ounce each of oil of camomiles, lilies and sweet almonds: half an ounce each of fresh butter, laudanum and ammoniac, and make an ointment with oil of lilies. or, instead of this, you may use unguentum agrippae or dialthea. take a handful of dog's mercury and althea roots; half a handful of flos brochae ursini; six ounces of linseed and barley meal. boil all these together in honey and water and make a plaster, and make pessaries of gum galbanum, bdellium, ammoniac, figs, pig's fat and honey. after the ligaments of the mole are loosened, let the expulsive powers be stimulated to expel the mole, and for doing this, all those drugs may be used which are adapted to bring on the courses. take one ounce of myrrh lozenges, half an ounce each of castor, astrolachia, gentian and dittany and make them into a powder, and take one drachm in four ounces of mugwort water. take calamint, pennyroyal, betony, hyssop, sage, horehound, valerian, madder and savine; make a decoction in water and take three ounces of it, with one and a half ounces of feverfew. take three scruples each of mugwort, myrrh, gentian and pill. coch.; a drachm each of rue, pennyroyal and opopanax, and the same of asafoetida, cinnamon, juniper-berries and borage, and make into pills with savine juice, to be taken every morning. make an infusion of hyssop, bay leaves, bay berries, calamint, camomiles, mugwort and savine. take two scruples each of sacopenium, mugwort, savine, cloves, nutmeg, bay berries; one drachm of galbanum; one scruple each of hiera piera and black hellebore, and make a pessary with turpentine. but if these medicaments are not procurable, then the mole must be pulled out by means of an instrument called the _pes gryphis_,[ ] which may be done without much danger if it be performed by a skilful surgeon. after she has been delivered of the mole (because the woman will have lost much blood already), let the flow of blood be stopped as soon as possible. apply cupping glasses to the shoulders and ligatures to the arms, and if this be not effective, open the liver vein in the arm. the atmosphere of the room must be kept tolerably dry and warm, and she must be put on a dry diet, to soothe the system; she must, however, drink white wine. footnotes: [ ] _mole_: "a somewhat shapeless, compact fleshy mass occurring in the uterus, due to the retention and continued life of the whole or a part of the foetal envelopes, after the death of the foetus (_a maternal or true mole_); or being some other body liable to be mistaken for this, or perhaps a polypus or false mole." (_whitney's century dictionary_.) [ ] _griffin's claw_, a peculiar hooked instrument. * * * * * chapter xii _of conception and its signs, and how a woman may know whether it be male or female._ ignorance often makes women the murderesses of the fruit of their own body, for many, having conceived and finding themselves out of order, and not rightly knowing the cause, go to the shop of their own conceit and take whatever they think fit, or else (as the custom is) they send to the doctor for a remedy, and he, not perceiving the cause of their trouble, for nothing can be diagnosed accurately by the urine, prescribes what he thinks best; perhaps some diuretic or cathartic, which destroy the embryo. therefore hippocrates says, it is necessary that women should be instructed in the signs of conception, so that the parent as well as the child may be saved from danger. i shall, therefore, lay down some rules, by which every woman may know whether she is pregnant or not, and the signs will be taken from the woman, from her urine, from the child and from experiments. signs. the first day after conception, she feels a slight quivering and chilliness throughout her body; there is a tickling of the womb and a little pain in the lower parts of her stomach. ten or twelve days after she feels giddy and her eyes dim and with circles round them; the breasts swell and grow hard, with some pain and pricking in them, whilst the stomach rises and sinks again by degrees, and there is a hardness about the navel. the nipples grow red, the heart beats unusually strongly, the natural appetite abates, and the woman has a craving after strange food. the neck of the womb is contracted, so that it can scarcely be felt when the finger is put in. and the following is an infallible sign; she is alternately in high spirits and melancholy; the monthly courses cease without any apparent cause, the evacuations from the bowels are retained unusually long, by the womb pressing on the large gut, and her desire for sexual intercourse is diminished. the surest sign is taken from the infant, which begins to move in the womb in the third or fourth month, and not in the manner of a mole, mentioned above, from side to side like a stone, but gently, as may be perceived by applying the hand cold upon the stomach. signs taken from the urine. the best writers affirm that the water of a pregnant woman is white and has little specks in it, like those in a sunbeam, ascending and descending in it, of an opal colour, and when the sediment is disturbed by shaking the urine, it looks like carded wool. in the middle of gestation it turns yellow, then red and lastly black, with a red film. at night on going to bed, let her drink water and honey, and if afterwards she feels a beating pain in her stomach and about the navel, she has conceived. or let her take the juice of cardius, and if she brings it up again, that is a sign of conception. throw a clean needle into the woman's urine, put it into a basin and let it stand all night. if it is covered with red spots in the morning, she has conceived, but if it has turned black and rusty, she has not. signs taken from the sex, to show whether it be a male or female. if it is a male, the right breast swells first, the right eye is brighter than the left, the face is high-coloured, because the colour is such as the blood is, and as the male is conceived of purer blood and of more perfect seed than the female, red specks in the urine, and making a sediment, show that a male has been conceived, but if they are white, a female. put the urine of the woman into a glass bottle, let it stand tightly stoppered for two days, then strain it through a fine cloth, and you will find little animals in it. if they are red, it is a male, but if white, it is a female. the belly is rounder and lies higher with a boy than with a girl, and the right breast is harder and plumper than the left, and the right nipple redder, and the woman's colour is clearer than when she has conceived a girl. to conclude, the most certain sign to give credit to, is the motion of the child, for the male moves in the third month, and the female not until the fourth. * * * * * chapter xiii _of untimely births._ when the fruit of the womb comes forth before the seventh month (that is, before it comes to maturity), it is said to be abortive; and, in effect, the children prove abortive, that is, do not live, that are born in the eighth month. why children born in the seventh or ninth month should live, and not those born in the eighth, may seem strange, and yet it is true. the cause of it is ascribed by some to the planet under which the child is born; for every month, from conception to birth, is governed by its own planet, and in the eighth month saturn predominates, which is dry and cold; and coldness, being an utter enemy to life, destroys the natural constitution of the child. hippocrates gives a better reason, viz.:--the infant, being every way perfect and complete in the seventh month, wants more air and nourishment than it had before, and because it cannot obtain this, it tries for a passage out. but if it have not sufficient strength to break the membranes and to come out as ordained by nature, it will continue in the womb until the ninth month, so that by that time it may be again strengthened. but if it returns to the attempt in the eighth month and be born, it cannot live, because the day of its birth is either past or is to come. for in the eighth month avicunus says, it is weak and infirm, and therefore on being brought into the cold air, its vitality must be destroyed. cure. untimely births may be caused by cold, for as it causes the fruit of the tree to wither and fall before it is ripe, so it nips the fruit of the womb before it comes to perfection, or makes it abortive;--sometimes by humidity, which weakens its power, so that the fruit cannot be retained until the proper time. it may be caused by dryness or emptiness, which rob the child of its nourishment, or by an alvine discharge, by bleeding or some other evacuation, by inflammation of the womb, and other severe disease. sometimes it is caused by joy, anger, laughter and especially by fear, for then the heat forsakes the womb, and goes to the heart, and so the cold sinks into the womb, whereby the ligaments are relaxed, and so abortion follows. on this account, plato recommended that the woman should avoid all temptations to excessive joy and pleasure, as well as all occasions for fear and grief. abortion may also be caused by the pollution of the air by filthy odours, and especially by the smell of the smouldering wick of a candle, and also by falls, blows, violent exercise, jumping, dancing, etc. signs. signs of coming abortion are a falling away of the breast, with a flow of watery milk, pains in the womb, heaviness in the head, unusual weariness in the hips and thighs, and a flowing of the courses. signs denoting that the fruit is dead in the womb are sunken eyes, pains in the head, frights, paleness of the face and lips, gnawing at the stomach, no movements of the infant; coldness and looseness of the mouth of the womb. the stomach falls down, whilst watery and bloody discharges come from the womb. * * * * * chapter xiv _directions for pregnant women._ the prevention of untimely births consists in removing the aforementioned causes, which must be effected both before and after conception. before conception, if the body be too hot, dry or moist, employ such treatment as to counteract the symptoms; if the blood be vitiated purify it, if plethoric, open the liver vein; if gross, reduce it; if too thin strengthen and nourish it. all the diseases of the womb must be removed as i have shown. after conception, let the atmosphere be kept temperate, do not sleep too much, avoid late hours, too much bodily exercise, mental excitement, loud noises and bad smells, and sweet smells must also be avoided by those who are hysterical. refrain from all things that may provoke either urine or menstruation, also salt, sour, and windy food, and keep to a moderate diet. if the bowels are confined, relieve the stomach with injections made of a decoction of mallows and violets, with sugar and salad oil; or make a broth with borage, buglos, beetroot, and mallows, and add a little manna to it. if, on the other hand, she be troubled with looseness of the bowels, do not check it with medical advice, for all the uterine fluxes have some bad qualities in them, which must be evacuated before the discharge is stopped. a cough is another thing to which pregnant women are frequently liable, and which causes them to run great danger of miscarrying, by the shock and continual drain upon the vein. to prevent this shave off the hair from the coronal commissures, and apply the following plaster to the place. take half an ounce of resin, a drachm of laudanum, a drachm each of citron peel, lignaloes and galbanum, with a sufficient quantity of liquid and dry styrax. dissolve the gum in vinegar and make a plaster, and at night let her inhale the fumes of these lozenges, thrown upon bright coals. take also a drachm and a half each of frankincense, styrax powder and red roses: eight drachms of sandrich, a drachm each of mastic, benjamin and amber; make into lozenges with turpentine, and apply a cautery to the nape of the neck. and every night let her take the following pills:--half an ounce each of hypocistides, terrae sigilatae and fine bole; two drachms each of bistort, alcatia, styrax and calamint, and one drachm of cloves, and make into pills with syrup of myrtles. in pregnant women, a corrupt matter is generated which, flowing to the ventricle, spoils the appetite and causes sickness. as the stomach is weak, and cannot digest this matter, it sometimes sends it to the bowels which causes a flux of the stomach, which greatly adds to the weakness of the womb. to prevent all these dangers the stomach must be strengthened by the following means:--take one drachm each of lignaloes and nutmeg; a scruple each of mace, cloves, mastic, laudanum; an ounce of oil of spikenard; two grains of musk, half an ounce each of oil of mastic, quinces and wormwood, and make into an ointment for the stomach, to be applied before meals. instead of this, however, you may use cerocum stomachile galeni. take half an ounce each of conserve of borage, buglos and atthos; two drachms each of confection of hyacinths, candied lemon peel, specierum, diamarg, pulo. de genunis: two scruples each of nutmeg and diambra; two drachma each of peony roots and diacoratum, and make into an electuary with syrup of roses, which she must take twice a day before meals. another affection which troubles a pregnant woman is swelling of the legs, which happens during the first three months, by the superfluous humours descending from the stomach and liver. to cure this, take two drachms of oil of roses, and one drachm each of salt and vinegar; shake them together until the salt is dissolved, and anoint the legs with it hot, rubbing it well in with the hand. it may be done without danger during the fourth, fifth and sixth months of pregnancy; for a child in the womb is compared to an apple on the tree. for the first three months it is a weak and tender subject, like the apple, to fall away; but afterwards, when the membranes become strengthened, the fruit remains firmly fastened to the womb, and not subject to mischances, and so it remains, until the seventh month, until when it is near the time, the ligaments are again relaxed (like the apple that is almost ripe). they grow looser every day, until the appointed time for delivery; if, therefore, the body is in real need of purging, the woman may do it without danger in the fourth, fifth or sixth month, but neither before nor after that unless in the case of some violent illness, in which it is possible that both mother and child may perish. apply plasters and ointments to the loins in order to strengthen the fruit in the womb. take one drachm each of gum arabic, galangale, bistort, hypocistid and storax, a drachm and a half each of fine bole, nutmeg, mastic, balaust, dragon's blood and myrtle berries, and a sufficient quantity of wax and turpentine and make into a plaster. apply it to the loins in the winter, and remove it every twenty-four hours, lest the loins should become overheated by it. in the interim, anoint the private parts and loins with _countess' balsam_ but if it be summer time and the loins hot, the following plaster will be more suitable. take a pound of red roses, two drachms each of mastic and red sanders, one drachm each of bole ammoniac and red coral, two drachms and a half each of pomegranate seed and prepared coriander seed, two scruples of barberries, one ounce each of oil of mastic and of quinces, and plantain-juice. anoint the loins also with sandalwood ointment, and once a week wash them with two parts of rose-water and one of white wine mixed together and warmed at the fire. this will assuage the heat of the loins, get rid of the oil of the plaster from the pores of the skin, and cause the fresh ointment or plaster to penetrate more easily, and to strengthen the womb. some think that a load-stone laid upon the navel, keeps a woman from abortion. the same thing is also stated of the stone called _aetites_ or eagle-stone, if it is hung round the neck. samian stone has the same virtue. * * * * * chapter xv _directions for women when they are taken in labour, to ensure their safe delivery, and directions for midwives._ having thus given the necessary directions to pregnant women, how to manage their health during their pregnancy, i will now add what is necessary for them to do, in order that they may be safely delivered. when the time of birth draws near, the woman must be sure to send for a skilful midwife, and that rather too soon than too late. she must have a pallet bed ready to place it near the fire, so that the midwife and those who are to help her, may be able to pass round it, and give assistance on either side, as may be required. a change of linen must be in readiness, and a small stool to rest her feet against, as she will have more power when her legs are bent, than when they are straight. when everything is thus ready, and when the woman feels the pains coming on, if the weather be not cold, she should walk about the room, rest on the bed occasionally, waiting for the breaking of the waters, which is a fluid contained in one of the outward membranes, and which flows out thence, when the membrane is broken by the struggles of the child. there is no special time for this discharge, though it generally takes place about two hours before the birth. movements will also cause the womb to open and dilate, and when lying long in bed will be uncomfortable. if she be very weak she may take some mild cordial to give her strength, if her pain will permit her; and if the labour be tedious, she may be revived with chicken or mutton broth, or she may take a poached egg; but she must be very careful not to eat to excess. there are many postures in which women are delivered; some sitting in a chair, supported by others, or resting on the bed; some again upon their knees and resting on their arms; but the safest and most commodious way, is in the bed, and then the midwife ought to observe the following rules:--let her lay the woman upon her back, with her head a little raised by means of a pillow, with similar supports for her loins and buttocks, which latter should also be raised, for if she lies low, she cannot be delivered so easily. then let her keep her knees and thighs as far apart as she can, her legs bent inward towards each other, and her buttocks, the soles of her feet and her heels being placed upon a small rest, placed for the purpose, so that she may be able to strain the stronger. in case her back should be very weak, a swathing band should be placed under it, the band being doubled four times and about four inches broad. this must be held by two persons who must raise her up a little every time her pains come on, with steady hands and in even time, but if they be not exact in their movements, they had better leave her alone. at the same time two women must hold her shoulders so that she may strain out the foetus more easily; and to facilitate this let one stroke or press the upper part of her stomach gently and by degrees. the woman herself must not be nervous or downhearted, but courageous, and forcing herself by straining and holding her breath. when delivery is near, the midwife must wait patiently until the child's head, or some limb, bursts the membranes, for if the midwife through ignorance, or through haste to go to some other woman, as some have done, tears the membrane with her nails, she endangers both the woman and the child; for by lying dry and lacking that slipperiness which should make it easy, it comes forth with severe pains. when the head appears, the midwife must hold it gently between her hands, and draw the child, whenever the woman's pains are upon her, but at no other times; slipping her forefingers under its armpits by degrees, and not using a rough hand in drawing it out, lest the tender infant might become deformed by such means. as soon as the child is taken out, which is usually with its face downwards,--it should be laid upon its back, that it may receive external respiration more freely; then cut the navel string about three inches from the body, tying the end which adheres to it with a silk string, as closely as you can; then cover the child's head and stomach well, allowing nothing to touch its face. when the child has been thus brought forth, if it be healthy lay it aside, and let the midwife attend to the patient by drawing out the afterbirth; and this she may do by wagging and stirring it up and down, and afterwards drawing it out gently. and if the work be difficult, let the woman hold salt in her hands, close them tightly and breathe hard into them, and by that she will know whether the membranes are broken or not. it may also be known by making her strain or vomit; by putting her fingers down her throat, or by straining or moving her lower parts, but let all be done immediately. if this should fail, let her take a draught of elder water, or the yolk of a new laid egg, and smell a piece of asafoetida, especially if she is troubled with a windy colic. if she happen to take cold, it is a great obstruction to the afterbirth; in such cases the midwife ought to chafe the woman's stomach gently, so as to break, not only the wind, but also to force the secundine to come down. but if these should prove ineffectual, the midwife must insert her hand into the orifice of the womb and draw it out gently. having thus discussed common births, or such as are generally easy, i shall now give directions in cases of extremity. * * * * * chapter xvi _what ought to be done in cases of extremity, especially in women who, in labour, are attacked by a flux of blood, convulsions and fits of wind._ if the woman's labour be hard and difficult, greater care must be taken than at other times. and, first of all, the situation of the womb and her position in lying must be across the bed, and she must be held by strong persons to prevent her from slipping down or moving during the surgeon's operations. her thighs must be put as far apart as possible, and held so, whilst her head must rest upon a bolster, and her loins be supported in the same manner. after her rump and buttocks have been raised, be careful to cover her stomach, belly and thighs with warm clothes, to keep them from the cold. when the woman is in this position, let the operator put up his or her hand, if the neck of the womb be dilated, and remove the coagulated blood that obstructs the passage of the birth; and by degrees make way gently, let him remove the infant tenderly, having first anointed his hand with butter or some harmless salve. and if the waters have not come down, they may then be let out without difficulty. then, if the infant should attempt to come out head foremost, or crosswise, he should turn it gently, to find the feet. having done this, let him draw out one and fasten it with ribbon and then put it up again, and by degrees find the other, bringing them as close together and as even as possible, and between whiles let the woman breathe, and she should be urged to strain so as to help nature in the birth, that it may be brought forth. and to do this more easily, and that the hold may be surer, wrap a linen cloth round the child's thighs, taking care to bring it into the hand face downwards. in case of flux of blood, if the neck of the womb be open, it must be considered whether the infant or the _secundine_, generally called the afterbirth, comes first, and as the latter happens to do so occasionally, it stops the mouth of the womb and hinders the birth, and endangers both the woman's and the child's life. in this case the afterbirth must be removed by a quick turn. they have deceived many people, who, feeling their softness, have supposed that the womb was not dilated, and by that means the woman and child, or at least the latter, have been lost. when the afterbirth has been removed, the child must be sought for and drawn out, as directed above; and if the woman or the child die in such a case, the midwife or the surgeon are blameless because they have used their best endeavours. if it appears upon examination that the afterbirth comes first, let the woman be delivered as quickly as possible, because a great flow of blood will follow, for the veins are opened, and on this account two things have to be considered. _first_:--the manner in which the afterbirth advances, whether it be much or little. if the former, and the head of the child appears first, it may be guided and directed towards the neck of the womb, as in the case of natural birth, but if there appears any difficulty in the delivery, the best way is to look for the feet, and draw it out by them; but if the latter, the afterbirth may be put back with a gentle hand, and the child taken out first. but if the afterbirth has come so far forward that it cannot be put back, and the child follows it closely, then the afterbirth must be removed very carefully, and as quickly as may be, and laid aside without cutting the entrail that is fastened to it; for you may be guided to the infant by it, which must be drawn out by the feet, whether it be alive or dead, as quickly as possible; though this is not to be done except in cases of great necessity, for in other cases the afterbirth ought to come last. in drawing out a dead child, these directions should be carefully followed by the surgeon, viz.--if the child be found to be dead, its head appearing first, the delivery will be more difficult; for it is an evident sign that the woman's strength is beginning to fail her, that, as the child is dead and has no natural power, it cannot be assisting in its own delivery in any way. therefore the most certain and the safest way for the surgeon is, to put up his left hand, sliding it into the neck of the womb, and into the lower part of it towards the feet, as hollow in the palm as he can, and then between the head of the infant and the neck of the womb. then, having a forceps in the right hand, slip it up above the left hand, between the head of the child and the flat of the hand, fixing it in the bars of the temple near the eye. as these cannot be got at easily in the occipital bone, be careful still to keep the hand in its place, and gently move the head with it, and so with the right hand and the forceps draw the child forward, and urge the woman to exert all her strength, and continue drawing whenever her pains come on. when the head is drawn out, he must immediately slip his hand under the child's armpits, and take it quite out, and give the woman a piece of toasted white bread, in a quarter of a pint of hippocras wine. if the former application fails let the woman take the following potion hot when she is in bed, and remain quiet until she begins to feel it operating. take seven blue figs, cut them into pieces and add five grains each of fenugreek, motherwort and rue seed, with six ounces each of water of pennyroyal and motherwort; reduce it to half the quantity by boiling and after straining add one drachm of troches of myrrh and three grains of saffron; sweeten the liquor with loaf sugar, and spice it with cinnamon.--after having rested on this, let her strain again as much as possible, and if she be not successful, make a fumigation of half a drachm each of castor, opopanax, sulphur and asafoetida, pounding them into a powder and wetting the juice of rue, so that the smoke or fumes may go only into the matrix and no further. if this have not the desired effect, then the following plaster should be applied:--take an ounce and a half of balganum, two drachms of colocynth, half an ounce each of the juice of motherwort and of rue, and seven ounces of virgin bees' wax: pound and melt them together, spreading them on a cere-cloth so that they may spread from the navel to the os pubis and extending to the flanks, at the same time making a pessary of wood, enclosing it in a silk bag, and dipping it in a decoction of one drachm each of sound birthwort, savin colocinthis, stavescare and black hellebore, with a small sprig or two of rue. but if these things have not the desired effect, and the woman's danger increases, let the surgeon use his instruments to dilate and widen the womb, for which purpose the woman must be placed on a chair, so that she may turn her buttocks as far from its back as possible, at the same time drawing up her legs as close as she can and spreading her thighs open as wide as possible; or if she is very weak it may be better to lay her on the bed with her head downwards, her buttocks raised and both legs drawn up. then the surgeon may dilate the womb with his speculum matrices and draw out the child and the afterbirth together, if it be possible, and when this is done, the womb must be well washed and anointed, and the woman put back to bed and comforted with spices and cordials. this course must be adopted in the case of dead children and moles, afterbirths and false births, which will not come out of themselves, at the proper time. if the aforementioned instrument will not widen the womb sufficiently, then other instruments, such as the drake's bill, or long pincers, ought to be used. if any inflammation, swelling or congealed blood happens to be contracted in the womb under the film of these tumours, either before or after the birth, let the midwife lance it with a penknife or any suitable instrument, and squeeze out the matter, healing it with a pessary dipped in oil of red roses. if the child happens at any time to be swollen through cold or violence, or has contracted a watery humour, if it is alive, such means must be used as are least injurious to the child or mother; but if it be dead, the humours must be let out by incisions, to facilitate the birth. if, as often happens, the child is presented feet foremost, with the hands spreading out from the hips, the midwife must in such a case be provided with the necessary ointments to rub and anoint the child with, to help it coming forth, lest it should turn into the womb again, holding both the infant's arms close to the hips at the same time, that it may come out in this manner; but if it proves too big, the womb must be well anointed. the woman should also take a sneezing powder, to make her strain; the attendant may also stroke her stomach gently to make the birth descend, and to keep it from returning. it happens occasionally, that the child presenting itself with the feet first, has its arms extended above its head; but the midwife must not receive it so, but put it back into the womb, unless the passage be extraordinarily wide, and then she must anoint both the child and the womb, and it is not safe to draw it out, which must, therefore, be done in this manner.--the woman must lie on her back with her head low and her buttocks raised; and then the midwife must compress the stomach and the womb with a gentle hand, and by that means put the child back, taking care to turn the child's face towards the mother's back, raising up its thighs and buttocks towards the navel, so that the birth may be more natural. if the child happens to come out with one foot, with the arm extended along the side and the other foot turned backwards; then the woman must be immediately put to bed and laid in the above-described position; when the midwife must immediately put back the foot which appears so, and the woman must rock herself from side to side, until she finds that the child has turned, but she must not alter her position nor turn upon her face. after this she may expect her pains and must have great assistance and cordials so as to revive and support her spirits. at other times it happens that the child lies across in the womb, and falls upon its side; in this case the woman must not be urged in her labour; therefore, the midwife when she finds it so, must use great diligence to reduce it to its right form, or at least to such a form in the womb as may make the delivery possible and most easy by moving the buttocks and guiding the head to the passage; and if she be successful in this, let the woman rock herself to and fro, and wait with patience till it alters its way of lying. sometimes the child hastens simply by expanding its legs and arms; in which, as in the former case, the woman must rock herself, but not with violence, until she finds those parts fall to their proper station; or it may be done by a gentle compression of the womb; but if neither of them avail, the midwife must close the legs of the infant with her hand, and if she can get there, do the like by the arms, and so draw it forth; but if it can be reduced of itself to the posture of a proper birth it is better. if the infant comes forward, both knees forward, and the hands hanging down upon the thighs, then the midwife must put both knees upward, till the feet appear; taking hold of which with her left hand let her keep her right hand on the side of the child, and in that posture endeavour to bring it forth. but if she cannot do this, then also the woman must rock herself until the child is in a more convenient posture for delivery. sometimes it happens that the child presses forward with one arm extended on its thighs, and the other raised over its head, and the feet stretched out at length in the womb. in such case, the midwife must not attempt to receive the child in that posture, but must lay the woman on the bed in the manner aforesaid, making a soft and gentle compression on her belly, oblige the child to retire; which if it does not, then must the midwife thrust it back by the shoulder, and bring the arm that was stretched above the head to its right station; for there is most danger in these extremities; and, therefore, the midwife must anoint her hands and the womb of the woman with sweet butter, or a proper pomatum, and thrust her hand as near as she can to the arm of the infant, and bring it to the side. but if this cannot be done, let the woman be laid on the bed to rest a while; in which time, perhaps, the child may be reduced to a better posture; which the midwife finding, she must draw tenderly the arms close to the hips and so receive it. if an infant come with its buttocks foremost, and almost double, then the midwife must anoint her hand and thrust it up, and gently heaving up the buttocks and back, strive to turn the head to the passage, but not too hastily, lest the infant's retiring should shape it worse: and therefore, if it cannot be turned with the hand, the woman must rock herself on the bed, taking such comfortable things as may support her spirits, till she perceives the child to turn. if the child's neck be bowed, and it comes forward with its shoulders, as it sometimes doth, with the hands and feet stretched upwards, the midwife must gently move the shoulders, that she may direct the head to the passage; and the better to effect it, the woman must rock herself as aforesaid. these and other like methods are to be observed in case a woman hath twins, or three children at a birth, which sometimes happens: for as the single birth hath but one natural and many unnatural forms, even so it may be in a double and treble birth. wherefore, in all such cases the midwife must take care to receive the first which is nearest the passage; but not letting the other go, lest by retiring it should change the form; and when one is born, she must be speedy in bringing forth the other. and this birth, if it be in the natural way, is more easy, because the children are commonly less than those of single birth, and so require a less passage. but if this birth come unnaturally, it is far more dangerous than the other. in the birth of twins, let the midwife be very careful that the secundine be naturally brought forth, lest the womb, being delivered of its burden, fall, and so the secundine continue longer there than is consistent with the woman's safety. but if one of the twins happens to come with the head, and the other with the feet foremost, then let the midwife deliver the natural birth first; and if she cannot turn the other, draw it out in the posture in which it presses forward; but if that with its feet downward be foremost, she may deliver that first, turning the other aside. but in this case the midwife must carefully see that it be not a monstrous birth, instead of twins, a body with two heads, or two bodies joined together, which she may soon know if both the heads come foremost, by putting up her hand between them as high as she can; and then, if she finds they are twins she may gently put one of them aside to make way for the other, taking the first which is most advanced, leaving the other so that it do not change its position. and for the safety of the other child, as soon as it comes forth out of the womb, the midwife must tie the navel-string, as has before been directed, and also bind, with a large, long fillet, that part of the navel which is fastened to the secundine, the more readily to find it. the second infant being born, let the midwife carefully examine whether there be not two secundines, for sometimes it falls out, that by the shortness of the ligaments it retires back to the prejudice of the woman. wherefore, lest the womb should close, it is most expedient to hasten them forth with all convenient speed. if two infants are joined together by the body, as sometimes it monstrously falls out, then, though the head should come foremost, yet it is proper, if possible, to turn them and draw them forth by the feet, observing, when they come to the hips, to draw them out as soon as may be. and here great care ought to be used in anointing and widening the passage. but these sort of births rarely happening, i need to say the less of them, and, therefore, shall show how women should be ordered after delivery. * * * * * chapter xvii _how child-bearing women ought to be ordered after delivery._ if a woman has had very hard labour, it is necessary that she should be wrapped up in a sheep's skin, taken off before it is cold, applying the fleshy side to her veins and belly, or, for want of this, the skin of a hare or coney, flayed off as soon as killed, may be applied to the same parts, and in so doing, a dilation being made in the birth, and the melancholy blood being expelled in these parts, continue these for an hour or two. let the woman afterwards be swathed with fine linen cloth, about a quarter of a yard in breadth, chafing the belly before it is swathed, with oil of st. john's wort; after that raise up the matrix with a linen cloth, many times folded: then with a linen pillar or quilt, cover the flanks, and place the swathe somewhat above the haunches, winding it pretty stiff, applying at the same time a linen cloth to her nipples; do not immediately use the remedies to keep back the milk, by reason the body, at such a time, is out of frame; for there is neither vein nor artery which does not strongly beat; and remedies to drive back the milk, being of a dissolving nature, it is improper to apply them to the breasts during such disorder, lest by doing so, evil humours be contracted in the breast. wherefore, twelve hours at least ought to be allowed for the circulation and settlement of the blood, and what was cast on the lungs by the vehement agitation during labour, to retire to its proper receptacles. some time after delivery, you may take a restrictive of the yolks of two eggs, and a quarter of a pint of white wine, oil of st. john's wort, oil of roses, plantain and roses water, of each an ounce, mix them together, fold a linen cloth and apply it to the breast, and the pains of those parts will be greatly eased. she must by no means sleep directly after delivery; but about four hours after, she may take broth, caudle or such liquid victuals as are nourishing; and if she be disposed to sleep it may be very safely permitted. and this is as much, in the case of a natural birth, as ought immediately to be done. but in case of an extremity or an unnatural birth, the following rules ought to be observed:-- in the first place, let the-woman keep a temperate diet, by no means overcharging herself after such an extraordinary evacuation, not being ruled by giving credit to unskilful nurses, who admonish them to feed heartily, the better to repair the loss of blood. for that blood is not for the most part pure, but such as has been retained in the vessels or membrane better voided, for the health of the woman, than kept, unless there happen an extraordinary flux of the blood. for if her nourishment be too much, which curding, very often turns to imposthumes. therefore, it is requisite, for the first five days especially, that she take moderately panado broth, poached eggs, jelly of chickens or calves' feet or fresh barley broth; every day increasing the quantity a little. and if she intend to be a nurse to the child, she may take something more than ordinary, to increase the milk by degrees, which must be of no continuance, but drawn off by the child or otherwise. in this case likewise, observe to let her have coriander or fennel seeds boiled in barley broth; but by all means, for the time specified, let her abstain from meat. if no fever trouble her, she may drink now and then a small quantity of pure white wine or of claret, as also syrup of maidenhead or any other syrup that is of an astringent quality, taken in a little water well boiled. after the fear of fever or contraction of humour in the breast is over, she may be nourished more plentifully with the broth of capons, pullets, pigeons, mutton, veal, etc., which must not be until after eight days from the time of delivery; at which time the womb, unless some accident binds, has purged itself. it will then likewise be expedient to give cold meats, but let it be sparingly, so that she may the better gather strength. and let her, during the time, rest quietly and free from disturbance, not sleeping in the day time, if she can avoid it. take of both mallows and pellitory of the wall a handful; camomile and melilot flowers, of each a handful; aniseed and fennel of each two ounces; boil them in a decoction of sheep's head and take of this three quarts, dissolving in it common honey, coarse sugar and fresh butter and administer it clysterwise; but if it does not penetrate well take an ounce of catholicon. * * * * * chapter xviii _acute pains after delivery._ these pains frequently afflict the woman no less than the pain of her labour, and are, by the more ignorant, many times taken the one for the other; and sometimes they happen both at the same instant; which is occasioned by a raw, crude and watery matter in the stomach, contracted through ill digestion; and while such pains continue, the woman's travail is retarded. therefore, to expel fits of the cholic, take two ounces of oil of sweet almonds, and an ounce of cinnamon water, with three or four drops of syrup of ginger; then let the woman drink it off. if this does not abate the pain, make a clyster of camomile, balm-leaves, oil of olives and new milk, boiling the former in the latter. administer it as is usual in such cases. and then, fomentation proper for dispelling the wind will not be amiss. if the pain produces a griping in the guts after delivery, then take of the root of great comfrey, one drachm, nutmeg and peach kernels, of each two scruples, yellow amber, eight drachms, ambergris, one scruple; bruise them together, and give them to the woman as she is laid down, in two or three spoonfuls of white wine; but if she be feverish, then let it be in as much warm broth. * * * * * the family physician * * * * * being choice and approved remedies for several diseases incidental to human bodies * * * * * _for the apoplexy._ take man's skull prepared, and powder of male peony, of each an ounce and a half, contrayerva, bastard dittany, angelica, zedvary, of each two drachms, mix and make a powder, add thereto two ounces of candied orange and lemon peel, beat all together to a powder, whereof you may take half a drachm or a drachm. _a powder for the epilepsy or falling sickness._ take of opopanax, crude antimony, castor, dragon's blood, peony seeds, of each an equal quantity; make a subtle powder; the dose, half a drachm of black cherry water. before you take it, the stomach must be prepared with some proper vomit, as that of mynficht's emetic tartar, from four grains to six; if for children, salts of vitrol, from a scruple to half a drachm. _for a headache of long standing._ take the juice or powder in distilled water of hog lice and continue it. _for spitting of blood._ take conserve of comfrey and of hips, of each an ounce and a half; conserve of red roses, three ounces; dragon's blood, a drachm; spices of hyacinths, two scruples; red coral, a drachm; mix and with syrup of poppies make a soft electuary. take the quantity of a walnut, night and morning. _for a looseness._ take venice treacle and diascordium, of each half a drachm, in warm ale or water gruel, or what you like best, at night, going to bed. _for the bloody flux._ first take a drachm of powder of rhubarb in a sufficient quantity of conserve of red roses, in the morning early; then at night, take of tornified or roasted rhubarb, half a drachm; diascordium, a drachm and a half; liquid laudanum cyclomated, a scruple: mix and make into a bolus. _for an inflammation of the lungs._ take of cherious water, ten ounces; water of red poppies, three ounces; syrup of poppies, an ounce; pearl prepared, a drachm; make julep, and take six spoonfuls every fourth hour. _an ointment for the pleurisy._ take oil of violets or sweet almonds, an ounce of each, with wax and a little saffron, make an ointment, warm it and bathe it upon the parts affected. _an ointment for the itch._ take sulphur vive in powder, half an ounce, oil of tartar per deliquim, a sufficient quantity, ointment of roses, four ounces; make a liniment, to which add a scruple of rhodium to aromatize, and rub the parts affected with it. _for running scab._ take two pounds of tar, incorporate it into a thick mass with well-sifted ashes; boil the mass in fountain-water, adding leaves of ground-ivy, white horehound, fumitory roots, sharp-pointed dock and of flocan pan, of each four handfuls; make a bath to be used with care of taking cold. _for worms in children._ take wormseed, half a drachm, flour of sulphur, a drachm; mix and make a powder. give as much as will lie on a silver threepence, night and morning, in grocer's treacle or honey, or to grown up people, you may add a sufficient quantity of aloe rosatum and so make them up into pills; three or four may be taken every morning. _for fevers in children._ take crab-eyes, a drachm, cream of tartar, half a drachm; white sugar-candy finely powdered, weight of both; mix all well together and give as much as will lie on a silver threepence, in a spoonful of barley-water or sack whey. _a quieting night-draught, when the cough is violent._ take water of green wheat, six ounces, syrup diascordium, three ounces, take two or three spoonfuls going to bed every night or every other night. _an electuary for the dropsy._ take best rhubarb, one drachm, gum lac, prepared, two drachms, zyloaloes, cinnamon, long birthwort, half an ounce each, best english saffron, half a scruple; with syrup of chicory and rhubarb make an electuary. take the quantity of a nutmeg or small walnut every morning fasting. _for a tympany dropsy._ take roots of chervil and candied eringo roots, half an ounce of each, roots of butcher-broom, two ounces, grass-roots, three ounces, shavings of ivory and hartshorn, two drachms and a half each; boil them in two or three pounds of spring water. whilst the strained liquor is hot, pour it upon the leaves of watercresses and goose-grass bruised, of each a handful, adding a pint of rhenish wine. make a close infusion for two hours, then strain out the liquor again, and add to it three ounces of magirtral water and earth worms and an ounce and a half of the syrup of the five opening roots. make an apozen, whereof take four ounces twice a day. _for an inward bleeding._ take leaves of plantain and stinging nettles, of each three handfuls, bruise them well and pour on them six ounces of plantain water, afterwards make a strong expression and drink the whole off. _probatum est._ * * * * * general observations _worthy of notice._ when you find a red man to be faithful, a tall man to be wise, a fat man to be swift of foot, a lean man to be a fool, a handsome man not to be proud, a poor man not to be envious, a knave to be no liar, an upright man not too bold and hearty to his own loss, one that drawls when he speaks not to be crafty and circumventing, one that winks on another with his eyes not to be false and deceitful, a sailor and hangman to be pitiful, a poor man to build churches, a quack doctor to have a good conscience, a bailiff not to be a merciless villain, an hostess not to over-reckon you, and an usurer to be charitable---- then say, _ye have found a prodigy._ men acting contrary to the common course of nature. * * * * * part ii * * * * * the experienced midwife * * * * * introduction. i have given this part the title of the experienced midwife, because it is chiefly designed for those who profess midwifery, and contains whatever is necessary for them to know in the practice thereof; and also, because it is the result of many years' experience, and that in the most difficult cases, and is, therefore, the more to be depended upon. a midwife is the most necessary and honourable office, being indeed a helper of nature; which therefore makes it necessary for her to be well acquainted with all the operations of nature in the work of generation, and instruments with which she works. for she that knows not the operations of nature, nor with what tool she works, must needs be at a loss how to assist therein. and seeing the instruments of operation, both in men and women, are those things by which mankind is produced, it is very necessary that all midwives should be well acquainted with them, that they may better understand their business, and assist nature, as there shall be occasion. the first thing then necessary as introductory to this treatise, is an anatomical description of the several parts of generation both in men and women; but as in the former part of this work i have treated at large upon these subjects, being desirous to avoid tautology, i shall not here repeat anything of what was then said, but refer the reader thereto, as a necessary introduction to what follows. and though i shall be necessitated to speak plainly so that i may be understood, yet i shall do it with that modesty that none shall have need to blush unless it be from something in themselves, rather than from what they shall find here; having the motto of the royal garter for my defence, which is:--"honi soit qui mal y pense,"--"evil be to him that evil thinks." * * * * * a guide to childbearing women * * * * * book i chapter i section i.--_of the womb._ in this chapter i am to treat of the womb, which the latins call _matrix_. its parts are two; the mouth of the womb and the bottom of it. the mouth is an orifice at the entrance into it, which may be dilated and shut together like a purse; for though in the act of copulation it is big enough to receive the glans of the yard, yet after conception, it is so close and shut, that it will not admit the point of a bodkin to enter; and yet again, at the time of a woman's delivery, it is opened to such an extraordinary degree, that the child passeth through it into the world; at which time this orifice wholly disappears, and the womb seems to have but one great cavity from the bottom to the entrance of the neck. when a woman is not with child, it is a little oblong, and of substance very thick and close; but when she is with child it is shortened, and its thickness diminished proportionably to its distension; and therefore it is a mistake of anatomists who affirm, that its substance waxeth thicker a little before a woman's labour; for any one's reason will inform him, that the more distended it is, the thinner it must be; and the nearer a woman is to the time of her delivery the shorter her womb must be extended. as to the action by which this inward orifice of the womb is opened and shut, it is purely natural; for were it otherwise, there could not be so many bastards begotten as there are, nor would any married women have so many children. were it in their own power they would hinder conception, though they would be willing enough to use copulation; for nature has attended that action with so pleasing and delightful sensations, that they are willing to indulge themselves in the use thereof notwithstanding the pains they afterwards endure, and the hazard of their lives that often follows it. and this comes to pass, not so much from an inordinate lust in woman, as that the great director of nature, for the increase and multiplication of mankind, and even all other species in the elementary world, hath placed such a magnetic virtue in the womb, that it draws the seed to it, as the loadstone draws iron. the author of nature has placed the womb in the belly, that the heat might always be maintained by the warmth of the parts surrounding it; it is, therefore, seated in the middle of the hypogastrium (or lower parts of the belly between the bladder and the belly, or right gut) by which also it is defended from any hurt through the hardness of the bones, and it is placed in the lower part of the belly for the convenience of copulation, and of a birth being thrust out at full time. it is of a figure almost round, inclining somewhat to an oblong, in part resembling a pear; for being broad at the bottom, it gradually terminates in the point of the orifice which is narrow. the length, breadth and thickness of the womb differ according to the age and disposition of the body. for in virgins not ripe it is very small in all its dimensions, but in women whose terms flow in great quantities, and such as frequently use copulation, it is much larger, and if they have had children, it is larger in them than in such as have had none; but in women of a good stature and well shaped, it is (as i have said before), from the entry of the privy parts to the bottom of the womb usually about eight inches; but the length of the body of the womb alone, does not exceed three; the breadth thereof is near about the same, and of the thickness of the little finger, when the womb is not pregnant, but when the woman is with child, it becomes of a prodigious greatness, and the nearer she is to delivery, the more the womb is extended. it is not without reason then, that nature (or the god of nature) has made the womb of a membranous substance; for thereby it does the easier open to conceive, is gradually dilated by the growth of the foetus or young one, and is afterwards contracted or closed again, to thrust forth both it and the after-burden, and then to retire to its primitive seat. hence also it is enabled to expel any noxious humours, which may sometimes happen to be contained within it. before i have done with the womb, which is the field of generation, and ought, therefore, to be the more particularly taken care of (for as the seeds of plants can produce no plants, nor sprig unless grown in ground proper to excite and awaken their vegetative virtue so likewise the seed of man, though potentially containing all the parts of the child, would never produce so admissible an effect, if it were not cast into that fruitful field of nature, the womb) i shall proceed to a more particular description of its parts, and the uses for which nature has designed them. the womb, then, is composed of various similar parts, that is of membranes, veins, arteries and nerves. its membranes are two and they compose the principal parts of the body, the outermost of which ariseth from the peritoneum or caul, and is very thin, without it is smooth, but within equal, that it may the better cleave to the womb, as it is fleshier and thicker than anything else we meet with within the body, when the woman is not pregnant, and is interwoven with all sorts of fibres or small strings that it may the better suffer the extension of the child, and the water caused during pregnancy, and also that it may the easier close again after delivery. the veins and arteries proceed both from the hypogastric and the spermatic vessels, of which i shall speak by and by; all these are inserted and terminated in the proper membranes of the womb. the arteries supply it with food and nourishment, which being brought together in too great a quantity, sweats through the substance of it, and distils as it were a dew at the bottom of the cavity; from thence proceed the terms in ripe virgins, and the blood which nourisheth the embryo in breeding women. the branches which issue from the spermatic vessels, are inserted on each side of the bottom of the womb, and are much less than those which proceed from the hypogastrics, those being greater and bedewing the whole substance of it. there are some other small vessels, which arising the one from the other are conducted to the internal orifice, and by these, those that are pregnant purge away the superfluity of the terms when they happen to have more than is used in the nourishment of the infant: by which means nature has taken so much care of the womb, that during pregnancy it shall not be obliged to open itself for passing away those excrementitious humours, which, should it be forced to do, might often endanger abortion. as touching the nerves, they proceed from the brain, which furnishes all the inner parts of the lower belly in them, which is the true reason it hath so great a sympathy with the stomach, which is likewise very considerably furnished from the same part; so that the womb cannot be afflicted with any pain, but that the stomach is immediately sensible thereof, which is the cause of those loathings or frequent vomitings which happen to it. but beside all these parts which compose the womb, it has yet four ligaments, whose office it is, to keep it firm in its place, and prevent its constant agitation, by the continual motion of the intestines which surround it, two of which are above and two below. those above are called the broad ligaments, because of their broad and membranous figure, and are nothing else but the production of the peritoneum which growing out of the sides of the loins towards the veins come to be inserted in the sides of the bottom of the womb, to hinder the body from bearing too much on the neck, and so from suffering a precipitation as will sometimes happen when the ligaments are too much relaxed; and do also contain the testicles, and as well, safely conduct the different vessels, as the ejaculatories, to the womb. the lowermost are called round ligaments, taking their origin from the side of the womb near the horn, from whence they pass the groin, together with the production of the peritoneum, which accompanies them through the rings of the oblique and transverse muscles of the belly, by which they divide themselves into many little branches resembling the foot of a goose, of which some are inserted into the os pubis, the rest are lost and confounded with the membranes which women and children feel in their thighs. these two ligaments are long, round and nervous, and pretty big in their beginning near the matrix, hollow in their rise, and all along the os pubis, where they are a little smaller and become flat, the better to be inserted in the manner aforesaid. it is by their means the womb is hindered from rising too high. now, although the womb is held in its natural situation by means of these four ligaments, it has liberty enough to extend itself when pregnant, because they are very loose, and so easily yield to its distension. but besides these ligaments, which keep the womb, as it were, in a poise, yet it is fastened for greater security by its neck, both to the bladder and rectum, between which it is situated. whence it comes to pass, that if at any time the womb be inflamed, it communicates the inflammation to the neighbouring part. its use or proper action in the work of generation, is to receive and retain the seed, and deduce from it power and action by its heat, for the generation of the infant; and it is, therefore, absolutely necessary for the conservation of the species. it also seems by accident to receive and expel the impurities of the whole body, as when women have abundance of whites, and to purge away, from time to time, the superfluity of the blood, as when a woman is not with child. sect. ii.--_of the difference between the ancient and modern physicians, touching the woman's contributing seed for the formation of the child._ our modern anatomists and physicians are of different sentiments from the ancients touching the woman's contributing seed for the formation of the child, as well as the man; the ancients strongly affirming it, but our modern authors being generally of another judgment. i will not make myself a party to this controversy, but set down impartially, yet briefly, the arguments on each side, and leave the judicious reader to judge for himself. though it is apparent, say the ancients, that the seed of man is the principal efficient and beginning of action, motion and generation, yet the woman affords seed, and contributes to the procreation of the child, it is evident from hence, that the woman had seminal vessels, which had been given her in vain if she wanted seminal excretions; but since nature forms nothing in vain, it must be granted that they were formed for the use of the seed and procreation, and fixed in their proper places, to operate and contribute virtue and efficiency to the seed; and this, say they, is further proved from hence, that if women at years of maturity use not copulation to eject their seed, they often fall into strange diseases, as appears by young women and virgins, and also it appears that, women are never better pleased than when they are often satisfied this way, which argues, that the pleasure and delight, say they, is double in women to what it is in men, for as the delight of men in copulation consists chiefly in the emission of the seed, so women are delighted, both in the emission of their own and the reception of the man's. but against this, all our modern authors affirm that the ancients are very erroneous, inasmuch as the testicles in women do not afford seed, but are two eggs, like those of a fowl or other creatures; neither have they any such offices as in men, but are indeed an ovarium, or receptacle for eggs, wherein these eggs are nourished, by the sanguinary vessels dispersed through them; and from hence one or more, as they are fecundated by the man's seed, are conveyed into the womb by the oviducts. and the truth of this, say they, is so plain, that if you boil them, the liquor shall have the same taste, colour and consistency with the taste of bird's eggs. and if it be objected that they have no shells, the answer is easy; for the eggs of fowls while they are in the ovary, nay, after they have fallen into the uterus, have no shell: and though they have one when they are laid, yet it is no more than a fence which nature has provided for them against outward injuries, they being hatched without the body, but those of women being hatched within the body have no need of any other fence than the womb to secure them. they also further say, that there are in the generation of the foetus, or young ones, two principles, _active_ and _passive_; the _active_ is the man's seed elaborated in the testicles out of the arterial blood and animal spirits; the _passive_ principle is the ovum or egg, impregnated by the man's seed; for to say that women have true seed, say they, is erroneous. but the manner of conception is this; the most spirituous part of the man's seed, in the act of copulation, reaching up to the ovarium or testicles of the woman (which contains divers eggs, sometimes fewer) impregnates one of them; which, being conveyed by the oviducts to the bottom of the womb, presently begins to swell bigger and bigger, and drinks in the moisture that is so plentifully sent hither, after the same manner that the seed in the ground suck the fertile moisture thereof, to make them sprout. but, notwithstanding what is here urged by modern anatomists, there are some late writers of the opinion of the ancients, viz., that women both have, and emit seed in the act of copulation; and even women themselves take it ill to be thought merely passive in the act wherein they make such vigorous exertions; and positively affirm, that they are sensible of the emission of their seed in that action, and that in it a great part of the delight which they take in that act, consists. i shall not, therefore, go about to take away any of their happiness from them, but leave them in possession of their imaginary felicity. having thus laid the foundation of this work, i will now proceed to speak of conception, and of those things which are necessary to be observed by women from the time of their conception, to the time of their delivery. * * * * * chapter ii _of conception; what it is; how women are to order themselves after conception._ section i.--_what conception is, and the qualifications requisite thereto._ conception is nothing but an action of the womb, by which the prolific seed is received and retained, that an infant may be engendered and formed out of it. there are two sorts of conception: the one according to nature, which is followed by the generation of the infant in the womb; the other false and wholly against nature, in which the seed changes into water, and produces only false conceptions, moles, or other strange matter. now, there are three things principally necessary in order to a true conception, so that generation may follow, viz., without diversity of sex there can be no conception; for, though some will have a woman to be an animal that can engender of herself, it is a great mistake; there can be no conception without a man discharge his seed into the womb. what they allege of pullets laying eggs without a cock's treading them is nothing to the purpose, for those eggs should they be set under a hen, will never become chickens because they never received any prolific virtue from the male, which is absolutely necessary to this purpose, and is sufficient to convince us, that diversity of the sex is necessary even to those animals, as well as to the generation of man. but diversity of sex, though it be necessary to conception, yet it will not do alone; there must also be a congression of the different sexes; for diversity of sex would profit little if copulation did not follow. i confess i have heard of subtle women, who, to cover their sin and shame, have endeavoured to persuade some peasants that they were never touched by man to get them with child; and that one in particular pretended to conceive by going into a bath where a man had washed himself a little before and spent his seed in it, which was drawn and sucked into her womb, as she pretended. but such stories as these are only for such who know no better. now that these different sexes should be obliged to come to the touch, which we call copulation or coition, besides the natural desire of begetting their like, which stirs up men and women to it, the parts appointed for generation are endowed by nature with a delightful and mutual itch, which begets in them a desire to the action; without which, it would not be very easy for a man, born for the contemplation of divine mysteries, to join himself, by the way of coition, to a woman, in regard to the uncleanness of the part and the action. and, on the other side, if the woman did but think of those pains and inconveniences to which they are subject by their great bellies, and those hazards of life itself, besides the unavoidable pains that attend their delivery, it is reasonable to believe they would be affrighted from it. but neither sex makes these reflections till after the action is over, considering nothing beforehand but the pleasure of the enjoyment, so that it is from this voluptuous itch that nature obliges both sexes to this congression. upon which the third thing followeth of course, viz., the emission of seed into the womb in the act of copulation. for the woman having received this prolific seed into her womb, and retained it there, the womb thereupon becomes depressed, and embraces the seed so closely, that being closed the point of a needle cannot enter into it without violence. and now the woman may be said to have conceived, having reduced by her heat from power into action, the several faculties which are contained in the seed, making use of the spirits with which the seed abounds, and which are the instruments which begin to trace out the first lineaments of the parts, and which afterwards, by making use of the menstruous blood flowing to it, give it, in time, growth and final perfection. and thus much shall suffice to explain what conception is. i shall next proceed to show sect. ii.--_how a woman ought to order herself after conception._ my design in this treatise being brevity, i shall bring forward a little of what the learned have said of the causes of twins, and whether there be any such things as superfoetations, or a second conception in a woman (which is yet common enough), and as to twins, i shall have occasion to speak of them when i come to show you how the midwife ought to proceed in the delivery of the women that are pregnant with them. but having already spoken of conception, i think it now necessary to show how such as have conceived ought to order themselves during their pregnancy, that they may avoid those inconveniences, which often endanger the life of the child and many times their own. a woman, after conception, during the time of her being with child, ought to be looked upon as indisposed or sick, though in good health; for child bearing is a kind of nine months' sickness, being all that time in expectation of many inconveniences which such a condition usually causes to those that are not well governed during that time; and therefore, ought to resemble a good pilot, who, when sailing on a rough sea and full of rocks, avoids and shuns the danger, if he steers with prudence, but if not, it is a thousand to one but he suffers shipwreck. in like manner, a woman with child is often in danger of miscarrying and losing her life, if she is not very careful to prevent those accidents to which she is subject all the time of her pregnancy. all which time her care must be double, first of herself, and secondly of the child she goes with for otherwise, a single error may produce a double mischief; for if she receives a prejudice, the child also suffers with her. let a woman, therefore, after conception, observe a good diet, suitable to her temperament, custom, condition and quality; and if she can, let the air where she ordinarily dwells be clear and well tempered, and free from extremes, either of heat or cold; for being too hot, it dissipateth the spirits too much and causes many weaknesses; and by being too cold and foggy, it may bring down rheums and distillations on the lungs, and so cause her to cough, which, by its impetuous motion, forcing downwards, may make her miscarry. she ought alway to avoid all nauseous and ill smells; for sometimes the stench of a candle, not well put out, may cause her to come before time; and i have known the smell of charcoal to have the same effect. let her also avoid smelling of rue, mint, pennyroyal, castor, brimstone, etc. but, with respect to their diet, women with child have generally so great loathings and so many different longings, that it is very difficult to prescribe an exact diet for them. only this i think advisable, that they may use those meats and drinks which are to them most desirable, though, perhaps, not in themselves so wholesome as some others, and, it may be not so pleasant; but this liberty must be made use of with this caution, that what they desire be not in itself unwholesome; and also that in everything they take care of excess. but, if a child-bearing woman finds herself not troubled with such longings as we have spoken of, let her take simple food, and in such quantity as may be sufficient for herself and the child, which her appetite may in a great measure regulate; for it is alike hurtful to her to fast too long as to eat too much; and therefore, rather let her eat a little and often; especially let her avoid eating too much at night, because the stomach being too much filled, compresseth the diaphragm, and thereby causeth difficulty of breathing. let her meat be easy of digestion, such as the tenderest parts of beef, mutton, veal, fowls, pullets, capons, pigeons and partridges, either boiled or roasted, as she likes best, new laid eggs are also very good for her; and let her put into her broth those herbs that purify it, as sorrel, lettuce, succory and borage; for they will purge and purify the blood. let her avoid whatever is hot seasoned, especially pies and baked meats, which being of hot digestion, overcharge the stomach. if she desire fish let it be fresh, and such as is taken out of rivers and running streams. let her eat quinces and marmalade, to strengthen her child: for which purpose sweet almonds, honey, sweet apples, and full ripe grapes, are also good. let her abstain from all salt, sour, bitter and salt things, and all things that tend to provoke the terms--such as garlic, onions, mustard, fennel, pepper and all spices except cinnamon, which in the last three months is good for her. if at first her diet be sparing, as she increases in bigness, let her diet be increased, for she ought to consider that she has a child as well as herself to nourish. let her be moderate in her drinking; and if she drinks wine, let it be rather claret than white (for it will breed good blood, help the digestion, and comfort the stomach, which is weakly during pregnancy); but white wine being diuretic, or that which provokes urine, ought to be avoided. let her be careful not to take too much exercise, and let her avoid dancing, riding in a coach, or whatever else puts the body into violent motion, especially in the first month. but to be more particular, i shall here set down rules proper for every month for the child-bearing woman to order herself, from the time she first conceived, to the time of her delivery. _rules for the first two months._ as soon as a woman knows, or has reason to believe, that she has conceived, she ought to abstain from all violent motions and exercise; whether she walks afoot, or rides on horseback or in a coach, it ought to be very gently. let her also abstain from venery (for which, after conception, she has usually no great inclination), lest there be a mole or superfoetation, which is the adding of one embryo to another. let her beware not to lift her arms too high, nor carry great burdens, nor repose herself on hard and uneasy seats. let her use moderately good, juicy meat and easy of digestion, and let her wines be neither too strong nor too sharp, but a little mingled with water; or if she be very abstemious, she may use water wherein cinnamon has been boiled. let her avoid fastings, thirst, watchings, mourning, sadness, anger, and all other perturbations of the mind. let no one present any strange or unwholesome thing to her, nor so much as name it, lest she should desire it and not be able to get it, and so either cause her to miscarry, or the child to have some deformity on that account. let her belly be kept loose with prunes, raisins or manna in her broth, and let her use the following electuary, to strengthen the womb and the child-- "take conserve of borage, buglos and roses, each two ounces; an ounce of balm; an ounce each of citron peel and shreds, candied mirobalans, an ounce each; extract of wood aloes a scruple; prepared pearl, half a drachm; red coral and ivory, of each a drachm; precious stones each a scruple; candied nutmegs, two drachms, and with syrup of apples and quinces make an electuary." _let her observe the following rules._ "take pearls prepared, a drachm; red coral and ivory prepared, each half a drachm, precious stones, each a scruple; yellow citron peel, mace, cinnamon, cloves, each half a drachm; saffron, a scruple; wood aloes, half a scruple; ambergris, six drachms; and with six ounces of sugar dissolved in rosewater make rolls." let her also apply strengtheners of nutmeg, mace and mastich made up in bags, to the navel, or a toast dipped in malmsey, or sprinkled with powdered mint. if she happens to desire clay, chalk, or coals (as many women with child do), give her beans boiled with sugar, and if she happens to long for anything that she cannot obtain, let her presently drink a large draught of pure cold water. _rules for the third month._ in this month and the next, be sure to keep from bleeding; for though it may be safe and proper at other times, yet it will not be so at the end of the fourth month; and yet if blood abound, or some incidental disease happens which requires evacuation, you may use a cupping glass, with scarification, and a little blood may be drawn from the shoulders and arms, especially if she has been accustomed to bleed. let her also take care of lacing herself too straitly, but give herself more liberty than she used to do; for inclosing her belly in too strait a mould, she hinders the infant from taking its free growth, and often makes it come before its time. _rules for the fourth month._ in this month also you ought to keep the child-bearing woman from bleeding, unless in extraordinary cases, but when the month is passed, blood-letting and physic may be permitted, if it be gentle and mild, and perhaps it may be necessary to prevent abortion. in this month she may purge, in an acute disease, but purging may only be used from the beginning of this month to the end of the sixth; but let her take care that in purging she use no vehement medicine, nor any bitter, as aloes, which is disagreeable and hurtful to the child, and opens the mouth of the vessels; neither let her use coloquintida, scammony nor turbith; she may use cassia, manna, rhubarb, agaric and senna but dyacidodium purgans is best, with a little of the electuary of the juice of roses. _rules for the fifth, sixth and seventh months._ in these months, child-bearing women are troubled with coughs, colds, heart-beating, fainting, watching, pains in the loins and hips, and bleeding. the cough is from a sharp vapour that comes to the jaws and rough artery from the terms, or the thin part of that blood got less into the reins of the breast; this endangers abortion, and strength fails from watching: therefore, purge the humours that come to the breast, with rhubarb and agaric, and strengthen the head as in a catarrh, and give sweet lenitives as in a cough. palpitation and faintness arises from vapours that go to it by the arteries, or from blood that abounds and cannot get out of the womb, but ascends and oppresses the heart; and in this case cordials should be used both inwardly and outwardly. watching, is from sharp dry vapours that trouble the animal spirits, and in this case use frictions, and let the woman wash her feet at bed-time, and let her take syrup of poppies, dried roses, emulsions of sweet almonds, and white poppy seed. if she be troubled with pains in her loins and hips, as in those months she is subject to be, from the weight of her child as it grows big and heavy, and so stretches the ligaments of the womb and part adjacent, let her hold it up with swathing bands about her neck. about this time also the woman often happens to have a flux of blood, either at the nose, womb or haemorrhoids, from plenty of blood, or from the weakness of the child that takes it not in, or else from evil humour in the blood, that stirs up nature and sends it forth. and sometimes it happens that the vessels of the womb may be broken, either by some violent motion, fall, cough or trouble of the mind (for any of these will work that effect), and this is so dangerous, that in such a case the child cannot be well, but if it be from blood only, the danger is less, provided it flows by the veins of the neck of the womb, for then it prevents plethora and takes not away the nourishment of the child; but if it proceeds from the weakness of the child, that draws it not in, abortion of the child often follows, or hard travail, or else she goes beyond her time. but if it flows from the inward veins of the womb, there is more danger by the openness of the womb, if it come from evil blood; the danger is alike from cacochymy, which is like to fall upon both. if it arises from plethora, open a vein, but with great caution, and use astringents, of which the following will do well:--take prepared pearls, a scruple; red coral, two scruples; mace, nutmeg, each a drachm; cinnamon, half a drachm; make a powder, or with white sugar make rolls. or give this powder in broth:--"take red coral, a drachm; half a drachm precious stones; red sander, half a drachm; bole, a drachm; scaled earth and tormental roots, each two scruples, with sugar of roses and manus christi; with pearl, five drachms; make a powder." you may also strengthen the child at the navel, and if there be a cacochymy, alter the humours, and if you can do it safely, evacuate; you may likewise use amulets on her hands and about her neck. in a flux of haemorrhoids, wear off the pain, and let her drink hot wine with a toasted nutmeg. in these months the belly is also subject to be bound, but if it be without any apparent disease, the broth of a chicken or veal, sodden with oil, or with the decoction of mallows or marsh-mallows, mercury or linseed, put up in a clyster, will not be amiss, but in less quantity than is given in other cases:--viz. of the decoction, five ounces, of common oil, three ounces, of sugar, two ounces, and of cassia fistula, one ounce. but if she will not take a clyster, one or two yolks of new laid eggs, or a little peas-pottage warm, a little salt and sugar, and supped a little before meat, will be very convenient. but if her belly be distended and stretched with wind a little fennel seed and aniseed reduced to a powder and mixed with honey and sugar made after the manner of an electuary, will be very well also, if thighs and feet swell let them be anointed with erphodrinum (which is a liquid medicine) made with vinegar and rose-water, mingled with salt. _rules for the eighth month._ the eighth month is commonly called the most dangerous; therefore the greatest care and caution ought to be used, the diet better in quality, but no more, nor indeed, so much in quantity as before, but as she must abate her diet, she must increase her exercise; and because then women with child, by reason that sharp humours alter the belly, are accustomed to weaken their spirits and strength, they may well take before meat, an electuary of diarrhoden, or aromaticum rosatum or diamagarton; and sometimes they may lick a little honey. as they will loathe, nauseate their meat, they may take green ginger, candied with sugar, and the rinds of citron and oranges candied; and let them often use honey for strengthening the infant. when she is not very far from her labour, let her eat every day seven roasted figs before her meat, and sometimes let her lick a little honey. but let her beware of salt and powdered meat, for it is neither good for her nor the child. _rules for the ninth month._ in the ninth month let her have a care of lifting any great weight, but let her move a little more, to dilate the parts, and stir up natural heat. let her take heed of stooping, and neither sit too much nor lie on her sides, neither ought she to bend herself much enfolded in the umbilical ligaments, by which means it often perisheth. let her walk and stir often, and let her exercise be, rather to go upwards than downwards. let her diet, now especially, be light and easy of digestion and damask prunes with sugar, or figs with raisins, before meat, as also the yolks of eggs, flesh and broth of chickens, birds, partridges and pheasants; astringent and roasted meats, with rice, hard eggs, millet and such like other things are proper. baths of sweet water, with emollient herbs, ought to be used by her this month with some intermission, and after the baths let her belly be anointed with oil of sweet roses and of violets; but for her privy parts, it is better to anoint them with the fat of hens, geese or ducks, or with oil of lilies, and the decoction of linseed and fenugreek, boiled with oil of linseed and marshmallows, or with the following liniment:-- take mallows and marshmallows, cut and shred, of each one ounce; of linseed, one ounce; let them be boiled from twenty ounces of water to ten; then let her take three ounces of the boiled broth, of oil of almonds and oil of flower-de-luce, of each one ounce; of deer's suet, three ounces. let her bathe with this, and anoint herself with it, warm. if for fourteen days before the birth, she do every morning and evening bathe and moisten her belly with muscadine and lavender water, the child will be much strengthened thereby. and if every day she eat toasted bread, it will hinder anything from growing to the child. her privy parts must be gently stroked down with this fomentation. "take three ounces of linseed, and one handful each of mallows and marshmallows sliced, then let them be put into a bag and immediately boiled." let the woman with child, every morning and evening, take the vapour of this decoction in a hollow stool, taking great heed that no wind or air come to her in-parts, and then let her wipe the part so anointed with a linen cloth, and she may anoint the belly and groins as at first. when she has come so near to her time, as to be ten or fourteen days thereof, if she begins to feel any more than ordinary pain let her use every day the following:--"take mallows and marshmallows, of each a handful; camomiles, hard mercury, maidenhair, of each a handful; of linseed, four ounces; let them be boiled in a sufficient quantity of water as to make a bath therewith." but let her not sit too hot upon the seat, nor higher than a little above her navel; nor let her sit upon it longer than about half an hour, lest her strength languish and decay, for it is better to use it often than to stay too long in it. and thus have i shown how a child-bearing woman ought to govern herself each month during her pregnancy. how she must order herself at her delivery, shall be shown in another chapter, after i have first shown the intended midwife how the child is first formed in the womb, and the manner of its decumbiture there. * * * * * chapter iii _of the parts proper to a child in the womb; how it is formed there, and the manner of its situation therein._ in the last chapter i treated of conception, showed what it was, how accomplished and its signs, and how she who has conceived ought to order herself during the time of her pregnancy. now, before i come to speak of her delivery, it is necessary that the midwife be first made acquainted with the parts proper to a child in the womb, and also that she be shown how it is formed, and the manner of its situation and decumbiture there; which are so necessary to her, that without the knowledge thereof, no one can tell how to deliver a woman as she ought. this, therefore, shall be the work of this chapter. i shall begin with the first of these. section i.--_of the parts proper to a child in the womb._ in this section, i must first tell you what i mean by the parts proper to a child in the womb; and they are only those that either help or nourish it; and whilst it is lodged in that dark repository of nature, and that help to clothe and defend it there and are cast away, as of no more use, after it is born, and these are two, viz., the umbilicars, or navel vessels, and the secundinum. by the first it is nourished, and by the second clothed and defended from wrong. of each of these i shall speak distinctly; and first, _of the umbilicars, or navel vessels._ these are four in number, viz.:--one vein, two arteries, and the vessel which is called the urachos. ( ) the vein is that on which the infant is nourished, from the time of its conception till the time of its delivery; till being brought into the light of the world, it has the same way of concocting the food we have. this vein ariseth from the liver of the child, and is divided into two parts when it has passed the navel; and these two are divided and subdivided, the branches being upheld by the skin called _chorion_ (of which i speak by and by), and are joined to the veins of the mother's womb, from whence they have their blood for the nourishment of the child. ( ) the arteries are two on each side which proceed from the back branches of the great artery of the mother, and the vital blood is carried by those to the child being ready concocted by the mother. ( ) a nervous or sinewy production is led from the bottom of the bladder of the infant to the navel, and this is called _urachos_, and its use is, to convey the urine of the infant from the bladder to the alantois. anatomists do very much vary in their opinion concerning this, some denying any such thing to be in the delivery of the woman, and others on the contrary affirming it; but experience has testified there is such a thing, for bartholomew carbrolius, the ordinary doctor of anatomy to the college of physicians at montpellier in france, records the history of a maid, whose water being a long time stopped, at last issued out through the navel. and johannes fernelius speaks of the same thing that happened to a man of thirty years of age, who having a stoppage at the neck of the bladder, his urine issued out of his navel for many months together, and that without any prejudice at all to his health, which he ascribes to the ill lying of his navel, whereby the urachos was not well dried. and volchier coitas quotes such another instance in a maid of thirty-four at nuremburg in germany. these instances, though they happen but seldom, are sufficient to prove that there is such a thing as anurachos in men. these four vessels before mentioned, viz., one vein, two arteries and the urachos, join near the navel, and are united by a skin which they have from the chorion and so become like a gut or rope, and are altogether void of sensibility, and this is that which women call the navel-string. the vessels are thus joined together, that so they may neither be broken, severed nor entangled; and when the infant is born are of no use save only to make up the ligament which stops the hole of the navel and for some other physical use, etc. _of the secundine or after-birth._ setting aside the name given to this by the greeks and latins, it is called in english by the name of secundine, after-birth or after-burden; which are held to be four in number. ( ) the _first_ is called placenta, because it resembles the form of a cake, and is knit both to the navel and chorion, and makes up the greatest part of the secundine or after-birth. the flesh of it is like that of the melt or spleen, soft, red and tending something to blackness, and hath many small veins and arteries in it: and certainly the chief use of it is, for containing the child in the womb. ( ) the _second_ is the chorion. this skin and that called the amnios, involve the child round, both above and underneath, and on both sides, which the alantois does not. this skin is that which is most commonly called the secundine, as it is thick and white garnished with many small veins and arteries, ending in the placenta before named, being very light and slippery. its use is, not only to cover the child round about, but also to receive, and safely bind up the roots of the veins and arteries or navel vessels before described. ( ) the _third_ thing which makes up the secundine in the alantois, of which there is a great dispute amongst anatomists. some say there is such a thing, and others that there is not. those who will have it to be a membrane, say it is white, soft and exceedingly thin, and just under the placenta, where it is knit to the urachos, from which it receives the urine; and its office is to keep it separate from the sweat, that the saltness of it may not offend the tender skin of the child. ( ) the _fourth_, and last covering of the child is called amnios; and it is white, soft and transparent, being nourished by some very small veins and arteries. its use is, not only to enwrap the child, but also to retain the sweat of the child. having thus described the parts proper to a child in the womb, i will next proceed to speak of the formation of the child therein, as soon as i have explained the hard terms of the section, that those for whose help it is designed, may understand what they read. a _vein_ is that which receives blood from the liver, and distributes in several branches to all parts of the body. _nerve_ is the same with _sinew_, and is that by which the brain adds sense and motion to the body. _placenta_, properly signifies _sugar_ cake; but in this section it is used to signify a spongy piece of flesh resembling a cake, full of veins and arteries, and is made to receive a mother's blood appointed for the infant's nourishment in the womb. the _chorion_ is an outward skin which compasseth the child in the womb. the _amnios_ is the inner skin which compasseth the child in the womb. the _alantois_ is the skin that holds the urine of the child during the time that it abides in the womb. the _urachos_ is the vessel that conveys the urine from the child in the womb to the _alantois_. i now proceed to sect. ii.--_of the formation of the child in the womb._ to speak of the formation of the child in the womb, we must begin where nature begins, and, that is at the act of coition, in which the womb having received the generative seed (without which there can be no conception), the womb immediately shuts up itself so close that the point of a needle cannot enter the inward orifice; and this it does, partly to hinder the issuing out of the seed again, and partly to cherish it by an inward heat, the better to provoke it to action; which is one reason why women's bellies are so lank at their first conception. the woman having thus conceived, the first thing which is operative in conception is the spirit whereof the seed is full, which, nature quickening by the heat of the womb, stirs up the action. the internal spirits, therefore, separate the parts that are less pure, which are thick, cold and clammy, from those that are more pure and noble. the less pure are cast to the outside, and with these seed is circled round and the membrane made, in which that seed that is most pure is wrapped round and kept close together, that it may be defended from cold and other accidents, and operate the better. the first thing that is formed is the amnios; the next the chorion; and they enwrap the seed round like a curtain. soon after this (for the seed thus shut up in the woman lies not idle), the navel vein is bred, which pierceth those skins, being yet very tender, and carries a drop of blood from the veins of the mother's womb to the seed; from which drop the vena cava, or chief vein, proceeds, from which all the rest of the veins which nourish the body spring; and now the seed hath something to nourish it, whilst it performs the rest of nature's work, and also blood administered to every part of it, to form flesh. this vein being formed, the navel arteries are soon after formed; then the great artery, of which all the others are but branches; and then the heart, for the liver furnisheth the arteries with blood to form the heart, the arteries being made of seed, but the heart and the flesh, of blood. after this the brain is formed, and then the nerves to give sense and motion to the infant. afterwards the bones and flesh are formed; and of the bones, first of all, the vertebrae or chine bones, and then the skull, etc. as to the time in which this curious part of nature's workmanship is formed, having already in chapter ii of the former part of this work spoken at large upon this point, and also of the nourishment of the child in the womb, i shall here only refer the reader thereto, and proceed to show the manner in which the child lies in the womb. sect. iii.--_of the manner of the child's lying in the womb._ this is a thing so essential for a midwife to know, that she can be no midwife who is ignorant of it; and yet even about this authors extremely differ; for there are not two in ten that agree what is the form that the child lies in the womb, or in what fashion it lies there; and yet this may arise in a great measure from the different times of the women's pregnancy; for near the time of its deliverance out of those winding chambers of nature it oftentimes changes the form in which it lay before, for another. i will now show the several situations of the child in the mother's womb, according to the different times of pregnancy, by which those that are contrary to nature, and are the chief cause of ill labours, will be more easily conceived by the understanding midwife. it ought, therefore, in the first place to be observed, that the infant, as well male as female, is generally situated in the midst of the womb; for though sometimes, to appearance a woman's belly seems higher on one side than the other, yet it is so with respect to the belly only, and not to her womb, in the midst of which it is always placed. but, in the second place, a woman's great belly makes different figures, according to the different times of pregnancy; for when she is young with child, the embryo is always found of a round figure, a little long, a little oblong, having the spine moderately turned inwards, and the thighs folded, and a little raised, to which the legs are so raised, that the heels touch the buttocks; the arms are bending, and the hands placed upon the knees, towards which part of the body, the head is turned downwards towards the inward orifice of the womb, tumbling as it were over its head so that then the feet are uppermost, and the face towards the mother's great gut; and this turning of the infant in this manner, with its head downwards, towards the latter end of a woman's reckoning, is so ordered by nature, that it may be thereby the better disposed of its passage into the world at the time of its mother's labour, which is not then far off (and indeed some children turn not at all until the very time of birth); for in this posture all its joints are most easily extended in coming forth; for by this means its arms and legs cannot hinder its birth, because they cannot be bent against the inner orifice of the womb and the rest of the body, being very supple, passeth without any difficulty after the head, which is hard and big; being passed the head is inclined forward, so that the chin toucheth the breast, in which posture, it resembles one sitting to ease nature, and stooping down with the head to see what comes from him. the spine of the back is at that time placed towards the mother's, the head uppermost, the face downwards; and proportionately to its growth, it extends its members by little and little, which were exactly folded in the first month. in this posture it usually keeps until the seventh or eighth month, and then by a natural propensity and disposition of the upper first. it is true there are divers children, that lie in the womb in another posture, and come to birth with their feet downwards, especially if there be twins; for then, by their different motions they do so disturb one another, that they seldom come both in the same posture at the time of labour, but one will come with the head, and another with the feet, or perhaps lie across; but sometimes neither of them will come right. but, however the child may be situated in the womb, or in whatever posture it presents itself at the time of birth, if it be not with its head forwards, as i have before described, it is always against nature, and the delivery will occasion the more pain and danger, and require greater care and skill from the midwife, than when the labour is more natural. * * * * * chapter iv _a guide for women in travail, showing what is to be done when they fall in labour, in order to their delivery._ the end of all that we have been treating of is, the bringing forth of a child into the world with safety both to the mother and the infant, as the whole time of a woman's pregnancy may be termed a kind of labour; for, from the time of the conception to the time of her delivery, she labours under many difficulties, is subject to many distempers, and in continual danger, from one affection or other, till the time of birth comes; and when that comes, the greatest labour and travail come along with it, insomuch that then all the other labours are forgotten, and that only is called the time of her labours, and to deliver her safely is the principal business of the midwife; and to assist therein, shall be the chief design of this chapter. the time of the child's being ready for its birth, when nature endeavours to cast it forth, is that which is properly the time of a woman's labour; nature then labouring to be eased of its burden. and since many child-bearing women, (especially the first child) are often mistaken in their reckoning and so, when they draw near their time take every pain they meet with for their labour, which often proves prejudicial and troublesome to them, when it is not so, i will in the first section of this chapter, set down some signs, by which a woman may know when the true time of her labour is come. section i.--_the signs of the true time of a woman's labour._ when women with child, especially of their first, perceive any extraordinary pains in the belly, they immediately send for their midwife, as taking it for their labour; and then if the midwife be not a skilful and experienced woman, to know the time of labour, but takes it for granted without further inquiry (for some such there are), and so goes about to put her into labour before nature is prepared for it, she may endanger the life of both mother and child, by breaking the amnios and chorion. these pains, which are often mistaken for labour, are removed by warm clothes laid to the belly, and the application of a clyster or two, by which those pains which precede a true labour, are rather furthered than hindered. there are also other pains incident to a woman in that condition from the flux of the belly, which are easily known by the frequent stools that follow them. the signs, therefore, of labour, some few days before, are that the woman's belly, which before lay high, sinks down, and hinders her from walking so easily as she used to do; also there flow from the womb slimy humours, which nature has appointed to moisten and smooth the passage that its inward orifice may be the more easily dilated when there is occasion; which beginning to open at this time, suffers that slime to flow away, which proceeds from the glandules called _prostata_. these are signs preceding the labour; but when she is presently falling into labour, the signs are, great pains about the region of the reins and loins, which coming and retreating by intervals, are answered in the bottom of the belly by congruous throes, and sometimes the face is red and inflamed, the blood being much heated by the endeavours a woman makes to bring forth her child; and likewise, because during these strong throes her respiration is intercepted, which causes the blood to have recourse to her face; also her privy parts are swelled by the infant's head lying in the birth, which, by often thrusting, causes those parts to descend outwards. she is much subject to vomiting, which is a good sign of good labour and speedy delivery, though by ignorant people thought otherwise; for good pains are thereby excited and redoubled; which vomiting is excited by the sympathy there is between the womb and the stomach. also, when the birth is near, women are troubled with a trembling in the thighs and legs, not with cold, like the beginning of an ague fit, but with the heat of the whole body, though it must be granted, this does not happen always. also, if the humours which then flow from the womb are discoloured with the blood, which the midwives call _shows_, it is an infallible mark of the birth being near. and if then the midwife puts up her fingers into the neck of the womb, she will find the inner orifice dilated; at the opening of which the membranes of the infant, containing the waters, present themselves and are strongly forced down with each pain she hath; at which time one may perceive them sometimes to resist, and then again press forward the finger, being more or less hard and extended, according as the pains are stronger or weaker. these membranes, with the waters in them, when they are before the head of the child, midwives call _the gathering of the waters_, resemble to the touch of the fingers those eggs which have no shell, but are covered only with a simple membrane. after this, the pains still redoubling the membranes are broken by a strong impulsation of these waters, which flow away, and then the head of the infant is presently felt naked, and presents itself at the inward orifice of the womb. when these waters come thus away, then the midwife may be assured the birth is very near, this being the most certain sign that can be; for the _amnios alantois_, which contained these waters, being broken by the pressing forward of the birth, the child is no better able to subsist long in the womb afterwards than a naked man in a heap of snow. now, these waters, if the child comes presently after them, facilitate the labour by making the passage slippery; and therefore, let no midwife (as some have foolishly done) endeavour to force away the water, for nature knows best when the true time of birth is, and therefore retains the waters till that time. but if by accident the water breaks away too long before the birth, then such things as will hasten it, may be safely administered, and what these are, i will show in another section. sect. ii.--_how a woman ought to be ordered when the time of her labour is come._ when it is known that the true time of her labour is come by the signs laid down in the foregoing, of which those most to be relied upon are pains and strong throes in the belly, forcing downwards towards the womb, and a dilation of the inward orifice, which may be perceived by touching it with the finger, and the gathering of the waters before the head of the child, and thrusting down the membranes which contain them; through which, between the pains, one may in some manner with the finger discover the part which presents itself (as we have said before), especially if it be the head of the child, by its roundness and hardness; i say, if these things concur and are evident, the midwife may be sure it is the time of the woman's labour, and care must be taken to get all those things that are necessary to comfort her at that time. and the better to help her, be sure to see that she is not tightly laced; you must also give her one strong clyster or more, if there be occasion, provided it be done at the beginning, and before the child be too forward, for it will be difficult for her to receive them afterwards. the benefit accruing therefrom will be, that they excite the gut to discharge itself of its excrements, so that the rectum being emptied there may be the more space for the dilation of the passage; likewise to cause the pains to bear the more downward, through the endeavours she makes when she is at stool, and in the meantime, all other necessary things for her labour should be put in order, both for the mother and the child. to this end, some get a midwife's; but a pallet bed, girded, is much the best way, placed near the fire, if the season so require, which pallet ought to be so placed, that there may be easy access to it on every side, that the woman may be the more easily assisted, as there is occasion. if the woman abounds with blood, to bleed her a little more may not be improper, for thereby she will both breathe the better, and have her breasts more at liberty, and likewise more strength to bear down her pains; and this may be done without danger because the child being about ready to be born, has no more need of the mother's blood for its nourishment; besides, this evacuation does many times prevent her having a fever after delivery. also, before her delivery, if her strength will permit, let her walk up and down her chamber; and that she may have strength so to do, it will be necessary to give her good strengthening things, such as jelly, broth, new laid eggs, or some spoonfuls of burnt wine; and let her by all means hold out her pains, bearing them down as much as she can, at the time when they take her; and let the midwife from time to time touch the inward orifice with her finger, to know whether the waters are ready to break and whether the birth will follow soon after. let her also anoint the woman's privities with emollient oil, hog's grease, and fresh butter, if she find they are hard to be dilated. let the midwife, likewise, all the time be near the labouring woman, and diligently observe her gestures, complaints, and pains, for by this she may guess pretty well how far her labour advanceth, because when she changeth her ordinary groans into loud cries, it is a sign that the child is near the birth; for at the time her pains are greater and more frequent. let the woman likewise, by intervals, rest herself upon the bed to regain her strength, but not too long, especially if she be little, short and thick, for such women have always worse labour if they lie long on their beds in their travail. it is better, therefore, that she walk about her chamber as long as she can, the woman supporting her under the arms, if it be necessary; for by this means, the weight of the child causes the inward orifices of the womb to dilate the sooner than in bed, and if her pains be stronger and more frequent, her labour will not be near so long. let not the labouring woman be concerned at those qualms and vomitings which, perhaps, she may find come upon her, for they will be much for her advantage in the issue, however uneasy she may be for a time, as they further her pains and throes by provoking downward. when the waters of the child are ready and gathered (which may be perceived through the membranes presenting themselves to the orifice) to the bigness of the whole dilatation, the midwife ought to let them break of themselves, and not, like some hasty midwives, who being impatient of the woman's long labour, break them, intending thereby to hasten their business, when instead thereof, they retard it; for by the too hasty breaking of these waters (which nature designed to make the child slip more easy), the passage remains dry by which means the pains and throes of the labouring woman are less efficacious to bring forth the infant than they would otherwise have been. it is, therefore, much the better way to let the waters break of themselves; after which the midwife may with ease feel the child by that part which first presents, and thereby discern whether it comes right, that is, with the head foremost, for that is the proper and most natural way of the birth. if the head comes right, she will find it big, round, hard and equal; but if it be any other part, she will find it rugged, unequal, soft and hard, according to the nature of the part it is. and this being the true time when a woman ought to be delivered, if nature be not wanting to perform its office, therefore, when the midwife finds the birth thus coming forward let her hasten to assist and deliver it, for it ordinarily happens soon after, if it be natural. but if it happens, as it sometimes may, that the waters break away too long before the birth, in such a case, those things which hasten nature may safely be administered. for which purpose make use of pennyroyal, dittany, juniper berries, red coral, betony and feverfew, boiled in white wine, and give a drachm of it, or it would be much better to take the juice of it when it is in its prime, which is in may, and having clarified it, make it into a syrup with double its weight of sugar, and keep it all the year, to use when occasion calls for it; mugwort used in the same manner is also good in this case; also a drachm of cinnamon powder given inwardly profits much in this case; and so does tansey broiled and applied to the privities; or an oil of it, so, made and used, as you were taught before. the stone _aetites_ held to the privities, is of extraordinary virtue, and instantly draws away, both child and after-burden; but great care must be taken to remove it presently, or it will draw forth womb and all; for such is the magnetic virtue of this stone that both child and womb follow it as readily as iron doth the load-stone or the load-stone the north star. there are many things that physicians affirm are good in this case; among which are an ass's or horse's hoof, hung near the privities; a piece of red coral hung near the said place. a load-stone helps very much, held in the woman's left hand; or the skin cut off a snake, girt about the middle, next to the skin. these things are mentioned by mizaldus, but setting those things aside, as not so certain, notwithstanding mizaldus quotes them, the following prescriptions are very good to speedy deliverance to women in travail. ( ) a decoction of white wine made in savory, and drank. ( ) take wild tansey, or silver weed, bruise it, and apply to the woman's nostrils. ( ) take date stones, and beat them to powder, and let her take half a drachm of them in white wine at a time. ( ) take parsley and bruise it and press out the juice, and dip a linen cloth in it, and put it so dipped into the mouth of the womb; it will presently cause the child to come away, though it be dead, and it will bring away the after-burden. also the juice of the parsley is a thing of so great virtue (especially stone parsley) that being drank by a woman with child, it cleanseth not only the womb, but also the child in the womb, of all gross humours. ( ) a scruple of castorum in powder, in any convenient liquor, is very good to be taken in such a case, and so also is two or three drops of castorum in any convenient liquor; or eight or nine drops of spirits of myrrh given in any convenient liquor, gives speedy deliverance. ( ) give a woman in such a case another woman's milk to drink; it will cause speedy delivery, and almost without pain. ( ) the juice of leeks, being drunk with warm water, highly operates to cause speedy delivery. ( ) take peony seeds and beat them into a powder, and mix the powder with oil, with which oil anoint the privities of the woman and child; it will give her deliverance speedily, and with less pain than can be imagined. ( ) take a swallow's nest and dissolve it in water, strain it, and drink it warm, it gives delivery with great speed and much ease. note this also in general, that all that move the terms are good for making the delivery easy, such as myrrh, white amber in white wine, or lily water, two scruples or a drachm; or cassia lignea, dittany, each a drachm; cinnamon, half a drachm, saffron, a scruple; give a drachm, or take borax mineral, a drachm, and give it in sack; or take cassia lignea, a drachm; dittany, amber, of each a drachm; cinnamon, borax, of each a drachm and a half; saffron, a scruple, and give her half a drachm; or give her some drops of oil of hazel in convenient liquor; or two or three drops of oil of cinnamon in vervain water. some prepare the secundine thus:--take the navel-string and dry it in an oven, take two drachms of the powder, cinnamon a drachm, saffron half a scruple, with the juice of savin make trochisks; give two drachms; or wash the secundine in wine and bake it in a pot; then wash it in endive water and wine, take half a drachm of it; long pepper, galangal, of each half a drachm; plantain and endive seed, of each half a drachm; lavender seed, four scruples; make a powder, or take laudanum, two drachms; storax, calamite, benzoin, of each half a drachm; musk, ambergris each six grains, make a powder or trochisks for a fume. or use pessaries to provoke the birth; take galbanum dissolved in vinegar, an ounce; myrrh, two drachms, with oil of oat make a pessary. _an ointment for the navel._ take oil of keir, two ounces, juice of savine an ounce, of leeks and mercury, each half an ounce; boil them to the consumption of the juice; add galbanum dissolved in vinegar, half an ounce, myrrh, two drachms, storax liquid a drachm, round bitwort, sowbread, cinnamon, saffron, a drachm, with wax make an ointment and apply it. if the birth be retarded through the weakness of the mother, refresh her by applying wine and soap to the nose, confect. alkermas. diamarg. these things may be applied to help nature in her delivery when the child comes to the birth the right way, and yet the birth be retarded; but if she finds the child comes the wrong way, and that she is not able to deliver the woman as she ought to be, by helping nature, and saving both mother and child (for it is not enough to lay a woman if it might be done any other way with more safety and ease, and less hazard to woman and child), then let her send speedily for the better and more able to help; and not as i once knew a midwife do, who, when a woman she was to deliver had hard labour, rather than a man-midwife should be sent for, undertook to deliver the woman herself (though told it was a man's business), and in her attempting it, brought away the child, but left the head in the mother's womb; and had not a man midwife been presently sent for, the mother had lost her life as well as the child; such persons may rather be termed butchers than midwives. but supposing the woman's labour to be natural, i will next show what the midwife ought to do, in order of her delivery. * * * * * chapter v _of natural labour; what it is and what the midwife is to do in such labour._ section i.--_what natural labour is._ there are four things which denominate a woman's natural labour; the first is, that it be at the full time, for if a woman comes before her time, it cannot be termed natural labour, neither will it be so easy as though she had completed her nine months. the second thing is, that it be speedy, and without any ill accident; for when the time of her birth come, nature is not dilatory in the bringing it forth, without some ill accident intervene, which renders it unnatural. the third is, that the child be alive; for all will grant, that the being delivered of a dead child is very unnatural. the fourth is, that the child come right, for if the position of the child in the womb be contrary to that which is natural, the event will prove it so, by making that which should be a time of life, the death both of the mother and the child. having thus told you what i mean by natural labour, i shall next show how the midwife is to proceed therein, in order to the woman's delivery. when all the foregoing requisites concur, and after the waters be broken of themselves, let there rather a quilt be laid upon the pallet bedstead than a feather bed, having there-on linen and cloths in many folds, with such other things as are necessary, and that may be changed according to the exigency requiring it, so that the woman may not be incommoded with the blood, waters and other filth which are voided in labour. the bed ought to be ordered, that the woman being ready to be delivered, should lie on her back upon it, having her body in a convenient posture; this is, her head and breast a little raised, so that she may be between lying and sitting, for being so placed, she is best capable of breathing, and, likewise, will have more strength to bear her pains than if she lay otherwise, or sunk down in her bed. being so placed, she must spread her thighs abroad, folding her legs a little towards her buttocks, somewhat raised by a little pillow underneath, to the end that her rumps should have more liberty to retire back; and let her feet be stayed against some firm thing; besides this, let her take firm hold of some of the good women attending her, with her hands, that she may the better stay herself during her pains. she being thus placed at her bed, having her midwife at hand, the better to assist as nature may require, let her take courage, and help her pains as best she can, bearing them down when they take her, which she must do by holding her breath, and forcing them as much as possible, in like manner as when she goes to stool, for by such straining, the diaphragm, or midriff, being strongly thrust downward, necessarily forces down the womb and the child in it. in the meantime, let the midwife endeavour to comfort her all she can, exhorting her to bear her labour courageously, telling her it will be quickly over, and that there is no fear but that she will have a speedy delivery. let the midwife also, having no rings on her fingers, anoint them with oil of fresh butter, and therewith dilate gently the inward orifice of the womb putting her finger ends into the entry thereof, and then stretch them one from the other, when her pains take her; by this means endeavouring to help forward the child, and thrusting by little and little, the sides of the orifice towards the hinder part of the child's head, anointing it with fresh butter if it be necessary. when the head of the infant is a little advanced into the inward orifice, the midwife's phrase is:--"it is crowned"; because it girds and surrounds it just as a crown; but when it is so far that the extremities begin to appear without the privy parts, then they say, "the infant is in the passage"; and at this time the woman feels herself as if it were scratched, or pricked with pins, and is ready to imagine that the midwife hurts her, when it is occasioned by the violent distension of those parts and the laceration which sometimes the bigness of the child's head causeth there. when things are in this posture, let the midwife seat herself conveniently to receive the child, which will come quickly, and with her finger ends (which she must be sure to keep close pared) let her endeavour to thrust the crowning of the womb (of which i have spoken before), back over the head of the child, and as soon as it is advanced as far as the ears, or thereabouts, let her take hold of the two sides with her two hands, that when a good pain comes she may quickly draw forth the child, taking care that the navel-string be not entangled about the neck or any part, as sometimes it is, lest thereby the after-burden be pulled with violence, and perhaps the womb also, to which it is fastened, and so either cause her to flood or else break the strings, both which are of bad consequence to the woman, whose delivery may thereby be rendered the more difficult. it must also be carefully observed that the head be not drawn forth straight, but shaking it a little from one side to the other, that the shoulders may sooner and easier take their places immediately after it is past, without losing time, lest the head being past, the child be stopped there by the largeness of the shoulders, and so come in danger of being suffocated and strangled in the passage, as it sometimes happens, for the want of care therein. but as soon as the head is born, if there be need, she may slide her fingers under the armpits, and the rest of the body will follow without any difficulty. as soon as the midwife hath in this manner drawn forth the child, let her put it on one side, lest the blood and water which follows immediately, should do it any injury by running into its mouth and nose, as they would do, if it lay on its back; and so endanger the choking of it. the child being thus born, the next thing requisite is, to bring away the after-burden, but before that let the midwife be very careful to examine whether there be more children in the womb; for sometimes a woman may have twins that expected it not; which the midwife may easily know by the continuance of the pains after the child is born, and the bigness of the mother's belly. but the midwife may be sure of it, if she puts her hand up to the entry of the womb, and finds there another watery gathering, and the child in it presenting to the passage, and if she find it so, she must have a care of going to fetch the after-birth, till the woman be delivered of all the children she is pregnant with. wherefore the first string must be cut, being first tied with a thread three or four times double, and fasten the other end with string to the woman's thighs, to prevent the inconvenience it may cause by hanging between the thighs; and then removing the child already born, she must take care to deliver her of the rest, observing all the circumstances as with the first; after which, it will be necessary to fetch away the after-birth, or births. but of that i shall treat in another section, and first show what is to be done to the new-born infant. sect. ii.--_of the cutting of the child's navel string._ though this is accounted by many but as a trifle, yet great care is to be taken about it, and it shows none of the least art and skill of a midwife to do it as it should be; and that it may be so done, the midwife should observe: ( ) the time. ( ) the place. ( ) the manner. ( ) the event. ( ) the time is, as soon as ever the infant comes out of the womb, whether it brings part of the after-burden with it or not; for sometimes the child brings into the world a piece of the amnios upon its head, and is what mid wives call the _caul_, and ignorantly attribute some extraordinary virtue to the child so born; but this opinion is only the effect of their ignorance; for when a child is born with such a crown (as some call it) upon its brows, it generally betokens weakness and denotes a short life. but to proceed to the matter in hand. as soon as the child comes into the world, it should be considered whether it is weak or strong; and if it be weak, let the midwife gently put back part of the natural and vital blood into the body of the child by its navel; for that recruits a weak child (the vital and natural spirits being communicated by the mother to the child by its navel-string), but if the child be strong, the operation is needless. only let me advise you, that many children that are born seemingly dead, may soon be brought to life again, if you squeeze six or seven drops of blood out of that part of the navel-string which is cut off, and give it to the child inwardly. ( ) as to the place in which it should be cut, that is, whether it should be cut long or short, it is that which authors can scarcely agree in, and which many midwives quarrel about; some prescribing it to be cut at four fingers' breadth, which is, at best, but an uncertain rule, unless all fingers were of one size. it is a received opinion, that the parts adapted to the generation are contracted and dilated according to the cutting of the navel-string, and this is the reason why midwives are generally so kind to their own sex, that they leave a longer part of the navel-string of a male than female, because they would have the males well provided for the encounters of venus; and the reason they give, why they cut that of the female shorter is, because they believe it makes them more acceptable to their husbands. mizaldus was not altogether of the opinion of these midwives, and he, therefore, ordered the navel string to be cut long both in male and female children; for which he gives the following reason, that the instrument of generation follows the proportion of it; and therefore, if it be cut too short in a female, it will be a hindrance to her having children. i will not go about to contradict the opinions of mizaldus; these, experience has made good:--that one is, that if the navel-string of a child, after it be cut, be suffered to touch the ground, the child will never hold its water, either sleeping or waking, but will be subjected to an involuntary making of water all its lifetime. the other is, that a piece of a child's navel-string carried about one, so that it touch his skin, defends him that wears it from the falling sickness and convulsions. ( ) as to the manner it must be cut, let the midwife take a brown thread, four or five times double, of an ell long, or thereabouts, tied with a single knot at each of the ends, to prevent their entangling; and with this thread so accommodated (which the woman must have in readiness before the woman's labour, as also a good pair of scissors, that no time may be lost) let her tie the string within an inch of the belly with a double knot, and turning about the end of the thread, let her tie two more on the other side of the string, reiterating it again, if it be necessary; then let her cut off the navel-string another inch below the ligatures, towards the after-birth, so that there only remains but two inches of the string, in the midst of which will be the knot we speak of, which must be so close knit, as not to suffer a drop of blood to squeeze out of the vessels, but care must be taken, not to knit it so strait, as to out it in two, and therefore the thread must be pretty thick and pretty strait cut, it being better too strait than too loose; for some children have miserably lost their lives, with all their blood, before it was discovered, because the navel-string was not well tied, therefore great care must be taken that no blood squeeze through; for if there do, a new knot must be made with the rest of the string. you need not fear to bind the navel-string very hard because it is void of sense, and that part which you leave, falls off in a very few days, sometimes in six or seven, or sooner, but never tarries longer than eight or nine. when you have thus cut the navel-string, then take care the piece that falls off touch not the ground, for the reason i told you mizaldus gave, which experience has justified. ( ) the last thing i mentioned, was the event or consequence, or what follows cutting the navel-string. as soon as it is cut, apply a little cotton or lint to the place to keep it warm, lest the cold enter into the body of the child, which it most certainly will do, if you have not bound it hard enough. if the lint or cotton you apply to it, be dipped in oil of roses, it will be the better, and then put another small rag three or four times double upon the belly; upon the top of all, put another small bolster, and then swathe it with a linen swathe, four fingers broad, to keep it steady, lest by moving too much, or from being continually stirred from side to side, it comes to fall off before the navel-string, which you left remaining, is fallen off. it is the usual custom of midwives to put a piece of burnt rag to it, which we commonly call tinder; but i would rather advise them to put a little ammoniac to it, because of its drying qualities. sect. iii.--_how to bring away the after-burden._ a woman cannot be said to be fairly delivered, though the child be born, till the after-burden be also taken from her; herein differing from most animals, who, when they have brought forth their young, cast forth nothing else but some water, and the membranes which contained them. but women have an after-labour, which sometimes proves more dangerous than the first; and how to bring it safely away without prejudice to her, shall be my business to show in this section. as soon as the child is born, before the midwife either ties or cuts the navel-string, lest the womb should close, let her take the string and wind it once or twice about one or two fingers on her left hand joined together, the better to hold it, with which she may draw it moderately, and with the right hand, she may only take a single hold of it, above the left, near the privities, drawing likewise with that very gently, resting the while the forefinger of the same hand, extended and stretched forth along the string towards the entrance of the vagina, always observing, for the greater facility, to draw it from the side where the burden cleaves least; for in so doing, the rest will separate the better; and special care must be taken that it be not drawn forth with too much violence, lest by breaking the string near the burden, the midwife be obliged to put the whole hand into the womb to deliver the woman; and she need to be a very skilful person that undertakes it, lest the womb, to which the burden is sometimes very strongly fastened, be drawn away with it, as has sometimes happened. it is, therefore, best to use such remedies as may assist nature. and here take notice, that what brings away the birth, will also bring away the after-birth. and therefore, for effecting this work, i will lay down the following rules. ( ) use the same means of bringing away the after-birth, that you made use of to bring away the birth; for the same care and circumspection are needful now that there were then. ( ) considering that the labouring woman cannot but be much spent by what she has already undergone in bringing forth the infant, be therefore sure to give her something to comfort her. and in this case good jelly broths, also a little wine and toast in it, and other comforting things, will be necessary. ( ) a little hellebore in powder, to make her sneeze, is in this case very proper. ( ) tansey, and the stone aetites, applied as before directed, are also of good use in this case. ( ) if you take the herb vervain, and either boil it in wine, or a syrup with the juice of it, which you may do by adding to it double its weight of sugar (having clarified the juice before you boil it), a spoonful of that given to the woman is very efficacious to bring away the secundine; and feverfew and mugwort have the same operation taken as the former. ( ) alexanders[ ] boiled in wine, and the wine drank, also sweet servile, sweet cicily, angelica roots, and musterwort, are excellent remedies in this case. ( ) or, if this fail, the smoke of marigolds, received up a woman's privities by a funnel, have been known to bring away the after-birth, even when the midwife let go her hold. ( ) boil mugwort in water till it be very soft, then take it out, and apply it in the manner of a poultice to the navel of the labouring woman, and it instantly brings away the birth. but special care must be taken to remove it as soon as they come away, lest by its long tarrying it should draw away the womb also. sect. iv.--_of laborious and difficult labours and how the midwife is to proceed therein._ there are three sorts of bad labours, all painful and difficult, but not all properly unnatural. it will be necessary, therefore, to distinguish these. the _first_ of these labours is that when the mother and child suffer very much extreme pain and difficulty, even though the child come right; and this is distinguishably called the laborious labour. the _second_ is that which is difficult and differs not much from the former, except that, besides those extraordinary pains, it is generally attended with some unhappy accident, which, by retarding the birth, causes the difficulty; but these difficulties being removed, it accelerates the birth, and hastens the delivery. some have asked, what is the reason that women bring forth their children with so much pain? i answer, the sense of feeling is distributed to the whole body by the nerves, and the mouth of the womb being so narrow, that it must of necessity be dilated at the time of the woman's delivery, the dilating thereof stretches the nerves, and from thence comes the pain. and therefore the reason why some women have more pain in their labour than others, proceeds from their having the mouth of the matrix more full of nerves than others. the best way to remove those difficulties that occasion hard pains and labour, is to show first from whence they proceed. now the difficulty of labour proceeds either from the mother, or child, or both. from the mother, by reason of the indisposition of the body, or from some particular part only, and chiefly the womb, as when the woman is weak, and the mother is not active to expel the burden, or from weakness, or disease, or want of spirits; or it may be from strong passion of the mind with which she was once possessed; she may also be too young, and so may have the passage too narrow; or too old, and then, if it be her first child, because her pains are too dry and hard, and cannot be easily dilated, as happens also to them which are too lean; likewise those who are small, short or deformed, as crooked women who have not breath enough to help their pains, and to bear them down, persons that are crooked having sometimes the bones of the passage not well shaped. the colic also hinders labour, by preventing the true pains; and all great and active pains, as when the woman is taken with a great and violent fever, a great flooding, frequent convulsions, bloody flux, or any other great distemper. also, excrements retained cause great difficulty, and so does a stone in the bladder: or when the bladder is full of urine, without being able to void it, or when the woman is troubled with great and painful piles. it may also be from the passages, when the membranes are thick, the orifice too narrow, and the neck of the womb not sufficiently open, the passages strained and pressed by tumours in the adjacent parts, or when the bones are too firm, and will not open, which very much endangers the mother and the child; or when the passages are not slippery, by reason of the waters having broken too soon, or membranes being too thin. the womb may also be out of order with regard to its bad situation or conformation, having its neck too narrow, hard and callous, which may easily be so naturally, or may come by accident, being many times caused by a tumour, an imposthume, ulcer or superfluous flesh. as to hard labour occasioned by the child, it is when the child happens to stick to a mole, or when it is so weak it cannot break the membranes; or if it be too big all over, or in the head only; or if the natural vessels are twisted about its neck; when the belly is hydropsical; or when it is monstrous, having two heads, or joined to another child, also, when the child is dead or so weak that it can contribute nothing to its birth; likewise when it comes wrong, or there are two or more. and to all these various difficulties there is oftentimes one more, and that is, the ignorance of the midwife, who for want of understanding in her business, hinders nature in her work instead of helping her. having thus looked into the cause of hard labour, i will now show the industrious midwife how she may minister some relief to the labouring woman under these difficult circumstances. but it will require judgment and understanding in the midwife, when she finds a woman in difficult labour, to know the particular obstruction, or cause thereof, that so a suitable remedy may be applied; as for instance, when it happens by the mother's being too young and too narrow, she must be gently treated, and the passages anointed with oil, hog's lard, or fresh butter, to relax and dilate them the easier, lest there should happen a rupture of any part when the child is born; for sometimes the peritoneum breaks, with the skin from the privities to the fundament. but if the woman be in years with her first child, let her lower parts be anointed to mollify the inward orifice, which in such a case being more hard and callous, does not easily yield to the distention of labour, which is the true cause why such women are longer in labour, and also why their children, being forced against the inward orifice of the womb (which, as i have said, is a little callous) are born with great bumps and bruises on their heads. those women who are very small and mis-shaped, should not be put to bed, at least until the waters are broken, but rather kept upright and assisted to walk about the chamber, by being supported under the arms; for by that means, they will breathe more freely, and mend their pains better than on the bed, because there they lie all of a heap. as for those that are very lean, and have hard labour from that cause, let them moisten the parts with oil and ointments, to make them more smooth and slippery, that the head of the infant, and the womb be not so compressed and bruised by the hardness of the mother's bones which form the passage. if the cause be weakness, she ought to be strengthened, the better to support her pains, to which end give her good jelly broths, and a little wine with a toast in it. if she fears her pains, let her be comforted, assuring her that she will not endure any more, but be delivered in a little time. but if her pains be slow and small, or none at all, they must be provoked by frequent and pretty strong clysters; let her walk about her chamber, so that the weight of the child may help them forward. if she flood or have strong convulsions she must then be helped by a speedy delivery; the operation i shall relate in this section of unnatural labours. if she be costive, let her use clysters, which may also help to dispel colic, at those times very injurious because attended with useless pains, and because such bear not downward, and so help not to forward the birth. if she find an obstruction or stoppage of the urine, by reason of the womb's bearing too much on the bladder, let her lift up her belly a little with her hands, and try if by that she receives any benefit; if she finds she does not, it will be necessary to introduce a catheter into her bladder, and thereby draw forth her urine. if the difficulty be from the ill posture of the woman, let her be placed otherwise, in a posture more suitable and convenient for her; also if it proceeds from indispositions of the womb, as from its oblique situation, etc., it must be remedied, as well as it can be, by the placing her body accordingly; or, if it be a vicious conformation, having the neck too hard, too callous, too straight, it must be anointed with oil and ointments, as before directed. if the membranes be so strong that the waters do not break in due time, they may be broken with the fingers, if the midwife be first well assured that the child is come forward into the passage, and ready to follow presently after; or else, by the breaking of the waters too soon, the child may be in danger of remaining dry a long time; to supply which defect, you may moisten the parts with fomentations, decoctions, and emollient oils; which yet is not half so well as when nature does her work in her own time, with the ordinary slime and waters. the membranes sometimes do press forth with the waters, three or four fingers' breadth out of the body before the child resembling a bladder full of water; but there is no great danger in breaking them, if they be not already broken; for when the case is so, the child is always in readiness to follow, being in the passage, but let the midwife be very careful not to pull it with her hand, lest the after-burden be thereby loosened before its time, for it adheres thereto very strongly. if the navel-string happen to come first, it must presently be put up again, and kept so, if possible, or otherwise, the woman must be immediately delivered. but if the after-burden should come first, it must not be put up again by any means; for the infant having no further occasion for it, it would be but an obstacle if it were put up; in this case, it must be cut off, having tied the navel-string, and afterwards draw forth the child with all speed that may be, lest it be suffocated. sect. v.--_of women labouring of a dead child._ when the difficulty of labour arises from a dead child, it is a great danger to a mother and great care ought to be taken therein; but before anything be done, the midwife ought to be well assured that the child is dead indeed, which may be known by these signs. ( ) the breast suddenly slacks, or falls flat, or bags down. ( ) a great coldness possesses the belly of the mother, especially about the navel. ( ) her urine is thick, with a filthy stinking settling at the bottom. ( ) no motion of the child can be perceived; for the trial whereof, let the midwife put her hand into warm water, and lay it upon the belly, for that, if it is alive, will make it stir. ( ) she is very subject to dreams of dead men, and affrighted therewith. ( ) she has extraordinary longings to eat such things as are contrary to nature. ( ) her breath stinks, though not used so to do. ( ) when she turns herself in her bed, the child sways that way like a lump of lead. these things being carefully observed, the midwife may make a judgment whether the child be alive or dead, especially if the woman take the following prescription:--"take half a pint of white wine and burn it, and add thereto half an ounce of cinnamon, but no other spices whatever, and when she has drunk it, if her travailing pains come upon her, the child is certainly dead; but if not, the child may possibly be either weak or sick, but not dead. this will bring her pains upon her if it be dead, and will refresh the child and give her ease if it be living; for cinnamon refresheth and strengtheneth the child. now, if upon trial it be found the child is dead, let the mother do all she can to forward the delivery, because a dead child can in no wise be helpful therein. it will be necessary, therefore, that she take some comfortable things to prevent her fainting, by reason of the putrid vapours arising from the dead child. and in order to her delivery let her take the following herbs boiled in white wine (or at least as many of them as you can get), viz., dittany, betony, pennyroyal, sage, feverfew, centaury, ivy leaves and berries. let her also take sweet basil in powder, and half a drachm at a time in white wine; let her privities also be anointed with the juice of the garden tansey. or take the tansey in the summer when it can most plentifully be had, and before it runs up to flower, and having bruised it well, boil it in oil until the juice of it be consumed. if you set it in the sun, after you have mixed it with oil, it will be more effectual. this, an industrious midwife, who would be prepared against all events, ought to have always by her. as to the manner of her delivery, the same methods must be used as are mentioned in the section of natural labour. and here again, i cannot but commend the stone aetites, held near the privities, whose magnetic virtue renders it exceedingly necessary on this occasion, for it draws the child any way with the same facility that the load-stone draws iron. let the midwife also make a strong decoction of hyssop with water, and let the woman drink it very hot, and it will in a little time bring away the dead child. if, as soon as she is delivered of the dead child, you are in doubt that part of the afterbirth is left behind in the body (for in such cases as these many times it rots, and comes away piece-meal), let her continue drinking the same decoction until her body be cleansed. a decoction made of herbs, muster-wort, used as you did the decoction of hyssop, works the effect. let the midwife also take the roots of pollodum and stamp them well; warm them a little and bind them on the sides of her feet, and it will soon bring away the child either dead or alive. the following medicines also are such as stir up the expulsive faculty, but in this case they must be stronger, because the motion of the child ceases. take savine, round birthwort, trochisks of myrrh, castor, cinnamon and saffron, each half a drachm; make a powder, give a drachm. or she may purge first, and then apply an emollient, anointing her about the womb with oil of lilies, sweet almonds, camomiles, hen and goose-grease. also foment to get out the child, with a decoction of mercury, orris, wild cucumbers, saecus, broom flowers. then anoint the privities and loins with ointment of sow-bread. or, take coloquintida, agaric, birthwort, of each a drachm; make a powder, add ammoniacum dissolved in wine, ox-gall, each two drachms. or make a fume with an ass's hoof burnt, or gallianum, or castor, and let it be taken in with a funnel. to take away pains and strengthen the parts, foment with the decoction of mugwort, mallows, rosemary, with wood myrtle, st. john's wort, each half an ounce, spermaceti two drachms, deer's suet, an ounce; with wax make an ointment. or take wax six ounces, spermaceti an ounce; melt them, dip flux therein, and lay it all over her belly. if none of these things will do, the last remedy is to try surgery, and then the midwife ought without delay to send for an expert and able man-midwife, to deliver her by manual operation, of which i shall treat more at large in the next chapter. footnotes: [ ] horse-parsley. * * * * * chapter vi _of unnatural labour._ in showing the duty of a midwife, when the child-bearing woman's labour is unnatural, it will be requisite to show, in the first place, what i mean by unnatural labour, for that women do bring forth in pain and sorrow is natural and common to all. therefore, that which i call unnatural is, when the child comes to the birth in a contrary posture to that which nature ordained, and in which the generality of the children come into the world. the right and natural birth is when the child comes with its head first; and yet this is too short a definition of a natural birth; for if any part of the head but the crown comes first, so that the body follows not in a straight line, it is a wrong and difficult birth, even though the head comes first. therefore, if the child comes with its feet first, or with the side across, it is quite contrary to nature, or to speak more plainly, that which i call unnatural. now, there are four general ways a child may come wrong. ( ) when any of the foreparts of the body first present themselves. ( ) when by an unhappy transposition, any of the hinder parts of the body first present themselves. ( ) when either of the sides, or, ( ) the feet present themselves first. to these, the different wrong postures that a child can present itself in, may be reduced. section i.--_how to deliver a woman of a dead child by manual operation._ when manual operation is necessary, let the operator acquaint the woman of the absolute necessity there is for such an operation; and that, as the child has already lost its life, there is no other way left for the saving hers. let him also inform her, for her encouragement, that he doubts not, with the divine blessing, to deliver her safely, and that the pains arising therefrom will not be so great as she fears. then let him stir up the woman's pains by giving her some sharp clyster, to excite her throes to bear down, and bring forth the child. and if this prevails not, let him proceed with the manual operation. first, therefore, let her be placed across the bed that he may operate the easier; and let her lie on her back, with her hips a little higher than her head, or at least the body equally placed, when it is necessary to put back or turn the infant to give it a better posture. being thus situated, she must fold her legs so as her heels be towards her buttocks, and her thighs spread, and so held by a couple of strong persons, there must be others also to support her under her arms, that the body may not slide down when the child is drawn forth; for which sometimes great strength is required. let the sheets and blankets cover her thighs for decency's sake, and with respect to the assistants, and also to prevent her catching cold; the operator herein governing himself as well with respect to his convenience, and the facility and surety of the operation, as to other things. then let him anoint the entrance to the womb with oil or fresh butter, if necessary, that with so more ease he may introduce his hand, which must also be anointed, and having by the signs above mentioned, received satisfaction that the child is dead, he must do his endeavours to fetch it away as soon as he possibly can. if the child offer the head first, he must gently put it back until he hath liberty to introduce his hand quite into the womb; then sliding it along, under the belly, to find the feet, let him draw it forth by them, being very careful to keep the head from being locked into the passage; and that it be not separated from the body; which may be effected the more easily, because the child being very rotten and putrefied, the operator need not be so mindful to keep the breast and face downwards as he is in living births. but if notwithstanding all these precautions, by reason of the child's putrefaction, the head should be separated and left behind in the womb, it must be drawn forth according to the directions which have been given in the third section of this chapter. but when the head, coming first, is so far advanced that it cannot well be put back, it is better to draw it forth so, than to torment the woman too much by putting it back to turn it, and bring it by the feet; but the head being a part round and slippery, it may also happen that the operator cannot take hold of it with his fingers by reason of its moisture, nor put them up to the side of it, because the passage is filled with its bigness; he must, therefore, take a proper instrument, and put it up as far as he can without violence, between the womb and the child's head (for the child being dead before, there can be no danger in the operation), and let him fasten it there, giving it hold upon one of the bones of the skull, that it may not slide, and after it is well fixed in the head, he may therewith draw it forth, keeping the ends of the fingers of his left hand flat upon the opposite side, the better to help to disengage it, and by wagging it a little, to conduct it directly out of the passage, until the head be quite born; and then, taking hold of it with his hands only, the shoulders being drawn into the passage, and so sliding the fingers of both hands under the armpits, the child may be quite delivered, and then the after-burden fetched, to finish the operation, being careful not to pluck the navel-string too hard lest it break, as often happens when it is corrupt. if the dead child comes with the arm up to the shoulders so extremely swelled that the woman must suffer too great violence to have it put back, it is then (being first well assured the child is dead) best to take it off by the shoulder joints, by twisting three or four times about, which is very easily done by reason of the softness and tenderness of the body. after the arm is so separated, and no longer possesses the passage, the operator will have more room to put up his hand into the womb, to fetch the child by the feet and bring it away. but although the operator is sure the child is dead in the womb, yet he must not therefore presently use instruments because they are never to be used but when hands are not sufficient, and there is no other remedy to prevent the woman's danger, or to bring forth the child any other way; and the judicious operator will choose that way which is the least hazardous, and most safe. sect. ii.--_how a woman must be delivered when the child's feet come first._ there is nothing more obvious to those whose business it is to assist labouring women, than that the several unnatural postures in which children present themselves at the birth are the occasions of most of the bad labours and ill accidents that happen to them in that condition. and since midwives are often obliged, because of their unnatural situations, to draw the children forth by the feet, i conceive it to be most proper first to show how a child must be brought forth that presents itself in that posture, because it will be a guide to several of the rest. i know indeed in this case it is the advice of several authors to change the figure, and place the head so that it may present to the birth, and this counsel i should be very much inclined to follow, could they but also show how it may be done. but it will appear very difficult, if not impossible to be performed, if we would avoid the danger that by such violent agitations both the mother and the child must be put into, and therefore my opinion is, that it is better to draw forth by the feet, when it presents itself in that posture, than to venture a worse accident by turning it. as soon, therefore, as the waters are broken, and it is known that the child come thus and that the womb is open enough to admit the midwife's or operator's hand into it, or else by anointing the passage with oil or hog's grease, to endeavour to dilate it by degrees, using her fingers to this purpose, spreading them one from the other, after they are together entered, and continue to do so until they be sufficiently dilated, then taking care that her nails be well pared, no rings on her fingers and her hands well anointed with oil or fresh butter, and the woman placed in the manner directed in the former section, let her gently introduce her hand into the entrance of the womb, where finding the child's feet, let her draw it forth in the manner i shall presently direct; only let her first see whether it presents one foot or both, and if but one foot, she ought to consider whether it be the right foot or the left, and also in what fashion it comes; for by that means she will soon come to know where to find the other, which as soon as she knows and finds, let her draw it forth with the other; but of this she must be specially careful, viz., that the second be not the foot of another child; for if so, it may be of the utmost consequence, for she may sooner split both mother and child, than draw them forth. but this may be easily prevented if she but slide the hand up by the first leg and thigh to the waist, and there finding both thighs joined together, and descending from one and the same body. and this is also the best means to find the other foot, when it comes but with one. as soon as the midwife has found both the child's feet, she may draw them forth, and holding them together, may bring them little by little in this manner, taking afterwards hold of the arms and thighs, as soon as she can come at them, drawing them so till the hips come forth. while this is doing, let her observe to wrap the parts in a single cloth, so that her hands being always greasy slide not in the infant's body, which is very slippery, because of the vicious humours which are all over it; which being done, she may take hold under the hips, so as to draw it forth to the beginning of the breast; and let her on both sides with her hand bring down the child's hand along its body, which she may easily find; and then let her take care that the belly and face of the child be downwards; for if they should be upwards, there would be the same danger of its being stopped by the chin, over the share-bone, and therefore, if it be not so she must turn it to that posture; which may easily be done if she takes a proper hold of the body when the breasts and arms are forth, in the manner we have said, and draw it, turning it in proportion on that side it most inclines to, till it be turned with the face downwards, and so, having brought it to the shoulders, let her lose no time, desiring the woman at the same time to bear down, that so drawing the head at that instant may take its place, and not be stopped in the passage, though the midwife takes all possible care to prevent it. and when this happens, she must endeavour to draw forth the child by the shoulders (taking care that she separate not the body from the head, as i have known it done by the midwife), discharging it by little and little from the bones in the passage with the fingers of each hand, sliding them on each side opposite the other, sometimes above and sometimes under, till the work be ended; endeavouring to dispatch it as soon as possible, lest the child be suffocated, as it will unavoidably be, if it remain long in that posture; and this being well and carefully effected, she may soon after fetch away the after-birth, as i have before directed. sect. iii.--_how to bring away the head of the child, when separated from the body, and left behind in the womb._ though the utmost care be taken in bringing away the child by the feet, yet if it happen to be dead, it is sometimes so putrid and corrupt, that with the least pull the head separates from the body and remains alone in the womb, and cannot be brought away but with a manual operation and great difficulty, it being extremely slippery, by reason of the place where it is, and from the roundness of its figure, on which no hold can well be taken; and so very great is the difficulty in this case that sometimes two or three very able practitioners in midwifery have, one after the other, left the operation unfinished, as not able to effect it, after the utmost industry, skill and strength; so that the woman, not being able to be delivered, perished. to prevent which fatal accident, let the following operation be observed. when the infant's head separates from the body, and is left alone behind, whether owing to putrefaction or otherwise, let the operator immediately, without any delay, while the womb is yet open, direct up his right hand to the mouth of the head (for no other hole can there be had), and having found it let him put one or two of his fingers into it, and the thumb under its chin; then let him draw it little by little, holding it by the jaws; but if that fails, as sometimes it will when putrefied, then let him pull off the right hand and slide up his left, with which he must support the head, and with the right hand let him take a narrow instrument called a _crochet_, but let it be strong and with a single branch, which he must guide along the inside of his hand, with the point of it towards it, for fear of hurting the womb; and having thus introduced it, let him turn it towards the head to strike either in an eyehole, or the hole of the ear, or behind the head, or else between the sutures, as he finds it most convenient and easy; and then draw forth the head so fastened with the said instrument, still helping to conduct it with his left hand; but when he hath brought it near the passage, being strongly fastened to the instrument, let him remember to draw forth his hand, that the passage not being filled with it, may be larger and easier, keeping still a finger or two on the side of the head, the better to disengage it. there is also another method, with more ease and less hardship than the former; let the operator take a soft fillet or linen slip, of about four fingers' breadth, and the length of three quarters of an ell or thereabouts, taking the two ends with the left hand, and the middle with the right, and let him so put it up with his right, as that it may be beyond the head, to embrace it as a sling does a stone, and afterwards draw forth the fillet by the two ends together; it will thus be easily drawn forth, the fillet not hindering the least passage, because it takes up little or no space. when the head is fetched out of the womb care must be taken that not the least part of it be left behind, and likewise to cleanse the womb of the after-burden, if yet remaining. if the burden be wholly separated from the side of the womb, that ought to be first brought away, because it may also hinder the taking hold of the head. but if it still adheres to the womb, it must not be meddled with till the head be brought away; for if one should endeavour to separate it from the womb, it might then cause a flooding, which would be augmented by the violence of the operation, the vessels to which it is joined remaining for the most part open as long as the womb is distended, which the head causeth while it is retained in it, and cannot be closed until this strange body be voided, and this it doth by contracting and compressing itself together, as has been more fully before explained. besides, the after-birth remaining thus cleaving to the womb during the operation, prevents it from receiving easily either bruise or hurt. sect. iv.--_how to deliver a woman when the child's head is presented to the birth._ though some may think it a natural labour when the child's head come first, yet, if the child's head present not the right way, even that is an unnatural labour; and therefore, though the head comes first, yet if it be the side of the head instead of the crown, it is very dangerous both to the mother and the child, for the child's neck would be broken, if born in that manner, and by how much the mother's pains continue to bear the child, which is impossible unless the head be rightly placed, the more the passages are stopped. therefore, as soon as the position of the child is known, the woman must be laid with all speed, lest the child should advance further than this vicious posture, and thereby render it more difficult to thrust it back, which must be done, in order to place the head right in the passage, as it ought to be. to this purpose, therefore, place the woman so that her buttocks may be a little higher than her head and shoulders, causing her to lean a little to the opposite side to the child's ill posture; then let the operator slide up his hand, well anointed with oil, by the side of the child's head; to bring it right gently, with his fingers between the head and the womb; but if the head be so engaged that it cannot be done that way, he must then put up his hand to the shoulders, that by so thrusting them back a little into the womb, sometimes on the one side, and sometimes on the other, he may, little by little, give a natural position. i confess it would be better if the operator could put back the child by its shoulders with both hands, but the head takes up so much room, that he will find much ado to put up one, with which he must perform this operation, and, with the help of the finger-ends of the other hand put forward the child's birth as in natural labour. some children present their face first, having their hands turned back, in which posture it is extremely difficult for a child to be born; and if it continues so long, the face will be swelled and become black and blue, so that it will at first appear monstrous, which is occasioned as well by the compression of it in that place, as by the midwife's fingers in handling it, in order to place it in a better posture. but this blackness will wear away in three or four days' time, by anointing it often with oil of sweet almonds. to deliver the birth, the same operation must be used as in the former, when the child comes first with the side of the head; only let the midwife or operator work very gently to avoid as much as possible the bruising the face. sect. v.--_how to deliver a woman when the child presents one or both hands together with the head._ sometimes the infant will present some other part together with its head; which if it does, it is usually with one or both of its hands; and this hinders the birth, because the hands take up part of that passage which is little enough for the head alone; besides that, when this happens, they generally cause the head to lean on one side; and therefore this position may be well styled unnatural. when the child presents thus, the first thing to be done after it is perceived, must be, to prevent it from coming down more, or engaging further in the passage; and therefore, the operator having placed the woman on the bed, with her head lower than her buttocks, must guide and put back the infant's hand with his own as much as may be, or both of them, if they both come down, to give way to the child's head; and this being done, if the head be on one side, it must be brought into its natural posture in the middle of the passage, that it may come in a straight line, and then proceed as directed in the foregoing section. sect. vi.--_how a woman ought to be delivered, when the hands and feet of the infant come together._ there are none but will readily grant, that when the hands and feet of an infant present together, the labour must be unnatural, because it is impossible a child should be born in that manner. in this case, therefore, when the midwife guides her hand towards the orifice of the womb she will perceive only many fingers close together, and if it be not sufficiently dilated, it will be a good while before the hands and feet will be exactly distinguished; for they are sometimes so shut and pressed together, that they seem to be all of one and the same shape, but where the womb is open enough to introduce the hand into it, she will easily know which are the hands and which are the feet; and having taken particular notice thereof, let her slide up her hand and presently direct it towards the infant's breast, which she will find very near, and then let her gently thrust back the body towards the bottom of the womb, leaving the feet in the same place where she found them. and then, having placed the woman in a convenient posture, that is to say, her buttocks a little raised above her breast (and which situation ought also to be observed when the child is to be put back into the womb), let the midwife afterwards take hold of the child by the feet, and draw it forth, as is directed in the second section. this labour, though somewhat troublesome, yet is much better than when the child presents only its hands; for then the child must be quite turned about before it can be drawn forth; but in this they are ready, presenting themselves, and there is little to do, but to lift and thrust back the upper part of the body, which is almost done of itself, by drawing it by the feet alone. i confess there are many authors that have written of labours, who would have all wrong births reduced to a natural figure, which is, to turn it that it may come with the head first. but those that have written thus, are such as never understood the practical part, for if they had the least experience therein, they would know that it is impossible; at least, if it were to be done, that violence must necessarily be used in doing it, that would probably be the death both of mother and child in the operation. i would, therefore, lay down as a general rule, that whenever a child presents itself wrong to the birth, in what posture so ever, from the shoulders to the feet, it is the way, and soonest done, to draw it out by the feet; and that it is better to search for them, if they do not present themselves, than to try and put them in their natural posture, and place the head foremost; for the great endeavours necessary to be used in turning the child in the womb, do so much weaken both the mother and the child, that there remains not afterwards strength enough to commit the operation to the work of nature; for, usually, the woman has no more throes or pains fit for labour after she has been so wrought upon; for which reason it would be difficult and tedious at best; and the child, by such an operation made very weak, would be in extreme danger of perishing before it could be born. it is, therefore, much better in these cases to bring it away immediately by the feet, searching for them as i have already directed, when they do not present themselves; by which the mother will be prevented a tedious labour, and the child be often brought alive into the world, who otherwise could hardly escape death. sect. vii.--_how a woman should be delivered that has twins, which present themselves in different postures._ we have already spoken something of the birth of twins in the chapter of natural labour, for it is not an unnatural labour barely to have twins, provided they come in the right position to the birth. but when they present themselves in different postures, they come properly under the denomination of unnatural labours; and if when one child presents itself in a wrong figure, it makes the labour dangerous and unnatural, it must needs make it much more so when there are several, and render it not only more painful to the mother and children, but to the operator also; for they often trouble each other and hinder both their births. besides which the womb is so filled with them, that the operator can hardly introduce his hand without much violence, which he must do, if they are to be turned or thrust back, to give them a better position. when a woman is pregnant with two children, they rarely present to the birth together, the one being generally more forward than the other; and that is the reason that but one is felt, and that many times the midwife knows not that there are twins until the first is born, and that she is going to fetch away the afterbirth. in the first chapter, wherein i treated of natural labour, i have showed how a woman should be delivered of twins, presenting themselves both right; and before i close the chapter of unnatural labour, it only remains that i show what ought to be done when they either both come wrong or one of them only, as for the most part it happens; the first generally coming right, and the second with the feet forward, or in some worse posture. in such a case, the birth of the first must be hastened as much as possible and to make way for the second, which is best brought away by the feet, without endeavouring to place it right, because it has been, as well as the mother, already tired and weakened by the birth of the first, and there would be greater danger to its death, than likelihood of its coming out of the womb that way. but if, when the first is born naturally, the second should likewise offer its head to the birth, it would then be best to leave nature to finish what she has so well begun, and if nature should be too slow in her work, some of those things mentioned in the fourth chapter to accelerate the birth, may be properly enough applied, and if, after that, the second birth should be delayed, let a manual operation be delayed no longer, but the woman being properly placed, as has been before directed, let the operator direct his hand gently into the womb to find the feet, and so draw forth the second child, which will be the more easily effected, because there is a way made sufficiently by the birth of the first; and if the waters of the second child be not broke, as it often happens, yet, intending to bring it by its feet, he need not scruple to break the membranes with his fingers; for though, when the birth of a child is left to the operation of nature, it is necessary that the waters should break of themselves, yet when the child is brought out of the womb by art, there is no danger in breaking them, nay, on the contrary it becomes necessary; for without the waters are broken, it will be almost impossible to turn the child. but herein principally lies the care of the operator, that he be not deceived, when either the hands or feet of both children offer themselves together to the birth; in this case he ought well to consider the operation, of whether they be not joined together, or any way monstrous, and which part belongs to one child and which to the other; so that they may be fetched one after the other, and not both together, as may be, if it were not duly considered, taking the right foot of one and the left of the other, and so drawing them together, as if they both belonged to one body, because there is a left and a right, by which means it would be impossible to deliver them. but a skilful operator will easily prevent this, if, after having found two or three of several children presenting together in the passage, and taking aside two of the forwardest, a right and a left, and sliding his arm along the legs and thighs up to the wrist, if forward, or to the buttocks, if backwards, he finds they both belong to one body; of which being thus assured, he may begin to draw forth the nearest, without regarding which is the strongest or weakest, bigger or less, living or dead, having first put aside that part of the other child which offers to have the more way, and so dispatch the first as soon as may be, observing the same rules as if there were but one, that is keeping the breast and face downwards, with every circumstance directed in that section where the child comes with its feet first, and not fetch the burden till the second child is born. and therefore, when the operator hath drawn forth one child, he must separate it from the burden, having tied and cut the navel-string, and then fetch the other by the feet in the same manner, and afterwards bring away the after-burden with the two strings as hath been before showed. if the children present any other part but the feet, the operator may follow the same method as directed in the foregoing section, where the several unnatural positions are fully treated of. * * * * * chapter vii _directions for child-bearing women in their lying-in._ section i.--_how a woman newly delivered ought to be ordered._ as soon as she is laid in her bed, let her be placed in it conveniently for ease and rest, which she stands in great need of to recover herself of the great fatigue she underwent during her travail, and that she may lie the more easily let her hands and body be a little raised, that she may breathe more freely, and cleanse the better, especially of that blood which then comes away, that so it may not clot, which being retained causeth great pain. having thus placed her in bed, let her take a draught of burnt white wine, having a drachm of spermaceti melted therein. the best vervain is also singularly good for a woman in this condition, boiling it in what she either eats or drinks, fortifying the womb so exceedingly that it will do it more good in two days, than any other thing does in double that time, having no offensive taste. and this is no more than what she stands in need of; for her lower parts being greatly distended until the birth of the infant, it is good to endeavour the prevention of an inflammation there. let there also be outwardly applied, all over the bottom of her belly and privities, the following anodyne and cataplasm:--take two ounces of oil of sweet almonds, and two or three new laid eggs, yolks and whites, stirring them together in an earthen pipkin over hot embers till they come to the consistence of a poultice; which being spread upon a cloth, must be applied to those parts indifferently warm, having first taken away the closures (which were put to her presently after her delivery), and likewise such clots of blood as were then left. let this lie on for five or six hours, and then renew it again when you see cause. great care ought to be taken at first, that if her body be very weak, she be not kept too hot, for extremity of heat weakens nature and dissolves the strength; and whether she be weak or strong, be sure that no cold air comes near her at first; for cold is an enemy to the spermatic parts; if it get into the womb it increases the after pains, causes swelling in the womb and hurts the nerves. as to her diet, let it be hot, and let her eat but little at a time. let her avoid the light for the first three days, and longer if she be weak, for her labour weakens her eyes exceedingly, by a harmony between the womb and them. let her also avoid great noise, sadness and trouble of mind. if the womb be foul, which may easily be perceived by the impurity of the blood (which will then easily come away in clots or stinking, or if you suspect any of the after-burden to be left behind, which may sometimes happen), make her drink a feverfew, mugwort, pennyroyal and mother of thyme, boiled in white wine and sweetened with sugar. panado and new laid eggs are the best meat for her at first, of which she may eat often, but not too much at a time. and let her nurse use cinnamon in all her meats and drinks, for it generally strengthens the womb. let her stir as little as may be until after the fifth, sixth, or seventh day after her delivery, if she be weak; and let her talk as little as possible, for that weakens her very much. if she goes not well to stool, give a clyster made only of the decoction of mallows and a little brown sugar. when she hath lain in a week or more, let her use such things as close the womb, of which knot-grass and comfrey are very good, and to them you may add a little polypodium, for it will do her good, both leaves and root being bruised. sect. ii.--_how to remedy those accidents which a lying-in woman is subject to._ i. the first common and usual accident that troubles women in their lying-in is after-pains. they proceed from cold and wind contained in the bowels, with which they are easily filled after labour, because then they have more room to dilate than when the child was in the womb, by which they were compressed; and also, because nourishment and matter, contained as well in them as in the stomach, have been so confusedly agitated from side to side during the pains of labour, by the throes which always must compress the belly, that they could not be well digested, whence the wind is afterwards generated and, by consequence, the gripes which the woman feels running into her belly from side to side, according as the wind moves more or less, and sometimes likewise from the womb, because of the compression and commotion which the bowels make. this being generally the case, let us now apply a suitable remedy. . boil an egg soft, and pour out the yolk of it, with which mix a spoonful of cinnamon water, and let her drink it; and if you mix in it two grains of ambergris, it will be better; and yet vervain taken in anything she drinks, will be as effectual as the other. . give a lying-in woman, immediately after delivery, oil of sweet almonds and syrup of maiden-hair mixed together. some prefer oil of walnuts, provided it be made of nuts that are very good; but it tastes worse than the other at best. this will lenify the inside of the intestines by its unctuousness, and by that means bring away that which is contained in them more easily. . take and boil onions well in water, then stamp them with oil of cinnamon, spread them on a cloth, and apply them to the region of the womb. . let her be careful to keep her belly warm, and not to drink what is too cold; and if the pain prove violent, hot cloths from time to time must be laid on her belly, or a pancake fried in walnut oil may be applied to it, without swathing her belly too strait. and for the better evacuating the wind out of the intestines, give her a clyster, which may be repeated as often as necessity requires. . take bay-berries, beat them to a powder, put the powder upon a chafing-dish of coals, and let her receive the smoke of them up her privities. . take tar and bear's grease, of each an equal quantity, boil them together, and whilst it is boiling, add a little pigeon's dung to it. spread some of this upon a linen cloth, and apply it to the veins of the back of her that is troubled with afterpains, and it will give her speedy ease. lastly, let her take half a drachm of bay-berries beaten into a powder, in a drachm of muscadel or teat. ii. another accident to which women in child-bed are subject is haemorrhoids or piles, occasioned through the great straining in bringing the child into the world. to cure this, . let her be let blood in the saphoena vein. . let her use polypodium in her meat, and drink, bruised and boiled. . take an onion, and having made a hole in the middle, of it, fill it full of oil, roast it and having bruised it all together, apply it to the fundament. . take a dozen of snails without shells, if you can get them, or else so many shell snails, and pull them out, and having bruised them with a little oil, apply them warm as before. . if she go not well to stool, let her take an ounce of cassia fistula drawn at night, going to bed; she needs no change of diet after. iii. retention of the menses is another accident happening to women in child-bed, and which is of so dangerous a consequence, that, if not timely remedied, it proves mortal. when this happens, . let the woman take such medicines as strongly provoke the terms, such as dittany, betony, pennyroyal, feverfew, centaury, juniper-berries, peony roots. . let her take two or three spoonfuls of briony water each morning. . gentian roots beaten into a powder, and a drachm of it taken every morning in wine, are an extraordinary remedy. . the roots of birthwort, either long or round, so used and taken as the former, are very good. . take twelve peony seeds, and beat them into a very fine powder, and let her drink them in a draught of hot cardus posset, and let her sweat after. and if the last medicine do not bring them down the first time she takes it, let her take as much more three hours after, and it seldom fails. iv. overflowing of the menses is another accident incidental to child-bed women. for which, . take shepherd's purse, either boiled in any convenient liquor, or dried and beaten into a powder, and it will be an admirable remedy to stop them, this being especially appropriated to the privities. . the flower and leaves of brambles or either of them, being dried and beaten into a powder, and a drachm of them taken every morning in a spoonful of red wine, or in a decoction of leaves of the same (which, perhaps, is much better), is an admirable remedy for the immoderate flowing of the term in women. v. excoriations, bruises, and rents in the lower part of the womb are often occasioned by the violent distention and separation of the caruncles in a woman's labour. for the healing whereof, as soon as the woman is laid, if there be only simple contusions and excoriations, then let the anodyne cataplasm, formerly directed, be applied to the lower parts to ease the pain, made of the yolks and whites of new laid eggs, and oil of roses, boiled a little over warm embers, continually stirring it until it be mixed, and then spread on a fine cloth; it must be applied very warm to the bearing place for five or six hours, and when it is taken away, lay some fine rags, dipped in oil of st. john's wort twice or thrice a day; also foment the parts with barley water and honey of roses, to cleanse them from the excrements which pass. when the woman makes water, let them be defended with fine rags, and thereby hinder the urine from causing smart or pain. vi. the curding and clotting of the milk is another accident that happens to women in child-bed, for in the beginning of child-bed, the woman's milk is not purified because of the great commotions her body suffered during her labour, which affected all the parts, and it is then affected with many humours. now this clotting of the milk does, for the most part, proceed from the breasts not being fully drawn, and that, either because she has too much milk, and that the infant is too small and weak to suck it all, or because she doth not desire to be a nurse, for the milk in those cases remaining in the breasts after concoction, without being drawn, loses its sweetness and the balsamic qualities it had, and by reason of the heat it requires, and the too long stay it makes there, is sours, curds and clots, in like manner as we see rennet put into ordinary milk to turn it into curds. the curding of the milk may also be caused by having taken a great cold, and not keeping the breasts well covered. but from what cause so ever this curding of the milk proceeds, the most certain remedy is, to draw the breasts until it is emitted and dried. but in regard that the infant by reason of weakness, cannot draw strength enough, the woman being hard marked when her milk is curded, it will be most proper to get another woman to draw her breasts until the milk comes freely, and then she may give her child suck. and that she may not afterwards be troubled with a surplus of milk, she must eat such diet as give but little nourishment, and keep her body open. but if the case be such that the woman neither can nor will be a nurse, it is necessary to apply other remedies for the curing of this distemper; for then it will be best not to draw the breasts, for that will be the way to bring more milk into them. for which purpose it will be necessary to empty the body by bleeding the arms, besides which, let the humours be drawn down by strong clysters and bleeding at the foot; nor will it be amiss to purge gently, and to digest, dissolve and dissipate the curded milk, four brans dissolved in a decoction of sage, milk, smallage and fennel, mixing with it oil of camomile, with which oil let the breasts be well anointed. the following liniment is also good to scatter and dissipate the milk. _a liniment to scatter and dissipate the milk._ that the milk flowing back to the breast may without offence be dissipated, you must use this ointment:--"take pure wax, two ounces, linseed, half a pound; when the wax is melted, let the liniment be made, wherein linen cloths must be clipped, and, according to their largeness, be laid upon the breasts; and when it shall be dispersed, and pains no more, let other linen cloths be laid in the distilled water of acorns, and put upon them. _note._--that the cloths dipped into distilled water of acorns must be used only by those who cannot nurse their own children; but if a swelling in the breast of her who gives such do arise, from abundance of milk, threatens an inflammation, let her use the former ointment, but abstain from using the distilled water of acorns. * * * * * chapter viii _directions for the nurses, in ordering newly-born children._ when the child's navel-string hath been cut according to the rules prescribed, let the midwife presently cleanse it from the excrements and filth it brings into the world with it; of which some are within the body, as the urine in the bladder, and the excrements found in the guts; and the others without, which are thick, whitish and clammy, proceeding from the sliminess of the waters. there are sometimes children covered all over with this, that one would think they were rubbed over with soft cheese, and some women are of so easy a belief, that they really think it so, because they have eaten some while they were with child. from these excrements let the child be cleansed with wine and water a little warmed, washing every part therewith, but chiefly the head because of the hair, also the folds of the groin, and the cods or privities; which parts must be gently cleansed with a linen rag, or a soft sponge dipped in lukewarm wine. if this clammy or viscous excrement stick so close that it will not easily be washed off from those places, it may be fetched off with oil of sweet almond, or a little fresh butter melted with wine, and afterwards well dried off; also make tents of fine rags, and wetting them in this liquor, clear the ears and nostrils; but for the eyes, wipe them only with a dry, soft rag, not dipping it in the wine, lest it should make them smart. the child being washed, and cleansed from the native blood and impurities which attend it into the world, it must in the next place be searched to see whether all things be right about it, and that there is no fault nor dislocation; whether its nose be straight, or its tongue tied, or whether there be any bruise or tumour of the head; or whether the mold be not over shot; also whether the scrotum (if it be a male) be not blown up and swelled, and, in short, whether it has suffered any violence by its birth, in any part of its body, and whether all the parts be well and duly shaped; that suitable remedies may be applied if anything be found not right. nor is it enough to see that all be right without, and that the outside of the body be cleansed, but she must also observe whether it dischargeth the excrements contained within, and whether the passage be open; for some have been born without having been perforated. therefore, let her examine whether the conduits of the urine and stool be clear, for want of which some have died, not being able to void their excrements, because timely care was not taken at first. as to the urine all children, as well males as females, do make water as soon as they are born, if they can, especially if they feel the heat of the fire, and also sometimes void the excrements, but not so soon as the urine. if the infant does not ordure the first day, then put into its fundament a small suppository, to stir it up to be discharged, that it may not cause painful gripes, by remaining so long in the belly. a sugar almond may be proper for this purpose, anointed all over with a little boiled honey; or else a small piece of castile-soap rubbed over with fresh butter; also give the child for this purpose a little syrup of roses or violets at the mouth, mixed with some oil of sweet almonds, drawn without a fire, anointing the belly also, with the same oil or fresh butter. the midwife having thus washed and cleansed the child, according to the before mentioned directions, let her begin to swaddle it in swathing clothes, and when she dresses the head, let her put small rags behind the ears, to dry up the filth which usually engenders there, and so let her do also in the folds of the armpits and groins, and so swathe it; then wrap it up warm in a bed with blankets, which there is scarcely any woman so ignorant but knows well enough how to do; only let me give them this caution, that they swathe not the child too tightly in its blankets, especially about the breast and stomach, that it may breathe the more freely, and not be forced to vomit up the milk it sucks, because the stomach cannot be sufficiently distended to contain it; therefore let its arms and legs be wrapped in its bed, stretched and straight and swathed to keep them so, viz., the arms along its sides, and its legs equally both together with a little of the bed between them, that they may not be galled by rubbing each other; then let the head be kept steady and straight, with a stay fastened each side of the blanket, and then wrap the child up in a mantle and blankets to keep it warm. let none think this swathing of the infant is needless to set down, for it is necessary it should be thus swaddled, to give its little body a straight figure, which is most proper and decent for a man, and to accustom him to keep upon his feet, who otherwise would go upon all fours, as most animals do. * * * * * chapter ix section i.--_of gripes and pains in the, bellies of young children._ this i mention first, as it is often the first and most common distemper which happens to little infants, after their birth; many children being so troubled therewith, that it causes them to cry day and night and at last die of it. the cause of it for the most part comes from the sudden change of nourishment, for having always received it from the umbilical vessel whilst in the mother's womb, they come on a sudden not only to change the manner of receiving it, but the nature and quality of what they received, as soon as they are born; for instead of purified blood only, which was conveyed to them by means of the umbilical vein, they are now obliged to be nourished by their mother's milk, which they suck with their mouths, and from which are engendered many excrements, causing gripes and pains; and not only because it is not so pure as the blood with which it was nourished in the womb, but because the stomach and the intestines cannot make a good digestion, being unaccustomed to it. it is sometimes caused also by a rough phlegm, and sometimes by worms; for physicians affirm that worms have been bred in children even in their mother's belly. _cure_. the remedy must be suited to the cause. if it proceed from the too sudden change of nourishment, the remedy must be to forbear giving the child suck for some days, lest the milk be mixed with phlegm, which is then in the stomach corrupt; and at first it must suck but little, until it is accustomed to digest it. if it be the excrements in the intestines, which by their long stay increase their pains, give them at the month a little oil of sweet almonds and syrup of roses; if it be worms, lay a cloth dipped in oil of wormwood mixed with ox-gall, upon the belly, or a small cataplasm, mixed with the powder of rue, wormwood, coloquintida, aloes, and the seeds of citron incorporated with ox-gall and the powder of lupines. or give it oil of sweet almonds and syrup of roses; if it be worms, lay a cloth, dipped in oil of wormwood mixed with ox-gall, upon the belly, or a small cataplasm mixed with the powder of rue, wormwood, coloquintida, aloes, and the seeds of citron incorporated with ox-gall and the powder of lupines. or give it oil of sweet almonds with sugar-candy, and a scruple of aniseed; it purgeth new-born babes from green cholera and stinking phlegm, and, if it be given with sugar-pap, it allays the griping pains of the belly. also anoint the belly with oil of dill, or lay pelitory stamped with oil of camomile to the belly. sect. ii.--_of weakness in newly-born infants._ weakness is an accident that many children bring into the world along with them, and is often occasioned by the labour of the mother; by the violence and length whereof they suffer so much, that they are born with great weakness, and many times it is difficult to know whether they are alive or dead, their body appearing so senseless, and their face so blue and livid, that they seem to be quite choked; and even after some hours, then-showing any signs of life is attended with weakness, that it looks like a return from death, and that they are still in a dying condition. _cure_. lay the infant speedily in a warm blanket, and carry it to the fire, and then let the midwife take a little wine in her mouth and spout it into its mouth, repeating it often, if there be occasion. let her apply linen dipped in urine to the breast and belly, and let the face be uncovered, that it may breathe the more freely; also, let the midwife keep its mouth a little open, cleanse the nostrils with small linen tents[ ] dipt in white wine, that so it may receive the smell of it; and let her chafe every part of its body well with warm cloths, to bring back its blood and spirits, which being retired inwards through weakness, often puts him in danger of being choked. by the application of these means, the infant will gradually recover strength, and begin to stir its limbs by degrees, and at length to cry; and though it be but weakly at first, yet afterwards, as it breathes more freely, its cry will become more strong. sect. iii.--_of the fundament being closed up in a newly-born infant._ another defect that new-born infants are liable to is, to have their fundaments closed up, by which they can neither evacuate the new excrements engendered by the milk they suck, nor that which was amassed in their intestines before birth, which is certainly mortal without a speedy remedy. there have been some female children who have their fundaments quite closed, and yet have voided the excrements of the guts by an orifice which nature, to supply the defect, had made within the neck of the womb. _cure_. here we must take notice, that the fundament is closed two ways; either by a single skin, through which one may discover some black and blue marks, proceeding from the excrements retained, which, if one touch with the finger, there is a softness felt within, and thereabout it ought to be pierced; or else it is quite stopped by a thick, fleshy substance, in such sort that there appears nothing without, by which its true situation may be known. when there is nothing but the single skin which makes the closure, the operation is very easy, and the children may do very well; for then an aperture or opening may be made with a small incision-knife, cross-ways, that it may the better receive a round form, and that the place may not afterwards grow together, taking care not to prejudice the sphincter or muscle of the rectum. the incision being thus made, the excrements will certainly have issue. but if, by reason of their long stay in the belly, they become so dry that the infant cannot void them, then let a clyster be given to moisten and bring them away; afterwards put a linen tent into the new-made fundament, which at first had best be anointed with honey of roses, and towards the end, with a drying, cicatrizing ointment, such as unguentum album or ponphilex, observing to cleanse the infant of its excrement, and dry it again as soon and as often as it evacuates them, that so the aperture may be prevented from turning into a malignant ulcer. but if the fundament be stopped up in such a manner, that neither mark nor appearance of it can be seen or felt, then the operation is much more difficult, and, even when it is done, the danger is much greater that the infant will not survive it. then, if it be a female, and it sends forth its excrements by the way i mentioned before, it is better not to meddle than, by endeavouring to remedy an inconvenience, run an extreme hazard of the infant's death. but when there is no vent for the excrements, without which death is unavoidable, then the operation is justifiable. _operation_. let the operator, with a small incision-knife that hath but one edge, enter into the void place, and turning the back of it upwards, within half a finger's breadth of the child's rump, which is the place where he will certainly find the intestines, let him thrust it forward, that it may be open enough to give free vent to matter there contained, being especially careful of the sphincter; after which, let the wound be dressed according to the method directed. sect. iv.--_of the thrush, or ulcers in the mouth of the infant._ the thrush is a distemper that children are very subject to, and it arises from bad milk, or from foul humour in the stomach; for sometimes, though there be no ill humour in the milk itself, yet it may corrupt the child's stomach because of its weakness or some other indisposition; in which, acquiring an acrimony, instead of being well digested, there arise from it thrice biting vapours, which forming a thick viscosity, do thereby produce this distemper. _cure_. it is often difficult, as physicians tell us, because it is seated in hot and moist places, where the putrefaction is easily augmented; and because the remedies applied cannot lodge there, being soon washed with spittle. but if it arises from too hot quality in the nurse's milk, care must be taken to temper and cool, prescribing her cool diet, bleeding and purging her also, if there be occasion. take lentils, husked, powder them, and lay a little of them upon the child's gums. or take bdellium flowers, half an ounce, and with oil of roses make a liniment. also wash the child's mouth with barley and plantain-water, and honey of roses, mixing with them a little verjuice of lemons, as well to loosen and cleanse the vicious humours which cleave to the inside of the infant's mouth, as to cool those parts which are already over-heated. it may be done by means of a small fine rag, fastened to the end of a little stick, and dipped therein, wherewith the ulcers may be gently rubbed, being careful not to put the child in too much pain, lest an inflammation make the distemper worse. the child's body must also be kept open, that the humours being carried to the lower parts, the vapours may not ascend, as is usual for them to do when the body is costive, and the excrements too long retained. if the ulcers appear malignant, let such remedies be used as do their work speedily, that the evil qualities that cause them, being thereby instantly corrected, their malignity may be prevented; and in this case, touch the ulcers with plantain water, sharpened with spirits of vitriol; for the remedy must be made sharp, according to the malignity of the distemper. it will be necessary to purge these ill humours out of the whole habit of the child, by giving half an ounce of succory and rhubarb. sect. v.--_of pains in the ears, inflammation, moisture, etc._ the brain in infants is very moist, and hath many excrements which nature cannot send out at the proper passages; they get often to the ears, and there cause pains, flux of blood, with inflammation and matter with pain; this in children is hard to be known as they have no other way to make it known but by constant crying; you will perceive them ready to feel their ears themselves, but will not let others touch them, if they can prevent; and sometimes you may discern the parts about the ears to be very red. these pains, if let alone, are of dangerous consequences, because they may bring forth watchings and epilepsy; for the moisture breeds worms there, and fouls the spongy bones, and by degrees causes incurable deafness. _cure_. allay the pain with all convenient speed, but have a care of using strong remedies. therefore, only use warm milk about the ears, with the decoction of poppy tops, or oil of violets; to take away the moisture, use honey of roses, and let aqua mollis be dropped into the ears; or take virgin honey, half an ounce; red wines two ounces; alum, saffron, saltpetre, each a drachm, mix them at the fire; or drop in hemp seed oil with a little wine. sect. vi.--_of redness and inflammation of the buttocks, groin and the thighs of a young child._ if there be no great care taken to change and wash the child's bed as soon as it is fouled with the excrements, and to keep the child very clean, the acrimony will be sure to cause redness, and beget a smarting in the buttocks, groin and thighs of the child, which, by reason of the pain, will afterwards be subject to inflammations, which follow the sooner, through the delicacy and tenderness of their skin, from which the outward skin of the body is in a short time separated and worn away. _cure_. first, keep the child cleanly, and secondly, take off the sharpness of its urine. as to keeping it cleanly, she must be a sorry nurse who needs to be taught how to do it; for if she lets it but have dry, warm and clean beds and cloths, as often and as soon as it has fouled and wet them, either by its urine or its excrements, it will be sufficient. and as to taking off the sharpness of the child's urine, that must be done by the nurse's taking a cool diet, that her milk may have the same quality; and, therefore, she ought to abstain from all things that may tend to heat it. but besides these, cooling and drying remedies are requisite to be applied to the inflamed parts; therefore let the parts be bathed in plantain-water, with a fourth of lime water added to it, each time the child's excrements are wiped off; and if the pain be very great, let it only be fomented with lukewarm milk. the powder of a post to dry it, or a little mill-dust strewed upon the parts affected, may be proper enough, and is used by many women. also, unguentum album, or diapompholigos, spread upon a small piece of leather in form of a plaster, will not be amiss. but the chief thing must be, the nurse's taking great care to wrap the inflamed parts with fine rags when she opens the child, that these parts may not gather and be pained by rubbing together. sect. vii.--_of vomiting in young children._ vomiting in young children proceeds sometimes from too much milk, and sometimes from bad milk, and as often from a moist, loose stomach; for as dryness retains so looseness lets go. this is, for the most part, without danger in children; for they that vomit from their birth are the lustiest; for the stomach not being used to meat, and milk being taken too much, crudities are easily bred, or the milk is corrupted; and it is better to vomit these up than to keep them in; but if vomiting last long, it will cause an atrophy or consumption, for want of nourishment. _cure_. if this be from too much milk, that which is emitted is yellow and green, or otherwise ill-coloured and stinking; in this case, mend the milk, as has been shown before; cleanse the child with honey of roses, and strengthen its stomach with syrup of milk and quinces, made into an electuary. if the humours be hot and sharp, give the syrup of pomegranates, currants and coral, and apply to the belly the plaster of bread, the stomach cerate, or bread dipped in hot wine; or take oil of mastich, quinces, mint, wormwood, each half an ounce; of nutmegs by expression, half a drachm; chemical oil of mint, three drops. coral hath an occult property to prevent vomiting, and is therefore hung about the neck. sect. viii--_of breeding teeth in young children._ this is a very great and yet necessary evil in all children, having variety of symptoms joined with it. they begin to come forth, not all at once, but one after the other, about the sixth or seventh month; the fore-teeth coming first, then the eye-teeth, and last of all the grinders. the eye-teeth cause more pain to the child than any of the rest, because they have a deep root, and a small nerve which has communication with that which makes the eye move. [illustration] in the breeding of the teeth, first they feel an itching in their gums, then they are pierced as with a needle, and pricked by the sharp bones, whence proceed great pains, watching, inflammation of the gums, fever, looseness and convulsions, especially when they breed their eye-teeth. the signs when children breed their eye-teeth are these: . it is known by the time, which is usually about the seventh month. . their gums are swelled, and they feel a great heat there with an itching, which makes them put their fingers into their mouths to rub them; a moisture also distils from the gums into the mouth, because of the pain they feel there. . they hold the nipple faster than before. . the gums are white when the teeth begin to come, and the nurse, in giving them suck, finds the mouth hotter, and that they are much changed, crying every moment, and cannot sleep, or but very little at a time. the fever that follows breeding of teeth comes from choleric humours, inflamed by watching, pain and heat. and the longer teeth are breeding, the more dangerous it is; so that many in the breeding of them, die of fevers and convulsions. _cure_. two things are to be regarded:--one is, to preserve the child from the evil accidents that may happen to it by reason of the great pain; the other, to assist as much as may be, the cutting of the teeth, when they can hardly cut the gums themselves. for the first of these, viz., the preventing of those accidents to the child, the nurse ought to take great care to keep a good diet, and to use all things that may cool and temper her milk, that so a fever may not follow the pain of the teeth. and to prevent the humour falling too much upon the inflamed gums, let the child's belly be always kept loose by gentle clysters, if he be bound; though oftentimes there is no need of them, because they are at those times usually troubled with a looseness; and yet, for all that, clysters may not be improper. as to the other, which is to assist it cutting the teeth, that the nurse must do from time to time by mollifying and loosening them, and by rubbing them with her finger dipped in butter or honey; or let the child have a virgin-wax candle to chew upon; or anoint the gums with the mucilage of quince made with mallow-water, or with the brains of a hare; also foment the cheeks with the decoction of althoea, and camomile flowers and dill, or with the juice of mallows and fresh butter. if the gums are inflamed, add juice of nightshade and lettuce. i have already said, the nurse ought to take a temperate diet; i shall now only add, that barley-broth, water-gruel, raw eggs, prunes, lettuce and endive, are good for her; but let her avoid salt, sharp, biting and peppered meats, and wine. sect. ix.--_of the flux of the belly, or looseness in infants._ it is very common for infants to have the flux of the belly, or looseness, especially upon the least indisposition; nor is it to be wondered at, seeing their natural moistness contributes so much thereto; and even if it be extraordinarily violent, such are in a better state of health than those that are bound. the flux, if violent, proceeds from divers causes, as . from breeding of the teeth, and is then commonly attended with a fever in which the concoction is hindered, and the nourishment corrupted. . from watching. . from pain. . from stirring up of the humours by a fever. . when they suck or drink too much in a fever. sometimes they have a flux without breeding of teeth, from inward cold in the guts or stomach that obstructs concoction. if it be from the teeth, it is easily known; for the signs of breeding in teeth will discover it. if it be from external cold, there are signs of other causes. if from a humour flowing from the head there are signs of a catarrh, and the excrements are frothy. if crude and raw humours are voided, and there be wind, belching, and phlegmatic excrements, or if they be yellow, green and stink, the flux is from a hot and sharp humour. it is best in breeding of teeth when the belly is loose, as i have said before; but if it be too violent, and you are afraid it may end in a consumption, it must be stopped; and if the excrements that are voided be black, and attended with a fever, it is very bad. _cure_. the remedy in this case, is principally in respect to the nurse, and the condition of the milk must be chiefly observed; the nurse must be cautioned that she eat no green fruit, nor things of hard concoction. if the child suck not, remove the flux with such purges as leave a cooling quality behind them, as syrup of honey or roses, or a clyster. take the decoction of millium, myrobolans, of each two or three ounces, with an ounce or two of syrup of roses, and make a clyster. after cleansing, if it proceed from a hot cause, give syrup of dried roses, quinces, myrtles and a little sanguis draconis. also anoint with oil of roses, myrtles, mastich, each two drachms; with oil of myrtles and wax make an ointment. or take red roses and moulin, of each a handful; cypress roots two drachms; make a bag, boil it in red wine and apply it to the belly. or use the plaster bread or stomach ointment. if the cause be cold, and the excrements white give syrup of mastich and quinces, with mint-water. use outwardly, mint, mastich, cummin; or take rose seeds, an ounce, cummin, aniseed, each two drachms; with oil of mastich, wormwood and wax, make an ointment. sect. x.--_of the epilepsy and convulsions in children._ this is a distemper that is often fatal to young children, and frequently proceeds from the brain, originating either from the parents, or from vapours, or bad humours that twitch the membranes of the brain; it is also sometimes caused by other distempers and by bad diet; likewise, the toothache, when the brain consents, causes it, and so does a sudden fright. as to the distemper itself, it is manifest and well enough known where it is; and as to the cause whence it comes, you may know by the signs of the disease, whether it comes from bad milk, or worms, or teeth; if these are all absent, it is certain that the brain is first affected; if it come with the small-pox or measles, it ceaseth when they come forth, if nature be strong enough. _cure_. for the remedy of this grievous, and often mortal distemper, give the following powder to prevent it, to a child as soon as it is born:--take male peony roots, gathered in the decrease of the moon, a scruple; with leaf gold make a powder; or take peony roots, a drachm; peony seeds, mistletoe of the oak, elk's hoof, man's skull, amber, each a scruple; musk, two grains; make a powder. the best part of the cure is taking care of the nurse's diet, which must be regular, by all means. if it be from corrupt milk, provoke a vomit; to do which, hold down the tongue, and put a quill dipped in sweet almonds, down the throat. if it come from the worms, give such things as will kill the worms. if there be a fever, with respect to that also, give coral smaragad and elk's hoof. in the fit, give epileptic water, as lavender water, and rub with oil of amber, or hang a peony root, and elk's hoof smaragad, about the child's neck. as to a convulsion, it is when the brain labours to cast out that which troubles it; the mariner is in the marrow of the back, and fountain of the nerves; it is a stubborn disease, and often kills. wash the body, when in the fit, with decoction of althoea, lily roots, peony and camomile flowerets, and anoint it with man's and goose's grease, oils of worms, orris, lilies, foxes, turpentine, mastich, storax and calamint. the sun flower is also very good, boiled in water, to wash the child. footnotes: [ ] tent (_surgical_). a bunch of some fibre such as sponge or horsehair introduced into an opening, natural or artificial, to keep it open, or increase its calibre. * * * * * proper and safe remedies for curing all those distempers that are peculiar to the female sex and especially those observations to bearing of children * * * * * book ii * * * * * having finished the first part of this book, and wherein, i hope, amply made good my promise to the reader, i am now come to treat only of those distempers to which they are more subject when in a breeding condition, and those that keep them from being so; together with such proper and safe remedies as may be sufficient to repel them. and since amongst all the diseases to which human nature is subject, there is none that more diametrically opposes the very end of our creation, and the design of nature in the formation of different sexes, and the power thereby given us for the work of generation, than that of sterility or barrenness which, where it prevails, renders the most accomplished midwife but a useless person, and destroys the design of our book; i think, therefore, that barrenness is an effect that deserves our first and principal consideration. * * * * * chapter i _of barrenness; its several kinds; with the proper remedies for it; and the signs of insufficiency both in men and women._ section i.--_of barrenness in general._ barrenness is either natural or artificial. natural barrenness is when a woman is barren, though the instruments of generation are perfect both in herself and in her husband, and no preposterous or diabolical course used to it, and neither age, nor disease, nor any defect hindering, and yet the woman remains naturally barren. now this may proceed from a natural cause, for if the man and woman be of one complexion, they seldom have children, and the reason is clear, for the universal course of nature being formed of a composition of contraries, cannot be increased by a composition of likes; and, therefore, if the constitution of the woman be hot and dry, as well as the man's there can be no conception; and if, on the contrary, the man should be of a cold and moist constitution, as well as the woman, the effect would be the same; and this barrenness is purely natural. the only way to help this is, for people, before they marry, to observe each others constitution and complexion, if they design to have children. if their complexions and constitutions be alike, they are not fit to come together, for discordant natures only, make harmony in the work of generation. another natural cause of barrenness, is want of love between man and wife. love is that vivid principle that ought to inspire each organ in the act of generation, or else it will be spiritless and dull; for if their hearts be not united in love, how should their seed unite to cause conception? and this is sufficiently evinced, in that there never follows conception on a rape. therefore, if men and women design to have children, let them live so, that their hearts as well as their bodies may be united, or else they may miss their expectations. a third cause of natural barrenness, is the letting virgins blood in the arm before their natural courses are come down, which is usually in the fourteenth and fifteenth year of their age; sometimes, perhaps before the thirteenth, but never before the twelfth. and because usually, they are out of order, and indisposed before their purgations come down, their parents run to the doctor to know what is the matter; and he, if not skilled, will naturally prescribe opening a vein in the arm, thinking fullness of blood the cause; and thus she seems recovered for the present: and when the young virgin happens to be in the same disorder, the mother applies again to the surgeon, who uses the same remedy; and by these means the blood is so diverted from its proper channel, that it comes not down the womb as usual, and so the womb dries up, and she is for ever barren. to prevent this, let no virgin blood in the arm before her courses come down well; for that will bring the blood downwards, and by that means provoke the _menstrua_ to come down. another cause of natural barrenness, is debility in copulation. if persons perform not that act with all the bent and ardour that nature requires, they may as well let it alone; for frigidity and coldness never produces conception. of the cure of this we will speak by and by, after i have spoken of accidental barrenness, which is occasioned by some morbific matter or infirmity in the body, either of the man or of the woman, which being removed they become fruitful. and since, as i have before noted, the first and great law of creation, was to increase and multiply, and barrenness is in direct opposition to that law, and frustrates the end of our creation, and often causes man and wife to have hard thoughts one of another, i shall here, for the satisfaction of well meaning people, set down the signs and causes of insufficiency both in men and women; premising first that when people have no children, they must not presently blame either party, for neither may be in fault. sect. ii.--_signs and causes of insufficiency in men._ one cause may be in some viciousness of the yard, as if the same be crooked, or any ligaments thereof distorted and broken, whereby the ways and passages, through which the seed should flow, come to be stopped or vitiated. another cause may be, too much weakness of the yard, and tenderness thereof, so that it is not strong enough erected to inject seed into the womb; for the strength and stiffness of the yard very much conduces to conception, by reason of the forcible injection of the seed. also, if the stones have received any hurt, so that they cannot exercise the proper gift in producing seed, or if they be oppressed with an inflammation, tumour, wound or ulcer, or drawn up within the belly, and not appearing outwardly. also, a man may be barren by reason of the defect of seed, as first, if he cast forth no seed at all, or less in substance than is needful. or, secondly, if the seed be vicious, or unfit for generation; as on the one side, it happens in bodies that are gross and fat, the matter of it being defective; and on the other side, too much leanness, or continual wasting or consumption of the body, destroys seed; nature turning all the matter and substance thereof into the nutriment of the body. too frequent copulation is also one great cause of barrenness in men; for it attracteth the seminal moisture from the stones, before it is sufficiently prepared and concocted. so if any one, by daily copulation, do exhaust and draw out all their moisture of the seed, then do the stones draw the moist humours from the superior veins unto themselves; and so, having but a little blood in them, they are forced of necessity to cast it out raw and unconcocted, and thus the stones are violently deprived of the moisture of their veins, and the superior veins, and all the other parts of the body, of their vital spirits; therefore it is no wonder that those who use immoderate copulation are very weak in their bodies, seeing their whole body is deprived of the best and purest blood, and of the spirit, insomuch that many who have been too much addicted to that pleasure, have killed themselves in the very act. gluttony, drunkenness, and other excesses, do so much hinder men from fruitfulness, that it makes them unfit for generation. but among other causes of barrenness of men, this also is one, and makes them almost of the nature of eunuchs, and that is the incision or the cutting of the veins behind their ears, which in case of distempers is oftentimes done; for, according to the opinions of most physicians and anatomists, the seed flows from the brain by those veins behind the ears, more than any part of the body. from whence it is very probable, that the transmission of the seed is hindered by the cutting of the veins behind the ears, so that it cannot descend to the testicles, or may come thither very crude and raw. sect. iii.--_signs and causes of insufficiency or barrenness in women._ although there are many causes of the barrenness of women, yet the chief and principal are internal, respecting either the privy parts, the womb or menstruous blood. therefore, hippocrates saith (speaking as well of easy as difficult conception in women) the first consideration is to be had of their species; for little women are more apt to conceive than great, slender than gross, white and fair than ruddy and high coloured, black than wan, those that have their veins conspicuous, than others; but to be very fleshy is evil, and to have great swelled breasts is good. the next thing to be considered is, the monthly purgations, whether they have been duly every month, whether they flow plentifully, are of a good colour, and whether they have been equal every month. then the womb, or place of conception, is to be considered. it ought to be clean and sound, dry and soft, not retracted or drawn up; not prone or descending downward; nor the mouth thereof turned away, nor too close shut up. but to speak more particularly:-- the first parts to be spoken of are the _pudenda_, or privities, and the womb; which parts are shut and enclosed either by nature or against nature; and from hence, such women are called _imperforate_; as in some women the mouth of their womb continues compressed, or closed up, from the time of their birth until the coming down of their courses, and then, on a sudden, when their terms press forward to purgation, they are molested with great and unusual pains. sometimes these break of their own accord, others are dissected and opened by physicians; others never break at all, which bring on disorders that end in death. all these _aetius_ particularly handles, showing that the womb is shut three manner of ways, which hinders conception. and the first is when the _pudenda_ grow and cleave together. the second is, when these certain membranes grow in the middle part of the matrix within. the third is, when (though the lips and bosom of the _pudenda_ may appear fair and open), the mouth of the womb may be quite shut up. all which are occasions of barrenness, as they hinder the intercourse with man, the monthly courses, and conception. but amongst all causes of barrenness in women, the greatest is in the womb, which is the field of generation; and if this field is corrupt, it is in vain to expect any fruit, be it ever so well sown. it may be unfit for generation by reason of many distempers to which it is subject; as for instance, overmuch heat and overmuch cold; for women whose wombs are too thick and cold, cannot conceive, because coldness extinguishes the heat of the human seed. immoderate moisture of the womb also destroys the seed of man, and makes it ineffectual, as corn sown in ponds and marshes; and so does overmuch dryness of the womb, so that the seed perisheth for want of nutriment. immoderate heat of the womb is also a cause of barrenness for it scorcheth up the seed as corn sown in the drought of summer; for immoderate heat burns all parts of the body, so that no conception can live in the womb. when unnatural humours are engendered, as too much phlegm, tympanies, wind, water, worms, or any other evil humour abounding contrary to nature, it causes barrenness as do all terms not coming down in due order. a woman may also have accidental causes of barrenness (at least such as may hinder her conception), as sudden frights, anger, grief and perturbation of mind; too violent exercises, as leaping, dancing, running, after copulation, and the like. but i will now add some signs, by which these things may be known. if the cause of barrenness be in the man, through overmuch heat in the seed, the woman may easily feel that in receiving it. if the nature of the woman be too hot, and so unfit for conception, it will appear by her having her terms very little, and the colour inclining to yellowness; she is also very hasty, choleric and crafty; her pulse beats very swift, and she is very desirous of copulation. to know whether the fault is in the man or in the woman, sprinkle the man's urine upon a lettuce leaf, and the woman's urine upon another, and that which dries away first is unfruitful. also take five wheaten corns and seven beans, put them into an earthen pot, and let the party make water therein; let this stand seven days, and if in that time they begin to sprout, then the party is fruitful; but if they sprout not, then the party is barren, whether it be the man or the woman; this is a certain sign. there are some that make this experiment of a woman's fruitfulness; take myrrh, red storax and some odoriferous things, and make a perfume of which let the woman receive into the neck of the womb through a funnel; if the woman feels the smoke ascend through her body to the nose, then she is fruitful; otherwise she is barren. some also take garlic and beer, and cause the woman to lie upon her back upon it, and if she feel the scent thereof in her nose, it is a sign of her being fruitful. culpepper and others also give a great deal of credit to the following experiment. take a handful of barley, and steep half of it in the urine of a man, and the other half in the urine of the woman, for the space of twenty-four hours; then take it out, and put the man's by itself, and the woman's by itself; set it in a flower-pot, or some other thing, where let it dry; water the man's every morning with his own urine, and the woman's with hers, and that which grows first is the most fruitful; but if they grow not at all, they are both naturally barren. _cure_. if the barrenness proceeds from stoppage of the menstrua, let the woman sweat, for that opens the parts; and the best way to sweat is in a hot-house. then let the womb be strengthened by drinking a draught of white wine, wherein a handful of stinking arrach, first bruised, has been boiled, for by a secret magnetic virtue, it strengthens the womb, and by a sympathetic quality, removes any disease thereof. to which add also a handful of vervain, which is very good to strengthen both the womb and the head, which are commonly afflicted together by sympathy. having used these two or three days, if they come not down, take of calamint, pennyroyal, thyme, betony, dittany, burnet, feverfew, mugwort, sage, peony roots, juniper berries, half a handful of each, or as many as can be got; let these be boiled in beer, and taken for her drink. take one part of gentian-root, two parts of centaury, distil them with ale in an alembic after you have bruised the gentian-roots and infused them well. this water is an admirable remedy to provoke the terms. but if you have not this water in readiness, take a drachm of centaury, and half a drachm of gentian-roots bruised, boiled in posset drink, and drink half a drachm of it at night going to bed. seed of wild navew beaten to powder, and a drachm of it taken in the morning in white wine, also is very good; but if it answers not, she must be let blood in the legs. and be sure you administer your medicines a little before the full of the moon, by no means in the wane of the moon; if you do, you will find them ineffectual. if barrenness proceed from the overflowing of the menstrua, then strengthen the womb as you were taught before; afterwards anoint the veins of the back with oil of roses, oil of myrtle and oil of quinces every night, and then wrap a piece of white baise about your veins, the cotton side next to the skin and keep the same always to it. but above all, i recommend this medicine to you. take comfrey-leaves or roots, and clown woundwort, of each a handful; bruise them well, and boil them in ale, and drink a good draught of it now and then. or take cinnamon, cassia lignea, opium, of each two drachms; myrrh, white pepper, galbanum, of each one drachm; dissolve the gum and opium in white wine; beat the rest into powder and make pills, mixing them together exactly, and let the patient take two each night going to bed; but let the pills not exceed fifteen grains. if barrenness proceed from a flux in the womb, the cure must be according to the cause producing it, or which the flux proceeds from, which may be known by signs; for a flux of the womb, being a continual distillation from it for a long time together, the colour of what is voided shows what humour it is that offends; in some it is red, and that proceeds from blood putrified, in some it is yellow, and that denotes choler; in others white and pale, and denotes phlegm. if pure blood comes out, as if a vein were opened, some corrosion or gnawing of the womb is to be feared. all these are known by the following signs: the place of conception is continually moist with the humours, the face ill-coloured, the party loathes meat and breathes with difficulty, the eyes are much swollen, which is sometimes without pain. if the offending humour be pure blood, then you must let blood in the arm, and the cephalic vein is fittest to draw back the blood; then let the juice of plantain and comfrey be injected into the womb. if phlegm be a cause, let cinnamon be a spice used in all her meats and drinks, and let her take a little venice treacle or mithridate every morning. let her boil burnet, mugwort, feverfew and vervain in all her broths. also, half a drachm of myrrh, taken every morning, is an excellent remedy against this malady. if choler be the cause, let her take burrage, buglos, red roses, endive and succory roots, lettuce and white poppy-seed, of each a handful; boil these in white wine until one half be wasted; let her drink half a pint every morning to which half pint add syrup of chicory and syrup of peach-flowers, of each an ounce, with a little rhubarb, and this will gently purge her. if it proceed from putrified blood, let her be bled in the foot, and then strengthen the womb, as i have directed in stopping the menstrua. if barrenness be occasioned by the falling out of the womb, as sometimes it happens, let her apply sweet scents to the nose, such as civet, galbanum, storax, calamitis, wood of aloes; and such other things as are of that nature; and let her lay stinking things to the womb, such as asafoetida, oil of amber, or the smoke of her own hair, being burnt; for this is a certain truth, that the womb flies from all stinking, and to all sweet things. but the most infallible cure in this case is; take a common burdock leaf (which you may keep dry, if you please, all the year), apply this to her head and it will draw the womb upwards. in fits of the mother, apply it to the soles of the feet, and it will draw the womb downwards. but seed beaten into a powder, draws the womb which way you please, accordingly as it is applied. if barrenness in the woman proceed from a hot cause, let her take whey and clarify it; then boil plantain leaves and roots in it, and drink it for her ordinary drink. let her inject plantain juice into her womb with a syringe. if it be in the winter, when you cannot get the juice, make a strong decoction of the leaves and roots in water, and inject that up with a syringe, but let it be blood warm, and you will find this medicine of great efficacy. and further, to take away barrenness proceeding from hot causes, take of conserve of roses, cold lozenges, make a tragacanth, the confections of trincatelia; and use, to smell to, camphor, rosewater and saunders. it is also good to bleed the basilica or liver vein, and take four or five ounces of blood, and then take this purge; take electuarium de epithymo de succo rosarum, of each two drachms and a half; clarified whey, four ounces; mix them well together, and take it in the morning fasting; sleep after it about an hour and a half, and fast for four hours after; and about an hour before you eat anything, drink a good draught of whey. also take lilywater, four ounces; mandragore water, one ounce; saffron, half a scruple; beat the saffron to a powder, and mix it with waters, drink them warm in the morning; use these eight days together. _some apparent remedy against barrenness and to cause fruitfulness._ take broom flowers, smallage, parsley seed, cummin, mugwort, feverfew, of each half a scruple; aloes, half an ounce; indian salt, saffron, of each half a drachm; beat and mix them together, and put it to five ounces of feverfew water warm; stop it up, and let it stand and dry in a warm place, and this do, two or three times, one after the other; then make each drachm into six pills, and take one of them every night before supper. for a purging medicine against barrenness, take conserve of benedicta lax, a quarter of an ounce; depsillo three drachms, electuary de rosarum, one drachm; mix them together with feverfew water, and drink it in the morning betimes. about three days after the patient hath taken this purge, let her be bled, taking four or five ounces from the median, or common black vein in the foot; and then give for five successive days, filed ivory, a drachm and a half, in feverfew water; and during the time let her sit in the following bath an hour together, morning and night. take mild yellow sapes, daucas, balsam wood and fruit, ash-keys, of each two handfuls, red and white behen, broom flowers, of each a handful; musk, three grains; amber, saffron, of each a scruple; boiled in water sufficiently; but the musk, saffron, amber and broom flowers must be put into the decoction, after it is boiled and strained. _a confection very good against barrenness._ take pistachia, eringoes, of each half an ounce; saffron, one drachm; lignum aloes, galengal, mace, coriophilla, balm flowers, red and white behen, of each four scruples; syrup of confected ginger, twelve ounces; white sugar, six ounces, decoct all these in twelve ounces of balm water, and stir them well together; then put in it musk and amber, of each a scruple; take thereof the quantity of a nutmeg three times a day; in the morning, an hour before noon and an hour after supper. but if the cause of barrenness, either in man or woman, be through scarcity or diminution of the natural seed, then such things are to be taken as do increase the seed, and incite to stir up to venery, and further conception; which i shall here set down, and then conclude the chapter concerning barrenness. for this, yellow rape seed baked in bread is very good; also young, fat flesh, not too much salted; also saffron, the tails of stincus, and long pepper prepared in wine. but let such persons eschew all sour, sharp, doughy and slimy meats, long sleep after meat, surfeiting and drunkenness, and so much as they can, keep themselves from sorrow, grief, vexation and anxious care. these things following increase the natural seed, stir up the venery and recover the seed again when it is lost, viz., eggs, milk, rice, boiled in milk, sparrows' brains, flesh, bones and all; the stones and pizzles of bulls, bucks, rams and bears, also cocks' stones, lambs' stones, partridges', quails' and pheasants' eggs. and this is an undeniable aphorism, that whatever any creature is addicted unto, they move or incite the man or the woman that eats them, to the like, and therefore partridges, quails, sparrows, etc., being extremely addicted to venery, they work the same effect on those men and women that eat them. also, take notice, that in what part of the body the faculty that you would strengthen, lies, take that same part of the body of another creature, in whom the faculty is strong, as a medicine. as for instance, the procreative faculty lies in the testicles; therefore, cocks' stones, lambs' stones, etc., are proper to stir up venery. i will also give you another general rule; all creatures that are fruitful being eaten, make them fruitful that eat them, as crabs, lobsters, prawns, pigeons, etc. the stones of a fox, dried and beaten to a powder, and a drachm taken in the morning in sheep's milk, and the stones of a boar taken in like manner, are very good. the heart of a male quail carried about a man, and the heart of a female quail carried about a woman, causes natural love and fruitfulness. let them, also, that would increase their seed, eat and drink of the best, as much as they can; for _sine cerere el libero, friget venus_, is an old proverb, which is, "without good meat and drink, venus will be frozen to death." pottages are good to increase the seed; such as are made of beans, peas, and lupins, mixed with sugar. french beans, wheat sodden in broth, aniseed, also onions, stewed garlic, leeks, yellow rapes, fresh mugwort roots, eringo roots confected, ginger connected, etc. of fruits, hazel nuts, cyprus nuts, pistachio, almonds and marchpanes thereof. spices good to increase seed are cinnamon, galengal, long pepper, cloves, ginger, saffron and asafoetida, a drachm and a half taken in good wine, is very good for this purpose. the weakness and debility of a man's yard, being a great hindrance to procreation let him use the following ointment to strengthen it: take wax, oil of beaver-cod, marjoram, gentle and oil of costus, of each a like quantity, mix them into an ointment, and put it to a little musk, and with it anoint the yard, cods, etc. take of house emmets, three drachms, oil of white safannum, oil of lilies, of each an ounce; pound and bruise the ants, and put them to the oil and let them stand in the sun six days; then strain out the oil and add to it euphorbium one scruple, pepper and rue, of each one drachm, mustard seed half a drachm, set this altogether in the sun two or three days, then anoint the instrument of generation therewith. * * * * * chapter ii _the diseases of the womb._ i have already said, that the womb is the field of generation; and if this field be corrupted, it is vain to expect any fruit, although it be ever so well sown. it is, therefore, not without reason that i intend in this chapter to set down the several distempers to which the womb is obnoxious, with proper and safe remedies against them. section i.--_of the hot distemper of the womb._ the distemper consists in excess of heat; for as heat of the womb is necessary for conception, so if it be too much, it nourisheth not the seed, but it disperseth its heat, and hinders the conception. this preternatural heat is sometimes from the birth, and causeth barrenness, but if it be accidental, it is from hot causes, that bring the heat and the blood to the womb; it arises also from internal and external medicines, and from too much hot meat, drink and exercise. those that are troubled with this distemper have but few courses, and those are yellow, black, burnt or sharp, have hair betimes on their privities, are very prone to lust, subject to headache, and abound with choler, and when the distemper is strong upon them, they have but few terms, which are out of order, being bad and hard to flow, and in time they become hypochondriacal, and for the most part barren, having sometimes a phrenzy of the womb. _cure_. the remedy is to use coolers, so that they offend not the vessels that most open for the flux of the terms. therefore, take the following inwardly; succory, endive, violets, water lilies, sorrel, lettuce, saunders and syrups and conserve made thereof. also take a conserve of succory, violets, water-lilies, burrage, each an ounce; conserve of roses, half an ounce, diamargation frigid, diatriascantal, each half a drachm; and with syrup of violets, or juice of citrons, make an electuary. for outward applications, make use of ointment of roses, violets, water-lilies, gourd, venus navel, applied to the back and loins. let the air be cool, her garments thin, and her food endive, lettuce, succory and barley. give her no hot meats, nor strong wine, unless mixed with water. rest is good for her, but she must abstain from copulation, though she may sleep as long as she pleases. sect. ii.--_of the cold distempers of the womb._ this distemper is the reverse of the foregoing, and equally an enemy to generation, being caused by a cold quality abounding to excess, and proceeds from a too cold air, rest, idleness and cooling medicines. it may be known by an aversion to venery, and taking no pleasure in the act of copulation when the seed is spent; the terms are phlegmatic, thick and slimy, and do not flow as they should; the womb is windy and the seed crude and waterish. it is the cause of obstructions and barrenness, and is hard to be cured. _cure_. take galengal, cinnamon, nutmeg mace, cloves, ginger, cububs, cardamom, grains of paradise, each an ounce and a half, galengal, six drachms, long pepper, half an ounce, zedoary five drachms; bruise them and add six quarts of wine, put them into a cellar nine days, daily stirring them; then add of mint two handfuls, and let them stand fourteen days, pour off the wine and bruise them, and then pour on the wine again, and distil them. also anoint with oil of lilies, rue, angelica, cinnamon, cloves, mace and nutmeg. let her diet and air be warm, her meat of easy concoction, seasoned with ant-seed, fennel and thyme; and let her avoid raw fruits and milk diets. sect. iii.--_of the inflation of the womb._ the inflation of the womb is a stretching of it by wind, called by some a windy mole; the wind proceeds from a cold matter, whether thick or thin, contained in the veins of the womb, by which the heat thereof is overcome, and which either flows thither from other parts, or is gathered there by cold meats and drinks. cold air may be a producing cause of it also, as women that lie in are exposed to it. the wind is contained either in the cavity of the vessels of the womb, or between the tumicle, and may be known by a swelling in the region of the womb, which sometimes reaches to the navel, loins and diaphragm, and rises and abates as the wind increaseth or decreaseth. it differs from the dropsy, in that it never swells so high. that neither physician nor midwife may take it for dropsy, let them observe the signs of the woman with the child laid down in a former part of this work; and if any sign be wanting, they may suspect it to be an inflation; of which it is a further sign, that in conception the swelling is invariable; also if you strike upon the belly, in an inflation, there will be noise, but not so in case there be a conception. it also differs from a mole, because in that there is a weight and hardness of the belly, and when the patient moves from one side to the other she feels a great weight which moveth, but not so in this. if the inflation continue without the cavity of the womb, the pain is greater and more extensive, nor is there any noise, because the wind is more pent up. _cure_. this distemper is neither of a long continuance nor dangerous, if looked after in time; and if it be in the cavity of the womb it is more easily expelled. to which purpose give her diaphnicon, with a little castor and sharp clysters that expel the wind. if this distemper happen to a woman in travail let her not purge after delivery, nor bleed, because it is from a cold matter; but if it come after child-bearing, and her terms come down sufficiently, and she has fullness of blood, let the saphoena vein be opened, after which, let her take the following electuary: take conserve of betony and rosemary, of each an ounce and a half; candied eringoes, citron peel candied, each half an ounce; diacimium, diagenel, each a drachm; oil of aniseed, six drops, and with syrup of citrons make an electuary. for outward application make a cataplasm of rue, mugwort, camomile, dill, calamint, new pennyroyal, thyme, with oil of rue, keir and camomile. and let the following clyster to expel the wind be put into the womb: take agnus castus, cinnamon, each two drachms, boil them in wine to half a pint. she may likewise use sulphur, bath and spa waters, both inward and outward, because they expel the wind. sect. iv.--_of the straitness of the womb and its vessels._ this is another effect of the womb, which is a very great obstruction to the bearing of children, hindering both the flow of the menses and conception, and is seated in the vessel of the womb, and the neck thereof. the causes of this straitness are thick and rough humours, that stop the mouths of the veins and arteries. these humours are bred either by gross or too much nourishment, when the heat of the womb is so weak that it cannot attenuate the humours, which by reason thereof, either flow from the whole body, or are gathered into the womb. now the vessels are made straiter or closer several ways; sometimes by inflammation, scirrhous or other tumours; sometimes by compressions, scars, or by flesh or membranes that grow after a wound. the signs by which this is known are, the stoppage of the terms, not conceiving, and condities abounding in the body which are all shown by particular signs, for if there is a wound, or the secundine be pulled out by force phlegm comes from the wound; if stoppage of the terms be from an old obstruction of humours, it is hard to be cured; if it be only from the disorderly use of astringents, it is more curable; if it be from a scirrhous, or other tumours that compress or close the vessel, the disease is incurable. _cure_. for the cure of that which is curable, obstructions must be taken away, phlegm must be purged, and she must be let blood, as will be hereafter directed in the stoppage of the terms. then use the following medicines: take of aniseed and fennel seed, each a drachm; rosemary, pennyroyal, calamint, betony flowers, each an ounce; castus, cinnamon, galengal, each half an ounce; saffron half a drachm, with wine. or take asparagus roots, parsley roots, each an ounce; pennyroyal, calamint, each a handful; wallflowers, gilly-flowers, each two handfuls; boil, strain and add syrup of mugwort, an ounce and a half. for a fomentation, take pennyroyal, mercury, calamint, marjoram, mugwort, each two handfuls, sage, rosemary bays, camomile-flowers, each a handful, boil them in water and foment the groin and the bottom of the belly; or let her sit up to the navel in a bath, and then anoint about the groin with oil of rue, lilies, dill, etc. sect. v.--_of the falling of the womb._ this is another evil effect of the womb which is both very troublesome, and also a hindrance to conception. sometimes the womb falleth to the middle of the thighs, nay, almost to the knees, and may be known then by its hanging out. now, that which causeth the womb to change its place is, that the ligaments by which it is bound to the other parts, are not in order; for there are four ligaments, two above, broad and membranous, round and hollow; it is also bound to the great vessels by veins and arteries, and to the back by nerves; but the place is changed when it is drawn another way, or when the ligaments are loose, and it falls down by its own weight. it is drawn on one side when the menses are hindered from flowing, and the veins and arteries are full, namely, those that go to the womb. if it be a mole on one side, the liver and spleen cause it; by the liver vein on the right side, and the spleen on the left, as they are more or less filled. others are of opinion, it comes from the solution of the connexion of the fibrous neck and the parts adjacent; and that it is from the weight of the womb descending; this we deny not, but the ligaments must be loose or broken. but women with a dropsy could not be said to have the womb fallen down, if it came only from looseness; but in them it is caused by the saltness of the water, which dries more than it moistens. now, if there be a little tumour, within or without the privities, it is nothing else but a descent of the womb, but if there be a tumour like a goose's egg and a hole at the bottom and there is at first a great pain in the parts to which the womb is fastened, as the loins, the bottom of the belly, and the os sacrum, it proceeds from the breaking or stretching of the ligaments; and a little after the pain is abated, and there is an impediment in walking, and sometimes blood comes from the breach of the vessels, and the excrements and urine are stopped, and then a fever and convulsion ensueth, oftentimes proving mortal, especially if it happen to women with child. _cure_. for the cure of this distemper, first put up the womb before the air alter it, or it be swollen or inflamed; and for this purpose give a clyster to remove the excrements, and lay her upon her back, with her legs abroad, and her thighs lifted up and her head down; then take the tumour in your hand and thrust it in without violence; if it be swelled by alteration and cold, foment it with the decoction of mallows, althoea, lime, fenugreek, camomile flowers, bay-berries, and anoint it with oil of lilies, and hen's grease. if there be an inflammation, do not put it up, but fright it in, by putting a red-hot iron before it and making a show as if you intended to burn it; but first sprinkle upon it the powder of mastich, frankincense and the like; thus, take frankincense, mastich, each two drachms; sarcocol steeped in milk, drachm; mummy, pomegranate flowers, sanguisdraconis, each half a drachm. when it is put up, let her lie with her legs stretched, and one upon the other, for eight or ten days, and make a pessary in the form of a pear, with cork or sponge, and put it into the womb, dipped in sharp wine, or juice of acacia, with powder of sanguis, with galbanum and bdellium. apply also a cupping-glass, with a great flame, under the navel or paps, or both kidneys, and lay this plaster to the back; take opopanax, two ounces, storax liquid, half an ounce; mastich, frankincense, pitch, bole, each two drachms; then with wax make a plaster; or take laudanum, a drachm and a half; mastich, and frankincense, each half a drachm, wood aloes, cloves, spike, each a drachm; ash-coloured ambergris, four grains: musk, half a scruple; make two round plasters to be laid on each side of the navel; make a fume of snails' skins salted, or of garlic, and let it be taken in by the funnel. use also astringent fomentations of bramble leaves, plantain, horse-tails, myrtles, each two handfuls; wormseed, two handfuls; pomegranate flowers, half an ounce; boil them in wine and water. for an injection take comfrey root, an ounce; rupturewort, two drachms; yarrow, mugwort, each half an ounce; boil them in red wine, and inject with a syringe. to strengthen the womb, take hartshorn, bays, of each half a drachm; myrrh half a drachm; make a powder of two doses, and give it with sharp wine. or you may take zedoary, parsnip seed, crabs' eyes prepared, each a drachm, nutmeg, half a drachm; and give a drachm, in powder; but astringents must be used with great caution, lest by stopping the courses a worse mischief follow. to keep in its place, make rollers and ligatures as for a rupture; and put pessaries into the bottom of the womb, that may force it to remain. let the diet be such as has drying, astringent and glueing qualities, as rice, starch, quinces, pears and green cheese; but let the summer fruits be avoided; and let her wine be astringent and red. * * * * * chapter iii _of diseases relating to women's monthly courses._ section i.--_of women's monthly courses in general._ that divine providence, which, with a wisdom peculiar to itself, has appointed woman to conceive by coition with man, and to bear and bring forth children, has provided for nourishment of children during their recess in the womb of their mother, by that redundancy of the blood which is natural to all women; and which, flowing out at certain periods of time (when they are not pregnant) are from thence called _terms_ and _menses_, from their monthly flux of excrementitious and unprofitable blood. now, that the matter flowing forth is excrementitious, is to be understood only with respect to the redundancy and overplus thereof, being an excrement only with respect to its quantity; for as to its quality, it is as pure and incorrupt as any blood in the veins; and this appears from the final cause of it, which is the propagation and conservation of mankind, and also from the generation of it, being superfluity of the last aliment of the fleshy parts. if any ask, if the menses be not of hurtful quality, how can they cause such venomous effects; if they fall upon trees and herbs, they make the one barren and mortify the other: i answer, this malignity is contracted in the womb, for the woman, wanting native heat to digest the superfluity, sends it to the matrix, where seating itself till the mouth of the womb be dilated, it becomes corrupt and mortified; which may easily be, considering the heat and moistness of the place; and so this blood being out of its proper vessels, offends in quality. sect. ii.--_of the terms coming out of order, either before or after the usual time._ having, in the former part of this work, treated, of the suppression and overflowing of the monthly terms, i shall content myself with referring the reader thereto, and proceed to speak of their coming out of order, either before or after the usual time. both these proceed from an ill constitution of body. everything is beautiful in its order, in nature as well as in morality; and if the order of nature be broken, it shows the body to be out of order. of each of these effects briefly. when the monthly courses come before their time, showing a depraved excretion, and flowing sometimes twice a month, the cause is in the blood, which stirs up the expulsive faculty of the womb, or else in the whole body, and is frequently occasioned by the person's diet, which increases the blood too much, making it too sharp or too hot. if the retentive faculty of the womb be weak, and the expulsive faculty strong, and of a quick sense, it brings them forth the sooner. sometimes they flow sooner by reason of a fall, stroke or some violent passion, which the parties themselves can best relate. if it be from heat, thin and sharp humours, it is known by the distemper of the whole body. the looseness of the vessels and the weakness of the retentive faculty, is known from a moist and loose habit of the body. it is more troublesome than dangerous, but hinders conception, and therefore the cure is necessary for all, but especially such as desire children. if it proceeds from a sharp blood, let her temper it by a good diet and medicines. to which purpose, let her use baths of iron water, that correct the distemper of the bowels, and then evacuate. if it proceeds from the retentive faculty, and looseness of the vessels, it is to be corrected with gentle astringents. as to the courses flowing after the usual time, the causes are, thickness of the blood, and the smallness of its quantity, with the stoutness of the passage, and weakness of the expulsive faculties. either of these singly may stop the courses, but if they all concur, they render the distemper worse. if the blood abounds not in such a quantity as may stir up nature to expel it, its purging must necessarily be deferred, till there be enough. and if the blood be thick, the passage stopped, and the expulsive faculty weak, the menses must needs be out of order and the purging of them retarded. for the cure of this, if the quantity of blood be small, let her use a larger diet, and a very little exercise. if the blood be thick and foul, let it be made thin, and the humours mixed therewith, evacuated. it is good to purge, after the courses have done flowing, and to use calamint, and, indeed, the oftener she purges, the better. she may also use fumes and pessaries, apply cupping glasses without scarification to the inside of the thighs, and rub the legs and scarify the ankles, and hold the feet in warm water four or five days before the courses come down. let her also anoint the bottom of her belly with things proper to provoke the terms. _remedies for diseases in women's paps._ make a cataplasm of bean meal and salad oil, and lay it to the place afflicted. or anoint with the juice of papilaris. this must be done when the papa are very sore. if the paps be hard and swollen, take a handful of rue, colewort roots, horehound and mint; if you cannot get all these conveniently, any two will do; pound the handful in honey, and apply it once every day till healed. if the nipples be stiff and sore, anoint twice a day with florence oil, till healed. if the paps be flabby and hanging, bruise a little hemlock, and apply it to the breast for three days; but let it not stand above seven hours. or, which is safer, rusae juice, well boiled, with a little sinapios added thereto, and anoint. if the paps be hard and dead, make a plate of lead pretty thin, to answer the breasts; let this stand nine hours each day, for three days. or sassafras bruised, and used in like manner. _receipt for procuring milk._ drink arpleui, drawn as tea, for twenty-one days. or eat of aniseeds. also the juice of arbor vitae, a glassful once a day for eleven days, is very good, for it quickens the memory, strengthens the body, and causeth milk to flow in abundance. _directions for drawing of blood._ drawing of blood was first invented for good and salutary purposes, although often abused and misapplied. to bleed in the left arm removes long continued pains and headaches. it is also good for those who have got falls and bruises. bleeding is good for many disorders, and generally proves a cure, except in some extraordinary cases, and in those cases bleeding is hurtful. if a woman be pregnant, to draw a little blood will give her ease, good health, and a lusty child. bleeding is a most certain cure for no less than twenty-one disorders, without any outward or inward applications; and for many more with application of drugs, herbs and flowers. when the moon is on the increase, you may let blood at any time day or night; but when she is on the decline, you must bleed only in the morning. bleeding may be performed from the month of march to november. no bleeding in december, january or february, unless an occasion require it. the months of march, april and november, are the three chief months of the year for bleeding in; but it may be performed with safety from the ninth of march to the nineteenth of november. to prevent the dangers that may arise from she unskilful drawing of blood, let none open a but a person of experience and practice. there are three sorts of people you must not let draw blood; first ignorant and inexperienced persons. secondly, those who have bad sight and trembling hands, whether skilful or unskilled. for when the hand trembles, the lance is apt to start from the vein, and the flesh be thereby damaged, which may hurt, canker, and very much torment the patient. thirdly, let no woman bleed, but such as have gone through a course of midwifery at college, for those who are unskilful may cut an artery, to the great damage of the patient. besides, what is still worse, those pretended bleeders, who take it up at their own hand, generally keep unedged and rusty lancets, which prove hurtful, even in a skilful hand. accordingly you ought to be cautious in choosing your physician; a man of learning knows what vein to open for each disorder; he knows how much blood to take as soon as he sees the patient, and he can give you suitable advice concerning your disorder. * * * * * part iii aristotle's book of problems with other astromer, astrologers and physicians, concerning the state of man's body. q. among all living creatures, why hath man only his countenance lifted up towards heaven. a. . from the will of the creator. but although this answer be true, yet it seemeth not to be of force, because that so all questions might be easily resolved. therefore, . i answer that, for the most part, every workman doth make his first work worse, and then his second better! so god creating all other animals before man gave them their face looking down to the earth; and then secondly he created man, unto whom he gave an upright shape, lifted unto heaven, because it is drawn from divinity, and it is derived from the goodness of god, who maketh all his works both perfect and good. . man only, among all living creatures, is ordained to the kingdom of heaven, and therefore hath his face elevated and lifted up to heaven, because that despising earthly and worldly things, he ought often to contemplate on heavenly things. . that the reasonable man is like unto angels, and finally ordained towards god; and therefore he hath a figure looking upward. . man is a microcosm, that is, a little world, and therefore he doth command all other living creatures and they obey him. . naturally there is unto everything and every work, that form and figure given which is fit and proper for its motion; as unto the heavens, roundness, to the fire a pyramidical form, that is, broad beneath and sharp towards the top, which form is most apt to ascend; and so man has his face towards heaven to behold the wonders of god's works. q. why are the heads of men hairy? a. the hair is the ornament of the head, and the brain is purged of gross humours by the growing of the hair, from the highest to the lowest, which pass through the pores of the exterior flesh, become dry, and are converted into hair. this appears to be the case, from the circumstance that in all man's body there is nothing drier than the hair, for it is drier than the bones; and it is well known that some beasts are nourished with bones, as dogs, but they cannot digest feathers or hair, but void them undigested, being too hot for nourishment. . it is answered, that the brain is purged in three different ways; of superfluous watery humours by the eyes, of choler by the nose, and of phlegm by the hair, which is the opinion of the best physicians. q. why have men longer hair on their heads than any other living creature? a. arist. de generat. anim. says, that men have the moistest brain of all living creatures from which the seed proceedeth which is converted into the long hair of the head. . the humours of men are fat, and do not become dry easily; and therefore the hair groweth long on them. in beasts, the humours easily dry, and therefore the hair groweth not so long. q. why doth the hair take deeper root in man's skin than in that of any other living creatures? a. because it has greater store of nourishment in man, and therefore grows more in the inward parts of man. and this is the reason why in other creatures the hair doth alter and change with the skin, and not in man, unless by a scar or wound. q. why have women longer hair than men? a. because women are moister and more phlegmatic than men, and therefore there is more matter for hair to them, and, by consequence, the length also of their hair. and, furthermore, this matter is more increased in women than men from their interior parts, and especially in the time of their monthly terms, because the matter doth then ascend, whereby the humour that breedeth the hair, doth increase. . because women want beards; so the matter of the beard doth go into that of the hair. q. why have some women soft hair and some hard? a. . the hair hath proportion with the skin; of which some is hard, some thick, some subtle and soft, some gross; therefore, the hair which grows out of thick, gross skin, is thick and gross; that which groweth out of a subtle and fine skin, is fine and soft; when the pores are open, then cometh forth much humour, and therefore hard hair is engendered; and when the pores are strait, then there doth grow soft and fine hair. this doth evidently appear in men, because women have softer hair than they; for in women the pores are shut and strait, by reason of their coldness. . because for the most part, choleric men have harder and thicker hair than others, by reason of their heat, and because their pores are always open, and therefore they have beards sooner than others. for this reason also, beasts that have hard hair are boldest, because such have proceeded from heat and choler, examples of which we have in the bear and the boar; and contrariwise, those beasts that have soft hair are fearful, because they are cold, as the hare and the hart. . from the climate where a man is born; because in hot regions hard and gross hair is engendered, as appears in the ethiopians, and the contrary is the case is cold countries toward the north. q. why have some men curled hair, and some smooth? a. from the superior degree of heat in some men, which makes the hair curl and grow upward; this is proved by a man's having smooth hair when he goes into a hot bath, and it afterwards becomes curled. therefore keepers of baths have often curled hair, as also ethiopians and choleric men. but the cause of this smoothness, is the abundance of moist humours. q. why do women show ripeness by hair in their privy parts, and not elsewhere, but men in their breasts? a. because in men and women there is abundance of humidity in that place, but most in women, as men have the mouth of the bladder in that place, where the urine is contained, of which the hair in the breast is engendered, and especially that about the navel. but of women in general, it is said, that the humidity of the bladder of the matrix, or womb, is joined and meeteth in that lower secret place, and therefore is dissolved and separated in that place into vapours and fumes, which are the cause of hair. and the like doth happen in other places, as in the hair under the arms. q. why have not women beards? a. because they want heat; which is the case with some effeminate men, who are beardless from the same cause, to have complexions like women. q. why doth the hair grow on those that are hanged? a. because their bodies are exposed to the sun, which, by its heat doth dissolve all moisture into the fume or vapour of which the hair doth grow. q. why is the hair of the beard thicker and grosser than elsewhere; and the more men are shaven, the harder and thicker it groweth? a. because by so much as the humours or vapours of a liquid are dissolved and taken away, so much the more doth the humour remaining draw to the same; and therefore the more the hair is shaven, the thicker the humours gather which engender the hair, and cause it to wax hard. q. why are women smooth and fairer than men? a. because in women much of the humidity and superfluity, which are the matter and cause of the hair of the body, is expelled with their monthly terms; which superfluity, remaining in men, through vapours passes into hair. q. why doth man, above all other creatures, wax hoary and gray? a. because man hath the hottest heart of all living creatures; and therefore, nature being most wise, lest a man should be suffocated through the heat of his heart, hath placed the heart, which is most hot, under the brain, which is most cold; to the end that the heat of the heart may be tempered by the coldness of the brain; and contrariwise, that the coldness of the brain may be qualified by the heat of the heart; and thereby there might be a temperature in both. a proof of this is, that of all living creatures man hath the worst breath when he comes to full age. furthermore, man doth consume nearly half his time in sleep, which doth proceed from the great excess of coldness and moisture in the brain, and from his wanting natural heat to digest and consume that moisture, which heat he hath in his youth, and therefore, in that age is not gray, but in old age, when heat faileth; because then the vapours ascending from the stomach remain undigested and unconsumed for want of natural heat, and thus putrefy, on which putrefaction of humours that the whiteness doth follow, which is called grayness or hoariness. whereby it doth appear, that hoariness is nothing but a whiteness of hair, caused by a putrefaction of the humours about the roots of the hair, through the want of natural heat in old age. sometimes all grayness is caused by the naughtiness of the complexion, which may happen in youth: sometimes through over great fear and care as appeareth in merchants, sailors and thieves. q. why doth red hair grow white sooner than hair of any other colour? a. because redness is an infirmity of the hair; for it is engendered of a weak and infirm matter, that is, of matter corrupted with the flowers of the woman; and therefore it waxes white sooner than any other colour. q. why do wolves grow grisly? a. to understand this question, note the difference between grayness and grisliness; grayness is caused through defect of natural heat, but grisliness through devouring and heat. the wolf being a devouring beast, he eateth gluttonously without chewing, and enough at once for three days; in consequence of which, gross vapours engendered in the wolf's body, which cause grisliness. grayness and grisliness have this difference; grayness is only in the head, but grisliness all over the body. q. why do horses grow grisly and gray? a. because they are for the most part in the sun, and heat naturally causes putrefaction; therefore the matter of hair doth putrefy, and in consequence they are quickly peeled. q. why do men get bald, and trees let fall their leaves in winter? a. the want of moisture is the cause in both, which is proved by a man's becoming bald through venery, because by that he lets forth his natural humidity and heat; and by that excess in carnal pleasure the moisture is consumed which is the nutriment of the hair. thus, eunuchs and women do not grow bald, because they do not part from this moisture; and therefore eunuchs are of the complexion of women. q. why are not women bald? a. because they are cold and moist, which are the causes that the hair remaineth; for moistness doth give nutriment to the hair, and coldness doth bind the pores. q. why are not blind men naturally bald? a. because the eye hath moisture in it, and that moisture which should pass through by the substance of the eyes, doth become a sufficient nutriment for the hair and therefore they are seldom bald. q. why doth the hair stand on end when men are afraid? a. because in time of fear the heat doth go from the outward parts of the body into the inward to help the heart, and so the pores in which the hair is fastened are shut up, after which stopping and shutting up of the pores, the standing up of the hair doth follow. _of the head._ q. why is a man's head round? a. because it contains in it the moistest parts of the living creature: and also that the brain may be defended thereby, as with a shield. q. why is the head not absolutely long but somewhat round? a. to the end that the three creeks and cells of the brain might the better be distinguished; that is, the fancy in the forehead, the discoursing or reasonable part in the middle, and memory in the hinder-most part. q. why doth a man lift up his head towards the heavens when he doth imagine? a. because the imagination is in the fore part of the head or brain, and therefore it lifteth up itself, that the creeks or cells of the imagination may be opened, and that the spirits which help the imagination, and are fit for that purpose, having their concourse thither, may help the imagination. q. why doth a man, when he museth or thinketh of things past, look towards the earth? a. because the cell or creek which is behind, is the creek or chamber of the memory; and therefore, that looketh towards heaven when the head is bowed down, and so the cell is open, to the end that the spirits which perfect the memory should enter it. q. why is not the head fleshy, like other parts of the body? a. because the head would be too heavy, and would not stand steadily. also, a head loaded with flesh, betokens an evil complexion. q. why is the head subject to aches and griefs? a. by reason that evil humours, which proceed from the stomach, ascend up to the head and disturb the brain, and so cause pain in the head; sometimes it proceeds from overmuch filling the stomach, because two great sinews pass from the brain to the mouth of the stomach, and therefore these two parts do always suffer grief together. q. why have women the headache oftener than men? a. by reason of their monthly terms, which men are not troubled with, and by which a moist, unclean and venomous fume is produced, that seeks passage upwards, and so causes the headache. q. why is the brain white? a. . because it is cold, and coldness is the mother of white. . because it may receive the similitude and likeness of all colours, which the white colour can best do, because it is most simple. q. why are all the senses in the head? a. because the brain is there, on which all the senses depend, and are directed by it; and, consequently, it maketh all the spirits to feel, and governeth all the membranes. q. why cannot a person escape death if the brain or heart be hurt? a. because the brain and heart are the two principal parts which concern life; and, therefore, if they be hurt, there is no remedy left for cure. q. why is the brain moist? a. because it may easily receive an impression, which moisture can best do, as it appeareth in wax, which doth easily receive the print of the seal when soft. q. why is the brain cold? a. . because that by this coldness it may clear the understanding of man and make it subtle. . that by the coldness of the brain, the heat of the heart may be tempered. _of the eyes._ q. why have you one nose and two eyes? a. because light is more necessary to us than smelling; and therefore it doth proceed from the goodness of nature, that if we receive any hurt or loss of one eye, the other should remain. q. why have children great eyes in their youth, which become small as they grow up? a. it proceeds from the want of fire, and from the assemblage and meeting together of the light and humour; the eyes, being lightened by the sun, which doth lighten the easy humour thereof and purge them: and, in the absence of the sun, those humours become dark and black, and the sight not so good. q. why does the blueish grey eye see badly in the day-time and well in the night? a. because greyness is light and shining in itself, and the spirits with which we see are weakened in the day-time and strengthened in the night. q. why are men's eyes of diverse colours? a. by reason of diversity of humours. the eye hath four coverings and three humours. the first covering is called consolidative, which is the outermost, strong and fat. the second is called a horny skin or covering, of the likeness of a horn; which is a clear covering. the third, uvea, of the likeness of a black grape. the fourth is called a cobweb. the first humour is called _albuginous_, from its likeness unto the white of an egg. the second glarial; that is, clear, like unto crystalline. the third vitreous, that is, clear as glass. and the diversity of humours causeth the diversity of the eyes. q. why are men that have but one eye, good archers? and why do good archers commonly shut one? and why do such as behold the stars look through a trunk with one eye? a. this matter is handled in the perspective arts; and the reason is, as it doth appear in _the book of causes_, because that every virtue and strength united and knit together, is stronger than when dispersed and scattered. therefore, all the force of seeing dispersed in two eyes, the one being shut, is gathered into the other, and so the light is fortified in him; and by consequence he doth see better and more certainly with one eye being shut, than when both are open. q. why do those that drink and laugh much, shed most tears? a. because that while they drink and laugh without measure the air which is drawn in doth not pass out through the windpipe, and so with force is directed and sent to the eyes, and by their pores passing out, doth expel the humours of the eyes; which humour being expelled, brings tears. q. why do such as weep much, urine but little? a. because the radical humidity of a tear and of urine are of one and the same nature, and, therefore, where weeping doth increase, urine diminishes. and that they are of one nature is plain to the taste, because they are both salt. q. why do some that have clear eyes see nothing? a. by reason of the oppilation and naughtiness of the sinews with which we see; for the temples being destroyed, the strength of the light cannot be carried from the brain to the eye. q. why is the eye clear and smooth like glass? a. . because the things which may be seen are better beaten back from a smooth thing than otherwise, that thereby the sight should strengthen. . because the eye is moist above all parts of the body, and of a waterish nature; and as the water is clear and smooth, so likewise is the eye. q. why do men and beasts who have their eyes deep in their head best see far off? a. because the force and power by which we see is dispersed in them, and both go directly to the thing which is seen. thus, when a man doth stand in a deep ditch or well, he doth see in the daytime the stars of the firmament; because then the power of the night and of the beams are not scattered. q. wherefore do those men who have eyes far out in their head not see far distant? a. because the beams of the sight which pass from the eye, are scattered on every side, and go not directly unto the thing that is seen, and therefore the sight is weakened. q. why are so many beasts born blind, as lions' whelps and dogs' whelps. a. because such beasts are not yet of perfect ripeness and maturity, and the course of nutriment doth not work in them. thus the swallow, whose eyes, if they were taken out when they are young in their nest, would grow in again. and this is the case in many beasts who are brought forth before their time as it were dead, as bear's whelps. q. why do the eyes of a woman that hath her flowers, stain new glass? and why doth a basilisk kill a man with his sight? a. when the flowers do run from a woman, then a most venomous air is distilled from them, which doth ascend into a woman's head; and she, having pain in her head, doth wrap it up with a cloth or handkerchief; and because the eyes are full of insensible holes, which are called pores, there the air seeketh a passage, and infects the eyes, which are full of blood. the eyes also appear dropping and full of tears, by reason of the evil vapour that is in them; and these vapours are incorporated and multiplied till they come to the glass before them; and by reason that such a glass is round, clear and smooth, it doth easily receive that which is unclean. . the basilisk is a very venomous and infectious animal, and there pass from his eyes vapours which are multiplied upon the thing which is seen by him, and even unto the eye of man; the which venomous vapours or humours entering into the body, do infect him, and so in the end the man dieth. and this is also the reason why the basilisk, looking upon a shield perfectly well made with fast clammy pitch, or any hard smooth thing, doth kill itself, because the humours are beaten back from the hard smooth thing unto the basilisk, by which beating back he is killed. q. why is the sparkling in cats' eyes and wolves' eyes seen in the dark and not in the light? a. because that the greater light doth darken the lesser; and therefore, in a greater light the sparkling cannot be seen; but the greater the darkness, the easier it is seen, and is more strong and shining. q. why is the sight recreated and refreshed by a green colour? a. because green doth merely move the sight, and therefore doth comfort it; but this doth not, in black or white colours, because these colours do vehemently stir and alter the organ and instrument of the sight, and therefore make the greater violence; and by how much the more violent the thing is which is felt or seen the more it doth destroy and weaken the sense. _of the nose._ q. why doth the nose stand out further than any other part of the body. a. . because the nose is, as it were, the sink of the brain, by which the phlegm of the brain is purged; and therefore it doth stand forth, lest the other parts should be defiled. . because the nose is the beauty of the face, and doth smell. q. why hath a man the worst smell of all creatures? a. because man hath most brains of all creatures; and, therefore, by exceeding coldness and moisture, the brain wanteth a good disposition, and by consequence, the smelling instrument is not good, yea, some men have no smell. q. why have vultures and cormorants a keen smell? a. because they have a very dry brain; and, therefore, the air carrying the smell, is not hindered by the humidity of the brain, but doth presently touch its instrument; and, therefore, vultures, tigers and other ravenous beasts, have been known to come five hundred miles after dead bodies. q. why did nature make the nostrils? a. . because the mouth being shut we draw breath in by the nostrils, to refresh the heart. . because the air which proceedeth from the mouth doth savour badly, because of the vapours which rise from the stomach, but that which we breathe from the nose is not noisome. . because the phlegm which doth proceed from the brain is purged by them. q. why do men sneeze? a. that the expulsive virtue and power of the sight should thereby be purged, and the brain also from superfluities; because, as the lungs are purged by coughing, so is the sight and brain by sneezing; and therefore physicians give sneezing medicaments to purge the brain; and thus it is, such sick persons as cannot sneeze, die quickly, because it is a sign their brain is wholly stuffed with evil humours, which cannot be purged. q. why do such as are apoplectic sneeze, that is, such as are subject easily to bleed? a. because the passages, or ventricles of the brain are stopped, and if they could sneeze, their apoplexy would be loosed. q. why does the heat of the sun provoke sneezing, and not the heat of the fire? a. because the heat of the sun doth dissolve, but not consume, and therefore the vapour dissolved is expelled by sneezing; but the heat of the fire doth dissolve and consume, and therefore doth rather hinder sneezing than provoke it. _of the ears._ q. why do beasts move their ears, and not men? a. because there is a certain muscle near the under jaw which doth cause motion in the ear; and therefore, that muscle being extended and stretched, men do not move their ears, as it hath been seen in divers men; but all beasts do use that muscle or fleshy sinew, and therefore do move their ears. q. why is rain prognosticated by the pricking up of asses' ears? a. because the ass is of a melancholic constitution, and the approach of rain produceth that effect on such a constitution. in the time of rain all beasts prick up their ears, but the ass before it comes. q. why have some animals no ears? a. nature giveth unto everything that which is fit for it, but if she had given birds ears, their flying would have been hindered by them. likewise fish want ears, because they would hinder their swimming, and have only certain little holes through which they hear. q. why have bats ears, although of the bird kind? a. because they are partly birds in nature, in that they fly, by reason whereof they have wings; and partly they are hairy and seem to be of the nature of mice, therefore nature hath given them ears. q. why have men only round ears? a. because the shape of the whole and of the parts should be proportionable, and especially in all things of one nature; for as a drop of water is round, so the whole water: and so, because a man's head is round, the ears incline towards the same figure; but the heads of beasts are somewhat long, and so the ears are drawn into length likewise. q. why hath nature given all living creatures ears? a. . because with them they should hear. . because by the ear choleric superfluity is purged; for as the head is purged of phlegmatic superfluity by the nose, so from choleric, by the ears. _of the mouth._ q. why hath the mouth lips to compass it? a. because the lips cover and defend the teeth; for it would be unseemly if the teeth were always seen. also, the teeth being of a cold nature, would be soon hurt if they were not covered with lips. q. why has a man two eyes and but one mouth? a. because a man should speak but little, and hear and see much. and by hearing and the light we see difference of things. q. why hath a man a mouth? a. . because the mouth is the gate and door of the stomach. . because the meat is chewed in the mouth, and prepared and made ready for the first digestion. . because the air drawn into the hollow of the mouth for the refreshing of the heart, is made pure and subtle. q. why are the lips moveable? a. for the purpose of forming the voice and words which cannot be perfectly done without them. for as without _a, b, c_, there is no writing, so without the lips no voice can well be formed. q. what causes men to yawn or gape? a. it proceeds from the thick fume and vapours that fill the jaws; by the expulsion of which is caused the stretching out and expansion of the jaws, and opening of the mouth. q. why doth a man gape when he seeth another do the same? a. it proceeds from the imagination. and this is proved by the similitude of the ass, who by reason of his melancholy, doth retain his superfluity for a long time, and would neither eat nor piss unless he should hear another doing the like. _of the teeth._ q. why do the teeth only, amongst all ether bones, experience the sense of feeling? a. that they may discern heat and cold, that hurt them, which other bones need not. q. why have men more teeth than women? a. by reason of the abundance of heat and cold which is more in men than in women. q. why do the teeth grow to the end of our life, and not the other bones? a. because otherwise they would be consumed with chewing and grinding. q. why do the teeth only come again when they fall, or be taken out, and other bones being taken away, grow no more? a. because other bones are engendered of the humidity which is called radical, and so they breed in the womb of the mother, but the teeth are engendered of nutritive humidity, which is renewed and increased from day to day. q. why do the fore-teeth fall in youth, and grow again, and not the cheek teeth? a. from the defect of matter, and from the figure; because the fore-teeth are sharp, and the others broad. also, it is the office of the fore-teeth to cut the meat, and therefore they are sharp; and the office of the others to chew the meat, and therefore they are broad in fashion, which is fittest for that purpose. q. why do the fore-teeth grow soonest? a. because we want them sooner in cutting than the others in chewing. q. why do the teeth grow black in human creatures in their old age? a. it is occasioned by the corruption of the meat, and the corruption of phlegm with a choleric humour. q. why are colts' teeth yellow, and of the colour of saffron, when they are young, and become white when they grow up? a. because horses have abundance of watery humours in them, which in their youth are digested and converted into grossness; but in old age heat diminishes, and the watery humours remain, whose proper colour is white. q. why did nature give living creatures teeth? a. to some to fight with, and for defence of their lives, as unto wolves and bears, unto some to eat with, as unto horses, unto some for the forming of the voices, as unto men. q. why do horned beasts want their upper teeth? a. horns and teeth are caused by the same matter, that is, nutrimental humidity, and therefore the matter which passeth into the horns turneth not into teeth, consequently they want the upper teeth. and such beasts cannot chew well; therefore, to supply the want of teeth, they have two stomachs, from whence it returns and they chew it again, then it goes into the other to be digested. q. why are some creatures brought forth with teeth, as kids and lambs; and some without, as men? a. nature doth not want in necessary things, nor abound in things superfluous; and therefore, because these beasts, not long after they are fallen, do need teeth, they are fallen with teeth; but men, being nourished by their mother, for a long time do not stand in need of teeth. _of the tongue._ q. why is the tongue full of pores? a. because the tongue is the means whereby which we taste; and through the mouth, in the pores of the tongue, doth proceed the sense of tasting. again, it is observed, that frothy spittle is sent into the mouth by the tongue from the lungs, moistening the meat and making it ready for digestion. q. why do the tongues of such as are sick of agues judge all things bitter? a. because the stomachs of such persons are filled with choleric humours; and choler is very bitter, as appeareth by the gall; therefore this bitter fume doth infect their tongues; and so the tongue, being full of these tastes, doth judge everything bitter. q. why doth the tongue water when we hear sour and sharp things spoken of? a. because the imaginative virtue or power is of greater force than the power or faculty of tasting; and when we imagine a taste, we conceive the power of tasting as a swan; there is nothing felt by the taste, but by means of the spittle the tongue doth water. q. why do some persons stammer and lisp? a. sometimes through the moistness of the tongue and brain, as in children, who cannot speak plainly nor pronounce many letters. sometimes it happeneth by reason of the shrinking of certain sinews which go to the tongue, which are corrupted with phlegm. q. why are the tongues of serpents and mad dogs venomous? a. because of the malignity and tumosity of the venomous humour which predominates in them. q. why is a dog's tongue good for medicine, and a horse's tongue pestiferous? a. by reason of some secret property, or that the tongue of a dog is full of pores, and so doth draw and take away the viscosity of the wound. it is observed that a dog hath some humour in his tongue, with which, by licking he doth heal; but the contrary effect is the lick of a horse's tongue. q. why is spittle white? a. by reason of the continual moving of the tongue, whereof heat is engendered, which doth make this superfluity white; as seen in the froth of water. q. why is spittle unsavoury and without taste? a. if it had a certain determinate taste, then the tongue would not taste at all, but only have the taste of spittle, and could not distinguish others. q. why doth the spittle of one that is fasting heal an imposthume? a. because it is well digested and made subtle. q. why do some abound in spittle more than others? a. this doth proceed of a phlegmatic complexion, which doth predominate in them; and such are liable to a quotidian ague, which ariseth from the predominance of phlegm; the contrary in those that spit little, because heat abounds in them, which consumes the humidity of the spittle; and so the defect of spittle is a sign of fever. q. why is the spittle of a man that is fasting more subtle than of one that is full? a. because the spittle is without the viscosity of meat, which is wont to make the spittle of one who is full, gross and thick. q. from whence proceeds the spittle of a man? a. from the froth of the lungs, which according to the physicians, is the seat of the phlegm. q. why are beasts when going together for generation very full of froth and foam? a. because then the lights and heart are in greater motion of lust; therefore there is engendered in them much frothy matter. q. why have not birds spittle? a. because they have very dry lungs. q. why doth the tongue sometimes lose the use of speaking? a. it is occasioned by a palsy or apoplexy, which is a sudden effusion of blood, and by gross humours; and sometimes also by infection of _spiritus animates_ in the middle cell of the brain which hinders the spirits from being carried to the tongue. _of the roof of the mouth._ q. why are fruits, before they are ripe, of a bitter and sour relish, and afterward sweet? a. a sour relish or taste proceeds from coldness and want of heat in gross and thick humidity; but a sweet taste is produced by sufficient heat; therefore in the ripe fruit humidity is subtle through the heat of the sun, and such fruit is commonly sweet; but before it is ripe, as humidity is gross or subtle for want of heat, the fruit is bitter or sour. q. why are we better delighted with sweet tastes than with bitter or any other? a. because a sweet thing is hot and moist, and through its heat dissolves and consumes superfluous humidities, and by this humidity immundicity is washed away; but a sharp, eager taste, by reason of the cold which predominates in it, doth bind overmuch, and prick and offend the parts of the body in purging, and therefore we do not delight in that taste. q. why doth a sharp taste, as that of vinegar, provoke appetite rather than any other? a. because it is cold, and doth cool. for it is the nature of cold to desire to draw, and therefore it is the cause of appetite. q. why do we draw in more air than we breathe out? a. because much air is drawn in that is converted into nutriment, and with the vital spirits is contained in the lungs. therefore a beast is not suffocated as long as it receives air with its lungs, in which some part of the air remaineth also. q. why doth the air seem to be expelled and put forth, seeing the air is invisible, by reason of its variety and thinness? a. because the air which is received in us, is mingled with vapours and fumes from the heart, by reason whereof it is made thick, and so is seen. and this is proved by experience, because that in winter, we see our breath, for the coldness of the air doth bind the air mixed with fume, and so it is thickened and made gross, and by consequence is seen. q. why have some persons stinking breath? a. because of the evil fumes that arise from the stomach. and sometimes it doth proceed from the corruption of the airy parts of the body, as the lungs. the breath of lepers is so infected that it would poison birds if near them, because the inward parts are very corrupt. q. why are lepers hoarse? a. because the vocal instruments are corrupted, that is, the lights. q. why do persons become hoarse? a. because of the rheum descending from the brain, filling the conduit of the lights; and sometimes through imposthumes of the throat, or rheum gathering in the neck. q. why have the females of all living creatures the shrillest voices, the crow only excepted, and a woman a shriller and smaller voice than a man? a. by reason of the composition of the veins and vocal arteries the voice is formed, as appears by this similitude, that a small pipe sounds shriller than a great. also in women, because the passage where the voice is formed is made narrow and strait, by reason of cold, it being the nature of cold to bind; but in men, the passage is open and wider through heat, because it is the property of heat to open and dissolve. it proceedeth in women through the moistness of the lungs, and weakness of the heat. young and diseased men have sharp and shrill voices from the same cause. q. why doth the voice change in men at fourteen, and in women at twelve; in men they begin to yield seed, in women when their breasts begin to grow? a. because then the beginning of the voice is slackened and loosened; and this is proved by the similitude of the string of an instrument let down or loosened, which gives a great sound, and also because creatures that are gelded, as eunuchs, capons., etc., have softer and slenderer voices than others, by the want of their stones. q. why do small birds sing more and louder than great ones, as appears in the lark and nightingale? a. because the spirits of small birds are subtle and soft, and the organ conduit strait, as appeareth in a pipe; therefore their notes following easily at desire, they sing very soft. q. why do bees, wasps, locusts and many other such like insects, make a noise, seeing they have no lungs, nor instruments of music? a. because in them there is a certain small skin, which, when struck by the air, causeth a sound. q. why do not fish make a sound? a. because they have no lungs, but only gills, nor yet a heart, and therefore they need not the drawing in of the air, and by consequence they make no noise, because a voice is a percussion of the air which is drawing. _of the neck._ q. why hath a living creature a neck? a. because the neck is the supporter of the head, and therefore the neck is in the middle between the head and the body, to the intent that by it, and by its sinews, motion and sense of the body might be conveyed through all the body; and that by means of the neck, the heart, which is very hot, might be separated from the brain. q. why do some creatures want necks, as serpents and fishes? a. because they want hearts, and therefore want that assistance which we have spoken of; or else they have a neck in some inward part of them, which is not distinguished outwardly. q. why is the neck full of bones and joints? a. that it may bear and sustain the head the better. also, because the back bone is joined to the brain in the neck, and from thence it receives marrow, which is of the substance of the brain. q. why have some creatures long necks, as cranes, storks and such like? a. because such birds seek their food at the bottom of waters. and some creatures have short necks, as sparrows, hawks, etc., because such are ravenous, and therefore for strength have short necks, as appeareth in the ox, who has a short neck and strong. q. why is the neck hollow, and especially before, about the tongue? a. because there are two passages, whereof the one doth carry the meat to the nutritive instrument, or stomach and liver, which is called by the greeks _aesophagus_; and the other is the windpipe. q. why is the artery made with rings and circle? a. the better to bow and give a good sounding. _of the shoulders and arms._ q. why hath a man shoulders and arms? a. to lift and carry burdens. q. why are the arms round? a. for the swifter and speedier work. q. why are the arms thick? a. that they may be strong to lift and bear burdens, and thrust and give a strong blow; so their bones are thick, because they contain much marrow, or they would be easily corrupted and injured. q. why do the arms become small and slender in some diseases, as in mad men, and such as are sick of the dropsy? a. because all the parts of the body do suffer the one with the other; and therefore one member being in grief, all the humours do concur and run thicker to give succour and help to the aforesaid grief. q. why have brute beasts no arms? a. their fore feet are instead of arms, and in their place. _of the hands._ q. for what use hath a man hands, and an ape also, like unto a man? a. the hand is an instrument a man doth especially make use of, because many things are done by the hands, and not by any other part. q. why are some men ambo-dexter, that is, they use the left hand as the right? a. by reason of the great heat of the heart, and for the hot bowing of the same, for it is that which makes a man as nimble of the left hand as of the right. q. why are the fingers full of joints? a. to be more fit and apt to receive and keep what is put in them. q. why hath every finger three joints, and the thumb but two? a. the thumb hath three, but the third is joined to the arm, therefore is stronger than the other fingers; and is called pollex or polico, that is, to excel in strength. q. why are the fingers of the right hand nimbler than the fingers of the left? a. it proceedeth from the heat that predominates in those parts, and causeth great agility. _of the nails._ q. from whence do nails proceed? a. of the tumosity and humours, which are resolved and go into the extremities of the fingers; and they are dried through the power of the external air, and brought to the hardness of horn. q. why do the nails of old men grow black and pale? a. because the heat of the heart decaying causeth their beauty to decay also. q. why are men judged to be good or evil complexioned by the colour of the nails? a. because they give witness of the goodness or badness of their heart, and therefore of the complexion, for if they be somewhat red, they betoken choler well tempered; but if they be yellowish or black, they signify melancholy. q. why do white spots appear in the nails? a. through mixture of phlegm with nutriment. _of the paps and dugs._ q. why are the paps placed upon the breasts? a. because the breast is the seat of the heart, which is most hot; and therefore the paps grow there, to the end that the menses being conveyed thither as being near the heat of the heart, should the sooner be digested, perfected and converted with the matter and substance of the milk. q. why are the paps below the breasts in beasts, and above the breast in women? a. because woman goes upright, and has two legs only; and therefore if her paps were below her breasts, they would hinder her going; but beasts having four feet prevents that inconveniency. q. whether are great, small or middle-sized paps best for children to suck? a. in great ones the heat is dispersed, there is no good digestion of the milk; but in small ones the power and force is strong, because a virtue united is strongest; and by consequence there is a good digestion for the milk. q. why have not men as great paps and breasts as women? a. because men have not monthly terms, and therefore have no vessel deputed for them. q. why do the paps of young women begin to grow about thirteen or fifteen years of age? a. because then the flowers have no course to the teats, by which the young one is nourished, but follow their ordinary course and therefore wax soft. q. why hath a woman who is with child of a boy, the right pap harder than the left? a. because the male child is conceived in the right side of the mother; and therefore the flowers do run to the right pap, and make it hard. q. why doth it show weakness of the child, when the milk doth drop out of the paps before the woman is delivered? a. because the milk is the proper nutriment of the child in the womb of its mother, therefore if the milk run out, it is a token that the child is not nourished, and consequently is weak. q. why do the hardness of the paps betoken the health of the child in the womb? a. because the flowers are converted into milk, and thereby strength is signified. q. why are women's paps hard when they be with child, and soft at other times? a. because they swell then, and are puffed, and the great moisture which proceeds from the flowers doth run into the paps, which at other seasons remaineth in the matrix and womb, and is expelled by the place deputed for that end. q. by what means doth the milk of the paps come to the matrix or womb? a. there is a certain knitting and coupling of the paps with the womb, and there are certain veins which the midwives do cut in the time of the birth of the child, and by those veins the milk flows in at the navel of the child, and so it receives nourishment by the navel. q. why is it a sign of a male child in the womb when the milk that runneth out of a woman's breast is thick, and not much, and of a female when it is thin? a. because a woman that goeth with a boy hath a great heat in her, which doth perfect the milk and make it thick; but she who goes with a girl hath not so much heat, and therefore the milk is undigested, imperfect, watery and thin, and will swim above the water if it be put into it. q. why is the milk white, seeing the flowers are red, of which it is engendered? a. because blood which is well purged and concocted becomes white, as appeareth in flesh whose proper colour is white, and being boiled, is white. also, because every humour which is engendered of the body, is made like unto that part in colour where it is engendered as near as it can be; but because the flesh of the paps is white, therefore the colour of the milk is white. q. why doth a cow give milk more abundantly than other beasts? a. because she is a great eating beast, where there is much monthly superfluity engendered, there is much milk; because it is nothing else but the blood purged and tried. q. why is not milk wholesome? a. . because it curdeth in the stomach, whereof an evil breath is bred. . because the milk doth grow sour in the stomach, where evil humours are bred, and infect the breath. q. why is milk bad for such as have the headache? a. because it is easily turned into great fumosities, and hath much terrestrial substance in it, the which ascending, doth cause the headache. q. why is milk fit nutriment for infants? a. because it is a natural and usual food, and they were nourished by the same in the womb. q. why are the white-meats made of a newly milked cow good? a. because milk at that time is very springy, expels fumosities, and, as it were, purges at that time. q. why is the milk naught for the child, if the woman giving suck uses carnal copulation? a. because in time of carnal copulation, the best part of the milk goes to the seed vessels, and to the womb, and the worst remain in the paps, which hurts the child. q. why do physicians forbid the eating of fish and milk at the same time? a. because they produce a leprosy, and because they are phlegmatic. q. why have not birds and fish milk and paps? a. because paps would hinder the flight of birds. and although fish have neither paps nor milk, the females cast much spawn, which the male touches with a small gut, and causes their kind to continue in succession. _of the back._ q. why have beasts a back? a. . because the back is the way and mien of the body from which are extended and spread throughout, all the sinews of the backbone. . because it should be a guard and defence for the soft parts of the body, as for the stomach, liver, lights and such like. . because it is the foundation of all the bones, as the ribs, fastened to the back bone. q. why hath the back bone so many joints or knots, called _spondyli_? a. because the moving and bending it, without such joints, could not be done; and therefore they are wrong who say that elephants have no such joints, for without them they could not move. q. why do fish die after their back bones are broken? a. because in fish the back bone is instead of the heart; now the heart is the first thing that lives and the last that dies; and when that bone is broken, fish can live no longer. q. why doth a man die soon after the marrow is hurt or perished? a. because the marrow proceeds from the brain, which is the principal part of a man. q. why have some men the piles? a. those men are cold and melancholy, which melancholy first passes to the spleen, its proper seat, but there cannot be retained, for the abundancy of blood; for which reason it is conveyed to the back bone, where there are certain veins which terminate in the back, and receive the blood. when those veins are full of the melancholy blood, then the conduits of nature are opened, and the blood issues out once a month, like women's terms. those men who have this course of blood, are kept from many infirmities, such as dropsy, plague, etc. q. why are the jews much subject to this disease? a. because they eat much phlegmatic and cold meats, which breed melancholy blood, which is purged with the flux. another reason is, motion causes heat and heat digestion; but strict jews neither move, labour nor converse much, which breeds a coldness in them, and hinders digestion, causing melancholic blood, which is by this means purged out. _of the heart._ q. why are the lungs light, spongy and full of holes? a. that the air may be received into them for cooling the heart, and expelling humours, because the lungs are the fan of the heart; and as a pair of bellows is raised up by taking in the air, and shrunk by blowing it out, so likewise the lungs draw the air to cool the heart, and cast it out, lest through too much air drawn in, the heart should be suffocated. q. why is the flesh of the lungs white? a. because they are in continual motion. q. why have those beasts only lungs that have hearts? a. because the lungs be no part for themselves, but for the heart, and therefore, it were superfluous for those creatures to have lungs that have no hearts. q. why do such creatures as have no lungs want a bladder? a. because such drink no water to make their meat digest and need no bladder for urine; as appears in such birds as do not drink at all, viz., the falcon and sparrow hawk. q. why is the heart in the midst of the body? a. that it may import life to all, parts of the body, and therefore it is compared to the sun, which is placed in the midst of the planets, to give light to them all. q. why only in men is the heart on the left side? a. to the end that the heat of the heart may mitigate the coldness of the spleen; for the spleen is the seat of melancholy, which is on the left side also. q. why is the heart first engendered; for the heart doth live first and die last? a. because the heart is the beginning and original of life, and without it no part can live. for of the seed retained in the matrix, there is first engendered a little small skin, which compasses the seed; whereof first the heart is made of the purest blood; then of blood not so pure, the liver; and of thick and cold blood the marrow and brain. q. why are beasts bold that have little hearts? a. because in a little heart the heat is well united and vehement, and the blood touching it, doth quickly heat it and is speedily carried to the other parts of the body, which give courage and boldness. q. why are creatures with a large heart timorous, as the hare? a. the heart is dispersed in such a one, and not able to heat the blood which cometh to it; by which means fear is bred. q. how is it that the heart is continually moving? a. because in it there is a certain spirit which is more subtle than air, and by reason of its thickness and rarefaction, seeks a larger space, filling the hollow room of the heart; hence the dilating and opening of the heart, and because the heart is earthly the thrusting and moving ceasing, its parts are at rest, tending downwards. as a proof of this, take an acorn, which, if put into the fire, the heat doth dissolve its humidity, therefore occupies a greater space, so that the rind cannot contain it, but puffs up, and throws it into the fire. the like of the heart. therefore the heart of a living creature is triangular, having its least part towards its left side, and the greater towards the right; and doth also open and shut in the least part, by which means it is in continual motion; the first motion is called _diastole_, that is extending the heart or breast; the other _systole_, that is, shutting of the heart; and from these all the motions of the body proceed, and that of the pulse which the physicians feel. q. how comes it that the flesh of the heart is so compact and knit together? a. because in thick compacted substances heat is commonly received and united. and because the heart with its heat should moderate the coldness of the brain, it is made of that fat flesh apt to keep a strong heat. q. how comes the heart to be the hottest part of all living creatures? a. it is so compacted as to receive the heat best, and because it should mitigate the coldness of the brain. q. why is the heart the beginning of life? a. it is plain that in it the vital spirit is bred, which is the heat of life; and therefore the heart having two receptacles, viz., the right and the left the right hath more blood than spirits; which spirit is engendered to give life and vivify the body. q. why is the heart long and sharp like a pyramid? a. the round figure hath an angle, therefore the heart is round, for fear any poison or hurtful matter should be retained in it; and because that figure is fittest for motion. q. how comes the blood chiefly to be in the heart? a. the blood in the heart has its proper or efficient place, which some attribute to the liver; and therefore the heart doth not receive blood from any other parts but all other parts of it. q. how happens it that some creatures want a heart? a. although they have no heart, yet they have somewhat that answers for it, as appears in eels and fish that have the back bone instead of the heart. q. why does the heart beat in some creatures after the head is cut off, as in birds and hens? a. because the heart lives first and dies last, and therefore beats longer than other parts. q. why doth the heat of the heart sometimes fail of a sudden, and in those who have the falling sickness? a. this proceeds from the defect of the heart itself, and of certain small skins with which it is covered, which, being infected and corrupted, the heart faileth on a sudden; sometimes only by reason of the parts adjoining; and therefore, when any venomous humour goes out of the stomach that turns the heart and parts adjoining, that causeth this fainting. _of the stomach._ q. for what reason is the stomach large and wide? a. because in it the food is first concocted or digested as it were in a pot, to the end that which is pure should be separated from that which is not; and therefore, according to the quantity of food, the stomach is enlarged. q. how comes it that the stomach is round? a. because if it had angles and corners, food would remain in them and breed ill-humours, so that a man would never want agues, which humours are evacuated and consumed, and not hid in any such corners, by the roundness of the stomach. q. how comes the stomach to be full of sinews? a. because the sinews can be extended and enlarged, and so is the stomach when it is full; but when empty it is drawn together, and therefore nature provides the sinews. q. how comes the stomach to digest? a. because of the heat which is in it, and comes from the parts adjoining, that is, the liver and the heart. for as we see in metals the heat of the fire takes away the rust and dross from iron, the silver from tin, and gold from copper; so also by digestion the pure is separated from the impure. q. for what reason doth the stomach join the liver? a. because the liver is very hot, and with its heat helps digestion, and provokes appetite. q. why are we commonly cold after dinner? a. because then the heat goes to the stomach to further digestion, and so the other parts grow cold. q. why is it hurtful to study soon after dinner? a. because when the heat labours to help the imagination in study, it ceases from digesting the food, which remains undigested; therefore people should walk sometimes after meals. q. how cometh the stomach slowly to digest meat? a. because it swims in the stomach. now, the best digestion is in the bottom of the stomach, because the fat descends not there; such as eat fat meat are very sleepy by reason that digestion is hindered. q. why is all the body wrong when the stomach is uneasy? a. because the stomach is knit with the brain, heart and liver, which are the principal parts in man; and when it is not well, the others are indisposed. again, if the first digestion be hindered, the others are also hindered; for in the first digestion is the beginning of the infirmity in the stomach. q. why are young men sooner hungry than old men? a. young men do digest for three causes; . for growing; . for restoring life; and . for conservation of life. also, young men are hot and dry, and therefore the heat doth digest more, and by consequence they desire more. q. why do physicians prescribe that men should eat when they have an appetite? a. because much hunger and emptiness will fill the stomach with naughty rotten humours, which are drawn in instead of meat; for, if we fast over night we have an appetite to meat, but none in the morning; as then the stomach is filled with naughty humours, and especially its mouth, which is no true filling, but a deceitful one. and, therefore, after we have eaten a little, our stomach comes to us again; for the first morsel, having made clean the mouth of the stomach, doth provoke the appetite. q. why do physicians prescribe that we should not eat too much at a time, but little by little? a. because when the stomach is full, the meat doth swim in it, which is a dangerous thing. another reason is, that as very green wood doth put out the fire, so much meat chokes the natural heat and puts it out; and therefore the best physic is to use temperance in eating and drinking. q. why do we desire change of meals according to the change of times; as in winter, beef, mutton; in summer light meats, as veal, lamb, etc.? a. because the complexion of the body is altered and changed according to the time of year. another reason is, that this proceeds from the quality of the season: because the cold in winter doth cause a better digestion. q. why should not the meat we eat be as hot as pepper and ginger? a. because as hot meat doth inflame the blood, and dispose it to a leprosy, so, on the contrary, meat too cold doth mortify and chill the blood. our meat should not be over sharp, because it wastes the constitution; too much sauce doth burn the entrails, and inclineth to too often drinking; raw meat doth the same; and over sweet meats to constipate and cling the veins together. q. why is it a good custom to eat cheese after dinner, and pears after all meat? a. because, by reason of its earthliness and thickness it tendeth down towards the bottom of the stomach, and so put down the meat; and the like of pears. note, that new cheese is better than old, and that old soft cheese is very bad, and causeth the headache and stopping of the liver; and the older the worse. whereof it is said that cheese digesteth all things but itself. q. why are nuts good after cheese, as the proverb is, "after fish nuts, and after flesh cheese?" a. because fish is of hard digestion, and doth easily putrefy and corrupt; and nuts are a remedy against poison. q. why is it unwholesome to wait long for one dish after another, and to eat of divers kinds of meat? a. because the first begins to digest when the last is eaten, and so digestion is not equally made. but yet this rule is to be noted; dishes light of digestion, as chickens, kids, veal, soft eggs and such like, should be first eaten; because, if they should be first served and eaten and were digested, they would hinder the digestion of the others; and the light meats not digested would be corrupted in the stomach and kept in the stomach violently, whereof would follow belching, loathing, headache, bellyache and great thirst. it is very hurtful too, at the same meal to drink wine and milk, because they are productive of leprosy. q. whether is meat or drink best for the stomach? a. drink is sooner digested than meat, because meat is of greater substance, and more material than drink, and therefore meat is harder to digest. q. why is it good to drink after dinner? a. because the drink will make the meat readier to digest. the stomach is like unto a pot which doth boil meat, and therefore physicians do counsel to drink at meals. q. why is it good to forbear a late supper? a. because there is little moving or stirring after supper, and so the meat is not sent down to the bottom of the stomach, but remaineth undigested, and so breeds hurts; therefore a light supper is best. _of the blood._ q. why is it necessary that every living creature that hath blood have also a liver? a. because the blood is first made in the liver, its seat, being drawn from the stomach by certain principal veins, and so engendered. q. why is the blood red? a. . it is like the part in which it is made, viz., the liver, which is red. . it is likewise sweet, because it is well digested and concocted; but if it hath a little earthly matter mixed with it, that makes it somewhat salt. q. how is women's blood thicker than men's? their coldness thickens, binds, congeals, and joins together. q. how comes the blood to all parts of the body through the liver, and by what means? a. through the principal veins, as the veins of the head, liver, etc., to nourish the body. _of the urine._ q. how doth the urine come into the bladder, seeing the bladder is shut? a. some say sweatings; others, by a small skin in the bladder, which opens and lets in the urine. urine is a certain and not deceitful messenger of the health or infirmity of man. men make white urine in the morning, and before dinner red, but after dinner pale, and also after supper. q. why is it hurtful to drink much cold water? a. because one contrary doth hinder and expel another; water is very cold, and lying so in the stomach, doth hinder digestion. q. why is it unwholesome to drink new wine? a. . it cannot be digested; therefore it causeth the belly to swell, and a kind of bloody flux. . it hinders making water. q. why do physicians forbid us to labour presently after dinner? a. . because the motion hinders the virtue and power of digestion. . because stirring immediately after dinner causes the different parts of the body to draw the meat to them, which often breeds sickness. . because motion makes the food descend before it is digested. and after supper it is good to walk a little, that the food may go to the bottom of the stomach. q. why is it good to walk after dinner? a. because it makes a man well disposed, and fortifies and strengthens the natural heat, causing the superfluity of the stomach to descend. q. why is it wholesome to vomit? a. it purges the stomach of all naughty humours, expelling them, which would breed again if they should remain in it; and purges the eyes and head, clearing the brain. q. how comes sleep to strengthen the stomach and the digestive faculty? a. because in sleep the heat draws inwards, and helps digestion; but when we awake, the heat returns, and is dispersed through the body. _of the gall and spleen._ q. how come living creatures to have a gall? a. because choleric humours are received into it, which through their acidity helps the guts to expel superfluities; also it helps digestion. q. how comes the jaundice to proceed from the gall? a. the humour of the gall is bluish and yellow; therefore when its pores are stopped the humour cannot go into the sack thereof, but are mingled with the blood, wandering throughout all the body and infecting the skin. q. why hath a horse, mule, ass or cow a gall? a. though these creatures have no gall in one place, as in a purse or vessel, yet they have one dispersed in small veins. q. how comes the spleen to be black? a. it is occasioned by terrestrial and earthy matter of a black colour. according to physicians, the spleen is the receptacle of melancholy, and that is black. q. why is he lean who hath a large spleen? a. because the spleen draws much water to itself, which would turn to fat; therefore, men that have a small spleen are fat. q. why does the spleen cause men to laugh, as says isidorus; "we laugh with the spleen, we are angry with the gall, we are wise with the heart, we love with the liver, we feel with the brain, and speak with the lungs"? a. the reason is, the spleen draws much melancholy to it, being its proper seat, the which melancholy proceeds from sadness, and is there consumed; and the cause failing, the effect doth so likewise. and by the same reason the gall causes anger, for choleric men are often angry, because they have much gall. _of carnal copulation._ q. why do living creatures use carnal copulation? a. because it is most natural in them to get their like. q. what is carnal copulation? a. it is a mutual action of male and female, with instruments ordained for that purpose to propagate their kind. q. why is this action good in those that use it lawfully and moderately? a. because it eases and lightens the body, clears the mind, comforts the head and senses, and expels melancholy. q. why is immoderate carnal copulation hurtful? a. because it destroys the sight, dries the body, and impairs the brain, often causes fevers and shortens life also. q. why doth carnal copulation injure melancholic or choleric men, especially thin men? a. because it dries the bones much which are naturally so. on the contrary, it is good for the phlegmatic and sanguine, because they abound with that substance which by nature, is necessarily expelled. q. why should not the act be used when the body is full? a. because it hinders digestion; and it is not good for a hungry belly, because it weakens. q. why is it not good soon after a bath? a. because then the pores are open, and the heat dispersed through the body: for after bathing, it cools the body too much. q. why is it not proper after vomiting or looseness? a. because it is dangerous to purge twice a day; for in this act the veins are purged, and the guts by the vomit. q. why is there such delight in the act of venery? a. because this act is such a contemptible thing in itself, that all creatures would naturally abhor it were there no pleasure in it; and therefore nature readily uses it, that all kinds of living things should be maintained and kept up. q. why do such as use it often take less delight in it than those who come to it seldom? a. . the passages of the seed are over large and wide; and therefore it makes no stay there, which would cause the delight. . through often evacuation there is little seed left, and therefore no delight. . because such, instead of seed there is cast out blood, undigested and raw, or some other watery substance, which is not hot, and therefore affords no delight. _of the seed of man and beasts._ q. how, and of what cometh the seed of man? a. some philosophers and physicians say, it is superfluous humours; others say, that the seed is pure blood, flowing from the brain, concocted and whitened in the testicles; but sweat, urine, spittle, phlegm, choler, and the like, and blood dispersed throughout the whole body, come chiefly from the heart, liver and brain, because those parts are greatly weakened by casting seed; and therefore it appears that frequent carnal copulation is not good. q. why is a man's seed white, and a woman's red? a. it is white in men by reason of great heat and quick digestion, because it is rarefied in the testicles; but a woman's is red, because her terms corrupt the undigested blood, and it hath its colour. q. how come females to have monthly courses? a. because they are cold in respect of men, and because all their nourishment cannot be converted into blood, a great part of which turns to menses, which are monthly expelled. q. for what reason do the menses not come down in females before the age of thirteen? a. because young women are hot, and digest all their nourishment. q. for what reason do they leave off at about fifty? a. because nature is then so exhausted, they cannot expel them by reason of weakness. q. why have not breeding women the menses? a. because that then they turn into milk, and into the nourishment of the child: for if a woman with child have them, it is a sign that she will miscarry. q. why are they termed _menstrua_, from the word _mensis_, a month? a. because it is a space of time that measures the moon, as she ends her course in twenty-nine days, and fourteen hours. q. why do they continue longer with some than others, as with some six or seven, but commonly with all three days? a. the first are cold, therefore they increase most in them, and consequently are longer expelling; other women are hot, and therefore have fewer and are sooner expelled. q. are the menses which are expelled, and those by which the child is engendered, all one? a. no, because the one are unclean, and unfit for that purpose; but the other very pure and clear, therefore the fittest for generation. q. why have not women their menses all one and the same time, but some in the new moon, some in the full, and others at the wane? a. from their several complexions, and though all women (in respect of men) are phlegmatic, yet some are more sanguine than others, some more choleric; and as the moon hath her quarters, so have women their complexions; the first sanguine, the second choleric. q. why do women easily conceive after their menses? a. because the womb being cleansed, they are better prepared for conception. q. why do women look pale when they first have their menses upon them? a. because the heat goes from the outward parts of the body to the inward, to help nature to expel their terms, which deprivation of heat doth cause a paleness in the face. or, because that flux is caused of raw humours, which, when they run, make the face colourless. q. why do they at that time abhor their meat? a. because nature labours more to expel their terms than digest; and, therefore, if they should eat, their food would remain raw in the stomach. q. why are some women barren and do not conceive? a. . it proceeds sometimes from the man who may be of a cold nature, so that his seed is unfit for generation. . because it is waterish, and so doth not stay in the womb. . by reason that the seed of them both hath not a like proportion, as if the man be melancholy and the woman sanguine, or the man choleric and the woman phlegmatic. q. why do fat women seldom conceive? a. because they have a slippery womb, and the seed will not stay in it. or, because the mouth of the matrix is very strait, and the seed cannot enter it, or, if it does, it is so very slowly that it grows cold and unfit for generation. q. why do those of a hot constitution seldom conceive? a. because the seed in them is extinguished or put out, as water cast into fire; whereof we find that women who vehemently desire the flesh seldom conceive. q. why are whores never with child? a. by reason of divers seeds, which corrupt and spoil the instruments of conception, for it makes them so slippery, that they cannot retain seed. or, else, it is because one man's seed destroys another's, so neither is good for generation. q. why do women conceive twins? a. because there are seven cells or receptacles in the womb; wherefore they may naturally have so many children at once as there falls seed into these cells. q. why are twins but half men, and not so strong as others? a. the seed that should have been for one, is divided into two and therefore they are weakly and seldom live long. _of hermaphrodites._ q. how are hermaphrodites begotten? a. nature doth always tend to that which is best, and always intendeth to beget the male and not the female, because the female is only for the male's mate. therefore the male is sometimes begotten in all its principal parts; and, yet, through the indisposition of the womb and object, and inequality of the seeds, when nature cannot perfect the male, she brings forth the female too. and therefore natural philosophers say, that an hermaphrodite is impotent in the privy parts of a man, as appears by experience. q. is an hermaphrodite accounted a man or a woman? a. it is to be considered in which member he is fittest for copulation; if he be fittest in the woman's, then he is a woman; if in a man's, then he is a man. q. should he be baptized in the name of a man or a woman? a. in the name of a man, because names are given _ad placitum_, and therefore he should be baptized, according to the worthiest name, because every agent is worthier than its patient. _of monsters._ q. doth nature make any monsters? a. she doth; if she did not, then would she be deprived of her end. for of things possible, she doth always propose to bring forth that which is most perfect and best; but in the end, through the evil disposition of the matter, not being able to bring forth that which she intended, she brings forth that which she can. as it happened in albertus's time, when in a certain village, a cow brought forth a calf, half a man; then the countrymen suspecting a shepherd, would have burnt him with the cow; but albertus, being skilled in astronomy, said that this did proceed from a certain constellation, and so delivered the shepherd from their hands. q. are they one or two? a. to find out, you must look into the heart, if there be two hearts, there be two men. q. why are some children like their father, some like their mother, some to both and some to neither? a. if the seed of the father wholly overcome that of the mother the child doth resemble the father; but if the mother's predominate, then it is like the mother; but if he be like neither, that doth sometimes happen through the four qualities, sometimes through the influence of some heavenly constellation. q. why are children oftener like the father than the mother? a. it proceeds from the imagination of the mother in the act of copulation, as appeared in a queen who had her imagination on a blackamoor; and in the ethiopian queen who brought forth a white child, because her imagination was upon a white colour; as is seen in jacob's skill in casting rods of divers colours into the water, when his sheep went to ram. q. why do children born in the eighth month for the most part die quickly, and why are they called the children of the moon? a. because the moon is a cold planet, which has dominion over the child, and therefore doth bind it with coldness, which is the cause of its death. q. why doth a child cry as soon as it is born? a. because of the sudden change from heat to cold: which cold doth affect its tenderness. another reason is, because the child's soft and tender body is wringed and put together coming out of the narrow and strait passage of the matrix, and especially, the brain being moist, and the head being pressed and wrinkled together, is the cause that some humours distil by the eyes, which are the cause of tears and weeping. q. why doth the child put its fingers into its mouth as soon as it cometh into the world? a. because that coming out of the womb it cometh out of a hot bath, and entering into the cold, puts them into its mouth for want of heat. _of the child in the womb._ q. how is the child engendered in the womb? a. the first six days the seed hath this colour of milk, but in the six following a red colour, which is near unto the disposition of the flesh; and then it is changed into a thick substance of blood. but in the twelve days following, this substance becomes so thick and round that it is capable of receiving shape and form. q. doth the child in the womb void excrements or make water? no. because it hath not the first digestion which is in the stomach. it receives no food by the mouth, but by the navel; therefore, makes no urine but sweats, which is but little, and is received in a skin in the matrix, which at the birth is cast out. _of abortion and untimely birth._ q. why do women that eat unwholesome meats, easily miscarry? a. because they breed putrefied seed, which the mind abhorring doth cast it out of the womb as unfit for the shape which is adapted to receive the soul. q. why doth wrestling and leaping cause the casting of the child, as some subtle women do on purpose? a. the vapour is burning, and doth easily hurt the tender substance of the child, entering in at the pores of the matrix. q. why doth much joy cause a woman to miscarry? a. because in the time of joy, a woman is destitute of heat, and so a miscarriage doth follow. q. why do women easily miscarry when they are first with child, viz., the first, second or third month? a. as apples and pears easily fall at first, because the knots and ligaments are weak, so it is with a child in the womb. q. why is it hard to miscarry in the third, fourth, fifth and sixth month? a. because the ligaments are stronger and well fortified. _of divers matters._ q. why has not a man a tail like a beast? a. because man is a noble creature, whose property is to sit; which a beast, having a tail, cannot. q. why does hot water freeze sooner than cold? a. hot water is thinner, and gives better entrance to the frost. q. why is every living creature dull after copulation? a. by reason that the act is filthy and unclean; and so every living creature abhors it. when men do think upon it, they are ashamed and sad. q. why cannot drunken men judge of taste as well as sober men? a. because the tongue, being full of pores and spongy, receives more moisture into it, and more in drunken men than in sober; therefore, the tongue, through often drinking, is full of bad humours, and so the faculty of tasting is rendered out of order; also, through the thickening of the taste itself, drink taken by drunkards is not presently felt. and by this may also be understood why drunkards have not a perfect speech. q. why have melancholy beasts long ears? a. the ears proceed from a dry and cold substance, called gristle, which is apt to become bone; and because melancholy beasts do abound with this kind of substance, they have long ears. q. why do hares sleep with their eyes open? a. . they have their eyes standing out, and their eyelids short, therefore, never quite shut. . they are timorous, and as a safe-guard to themselves, sleep with their eyes open. q. why do not crows feed their young till they be nine days old? a. because seeing them of another colour, they think they are of another kind. q. why are sheep and pigeons mild? a. they want galls, the cause of anger. q. why have birds their stones inward? a. because if outward, they would hinder their flying and lightness. q. how comes it that birds do not piss? a. because that superfluity which would be converted into urine, is turned into feathers. q. why do we hear better in the night than by day? a. because there is a greater quietness in the night than in the day, for the sun doth not exhale the vapours by night, but it doth in the day, therefore the moon is more fit than in the day; and the moon being fit, the motion is better received, which is said to be caused by a sound. q. for what reason doth a man laugh sooner when touched in the armpits than in any other part of the body? a. because there is in that place a meeting of many sinews, and the mean we touch, which is the flesh, is more subtle than in other parts, and therefore of finer feeling. when a man is moderately and gently touched there the spirits that are dispersed run into the face and causes laughter. q. why do some women love white men and some black men? a. . some have weak sight, and such delight in black, because white doth hurt the sight more than black. . because like delight in like; but some women are of a hot nature, and such are delighted with black, because blackness followeth heat; and others are of a cold nature, and those are delighted with white, because cold produces white. q. why do men incline to sleep after labour? a. because, through continual moving, the heat is dispersed to the external parts of the body, which, after labour, is gathered together in the internal parts, there to digest; and from digestion, vapours arise from the heart to the brain, which stop the passage by which the natural heat should be dispersed to the external part; and then, the external parts being cold and thick, by reason of the coldness of the brain sleep is easily procured. by this it appeareth that such as eat and drink too much, do sleep much and long, because there are great store of humours and vapours bred in such persons which cannot be consumed and digested by the natural heat. q. why are such as sleep much, evil disposed and ill-coloured? a. because in too much sleep moisture is gathered together, which cannot be consumed, and so it doth covet to go out through the superficial parts of the body, and especially it resorts to the face, and therefore is the cause of bad colours, as appeareth in such as are phlegmatic and who desire more sleep than others. q. why do some imagine in their sleep that they eat and drink sweet things? a. because the phlegm drawn up by the jaws doth distil and drop to the throat; and this phlegm is sweet after a sore sweat, and that seemeth so to them. q. why do some dream in their sleep that they are in the water and drowned, and some that they were in the water and not drowned; especially such as are phlegmatic? a. because when the phlegmatic substance doth turn to the high parts of the body, then many think they are in the water and drowned; but when that substance draweth into the internal parts, then they think they escape. another reason may be, overmuch repletion and drunkenness: and therefore, when men are overmuch filled with meat, the fumes and vapours ascend and gather together, and they think they are drowned and strangled; but if they cannot ascend so high then they seem to escape. q. may a man procure a dream by an external cause? a. it may be done. if a man speak softly in another man's ear and awake him not, then of his stirring of the spirits there are thunderings and buzzings in the head, which cause dreamings. q. how many humours are there in a man's body? a. four, whereof every one hath its proper place. the first is choler, called by physicians _flava bilis_, which is placed in the liver. the second is melancholy, called _atra bilis_, whose seat is in the spleen. the third is phlegm, whose place is in the head. the fourth is blood, whose place is in the heart. q. what condition and quality hath a man of a sanguine complexion? a. it is fair and beautiful; hath his hair for the most part smooth; is bold; retaineth that which he hath conceived; is shame-faced, given to music, a lover of sciences, liberal, courteous, and not desirous of revenge. q. what properties do follow those of a phlegmatic complexion? a. they are dull of wit, their hair never curls, they are seldom very thirsty, much given to sleep, dream of things belonging to water, are fearful, covetous, given to heap up riches, and are weak in the act of venery. q. what are the properties of a choleric man? a. he is brown in complexion, unquiet, his veins hidden, eateth little and digesteth less, dreameth of dark and confused things, is sad, fearful, exceedingly covetous, and incontinent. q. what dreams do follow these complexions? a. pleasant, merry dreams do follow the sanguine; fearful dreams, the melancholic; the choleric dream of children fighting and fire; the phlegmatic dream of water. this is the reason why a man's complexion is said to be known by his dreams. q. what is the reason that if you cover an egg over with salt, and let it lie in it a few days, all the meat within is consumed? a. a great dryness of the salt consumes the substance of the egg. q. why is the melancholic complexion the worst? a. because it proceeds from the dregs of the blood, is an enemy to mirth and bringeth on aged appearance and death, being cold and dry. q. what is the cause that some men die joyful, and some in extreme grief? a. over-great joy doth overmuch heat the internal parts of the body; and overmuch grief doth drown and suffocate the heart, which failing, a man dieth. q. why hath a man so much hair on his head? a. the hair on his head proceeds from the vapours which arise from the stomach, and ascend to the head, and also of the superfluities which are in the brain; and those two passing through the pores of the head are converted into hair, by reason of the heat and dryness of the head. and because man's body is full of humours, and he hath more brains than any other living creatures. q. how many ways is the brain purged and other hidden places of the body? a. four; the watery and gross humours are purged by the eyes, melancholy by the ears, choler by the nose, and phlegm by the hair. q. what is the reason that such as are very fat in their youth, are in danger of dying on a sudden? a. such have very small and close veins, by reason of their fatness, so that the air and the breath can hardly have free course in them; and thereupon the natural heat wanting the refreshment of air, is put out, and as it were, quenched. q. why do garlic and onions grow after they are gathered? a. it proceedeth from the humidity that is in them. q. why do men feel cold sooner than women? a. because men, being more hot than women, have their pores more open, and therefore it doth sooner enter into them than women. q. why are not old men so subject to the plague as young men and children? a. they are cold, and their pores are not so open as in youth; and therefore the infecting air doth not penetrate so soon by reason of their coldness. q. why do we cast water in a man's face when he swooneth? a. because through the coldness of water the heat may run to the heart, and so give strength. q. why are those waters best and most delicate which run towards the rising sun? a. because they are soonest stricken with the sunbeams, and made pure and subtle, the sun having them under it, and by that means taking off the coldness and gross vapours which they gather from the ground they run through. q. why have women such weak and small voices? a. because their instruments and organs of speaking, by reason of their coldness, are small and narrow; and therefore, receiving but little air, cause the voice to be effeminate. q. whereof doth it proceed that want of sleep doth weaken the brain and body? a. much watching doth engender choler, the which being hot both dry up and lessen the humours which serve the brain, the head, and other parts of the body. q. wherefore doth vinegar so readily staunch blood? a. from its cold virtue, for all cold is naturally binding, and vinegar being cold, hath the like property. q. why is sea-water salter in summer than in winter? a. from the heat of the sun, seeing by experiment that a salt thing being heated becometh more salt. q. why do men live longer in hot regions than in cold? a. because they may be more dry, and by that means the natural heat is better preserved in them than in cold countries. q. why is well-water seldom or ever good? a. all water which standeth still in the spring and is never heated by the sunbeams, is very heavy, and hath much matter in it, and therefore wanting the heat of the sun, is naught. q. why do men sleep better and more at ease on the right side than on the left? a. because when they be on the left side, the lungs do lie upon and cover the heart, which is on that side under the pap; now the heart, the fountain of life, being thus occupied and hindered with the lungs, cannot exercise its own proper operation, as being overmuch heated with the lungs lying upon it, and therefore wanting the refreshment of the air which the lungs do give it, like the blowing of a pair of bellows, is choked and suffocated, but by lying on the right side, those inconveniences are avoided. q. what is the reason that old men sneeze with great difficulty? a. because that through their coldness their arteries are very narrow and close, and therefore the heat is not of force to expel the cold. q. why doth a drunken man think that all things about him do turn round? a. because the spirits which serve the sight are mingled with vapours and fumes, arising from the liquors he has drunk; the overmuch heat causeth the eye to be in continual motion, and the eye being round, causeth all things about it to seem to go round. q. wherefore doth it proceed, that bread which is made with salt is lighter than that which is made without it, considering that salt is very heavy of itself? a. although bread is very heavy of itself, yet the salt dries it and makes it light, by reason of the heat which it hath; and the more heat there is in it, the better the bread is, and the lighter and more wholesome for the body. q. why is not new bread good for the stomach? a. because it is full of moistness, and thick, hot vapours, which do corrupt the blood, and hot bread is blacker than cold, because heat is the mother of blackness, and because the vapours are not gone out of it. q. why do lettuces make a man sleep? a. because they engender gross vapours. q. why do the dregs of wine and oil go to the bottom, and those of honey swim uppermost? a. because the dregs of wine and oil are earthly, and therefore go to the bottom; but honey is a liquid that cometh from the stomach and belly of the bee; and is there in some sort putrefied and made subtle; on which account the dregs are most light and hot, and therefore go uppermost. q. why do cats' and wolves' eyes shine in the night, and not in the day? a. the eyes of these beasts are by nature more crystalline than the eyes of other beasts, and therefore do so shine in darkness; but the brightness of the sun doth hinder them from being seen in the day-time. q. what is the reason that some men, if they see others dance, do the like with their hands and feet, or by other gestures of the body? a. because the sight having carried and represented unto the mind that action, and judging the same to be pleasant and delightful, and therefore the imagination draweth the like of it in conceit and stirs up the body by the gestures. q. why does much sleep cause some to grow fat and some lean? a. those who are of ill complexion, when they sleep, do consume and digest the superfluities of what they have eaten, and therefore become fat. but such as are of good complexion, when they sleep are more cold, and digest less. q. how much, and from what cause do we suffer hunger better than thirst? a. when the stomach hath nothing else to consume, it consumeth the phlegm and humours which it findeth most ready and most at hand; and therefore we suffer hunger better than thirst, because the heat hath nothing to refresh itself with. q. why doth the hair fall after a great sickness? a. where the sickness is long, as in the ague, the humours of the head are dried up through overmuch heat, and, therefore, wanting nourishment, the hair falls. q. why doth the hair of the eyebrows grow long in old men? a. because through their age the bones are thin through want of heat, and therefore the hair doth grow there, by reason of the rheum of the eye. q. whereof proceedeth gaping? a. of gross vapours, which occupy the vital spirits of the head, and of the coldness of the senses causing sleepiness. q. what is the reason that some flowers do open with the sun rising, and shut with the sun setting? a. cold doth close and shut, as hath been said, but the heat of the sun doth open and enlarge. some compare the sun to the soul of the body; for as the soul giveth life, so the sun doth give life, and vivificate all things; but cold bringeth death, withering and decaying all things. q. why doth grief cause men to grow old and grey? a. age is nothing else but dryness and want of humours in the body; grief then causeth alteration, and heat dryness; age and greyness follow immediately. q. why are gelded beasts weaker than such as are not gelded? a. because they have less heat, and by that means less force and strength. * * * * * the problems of marcus antoninus sanctipertias q. why is it esteemed, in the judgment of the most wise, the hardest thing to know a man's self? a. because nothing can be known that is of so great importance to man for the regulation of his conduct in life. without this knowledge, man is like the ship without either compass or rudder to conduct her to port, and is tossed by every passion and prejudice to which his natural constitution is subjected. to know the form and perfection of man's self, according to the philosophers, is a task too hard; and a man, says plato, is nothing, or if he be anything, he is nothing, but his soul. q. why is a man, though endowed with reason, the most unjust of all living creatures? a. because only man is desirous of honour; and so it happens that every one covets to seem good, and yet naturally shuns labour, though he attain no virtue by it. q. why doth immoderate copulation do more hurt than immoderate letting of blood? a. the seed is full of nutriment, and better prepared for the nurture of the body, than the blood; for the blood is nourished by the seed. q. what is the reason that those that have long yards cannot beget children? a. the seed, in going a long distance, doth lose the spirit, and therefore becomes cold and unfit. q. why do such as are corpulent cast forth but little seed in the act of copulation, and are often barren? a. because the seed of such goeth to nourish the body. for the same reason corpulent women have but few menses. q. how come women to be prone to venery in the summer time and men in the winter? a. in summer the man's testicles hang down and are feebler than in winter, or because hot natures become more lively in the cold season; for a man is hot and dry, and a woman cold and moist; and therefore in summer the strength of men decays, and that of women increases, and they grow livelier by the benefit of the contrary quality. q. why is man the proudest of all living creatures? a. by reason of his great knowledge; or, as philosophers say, all intelligent beings having understanding, nothing remains that escapes man's knowledge in particular; or it is because he hath rule over all earthly creatures, and all things seem to be brought under his dominion. q. why have beasts their hearts in the middle of their breasts, and man his inclining to the left? a. to moderate the cold on that side. q. why doth the woman love the man best who has got her maidenhead? a. by reason of shame-facedness; plato saith, shame-facedness doth follow love, or, because it is the beginning of great pleasure, which doth bring a great alteration in the whole body, whereby the powers of the mind are much delighted, and stick and rest immoveable in the same. q. how come hairy people to be more lustful than any other? a. because they are said to have greater store of excrements and seed as philosophers assert. q. what is the cause that the suffocation of the matrix, which happens to women through strife and contention, is more dangerous than the detaining of the flowers? a. because the more perfect an excrement is in its natural disposition, the worse it is when it is altered from that disposition, and drawn to the contrary quality; as is seen in vinegar, which is sharpest when it is made of the best wine. and so it happens that the more men love one another the more they fall into variance and discord. q. how come women's bodies to be looser, softer and less than man's; and why do they want hair? a. by reason of their menses; for with them their superfluities go away, which would produce hair; and thereby the flesh is filled, consequently the veins are more hid in women than in men. q. what is the reason that when we think upon a horrible thing, we are stricken with fear? a. because the conceit or imagination of things has force and virtue. for plato saith, the fancy of things has some affinity with things themselves; for the image and representation of cold and heat is such as the nature of things are. or it is this, because when we comprehend any dreadful matter, the blood runneth to the internal parts; and therefore the external parts are cold and shake with fear. q. why doth a radish root help digestion and yet itself remaineth undigested? a. because the substance consisteth of divers parts; for there are some thin parts in it, which are fit to digest meat, the which being dissolved, there doth remain some thick and close substance in it, which the heat cannot digest. q. why do such as cleave wood, cleave it easier in the length than athwart? a. because in the wood there is a grain, whereby, if it be cut in length, in the very cutting, one part naturally separateth from another. q. what is the reason, that if a spear be stricken on the end, the sound cometh sooner to one who standeth near, than to him who striketh? a. because, as hath been said, there is a certain long grain in wood, directly forward, filled with air, but on the other side there is none, and therefore a beam or spear being stricken on the end, the air which is hidden receiveth a sound in the aforesaid grain which serveth for its passage; and, seeing the sound cannot go easily out of it is carried into the ear of him who is opposite; as those passages do not go from side to side, a sound cannot be distinctly heard there. q. why are the thighs and calves of the legs of men flesh, seeing the legs of beasts are not so? a. because men only go upright; and therefore nature hath given the lower parts corpulency, and taken it away from the upper; and thus she hath made the buttocks, the thighs, and calves of the legs fleshy. q. why are the sensible powers in the heart; yet if the hinder part of the brain be hurt, the memory suffereth by it; if the forepart, the imagination; if the middle, the cogitative part? a. it is because the brain is appointed by nature to cool the blood of the heart; whereof it is, that in divers of its parts it serveth the powers and instruments with their heart, for every action of the soul doth not proceed from one measure of heat. * * * * * the problems of alexander aphrodiseus q. why doth the sun make a man black and dirt white, wax soft and dirt hard? a. by reason of the disposition of the substance that doth suffer. all humours, phlegm excepted, when heated above measure, do seem black about the skin; and dirt, being full either of saltpetre, or salt liquor, when the sun hath consumed its dregs and filth, doth become white again. when the sun hath stirred up and drawn the humidity of the wax, it is softened; but in the dirt, the sun doth consume the humidity, which is very much and makes it hard. q. why are round ulcers hard to be cured? a. because they are bred of a sharp choler, which eats and gnaws; and because it doth run, dropping and gnawing, it makes a round ulcer; for which reason it requires dry medicines, as physicians assert. q. why is honey sweet to all men, but to such as have jaundice? a. because they have much bitter choler all over their bodies, which abounds in the tongue; whence it happens when they eat honey the humours are stirred, and the taste itself, by the bitterness of choler, causes an imagination that the honey is bitter. q. why doth water cast on serpents, cause them to fly? a. because they are dry and cold by nature, having but little blood, and therefore fly from excessive coldness. q. why doth an egg break if roasted, and not if boiled? a. when moisture comes near the fire, it is heated very much, and so breeds wind, which being put up in little room, forces its way out, and breaks the shell: the like happens in tubs or earthen vessels when new wine is put into them; too much phlegm breaks the shell of an egg in roasting; it is the same with earthen pots too much heated; wherefore some people wet an egg when they intend to roast it. hot water, by its softness, doth dissipate its humidity by little and little, and dissolves it through the thinness and passages of the shell. q. why do men wink in the act of copulation, and find a little alteration in all other senses? a. because, being overcome by the effect of that pleasure, they do comprehend it the better. q. why have children gravel breeding in their bladders, and old men in their kidneys and veins? a. because children have straight passages in their kidneys, and an earthly thick humour is thrust with violence by the urine to the bladder, which hath wide conduits or passages, that give room for the urine and humour whereof gravel is engendered, which waxes thick, and seats itself, as the manner of it is. in old men it is the reverse, for they have wide passages of the veins, back and kidneys, that the urine may pass away, and the earthly humour congeal and sink down; the colour of the gravel shows the humour whereof the stone comes. q. why is it, if the stone do congeal and wax hard through heat, we use not contrary things to dissolve it by coldness, but light things, as parsley, fennel and the like? a. it is thought, to fall out by an excessive scorching heat, by which the stones do crumble into sand, as in the manner of earthen vessels, which, when they are overheated or roasted, turn to sand. and by this means it happens that small stones are avoided, together with sand, in making water. sometimes cold drink thrusts out the stone, the kidneys being stretched and casting it out by a great effort; thus easing the belly of its burden. besides, it often happens that immoderate heat of the kidneys, or of the veins of the back (through which the stone doth grow) is quenched with coldness. q. why is the curing of an ulcer or bile in the kidneys or bladder very hard? a. because the urine being sharp, doth ulcerate the sore. ulcers are worse to cure in the bladder than in the kidneys, because urine stays in the former, but runs away from the latter. q. why do chaff and straw keep water hot, but make snow cold? a. because the nature of chaff wants a manifest quantity; seeing, therefore that of its own nature, it can easily be mingled, and consumed by that which it is annexed onto, it easily assumes the same nature, and being put into hot things, it is easily hot, heats again, and keeps hot; and on the contrary, being made cold by the snow, and making the snow cold it keeps in its coldness. q. why have we oftentimes a pain in making water? a. because sharp choler issuing out, and pricking the bladder of the urine, doth provoke and stir up the whole body to ease the part offended, and to expel the humour moderately. this doth happen most of all unto children, because they have moist excrements by reason of their often drinking. q. why have some medicines of one kind contrary effects, as experience proves; for mastich doth expel, dissolve and also knit; and vinegar cools and heats? a. because there are some small invisible bodies in them, not in confusion, but by interposition; as sand moistened doth clog together and seem to be but one body, though indeed there are many small bodies in sand. and since this is so, it is not absurd that the contrary qualities and virtues should be hidden in mastich, and that nature hath given that virtue to these bodies. q. why do nurses rock and move their children when they would rock them to sleep? a. to the end that the humours being scattered by moving, may move the brains; but those of more years cannot endure this. q. why doth oil, being drunk, cause one to vomit, and especially yellow choler? a. because being light, and ascending upwards it provoketh the nutriment in the stomach, and lifteth it up; and so, the stomach being grieved, summoneth the ejective virtue to vomit, and especially choler, because that is light and consisteth of subtle parts, and therefore the sooner carried upward; for when it is mingled with any moist thing, it runneth into the highest room. q. why doth not oil mingle with moist things? a. because, being pliant, soft and thick in itself, it cannot be divided into parts, and so cannot be mingled; neither if it be put on the earth can it enter into it. q. why are water and oil frozen in cold weather, and wine and vinegar not? a. because that oil being without quality, and fit to be compounded with anything, is cold quickly and so extremely that it is most cold. water being cold of nature, doth easily freeze when it is made colder than its own nature. wine being hot, and of subtle parts, suffereth no freezing. q. why do contrary things in quality bring forth the same effect? a. that which is moist is hardened and bound alike by heat and cold. snow and liquid do freeze with cold; a plaster and gravel in the bladder are made dry with heat. the effect indeed is the same, but by two divers actions; the heat doth consume and eat the abundance of moisture; but the cold stopping and shutting with its over much thickness, doth wring out the filthy humidity, like as a sponge wrung with the hand doth cast out the water which it hath in the pores and small passages. q. why doth a shaking or quivering seize us oftentimes when any fearful matter doth happen, as a great noise or a crack made, the sudden downfall of water, or the fall of a large tree? a. because that oftentimes the humours being digested and consumed by time and made thin and weak, all the heat vehemently, suddenly and sharply flying into the inward part of the body, consumeth the humours which cause the disease. so treacle hath this effect, and many such like, which are hot and dry when taken after connexion. q. why do steel glasses shine so clearly? a. because they are lined in the inside with white lead, whose nature is shining, and being put to glass, which is lucid and transparent, doth shine much more; and casts its beams through its passages, and without the body of the glass; and by that means the glass is very shining and clear. q. why do we see ourselves in glasses and clear water? a. because the quality of the sight, passing into the bright bodies by reflection, doth return again on the beam of the eyes, as the image of him who looketh on it. q. what is the reason that if you cast a stone in standing water which is near the surface of the earth, it causes many circles, and not if the water be deep in the earth? a. because the stone, with the vehemence of the cast, doth agitate the water in every part of it, until it come to the bottom; and if there be a very great vehemence in the throw, the circle is still greater, the stone going down to the bottom causing many circles. for, first of all, it doth divide the outermost and superficial parts of the water in many parts, and so, always going down to the bottom, again dividing the water, it maketh another circle, and this is done successively until the stone resteth; and because the vehemence of the stone is slackened, still as it goes down, of necessity the last circle is less than the first, because by that and also by its force the water is divided. q. why are such as are deaf by nature, dumb? a. because they cannot speak and express that which they never hear. some physicians do say, that there is one knitting and uniting of sinews belonging to the like disposition. but such as are dumb by accident are not deaf at all, for then there ariseth a local passion. q. why doth itching arise when an ulcer doth wax whole and phlegm ceases? a. because the part which is healed and made sound doth pursue the relic of the humours which remained there against nature, and which was the cause of the bile, and so going out through the skin, and dissolving itself, doth originally cause the itch. q. how comes a man to sneeze oftener and more vehemently than a beast? a. because he uses more meats and drinks, and of more different sorts, and that more than is requisite; the which, when he cannot digest as he would, he doth gather together much air and spirit, by reason of much humidity; the spirits then very subtle, ascending into the head, often force a man to void them, and so provoke sneezing. the noise caused thereby proceeds from a vehement spirit or breath passing through the conduit of the nostrils, as belching doth from the stomach or farting by the fundament, the voice by the throat, and a sound by the ear. q. how come the hair and nails of dead people to grow? a. because the flesh rotting, withering and falling away, that which was hidden about the root of the hair doth now appear as growing. some say that it grows indeed, because carcasses are dissolved in the beginning to many excrements and superfluities by putrefaction. these going out at the uppermost parts of the body by some passages, do increase the growth of the hair. q. why does not the hair of the feet soon grow grey? a. for this reason, because that through great motion they disperse and dissolve the superfluous phlegm that breeds greyness. the hair of the secrets grows very late, because of the place, and because that in carnal copulation it dissolves the phlegm also. q. why, if you put hot burnt barley upon a horse's sore, is the hair which grows upon the sore not white, but like the other hair? a. because it hath the force of expelling; and doth drive away and dissolve the phlegm, as well as all other unprofitable matter that is gathered together through the weakness of the parts, or condity of the sore. q. why doth the hair never grow on an ulcer or bile? a. because man hath a thick skin, as is seen by the thickness of his hair; and if the scar be thicker than the skin itself, it stops the passages from whence the hair should grow. horses have thinner skins, as is plain by their hair; therefore all passages are not stopped in their wounds and sores; and after the excrements which were gathered together have broken a passage through those small pores the hair doth grow. q. why is fortune painted with a double forehead, the one side bald and the other hairy? a. the baldness signifies adversity, and hairiness prosperity, which we enjoy when it pleaseth her. q. why have some commended flattery? a. because flattery setteth forth before our eyes what we ought to be, though not what we are. q. wherefore should virtue be painted girded? a. to show that virtuous men should not be slothful, but diligent and always in action. q. why did the ancients say it was better to fall into the hands of a raven than a flatterer? a. because ravens do not eat us till we be dead, but flatterers devour us alive. q. why have choleric men beards before others? a. because they are hot, and their pores large. q. how comes it that such as have the hiccups do ease themselves by holding their breath? a. the breath retained doth heat the interior parts of the body, and the hiccups proceeds from cold. q. how comes it that old men remember well what they have seen and done in their youth, and forget such things as they see and do in their old age? a. things learned in youth take deep root and habitude in a person, but those learned in age are forgotten because the senses are then weakened. q. what kind of covetousness is best? a. that of time when employed as it ought to be. q. why is our life compared to a play? a. because the dishonest do occupy the place of the honest, and the worst sort the room of the good. q. why do dolphins, when they appear above the water, denote a storm or tempest approaching? a. because at the beginning of a tempest there do arise from the bottom of the sea, certain hot exhalations and vapours which heat the dolphins, causing them to rise up for cold air. q. why did the romans call fabius maximus the target of the people, and marcellus the sword? a. because the one adapted himself to the service of the commonwealth, and the other was very eager to revenge the injuries of his country; and yet they were in the senate joined together, because the gravity of the one would moderate the courage and boldness of the other. q. why doth the shining of the moon hurt the head? a. because it moves the humours of the brain, and cannot afterwards dissolve them. q. if water do not nourish, why do men drink it? a. because water causeth the nutriment to spread through the body. q. why is sneezing good? a. because it purgeth the brain as milk is purged by the cough. q. why is hot water lighter than cold? a. because boiling water has less ventosity and is more light and subtle, the earthly and heavy substance being separated from it. q. how comes marsh and pond water to be bad? a. by reason they are phlegmatic, and do corrupt in summer; the fineness of water is turned into vapours, and the earthiness doth remain. q. why are studious and learned men soonest bald? a. it proceeds from a weakness of the spirits, or because warmth of digestion cause phlegm to abound in them. q. why doth much watching make the brain feeble? a. because it increases choler, which dries and extenuates the body. q. why are boys apt to change their voices about fourteen years of age? a. because that then nature doth cause a great and sudden change of voice; experience proves this to be true; for at that time we may see that women's paps do grow great, do hold and gather milk, and also those places that are above their hips, in which the young fruit would remain. likewise men's breasts and shoulders, which then can bear great and heavy burdens; also their stones in which their seed may increase and abide, and in their privy members, to let out the seed with ease. further all the body is made bigger and dilated, as the alteration and change of every part doth testify, and the harshness of the voice and hoarseness; for the rough artery, the wind pipe, being made wide in the beginning, and the exterior and outward part being unequal to the throat, the air going out the rough, unequal and uneven pipe doth then become unequal and sharp, and after, hoarse, something like unto the voice of a goat, wherefore it has its name called bronchus. the same doth also happen to them unto whose rough artery distillation doth follow; it happens by reason of the drooping humidity that a slight small skin filled unequally causes the uneven going forth of the spirit and air. understand, that the windpipe of goats is such by reason of the abundance of humidity. the like doth happen unto all such as nature hath given a rough artery, as unto cranes. after the age of fourteen they leave off that voice, because the artery is made wider and reacheth its natural evenness and quality. q. why do hard dens, hollow and high places, send back the likeness and sound of the voice? a. because that in such places also by reflection do return back the image of a sound, for the voice doth beat the air, and the air the place, which the more it is beaten the more it doth bear, and therefore doth cause the more vehement sound of the voice; moist places, and as it were, soft, yielding to the stroke, and dissolving it, give no sound again; for according to the quantity of the stroke, the quality and quantity of the voice is given, which is called an echo. some do idly fable that she is a goddess; some say that pan was in love with her, which without doubt is false. he was some wise man, who did first desire to search out the cause of the voice, and as they who love, and cannot enjoy that love, are grieved, so in like manner was he very sorry until he found out the solution of that cause; as endymion also, who first found out the course of the moon, watching all night, and observing her course, and searching her motion, did sleep in the daytime, and that she came to him when he was asleep, because she did give the philosopher the solution of the course herself. they say also that he was a shepherd, because that in the desert and high places, he did mark the course of the moon. and they gave him also the pipe because that the high places are blown with wind, or else because he sought out the consonancy of figures. prometheus also, being a wise man, sought the course of the star, which is called the eagle in the firmament, his nature and place; and when he was, as it were, wasted with the desire of learning, then at last he rested, when hercules did resolve unto him all doubts with his wisdom. q. why do not swine cry when they are carried with their snouts upwards? a. because that of all other beasts they bend more to the earth. they delight in filth, and that they seek, and therefore in the sudden change of their face, they be as it were strangers, and being amazed with so much light do keep that silence; some say the windpipe doth close together by reason of the straitness of it. q. why do swine delight in dirt? a. as physicians do say, they are naturally delighted with it, because they have a great liver, in which desire it, as aristotle saith, the wideness of their snout is the case, for he that hath smelling which doth dissolve itself, and as it were strive with stench. q. why do many beasts when they see their friends, and a lion and a bull beat their sides when they are angry? a. because they have the marrow of their backs reaching to the tail, which hath the force of motion in it, the imagination acknowledging that which is known to them, as it were with the hand, as happens to men, doth force them to move their tails. this doth manifestly show some secret force to be within them, which doth acknowledge what they ought. in the anger of lions and bulls, nature doth consent to the mind, and causeth it to be greatly moved, as men do sometimes when they are angry, beating their hands on other parts; when the mind cannot be revenged on that which doth hurt, it presently seeks out some other source, and cures the malady with a stroke or blow. q. how come steel glasses to be better for the sight than any other kind? a. because steel is hard, and doth present unto us more substantially the air that receiveth the light. q. how doth love show its greater force by making the fool to become wise, or the wise to become a fool? a. in attributing wisdom to him that has it not; for it is harder to build than to pull down; and ordinarily love and folly are but an alteration of the mind. q. how comes much labour and fatigue to be bad for the sight? a. because it dries the blood too much. q. why is goat's milk reckoned best for the stomach? a. because it is thick, not slimy, and they feed on wood and boughs rather than on grass. q. why do grief and vexation bring grey hairs? a. because they dry, which bringeth on greyness. q. how come those to have most mercy who have the thickest blood? a. because the blood which is fat and thick makes the spirits firm and constant, wherein consists the force of all creatures. q. whether it is hardest, to obtain a person's love, or to keep it when obtained? a. it is hardest to keep it, by reason of the inconstancy of man, who is quickly angry, and soon weary of a thing; hard to be gained and slippery to keep. q. why do serpents shun the herb rue? a. because they are cold, dry and full of sinews, and that herb is of a contrary nature. q. why is a capon better to eat than a cock? a. because a capon loses not his moisture by treading of the hens. q. why is our smell less in winter than in summer? a. because the air is thick, and less moveable. q. why does hair burn so quickly? a. because it is dry and cold. q. why is love compared to a labyrinth? a. because the entry and coming in is easy, and the going out almost impossible or hard. * * * * * part iv displaying the secrets of nature relating to physiognomy * * * * * chapter i section .--_of physiognomy, showing what it is, and whence it is derived._ physiognomy is an ingenious science, or knowledge of nature, by which the inclinations and dispositions of every creature are understood, and because some of the members are uncompounded, and entire of themselves, as the tongue, the heart, etc., and some are of a mixed nature, as the eyes, the nose and others, we therefore say that there are signs which agree and live together, which inform a wise man how to make his judgment before he be too rash to deliver it to the world. nor is it to be esteemed a foolish or idle art, seeing it is derived from the superior bodies; for there is no part of the face of man but what is under the peculiar influence or government, not only of the seven planets but also of the twelve signs of zodiac; and the dispositions, vices, virtues and fatality, either of a man or woman are plainly foretold, if the person pretending to the knowledge thereof be an artist, which, that my readers may hereby attain it i shall set these things in a clearer light. the reader should remember that the forehead is governed by mars; the right eye is under the domination of sol; the left is ruled by the moon; the right ear is under jupiter; the left, saturn, the rule of the nose is claimed by venus, which, by the way, is one reason that in all unlawful venereal encounters, the nose is too subject to bear the scars that are gotten in those wars; and nimble mercury, the significator of eloquence claims the dominion of the mouth, and that very justly. thus have the seven planets divided the face among them, but not with so absolute a way but that the twelve signs of the zodiac do also come in with a part (see the engraving) and therefore the sign cancer presides in the upper part of the forehead, and leo attends upon the right eyebrow, as saggittarius does upon the right eye, and libra upon the right ear, upon the left eyebrow you will find aquarius; and gemini and aries taking care of the left ear; taurus rules in the middle of the forehead, and capricorn the chin; scorpio takes upon him the protection of the nose; virgo claims the precedence of the right cheek, pisces the left. and thus the face of man is cantoned out amongst the signs and planets; which being carefully attended to, will sufficiently inform the artist how to pass a judgment. for according to the sign or planet ruling so also is the judgment to be of the part ruled, which all those that have understanding know easily how to apply. [illustration] in the judgment that is to be made from physiognomy, there is a great difference betwixt a man and a woman; the reason is, because in respect of the whole composition men more fully comprehend it than women do, as may evidently appear by the manner and method we shall give. wherefore the judgments which we shall pass in every chapter do properly concern a man, as comprehending the whole species, and but improperly the woman, as being but a part thereof, and derived from the man, and therefore, whoever is called to give judgment on such a face, ought to be wary about all the lines and marks that belong to it, respect being also had to the sex, for when we behold a man whose face is like unto a woman's and we pass a judgment upon it, having diligently observed it, and not on the face only, but on other parts of the body, as hands, etc., in like manner we also behold the face of a woman, who in respect to her flesh and blood is like unto a man, and in the disposure also of the greatest part of the body. but does physiognomy give the same judgment on her, as it does of a man that is like unto her? by no means, but far otherwise, in regard that the conception of the woman is much different from that of a man, even in those respects which are said to be common. now in those common respects two parts are attributed to a man, and a third part to a woman. wherefore it being our intention to give you an exact account, according to the rule of physiognomy of all and every part of the members of the body, we will begin with the head, as it hath relation only to man and woman, and not to any other creature, that the work may be more obvious to every reader. * * * * * chapter ii _of the judgment of physiognomy._ hair that hangs down without curling, if it be of a fair complexion, thin and soft withal, signifies a man to be naturally faint-hearted, and of a weak body, but of a quiet and harmless disposition. hair that is big, and thick and short withal, denotes a man to be of a strong constitution, secure, bold, deceitful and for the most part, unquiet and vain, lusting after beauty, and more foolish than wise, though fortune may favour him. he whose hair is partly curled and partly hanging down, is commonly wise or a very great fool, or else as very a knave as he is a fool. he whose hair grows thick on his temples and his brow, one may certainly at first sight conclude that such a man is by nature simple, vain, luxurious, lustful, credulous, clownish in his speech and conversation and dull in his apprehension. he whose hair not only curls very much, but bushes out, and stands on end, if the hair be white or of a yellowish colour, he is by nature proud and bold, dull of apprehension, soon angry, and a lover of venery, and given to lying, malicious and ready to do any mischief. he whose hair arises in the corners of the temples, and is gross and rough withal, is a man highly conceited of himself, inclined to malice, but cunningly conceals it, is very courtly and a lover of new fashions. he who hath much hair, that is to say, whose hair is thick all over his head, is naturally vain and very luxurious, of a good digestion, easy of belief, and slow of performance, of a weak memory and for the most part unfortunate. he whose hair is of a reddish complexion, is for the most part, if not always, proud, deceitful, detracting and full of envy. he whose hair is extraordinarily fair, is for the most part a man fit for the most praiseworthy enterprises, a lover of honour, and much more inclined to do good than evil; laborious and careful to perform whatsoever is committed to his care, secret in carrying on any business, and fortunate. hair of a yellowish colour shows a man to be good conditioned, and willing to do anything, fearful, shamefaced and weak of body, but strong in the abilities of the mind, and more apt to remember, than to avenge an injury. he whose hair is of a brownish colour, and curled not too much nor too little, is a well-disposed man, inclined to that which is good, a lover of peace, cleanliness and good manners. he whose hair turns grey or hoary in the time of his youth, is generally given to women, vain, false, unstable, and talkative. [note. that whatever signification the hair has in men, it has the same in women also.] the forehead that riseth in a round, signifies a man liberally merry, of a good understanding, and generally inclined to virtue. he whose forehead is fleshy, and the bone of the brow jutting out, and without wrinkles, is a man much inclined to suits of law, contentious, vain, deceitful, and addicted to follow ill courses. he whose forehead is very low and little, is of a good understanding, magnanimous, but extremely bold and confident, and a great pretender to love and honour. he whose forehead seems sharp, and pointed up in the corners of his temples, so that the bone seems to jut forth a little, is a man naturally weak and fickle, and weak in the intellectuals. he whose brow upon the temples is full of flesh, is a man of a great spirit, proud, watchful and of a gross understanding. he whose brow is full of wrinkles, and has as it were a seam coming down the middle of the forehead, so that a man may think he has two foreheads, is one that is of a great spirit, a great wit, void of deceit, and yet of a hard fortune. he who has a full, large forehead, and a little round withal, destitute of hair, or at least that has little on it is bold, malicious, full of choler and apt to transgress beyond all bounds, and yet of a good wit and very apprehensive. he whose forehead is long and high and jutting forth, and whose face is figured, almost sharp and peaked towards the chin, is one reasonably honest, but weak and simple, and of a hard fortune. those eyebrows that are much arched, whether in man or woman, and which by frequent motion elevate themselves, show the person to be proud, high-spirited, vain-glorious, bold and threatening, a lover of beauty, and indifferently inclined to either good or evil. he whose eyelids bend down when he speaks to another or when he looks upon him, and who has a kind of skulking look, is by nature a penurious wretch, close in all his actions, of a very few words, but full of malice in his heart. he whose eyebrows are thick, and have but little hair upon them, is but weak in his intellectuals, and too credulous, very sincere, sociable, and desirous of good company. he whose eyebrows are folded, and the hair thick and bending downwards, is one that is clownish and unlearned, heavy, suspicious, miserable, envious, and one that will cheat and cozen you if he can. he whose eyebrows have but short hair and of a whitish colour is fearful and very easy of belief, and apt to undertake anything. those, on the other side, whose eyebrows are black, and the hair of them thin, will do nothing without great consideration, and are bold and confident of the performance of what they undertake; neither are they apt to believe anything without reason for so doing. if the space between the eyebrows be of more than the ordinary distance, it shows the person to be hard-hearted, envious, close, cunning, apprehensive, greedy of novelties, of a vain fortune, addicted to cruelty more than love. but those men whose eyebrows are at a lesser distance from each other, are for the most part of a dull understanding; yet subtle enough in their dealings, and of an uncommon boldness, which is often attended with great felicity; but that which is most commendable in them is, that they are most sure and constant in their friendship. great and full eyes in either man or woman, show the person to be for the most part slothful, bold, envious, a bad concealer of secrets, miserable, vain, given to lying, and yet a bad memory, slow in invention, weak in his intellectuals, and yet very much conceited of that little knack of wisdom he thinks himself master of. he whose eyes are hollow in his head, and therefore discerns well at a great distance, is one that is suspicious, malicious, furious, perverse in his conversation, of an extraordinary memory, bold, cruel, and false, both in words and deeds, threatening, vicious, luxurious, proud, envious and treacherous; but he whose eyes are, as it were, starting out of his head, is a simple, foolish person, shameless, very fertile and easy to be persuaded either to vice or virtue. he who looks studiously and acutely, with his eyes and eyelids downwards, denotes thereby to be of a malicious nature, very treacherous, false, unfaithful, envious, miserable, impious towards god, and dishonest towards men. he whose eyes are small and conveniently round, is bashful and weak, very credulous, liberal to others, and even in his conversation. he whose eyes look asquint, is thereby denoted to be a deceitful person, unjust, envious, furious, a great liar, and as the effect of all that is miserable. he who hath a wandering eye and which is rolling up and down, is for the most part a vain, simple, deceitful, lustful, treacherous, or high-minded man, an admirer of the fair sex, and one easy to be persuaded to virtue or vice. he or she whose eyes are twinkling, and which move forward or backward, show the person to be luxurious, unfaithful and treacherous, presumptuous, and hard to believe anything that is spoken. if a person has any greenness mingled with the white of his eye, such is commonly silly, and often very false, vain and deceitful, unkind to his friends, a great concealer of his own secrets, and very choleric. those whose eyes are every way rolling up and down, or they who seldom move their eyes, and when they do, as it were, draw their eyes inwardly and accurately fasten them upon some object, such are by their inclinations very malicious, vain-glorious, slothful, unfaithful, envious, false and contentious. they whose eyes are addicted to blood-shot, are naturally proud, disdainful, cruel, without shame, perfidious and much inclined to superstition. but he whose eyes are neither too little nor too big, and inclined to black, do signify a man mild, peaceable, honest, witty, and of a good understanding; and one that, when need requires, will be serviceable to his friends. a long and thin nose, denotes a man bold, furious, angry, vain, easy to be persuaded either to good or evil, weak and credulous. a long nose extended, the tip of it bending downwards, shows the person to be wise, discreet, secret and officious, honest, faithful and one that will not be over-reached in bargaining. a bottle-nose is what denotes a man to be impetuous in the obtaining of his desires, also a vain, false, luxurious, weak and uncertain man; apt to believe and easy to be persuaded. a broad nose in the middle, and less towards the end, denotes a vain, talkative person, a liar, and one of hard fortune. he who hath a long and great nose is an admirer of the fair sex, and well accomplished for the wars of venus, but ignorant of the knowledge of anything that is good, extremely addicted to vice; assiduous in the obtaining what he desires, and very secret in the prosecution of it; and though very ignorant, would fain be thought very knowing. a nose very sharp on the tip of it, and neither too long nor too short, too thick nor too thin, denotes the person, if a man, to be of a fretful disposition, always pining and peevish; and if a woman, a scold, or contentious, wedded to her own humours, of a morose and dogged carriage, and if married, a plague to her husband. a nose very round at the end of it, and having but little nostrils, shows the person to be munificent and liberal, true to his trust, but withal, very proud, credulous and vain. a nose very long and thin at the end of it, and something round, withal, signifies one bold in his discourse, honest in his dealings, patient in receiving, and slow in offering injuries, but yet privately malicious. he whose nose is naturally more red than any other part of his face, is thereby denoted to be covetous, impious, luxurious, and an enemy to goodness. a nose that turns up again, and is long and full at the tip of it, shows the person that has it to be bold, proud, covetous, envious, luxurious, a liar and deceiver, vain, glorious, unfortunate and contentious. he whose nose riseth high in the middle, is prudent and polite, and of great courage, honourable in his actions, and true to his word. a nose big at the end shows a person to be of a peaceable disposition, industrious and faithful, and of a good understanding. a very wide nose, with wide nostrils, denotes a man dull of apprehension, and inclined more to simplicity than wisdom, and withal vain, contentious and a liar. when the nostrils are close and thin, they denote a man to have but little testicles, and to be very desirous of the enjoyment of women, but modest in his conversation. but he whose nostrils are great and wide, is usually well hung and lustful; but withal of an envious, bold and treacherous disposition and though dull of understanding, yet confident enough. a great and wide mouth shows a man to be bold, warlike, shameless and stout, a great liar and as great a talker, also a great eater, but as to his intellectuals, he is very dull, being for the most part very simple. a little mouth shows the person to be of a quiet and pacific temper, somewhat reticent, but faithful, secret, modest, bountiful, and but a little eater. he whose mouth smells of a bad breath, is one of a corrupted liver and lungs, is oftentimes vain, wanton, deceitful, of indifferent intellect, envious, covetous, and a promise-breaker. he that has a sweet breath, is the contrary. the lips, when they are very big and blubbering, show a person to be credulous, foolish, dull and stupid, and apt to be enticed to anything. lips of a different size denote a person to be discreet, secret in all things, judicious and of a good wit, but somewhat hasty. to have lips, well coloured and more thin than thick, shows a person to be good-humoured in all things and more easily persuaded to good than evil. to have one lip bigger than the other, shows a variety of fortunes, and denotes the party to be of a dull, sluggish temper, but of a very indifferent understanding, as being much addicted to folly. when the teeth are small, and but weak in performing their office, and especially if they are short and few, though they show the person to be of a weak constitution, yet they denote him to be of a meek disposition, honest, faithful and secret in whatsoever he is intrusted with. to have some teeth longer and shorter than others, denotes a person to be of a good apprehension, but bold, disdainful, envious and proud. to have the teeth very long, and growing sharp towards the end, if they are long in chewing, and thin, denotes the person to be envious, gluttonous, bold, shameless, unfaithful and suspicious. when the teeth look very brown or yellowish, whether they be long or short, it shows the person to be of a suspicious temper, envious, deceitful and turbulent. to have teeth strong and close together, shows the person to be of a long life, a desirer of novelties, and things that are fair and beautiful, but of a high spirit, and one that will have his humour in all things; he loves to hear news, and to repeat it afterwards, and is apt to entertain anything on his behalf. to have teeth thin and weak, shows a weak, feeble man, and one of a short life, and of a weak apprehension; but chaste, shame-faced, tractable and honest. a tongue to be too swift of speech shows a man to be downright foolish, or at best but a very vain wit. a stammering tongue, or one that stumbles in the mouth, signifies a man of a weak understanding, and of a wavering mind, quickly in a rage, and soon pacified. a very thick and rough tongue denotes a man to be apprehensive, subtle and full of compliments, yet vain and deceitful, treacherous, and prone to impiety. a thin tongue shows a man of wisdom and sound judgment, very ingenious and of an affable disposition, yet somewhat timorous and too credulous. a great and full voice in either sex shows them to be of a great spirit, confident, proud and wilful. a faint and weak voice, attended with but little breath, shows a person to be of good understanding, a nimble fancy, a little eater, but weak of body, and of a timorous disposition. a loud and shrill voice, which sounds clearly denotes a person provident, sagacious, true and ingenious, but withal capricious, vain, glorious and too credulous. a strong voice when a man sings denotes him to be of a strong constitution, and of a good understanding, a nimble fancy, a little eater, but weak of body, and of a timorous disposition. a strong voice when a man sings, denotes him to be of a strong constitution, and of a good understanding, neither too penurious nor too prodigal, also ingenious and an admirer of the fair sex. a weak and trembling voice shows the owner of it to be envious, suspicious, slow in business, feeble and fearful. a loud, shrill and unpleasant voice, signifies one bold and valiant, but quarrelsome and injurious and altogether wedded to his own humours, and governed by his own counsels. a rough and hoarse voice, whether in speaking or singing, declares one to be a dull and heavy person, of much guts and little brains. a full and yet mild voice, and pleasing to the hearer, shows the person to be of a quiet and peaceable disposition (which is a great virtue and rare to be found in a woman), and also very thrifty and secret, not prone to anger, but of a yielding temper. a voice beginning low or in the bass, and ending high in the treble, denotes a person to be violent, angry, bold and secure. a thick and full chin abounding with too much flesh, shows a man inclined to peace, honest and true to his trust, but slow in invention, and easy to be drawn either to good or evil. a peaked chin and reasonably full of flesh, shows a person to be of a good understanding, a high spirit and laudable conversation. a double chin shows a peaceable disposition, but dull of apprehension, vain, credulous, a great supplanter, and secret in all his actions. a crooked chin, bending upwards, and peaked for want of flesh, is by the rules of physiognomy, according to nature, a very bad man, being proud, imprudent, envious, threatening, deceitful, prone to anger and treachery, and a great thief. the hair of young men usually begins to grow down upon their chins at fifteen years of age, and sometimes sooner. these hairs proceed from the superfluity of heat, the fumes whereof ascend to their chin, like smoke to the funnel of a chimney; and because it cannot find an open passage by which it may ascend higher, it vents itself forth in the hairs which are called the beard. there are very few, or almost no women at all, that have hairs on their cheeks; and the reason is, that those humours which cause hair to grow on the cheeks of a man are by a woman evacuated in the monthly courses, which they have more or less, according to the heat or coldness of their constitution, and the age and motion of the moon, of which we have spoken at large in the first part of this book. yet sometimes women of a hot constitution have hair to be seen on their cheeks, but more commonly on their lips, or near their mouths, where the heat most aboundeth. and where this happens, such women are much addicted to the company of men, and of a strong and manly constitution. a woman who hath little hair on her cheeks, or about her mouth and lips, is of a good complexion, weak constitution, shamefaced, mild and obedient, whereas a woman of a more hot constitution is quite otherwise. but in a man, a beard well composed and thick of hair, signifies a man of good nature, honest, loving, sociable and full of humanity; on the contrary, he that hath but a little beard, is for the most part proud, pining, peevish and unsociable. they who have no beards, have always shrill and a strange kind of squeaking voices, and are of a weak constitution, which is apparent in the case of eunuchs, who, after they are deprived of their virility are transformed from the nature of men into the condition of women. great and thick ears are a certain sign of a foolish person, or a bad memory and worse understanding. but small and thin ears show a person to be of a good wit, grave, sweet, thrifty, modest, resolute, of a good memory, and one willing to serve his friend. he whose ears are longer than ordinary, is thereby signified to be a bold man, uncivil, vain, foolish, serviceable to another more than to himself, and a man of small industry, but of a great stomach. a face apt to sweat on every motion, shows a person to be of a very hot constitution, vain and luxurious, of a good stomach, but of a bad understanding, and a worse conversation. a very fleshy face shows the person to be of a fearful disposition, but a merry heart, and withal bountiful and discreet, easy to be entreated, and apt to believe everything. a lean face, by the rules of physiognomy, denotes the person to be of a good understanding, but somewhat capricious and disdainful in his conversation. a little and round face, shows a person to be simple, very fearful, of a bad memory, and a clownish disposition. a plump face, full of carbuncles, shows a man to be a great drinker of wine, vain, daring, and soon intoxicated. a face red or high coloured, shows a man much inclined to choler, and one that will be soon angry and not easily pacified. a long and lean face, shows a man to be both bold, injurious and deceitful. a face every way of a due proportion, denotes an ingenious person, one fit for anything and very much inclined to what is good. one of a broad, full, fat face is, by the rules of physiognomy, of a dull, lumpish, heavy constitution, and that for one virtue has three vices. a plain, flat face, without any rising shows a person to be very wise, loving and courtly in his carriage, faithful to his friend and patient in adversity. a face sinking down a little, with crosses in it, inclining to leanness, denotes a person to be very laborious, but envious, deceitful, false, quarrelsome, vain and silly, and of a dull and clownish behaviour. a face of a handsome proportion, and more inclining to fat than lean, shows a person just in his actions, true to his word, civil, and respectful in his behaviour, of an indifferent understanding, and of an extraordinary memory. a crooked face, long and lean, denotes a man endued with as bad qualities as the face is with ill features. a face broad about the brows, and sharper and less as it grows towards the chin, shows a man simple and foolish in managing his affairs, vain in his discourse, envious in his nature, deceitful, quarrelsome and rude in his conversation. a face well-coloured, full of good features, and of an exact symmetry, and a just proportion in all its parts, and which is delightful to look upon, is commonly the index of a fairer mind and shows a person to be well disposed; but withal declares that virtue is not so impregnably seated there, but that by strong temptations (especially by the fair sex) it may be supplanted and overcome by vice. a pale complexion, shows the person not only to be fickle, but very malicious, treacherous, false, proud, presumptuous, and extremely unfaithful. a face well-coloured, shows the person to be of a praiseworthy disposition and a sound complexion, easy of belief, and respectful to his friend, ready to do a courtesy, and very easy to be drawn to anything. a great head, and round, withal, denotes the person to be secret, and of great application in carrying on business, and also ingenious and of a large imaginative faculty and invention; and likewise laborious, constant and honest. the head whose gullet stands forth and inclines towards the earth, signifies a person thrifty, wise, peaceable, secret, of a retired temper, and constant in the management of his affairs. a long head and face, and great, withal, denotes a vain, foolish, idle and weak person, credulous and very envious. to have one's head always shaking and moving from side to side, denotes a shallow, weak person, unstable in all his actions, given to lying, a great deceiver, a great talker, and prodigal in all his fortunes. a big head and broad face, shows a man to be very courageous, a great hunter after women, very suspicious, bold and shameless. he who hath a very big head, but not so proportionate as it ought to be to the body, if he hath a short neck and crooked gullet is generally a man of apprehension, wise, secret, ingenious, of sound judgment, faithful, true and courteous to all. he who hath a little head, and long, slender throat, is for the most part a man very weak, yet apt to learn, but unfortunate in his actions. and so much shall suffice with respect to judgment from the head and face. * * * * * chapter iii _of judgments drawn from several other parts of man's body._ in the body of man the head and feet are the principal parts, being the index which heaven has laid open to every one's view to make a judgment therefrom, therefore i have been the larger in my judgment from the several parts thereof. but as to the other parts, i shall be much more brief as not being so obvious to the eyes of men; yet i would proceed in order. the throat, if it be white, whether it be fat or lean, shows a man to be vain-glorious, timorous, wanton, and very much subject to choler. if the throat be so thin and lean that the veins appear, it shows a man to be weak, slow, and a dull and heavy constitution. a long neck shows one to have a long and slender foot, and that the person is stiff and inflexible either to good or evil. a short neck shows one to be witty and ingenious, but deceitful and inconstant, well skilled in the use of arms, and yet cares not to use them, but is a great lover of peace and quietness. a lean shoulder bone, signifies a man to be weak, timorous, peaceful, not laborious, and yet fit for any employment. he whose shoulder bones are of a great bigness is commonly, by the rule of physiognomy, a strong man, faithful but unfortunate; somewhat dull of understanding, very laborious, a great eater and drinker, and one equally contented in all conditions. he whose shoulder bone seems to be smooth, is by the rule of nature, modest in his look, and temperate in all his actions, both at bed and board. he whose shoulder bone bends, and is crooked inwardly, is commonly a dull person and deceitful. long arms, hanging down and touching the knees, though such arms are rarely seen, denotes a man liberal, but withal vain-glorious, proud and inconstant. he whose arms are very short in respect to the stature of his body, is thereby signified to be a man of high and gallant spirit, of a graceful temper, bold and warlike. he whose arms are full of bones, sinews and flesh, is a great desirer of novelties and beauties, and one that is very credulous and apt to believe anything. he whose arms are very hairy, whether they be lean or fat, is for the most part a luxurious person, weak in body and mind, very suspicious and malicious withal. he whose arms have no hair on them at all, is of a weak judgment, very angry, vain, wanton, credulous, easily deceived himself, yet a great deceiver of others, no fighter, and very apt to betray his dearest friends. * * * * * chapter iv _of palmistry, showing the various judgments drawn from the hand._ being engaged in this fourth part to show what judgment may be drawn, according to physiognomy, from the several parts of the body, and coming in order to speak of the hands, it has put me under the necessity of saying something about palmistry, which is a judgment made of the conditions, inclinations, and fortunes of men and women, from the various lines and characters nature has imprinted in their hands, which are almost as serious as the hands that have them. the reader should remember that one of the lines of the hand, and which indeed is reckoned the principal, is called the line of life; this line encloses the thumb, separating it from the hollow of the hand. the next to it, which is called the natural line, takes its beginning from the rising of the forefinger, near the line of life, and reaches to the table line, and generally makes a triangle. the table line, commonly called the line of fortune, begins under the little finger, and ends near the middle finger. the girdle of venus, which is another line so called begins near the first joint of the little finger, and ends between the fore-finger and the middle finger. the line of death is that which plainly appears in a counter line to that of life, and is called the sister line, ending usually as the other ends; for when the line of life is ended, death comes, and it can go no farther. there are lines in the fleshy parts, as in the ball of the thumb, which is called the mount of venus; under each of the fingers are also mounts, which are governed by several planets; and the hollow of the hand is called the plain of mars. i proceed to give judgment from these several lines:--in palmistry, the left hand is chiefly to be regarded, because therein the lines are most visible, and have the strictest communication with the heart and brain. in the next place, observe the line of life, and if it be fair, extended to its full length, and not broken with an intermixture of cross lines, it shows long life and health, and it is the same if a double line appears, as there sometimes does. when the stars appear in this line, it is a signification of great losses and calamities; if on it there be the figures of two o's or a q, it threatens the person with blindness; if it wraps itself about the table line, then does it promise wealth and honour to be attended by prudence and industry. if the line be cut and jagged at the upper end, it denotes much sickness; if this line be cut by any lines coming from the mount of venus, it declares the person to be unfortunate in love and business also, and threatens him with sudden death. a cross below the line of life and the table line, shows the person to be very liberal and charitable, one of a noble spirit. let us now see the signification of the table line. the table line, when broad and of a lively colour, shows a healthful constitution, and a quiet contented mind, and a courageous spirit, but if it has crosses towards the little finger, it threatens the party with much affliction by sickness. if the line be double, or divided into three parts at any of the extremities, it shows the person to be of a generous temper, and of a good fortune to support it; but if this line be forked at the end, it threatens the person shall suffer by jealousies and doubts, and loss of riches gotten by deceit. if three points such as these * * * are found in it, they denote the person prudent and liberal, a lover of learning, and of a good temper, if it spreads towards the fore and middle finger and ends blunt, it denotes preferment. let us now see what is signified by the middle line. this line has in it oftentimes (for there is scarce a hand in which it varies not) divers very significant characters. many small lines between this and the table line threaten the party with sickness, and also gives him hopes of recovery. a half cross branching into this line, declares the person shall have honour, riches, and good success in all his undertakings. a half moon denotes cold and watery distempers; but a sun or star upon this line, denotes prosperity and riches; this line, double in a woman, shows she will have several husbands, but no children. [illustration] the line of venus, if it happens to be cut or divided near the forefinger, threatens ruin to the party, and that it shall befall him by means of lascivious women and bad company. two crosses upon the line, one being on the forefinger and the other bending towards the little finger, show the party to be weak, and inclined to modesty and virtue, indeed it generally denotes modesty in women; and therefore those who desire such, usually choose them by this standard. the liver line, if it be straight and crossed by other lines, shows the person to be of a sound judgment, and a piercing understanding, but if it be winding, crooked and bending outward, it draws deceit and flattery, and the party is not to be trusted. if it makes a triangle or quadrangle, it shows the person to be of a noble descent, and ambitious of honour and promotion. if it happens that this line and the middle line begin near each other, it denotes a person to be weak in his judgment, if a man; but if a woman, in danger by hard labour. the plain of mars being in the hollow of the hand, most of the lines pass through it, which renders it very significant. this plain being crooked and distorted, threatens the party to fall by his enemies. when the lines beginning at the wrist are long within the plain, reaching to the brawn of the hand, that shows the person to be much given to quarrelling, often in broils and of a hot and fiery spirit, by which he suffers much damage. if deep and long crosses be in the middle of the plain, it shows the party shall obtain honour by martial exploits; but if it be a woman, she shall have several husbands and easy labour with her children. the line of death is fatal, when crosses or broken lines appear in it; for they threaten the person with sickness and a short life. a clouded moon appearing therein, threatens a child-bed woman with death. a bloody spot in the line, denotes a violent death. a star like a comet, threatens ruin by war, and death by pestilence. but if a bright sun appears therein, it promises long life and prosperity. as for the lines of the wrist being fair, they denote good fortune; but if crossed and broken, the contrary. * * * * * chapter v _judgments according to physiognomy, drawn from the several parts of the body, from the hands to the feet._ a large and full breast, shows a man valiant and courageous, but withal proud and hard to deal with, quickly angry, and very apprehensive of an injury; he whose breast is narrow, and which riseth a little in the middle of it, is, by the best rule of physiognomy, of a clear spirit, of a great understanding, good in counsel, very faithful, clean both in mind and body, yet as an enemy to this, he is soon angry, and inclined long to keep it. he whose breast is somewhat hairy, is very luxurious, and serviceable to another. he who hath no hair upon his breast, is a man weak by nature, of a slender capacity and very timorous, but of a laudable life and conversation, inclined to peace, and much retired to himself. the back of the chin bone, if the flesh be anything hairy and lean, and higher than any other part that is behind, signifies a man shameless, beastly and withal malicious. he whose back is large, big and fat, is thereby denoted to be a strong and stout man, but of a heavy disposition, vain, slow and full of deceit. he or she whose belly is soft over all the body, is weak, lustful, and fearful upon little or no occasion, of a good understanding, and an excellent invention, but little eaters, faithful, but of various fortune, and meet with more adversity than prosperity. he whose flesh is rough and hard, is a man of strong constitution and very bold, but vain, proud and of a cruel temper. a person whose skin is smooth, fat and white, is a person, curious, vain-glorious, timorous, shame-faced, malicious, false, and too wise to believe all he hears. a thigh, full of strong, bristly hair, and the hair inclined to curl, signifies one lustful, licentious, and fit for copulation. thighs with but little hair, and those soft and slender, show the person to be reasonably chaste, and one that has no great desire to coition, and who will have but few children. the legs of both men and women have a fleshy substance behind, which are called calves, which nature hath given them (as in our book of living creatures we have observed), in lieu of those long tails which other creatures have pendant behind. now a great calf, and he whose legs are of great bone, and hair withal, denotes the person to be strong, bold, secure, dull in understanding and slow in business, inclined to procreation, and for the most part fortunate in his undertakings. little legs, and but little hair on them, show the person to be weak, fearful, of a quick understanding, and neither luxurious at bed nor board. he whose legs do much abound with hair, shows he has great store in another place, and that he is lustful and luxurious, strong, but unstable in his resolution, and abounding with ill humours. the feet of either men or women, if broad and thick with flesh, and long in figure, especially if the skin feels hard, they are by nature of a strong constitution, and gross nutriment, but of weak intellect, which renders the understanding vain. but feet that are thin and lean, and of a soft skin, show the person to be but weak of body, but of a strong understanding and an excellent wit. the soles of the feet do administer plain and evident signs, whereby the disposition and constitution of men and women may be known, as do the palms of their hands, as being full of lines, by which lines all the fortunes and misfortunes of men and women may be known, and their manners and inclinations made plainly to appear. but this in general we may take notice, as that many long lines and strokes do presage great affliction, and a very troublesome life, attended with much grief and toil, care, poverty, and misery; but short lines, if they are thick and full of cross lines, are yet worse in every degree. those, the skin of whose soles is very thick and gross, are, for the most part, able, strong and venturous. whereas, on the contrary, those the skin of whose soles of their feet is thin, are generally weak and timorous. i shall now, before i conclude (having given an account of what judgments may be made by observing the several parts of the body, from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet), give an account of what judgments may be drawn by the rule of physiognomy from things extraneous which are found upon many, and which indeed to them are parts of the body, but are so far from being necessary parts that they are the deformity and burden of it, and speak of the habits of the body, as they distinguish persons. _of crooked and deformed persons._ a crooked breast and shoulder, or the exuberance of flesh in the body either of man or woman, signifies the person to be extremely parsimonious and ingenious, and of a great understanding, but very covetous and scraping after the things of the world, attended also with a very bad memory, being also very deceitful and malicious; they are seldom in a medium, but either virtuous or extremely vicious. but if the person deformed hath an excrescence on his breast instead of on the back, he is for the most part of a double heart, and very mischievous. _of the divers manners of going, and particular posture both of men and women._ he or she that goes slowly, making great steps as they go, are generally persons of bad memory, and dull of apprehension, given to loitering, and not apt to believe what is told them. he who goes apace, and makes short steps, is most successful in all his undertakings, swift in his imagination, and humble in the disposition of his affairs. he who makes wide and uneven steps, and sidelong withal, is one of a greedy, sordid nature, subtle, malicious, and willing to do evil. _of the gait or motion in men and women._ every man hath a certain gait or motion, and so in like manner hath every woman; for a man to be shaking his head, or using any light motion with his hands or feet, whether he stands or sits, or speaks, is always accompanied with an extravagant motion, unnecessary, superfluous and unhandsome. such a man, by the rule of physiognomy is vain, unwise, unchaste, a detractor, unstable and unfaithful. he or she whose motion is not much when discoursing with any one, is for the most part wise and well bred, and fit for any employment, ingenious and apprehensive, frugal, faithful and industrious in business. he whose posture is forwards and backwards, or, as it were, whisking up and down, mimical, is thereby denoted to be a vain, silly person, of a heavy and dull wit, and very malicious. he whose motion is lame and limping, or otherwise imperfect, or that counterfeits an imperfection is denoted to be envious, malicious, false and detracting. _judgment drawn from the stature of man._ physiognomy draws several judgments also from the stature of man, which take as followeth; if a man be upright and straight, inclined rather to leanness than fat, it shows him to be bold, cruel, proud, clamorous, hard to please, and harder to be reconciled when displeased, very frugal, deceitful, and in many things malicious. to be of tall stature and corpulent with it, denotes him to be not only handsome but valiant also, but of no extraordinary understanding, and which is worst of all, ungrateful and trepanning. he who is extremely tall and very lean and thin is a projecting man, that designs no good to himself, and suspects every one to be as bad as himself, importunate to obtain what he desires, and extremely wedded to his own humour. he who is thick and short, is vain, envious, suspicious, and very shallow of apprehension, easy of belief, but very long before he will forget an injury. he who is lean and short but upright withal, is, by the rules of physiognomy, wise and ingenious, bold and confident, and of a good understanding, but of a deceitful heart. he who stoops as he goes, not so much by age as custom, is very laborious, a retainer of secrets, but very incredulous and not easy to believe every vain report he hears. he that goes with his belly stretching forth, is sociable, merry, and easy to be persuaded. * * * * * chapter vi _of the power of the celestial bodies over men and women._ having spoken thus largely of physiognomy, and the judgment given thereby concerning the dispositions and inclinations of men and women, it will be convenient here to show how all these things come to pass; and how it is that the secret inclinations and future fate of men and women may be known from the consideration of the several parts of the bodies. they arise from the power and dominion of superior powers to understand the twelve signs of the zodiac, whose signs, characters and significations are as follows:-- [illustration] _aries_, the ram, which governs the head and face. _taurus_, the bull, which governs the neck. _gemini_, the twins, which governs the hands and arms. _cancer_, the crab, governs the breast and stomach. _leo_, the lion, governs the back and heart _virgo_, the virgin, governs the belly and bowels. _libra_, the balance, governs the veins and loins. _scorpio_, the scorpion, governs the secret parts. _sagittary_, the centaur, governs the thighs. _capricorn_, the goat, governs the knees. _aquarius_, the water-bearer, governs the legs and ankles. _pisces_, the fish, governs the feet. it is here furthermore necessary to let the reader know, that the ancients have divided the celestial sphere into twelve parts, according to the number of these signs, which are termed houses; as in the first house, aries, in the second taurus, in the third gemini, etc. and besides their assigning the twelve signs of the twelve houses, they allot to each house its proper business. to the first house they give the signification of life. the second house has the signification of wealth, substances, or riches. the third is the mansion of brethren. the fourth, the house of parentage. the fifth is the house of children. the sixth is the house of sickness or disease. the seventh is the house of wedlock, and also of enemies, because oftentimes a wife or husband proves the worst enemy. the eighth is the house of death. the ninth is the house of religion. the tenth is the signification of honours. the eleventh of friendship. the twelfth is the house of affliction and woe. now, astrologically speaking, a house is a certain place in the heaven or firmament, divided by certain degrees, through which the planets have their motion, and in which they have their residence and are situated. and these houses are divided by thirty degrees, for every sign has so many degrees. and these signs or houses are called the houses of such and such planets as make their residence therein, and are such as delight in them, and as they are deposited in such and such houses are said to be either dignified or debilitated. for though the planets in their several revolutions go through all the houses, yet there are some houses which they are more properly said to delight in. as for instance, aries and scorpio are the houses of mars; taurus and libra of venus; gemini and virgo of mercury; sagittarius and pisces are the houses of jupiter; capricorn and aquarius are the houses of saturn; leo is the house of the sun; and cancer is the house of the moon. now to sum up the whole, and show how this concerns physiognomy, is this:--as the body of man, as we have shown, is not only governed by the signs and planets, but every part is appropriated to one or another of them, so according to the particular influence of each sign and planet, so governing is the disposition, inclination, and nature of the person governed. for such and such tokens and marks do show a person to be born under such and such a planet; so according to the nature, power and influences of the planets, is the judgment to be made of that person. by which the reader may see that the judgments drawn from physiognomy are grounded upon a certain verity. supreme personality fun in living a doubt, fear, and worry cure if you are not grander and handsomer at eighty than at eighteen, your spiritual, mental and physical cash register has been out of working order more than fifty years. you can worry yourself a big lot, but you can't build a happy home on the lot. thought waves will make you a world builder method and codes, how to create and transmit them for healing, guidance and personal power. price cents one hundredth thousand if your religion makes you miserable, change it for a happy philosophy. [illustration: dr. delmer eugene croft] if you catch the gleam of a possibility to-day that seems too good to be true, grasp it, believe it, endeavor towards it, and tomorrow it will be true. =supreme personality= by dr. delmer eugene croft psychotherapist and lecturer. personality is founded upon self-consciousness, with self-governed intelligence and self-directed action. * * * * * the purpose of this course of lessons is to kill doubt, fear, and worry, cure the habit of growing old, develop your limitless psychic, mental and bodily forces, bring you back to nature, renew your cosmos, and help you lay a pipe line to the power house of the universe to supply forever your supreme capacities. * * * * * price twenty-five cents =for sale everywhere all news and book stands= new haven printing company, publishers, new haven, connecticut. if the word "death," had never been known to human thought, or language, and some such term as "passing to the new life," had been adopted, crepe would have been a drug on the market, painful funeral discourses unheard of, and long, somber funeral processions unknown. * * * * * thousands of human lives are blasted by negative goodness. * * * * * a little country boy whose mother everlastingly nagged him about being good, but whose father was ever telling him about the beautiful things in the city, ended his prayer with this: "o, god make me such a good boy, that when i die i can go to new york." _one hundredth thousand_ observe your opportunities to be kind. a little boy was sitting in his father's lap in the street car when a charming young lady entered, and as the little fellow observed there was no seat, he quickly jumped off his father's lap and said to the young lady, "please take my seat." * * * * * it is not wealth, or position that gives health and happiness. * * * * * a mighty emperor was stricken with a malady; his court physicians gave him up to die. he called in his magicians and they told him if he would wear the shirt of a happy man he would recover. he ordered his kingdom searched for a happy man. they found him, up in the silent mountains, but alas, he had no shirt. no, satan did not bring the temptation to eve instead of adam, because woman was a weaker, and man a superior being. he brought the temptation to eve because a woman isn't afraid of the devil. if he had brought it to adam, he would have been running yet. * * * * * some people are so stupid in passive goodness, that their whole life wouldn't fill three feet of a moving picture reel. * * * * * =dedication= this book is gratefully dedicated to the kindly memory of two eminent physicians, long since gone from this earth plane, who professionally observed my fourth physical eclipse by rheumatic fever; and who hopefully assured me, as i fluttered weakly from the shadow, that i could never pass thru it again. when i received their bills i was sure i could not. the author. * * * * * if you are "a self-made man," don't say too much about it, someone may suspect you "loafed on the job," and tell the union. * * * * * prayer should always prepare you for action. for example, little willie was saying his prayer, and his sister, seeing his pink toes sticking out from under his nightie, tickled them. willie grew red in the face and suddenly exclaimed: "o god, excuse me a minute while i get up and knock the stuffing out of susie." =the fore=word= life is self-realization. every birth is divine. we are born anew every morning. my wish is that you may catch the gleam, be freed from limitations and enter upon your boundless possibilities. your endowments are so rich and rare. there is no other person in the world just like you. you have genius, which, if it were brought forth into the sunlight, would glorify with brilliant inspiration a thousand lives. you have insight that, if it were energized, would make the desert blossom as the rose. you have initiative that once illuminated would create an empire fairer than any ever raised in marble. you have harmony lying latent in the vast octaves of your being, which if awakened into melody would sooth, comfort, restore, and purify the passions of a world. you have beauty, matchless in forms of grace, which if breathed into marble, or spread in soul colors upon the canvass would adorn the palaces of kings. you have thoughts which if given expression would burn and shine thru countless ages and bear their messages of hope and power to fainting multitudes. to bring you into the throne-room of your being, that you may awaken in self-realization, is why i have prepared this course of lessons. should you give five minutes a day to them, in a year you will know the joy there is in life, in power, and in service. the author. =supreme personality= your psychic nature possesses limitless power and possibilities, which you may have as life realities. contents lesson first supreme control of conditions. lesson second supreme control of age. lesson third supreme daily-life method. lesson fourth the supreme law of success. lesson fifth supreme body building method. lesson sixth supreme law of internal vibration. lesson seventh supreme method of mental healing. lesson eighth supreme power of magnetism. lesson ninth supreme law of telepathy. * * * * * you cannot bring health, success, happiness and power to others without bringing them to yourself. =this supreme day= out of the tomb of night a day has risen. be not anxious, this day is all your own. do not hurry, for in time it is like all other days. neither delay, for now is opportunity. early turn your face to the dawn and let its beams bathe away all stains of the night. then, should the noon be dark with storms, your smile shall wear the serene promise of confidence and realization. this supreme day can only be saved by spending it. therefore, to its burden give your strength; to its confusion give your patience; to its sorrow give your comfort; to its trial give your nobleness; to its peril give your heroism; to its sacrifice give your love. during this supreme day step softly among human hearts and leave so much of kindness along its path, that in golden days, gladness shall spring up bearing its tribute to other weary hearts in the cool eventide of the world's glad easter. set eternity in your heart, let truth be your fadeless day star, then over your life of service, sacrifice, courage, cheerfulness, patience, kindness and love, time shall have no power. the author. lesson first supreme control of conditions conditions are thought made. change your thought and you will change your condition. to agonize and struggle in a bad condition is like struggling in quicksand, you get in deeper. tell your bad conditions to another and you multiply them. if the heavens are falling and the earth is slipping under your feet, grab a big turkish towel, walk briskly into the supreme sanctuary of the body,--the bath-room, take a thorough salt-water bath, with a few drops of perfume in it to awaken your self-respect. then in a quiet, darkened room take a good sleep of ten to fifteen hours. then rise and eat slowly, quietly and happily some nourishing food. god, himself, could do nothing with elijah, until he had given him a long sleep and a good meal. then elijah went forth and crowned a king, appointed a prophet, established a kingdom, and rode home in chariots of fire. once you make a start, the world is at your command. let go of the past. stop the foolish thinking that conditions hold you, it is you holding onto conditions. quit your self-pity, blaming others, and saying you are the victim of circumstances. stop whining, and begin singing, then will your feet be loosed from the stocks and the iron gates open outward before you. look away from yourself. =is your will asleep at the wheel?= awake it. see if you are sailing, or drifting. set the compass of your mind to new thoughts, fresh purposes, selfless desires, fill your sails with boundless hope, and let your daily voyage spell service in a big way. you are not a chip on the river of life, you are a supreme master in a universe of facts. you think you are stuck in the harbor mud, but it is only that the tide is out. command your will to put up the sails, god will send you wind and tide to bear you out of the stale, sordid mental and bodily conditions you are living in, give you wider horizon, and a limitless ocean of experience. if anybody does not wish to sail with you, leave them on the shore. let go of your past, break away from conditions that hold you in slavery. seek new scenery, form new surroundings, begin a new supreme life. =keep your body supreme:= go back to nature; be a fine animal. get into the sunshine, the silent woods, the open fields. magnetize your body by walking thru the dew barefooted, by sleeping on the grass, or half buried in the sand. tuberculosis, rheumatism, insomnia are unknown to wild animals. our bodies are sick and weak because we have denatured ourselves. make friends of the wild animals, they will teach you how to keep well. they have not a single case of nervous prostration in all their vast forest home. learn to relax. drop your tension and you check confusion. stop a few minutes sometime in the day and quiet your nerves, rest your muscles, calm your senses, sooth your thoughts, somewhere in the sunshine, or under the shade of an old apple-tree. eat simply, slowly, nuts, dates, cereals, fruits. drink abundantly of water between meals. dress less somber, study your personal appearance, give it harmony. keep your body well groomed. a bath and hair cut will change the out-look of life. quit habits that weaken the body. never talk about your bodily weakness, illness, or condition, nor listen to those of others. criticise your body and it will fail you. praise your body and it will serve you. take air-baths, cold water plunges, or cold water sponges, every morning. fix your mind upon having a sound and energized body and you will attract it. exercise, walk, run, play, work, and learn to rest. change your habits of living. cut out the grouch. stop nagging. you're sour because your pores are stopped up; get a buck-saw and take a sweat. you're morbidly blue because your solar plexus has gone to sleep; give it half an hour of internal vibration. don't knock the weather, like it, get into it, let it put iron into your blood. plunge into a storm, it will act as tonic on your spirit. a dip in the ocean will add magnetism to your body. your body is a mighty fine engine of marvelous energy. over-fed, under-fed, over-burdened, neglected, abused, weakened, shamefully talked about, yet year after year it goes on generating the divinest thing in the universe--life. it transmutes profane elements into divine energy, washes a river of blood free of tons of poison, supports a brain that builds and rules limitless empires, sustains a vision that dissolves darkness into light, the unknown into the known, upholds the image of, and is "the temple of the living god." your body is supreme. keep it divine. strip your body bare and lie in the sunshine. let it soak deeply into the tissue, it will magnetize your body, and renew it with youth. take these sun-baths every sunny day possible by lying on a couch before a large window, or even better, out in the open air. if you want a magnetic body that is supple, elastic and youthful give it sun-baths and air-baths daily. =keep your mind supreme:= your mind is limitless. you were born to lead, not to be always led. think for yourself. do your own planning. make new plans. train your mind to think alone. misery is rust on a mind that has stopped working. train your mind to delight people. don't follow the crowd, but step softly among human hearts. train your mind to think big. expand your mind until it encircles the universe. stop fussing over little things, over useless people, and fill your mind with new ideals and fresh purpose. stop wailing over flowers that will never blossom on the north side of your house; go around to the south side and make a new garden. you have a temperament that is likely to be misunderstood; that's fine. so did sarvonarola, columbus, galileo, luther, whitfield, emerson, lincoln and christ. "seven cities fought for homer, dead, thru whose streets the living homer begged his bread." the reputation of christ was just the opposite of his character. these, stood thinking their brave thoughts on the horizon where truth asks you to stand. you are better than you think; or as good. you are the sum total of your thinking. build thought palaces, not mud huts. create, originate, produce new ideas. beware of dead monotony, it kills the brain. unfetter your thoughts from notions, prejudices and limitations. think well of yourself, think well of what you have, think well of what you do, think invincibly, think persistently, think with unflinching resolve. concentration is getting at a thing, thinking it, planning it, preparing for it, working on it, doing it. your conditions, mental, physical, financial, are thought made; fill your mind with different thoughts and you will have different conditions. thought gathers around you the things you want, when you stop thinking of them they pass away. thoughts are seeds, they produce after their kind. a little thought will shake off useless conditions and confused environment. think some fun into your daily events. don't be over-serious; it breeds disease germs, just as anger and hate thoughts induce cancer, tumor and liver troubles. start a hurricane of jollity. break loose in a thunderstorm of mirth, it will clear the atmosphere under a roof, just as a thunderstorm clears the air over the roof. on the other hand "there is a season to weep." never smother your emotion, to choke it back stifles the heart. lift the flood-gates and let your tears water the garden of your heart. "be renewed in the spirit of your mind." that is the life. be renewed every morning, for each day is a new life, a fresh world, the beginning of eternity. think your thought created enemies into thought created friends. think your thought created suspicions, into thought created confidences. thought has drawn you into your conditions, it will pull you out. your soul, your mind, your body cannot become ugly, useless, imprisoned so long as you think supreme harmony, dominion, and love. thought makes your body a hovel, your mind a madhouse, or thought makes your body a temple and your mind a shrine where angels commune with you. environment, conditions, circumstances are not your masters, they are materials out of which thought makes the beautiful mosaics of character. light the candle of a new thought and diligently sweep every corner of your mind, and you shall find the rare treasure--happiness. put fun into your thinking. do not take yourself so serious, put the red blood of mirth into your daily thinking. =keep your will supreme:= your will is divine energy, therefore it is a supreme power. christ said: "be it unto thee even as thou willed." it is inertia that suffers. fate, fear and doubt are children of the imagination. the power of the will dissolves them into mist. will power into your being. will power into your work. will power into your ambitions. will power into your expressions. will power into your words. and you shall be "a fellow workman with god, a master builder that needeth not to be ashamed." your will gives infinite clearness, infinite strength, infinite ideals, infinite aspirations, for infinite realities. your will tells you that if there is anything to-day that seems to you too good to be true, believe it, endeavor toward it, reach forth to receive it, and tomorrow it will be true. will is the engine in the depths of the ship that drives it thru the buffeting waves and storm to the distant harbor. will puts your back-bone where your wish-bone is now. will puts iron into your blood, tightens up your vertebrate and makes you "a self-starter." you may have lost your battle, your will stands ready for another better campaign. you miss an opportunity, your will stands ready to open the door to a hundred new ones. delay is the mother of most failures. one thing worse than "a quitter," is the person afraid to begin. your will gives purpose and makes you stick to it. get grit for a new siege. will makes desire. will makes brains. will gives decision. to decide means "to cut"; cut deep into the world of possibilities, cut out of your prison of difficulties, cut thru your jungle of opposition to liberty, to health, to success, to supreme power. think, plan, do it. will heals disease. will drives poisons out of the system. will makes the body immune. will illumines the brain with brilliant perception. will sweeps misfortunes aside and rebuilds a nobler success. julius caesar trained his supreme will until it became the dominion of the roman empire. the goddess diana said of hercules: "when i saw him, whether he sat or stood, i knew he was a god, so majestic is his will." like the magnetic mountain in the "arabian nights," your will can draw the nails from your enemies' ships, so they shall fall to pieces before they reach your shores. will is a dynamic, cosmic energy from whence eternal things proceed, and immortal organisms are constructed. will is the glory of the divine universe, and you are a part of that will. in your will sleep the oracles of prophecy. you were made master over this world. in your will is enthroned sovereignty, dominion, kingship. with force of will, pygmalion carved his soul dream into the marble until its loveliness of form and grace became so real as to take on life and motion. with force of will dante created his hell, and with force of will milton created his paradise regained. put your will into command. start new. realize that you are supreme. get a mind picture of what you want, what you want to be, what you want to do, then actualize it. get above doubts. do not wait to be well, to be happy, to be rich, all of these will be added unto you. climb out of your prison of doubts, worries, fears. begin where you are. let your will create, even as god creates. "he that believeth shall not perish, shall not abide in darkness, shall have the light of life, shall have everlasting life; all things are possible to him that believeth." come down out of the gallery of supine hero worshippers, get into the arena and be the hero. quit the drivel of matinee idol longing, and get onto the stage of life and get the bouquets for yourself. the world is waiting to ring up the curtain for your star part in life. =you can work miracles=: a miracle is a wonder, a marvel, a supernatural occurrence, a result obtained by suspension of natural processes. you can do that any day. the miracle is that so few do it. you know ibsen's play, "the doll house." how the wife forged a note, raised the money to send her husband to regain his health. how he did regain it, returned to great prominence and wealth as a banker. then the blackmailer threatened to reveal the crime. how the husband rushed to his wife in anger that she should have done such a thing, that it meant ruin to him in his high position. how the wife replied: "why, i expected the miracle. that you would save me as i saved you. that you would say that you did it." if he only had, what a marvelous, what a wonderful, what a supernatural thing it would have been. christ made whole and useful a withered hand. people say, "o, that i could do so wonderful a thing." well, why don't you. see the withered hands around you. a young woman with a beautiful voice, but no means to cultivate it. you have a thousand or so in the bank? you can save that voice to a world that needs song. a young man with a fine mind, helpless to go thru college, you have means to give that mind to a world in power and usefulness. the natural thing is for you not to do it, the supernatural, the miracle, is that you are divine enough to do it. a man, a woman, is forsaken, friendless, cruelly judged by the world, their goodness blasted, their spirit crushed, their hearts bleeding, their lives made useless, withered. the natural thing is to avoid such, stand aloof, be quite scornfully indifferent. the miracle would happen if you went to them, lifted them up, restored them to society. i have said avoid useless people, i mean selfish, lazy, purposeless, aimless people. sir humphrey davy worked a miracle when he took the boy farrady out of a stable loft and gave him a chance to cultivate his genius. the sistine chapel is angelo's miracle. when the band on the deck of the titanic, under the pale light of the morning stars played "nearer my god to thee," to give hope and strength to men and women struggling to be saved, each player, as the voice of his melody was forever hushed behind the shining emerald gates, in the crystal tomb of the sea, went down crowned with the glory of a selfless miracle. the natural thing would have been for them to have frantically fought to save themselves. what superb opportunities to work miracles have passed you! what magnificent possibilities are still right before you! the cripple is always at your gate beautiful. are you divine enough, wonderful enough, marvelous enough, supernatural enough to say: "such as i have, give i unto thee"? do it quickly. do it, and you shall know daily the joy of hearing the father say: "this is my son in whom i am well pleased." if there is any one person on this earth to whom i take off my hat and wait until they safely pass, it is a school teacher. the most obscure teacher, back in the country hills, unknown, unthought of, unpraised, but with loving patience unfolding the secrets of knowledge to little frowzy headed boys and girls, can look into her mirror at evening and behold the face of an angel. flowers cast their wealth upon the vacant air, and rich fathers oft cast their wealth upon the vacant heir. * * * * * some people are so sensitive that if you call them "honey," they will break out with the "hives" the next morning. * * * * * do not divorce your husband because he has cold feet, perhaps he got them since you were married. * * * * * christ stopped every funeral that came his way and sent the mourners home singing. funeral sermons were too sad for him to preach. every sick room he entered became a health resort. he made grave-yards unpopular. * * * * * many a lonely bachelor looking back over the stretch of years, recalls the charming moonlight nights, when the cool summer air was perfumed with old fashioned flowers, and he looked into the loving eyes of his sweetheart; recalls how the crimson glow of youth flushed her velvet cheeks as he took her warm hand in his; recalls sadly that if he had only given that hand "a square deal," played it in the game of life, he would have had "a full house" now. * * * * * would you like to become young? then tap new reservoirs of youthful thoughts, irrigate your alkali desert from the fountains of youth, become youthfully active in some new field of work. vanderbilt added $ , , to his fortune after he was eighty. wordsworth earned the laureateship at seventy-three. theirs established the french republic and became its first president at seventy-two. verdi wrote "falstaff" at eighty. sir walter scott was $ , in debt when he was fifty-five, but thru his own efforts he paid all and made himself a lasting name. * * * * * book knowledge is not all. a wealthy, fond father, fearing his son would be contaminated by college life, had him educated at home. when he was twenty-one, he took him to ride thru the streets of the city. they passed a female seminary just as the doors opened and a crowd of young women came out. the dear boy grabbed his father's arm and cried, "what are those?" his father replied, "they are only goslins." later in the day, the fond father said: "my son, you have obeyed me, have faithfully completed your education, now i am ready to spend $ , to give you the highest ambition of your life." the boy looked up in glad wonder and said: "o, dad, give me a goslin." =lesson second supreme control of age= =youth is eternal:= nature never grows old. the flowers that bloomed in eden are blooming to-day. just as lovely, just as sweet, just as fresh and unchanged. the roses your life-mate brings home to you, have the same fragrance as the roses adam brought to eve, if he thought of it. the lovely stars that glitter in the azure fields above you tonight, have the same loveliness that gleamed in tremulous glory down upon the shepherds beyond bethlehem. the radiant, life giving rays of the sun that ten thousand, thousand years ago warmed mother earth into vernal spring life, are the same life giving rays that shall bring again the spring-tide. life never grows old, it only changes form. your life is perpetual, then your youth may be perpetual. the human race is ever young, its units fall off. you should be younger at sixty, than at sixteen, because you have more of life. growing old is a habit. people travel along the years up the hill of life, till they reach a certain point where they begin to think they must be growing old. think its time to sag. think its time to droop. think its time to begin the process of decay. then begin to talk about it. to write letters about it. to feel around for it. to look for it in others. finally the habit they inherited from the race is on, and they are old. life is endless, but you can think it short, "the power of an endless life," is within you, but by thinking you can turn it to the white ashes of old age. think youth and you stay young. =youth is growth:= keep growing and you keep young. a new idea will make you feel younger. develop it and it will develop you. quicken your mental throb with new ideas. begin now. stop talking about being too old to grow. you pass by trees daily, a hundred, two hundred years old, still they are growing. the rose bush on a wall in china is supposed to be over a thousand years old, it bears more roses now, than when it was a mere slip of a vine of only one hundred. gladstone at eighty-two was a growing statesman, and elected prime minister of england for the fourth time. cato at eighty began to study greek, and renewed the youth of his mind. donald davis is a growing hunter at one hundred and three. goddard diamond was a growing teacher of health, when he was one hundred and eleven. i know a bright, cheery lady who is just beginning a new study for decorating china, along with her household cares, and she is eighty-eight. also another woman who has taken up a new process of enlarging drawings into water-colors and she is eighty-one years young. the fig tree withered when the master of life found it not growing, producing, creating. when you stop growing you will wither by the same law. grow something, create something, produce something and the law of youth will pervade your being. =youth is observing the law:= observing the law of health, the law of mind, the law of growth, the law of harmony, the law of production, the law of expression, the law of beauty, the law of selflessness. keep your bodily forces up. rebuild destroyed tissue. keep the system free of waste. stop poisoning your body with anger, hate, jealousy, fear. keep your mind sweet. think cheerfully. avoid mental turmoil and excitement. two great enemies of youth are worry and fear. the next is selfishness. think every morning when you rise--"this new day is new life. it is fresh from the hand of god. it is mine to use. i will increase it unto the perfect day." grow in each day, and make each day grow. check discord. quit useless discussion for it weakens and withers. stop quarreling. check complainings. root criticism out of your life. you are bigger than these things. get into harmony. you are of the world, upon worlds, universe unto universe. study your words to make them have beauty, your walk to have grace, your personality to make it magnetic, your smile to give courage and comfort, your presence to have it healing, helping, inspiring. "if there be any virtue in whatsoever things are lovely, think on those things." =youth is loving work:= like what you do. do what makes you and others happy. enter your daily work with joy. adjust it until you do like it. learn to love work for the happiness it brings. put joy into your work in the morning and you will find it multiplied into happiness at night. work is a law of youth. inaction is decay. inertia is death. men and women do not usually lose their positions, they drive their positions away from them. the law of work will not stand personal abuse, any more than the law of beauty will endure brutality. form an ideal of your work, make a mental picture of it, simplify it, orderly it, beautify it, then glorify it. start the process in the slightest degree and you will get a result. put a new shock absorber on your disposition. bring your fine sensibilities to your work, be big morally, be deep mentally, and work with confident expectation. put rules and system into your daily task. exercise your self-control, your self-possession, self-mastery, march up to your task with efficiency backed up by a dominant will. realize your supreme personality in your work. put the absolute "i am," into your purpose of toil. put dominating decision "i have decided," into your efforts. put invincible determination, "i will," into your complex problem. put irresistible confidence, "i shall achieve," into your ardent desires. you will then love work. when you come to love work you will not exhaust yourself in it, you will not tire your brain and body with its friction, because you will not work with selfish purposes, but work to enrich the world. "love is the fulfilling of the law." =youth is supreme cheerfulness:= to be funless is to be lifeless. good cheer is the tonic of youth. if you are so sad you cannot laugh at something, then laugh at nothing. "laugh and the world"--you know it. an ounce of smiles will give you more real life than seven tons of solemncholy. cheerfulness and prosperity go hand in hand. bathe in mirth. frolic in some sunshine daily, even if you live in pittsburgh and have to make your own sunshine. make fun, don't always buy it. you can cure disease and kill the devil with laughter. cultivate an infectious laugh. mirth makes work easy. read humor and learn to tell it. practice telling a good, funny story. be a quick wit. there is a bright side to everything in this world, even to a dark-lantern. the end of the film is sure to be jolly. good cheer attracts good luck. cheer up. if you haven't a smile get one of somebody and wear it as your own. "let thine heart cheer thee." give it out-let. go to sleep with a smile on your face and you will awaken with a joy in your heart. let your humor be rich humor. laughter is the cipher-key to a man. it is one of the most delightful sounds of earth. most utterly lost is the day you laugh not. mirth clears the mirrors of the mind. a person who does not laugh is not healthy. "a merry heart doeth good, like a medicine." to forget your sorrow begin to cultivate joy. keep away from sad people, or you will be sad. stop rehearsing your grief, you only enlarge it. if you suffer grief, find someone in trouble and cheer them, encourage them, help them, and you will deliver yourself. you will comfort yourself when you comfort another. you cannot lose a loved one, tho absent from the earth plane they are nearer than ever. life and love never change. death is an unreality thought made. our friends take on a new embodiment that is glorified in life and spirit. when you believe you were "created in his image," and "are a partaker of the divine nature," it is easier to believe, "you shall arise in his likeness." some day we shall all believe we have not disfigured, morally broken natures, but divine natures, supreme in limitless power. traditions, teachings, education, environment of generations of thinking have disfigured, morally broken, sin burdened humanity. all are thought created conditions. thought made limitations. thought made original sins. system cultivated human wrongs. institutionalized teachings of error. but you should know the universe is one undivided soul. you are a yoke-fellow with god. you are a part of one complete life. you are a lobe of the infinite brain. you are a supreme personality of absolute personality. nothing that has life is god-damned. where love is only a dream, the marriage is an alarm clock. * * * * * if you cannot endure your mother-in-law, you can begin your plans at once to live alone, when your children are married. * * * * * a quarrel between two people to settle things, is a good deal like a dog fight in a flower bed, the only things that get settled are the flowers. * * * * * nearly always when you hear the lusty wail of a boy with energy plus filling the air, you can look in at the window and find a woman's hand at the seat of his trouble. * * * * * you can over-work your notion of neatness. a woman in vermont crippled her usefulness for life, by mopping a hole thru her kitchen floor and falling into the cellar. * * * * * =lesson third a supreme daily-life method a central plan:= do your mental work in the morning, your manual work in the afternoon. do not dictate letters in the afternoon; from ten to twelve in the morning is best. the brain is usually at low ebb at three o'clock in the afternoon. do not have your desk so that you have to look side-wise at persons approaching you. it blunts your personality. by no means have people enter behind you, it is the most negative psychic influence possible. let your position in your office be such that when anyone approaches your eyes will fall upon them as near a straight level as possible. plan your workroom for efficiency. no matter how small, how large, or if it be but a bench. put your character stamp on the plan of the work you do. go to that work as a king goes to his throne. centralize your work. plan it. work your plan. =have a system of order=: set your mind in order first. if you are living as i have taught in the lessons that have gone before, then your mind will assume a supreme command of order almost at once. classify what you do. keep matters separate. do the big things first. as you classify, drop the non-essentials. weed out the useless. never spend a minute of your morning hours winding up a string or folding a piece of wrapping paper. do that when your brain tide has ebbed out in the afternoon, or not at all. don't hunt for a pin, or sharpen a pencil, or manicure your nails after you reach your work of the day. classify your movements, eliminate the useless. energize your movements. move with enthusiasm. put elastic cheer into your step. wear rubber heels of quiet manners. simplify your work. keep it straight, after a little it will keep you straight. don't fall over your work, nor step on it, or sit on it. simplify by stopping the waste of words, waste of material, waste of time. jollify your work. put fun into each day's round of toil. be original in plans and ideas. =cultivate your efficiency=: to all the above add mental energy. develop insight, grow new business brain cells. do not overload your stomach with food, nor your body with clothing. study directness. master application. at niagara falls i saw two giant dynamos generating twenty-five thousand horse power, their efficiency was kept in perfect balance by a little automatic nickle gate. your efficiency is kept in balance by little, invisible and automatic thought neurons. a clear brain is the test of efficiency. plans, orders, system, application, give efficiency. efficiency is positive thinking. freedom-thinking, above fear-thinking. get out and keep out of negative thinking. just as soon as you drop negative thinking your mind will begin to rise to a new brilliance of expression. one big element in efficiency is silence. it is the strongest thing to be silent. noise is emptiness, weakness, inefficiency. silence is the law of greatness; noise the breaking of the law. =develop your power to rest:= that person is wise who knows how to rest. it is a powerful thing to rest successfully. over-fed persons, or animals, do not rest, they are stupefied. rest is filling your capacities with energy. "sleep knits up the ravelled sleeve of care," or it should. rest is relaxing the nerves and muscles. rest is reconstructing broken down cellular tissues. rest is restringing the harp of the senses, retuning the rhythmic harmonies of the spirit. rest lets down the tension. when you sit down, let what you sit on hold you. when you lie down, do not try to hold yourself on the bed. rest is the opposite of labor. rest is recreation. rest with sleep is a divine restorative. when you cannot rest, or sleep, you are expending energy without production. try this little code for rest and sleep: "my mind is empty, my soul is at rest." repeat it with your eyes closed and your body relaxed. say it just as you would imagine the swing of the pendulum of an old fashion hall clock. i never knew it to fail of inducing sleep. never rest or sleep with light falling on your eyes. shut out the world and noise. =grow the fruits of the spirit:= love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance, against such there is no law. do not sit down and wish for them, nor wait for someone to bring them to you, even god will not bring them to you. grow them. cultivate them. produce them. no power on this earth can defeat you, make you fail, or over-throw you if you fill your spirit with them. as you work, use them. take them with you to the store, the factory, the shop, the mill, to your bench. take them with you to the office, the counting-room, the court-room, and to your throne-room. take them with you to the battle field, to the halls of justice, to the senate chamber, to the presidential chair. take them with you thru the streets, along the highways, and over the unbeaten paths of your life. take them with you down the rivers, and out into the storm driven sea. chain them to the wheel of your ship, sail on thru the starless night alone. trust them, for they are the initiative of the supreme in you. =train your voice:= take your snarling, growling, snapping, whining voice away into the jungle and leave it to the wild beasts. take your sobbing, sniveling, trembling, dolorous, sanctimonious voice down into some dismal swamp and bury it. train your voice as you would tune a harp. your voice is an index of character. keep it on the level. let it "speak as one having authority." charm it with modulation. make it ripple with music. allow no thrust of anger to ruffle it. intensify it with determination. strengthen it with courage. give it dominion and power. when other voices are hot and spuming around you, keep your voice cool. never allow your voice to become dull, dubious, uncertain, shrinking, or hollow. voice tones that are round, rhythmic, full measured. have a serene and reposeful voice. look at what you speak. reflect your soul in your voice. let the manner of your voice be calm, smooth, collected, but energized with positive forces. have a cheerful voice, a voice that makes one think of sunshine and smiles. =how to love relatives:= to love your relatives be away from home all you can. to have them love you keep about three hundred miles between you and them. thousands of homes and lives are wrecked by two families of the same family trying to live under the same roof. noah would have foundered with the ark ten days after the flood started if he had taken more than two out of any one family with him. cain would never have killed abel if adam hadn't made the fool blunder of trying to keep his two sons everlastingly with him. of course there was some excuse in the fact that in those days new york and paris were not brilliantly attractive cities. if there is any one thing outside a church row, that tickles the devil into a frenzy of laughter it is when a young married couple go home to live with the family. there is about as much real life joy and harmony in it as there would be in a jungle picnic of monkeys and parrots. there is just one place where large families can dwell together peaceably--the grave-yard. it is contrary to natural law that families of grown ups, should live together. when a cub bear is old enough, big enough to hunt for food, and comes back after he once goes out, his mother gives him a mauling that makes him feel he would rather starve than come back again. does she love him? of course she loves him to the limit of her instinct, loves him to the point of pride that she wants him to be a brave, daring, self-reliant master of the forest. when the whelps of a lion get to be more than playful kittens, the mother leads them into the jungle, slips away, leaving them to hunt. the young lions may return to the old home, but their father and mother have moved away to a distant den. to evolve their natures, to become supreme denizens of the forest they must rely upon their own prowess. take the eagle, when the mother eagle by instinct knows the wings of her babies have become strong enough to support their bodies, she pushes them out of the eyrie. they fly, or will be dashed to death on the rocks. they always fly. but you say human beings are not bears, lions, or eagles. well, humans could well afford to attend the nature college of the wild animals of the woods, to learn the ethics of health, happiness and the development of the individual. treat your relatives royally, then let them alone. keep out of their affairs, try to keep them out of your affairs. be kind, generous, sympathetic. but keep out of the danger zone. insist upon living by yourself, living your own life, thinking your own thoughts, playing your part in life's drama. parents wish they could hold their children, the way to hold them is to let go of them. if you love them you will let go. love is unselfish. god sent his only son on the loneliest journey ever taken, and he came back crowned with glory. god can live with lots of people you and i can't. abraham amounted to something, god said to him: "get thee out." "and he went out, not knowing whither." he staid until he became the head of a people as numberless and brilliant as the stars of the heaven. but isaac hung around home, lived on his father's greatness, and the only real thing he did that was worth while was to re-dig some wells his father had dug before him. the first time he saw his sweetheart rebecca, whom another man had to go and get for him, he lifted up his voice and cried like a boob. he had become soft on the mutton and grape juice of his father. tender little doves flit around the home cote, but the eagle sweeps from sun to sun. anyhow, in these modern days children are very largely bringing up their parents. * * * * * to kill a quarrel, shut your mouth. * * * * * there is a world of sense in the saying; "sell your hammer and buy a horn." * * * * * there is one place we can bear a boil, and smile--on the other fellow's neck. * * * * * many people possess more than a thousand acres of possibilities, and have about half an acre under cultivation. * * * * * the best way to exterminate mosquitoes would be to start a plan to cultivate them as a money making commodity. * * * * * stop nagging, twitting, insinuating, suspecting those whose love you wish to hold. you assassinate love when you ridicule it. * * * * * temper is the yeast of personality. no man or woman ever rises in the world without it. a razor, knife, ax, or writer, actor, minister, without it, isn't worth a damn in any market. never lose your temper, lose all things, but keep your temper. * * * * * when i see people who are great stickers as to form, or attitude, in prayer, they remind me of my old neighbor, saxby, who fell into bill smith's well. he said: "the prayingest prayer i ever said, was in that well standing on my head." * * * * * do you know the meanest thing about the worst boy on your street? i will tell you. it is the fact that you do not like him, and he knows it. god never made a mean boy. parents have made some, towns have made some, and cities have made a host. =lesson fourth the supreme law of success selling power=: study out plans. approach your customer or the public, with a definite plan. here is one of simple power: attract the attention, secure the interest, carry the conviction, demand the decision, then in any line of business you will have your order book full. selling power is confidence backed up by the will. success is ambition and desire driven by the will. do you desire success? how much? when you desire it as a starving man has hunger for food, you will win. want to attain your ambition? how much? when your ambition becomes a thirst, a burning consuming thirst, such as the lost traveler has in the blistering sands of the desert, then you will achieve. what you want is not opportunity, the world is flooded with golden opportunities. what you want is not a fair chance, chances gleam in your future sky fairer than the endless myriads of stars that encrust with glittering splendor the evening heavens. what you do want is concentration, confidence, self-reliance, desire, ambition, personal power. =power of attraction=: make your purpose brilliant. keep it clear. seek to energize it with positives. do not lumber up your plan. centralize it. modify it. create it as a necessity. form into it the indispensable. then embody yourself into it. see that nothing about you defeats, or neutralizes attraction. have a burning interest in your proposition. look for fulfillment. anticipate success. make the world feel that you know you are right. stop asking folks if they think you will succeed. of course they do not, because they have not. hold your mind relaxed in silence. make your desire active. set your wishes in motion. confidence attracts confidence. positives attract positives. bring out your latent forces, they only need arousing. think and act. =your mental attitude:= have faith in yourself. arouse faith in others. think in the affirmative. assert your hope and confidence. root out every doubt. help someone out of their slough of doubt and despondency. believe in the world, in life, in growth, in possibilities. let your faith be as big and bright as the sun. "cast not away your confidence which hath great recompense of reward." "dwell in confidence." "hold fast your confidence and hope unto the end." keep your mental attitude independent. keep it brave. think of money as a means, not as an end. seek wealth for the power of service it gives. have a generous mental attitude. help others succeed. banish fear, worry, indecision, timidity, irresolution, anxiety from your mental attitude, they paralyze effort. trust yourself. trust others. have a mental attitude that is supreme, divine, and absolute. spend your last dollar like a king. gird the loins of your mind with "i will." "i can." all the mountains of difficulty will melt before your presence. =ambition and desire:= ambition is idealism. desire is faith. you cannot have either without the possibility of their fulfillment. desires come from supreme intelligence in the universe, and they are divine. therefore, they are real, possible of positive realization. keep them sacred. let them become the ideals of your life. make them glow with the fires of your energies. they spell success and victory. they will crown your life, if you will breathe your life into them. let your ambition make you irrepressible. avoid reactionary influences. keep away from dull, stupid, inactive people. =creative force and harmony:= be original. think original thoughts, put them into form. invent and produce. create ideas. feel complete in yourself. do not stand in wonder at what others have done, right at your feet lies a secret that will enrich the world and make you famous. a thinker discovered a substitute for the artist camel's hair brush by taking the hair from inside a cow's ear. if you work in an office think up some out-door vocation. grow something, raise something, get interested in animals. study the market near you, create, produce, or raise something to sell. if not for money, for the forces of life the work gives. it will keep you from habits, from speculating, from gambling, from politics and other evils. build something, raise chickens, pets, sheep, cattle, or grow flowers, fruits, berries. work with nature. this is the very harmony of success. in it you will be in touch with universal intelligence, will get the inflow of infinite life, and thru it will keep growing. =your latent powers=: take account of your personal abilities. your gifts, talents, forces, equipment. what per cent are you using? most people are not using over per cent of their capital of personal power. the per cent lies dormant. why have only per cent of your share of life, success, harmony and happiness, when you should have per cent. there are big prizes awaiting your latent powers. at every turn of the way, you can read the sign: "wanted. men with power." there is an unexplored continent in your being. go into it, bring out its riches, for yourself and for the world. =persistence and planning=: a plan is a mighty source of power. do not work and live "hit-or-miss" in your activities day by day. have a plan. sit in silence a few moments each morning and create a plan. you can double your efficiency. think out a plan, open a way. get an effectual insight. keep your plan under your cap, and work it out. persist in your plan. stick to it. never grow sour or negative in your manner. keep sweet. if your plan is blocked, dig in another direction. build a new foundation. shake off doubts and start new. unless your success makes you happy it is not success. deep at the heart of the universe lies happiness. live closely to that heart, in persistent power of service. =impersonate your desires:= impersonate greatness and you will become great. impersonate loveliness and you will become lovely. why do actors become matinee idols? they could readily marry a hundred times a month. it is quite impossible for an actor to remain unmarried. what is the secret? can a person get it? certainly; here it is. actors impersonate heroes, villains, model husbands, daring lovers, in a real way. they think, plan, and train themselves to impersonate the character, they make it so real that people think it must be a part of their nature. you can do it, young man, bachelor, widower. if you are only half a man, half a lover, impersonate a whole one. if you are so bashful that it makes you blush to walk with your best girl, in the garden where the flowers are in bed, impersonate a dashing, dare-devil, scamp of fascination, and your sweetheart will faint from adorable bliss and fall into your arms. if you are a coward impersonate a hero, until you are one. do not stand on one foot, or bite your fingernails, or tear the rim off your hat, trying to tell a beautiful, healthy twentieth century young woman you love her. you'll be all to the mustard. do something brave. go hire a kid that is a good swimmer, to fall into the lake as you and your sweetheart are walking past, then throw back your shoulders and tear off your coat and leap in, the kid will get you to shore, but you'll be a hero in her eyes. impersonate the hero, and you will win the heroine. young woman, if you would marry a hero, impersonate beauty. maiden lady of quite impossible age, if you would marry the best man in the world, impersonate youth and beauty. dear languishing widow, if you would marry a real man, impersonate youth, beauty and wealth. you will win. the odds are much against you here in the east, where in every state there are thousands and thousands of more women than there are men, but you will win. men follow actresses around the world because they impersonate love, passion, beauty, virtue and nobleness. the men really think actresses must possess what they portray. you see, it is all a matter of thinking. it does not matter how many times a man has lost on the races, if he is a good sport he will bet on the next horse that looks good to him. women need to impersonate looking good, better, best. not on occasions only, but all the time. men like women who are good pals. so ladies impersonate sympathy, kindness, patience, good fellowship, enthusiasm, in the things that interest men. if you belong to the citrus family, impersonate the peach. if you belong to the nettle family, impersonate the violet. you may be so homely that your face pains you, but think of the impersonations of beauty you can buy at the drug store. impersonate silence. a young lady in philadelphia lost her voice and she had nineteen proposals that year. impersonate form. you may be as angular as the streets in boston, yet almost any department store will shape you up. you may be so fat that you haven't seen your feet in years, still you can impersonate so much good nature that men will be attracted to you as flowers to the sun. * * * * * have confidence in everything you do, even when you eat sausages at a quick lunch next door to the dog-catcher. * * * * * hell is not paved with good intentions. hell is paved with sanctimonious pretensions. * * * * * when you get up, where does your lap go? when you love, where does your hate go? * * * * * after you have walked the floor all night trying to get the baby to sleep, you can at least be thankful that you do not live in greenland where the nights are six months long. * * * * * avoid hot words in anger, you might tell the truth. a chicago father thrashed his son for being out late at night. then added: "when i was your age my father would not let me be out after dark." the boy answered: "then you must have had a devil of a father." the old man came back hotly: "i had a damn sight better father than you have." fretting is like a rocking chair, you can do a great deal of agitating in it without getting anywhere. * * * * * do not kick at the squirrel that runs up to you in the park; it may be only mistaken identity--he thought he saw a nut. * * * * * children radiate truth, they intuitively feel and express it. elsie had been bad and her mother sent her upstairs to talk it over with god. after an hour she came down stairs singing; her mother asked her what god had said to her. "o," she replied, "god said, great scott, elsie, don't feel badly, there are a lot of worse people in this house than you are." * * * * * =lesson fifth supreme body building method health, harmony, power, service:= that is what a supreme body gives. do not always be taking care of your health, take care of your body and you will generate health. thought animates the body with health. this is an age of electrification. we are fed, lighted, heated, and transported by electricity. in the lightning pace we are going, the body is neglected. give three minutes morning and night to the exercises below and you will straighten, develop, heal, and energize your body. enter upon these exercises as you would an arena of conquest where you expected to win the great prize of life. =the breath is life:= take a deep, full, abdominal breath with each body building exercise, inhale through the nose and expel forcefully through the mouth. never hold your breath. =first exercise:= stand erect, drop hands to the side, clinch your fists tightly, then with muscular tension raise fists and arms slowly high above the head, taking a deep, full, abdominal breath as you raise them, relax and expel the breath forcefully through the mouth. repeat times. =second exercise:= place the left hand flat in the right, clasp them, resisting with the left, lift with the right, putting full strength into the effort, until the hands are lifted above the head, taking deep breath as in the first exercise. relax, expel breath. then repeat with the right hand resisting the left. repeat exercise times. =third exercise:= grasp the hands firmly above the head, letting them be at rest on top of the head. then pull hard from right to left slowly, taking the deep, full abdominal breath with each movement, relaxing and expelling as above. this and the above exercise are wonderful in their effect in developing the lungs and rounding out the development of the shoulders and chest. repeat times. =fourth exercise:= grasp hands in front, level with chest, pull from right to left hard, taking deep, full abdominal breath with each movement. relax and expel breath same as above. =fifth exercise:= grasp the hands behind the back, taking deep, full abdominal breath, lift the hands as far up on the back as possible. relax, expel breath. always draw in the breath as you move through the exercise, having a full breath when the movement is completed, then expel. =sixth exercise:= place right hand over right hip, clench the left fist, raise it slowly, drawing the deep breath, and bending the body to the right as far as possible. relax, expel breath. now repeat with the left hand placed over the left hip. repeat times. =seventh exercise:= grasp hands in front of breast, pulling hard, swing the body as far right and left as possible without moving the feet, take deep breath with each movement. repeat times. =eighth exercise:= raise hands above the head, take a deep breath and bend the body, try to touch floor with finger, not bending the knees. repeat times. you can add other exercises to these, only be sure they have the deep breathing. these will build a vigorous, developed, supple body. will ward off every form of asthma, catarrh, bronchial or lung trouble. stop indigestion, increase circulation, renew and make blood. do all exercises in well ventilated room, have clothing loose. the best time is on rising and on retiring. if they make you ache at first it is sure evidence of their doing you good. you will soon be too strong to have aches and pains. do not exhaust yourself in the exercises, just take them till the body glows and the muscles are well exercised. faithfully persist in these exercises and breathings. * * * * * marrying a goose does not assure one of a bed of swans-down. * * * * * never ask a man who gave him his black eye; nobody gave it to him, he probably had to fight hard for it. * * * * * when discussing the modern dress, keep in mind that a bare statement is not necessarily the naked truth. * * * * * there is a difference between notoriety and merit. a thousand dollars worth of roses will barely fill a room with perfume, but with a dollar's worth of fried onions you can scent up a whole town. * * * * * the american people lose three million years every twelve months by being sick. the doctor's fees amount to a billion and two hundred and twenty million. wonder what the master of life meant when he said: "i am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly." =lesson sixth supreme internal vibrations good digestion rules the world=: digestion is a matter of vibration. indigestion is on the increase because people are more and more sedentary in their habits. walking is life's finest exercise, but people walk less now than ever. the human body's great vibrator is the diaphragm. arouse it and you will arouse action in your digestive tract, your liver, and kidneys. continue vibration from one minute to as long as you please. if these vibrations are continued a few minutes each day, no cancer or tumor would ever develop, and the thousand different stomach ills would disappear. the diaphragm is a great muscle area stretched out for the stomach, intestines and vital organs to exercise on, and to give them freedom. =vibrations for intestines:= begin slowly, take a deep breath, then vibrate your abdomen in and out by using the inner muscles of the diaphragm. vibrate slowly then more rapidly. force the vibrations downward upon the intestines. you may feel a little pain at first, which shows the weakness of the intestinal muscles, that passes away. the diaphragm is the great digestive engine of the body, work it all you can. =vibrations for stomach and solar plexus:= raise the vibrations upward, just as before you forced them downward. repeat the series with full breath several times. also give the vibrations with a little twist of the body, so as to get the circular movement over the stomach. vibrate the solar plexus with short, sharp vibrations far up into the chest, this will cover the muscles of the lungs and of the heart. this is a very essential work as it gives new strength to those muscles of the heart and lungs to ward off acute attacks of any kind. =vibration for torpid liver:= direct the vibrations to the right side. do them strongly so as to arouse the liver thoroughly. this is a very important exercise as it bears directly on rheumatism, it releases the acids, starts secretions flowing. rheumatism calls for dry climates, non-acid diet. avoid sweets and starch, take salt water baths, drink lithia water. walk all you can. change your work. be sure to drink a cup of hot water each morning on rising. put a little salt in to help cleanse the stomach of septic acids. drink two cups, all the better. =constipation:= the best vibration and advice is that above for this trouble. be regular about going to the toilet each morning. eat vegetable diet, rye bread, or graham. eat little meat, chew your food to a liquid mastication. keep up the intestinal vibrations, in days your constipation will be a trouble of the past. =headaches and biliousness:= these are the results of auto-intoxication, the worry, hurry, eating fast, eating too much, over exerting, anxiety, all of these poison the process of digestion and assimilation. take a dose of epsom salts, castor oil, or cascara sagrada, then regulate your diet. rest in bed for a day. this done at once will save many a siege of sickness. =obesity:= keep up the internal vibrations all over the body. keep up the exercises of lesson seventh. reducing is a moral resolve to eat less. if you are a coward you cannot reduce, if your appetite, that is unreal, unnatural and dangerous, makes you its slave so that you eat , units of food when , is a great sufficiency, then you lack moral will force to reduce. drink the hot water as above, or put into it a little lemon juice. when you feel hunger come on drink a cup of the lemon hot water, just a few drops of the lemon juice. get so you can go without your noon lunch except one-half slice of bread and a cup of hot water one-quarter milk. keep up walking. keep up the body building exercises. rub and massage the face and neck. do not eat fat, pastry, confection, or starchy foods. eat slowly, fletcherize each mouthful, it will reduce you, give you a new taste of flavors not known to the glutton. abhor being fat, unshapely, and be unhappy over it, but never tell others how you feel. keep your deficiencies to yourself, master them, be free of them, then living will become a joy, your body a daily delight, and you shall possess a supreme personality. =have a new body:= there is no condition physical or mental that cannot be changed, even deformities, and deficiencies can be improved. set your mind on what you want to be, then work for it. set a mark at what you wish to weigh and then bravely, happily, with joyous courage seek to attain it. you will. command your body. keep moving toward your ideal. health is a result of harmony. by the force of the will acting in obedience to the mind, is the body made perfect. * * * * * you are no fool if you know how to sin charmingly. * * * * * the most fertile source of family trouble on earth is an inheritance. * * * * * do not spend your life leading asses to fountains of wisdom, for you cannot make them think. * * * * * the life path of many people is like york street in new haven, it begins with a hospital, is populated with doctors and ends at the cemetery. * * * * * all nature is triune: earth, water, atmosphere. her agents are: heat, light, electricity; ether, magnetism, aura. her kingdoms are: mineral, vegetable, animal. her animal life is: aquatic, terrestrial, aerial. her formations are: angular, circular, spiral. man, her highest creation is: physical, mental, spiritual. if you cannot realize your ideal, idealize your real. * * * * * sleep is one of nature's sanctuaries; an alarm-clock has no more right to disturb it than a fog-horn has to blow off in a prayer-meeting. * * * * * be glad when you meet "a crank," he may give you a suggestion that will make you "a self-starter." * * * * * very few men are smart enough to fill five reels with genuine dare-devil acts of villainy, and get away with it, by coming out an angel at the end of the film. * * * * * heart failure is largely acute indigestion from selfishness. sunstroke is quite likely brought on by anger and anxiety "het-up" by relatives. apoplexy is hate breaking up housekeeping. paresis is free-love embellished with champagne. appendicitis is a six-cylinder appetite hitched to a half horse power ambition. nervous prostration is a self-love "movie" trying to cover the earth in a single-reel. pneumonia is vanity over-heated in seal skin. * * * * * =lesson seventh= =supreme mental healing= =the supreme mind:= the previous lessons give you the key to supreme mental healing. your mind is limitless. begin where you may, conditions do not count. no matter how weak, how isolated, how deep in the mire of trouble, you can rise, you can be free, you can be renewed. you may have a whole library of all sorts of books and treatises on healing. you may have a library of biology and pathology, but you can never read yourself well. what you need is what i have sought to give you, positive working plans. it takes some work to build a hut, more to build a comfortable home, still more to build a palace of luxury. how much mind and will work are you willing to devote to build your body into a temple of the living god? =mental confusion:= make an easy plan for each day. relax your mind tension, let down your body tension, eat less, drink water, walk in the open air. change your thought to new plans, new work. let go of the past. have nothing to do with the future. sweep aside the odds and ends that litter your mind. let go by denying them any place in your mind. talk with strong people. leave weak, useless people alone. take a salt bath, by going into the ocean, or in your own tub, using a full pint of common salt. do not tell your troubles to another, help another in trouble to get out, and you will get out yourself. make new plans. =worry and fear:= ask yourself this question: "how many things i have worried about and feared ever happened to me?" you will see how few, and only those you attracted. worry is lost energy. it is like a rocking chair, keeps going but never gets anywhere. it is like a mill-owner starting all the machinery of his mill, then going away, leaving it running to injury and destruction. it is a miserable habit. it makes you and others near you unhappy. it destroys your usefulness, injures your health, kills joy. quit the habit. how? by forming new plans of thought, work, expression, activity, and living only one day at a time. stop resisting, struggling, let go of selfish purpose, and start loving. make a change. start new. grow something, make something, laugh when you think you are going to cry. =depressive moods:= dress in light colors, pink, lavender, green, red, get away from browns, blacks, and dead colors. try blue if you are nervous. eat very lightly, walk till tired, take the salt water bath, not hot but cool. stop self-pity, change your surroundings, even if all you can do is to turn your bed around. seek new people. make new plans daily. =nervous troubles:= build your body with my lesson fifth. take plenty of nourishment, sleep in the middle of the day, simplify your daily living, keep away from sick and unhappy people, stop talking about your own trials. let go. drop fretting over trifles, check selfish desires, go afield with the sheep and cattle, do not let your house-work make you a slave. plan some new outlet, do something different. banish anger, forget self, help some lame dog across the street, borrow a poor child and go out to the zoo, lift up someone who is down, do strong things, avoid excitement, keep out of the crowd, check strife and antagonism, get the happy habit. think one thing at a time, let that be a pleasant thing. =insomnia:= retire loving the world, letting go of self. drink a cup of hot water, quarter milk, with a bit of salt. relax mind and body, say the word, sleep just with the rhythmic swing of a clock pendulum slowly. you will sleep. =be rid of habits:= quit making excuses for the habit, stop lying about its being hereditary. resolve, and you are free. keep away from the cause of your habit. shame yourself when you commit it. praise yourself when you master it once. destroy the desire of your habit, by putting a good desire in its place. stop buying tobacco, or drink, and buy flowers, music, or a farm. rouse your will. severely call yourself to account when you slip. stop talking about how you suffer, or how hard it is, talk about the victory. when you are tempted, sit in silence ten minutes and say, "i am supreme." you will win over any habit that you may have. change your position. change your work. change your associations. drinking and smoking are the major habits that enslave men. the moment you become disgusted with a habit it loses power over you. when you get moral courage enough to hate it, it will flee from you. you may conquer in five days, or it may be five weeks. just set aside a vacation of that time, and fight a battle for supreme manhood. have confidence in yourself. arouse your will to splendid self-mastery. have a motive for being rid of your habit. have enthusiasm. be determined not to travel thru life loaded with a kit of bad smelling smoking tools. smoking does not stimulate, nor aid digestion, it does not clear the brain, nor sooth the nerves. it is quite the opposite. the same is true of the liquor habit. a habit is a deficiency, it is a vicious enemy that mars and defeats supreme personality. * * * * * we become like the things we think. * * * * * retire from business every night, start in business anew every morning. * * * * * it isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out, it is the grain of sand in your shoe. * * * * * all life is divine, limitless in sensation, supreme in expressions. get life, get well, get strong, get wisdom, get expression, get in love. "and men seeing your good works will glorify your father which is in heaven." * * * * * =lesson eighth= =supreme power of magnetism= =our magnetic monochrome:= you can prepare your own magnetic monochrome by careful study of the colors which most influence you. these will vary with the physical temperament of different people. the primary healing colors are: crimson, scarlet, dark blue, dark green, lively yellow, violet, and purple. the primary inspirational colors are: light blue, pale green, rose, pink, lavender, lively red. from these you can form your monochrome of almost endless results. it is wise and best to select and use just those colors which will give the greatest intensity of vibration. once you have found your responsive and sympathetic colors, those grouped together form your magnetic monochrome. magnetism is the highest form of physicalized power in the universe. it knows no resistance, it passes thru all substances and pervades all space. it is the most vital power in the universe. our modern life presents a magnetic paradox, it affords the greatest development of magnetism and is the greatest destroyer of it. it is generated by the brain, flows to the right thru the body in form of a figure . from the brain to the solar plexus, across to the left side, then down to the procreative organs and thru to the right side, and up to the solar plexus again and thru to the left side and up to the brain. the solar plexus is the body's great life centre. =personal magnetism:= keep steadily cultivating magnetism, or your supply of human electricity. the solar plexus is the great sympathetic centre of the nervous system. keep it aroused and active, and you will increase your magnetic forces. sensation, emotion and intensity of expression rise from the solar plexus. magnetism is generated by brain forces focalized by thoughts, the nerves are the medium of transfusion, colors increase the vibrations. the moist palm of the hand forms an electrode when applied to any affected part. the brain, by thought, starts the magnetic currents of healing force thru the arm into the part treated. let your eyes rest on the color of the monochrome used, the current will then be complete. by practise you can greatly intensify the healing thoughts and so increase the flow of magnetism. while giving yourself the treatment, or to others, breathe deeply and regularly. have the body relaxed while treating, better lying down. have your eyes on the color, also if treating another, have them look at the same color. =mental disorders:= in all mental disorders, like hysteria, grief, distress, fear, melancholy, select that color from your monochrome that most soothes your particular temperament. it may be light green, or yellow, or pink, or one of the blues. you will soon be able to quickly tell which gives the greater relief. use only one color at a time. you will find that after a little you can summon to your mind the color you desire without even using the actual color in the monochrome. =in case of injuries:= in case of injuries, swellings, inflammation, local pain, apply both hands where possible. have the palm of the hands always moist. to start the process of thinking that will arouse the magnetic currents, think of the affected part as well. think of the pain as leaving. now, in treating the heart for palpitation, think of it as quiet, as strong, praise the heart for its wonderful endurance and power thru the past years, think of the strong abounding heart of an ox, or moose, and think that strength into your heart, that your heart is like it in power. you will see a decided improvement. use the colors of the monochrome in such cases as will give you the best vibration, the color that best responds to you. try the red, violet, blue. most "heart troubles" are not heart troubles at all, but troubles of digestion. give attention to diet, and keep your intestinal tract clear. =treating the eyes and ears:= in all troubles of the eyes and ears apply the hands over the eyes, letting the palms rest firmly but not pressingly upon the eye, with the fingers up over the forehead, of course having the eyes closed. also treat with one palm over the eye and the other at the base of the brain. use the colors of the monochrome that give the highest intensity of magnetic response. the purple, violet, blues, and green. in treating the ears, do the same. place the palm on each side of the neck. also treat the throat with both palms, and with single treatment of one palm. it is not necessary that both hands be used at once, but it increases the force to do so. =treating the solar plexus:= treat the solar plexus daily by resting both hands lightly but firmly over the pit of the stomach. use the colors crimson, dark blue, violet, and purple. untwist your solar plexus by cheerful thinking, get new life force into its withered and neglected condition. invalidism is only a withered solar plexus. cultivate laughter to arouse it, work at laughter until you sweat profusely, do the same by walking, and other exercises. stimulate life in your solar plexus and you will return to youth. as i have said, the solar plexus is the great magnetic centre, keep it actively healthy, bathe it with sunshine. in treating the kidneys, place the palm of the hands over them flatly, and use the colors as above. treat the stomach and liver with the same colors also treat the lungs. the length of time for a treatment can vary from minutes to any length. oft'times the soothing effect will induce sleep. as placing the palms over the temples for nervous headache. the more you develop the magnetism the more readily will the effect be accomplished. * * * * * provoke an evil and you produce it. * * * * * the place to feel for the poor is in your pocket. * * * * * a kiss is something like gossip, it goes from mouth to mouth. * * * * * chewing gum is like worrying, a useless waste of energy. * * * * * keeping close tabs on the calendar and clock, induces the creepy feeling of old age. * * * * * have nothing to do with useless people, you cannot get wool by shearing a hydraulic ram. * * * * * the mothers of america will in a near by day, reset the cornerstones of this republic. * * * * * never stop a man running with a hat box in his hand, it may be his wife's hat that he is trying to get home before the style changes. * * * * * dress youthfully, keep out of shadows, love the sunlight, fresh air, the world, and the people in the world. live for others. * * * * * "let the howlers howl, let the growlers growl, let the scowlers scowl, and the gee-gaws go it. you keep in the light, be brave in your fight, you'll win alright, and i know it." --_anon_. =lesson ninth= =the supreme law of telepathy= =life is spirit:= "the spirit of man is the candle of the lord." just in the degree you think and exercise your supreme nature will you know the power of the spirit. spirit is the essence and manifestation of life. thru it you shall realize, shall experience, shall see, shall know, shall live. "his ministering spirits go to and fro thru all the earth doing his good pleasure." nothing can come except we attract and draw it. nothing can stay with us when we let go. all are made one by the spirit. you are an enthroned being. around you are forces of the spirit waiting to do your bidding. the moment you attract them, the windows of the universe are opened and the power of the spirit is poured upon you. it is everywhere. it's glory fills the earth, radiant in the glories of the sunset, shining in the soft light of the moon, gleaming in the lovely stars. waiting to minister to your needs, to fulfill your desires, to comfort you, to restore you, to endow you with power. you are of the supreme spirit. =the law of telepathy:= it is a supreme law whereby one soul may reach and minister unto another soul. it is spirit manifested thru thought waves. it is magnetism spiritualized. it is a mystical wonder of spiritual manifestations. it inspires visions, dreams, premonitions, and thru vibration of wave-thoughts gives universal communion, soul companionship, to the children of light. to use the law, sit in silence, relaxed. summon a mental picture of the person you wish to reach. get clearly as possible the actual presence in your mind. then begin to send the wave thoughts by repeating impressively to yourself, or aloud, the message of your code. never try to do this when tired, exhausted, or excited. think intently on the message and your desire to reach the mind of the person you wish to aid. students should practice both sending and receiving telepathic messages and influences daily. never think that the will, condition, or temperament of the person to whom they are directed, will retard, obstruct or destroy your work. act in supreme command. put all the intense force of your will into your wave-thoughts, magnetic ethers will be your messengers. you will likely get a direct response in a wave unison, or it may come later after your work is done. the student should bear in mind also that they may and should develop original work, make new and personal codes. the purpose of codes is to unify the wave motion and keep the mind intense. beware of selfish purpose, revenge, hate; these are the destroying angel, sure to return to you. =telepathic code for healing:= i bring you healing. you are supreme over all bodily conditions. you shall not suffer. pain shall leave you. strength is thine. you shall not die, but live. perfect good is in you and you are a part of it. i see you well. you are delivered. you are uplifted. arise and walk. go forth to thy desire. every organ and function of your body is full of health. i see you as a part of the supreme life whole, active, happy, strong. =telepathic code for guidance:= no evil shall befall thee. you are safe. fear shall not assail you. you are greater than all dangers. you shall have light with you. wisdom shall be a lamp to thy feet. courage shall illumine you. faith and hope shall be close to you. you shall not be deceived. you shall prevail. that which you seek shall be revealed unto you. your heart's desire shall be granted. you shall not err. you shall reach your aims, and shall achieve your purpose. =telepathic code for success:= all power is yours. you are supreme. wealth, possessions, friends, position and happiness are for you. ways shall open before you. opportunity will be revealed to you. bright possibilities shall be made manifest to you. you shall see an open door. abundance is yours. power to supply your needs will be given to you. doubts shall clear away leaving you free. the eyes of your mind shall be filled with light. you shall be guided to plenty. =telepathic code for friends:= all ways are open between us. i am calling to you. my soul and mind are open to you. no wrong shall endure between us. the springs of kindness shall be open to us. i am listening to your spirit. we shall be led into truth, love and happiness. our love is perfect. we shall not err. you hear the voice of my wish for you. you know my mind. all promises in truth are perfect. all is light, there is no darkness between us. there is no distance, or obstacle between us. your mind answers to my mind, your heart to my heart, your soul to my soul. when tempted, i am near to with-hold you. when disheartened i will inspire you. day and night are the same, you shall not falter. our vision shall be made real. our desires, heart longings, soul hunger shall be satisfied. our future hopes shall be actualized. our destinies realized in the pavilions of silence. your life and my life are the radiant units of the life perfect. =build the world with thought waves:= the dire curse of this world is idleness. some are working too hard, while a vast multitude idly look on. don't be a looker, be a doer. don't be a knocker, be a booster. idleness is a sin: "the wages of sin is death." that is why people who stop working soon die off. "if a man will not work, neither shall he eat." he can't eat long. he loses his appetite, spoils his digestion, gets heart failure. when you retire from business, from work, from active aggressive occupation, you want to buy your lot in the grave-yard at once. "if i were rich", do you say? stuff and nonsense, if you were rich you would be unbearably meaner than you are now, a hundred times more stupidly useless. what you need is punch. you have lost your grip, grit and punch. and no matter if you are ninety years old you can get them all back. how? listen. build the world with thought waves. begin with your world, what is it? the kitchen or the school-room? the ditch or the mayor's chair? the field or as superintendent of a railroad? a brickyard or a bank? a bench or a pulpit? a loom or grand opera? a pick or a pen? take a look at your world, what is it? now plan it, then breathe life into your plan. you cannot help others until you help yourself. you cannot save others and not be worth saving yourself. you are supreme and this is your ultimate hour. you are under the law of liberty, go to your own. free of all outward restraints, forms, commands and laws you are an absolute unit of god power in the universe. you shall be judged only by this law of liberty, the best in you and the highest good of others. use this personal code as you work: =personal code:= i am power. i am life. i am energy. i am fearless. i am strong. i am free. i am success. i am well. faith is clear, bright, shining within me. i shall be guided. i shall be given wisdom. i shall triumph. that personal code given ten minutes a day will double your power of efficiency in six months. stick to it. each day drive it harder. bring out your abilities, insight, courage, daring, and boost yourself. energy is something you generate just as the dynamo generates electricity. start your mental and physical dynamo. freight thought waves with your desires and send them out. they will come back richly laden for you. load your smiles, heart throbs, good wishes, onto thought waves and send them out, to serve others, cheer others, give hope to others, to help others across the hard places. they will come back bearing to you, "some thirty fold, some sixty fold, and some an hundred fold." happiness comes thru loving service. the student should have faith in the work entered upon. it is founded upon law and fact. some day the law will be made fully clear and operative in all departments of life. the wireless telegraph is a step in the demonstration. recently a young woman, in elizabeth, n.j. was awakened by thought waves after all medical applications had failed to arouse her from a six days' sleep. an acquaintance of the author's was warned by wave thoughts from his mother to avoid danger. he was so deeply impressed that he delayed a day, his western trip, and so missed the train that went down at ashtabula. a husband who was some miles distant transacting business received the thought waves from his wife that she was in danger. he hastened with all speed and found his home in flames. a young lady felt the impress of thought waves from a young man to whom she was engaged, and decided not to join a boating party. on the return trip the pleasure launch took fire and six of the party perished. a whole volume could be filled with most interesting cases of positive results of telepathy, or thought waves. but let the student begin and test the marvels of this mystical power. * * * * * never "squeal." live with, stand by, die for, your friends. the seventh circle of hell is reserved for "squealers." =the last word=: start now. "get thee out." "launch out into the deep." darkness shall be a pavilion around you. angels of light stand by your side. this supreme hour is yours. set sail. realize yourself as supreme, infinite, immortal, then divine. crown with glory your individuality. "now are we the sons of god." limitless life, boundless capacities of power. shut your eyes to the flesh, shut your ears to the world, shut your heart to fear, shut your soul to hate. stick to the chase until you get the trophy. search for the holy grail until true love's untiring ministry the cup in your unselfish hand sparkles and flashes in the crimson and sapphire glory of your quest. burst from your chrysalis of doubt and the supreme wings of the spirit shall sweep you forward to triumph. there is no gloom in god's universe except what we make ourselves. the skies sparkle with possibilities, calling you into their glowing fields of power and service. get passion into your chilled soul. master fate. span the universe. hurl forth the thunderbolts of your energy and the mountains of difficulty will be cast into the sea. take your place in the sun. stop reviling god by saying you are a worm of the dust, a miserable sinner, and that there is no good within you. quit damning yourself. nothing is impossible. you hold the key to the universe. mind is supreme. thought limitless. weave your spirit out of sunbeams. seize the glittering stars and they will become your chariots. you and the universe of god are one. to-day is eternal. this shining moment is everlasting. lift your eyes to visions that gleam thru the purple clouds of loveliness, from the matchless forms of beauty, and you shall see the invisible. listen to the voices that unseal the velvet lips of silence, and you shall hear the inaudible. put forth your supreme hand unto dominions, principalities and powers, and you shall do the impossible. * * * * * if you wish time to go fast, use the spur of the moment. * * * * * women were never so attractive, never dressed so beautifully as now, and they never wore so few clothes. * * * * * blame no one if you are unhappy, for every law, force and influence in the universe is for your harmony and happiness. use them. * * * * * cheer up. you are all right if you are bald headed outside, if you are not bald inside. remember, samson did his biggest killing after he lost his hair. your bald head is like paradise, there's no parting there. your teeth may be out, and your hair may be thin, yet there's many a good tune in an old violin. the optimist sees the doughnut, the pessimist sees the hole. the pessimist asks: "is there any milk in that pitcher?" the optimist asks: "will you please pass the cream?" a pessimist is a man who winds an eight-day clock every night. an optimist is a man who gives his clock away so as not to lose any good time winding it. a pessimist is a person so disagreeable, he won't eat anything that agrees with him. an optimist is a person who can eat a cottage pudding so agreeably that you think he is enjoying a brown stone palace on riverside drive. * * * * * "god give us men! a time like this demands strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready hands; men whom the lust of office does not kill; men whom the spoil of office does not buy; men who possess opinions and a will; men who have honor, men who will not lie; men who can stand before a demagogue, and damn his treacherous flatteries without winking! tall men, sun crowned, who live above the fog in public duty and in private thinking." j.g. holland. * * * * * the author of these lessons has been a student of psychotherapy, mental suggestions, and the laws of personal power, for twenty-eight years. during that time has lectured extensively in the united states, and by direct and indirect personal advice has helped many thousands of men and women to overcome severe forms of mental, physical and personal conditions, restoring them to active usefulness. if your friends cannot secure these lessons of their bookseller, have them send direct to the author, enclosing twenty-five cents coin. no person among all the millions of the earth can make you unhappy, except yourself. * * * * * =my new method of mental induction with personal advice and instruction develops four psychic forces= let me help you solve your difficult personal problems, situations, or conditions. i can aid you to be free of mental confusion, distracting circumstances, and entangling difficulties. i will help you to open new paths, create new conditions, obtain new vision, and achieve a positive mastery. a world of new realities, rich opportunities, brilliant possibilities awaits your gifts, talents and abilities. you may, and should have, success, happiness, harmony and love. you possess sources of dynamic energy, intuition, initiative and inductive power. your age does not matter, you can start anew. state your case clearly and briefly. i will also answer for you five questions upon personal matters concerning which you may desire special information, advice, or guidance. your confidence is kept inviolate. thru my new method of mental induction, i work for you and with you daily for the full realization of your desires. my terms are $ in advance, your money back, if i fail to help you. write your name and address clearly. address: dr. croft, new haven, conn. * * * * * no power on this earth can keep you down, if you will to rise. smile while you can, young man, for some day you may marry your employer's daughter, and become a millionaire; then you can't smile. * * * * * the devil laughed over-time when he inspired the alarm clock. * * * * * there once was a man who found a fat white grub eating his cucumber vines; he did not swear at it, but took it out to sea and caught a shad with it that supplied food for himself and family of nine children for a whole day. that is initiative. man a machine by julien offray de la mettrie french-english including frederick the great's "eulogy" on la mettrie and extracts from la mettrie's "the natural history of the soul" philosophical and historical notes by gertrude carman bussey m. a., wellesley college chicago the open court publishing co. copyright by the open court publishing co. table of contents. page preface v frederic the great's eulogy on julien offray de la mettrie l'homme machine man a machine the natural history of the soul: extracts appendix la mettrie's relation to his predecessors and to his successors outline of la mettrie's metaphysical doctrine notes works consulted and cited in the notes index preface. the french text presented in this volume is taken from that of a leyden edition of , in other words, from that of an edition published in the year and in the place of issue of the first edition. the title page of this edition is reproduced in the present volume. the original was evidently the work of a dutch compositor unschooled in the french language, and is full of imperfections, inconsistencies, and grammatical blunders. by the direction of the publishers these obviously typographical blunders have been corrected by m. lucien arréat of paris. the translation is the work of several hands. it is founded on a version made by miss gertrude c. bussey (from the french text in the edition of j. assezat) and has been revised by professor m. w. calkins who is responsible for it in its present form. mademoiselle m. carret, of the wellesley college department of french, and professor george santayana, of harvard university, have given valued assistance; and this opportunity is taken to acknowledge their kindness in solving the problems of interpretation which have been submitted to them. it should be added that the translation sometimes subordinates the claims of english structure and style in the effort to render la mettrie's meaning exactly. the paragraphing of the french is usually followed, but the italics and the capitals are not reproduced. the page-headings of the translation refer back to the pages of the french text; and a few words inserted by the translators are enclosed in brackets. the philosophical and historical notes are condensed and adapted from a master's thesis on la mettrie presented by miss bussey to the faculty of wellesley college. frederic the great's eulogy on julien offray de la mettrie. julien offray de la mettrie was born in saint malo, on the twenty-fifth of december, , to julien offray de la mettrie and marie gaudron, who were living by a trade large enough to provide a good education for their son. they sent him to the college of coutance to study the humanities; he went from there to paris, to the college of plessis; he studied his rhetoric at caen, and since he had much genius and imagination, he won all the prizes for eloquence. he was a born orator, and was passionately fond of poetry and belles-lettres, but his father thought that he would earn more as an ecclesiastic than as a poet, and destined him for the church. he sent him, the following year, to the college of plessis where he studied logic under m. cordier, who was more a jansenist than a logician. it is characteristic of an ardent imagination to seize forcefully the objects presented to it, as it is characteristic of youth to be prejudiced in favor of the first opinions that are inculcated. any other scholar would have adopted the opinions of his teacher but that was not enough for young la mettrie; he became a jansenist, and wrote a work which had great vogue in that party. in , he studied natural philosophy at the college of harcourt, and made great progress there. on his return to brittany, m. hunault, a doctor of saint malo, had advised him to adopt the medical profession. they had persuaded his father, assuring him that a mediocre physician would be better paid for his remedies than a good priest for absolutions. at first young la mettrie had applied himself to the study of anatomy: for two years he had worked at the dissecting-table. after this, in , he took the degree of doctor at rheims, and was there received as a physician. in , he went to leyden to study under the famous boerhaave. the master was worthy of the scholar and the scholar soon made himself worthy of the master. m. la mettrie devoted all the acuteness of his mind to the knowledge and to the healing of human infirmities; and he soon became a great physician. in the year , during his leisure moments, he translated a treatise of the late m. boerhaave, his aphrodisiacus, and joined to it a dissertation on venereal maladies, of which he himself was the author. the old physicians in france rose up against a scholar who affronted them by knowing as much as they. one of the most celebrated doctors of paris did him the honor of criticizing his work (a sure proof that it was good). la mettrie replied; and, to confound his adversary still more, he composed in a treatise on vertigo, esteemed by all impartial physicians. by an unfortunate effect of human imperfection a certain base jealousy has come to be one of the characteristics of men of letters. this feeling incites those who have reputations, to oppose the progress of budding geniuses. this blight often fastens on talents without destroying them, but it sometimes injures them. m. la mettrie, who was advancing in the career of science at a giant's pace, suffered from this jealousy, and his quick temper made him too susceptible to it. in saint malo, he translated the "aphorisms" of boerhaave, the "materia medica," the "chemical proceedings," the "chemical theory," and the "institutions," by this same author. about the same time, he published an abstract of sydenham. the young doctor had learned by premature experience, that if he wished to live in peace, it was better to translate than to compose; but it is characteristic of genius to escape from reflection. counting on himself alone, if i may speak thus, and filled with the knowledge he had gained from his infinitely skilful researches into nature, he wished to communicate to the public the useful discoveries he had made. he published his treatise on smallpox, his "practical medicine," and six volumes of commentary on the physiology of boerhaave. all these works appeared at paris, although the author had written them at saint malo. he joined to the theory of his art an always successful practice, which is no small recommendation for a physician. in , la mettrie came to paris, led there by the death of m. hunault, his old teacher. morand and sidobre introduced him to the duke of gramont, who, a few days after, obtained for him the commission of physician of the guards. he accompanied the duke to war, and was with him at the battle of dettingen, at the siege of freiburg, and at the battle of fontenoy, where he lost his patron, who was killed by a cannon shot. la mettrie felt this loss all the more keenly, because it was at the same time the reef on which his fortune was wrecked. this is what happened. during the campaign of freiburg, la mettrie had an attack of violent fever. for a philosopher an illness is a school of physiology; he believed that he could clearly see that thought is but a consequence of the organization of the machine, and that the disturbance of the springs has considerable influence on that part of us which the metaphysicians call soul. filled with these ideas during his convalescence, he boldly bore the torch of experience into the night of metaphysics; he tried to explain by the aid of anatomy the thin texture of understanding, and he found only mechanism where others had supposed an essence superior to matter. he had his philosophic conjectures printed under the title of "the natural history of the soul." the chaplain of the regiment sounded the tocsin against him, and at first sight all the devotees cried out against him. the common ecclesiastic is like don quixote, who found marvelous adventures in commonplace events, or like the famous soldier, so engrossed with his system that he found columns in all the books he read. the majority of priests examine all works of literature as if they were treatises on theology, and filled with this one aim, they discover heresies everywhere. to this fact are due very many false judgments and very many accusations, for the most part unfair, against the authors. a book of physics should be read in the spirit of a physicist; nature, the truth, is its sole judge, and should absolve or condemn it. a book of astronomy should be read in the same manner. if a poor physician proves that the blow of a stick smartly rapped on the skull disturbs the mind, or that at a certain degree of heat reason wanders, one must either prove the contrary or keep quiet. if a skilful astronomer proves, in spite of joshua, that the earth and all the celestial globes revolve around the sun, one must either calculate better than he, or admit that the earth revolves. but the theologians, who, by their continual apprehension, might make the weak believe that their cause is bad, are not troubled by such a small matter. they insisted on finding seeds of heresy in a work dealing with physics. the author underwent a frightful persecution, and the priests claimed that a doctor accused of heresy could not cure the french guards. to the hatred of the devotees was joined that of his rivals for glory. this was rekindled by a work of la mettrie's entitled "the politics of physicians." a man full of cunning, and carried away by ambition, aspired to the place, then vacant, of first physician to the king of france. he thought that he could gain it by heaping ridicule upon those of his contemporaries who might lay claim to this position. he wrote a libel against them, and abusing the easy friendship of la mettrie, he enticed him to lend to it the volubility of his pen, and the richness of his imagination. nothing more was needed to complete the downfall of a man little known, against whom were all appearances, and whose only protection was his merit. for having been too sincere as a philosopher and too obliging as a friend, la mettrie was compelled to leave his country. the duke of duras and the viscount of chaila advised him to flee from the hatred of the priests and the revenge of the physicians. therefore, in , he left the hospitals of the army where he had been placed by m. sechelles, and came to leyden to philosophize in peace. he there composed his "penelope," a polemical work against the physicians in which, after the fashion of democritus, he made fun of the vanity of his profession. the curious result was that the doctors themselves, though their quackery was painted in true colors, could not help laughing when they read it, and that is a sure sign that they had found more wit than malice in it. m. la mettrie after losing sight of his hospitals and his patients, gave himself up completely to speculative philosophy; he wrote his "man a machine" or rather he put on paper some vigorous thoughts about materialism, which he doubtless planned to rewrite. this work, which was bound to displease men who by their position are declared enemies of the progress of human reason, roused all the priests of leyden against its author. calvinists, catholics and lutherans forgot for the time that consubstantiation, free will, mass for the dead, and the infallibility of the pope divided them: they all united again to persecute a philosopher who had the additional misfortune of being french, at a time when that monarchy was waging a successful war against their high powers. the title of philosopher and the reputation of being unfortunate were enough to procure for la mettrie a refuge in prussia with a pension from the king. he came to berlin in the month of february in the year ; he was there received as a member of the royal academy of science. medicine reclaimed him from metaphysics, and he wrote a treatise on dysentery, another on asthma, the best that had then been written on these cruel diseases. he sketched works on certain philosophical subjects which he had proposed to look into. by a sequence of accidents which befell him these works were stolen, but he demanded their suppression as soon as they appeared. la mettrie died in the house of milord tirconnel, minister plenipotentiary of france, whose life he had saved. it seems that the disease, knowing with whom it had to deal, was clever enough to attack his brain first, so that it would more surely confound him. he had a burning fever and was violently delirious. the invalid was obliged to depend upon the science of his colleagues, and he did not find there the resources which he had so often found in his own, both for himself and for the public. he died on the eleventh of november, , at the age of forty-three years. he had married louise charlotte dréano, by whom he left only a daughter, five years and a few months old. la mettrie was born with a fund of natural and inexhaustible gaiety; he had a quick mind, and such a fertile imagination that it made flowers grow in the field of medicine. nature had made him an orator and a philosopher; but a yet more precious gift which he received from her, was a pure soul and an obliging heart. all those who are not imposed upon by the pious insults of the theologians mourn in la mettrie a good man and a wise physician. facsimile of title page of the leyden edition l'homme machine. est-ce là ce raion de l'essence suprème, que l'on nous peint si lumineux? est-ce là cet esprit survivant à nous même? il naît avec nos sens, croit, s'affoiblit comme eux. helas! il périra de même. voltaire. À leyde, de l'imp. d'elie luzac, fils. ----- mdccxlviii. l'homme machine. il ne suffit pas à un sage d'étudier la nature et la vérité; il doit oser la dire en faveur du petit nombre de ceux qui veulent et peuvent penser; car pour les autres, qui sont volontairement esclaves des préjugés, il ne leur est pas plus possible d'atteindre la vérité, qu'aux grenouilles de voler. je réduis à deux les systèmes des philosophes sur l'âme de l'homme. le premier, et le plus ancien, est le système du matérialisme; le second est celui du spiritualisme. les métaphysiciens qui ont insinué que la matière pourrait bien avoir la faculté de penser, n'ont pas déshonoré leur raison. pourquoi? c'est qu'ils ont cet avantage (car ici c'en est un) de s'être mal exprimés. en effet, demander si la matière peut penser, sans la considérer autrement qu'en elle-même, c'est demander si la matière peut marquer les heures. on voit d'avance que nous éviterons cet écueil, où mr. locke a eu le malheur d'échouer. les leibniziens, avec leurs monades, ont élevé une hypothèse inintelligible. ils ont plutôt spiritualisé la matière, que matérialisé l'âme. comment peut-on définir un être dont la nature nous est absolument inconnue? descartes, et tous les cartésiens, parmi lesquels il y a longtemps qu'on a compté les malebranchistes, ont fait la même faute. ils ont admis deux substances distinctes dans l'homme, comme s'ils les avaient vues et bien comptées. les plus sages ont dit que l'âme ne pouvait se connaître que par les seules lumières de la foi: cependant, en qualité d'êtres raisonnables, ils ont cru pouvoir se réserver le droit d'examiner ce que l'ecriture a voulu dire par le mot esprit, dont elle se sert en parlant de l'âme humaine; et dans leurs recherches, s'ils ne sont pas d'accord sur ce point avec les théologiens, ceux-ci le sont-ils davantage entr'eux sur tous les autres? voici en peu de mots le résultat de toutes leurs réflexions. s'il y a un dieu, il est auteur de la nature, comme de la révélation; il nous a donné l'une, pour expliquer l'autre; et la raison, pour les accorder ensemble. se défier des connaissances qu'on peut puiser dans les corps animés, c'est regarder la nature et la révélation comme deux contraires qui se détruisent; et par conséquent, c'est oser soutenir cette absurdité: que dieu se contredit dans ses divers ouvrages, et nous trompe. s'il y a une révélation, elle ne peut donc démentir la nature. par la nature seule, on peut découvrir le sens des paroles de l'evangile, dont l'expérience seule est la véritable interprète. en effet, les autres commentateurs jusqu'ici n'ont fait qu'embrouiller la vérité. nous allons en juger par l'auteur du spectacle de la nature. "il est étonnant, dit-il (au sujet de mr. locke), qu'un homme qui dégrade notre âme jusqu'à la croire une âme de boue, ose établir la raison pour juge et souverain arbitre des mystères de la foi; car, ajoute-t-il, quelle idée étonnante aurait-on du christianisme, si l'on voulait suivre la raison?" outre que ces réflexions n'éclaircissent rien par rapport à la foi, elles forment de si frivoles objections contre la méthode de ceux qui croient pouvoir interpréter les livres saints, que j'ai presque honte de perdre le temps à les réfuter. º. l'excellence de la raison ne dépend pas d'un grand mot vide de sens (l'immatérialité); mais de sa force, de son étendue, ou de sa clairvoyance. ainsi une âme de boue, qui découvrirait, comme d'un coup d'oeil, les rapports et les suites d'une infinité d'idées difficiles à saisir, serait évidemment préférable à une âme sotte et stupide qui serait faite des éléments les plus précieux. ce n'est pas être philosophe, que de rougir avec pline de la misère de notre origine. ce qui parait vil, est ici la chose la plus précieuse, et pour laquelle la nature semble avoir mis le plus d'art et le plus d'appareil. mais comme l'homme, quand même il viendrait d'une source encore plus vile en apparence, n'en serait pas moins le plus parfait de tous les êtres, quelle que soit l'origine de son âme, si elle est pure, noble, sublime, c'est une belle âme, qui rend respectable quiconque en est doué. la seconde manière de raisonner de mr. pluche me parait vicieuse, même dans son système, qui tient un peu du fanatisme; car si nous avons une idée de la foi, qui soit contraire aux principes les plus clairs, aux vérités les plus incontestables, il faut croire, pour l'honneur de la révélation et de son auteur, que cette idée est fausse, et que nous ne connaissons point encore les sens des paroles de l'evangile. de deux choses l'une; ou tout est illusion, tant la nature même, que la révélation; ou l'expérience seule peut rendre raison de la foi. mais quel plus grand ridicule que celui de notre auteur? je m'imagine entendre un péripatéticien, qui dirait: "il ne faut pas croire l'expérience de toricelli: car si nous la croyions, si nous allions bannir l'horreur du vide, quelle étonnante philosophie aurions-nous?" j'ai fait voir combien le raisonnement de mr. pluche est vicieux, [ ] afin de prouver premièrement que s'il y a une révélation, elle n'est point suffisamment démontrée par la seule autorité de l'eglise et sans aucun examen de la raison, comme le prétendent tous ceux qui la craignent. secondement, pour mettre à l'abri de toute attaque la méthode de ceux qui voudraient suivre la voie que je leur ouvre, d'interpréter les choses surnaturelles, incompréhensibles en soi, par les lumières que chacun a reçues de la nature. l'expérience et l'observation doivent donc seules nous guider ici. elles se trouvent sans nombre dans les fastes des médecins, qui ont été philosophes, et non dans les philosophes, qui n'ont pas été médecins. ceux-ci ont parcouru, ont éclairé le labyrinthe de l'homme; ils nous ont seuls dévoilé ces ressorts cachés sous des enveloppes qui dérobent à nos yeux tant de merveilles. eux seuls, contemplant tranquillement notre âme, l'ont mille fois surprise, et dans sa misère, et dans sa grandeur, sans plus la mépriser dans l'un de ces états, que l'admirer dans l'autre. encore une fois, voilà les seuls physiciens qui aient droit de parler ici. que nous diraient les autres, et surtout les théologiens? n'est-il pas ridicule de les entendre décider sans pudeur, sur un sujet qu'ils n'ont point été à portée de connaître, dont ils ont été au contraire entièrement détournés par des études obscures, qui les ont conduits à mille préjugés, et pour tout dire en un mot, au fanatisme, qui ajoute encore à leur ignorance dans le mécanisme des corps. mais, quoique nous ayons choisi les meilleurs guides, nous trouverons encore beaucoup d'épines et d'obstacles dans cette carrière. l'homme est une machine si composée, qu'il est impossible de s'en faire d'abord une idée claire, et conséquemment de la définir. c'est pourquoi toutes les recherches que les plus grands philosophes ont faites à priori, c'est à dire, en voulant se servir en quelque sorte des ailes de l'esprit, ont été vaines. ainsi ce n'est qu'à posteriori, ou en cherchant à demêler l'âme comme au travers les organes du corps, qu'on peut, je ne dis pas découvrir avec évidence la nature même de l'homme, mais atteindre le plus grand degré de probabilité possible sur ce sujet. prenons donc le bâton de l'expérience, et laissons là l'histoire de toutes les vaines opinions des philosophes. etre aveugle, et croire pouvoir se passer de ce bâton, c'est le comble de l'aveuglement. qu'un moderne a bien raison de dire qu'il n'y a que la vanité seule qui ne tire pas des causes secondes le même parti que des premières! on peut et on doit même admirer tous ces beaux génies dans leurs travaux les plus inutiles, les descartes, les malebranche, les leibnitz, les wolf, etc.; mais quel fruit, je vous prie, a-t-on retiré de leurs profondes méditations et de tous leurs ouvrages? commençons donc et voyons, non ce qu'on a pensé, mais ce qu'il faut penser pour le repos de la vie. autant de tempéraments, autant d'esprits, de caractères et de moeurs différentes. galien même a connu cette vérité, que descartes, et non hippocrate, comme le dit l'auteur de l'histoire de l'ame, a poussée loin, jusqu'à dire que la médecine seule pouvait changer les esprits et les moeurs avec le corps. il est vrai, la mélancolie, la bile, le phlegme, le sang etc., suivant la nature, l'abondance et la diverse combinaison de ces humeurs, de chaque homme font un homme différent. dans les maladies, tantôt l'âme s'éclipse et ne montre aucun signe d'elle-même; tantôt on dirait qu'elle est double, tant la fureur la transporte; tantôt l'imbécilité se dissipe: et la convalescence d'un sot fait un homme d'esprit. tantôt le plus beau génie devenu stupide, ne se reconnait plus. adieu toutes ces belles connaissances acquises à si grands frais, et avec tant de peine! ici c'est un paralytique, qui demande si sa jambe est dans son lit: là c'est un soldat qui croit avoir le bras qu'on lui a coupé. la mémoire de ses anciennes sensations, et du lieu où son âme les rapportait, fait son illusion et son espèce de délire. il suffit de lui parler de cette partie qui lui manque, pour lui en rappeller et faire sentir tous les mouvements; ce qui se fait avec je ne sais quel déplaisir d'imagination qu'on ne peut exprimer. celui-ci pleure, comme un enfant, aux approches de la mort, que celui-là badine. que fallait-il à caius julius, à sénèque, à pétrone pour changer leur intrépidité en pusillanimité ou en poltronnerie? une obstruction dans la rate, dans le foie, un embarras dans la veine porte. pourquoi? parceque l'imagination se bouche avec les viscères; et de là naissent tous ces singuliers phénomènes de l'affection hystérique et hypocondriaque. que dirais-je de nouveau sur ceux qui s'imaginent être transformés en loups-garous, en coqs, en vampires, qui croient que les morts les sucent? pourquoi m'arrêterais-je à ceux qui voient leur nez, ou autres membres, de verre, et à qui il faut conseiller de coucher sur la paille, de peur qu'ils ne se cassent, afin qu'ils en retrouvent l'usage et la véritable chair, lorsque mettant le feu à la paille on leur fait craindre d'être brûlés: frayeur qui a quelquefois guéri la paralysie? je dois légèrement passer sur des choses connues de tout le monde. je ne serai pas plus long sur le détail des effets du sommeil. voyez ce soldat fatigué! il ronfle dans la tranchée, au bruit de cent pièces de canons! son âme n'entend rien, son sommeil est une parfaite apoplexie. une bombe va l'écraser; il sentira peut-être moins ce coup qu'un insecte qui se trouve sous le pied. d'un autre côté, cet homme que la jalousie, la haine, l'avarice ou l'ambition dévore, ne peut trouver aucun repos. le lieu le plus tranquille, les boissons les plus fraîches et les plus calmantes, tout est inutile à qui n'a pas délivré son coeur du tourment des passions. l'âme et le corps s'endorment ensemble. a mesure que le mouvement du sang se calme, un doux sentiment de paix et de tranquillité se répand dans toute la machine; l'âme se sent mollement s'appesantir avec les paupières et s'affaisser avec les fibres du cerveau: elle devient ainsi peu à peu comme paralytique, avec tous les muscles du corps. ceux-ci ne peuvent plus porter le poids de la tête; celle là ne peut plus soutenir le fardeau de la pensée; elle est dans le sommeil, comme n'étant point. la circulation se fait-elle avec trop de vitesse? l'âme ne peut dormir. l'âme est-elle trop agitée, le sang ne peut se calmer; il galope dans les veines avec un bruit qu'on entend: telles sont les deux causes réciproques de l'insomnie. une seule frayeur dans les songes fait battre le coeur à coups redoublés, et nous arrache à la nécessité, ou à la douceur du repos, comme feraient une vive douleur ou des besoins urgents. enfin, comme la seule cessation des fonctions de l'âme procure le sommeil, il est, même pendant la veille (qui n'est alors qu'une demi-veille), des sortes de petits sommeils d'âme très fréquents, des rêves à la suisse, qui prouvent que l'âme n'attend pas toujours le corps pour dormir; car si elle ne dort pas tout-à-fait, combien peu s'en faut-il! puisqu'il lui est impossible d'assigner un seul objet auquel elle ait prêté quelque attention, parmi cette foule innombrable d'idées confuses, qui comme autant de nuages remplissent, pour ainsi dire, l'atmosphère de notre cerveau. l'opium a trop de rapport avec le sommeil qu'il procure, pour ne pas le placer ici. ce remède enivre, ainsi que le vin, le café, et chacun à sa manière, et suivant sa dose. il rend l'homme heureux dans un état qui semblerait devoir être le tombeau du sentiment, comme il est l'image de la mort. quelle douce léthargie! l'âme n'en voudrait jamais sortir. elle était en proie aux plus grandes douleurs; elle ne sent plus que le seul plaisir de ne plus suffrir et de jouir de la plus charmante tranquillité. l'opium change jusqu'à la volonté; il force l'âme qui voulait veiller et se divertir, d'aller se mettre au lit malgré elle. je passe sous silence l'histoire des poisons. c'est en fouettant l'imagination, que le café, cet antidote du vin, dissipe nos maux de tête et nos chagrins, sans nous en ménager, comme cette liqueur, pour le lendemain. contemplons l'âme dans ses autres besoins. le corps humain est une machine qui monte elle-même ses ressorts; vivante image du mouvement perpétuel. les aliments entretiennent ce que la fièvre excite. sans eux l'âme languit, entre en fureur et meurt abattue. c'est une bougie dont la lumière se ranime, au moment de s'éteindre. mais nourrissez le corps, versez dans ses tuyaux des sucs vigoureux, des liqueurs fortes; alors l'âme généreuse comme elles s'arme d'un fier courage et le soldat que l'eau eut fait fuir, devenu féroce, court gaiement à la mort au bruit des tambours. c'est ainsi que l'eau chaude agite un sang que l'eau froide eut calmé. quelle puissance d'un repas! la joie renaît dans un coeur triste; elle passe dans l'âme des convives qui l'expriment par d'aimables chansons, où les français excellent. le mélancolique seul est accablé, et l'homme d'étude n'y est plus propre. la viande crue rend les animaux féroces; les hommes le deviendraient par la même nourriture; cela est si vrai, que la nation anglaise, qui ne mange pas la chair si cuite que nous, mais rouge et sanglante, parait participer de cette férocité plus ou moins grande, qui vient en partie de tels aliments, et d'autres causes, que l'éducation peut seule rendre impuissantes. cette férocité produit dans l'âme l'orgueil, la haine, le mépris des autres nations, l'indocilité et autres sentiments, qui dépravent le caractère, comme des aliments grossiers font un esprit lourd, épais, dont la paresse et l'indolence sont les attributs favoris. mr. pope a bien connu tout l'empire de la gourmandise, lorsqu'il dit: "le grave catius parle toujours de vertu, et croit que, qui souffre les vicieux est vicieux lui-même. ces beaux sentiments durent jusqu'à l'heure du diner; alors il préfère un scélérat, qui a une table délicate, à un saint frugal. "considérez, dit-il ailleurs, le même homme en santé, ou en maladie; possédant une belle charge, ou l'ayant perdue; vous le verrez chérir la vie, ou la détester, fou à la chasse, ivrogne dans une assemblée de province, poli au bal, bon ami en ville, sans foi à la cour." nous avons eu en suisse un bailli, nommé steiguer de wittighofen; il était à jeûn le plus intègre et même le plus indulgent des juges; mais malheur au misérable qui se trouvait sur la sellette, lorsqu'il avait fait un grand diner! il était homme à faire pendre l'innocent, comme le coupable. nous pensons, et même nous ne sommes honnêtes gens, que comme nous sommes gais, ou braves; tout dépend de la manière dont notre machine est montée. on dirait en certains moments que l'âme habite dans l'estomac, et que van helmont, en mettant son siège dans le pylore, ne se serait trompé qu'en prenant la partie pour le tout. a quels excès la faim cruelle peut nous porter! plus de respect pour les entrailles auxquelles on doit ou on a donné la vie; on les déchire à belles dents, on s'en fait d'horribles festins; et dans la fureur dont on est transporté, le plus faible est toujours la proie du plus fort. la grossesse, cette émule désirée des pâles couleurs, ne se contente pas d'amener le plus souvent à sa suite les goûts dépravés qui accompagnent ces deux états: elle a quelquefois fait exécuter à l'âme les plus affreux complots; effets d'une manie subite, qui étouffe jusqu'à la loi naturelle. c'est ainsi que le cerveau, cette matrice de l'esprit, se pervertit à sa manière, avec celle du corps. quelle autre fureur d'homme ou de femme, dans ceux que la continence et la santé poursuivent! c'est peu pour cette fille timide et modeste d'avoir perdu toute honte et toute pudeur; elle ne regarde plus l'inceste, que comme une femme galante regarde l'adultère. si ses besoins ne trouvent pas de prompts soulagements, ils ne se borneront point aux simples accidents d'une passion utérine, à la manie, etc.; cette malheureuse mourra d'un mal, dont il y a tant de médecins. il ne faut que des yeux pour voir l'influence nécessaire de l'âge sur la raison. l'âme suit les progrès du corps, comme ceux de l'éducation. dans le beau sexe, l'âme suit encore la délicatesse du tempérament: de là cette tendresse, cette affection, ces sentiments vifs, plutôt fondés sur la passion que sur la raison, ces préjugés, ces superstitions, dont la forte empreinte peut à peine s'effacer, etc. l'homme, au contraire, dont le cerveau et les nerfs participent de la fermeté de tous les solides, a l'esprit, ainsi que les traits du visage, plus nerveux: l'éducation, dont manquent les femmes, ajoute encore de nouveaux degrés de force à son âme. avec de tels secours de la nature et de l'art, comment ne serait-il pas plus reconnaissant, plus généreux, plus constant en amitié, plus ferme dans l'adversité? etc. mais, suivant à peu près la pensée de l'auteur des lettres sur les physionomies, qui joint les grâces de l'esprit et du corps à presque tous les sentiments du c�ur les plus tendres et les plus délicats ne doit point nous envier une double force, qui ne semble avoir été donnée à l'homme, l'une, que pour se mieux pénétrer des attraits de la beauté, l'autre, que pour mieux servir à ses plaisirs. il n'est pas plus nécessaire d'être aussi grand physionomiste que cet auteur pour deviner la qualité de l'esprit par la figure ou la forme des traits, lorsqu'ils sont marqués jusqu'à un certain point, qu'il ne l'est d'être grand médecin pour connaître un mal accompagné de tous ses symptomes évidents. examinez les portraits de locke, de steele, de boerhaave, de maupertuis, etc. vous ne serez point surpris de leur trouver des physionomies fortes, des yeux d'aigle. parcourez-en une infinité d'autres, vous distinguerez toujours le beau du grand génie, et même souvent l'honnête homme du fripon. on a remarqué, par exemple, qu'un poète célèbre réunit (dans son portrait) l'air d'un filou, avec le feu de prométhée. l'histoire nous offre un mémorable exemple de la puissance de l'air. le fameux duc de guise était si fort convaincu que henri iii. qui l'avait eu tant de fois en son pouvoir, n'oserait jamais l'assassiner, qu'il partit pour blois. le chancelier chyverni apprenant son départ, s'écria: voilà un homme perdu! lorsque sa fatale prédiction fut justifiée par l'événement, on lui en demanda la raison. il y a vingt ans, dit-il, que je connais le roi; il est naturellement bon et même faible; mais j'ai observé qu'un rien l'impatiente et le met en fureur, lorsqu'il fait froid. tel peuple a l'esprit lourd et stupide; tel autre l'a vif, léger, pénétrant. d'où cela vient-il, si ce n'est en partie, et de la nourriture qu'il prend, et de la semence de ses pères, [ ] et de ce chaos de divers éléments qui nagent dans l'immensité de l'air? l'esprit a, comme le corps, ses maladies épidémiques et son scorbut. tel est l'empire du climat, qu'un homme qui en change se ressent malgré lui de ce changement. c'est une plante ambulante, qui s'est elle-même transplantée; si le climat n'est plus le même, il est juste qu'elle dégénère, ou s'améliore. on prend tout encore de ceux avec qui l'on vit, leurs gestes, leurs accents, etc., comme la paupière se baisse à la menace du coup dont on est prévenu, ou par la même raison que le corps du spectateur imite machinalement, et malgré lui, tous les mouvements d'un bon pantomime. ce que je viens de dire prouve que la meilleure compagnie pour un homme d'esprit, est la sienne, s'il n'en trouve une semblable. l'esprit se rouille avec ceux qui n'en ont point, faute d'être exercé: à la paume, on renvoie mal la balle à qui la sert mal. j'aimerais mieux un homme intelligent, qui n'aurait eu aucune éducation, que s'il en eût eu une mauvaise, pourvu qu'il fût encore assez jeune. un esprit mal conduit est un acteur que la province a gâté. les divers états de l'âme sont donc toujours corrélatifs à ceux du corps. mais, pour mieux démontrer toute cette dépendance et ses causes, servons-nous ici de l'anatomie comparée; ouvrons les entrailles de l'homme et des animaux. le moyen de connaître la nature humaine, si l'on n'est éclairé par un juste parallèle de la structure des uns et des autres! en général, la forme et la composition du cerveau des quadrupèdes est à peu près la même que dans l'homme. même figure, même disposition partout; avec cette différence essentielle, que l'homme est de tous les animaux celui qui a le plus de cerveau, et le cerveau le plus tortueux, en raison de la masse de son corps. ensuite le singe, le castor, l'éléphant, le chien, le renard, le chat, etc., voilà les animaux qui ressemblent le plus à l'homme; car on remarque aussi chez eux la même analogie graduée, par rapport au corps calleux, dans lequel lancisi avait établi le siège de l'âme, avant feu mr. de la peyronnie, qui cependant a illustré cette opinion par une foule d'expériences. après tous les quadrupèdes, ce sont les oiseaux qui ont le plus de cerveau. les poissons ont la tête grosse; mais elle est vide de sens, comme celle de bien des hommes. ils n'ont point de corps calleux et fort peu de cerveau, lequel manque aux insectes. je ne me répandrai point en un plus long détail des variétés de la nature, ni en conjectures, car les unes et les autres sont infinies, comme on en peut juger en lisant les seuls traités de willis, de cerebro, et de anima brutorum. je conclûrai seulement ce qui s'en suit clairement de ces incontestables observations: o que plus les animaux sont farouches, moins ils ont de cerveau; o que ce viscère semble s'agrandir, en quelque sorte, à proportion de leur docilité; o qu'il y a ici une singulière condition imposée éternellement par la nature, qui est que plus on gagnera du côté de l'esprit, plus on perdra du côté de l'instinct. lequel l'emporte, de la perte ou du gain? ne croyez pas, au reste, que je veuille prétendre par là que le seul volume du cerveau suffise pour faire juger du degré de docilité des animaux; il faut que la qualité réponde encore à la quantité, et que les solides et les fluides soient dans cet équilibre convenable qui fait la santé. si l'imbécile ne manque pas de cerveau, comme on le remarque ordinairement, ce viscère péchera par une mauvaise consistance, par trop de mollesse, par exemple. il en est de même des fous; les vices de leur cerveau ne se dérobent pas toujours à nos recherches; mais si les causes de l'imbécilité, de la folie, etc. ne sont pas sensibles, où aller chercher celles de la variété de tous les esprits? elles échapperaient aux yeux des lynx et des argus. un rien, une petite fibre, quelque chose que la plus subtile anatomie ne peut découvrir, eut fait deux sots d'erasme et de fontenelle, qui le remarque lui même dans un de ses meilleurs dialogues. outre la mollesse de la moëlle du cerveau, dans les enfants, dans les petits chiens et dans les oiseaux, willis a remarqué que les corps cannelés sont effacés et comme décolorés dans tous ces animaux, et que leurs stries sont aussi imparfaitement formées que dans les paralytiques. il ajoute, ce qui est vrai, que l'homme a la protubérance annulaire fort grosse; et ensuite toujours diminutivement par dégrés, le singe et les autres animaux nommés ci-devant, tandis que le veau, le boeuf, le loup, la brebis, le cochon, etc. qui ont cette partie d'un très petit volume, ont les nattes et testes fort gros. on a beau être discret et réservé sur les conséquences qu'on peut tirer de ces observations et de tant d'autres sur l'espèce d'inconstance des vaisseaux et des nerfs, etc.: tant de variétés ne peuvent être des jeux gratuits de la nature. elles prouvent du moins la nécessité d'une bonne et abondante organisation, puisque dans tout le règne animal l'âme, se raffermissant avec le corps, acquiert de la sagacité, à mesure qu'il prend des forces. arrêtons-nous à contempler la différente docilité des animaux. sans doute l'analogie la mieux entendue conduit l'esprit à croire que les causes dont nous avons fait mention produisent toute la diversité qui se trouve entr'eux et nous, quoiqu'il faille avouer que notre faible entendement, borné aux observations les plus grossières, ne puisse voir les liens qui règnent entre la cause et les effets. c'est une espèce d'harmonie que les philosophes ne connaîtront jamais. parmi les animaux, les uns apprennent à parler et à chanter; ils retiennent des airs et prennent tous les tons aussi exactement qu'un musicien. les autres, qui montrent cependant plus d'esprit, tels que le singe, n'en peuvent venir à bout. pourquoi cela, si ce n'est par un vice des organes de la parole? mais ce vice est-il tellement de conformation, qu'on n'y puisse apporter aucun remède? en un mot serait-il absolument impossible d'apprendre une langue à cet animal? je ne le crois pas. je prendrais le grand singe préférablement à tout autre, jusqu'à ce que le hasard nous eût fait découvrir quelque autre espèce plus semblable à la nôtre, car rien ne répugne qu'il y en ait dans des régions qui nous sont inconnues. cet animal nous ressemble si fort, que les naturalistes l'ont appelé homme sauvage, ou homme des bois. je le prendrais aux mêmes conditions des écoliers d'amman; c'est-à-dire, que je voudrais qu'il ne fût ni trop jeune ni trop vieux; car ceux qu'on nous apporte en europe sont communément trop âgés. je choisirais celui qui aurait la physionomie la plus spirituelle, et qui tiendrait le mieux dans mille petites opérations ce qu'elle m'aurait promis. enfin, ne me trouvant pas digne d'être son gouverneur, je le mettrais à l'école de l'excellent maître que je viens de nommer, ou d'un autre aussi habile, s'il en est. vous savez par le livre d'amman, et par tous ceux [ ] qui ont traduit sa méthode, tous les prodiges qu'il a su opérer sur les sourds de naissance, dans les yeux desquels il a, comme il le fait entendre lui-même, trouvé des oreilles; et en combien peu de temps enfin il leur a appris à entendre, parler, lire, et écrire. je veux que les yeux d'un sourd voient plus clair et soient plus intelligents que s'il ne l'était pas, par la raison que la perte d'un membre ou d'un sens peut augmenter la force ou la pénétration d'un autre: mais le singe voit et entend; il comprend ce qu'il entend et ce qu'il voit; il conçoit si parfaitement les signes qu'on lui fait, qu'à tout autre jeu, ou tout autre exercice, je ne doute point qu'il ne l'emportât sur les disciples d'amman. pourquoi donc l'éducation des singes serait-elle impossible? pourquoi ne pourrait-il enfin, à force de soins, imiter, à l'exemple des sourds, les mouvemens nécessaires pour prononcer? je n'ose décider si les organes de la parole du singe ne peuvent, quoiqu'on fasse, rien articuler; mais cette impossibilité absolue me surprendrait, à cause de la grande analogie du singe et de l'homme, et qu'il n'est point d'animal connu jusqu'à présent, dont le dedans et le dehors lui ressemblent d'une manière si frappante. mr. locke, qui certainement n'a jamais été suspect de crédulité, n'a pas fait difficulté de croire l'histoire que le chevalier temple fait dans ses mémoires, d'un perroquet qui répondait à propos et avait appris, comme nous, à avoir une espèce de conversation suivie. je sais qu'on s'est moqué [ ] de ce grand métaphysicien; mais qui aurait annoncé à l'univers qu'il y a des générations qui se font sans oeufs et sans femmes, aurait-il trouvé beaucoup de partisans? cependant mr. trembley en a découvert, qui se font sans accouplement, et par la seule section. amman n'eût-il pas aussi passé pour un fou, s'il se fût vanté, avant que d'en faire l'heureuse expérience, d'instruire, et en aussi peu de temps, des écoliers tels que les siens? cependant ses succès ont étonné l'univers, et comme l'auteur de l'histoire des polypes, il a passé de plein vol à l'immortalité. qui doit à son génie les miracles qu'il opère, l'emporte à mon gré sur qui doit les siens au hasard. qui a trouvé l'art d'embellir le plus beau des règnes, et de lui donner des perfections qu'il n'avait pas, doit être mis au-dessus d'un faiseur oisif de systèmes frivoles, ou d'un auteur laborieux de stériles découvertes. celles d'amman sont bien d'un autre prix; il a tiré les hommes de l'instinct auquel ils semblaient condamnés; il leur a donné les idées, de l'esprit, une âme en un mot, qu'ils n'eûssent jamais eue. quel plus grand pouvoir! ne bornons point les ressources de la nature; elles sont infinies, surtout aidées d'un grand art. la même mécanique, qui ouvre le canal d'eustachi dans les sourds, ne pourrait-il le déboucher dans les singes? une heureuse envie d'imiter la prononciation du maître, ne pourrait-elle mettre en liberté les organes de la parole, dans les animaux qui imitent tant d'autres signes, avec tant d'adresse et d'intelligence? non seulement je défie qu'on me cite aucune expérience vraiment concluante, qui décide mon projet impossible et ridicule; mais la similitude de la structure et des opérations du singe est telle, que je ne doute presque point, si on exerçait parfaitement cet animal, qu'on ne vînt enfin à bout de lui apprendre à prononcer, et par conséquent à savoir une langue. alors ce ne serait plus ni un homme sauvage, ni un homme manqué: ce serait un homme parfait, un petit homme de ville, avec autant d'étoffe ou de muscles que nous-mêmes, pour penser et profiter de son éducation. des animaux à l'homme, la transition n'est pas violente; les vrais philosophes en conviendront. qu'était l'homme, avant l'invention des mots et la connaissance des langues? un animal de son espèce, qui avec beaucoup moins d'instinct naturel que les autres, dont alors il ne se croyait pas roi, n'était distingué du singe et des autres animaux que comme le singe l'est lui-même; je veux dire par une physionomie qui annonçait plus de discernement. réduit à la seule connaissance intuitive des leibniziens, il ne voyait que des figures et des couleurs, sans pouvoir rien distinguer entr'elles; vieux, comme jeune, enfant à tout âge, il bégayait ses sensations et ses besoins, comme un chien affamé, ou ennuyé de repos, demande à manger ou à se promener. les mots, les langues, les lois, les sciences, les beaux-arts sont venus; et par eux enfin le diamant brut de notre esprit a été poli. on a dressé un homme, comme un animal; on est devenu auteur, comme portefaix. un géomètre a appris à faire les démonstrations et les calculs les plus difficiles, comme un singe à ôter ou mettre son petit chapeau, et à monter sur son chien docile. tout s'est fait par les signes; chaque espèce a compris ce qu'elle a pu comprendre: et c'est de cette manière que les hommes ont acquis la connaissance symbolique, ainsi nommée encore par nos philosophes d'allemagne. rien de si simple, comme on voit, que la mécanique de notre éducation! tout se réduit à des sons, ou à des mots, qui de la bouche de l'un passent par l'oreille de l'autre dans le cerveau, qui reçoit en même temps par les yeux la figure des corps, dont ces mots sont les signes arbitraires. mais qui a parlé le premier? qui a été le premier précepteur du genre human? qui a inventé les moyens de mettre à profit la docilité de notre organisation? je n'en sais rien; le nom de ces heureux et premiers génies a été perdu dans la nuit des temps. mais l'art est le fils de la nature; elle a dû longtemps le précéder. on doit croire que les hommes les mieux organisés, ceux pour qui la nature aura épuisé ses bienfaits, auront instruit les autres. ils n'auront pu entendre un bruit nouveau, par exemple, éprouver de nouvelles sensations, être frappé de tous ces beaux objets divers qui forment le ravissant spectacle de la nature, sans se trouver dans le cas de ce sourd de chartres dont le grand fontenelle nous a le premier donné l'histoire, lorsqu'il entendit pour la première fois à quarante ans le bruit étonnant des cloches. de là serait-il absurde de croire que ces premiers mortels essayèrent à la manière de ce sourd, ou à celle des animaux et des muets (autre espèce d'animaux), d'exprimer leurs nouveaux sentiments par des mouvements dépendants de l'économie de leur imagination, et conséquemment ensuite par des sons spontanés propres à chaque animal, expression naturelle de leur surprise, de leur joie, de leurs transports, ou de leurs besoins? car sans doute ceux que la nature a doués d'un sentiment plus exquis, ont eu aussi plus de facilité pour l'exprimer. voilà comme je conçois que les hommes ont employé leur sentiment, ou leur instinct, pour avoir de l'esprit, et enfin leur esprit, pour avoir des connaissances. voilà par quels moyens, autant que je puis les saisir, on s'est rempli le cerveau des idées, pour le réception desquelles la nature l'avait formé. on s'est aidé l'un par l'autre; et les plus petits commencements s'agrandissant peu à peu, toutes les choses de l'univers ont été aussi facilement distinguées qu'un cercle. comme une corde de violon ou une touche de clavecin frémit et rend un son, les cordes du cerveau, frappées par les rayons sonores, ont été excitées à rendre ou à redire les mots qui les touchaient. mais comme telle est la construction de ce viscère, que dès qu'une fois les yeux bien formés pour l'optique ont reçu la peinture des objets, le cerveau ne peut pas ne pas voir leurs images et leurs différences: de même, lorsque les signes de ces différences ont été marqués, ou gravés dans le cerveau, l'âme en a nécessairement examiné les rapports; examen qui lui était impossible sans la découverte des signes, ou l'invention des langues. dans ces temps, où l'univers était presque muet, l'âme était à l'égard de tous les objets, comme un homme qui, sans avoir aucune idée des proportions, regarderait un tableau, ou une pièce de sculpture: il n'y pourrait rien distinguer; ou comme un petit enfant (car alors l'âme était dans son enfance) qui, tenant dans sa main un certain nombre de petits brins de paille ou de bois, les voit en général d'une vue vague et superficielle, sans pouvoir les compter ni les distinguer. mais qu'on mette une espèce de pavillon, ou d'étendard, à cette pièce de bois, par exemple, qu'on appelle mât, qu'on en mette un autre à un autre pareil corps; que le premier venu se nombre par le signe et le second par le signe ou chiffre ; alors cet enfant pourra les compter, et ainsi de suite il apprendra toute l'arithmétique. dès qu'une figure lui paraîtra égale à une autre par son signe numératif, il conclûra sans peine que ce sont deux corps différents; que et font deux, que et font , [ ] etc. c'est cette similitude réelle, ou apparente, des figures, qui est la base fondamentale de toutes les vérités et de toutes nos connaissances, parmi lesquelles il est évident que celles dont les signes sont moins simples et moins sensibles sont plus difficiles à apprendre que les autres, en ce qu'elles demandent plus de génie pour embrasser et combiner cette immense quantité de mots par lesquels les sciences dont je parle expriment les vérités de leur ressort: tandis que les sciences qui s'annoncent par des chiffres, ou autres petits signes, s'apprennent facilement; et c'est sans doute cette facilité qui a fait la fortune des calculs algébriques, plus encore que leur évidence. tout ce savoir dont le vent enfle le ballon du cerveau de nos pédants orgueilleux, n'est donc qu'un vaste amas de mots et de figures, qui forment dans la tête toutes les traces par lesquelles nous distinguons et nous nous rappellons les objets. toutes nos idées se réveillent, comme un jardinier qui connaît les plantes se souvient de toutes leurs phases à leur aspect. ces mots et ces figures qui sont désignés par eux, sont tellements liés ensemble dans le cerveau, qu'il est assez rare qu'on imagine une chose sans le nom ou le signe qui lui est attaché. je me sers toujours du mot imaginer, parceque je crois que tout s'imagine, et que toutes les parties de l'âme peuvent être justement réduites à la seule imagination, qui les forme toutes; et qu'ainsi le jugement, le raisonnement, la mémoire ne sont que des parties de l'âme nullement absolues, mais de véritables modifications de cette espèce de toile médullaire, sur laquelle les objets peints dans l'oeil sont renvoyés, comme d'une lanterne magique. mais si tel est ce merveilleux et incompréhensible résultat de l'organisation du cerveau; si tout se conçoit par l'imagination, si tout s'explique par elle; pourquoi diviser le principe sensitif qui pense dans l'homme? n'est-ce pas une contradiction manifeste dans les partisans de la simplicité de l'esprit? car une chose qu'on divise ne peut plus être, sans absurdité, regardée comme indivisible. voilà où conduit l'abus des langues, et l'usage de ces grands mots, spiritualité, immatérialité, etc., placés à tout hasard, sans être entendus, même par des gens d'esprit. rien de plus facile que de prouver un système, fondé comme celui-ci sur le sentiment intime et l'expérience propre de chaque individu. l'imagination, ou cette partie fantastique du cerveau, dont la nature nous est aussi inconnue que sa manière d'agir, est-elle naturellement petite, ou faible? elle aura à peine la force de comparer l'analogie, ou la ressemblance de ses idées; elle ne pourra voir que ce qui sera vis-à-vis d'elle, ou ce qui l'affectera le plus vivement; et encore de quelle manière! mais toujours est-il vrai que l'imagination seule aperçoit; que c'est elle qui se représente tous les objets, avec les mots et les figures qui les caractérisent; et qu'ainsi c'est elle encore une fois qui est l'âme, puisqu'elle en fait tous les rôles. par elle, par son pinceau flatteur, le froid squelette de la raison prend des chairs vives et vermeilles; par elle les sciences fleurissent, les arts s'embellissent, les bois parlent, les échos soupirent, les rochers pleurent, le marbre respire, tout prend vie parmi les corps inanimés. c'est elle encore qui ajoute à la tendresse d'un coeur amoureux le piquant attrait de la volupté; elle la fait germer dans le cabinet du philosophe, et du pédant poudreux; elle forme enfin les savants comme les orateurs et les poëtes. sottement décriée par les uns, vainement distinguée par les autres, qui tous l'ont mal connue, elle ne marche pas seulement à la suite des grâces et des beaux-art, elle ne peint pas seulement la nature, elle peut aussi la mesurer. elle raisonne, juge, pénètre, compare, approfondit. pourrait-elle si bien sentir les beautées des tableaux qui lui sont tracés, sans en découvrir les rapports? non; comme elle ne peut se replier sur les plaisirs des sens, sans en goûter toute la perfection ou la volupté, elle ne peut réfléchir sur ce qu'elle a mécaniquement conçu, sans être alors le jugement même. plus on exerce l'imagination, ou le plus maigre génie, plus il prend, pour ainsi dire, d'embonpoint; plus il s'agrandit, devient nerveux, robuste, vaste et capable de penser. la meilleure organisation a besoin de cet exercice. l'organisation est le premier mérite de l'homme; c'est en vain que tous les auteurs de morale ne mettent point au rang des qualités estimables celles qu'on tient de la nature, mais seulement les talents qui s'acquièrent à force de réflexions et d'industrie: car d'où nous vient, je vous prie, l'habileté, la science et la vertu, si ce n'est d'une disposition qui nous rend propres à devenir habiles, savants et vertueux? et d'où nous vient encore cette disposition, si ce n'est de la nature? nous n'avons de qualités estimables que par elle; nous lui devons tout ce que nous sommes. pourquoi donc n'estimerais-je pas autant ceux qui ont des qualités naturelles, que ceux qui brillent par des vertus acquises, et comme d'emprunt? quel que soit le mérite, de quelque endroit qu'il naisse, il est digne d'estime; il ne s'agit que de savoir le mesurer. l'esprit, la beauté, les richesses, la noblesse, quoiqu'enfants du hasard, ont tous leur prix, comme l'adresse, le savoir, la vertu, etc. ceux que la nature a comblés de ses dons les plus précieux, doivent plaindre ceux à qui ils ont été refusés; mais ils peuvent sentir leur supériorité sans orgueil, et en connaisseurs. une belle femme serait aussi ridicule de se trouver laide, qu'un homme d'esprit de se croire un sot. une modestie outrée (défaut rare à la vérité) est une sorte d'ingratitude envers la nature. une honnête fierté, au contraire, est la marque d'une âme belle et grande, que décèlent des traits mâles moulés comme par le sentiment. si l'organisation est un mérite, et le premier mérite, et la source de tous les autres, l'instruction est le second. le cerveau le mieux construit, sans elle, le serait en pure perte; comme sans l'usage du monde, l'homme le mieux fait ne serait qu'un paysan grossier. mais aussi quel serait le fruit de la plus excellente école, sans une matrice parfaitement ouverte à l'entrée ou à la conception des idées? il est aussi impossible de donner une seule idée à un homme privé de tous les sens, que de faire un enfant à une femme à laquelle la nature aurait poussé la distraction jusqu'à oublier de faire une vulve, comme je l'ai vu dans une, qui n'avait ni fente, ni vagin, ni matrice, et qui pour cette raison fut démariée après dix ans de mariage. mais si le cerveau est à la fois bien organisé et bien instruit, c'est une terre féconde parfaitement ensemencée, qui produit le centuple de ce qu'elle a reçu: ou (pour quitter le style figuré souvent nécessaire, pour mieux exprimer ce qu'on sent et donner des grâces à la vérité même), l'imagination élevée par l'art à la belle et rare dignité de génie, saisit exactement tous les rapports des idées qu'elle a conçues, embrasse avec facilité une foule étonnante d'objets, pour en tirer enfin une longue chaîne de conséquences, lesquelles ne sont encore que de nouveaux rapports, enfantés par la comparaison des premiers, auxquels l'âme trouve une parfaite ressemblance. telle est, selon moi, la génération de l'esprit. je dis trouve, comme j'ai donné ci-devant l'épithète d'apparente à la similitude des objets: non que je pense que nos sens soient toujours trompeurs, comme l'a prétendu le père malebranche, ou que nos yeux naturellement un peu ivres ne voient pas les objets tels qu'ils sont en eux mêmes, quoique les microscopes nous le prouvent tous les jours, mais pour n'avoir aucune dispute avec les pyrrhoniens, parmi lesquels bayle s'est distingué. je dis de la vérité en général ce que mr. de fontenelle dit de certaines en particulier, qu'il faut la sacrifier aux agréments de la société. il est de la douceur de mon caractère d'obvier à toute dispute, lorsqu'il ne s'agit pas d'aiguiser la conversation. les cartésiens viendraient ici vainement à la charge avec leur idées innées; je ne me donnerais certainement pas le quart de la peine qu'a prise mr. locke pour attaquer de telles chimères. quelle utilité, en effet, de faire un gros livre, pour prouver une doctrine qui était érigée en axiome il y a trois mille ans? suivant les principes que nous avons posés, et que nous croyons vrais, celui qui a le plus d'imagination doit être regardé comme ayant le plus d'esprit, ou de génie, car tous ces mots sont synonymes; et encore une fois c'est par un abus honteux qu'on croit dire des choses différentes, lorsqu'on ne dit que différents mots ou différents sons, auxquels on n'a attaché aucune idée ou distinction réelle. la plus belle, la plus grande, ou la plus forte imagination, est donc la plus propre aux sciences, comme aux arts. je ne décide point s'il faut plus d'esprit pour exceller dans l'art des aristotes, ou des descartes, que dans celui des euripides ou des sophocles; et si la nature s'est mise en plus grands frais pour faire newton que pour former corneille (ce dont je doute fort), mais il est certain que c'est la seule imagination diversement appliquée qui a fait leur différent triomphe et leur gloire immortelle. si quelqu'un passe pour avoir peu de jugement, avec beaucoup d'imagination; cela veut dire que l'imagination trop abandonnée à elle même, presque toujours comme occupée à se regarder dans le miroir de ses sensations, n'a pas assez contracté l'habitude de les examiner elles-mêmes avec attention; plus profondément pénétrée des traces, ou des images, que de leur vérité ou de leur ressemblance. il est vrai que telle est la vivacité des ressorts de l'imagination, que si l'attention, cette clé ou mère des sciences, ne s'en mêle, il ne lui est guères permis que de parcourir et d'effleurer les objets. voyez cet oiseau sur la branche, il semble toujours prêt à s'envoler; l'imagination est de même. toujours emportée par le tourbillon du sang et des esprits, une onde fait une trace, effacée par celle qui suit; l'âme court après, souvent en vain: il faut qu'elle s'attende à regretter ce qu'elle n'a pas assez vite saisi et fixé: et c'est ainsi que l'imagination, véritable image du temps, se détruit et se renouvelle sans cesse. tel est le chaos et la succession continuelle et rapide de nos idées; elles se chassent, comme un flot pousse l'autre; de sorte que si l'imagination n'emploie, pour ainsi dire, une partie de ses muscles pour être comme en équilibre sur les cordes du cerveau, pour se soutenir quelque temps sur un objet qui va fuir et s'empêcher de tomber sur un autre, qu'il n'est pas encore temps de contempler, jamais elle ne sera digne du beau nom de jugement. elle exprimera vivement ce qu'elle aura senti de même; elle formera des orateurs, des musiciens, des peintres, des poètes, et jamais un seul philosophe. au contraire si, dès l'enfance, on accoutume l'imagination à se brider elle-même, à ne point se laisser emporter à sa propre impétuosité, qui ne fait que de brillants enthousiastes, à arrêter, contenir ses idées, à les retourner dans tous les sens, pour voir toutes les faces d'un objet, alors l'imagination prompte à juger embrassera par le raisonnement la plus grande sphère d'objets, et sa vivacité, toujours de si bon augure dans les enfants, et qu'il ne s'agit que de régler par l'étude et l'exercice, ne sera plus qu'une pénétration clairvoyante, sans laquelle on fait peu de progrès dans les sciences. tels sont les simples fondements sur lesquels a été bati l'édifice de la logique. la nature les avait jetés pour tout le genre humain; mais les uns en ont profité, les autres en ont abusé. malgré toutes ces prérogatives de l'homme sur les animaux, c'est lui faire honneur que de le ranger dans la même classe. il est vrai que, jusqu'à un certain âge, il est plus animal qu'eux, parce qu'il apporte moins d'instinct en naissant. quel est l'animal qui mourrait de faim au milieu d'une rivière de lait? l'homme seul. semblable à ce vieux enfant dont un moderne parle d'après arnobe, il ne connait ni les aliments qui lui sont propres, ni l'eau qui peut le noyer, ni le feu qui peut le réduire en poudre. faites briller pour la première fois la lumière d'une bougie aux yeux d'un enfant, il y portera machinalement le doigt, comme pour savoir quel est le nouveau phénomène qu'il aperçoit; c'est à ses dépens qu'il en connaîtra le danger, mais il n'y sera pas repris. mettez-le encore avec un animal sur le bord d'un précipice! lui seul y tombera; il se noie, où l'autre se sauve à la nage. a quatorze ou quinze ans, il entrevoit à peine les grands plaisirs qui l'attendent dans la reproduction de son espèce; déjà adolescent, il ne sait pas trop comment s'y prendre dans un jeu que la nature apprend si vite aux animaux: il se cache, comme s'il était honteux d'avoir du plaisir et d'être fait pour être heureux, tandis que les animaux se font gloire d'être cyniques. sans éducation, ils sont sans préjugés. mais voyons encore ce chien et cet enfant qui ont tous deux perdu leur maître dans un grand chemin: l'enfant pleure, il ne sait à quel saint se vouer; le chien, mieux servi par son odorat que l'autre par sa raison, l'aura bientôt trouvé. la nature nous avait donc faits pour être au dessous des animaux, ou du moins pour faire par là même mieux éclater les prodiges de l'éducation, qui seule nous tire du niveau et nous élève enfin au-dessus d'eux. mais accordera-t-on la même distinction aux sourds, aux aveugles-nés, aux imbéciles, aux fous, aux hommes sauvages, ou qui ont été élevés dans les bois avec les bêtes, à ceux dont l'affection hypocondriaque a perdu l'imagination, enfin à toutes ces bêtes à figure humaine, qui ne montrent que l'instinct le plus grossier? non, tous ces hommes de corps, et non d'esprit, ne méritent pas une classe particulière. nous n'avons pas dessein de nous dissimuler les objections qu'on peut faire en faveur de la distinction primitive de l'homme et des animaux, contre notre sentiment. il y a, dit-on, dans l'homme une loi naturelle, une connaissance du bien et du mal, qui n'a pas été gravée dans le coeur des animaux. mais cette objection, ou plutôt cette assertion est-elle fondée sur l'expérience, sans laquelle un philosophe peut tout rejeter? en avons-nous quelqu'une qui nous convainque que l'homme seul a été éclairé d'un rayon refusé à tous les autres animaux? s'il n'y en a point, nous ne pouvons pas plus connaître par elle ce qui se passe dans eux, et même dans les hommes, que ne pas sentir ce qui affecte l'intérieur de notre être. nous savons que nous pensons et que nous avons des remords: un sentiment intime ne nous force que trop d'en convenir; mais pour juger des remords d'autrui, ce sentiment qui est dans nous est insuffisant: c'est pourquoi il en faut croire les autres hommes sur leur parole, ou sur les signes sensibles et extérieurs que nous avons remarqués en nous-mêmes, lorsque nous éprouvions la même conscience et les mêmes tourments. mais pour décider si les animaux qui ne parlent point ont reçu la loi naturelle, il faut s'en rapporter conséquemment à ces signes dont je viens de parler, supposé qu'ils existent. les faits semblent le prouver. le chien qui a mordu son maître qui l'agaçait, a paru s'en repentir le moment suivant; on l'a vu triste, fâché, n'osant se montrer, et s'avouer coupable par un air rampant et humilié. l'histoire nous offre un exemple célèbre d'un lion qui ne voulut pas déchirer un homme abandonné à sa fureur, parce qu'il le reconnut pour son bienfaiteur. qu'il serait à souhaiter que l'homme même montrât toujours la même reconnaissance pour les bienfaits et le même respect pour l'humanité! on n'aurait plus à craindre les ingrats, ni ces guerres qui sont le fléau du genre humain et les vrais bourreaux de la loi naturelle. mais un être à qui la nature a donné un instinct si précoce, si éclairé, qui juge, combine, raisonne et délibère, autant que s'étend et le lui permet la sphère de son activité; un être qui s'attache par les bienfaits, qui se détache par les mauvais traitements et va essayer un meilleur maître; un être d'une structure semblable à la nôtre, qui fait les mêmes opérations, qui a les mêmes passions, les mêmes douleurs, les mêmes plaisirs, plus ou moins vifs suivant l'empire de l'imagination et la délicatesse des nerfs; un tel être enfin ne montre-t-il pas clairement qu'il sent ses torts et les nôtres, qu'il connait le bien et le mal et, en un mot, a conscience de ce qu'il fait? son âme qui marque comme la nôtre les mêmes joies, les mêmes mortifications, les mêmes déconcertements, serait-elle sans aucune répugnance à la vue de son semblable déchiré, ou après l'avoir lui-même impitoyablement mis en pièces? cela posé, le don précieux dont il s'agit n'aurait point été refusé aux animaux; car puisqu'ils nous offrent des signes évidents de leur repentir, comme de leur intelligence, qu'y a-t-il d'absurde à penser que des êtres, des machines presque aussi parfaites que nous, soient, comme nous, faites pour penser et pour sentir la nature? qu'on ne m'objecte point que les animaux sont pour la plupart des êtres féroces, qui ne sont pas capables de sentir les maux qu'ils font; car tous les hommes distinguent-ils mieux les vices et les vertus? il est dans notre espèce de la férocité, comme dans la leur. les hommes qui sont dans la barbare habitude d'enfreindre la loi naturelle, n'en sont pas si tourmentés que ceux qui la transgressent pour la première fois, et que la force de l'exemple n'a point endurcis. il en est de même des animaux, comme des hommes. les uns et les autres peuvent être plus ou moins féroces par tempérament, et ils le deviennent encore plus avec ceux qui le sont. mais un animal doux, pacifique, qui vit avec d'autres animaux semblables, et d'aliments doux, sera ennemi du sang et du carnage, il rougira intérieurement de l'avoir versé; avec cette différence peut-être que, comme chez eux tout est immolé aux besoins, aux plaisirs et aux commodités de la vie, dont ils jouissent plus que nous, leurs remords ne semblent pas devoir être si vifs que les nôtres, parceque nous ne sommes pas dans la même nécessité qu'eux. la coutume émousse et peut-être étouffe les remords, comme les plaisirs. mais je veux pour un moment supposer que je me trompe, et qu'il n'est pas juste que presque tout l'univers ait tort à ce sujet, tandis que j'aurais seul raison; j'accorde que les animaux, même les plus excellents, ne connaissent pas la distinction du bien et du mal moral, qu'ils n'ont aucune mémoire des attentions qu'on a eues pour eux, du bien qu'on leur a fait, aucun sentiment de leurs propres vertus; que ce lion, par exemple, dont j'ai parlé après tant d'autres, ne se souvienne pas de n'avoir pas voulu ravir la vie à cet homme qui fut livré à sa furie, dans un spectacle plus inhumain que tous les lions, les tigres et les ours; tandis que nos compatriotes se battent, suisses contre suisses, frères contre frères, se reconnaissent, s'enchaînent, ou se tuent sans remords, parce qu'un prince paie leurs meurtres: je suppose enfin que la loi naturelle n'ait pas été donnée aux animaux, quelles en seront les conséquences? l'homme n'est pas pétri d'un limon plus précieux; la nature n'a employé qu'une seule et même pâte, dont elle a seulement varié les levains. si donc l'animal ne se repent pas d'avoir violé le sentiment intérieur dont je parle, ou plutôt s'il en est absolument privé, il faut nécessairement que l'homme soit dans le même cas: moyennant quoi adieu la loi naturelle et tous ces beaux traités qu'on a publiés sur elle! tout le règne animal en serait généralement dépourvû. mais réciproquement si l'homme ne peut se dispenser de convenir qu'il distingue toujours, lorsque la santé le laisse jouïr de lui-même, ceux qui ont de la probité, de l'humanité, de la vertu, de ceux qui ne sont ni humains, ni vertueux, ni honnêtes gens; qu'il est facile de distinguer ce qui est vice, ou vertu, par l'unique plaisir ou la propre répugnance qui en sont comme les effets naturels, il s'ensuit que les animaux formés de la même matière, à laquelle il n'a peut-être manqué qu'un degré de fermentation pour égaler les hommes en tout, doivent participer aux mêmes prérogatives de l'animalité, et qu'ainsi il n'est point d'âme, ou de substance sensitive, sans remords. la réflexion suivante va fortifier celles-ci. on ne peut détruire la loi naturelle. l'empreinte en est si forte dans tous les animaux, que je ne doute nullement que les plus sauvages et les plus féroces n'aient quelques moments de repentir. je crois que la fille sauvage de châlons en champagne aura porté la peine de son crime, s'il est vrai qu'elle ait mangé sa soeur. je pense la même chose de tous ceux qui commettent des crimes, même involontaires, ou de tempérament: de gaston d'orléans qui ne pouvait s'empêcher de voler; de certaine femme qui fut sujette au même vice dans la grossesse, et dont ses enfants héritèrent; de celle qui dans le même état, mangea son mari; de cette autre qui égorgeait les enfants, salait leurs corps, et en mangeait tous les jours comme du petit salé; de cette fille de voleur anthropophage, qui la devint à ans, quoiqu'ayant perdu père et mère à l'âge d'un an elle eût été élevée par d'honnêtes gens, pour ne rien dire de tant d'autres exemples dont nos observateurs sont remplis, et qui prouvent tous qu'il est mille vices et vertus héréditaires, qui passent des parents aux enfants, comme ceux de la nourrice à ceux qu'elle allaite. je dis donc et j'accorde que ces malheureux ne sentent pas pour la plupart sur le champ l'énormité de leur action. la boulimie, par exemple, ou la faim canine, peut éteindre tout sentiment; c'est une manie d'estomac qu'on est forcé de satisfaire. mais revenues à elles-mêmes, et comme désenivrées, quels remords pour ces femmes qui se rappellent le meurtre qu'elles ont commis dans ce qu'elles avaient de plus cher! quelle punition d'un mal involontaire, auquel elles n'ont pu résister, dont elles n'ont eu aucune conscience! cependant ce n'est point assez apparemment pour les juges. parmi les femmes dont je parle, l'une fut rouée, et brûlée, l'autre enterrée vive. je sens tout ce que demande l'intérêt de la société. mais il serait sans doute à souhaiter qu'il n'y eût pour juges que d'excellents médecins. eux seuls pourraient distinguer le criminel innocent, du coupable. si la raison est esclave d'un sens dépravé, ou en fureur, comment peut-elle le gouverner? mais si le crime porte avec soi sa propre punition plus ou moins cruelle; si la plus longue et la plus barbare habitude ne peut tout-à-fait arracher le repentir des coeurs les plus inhumains; s'ils sont déchirés par la mémoire même de leurs actions; pour quoi effrayer l'imagination des esprits faibles par un enfer, par des spectres, et des précipices de feu, moins réels encore que ceux de pascal [ ]? qu'est-il besoin de recourir à des fables, comme un pape de bonne foi l'a dit lui-même, pour tourmenter les malheureux mêmes qu'on fait périr, parce qu'on ne les trouve pas assez punis par leur propre conscience, qui est leur premier bourreau? ce n'est pas que je veuille dire que tous les criminels soient injustement punis; je prétends seulement que ceux dont la volonté est dépravée, et la conscience éteinte, le sont assez par leurs remords, quand ils reviennent à eux-mêmes; remords, j'ose encore le dire, dont la nature aurait dû en ce cas, ce me semble, délivrer des malheureux entraînés par une fatale nécessité. les criminels, les méchants, les ingrats, ceux enfin que ne sentent pas la nature, tyrans malheureux et indignes du jour, ont beau se faire un cruel plaisir de leur barbarie, il est des moments calmes et de réflexion, où la conscience vengeresse s'élève, dépose contr'eux, et les condamne à être presque sans cesse déchirés de ses propres mains. qui tourmente les hommes, est tourmenté par lui-même; et les maux qu'il sentira seront la juste mesure de ceux qu'il aura faits. d'un autre côté, il y a tant de plaisir à faire du bien, à sentir, à reconnaître celui qu'on reçoit, tant de contentement à pratiquer la vertu, à être doux, humain, tendre, charitable, compatissant et généreux (ce seul mot renferme toutes les vertus), que je tiens pour assez puni quiconque a le malheur de n'être pas né vertueux. nous n'avons pas originairement été faits pour être savants; c'est peut-être par une espèce d'abus de nos facultés organiques, que nous le sommes devenus; et cela à la charge de l'etat, qui nourrit une multitude de fainéants, que la vanité a decorés du nom de philosophes. la nature nous a tous créés uniquement pour être heureux; oui, tous, depuis le ver qui rampe, jusqu'à l'aigle qui se perd dans la nue. c'est pourquoi elle a donné à tous les animaux quelque portion de la loi naturelle, portion plus ou moins exquise selon que le comportent les organes bien conditionnés de chaque animal. a présent, comment définirons-nous la loi naturelle? c'est un sentiment qui nous apprend ce que nous ne devons pas faire, parce que nous ne voudrions pas qu'on nous le fît. oserais-je ajouter à cette idée commune, qu'il me semble que ce sentiment n'est qu'une espèce de crainte, ou de frayeur, aussi salutaire à l'espèce qu'a l'individu; car peut-être ne respectons-nous la bourse et la vie des autres, que pour nous conserver nos biens, notre honneur et nous-mêmes; semblables à ces ixions du christianisme qui n'aiment dieu et n'embrassent tant de chimériques vertus, que parce qu'ils craignent l'enfer. vous voyez que la loi naturelle n'est qu'un sentiment intime, qui appartient encore à l'imagination, comme tous les autres, parmi lesquels on compte la pensée. par conséquent elle ne suppose évidemment ni éducation, ni révélation, ni législateur, à moins qu'on ne veuille la confondre avec les lois civiles, à la manière ridicule des théologiens. les armes du fanatisme peuvent détruire ceux qui soutiennent ces vérités; mais elles ne détruiront jamais ces vérités mêmes. ce n'est pas que je révoque en doute l'existence d'un etre suprême; il me semble au contraire que le plus grand degré de probabilité est pour elle: mais comme cette existence ne prouve pas plus la nécessité d'un culte, que toute autre, c'est une vérité théorique, qui n'est guère d'usage dans la pratique: de sorte que, comme on peut dire, d'après tant d'expériences, que la religion ne suppose pas l'exacte probité, les mêmes raisons autorisent à penser que l'athéisme ne l'exclut pas. qui sait d'ailleurs si la raison de l'existence de l'homme ne serait pas dans son existence même? peut-être a-t-il été jeté au hasard sur un point de la surface de la terre, sans qu'on puisse savoir ni comment, ni pourquoi, mais seulement qu'il doit vivre et mourir, semblable à ces champignons, qui paraissent d'un jour à l'autre, ou à ces fleurs qui bordent les fossés et couvrent les murailles. ne nous perdons point dans l'infini, nous ne sommes pas faits pour en avoir la moindre idée; il nous est absolument impossible de remonter à l'origine des choses. il est égal d'ailleurs pour notre repos, que la matière soit éternelle, ou qu'elle ait été créée, qu'il y ait un dieu, ou qu'il n'y en ait pas. quelle folie de tant se tourmenter pour ce qu'il est impossible de connaître, et ce qui ne nous rendrait pas plus heureux, quand nous en viendrions à bout. mais, dit-on, lisez tous les ouvrages des fénelon, des nieuventit, des abadie, des derham, des raï, etc. eh bien! que m'apprendront-ils? ou plutôt que m'ont-ils appris? ce ne sont que d'ennuyeuses répétitions d'écrivains zélés, dont l'un n'ajoute à l'autre qu'un verbiage, plus propres à fortifier qu'à saper les fondements de l'athéisme. le volume des preuves qu'on tire du spectacle de la nature, ne leur donne pas plus de force. la structure seule d'un doigt, d'une oreille, d'un oeil, une observation de malpighi, prouve tout, et sans doute beaucoup mieux que descartes et malebranche; ou tout le reste ne prouve rien. les déistes, et les chrétiens mêmes devraient donc se contenter de faire observer que, dans tout le règne animal, les mêmes vues sont exécutées par une infinité de divers moyens, tous cependant exactement géométriques. car de quelles plus fortes armes pourrait-on terrasser les athées? il est vrai que si ma raison ne me trompe pas, l'homme et tout l'univers semblent avoir été destinés à cette unité de vues. le soleil, l'air, l'eau, l'organisation, la forme des corps, tout est arrangé dans l'oeil, comme dans un miroir qui présente fidèlement à l'imagination les objets qui y sont peints, suivant les lois qu'exige cette infinie variété de corps qui servent à la vision. dans l'oreille, nous trouvons partout une diversité frappante, sans que cette diverse fabrique de l'homme, des animaux, des oiseaux, des poissons, produise différents usages. toutes les oreilles sont si mathématiquement faites, qu'elles tendent également au seul et même but, qui est d'entendre. le hasard, demande le déiste, serait-il donc assez grand géomètre, pour varier ainsi à son gré les ouvrages dont on le suppose auteur, sans que tant de diversité pût l'empêcher d'atteindre la même fin? il objecte encore ces parties évidemment contenues dans l'animal pour de futurs usages, le papillon dans la chenille, l'homme dans le ver spermatique, un polype entier dans chacune de ses parties, la valvule du trou ovale, le poumon dans le foetus, les dents dans leurs alvéoles, les os dans les fluides, qui s'en détachent et se durcissent d'une manière incompréhensible. et comme les partisans de ce système, loin de rien négliger pour le faire valoir, ne se lassent jamais d'accumuler preuves sur preuves, ils veulent profiter de tout, et de la faiblesse même de l'esprit en certain cas. voyez, disent-ils, les spinoza, les vanini, les desbarreaux, les boindin, apôtres qui font plus d'honneur que de tort au déisme! la durée de la santé de ces derniers a été la mesure de leur incrédulité: et il est rare en effet, ajoutent-ils, qu'on n'abjure pas l'athéisme, dès que les passions se sont affaiblies avec le corps qui en est l'instrument. voilà certainement tout ce qu'on peut dire de plus favorable à l'existence d'un dieu, quoique le dernier argument soit frivole, en ce que ces conversions sont courtes, l'esprit reprenant presque toujours ses anciennes opinions et se conduisant en conséquence, dès qu'il a recouvré ou plutôt retrouvé ses forces dans celles du corps. en voilà du moins beaucoup plus que n'en dit le médecin diderot dans ses pensées philosophiques, sublime ouvrage qui ne convaincra pas un athée. que répondre en effet à un homme qui dit? "nous ne connaissons point la nature: des causes cachées dans son sein pourraient avoir tout produit. voyez à votre tour le polype de trembley! ne contient-il pas en soi les causes qui donnent lieu à sa régénération? quelle absurdité y aurait-il donc à penser qu'il est des causes physiques pour lesquelles tout a été fait, et auxquelles toute la chaîne de ce vaste univers est si nécessairement liée et assujettie, que rien de ce qui arrive ne pouvait pas ne pas arriver; des causes dont l'ignorance absolument invincible nous a fait recourir à un dieu, qui n'est pas même un être de raison, suivant certains? ainsi, détruire le hasard, ce n'est pas prouver l'existence d'un etre supreme, puisqu'il peut y avoir autre chose qui ne serait ni hasard, ni dieu, je veux dire la nature, dont l'étude par conséquent ne peut faire que des incrédules, comme le prouve la façon de penser de tous ses plus heureux scrutateurs." le poids de l'univers n'ébranle donc pas un véritable athée, loin de l'écraser; et tous ces indices mille et mille fois rebattus d'un créateur, indices qu'on met fort au-dessus de la façon de penser dans nos semblables, ne sont évidents, quelque loin qu'on pousse cet argument, que pour les antipyrrhoniens, ou pour ceux qui ont assez de confiance dans leur raison pour croire pouvoir juger sur certaines apparences, auxquelles, comme vous voyez, les athées peuvent en opposer d'autres peut-être aussi fortes et absolument contraires. car si nous écoutons encore les naturalistes, ils nous diront que les mêmes causes qui dans les mains d'un chimiste et par le hasard de divers mélanges ont fait le premier miroir, dans celles de la nature ont fait l'eau pure, qui en sert à la simple bergère: que le mouvement qui conserve le monde, a pu le créer; que chaque corps a pris la place que sa nature lui a assignée; que l'air a dû entourer la terre, par la même raison que le fer et les autres métaux sont l'ouvrage de ses entrailles; que le soleil est une production aussi naturelle, que celle de l'électricité; qu'il n'a pas plus été fait pour échauffer la terre et tous ses habitants, qu'il brûle quelquefois, que la pluie pour faire pousser les grains, qu'elle gâte souvent; que le miroir et l'eau n'ont pas plus été faits pour qu'on pût s'y regarder, que tous les corps polis qui ont la même propriété: que l'oeil est à la vérité une espèce de trumeau dans lequel l'âme peut contempler l'image des objets, tels qu'ils lui sont représentés par ces corps: mais qu'il n'est pas démontré que cet organe ait été réellement fait exprès pour cette contemplation, ni exprès placé dans l'orbite; qu'enfin il se pourrait bien faire que lucrèce, le médecin lamy et tous les epicuriens anciens et modernes eûssent raison, lorsqu'ils avancent que l'oeil ne voit que par ce qu'il se trouve organisé, et placé comme il l'est, que posées une fois les mêmes règles de mouvement que suit la nature dans la génération et le développement des corps, il n'était pas possible que ce merveilleux organe fût organisé et placé autrement. tel est le pour et le contre, et l'abrégé des grandes raisons qui partageront éternellement les philosophes. je ne prends aucun parti. "non nostrum inter vos tantas componere lites." c'est ce que je disais à un français de mes amis, aussi franc pyrrhonien que moi, homme de beaucoup de mérite, et digne d'un meilleur sort. il me fit à ce sujet une réponse fort singulière. il est vrai, me dit-il, que le pour et le contre ne doit point inquiéter l'âme d'un philosophe, qui voit que rien n'est démontré avec assez de clarté pour forcer son consentement, et même que les idées indicatives qui s'offrent d'un côté, sont ausitôt détruites par celles qui se montrent de l'autre. cependant, reprit-il, l'univers ne sera jamais heureux, à moins qu'il ne soit athée. voici quelles étaient les raisons de cet abominable homme. si l'athéisme, disait-il, était généralement répandu, toutes les branches de la religion seraient alors détruites et coupées par la racine. plus de guerres théologiques; plus de soldats de religion; soldats terribles! la nature infectée d'un poison sacré, reprendrait ses droits et sa pureté. sourds à toute autre voix, les mortels tranquilles ne suivraient que les conseils spontanés de leur propre individu, les seuls qu'on ne méprise point impunément et qui peuvent seuls nous conduire au bonheur par les agréables sentiers de la vertu. telle est la loi naturelle; quiconque en est rigide observateur, est honnête homme, et mérite la confiance de tout le genre humain. quiconque ne la suit pas scrupuleusement, a beau affecter les spécieux dehors d'une autre religion, est un fourbe, ou un hypocrite dont je me défie. après cela, qu'un vain peuple pense différemment; qu'il ose affirmer qu'il y va de la probité même, à ne pas croire la révélation; qu'il faut en un mot un autre religion que celle de la nature, quelle qu'elle soit! quelle misère! quelle pitié! et la bonne opinion que chacun nous donne de celle qu'il a embrassée! nous ne briguons point ici le suffrage du vulgaire. qui dresse dans son coeur des autels à la superstition, est né pour adorer des idoles, et non pour sentir la vertu. mais puisque toutes les facultés de l'âme dépendent tellement de la propre organisation du cerveau et de tout le corps, qu'elles ne sont visiblement que cette organisation même: voilà une machine bien éclairée! car enfin quand l'homme seul aurait reçu en partage la loi naturelle, en serait-il moins une machine? des roues, quelques ressorts de plus que dans les animaux les plus parfaits, le cerveau proportionnellement plus proche du coeur, et recevant aussi plus de sang, la même raison donnée; que sais-je enfin? des causes inconnues produiraient toujours cette conscience délicate, si facile à blesser, ces remords qui ne sont pas plus étrangers à la matière que la pensée, et en un mot toute la différence qu'on suppose ici. l'organisation suffirait-elle donc a tout? oui, encore une fois. puisque la pensée se développe visiblement avec les organes, pourquoi la matière dont ils sont faits ne serait-elle pas aussi susceptible de remords, quand une fois elle a acquis avec le temps la faculté de sentir? l'âme n'est donc qu'un vain terme dont on n'a point d'idée, et dont un bon esprit ne doit se servir que pour nommer la partie qui pense en nous. posé le moindre principe de mouvement, les corps animés auront tout ce qu'il leur faut pour se mouvoir, sentir, penser, se repentir, et se conduire en un mot dans le physique, et dans le moral qui en dépend. nous ne supposons rien; ceux qui croiraient que toutes les difficultés ne seraient pas encore levées, vont trouver des expériences, qui achèveront de les satisfaire. . toutes les chairs des animaux palpitent après la mort, d'autant plus longtemps que l'animal est plus froid et transpire moins: les tortues, les lézards, les serpents, etc. en font foi. . les muscles séparés du corps, se retirent, lorsqu'on les pique. . les entrailles conservent longtemps leur mouvement péristaltique, ou vermiculaire. . une simple injection d'eau chaude ranime le coeur et les muscles, suivant cowper. . le coeur de la grenouille, surtout exposé au soleil, encore mieux sur une table ou une assiette chaude, se remue pendant une heure et plus, après avoir été arraché du corps. le mouvement semble-t-il perdu sans ressource? il n'y a qu'à piquer le coeur, et ce muscle creux bat encore. harvey a fait la même observation sur les crapauds. . bacon de verulam, dans son traité sylva-sylvarum, parle d'un homme convaincu de trahison, qu'on ouvrit vivant, et dont le coeur jeté dans l'eau chaude sauta à plusieurs reprises, toujours moins haut, à la distance perpendiculaire de pieds. . prenez un petit poulet encore dans l'oeuf; arrachez lui le coeur; vous observerez les mêmes phénomènes, avec à peu près les mêmes circonstances. la seule chaleur de l'haleine ranime un animal prêt à périr dans la machine pneumatique. les mêmes expériences que nous devons à boyle et à sténon, se font dans les pigeons, dans les chiens, dans les lapins, dont les morceaux de coeur se remuent, comme les coeurs entiers. on voit le même mouvement dans les pattes de taupe arrachées. . la chenille, les vers, l'araignée, la mouche, l'anguille offrent les mêmes choses à considérer; et le mouvement des parties coupées augmente dans l'eau chaude, à cause du feu qu'elle contient. . un soldat ivre emporta d'un coup de sabre la tête d'un coq d'inde. cet animal resta debout, ensuite il marcha, courut; venant à rencontrer une muraille, il se tourna, battit des ailes, en continuant de courir, et tomba enfin. etendu par terre, tous les muscles de ce coq se remuaient encore. voilà ce que j'ai vu, et il est facile de voir à peu près ces phénomènes dans les petits chats, ou chiens, dont on a coupé la tête. . les polypes font plus que de se mouvoir, après la section; ils se reproduisent dans huit jours en autant d'animaux qu'il y a de parties coupées. j'en suis fâché pour le système des naturalistes sur la génération, ou plutôt j'en suis bien aise; car que cette découverte nous apprend bien à ne jamais rien conclure de général, même de toutes les expériences connues, et les plus décisives! voilà beaucoup plus de faits qu'il n'en faut, pour prouver d'une manière incontestable que chaque petite fibre, ou partie des corps organisés, se meut par un principe qui lui est propre, et dont l'action ne dépend point des nerfs, comme les mouvements volontaires, puisque les mouvements en question s'exercent sans que les parties qui les manifestent aient aucun commerce avec la circulation. or, si cette force se fait remarquer jusques dans des morceaux de fibres, le coeur, qui est un composé de fibres singulièrement entrelacées, doit avoir la même propriété. l'histoire de bacon n'était pas nécessaire pour me le persuader. il m'était facile d'en juger, et par la parfaite analogie de la structure du coeur de l'homme et des animaux; et par la masse même du premier, dans laquelle ce mouvement ne se cache aux yeux, que parce qu'il y est étouffé; et enfin parce que tout est froid et affaissé dans les cadavres. si les dissections se faisaient sur des criminels suppliciés, dont les corps sont encore chauds, on verrait dans leur coeur les mêmes mouvements qu'on observe dans les muscles du visage des gens décapités. tel est ce principe moteur des corps entiers, ou des parties coupées en morceaux, qu'il produit des mouvements non déréglés, comme on l'a cru, mais très réguliers, et cela, tant dans les animaux chauds et parfaits, que dans ceux qui sont froids et imparfaits. il ne reste donc aucune ressource à nos adversaires, si ce n'est que de nier mille et mille faits que chacun peut facilement vérifier. si on me demande à présent quel est le siège de cette force innée dans nos corps, je réponds qu'elle réside très clairement dans ce que les anciens ont appellé parenchyme; c'est à dire dans la substance propre des parties, abstraction faite des veines, des artères, des nerfs, en un mot de l'organisation de tout le corps; et que par conséquent chaque partie contient en soi des ressorts plus ou moins vifs, selon le besoin qu'elles en avaient. entrons dans quelque détail de ces ressorts de la machine humaine. tous les mouvements vitaux, animaux, naturels et automatiques se font par leur action. n'est-ce pas machinalement que le corps se retire, frappé de terreur à l'aspect d'un précipice inattendu? que les paupières se baissent à la menace d'un coup, comme on l'a dit? que la pupille s'étrécit au grand jour pour conserver la rétine, et s'élargit pour voir les objets dans l'obscurité? n'est-ce pas machinalement que les pores de la peau se ferment en hiver, pour que le froid ne pénètre pas l'intérieur des vaisseaux? que l'estomac se soulève, irrité par le poison, par une certaine quantité d'opium, par tous les émétiques, etc.? que le coeur, les artères, les muscles se contractent pendant le sommeil, comme pendant la veille? que le poumon fait l'office d'un souflet continuellement exercé? n'est-ce pas machinalement qu'agissent tous les sphincters de la vessie, du rectum, etc.? que le coeur a une contraction plus forte que tout autre muscle? que les muscles érecteurs font dresser la verge dans l'homme, comme dans les animaux qui s'en battent le ventre, et même dans l'enfant, capable d'érection, pour peu que cette partie soit irritée? ce qui prouve, pour le dire en passant, qu'il est un ressort singulier dans ce membre, encore peu connu, et qui produit des effets qu'on n'a point encore bien expliqués, malgré toutes les lumières de l'anatomie. je ne m'étendrai pas davantage sur tous ces petits ressorts subalternes connus de tout le monde. mais il en est un autre plus subtil, et plus merveilleux qui les anime tous; il est la source de tous nos sentiments, de tous nos plaisirs, de toutes nos passions, de toutes nos pensées; car le cerveau a ses muscles pour penser, comme les jambes pour marcher. je veux parler de ce principe incitant, et impétueux, qu'hippocrate appelle enormôn (l'âme). ce principe existe, et il a son siège dans le cerveau à l'origine des nerfs, par lesquels il exerce son empire sur tout le reste du corps. par là s'explique tout ce qui peut s'expliquer, jusqu'aux effets surprenants des maladies de l'imagination. mais, pour ne pas languir dans une richesse et une fécondité mal entendue, il faut se borner à un petit nombre de questions et de réflexions. pourquoi la vue ou la simple idée d'une belle femme nous cause-t-elle des mouvements et des désirs singuliers? ce qui se passe alors dans certains organes, vient-il de la nature même de ces organes? point du tout; mais du commerce et de l'espèce de sympathie de ces muscles avec l'imagination. il n'y a ici qu'un premier ressort excité par le bene placitum des anciens, ou par l'image de la beauté, qui en excite un autre, lequel était fort assoupi, quand l'imagination l'a éveillé: et comment cela, si ce n'est par le désordre et le tumulte du sang et des esprits, qui galopent avec une promptitude extraordinaire, et vont gonfler les corps caverneux? puisqu'il est des communications évidentes entre la mère et l'enfant [ ], et qu'il est dur de nier des faits rapportés par tulpius et par d'autres écrivains aussi dignes de foi (il n'y en a point qui le soient plus), nous croirons que c'est par la même voie que le foetus ressent l'impétuosité de l'imagination maternelle, comme une cire molle reçoit toutes sortes d'impressions; et que les mêmes traces, ou envies de la mère, peuvent s'imprimer sur le foetus, sans que cela puisse se comprendre, quoiqu'en disent blondel et tous ses adhérents. ainsi nous faisons réparation d'honneur au p. malebranche, beaucoup trop raillé de sa crédulité par les auteurs qui n'ont point observé d'assez près la nature et ont voulu l'assujettir à leur idées. voyez le portrait de ce fameux pope, au moins le voltaire des anglais. les efforts, les nerfs de son génie sont peints sur sa physionomie; elle est toute en convulsion; ses yeux sortent de l'orbite, ses sourcils s'élèvent avec les muscles du front. pourquoi? c'est que l'origine des nerfs est en travail et que tout le corps doit se ressentir d'une espèce d'accouchement aussi laborieux. s'il n'y avait une corde interne qui tirât ainsi celles du dehors, d'où viendraient tous ces phénomènes? admettre une âme, pour les expliquer, c'est être réduit à l'opération du st. esprit. en effet, si ce qui pense en mon cerveau n'est pas une partie de ce viscère, et conséquemment de tout le corps, pourquoi, lorsque tranquille dans mon lit je forme le plan d'un ouvrage, ou que je poursuis un raisonnement abstrait, pourquoi mon sang s'échauffe-t-il? pourquoi la fièvre de mon esprit passe-t-elle dans mes veines? demandez-le aux hommes d'imagination, aux grandes poètes, à ceux qu'un sentiment bien rendu ravit, qu'un goût exquis, que les charmes de la nature, de la vérité ou de la vertu transportent! par leur enthousiasme, par ce qu'ils vous diront avoir éprouvé, vous jugerez de la cause par les effets: par cette harmonie que borelli, qu'un seul anatomiste a mieux connue que tous les leibniziens, vous connaîtrez l'unité matérielle de l'homme. car enfin si la tension des nerfs qui fait la douleur, cause la fièvre, par laquelle l'esprit est troublé et n'a plus de volonté; et que réciproquement l'esprit trop exercé trouble le corps, et allume ce feu de consomption qui a enlevé bayle dans un âge si peu avancé; si telle titillation me fait vouloir, me force de désirer ardemment ce dont je ne me souciais nullement le moment d'auparavant; si à leur tour certaines traces du cerveau excitent le même prurit et les mêmes désirs, pourquoi faire double ce qui n'est évidemment qu'un? c'est en vain qu'on se récrie sur l'empire de la volonté. pour un ordre qu'elle donne, elle subit cent fois le joug. et quelle merveille que le corps obéisse dan l'état sain, puisqu'un torrent de sang et d'esprits vient l'y forcer, la volonté ayant pour ministres une légion invisible de fluides plus vifs que l'éclair, et toujours prêts a la servir! mais comme c'est par les nerfs que son pouvoir s'exerce, c'est aussi par eux qu'il est arrêté. la meilleure volonté d'un amant épuisé, les plus violents désirs lui rendront-ils sa vigueur perdue? hélas! non; et elle en sera la première punie, parceque, posées certaines circonstances, il n'est pas dans sa puissance de ne pas vouloir du plaisir. ce que j'ai dit de la paralysie, etc. revient ici. la jaunisse vous surprend! ne savez vous pas que la couleur des corps dépend de celle des verres au travers desquels on les regarde! ignorez-vous que telle est la teinte des humeurs, telle est celle des objets, au moins par rapport à nous, vains jouets de mille illusions? mais ôtez cette teinte de l'humeur aqueuse de l'oeil; faites couler la bile par son tamis naturel: alors l'âme ayant d'autres yeux, ne verra plus jaune. n'est ce pas encore ainsi qu'en abattant la cataracte, ou en injectant le canal d'eustachi, on rend la vue aux aveugles, et l'ouie aux sourds? combien de gens qui n'étaient peut-être que d'habiles charlatans dans des siècles ignorants, ont passé pour faire de grands miracles! la belle âme et la puissante volonté, qui ne peut agir qu'autant que les dispositions du corps le lui permettent, et dont les goûts changent avec l'âge et la fièvre! faut-il donc s'étonner si les philosophes ont toujours eu en vue la santé du corps pour conserver celle de l'âme, si pythagore a aussi soigneusement ordonné la diète, que platon a défendu le vin? le régime qui convient au corps, est toujours celui par lequel les médecins sensés prétendent qu'on doit préluder, lorsqu'il s'agit de former l'esprit, de l'élever à la connaissance de la vérité et de la vertu; vains sons dans le désordre des maladies et le tumulte des sens! sans les préceptes de l'hygiène, epictète, socrate, platon, etc. prêchent en vain: toute morale est infructueuse, pour qui n'a pas la sobrieté en partage: c'est la source de toutes les vertus comme l'intempérance est celle de tous les vices. en faut-il davantage (et pourquoi irais-je me perdre dans l'histoire des passions, qui toutes s'expliquent par l'enormôn d'hippocrate) pour prouver que l'homme n'est qu'un animal, ou un assemblage de ressorts, qui tous se montent les uns par les autres, sans qu'on puisse dire par quel point du cercle humain la nature a commencé? si ces ressorts diffèrent entr'eux, ce n'est donc que par leur siège et par quelques degrés de force, et jamais par leur nature; et par conséquent l'âme n'est qu'un principe de mouvement, ou une partie matérielle sensible du cerveau, qu'on peut, sans craindre l'erreur, regarder comme un ressort principal de toute la machine, qui a une influence visible sur tous les autres, et même parait avoir été fait le premier; en sorte que tous les autres n'en seraient qu'une émanation, comme on le verra par quelques observations que je rapporterai et qui ont été faites sur divers embryons. cette oscillation naturelle, ou propre à notre machine, et dont est douée chaque fibre, et, pour ainsi dire, chaque élément fibreux, semblable à celle d'une pendule, ne peut toujours s'exercer. il faut la renouveler, à mesure qu'elle se perd; lui donner des forces, quand elle languit; l'affaiblir, lorsqu'elle est opprimée par un excès de force et de vigueur. c'est en cela seul que la vraie médecine consiste. le corps n'est qu'une horloge, dont le nouveau chyle est l'horloger. le premier soin de la nature, quand il entre dans le sang, c'est d'y exciter une sorte de fièvre, que les chimistes, qui ne rêvent que fourneaux, ont dû prendre pour une fermentation. cette fièvre procure une plus grande filtration d'esprits, qui machinalement vont animer les muscles et le coeur, comme s'ils y étaient envoyés par ordre de la volonté. ce sont donc les causes ou les forces de la vie qui entretiennent ainsi durant ans le mouvement perpétuel des solides et des fluides, aussi nécessaire aux uns qu'aux autres. mais qui peut dire si les solides contribuent à ce jeu, plus que les fluides, et vice versa? tout ce qu'on sait, c'est que l'action des premiers serait bientôt anéantie, sans le secours des seconds. ce sont les liqueurs qui par leur choc éveillent et conservent l'élasticité des vaisseaux, de laquelle dépend leur propre circulation. de là vient qu'après la mort le ressort naturel de chaque substance est plus ou moins fort encore suivant les restes de la vie, auxquels il survit, pour expirer le dernier. tant il est vrai que cette force des parties animales peut bien se conserver et s'augmenter par celle de la circulation, mais qu'elle n'en dépend point, puisqu'elle se passe même de l'intégrité de chaque membre, ou viscère, comme on l'a vu. je n'ignore pas que cette opinion n'a pas été goûtée de tous les savants, et que stahl surtout l'a fort dédaignée. ce grand chimiste a voulu nous persuader que l'âme était la seule cause de tous nos mouvements. mais c'est parler en fanatique, et non en philosophe. pour détruire l'hypothèse stahlienne, il ne faut pas faire tant d'efforts que je vois qu'on en a faits avant moi. il n'y a qu'à jeter les yeux sur un joueur de violon. quelle souplesse! quelle agilité dans les doigts! les mouvements sont si prompts, qu'il ne paraît presque pas y avoir de succession. or, je prie, ou plutôt je défie les stahliens de me dire, eux qui connaissent si bien tout ce que peut notre âme, comment il serait possible qu'elle exécutât si vite tant de mouvements, des mouvements qui se passent si loin d'elle, et en tant d'endroits divers. c'est supposer un joueur de flûte qui pourrait faire de brillantes cadences sur une infinité de trous qu'il ne connaitrait pas, et auxquels il ne pourrait seulement pas appliquer le doigt. mais disons avec mr. hecquet qu'il n'est pas permis à tout le monde d'aller à corinthe. et pourquoi stahl n'aurait-il pas été encore plus favorisé de la nature en qualité d'homme, qu'en qualité de chimiste et de praticien? il fallait (heureux mortel!) qu'il eût reçu une autre âme que le reste des hommes; une âme souveraine, qui non contente d'avoir quelque empire sur les muscles volontaires, tenait sans peine les rênes de tous les mouvements du corps, pouvait les suspendre, les calmer, ou les exciter à son gré. avec une maîtresse aussi despotique, dans les mains de laquelle étaient en quelque sorte les battements du coeur et les lois de la circulation, point de fièvre sans doute; point de douleur; point de langueur; ni honteuse impuissance, ni facheux priapisme. l'âme veut, et les ressorts jouent, se dressent, ou se débandent. comment ceux de la machine de stahl se sont-ils sitôt détraqués? qui a chez soi un si grand médecin, devrait être immortel. stahl, au reste, n'est pas le seul qui ait rejeté le principe d'oscillation des corps organisés. de plus grands esprits ne l'ont pas employé, lorsqu'ils ont voulu expliquer l'action du coeur, l'érection du penis, etc. il n'y a qu'à lire les institutions de médecine de boerhaave, pour voir quels laborieux et séduisants systèmes, faute d'admettre une force aussi frappante dans tous les corps, ce grand homme a été obligé d'enfanter à la sueur de son puissant génie. willis et perrault, esprits d'une plus faible trempe, mais observateurs assidus de la nature, que le fameux professeur de leyde n'a connue que par autrui et n'a eue, pour ainsi dire, que de la seconde main, paraissent avoir mieux aimé supposer une âme généralement répandue par tout le corps, que le principe dont nous parlons. mais dans cette hypothèse qui fut celle de virgile et de tous les epicuriens, hypothèse que l'histoire du polype semblerait favoriser à la première vue, les mouvements qui survivent au sujet dans lequel ils sont inhérents viennent d'un reste d'âme, que conservent encore les parties qui se contractent, sans être désormais irritées par le sang et les esprits. d'où l'on voit que ces écrivains dont les ouvrages solides éclipsent aisément toutes les fables philosophiques, ne se sont trompés que sur le modèle de ceux qui ont donné à la matière la faculté de penser, je veux dire, pour s'être mal exprimés, en termes obscurs, et qui ne signifient rien. en effet, qu'est ce que ce reste d'âme, si ce n'est la force motrice des leibniziens, mal rendue par une telle expression, et que cependant perrault surtout a véritablement entrevue. voy. son traité de la mécanique des animaux. a présent qu'il est clairement démontré contre les cartésiens, les stahliens, les malebranchistes, et les théologiens peu dignes d'être ici placés, que la matière se meut par elle-même, non seulement lorsqu'elle est organisée, comme dans un coeur entier, par exemple, mais lors même que cette organisation est détruite, la curiosité de l'homme voudrait savoir comment un corps, par cela même qu'il est originairement doué d'un souffle de vie, se trouve en conséquence orné de la faculté de sentir, et enfin par celle-ci de la pensée. et pour en venir à bout, ô bon dieu, quels efforts n'ont pas faits certains philosophes! et quel galimatias j'ai eu la patience de lire à ce sujet! tout ce que l'expérience nous apprend, c'est que tant que le mouvement subsiste, si petit qu'il soit dans une ou plusieurs fibres, il n'y a qu'à les piquer, pour réveiller, animer ce mouvement presque éteint, comme on l'a vu dans cette foule d'expériences dont j'ai voulu accabler les systèmes. il est donc constant que le mouvement et le sentiment s'excitent tour à tour, et dans les corps entiers, et dans les mêmes corps dont la structure est détruite; pour ne rien dire de certaines plantes qui semblent nous offrir les mêmes phénomènes de la réunion du sentiment et du mouvement. mais de plus, combien d'excellents philosophes ont démontré que la pensée n'est qu'une faculté de sentir, et que l'âme raisonnable n'est que l'âme sensitive appliquée à contempler les idées, et à raisonner! ce qui serait prouvé par cela seul que lorsque le sentiment est éteint, la pensée l'est aussi, comme dans l'apoplexie, la léthargie, la catalepsie, etc. car ceux qui ont avancé que l'âme n'avait pas moins pensé dans les maladies soporeuses, quoiqu'elle ne se souvint pas des idées qu'elle avait eues, ont soutenu une chose ridicule. pour ce qui est de ce développement, c'est une folie de perdre le temps à en rechercher le mécanisme. la nature du mouvement nous est aussi inconnue que celle de la matière. le moyen de découvrir comment il s'y produit, à moins que de ressusciter avec l'auteur de l'histoire de l'ame l'ancienne et inintelligible doctrine des formes substantielles! je suis donc aussi consolé d'ignorer comment la matière, d'inerte et simple, devient active et composée d'organes, que de ne pouvoir regarder le soleil sans verre rouge: et je suis d'aussi bonne composition sur les autres merveilles incompréhensibles de la nature, sur la production du sentiment et de la pensée dans un être qui ne paraissait autrefois à nos yeux bornés qu'un peu de boue. qu'on m'accorde seulement que la matière organisée est douée d'un principe moteur, qui seul la différencie de celle qui ne l'est pas (eh! peut-on rien refuser à l'observation la plus incontestable?) et que tout dépend dans les animaux de la diversité de cette organisation, comme je l'ai assez prouvé; c'en est assez pour deviner l'énigme des substances et celle de l'homme. on voit qu'il n'y en a qu'une dans l'univers et que l'homme est la plus parfaite. il est au singe, aux animaux les plus spirituels, ce que le pendule planétaire de huygens est à une montre de julien le roi. s'il a fallu plus d'instruments, plus de rouages, plus de ressorts pour marquer les mouvements des planètes, que pour marquer les heures, ou les répéter; s'il a fallu plus d'art à vaucanson pour faire son fluteur, que pour son canard, il eût dû en employer encore davantage pour faire un parleur; machine qui ne peut plus être regardée comme impossible, surtout entre les mains d'un nouveau prométhée. il était donc de même nécessaire que la nature employât plus d'art et d'appareil pour faire et entretenir une machine, qui pendant un siècle entier pût marquer tous les battements du coeur et de l'esprit; car si on n'en voit pas au pouls les heures, c'est du moins le baromètre de la chaleur et de la vivacité, par laquelle on peut juger de la nature de l'âme. je ne me trompe point, le corps humain est une horloge, mais immense, et construite avec tant d'artifice et d'habileté, que si la roue qui sert à marquer les secondes vient à s'arrêter, celle des minutes tourne et va toujours son train, comme la roue des quarts continue de se mouvoir; et ainsi des autres, quand les premières, rouillées, ou dérangées par quelque cause que ce soit, ont interrompu leur marche. car n'est-ce pas ainsi que l'obstruction de quelques vaisseaux ne suffit pas pour détruire, ou suspendre le fort des mouvements, qui est dans le coeur, comme dans la pièce ouvrière de la machine; puisqu'au contraire les fluides dont le volume est diminué, ayant moins de chemin a faire, le parcourent d'autant plus vite, emportés comme par un nouveau courant, que la force du coeur s'augmente en raison de la résistance qu'il trouve à l'extrémité des vaisseaux? lorsque le nerf optique seul comprimé ne laisse plus passer l'image des objets, n'est-ce pas ainsi que la privation de la vue n'empêche pas plus l'usage de l'ouïe, que la privation de ce sens, lorsque les fonctions de la portion molle sont interdites, ne suppose celle de l'autre? n'est-ce pas ainsi encore que l'un entend, sans pouvoir dire qu'il entend (si ce n'est après l'attaque du mal) et que l'autre qui n'entend rien, mais dont les nerfs linguaux sont libres dans le cerveau, dit machinalement tous les rêves qui lui passent par la tête? phénomènes qui ne surprennent point les médecins éclairés. ils savent à quoi s'en tenir sur la nature de l'homme; et pour le dire en passant: de deux médecins, le meilleur, celui qui mérite le plus de confiance, c'est toujours, à mon avis, celui qui est le plus versé dans la physique, ou la mécanique du corps humain, et qui laissant l'âme et toutes les inquiétudes que cette chimère donne aux sots et aux ignorans, n'est occupé sérieusement que du pur naturalisme. laissons donc le prétendu mr. charp se moquer des philosophes qui ont regardé les animaux, comme des machines. que je pense différemment! je crois que descartes serait un homme respectable à tous égards, si, né dans un siècle qu'il n'eût pas dû éclairer, il eût connu le prix de l'expérience et de l'observation, et le danger de s'en écarter. mais il n'est pas moins juste que je fasse ici une authentique réparation à ce grand homme, pour tous ces petits philosophes mauvais plaisants, et mauvais singes de locke, qui, au lieu de rire impudemment au nez de descartes, feraient mieux de sentir que sans lui le champ de la philosophie, comme celui du bon esprit sans newton, serait peut être encore en friche. il est vrai que ce célèbre philosophe s'est beaucoup trompé, et personne n'en disconvient. mais enfin il a connu la nature animale; il a le premier parfaitement démontré que les animaux étaient de pures machines. or, après une découverte de cette importance et qui suppose autant de sagacité, le moyen, sans ingratitude, de ne pas faire grâce à toutes ses erreurs! elles sont à mes yeux toutes réparées par ce grand aveu. car enfin, quoiqu'il chante sur la distinction des deux substances, il est visible que ce n'est qu'un tour d'adresse, une ruse de style, pour faire avaler aux théologiens un poison caché à l'ombre d'une analogie qui frappe tout le monde, et qu'eux seuls ne voient pas. car c'est elle, c'est cette forte analogie qui force tous les savants et les vrais juges d'avouer que ces êtres fiers et vains, plus distingués par leur orgueil que par le nom d'hommes, quelque envie qu'ils aient de s'élever, ne sont au fond que des animaux et des machines perpendiculairement rampantes. elles ont toutes ce merveilleux instinct, dont l'éducation fait de l'esprit, et qui a toujours son siège dans le cerveau, et à son défaut, comme lorsqu'il manque ou est ossifié, dans la moëlle allongée, et jamais dans le cervelet; car je l'ai vu considérablement blessé, d'autres [ ] l'ont trouvé squirreux, sans que l'âme cessât de faire ses fonctions. etre machine, sentir, penser, savoir distinguer le bien du mal, comme le bleu du jaune, en un mot être né avec de l'intelligence et un instinct sûr de morale, et n'être qu'un animal, sont donc des choses qui ne sont pas plus contradictoires qu'être un singe ou un perroquet et savoir se donner du plaisir. car, puisque l'occasion se présente de le dire, qui eut jamais deviné à priori qu'une goutte de la liqueur qui se lance dans l'accouplement fit ressentir des plaisirs divins, et qu'il en naîtrait une petite créature, qui pourrait un jour, posées certaines lois, jouir des mêmes délices? je crois la pensée si peu incompatible avec la matière organisée, qu'elle semble en être une propriété, telle que l'électricité, la faculté motrice, l'impénétrabilité, l'étendue, etc. voulez vous de nouvelles observations? en voici qui sont sans réplique et qui prouvent toutes que l'homme ressemble parfaitement aux animaux dans son origine, comme dans tout ce que nous avons déjà cru essentiel de comparer. j'en appelle à la bonne foi de nos observateurs. qu'ils nous disent s'il n'est pas vrai que l'homme dans son principe n'est qu'un ver, qui devient homme, comme la chenille papillon. les plus graves [ ] auteurs nous ont appris comment il faut s'y prendre pour voir cet animalcule. tous les curieux l'ont vu, comme hartsoeker, dans la semence de l'homme, et non dans celle de la femme; il n'y a que les sots qui s'en soient fait scrupule. comme chaque goutte de sperme contient une infinité de ces petits vers lorsqu'ils sont lancés à l'ovaire, il n'y a que le plus adroit, ou le plus vigoureux qui ait la force de s'insinuer et de s'implanter dans l'oeuf que fournit la femme, et qui lui donne sa première nourriture. cet oeuf, quelquefois surpris dans les trompes de fallope, est porté par ces canaux à la matrice, où il prend racine, comme un grain de blé dans la terre. mais quoiqu'il y devienne monstrueux par sa croissance de mois, il ne diffère point des oeufs des autres femelles, si ce n'est que sa peau (l'amnios) ne se durcit jamais, et se dilate prodigieusement, comme on en peut juger en comparant les foetus trouvés en situation et près d'éclore (ce que j'ai eu le plaisir d'observer dans une femme morte un moment avant l'accouchement), avec d'autres petits embryons très proches de leur origine: car alors c'est toujours l'oeuf dans sa coque, et l'animal dans l'oeuf, qui, gêné dans ses mouvements, cherche machinalement à voir le jour; et pour y réussir, il commence par rompre avec la tête cette membrane, d'oû il sort, comme le poulet, l'oiseau, etc., de la leur. j'ajouterai une observation que je ne trouve nulle part; c'est que l'amnios n'en est pas plus mince, pour s'être prodigieusement étendu; semblable en cela à la matrice dont la substance même se gonfle de sucs infiltrés, indépendamment de la réplétion et du déploiement de tous ses coudes vasculeux. voyons l'homme dans et hors de sa coque; examinons avec un microscope les plus jeunes embryons, de , de , de ou de jours; après ce temps les yeux suffisent. que voit-on? la tête seule; un petit oeuf rond avec deux points noirs qui marquent les yeux. avant ce temps, tout étant plus informe, on n'aperçoit qu'une pulpe médullaire, qui est le cerveau, dans lequel se forme d'abord l'origine des nerfs, ou le principe du sentiment, et le coeur qui a déjà par lui-même dans cette pulpe la faculté de battre: c'est le punctum saliens de malpighi, qui doit peut-être déjà une partie de sa vivacité à l'influence des nerfs. ensuite peu-à-peu on voit la tête allonger le col, qui en se dilatant forme d'abord le thorax, où le coeur a déjà descendu, pour s'y fixer; après quoi vient le bas ventre qu'une cloison (le diaphragme) sépare. ces dilatations donnent l'une, les bras, les mains, les doigts, les ongles, et les poils; l'autre les cuisses, les jambes, les pieds, etc., avec la seule différence de situation qu'on leur connait, qui fait l'appui et le balancier du corps. c'est une végétation frappante. ici, ce sont des cheveux qui couvrent le sommet de nos têtes; là, ce sont des feuilles et des fleurs. partout brille le même luxe de la nature; et enfin l'esprit recteur des plantes est placé où nous avons notre âme, cette autre quintessence de l'homme. telle est l'uniformité de la nature qu'on commence à sentir, et l'analogie du règne animal et végétal, de l'homme à la plante. peut-être même y a-t-il des plantes animal, c'est-à-dire qui en végétant, ou se battent comme les polypes, ou font d'autres fonctions propres aux animaux? voilà à peu près tout ce qu'on sait de la génération. que les parties qui s'attirent, qui sont faites pour s'unir ensemble et pour occuper telle ou telle place, se réunissent toutes suivant leur nature; et qu'ainsi se forment les yeux, le coeur, l'estomac et enfin tout le corps, comme de grands hommes l'ont écrit, cela est possible. mais, comme l'expérience nous abandonne au milieu des ces subtilités, je ne supposerai rien, regardant tout ce qui ne frappe pas mes sens comme un mystère impénétrable. il est si rare que les deux semences se rencontrent dans le congrès, que je serais tenté de croire que la semence de la femme est inutile à la génération. mais comment en expliquer les phénomènes, sans ce commode rapport de parties, qui rend si bien raison des ressemblances des enfants, tantôt au père, et tantôt à la mère? d'un autre côté, l'embarras d'une explication doit-elle contrebalancer un fait? il me parait que c'est le mâle qui fait tout, dans une femme qui dort, comme dans la plus lubrique. l'arrangement des parties serait donc fait de toute éternité dans le germe, ou dans le ver même de l'homme. mais tout ceci est fort au-dessus de la portée des plus excellents observateurs. comme ils n'y peuvent rien saisir, ils ne peuvent pas plus juger de la mécanique de la formation et du développement des corps, qu'une taupe du chemin qu'un cerf peut parcourir. nous sommes de vraies taupes dans le champ de la nature; nous n'y faisons guères que le trajet de cet animal; et c'est notre orgueil qui donne des bornes à ce qui n'en a point. nous sommes dans le cas d'une montre qui dirait: (un fabuliste en ferait un personnage de conséquence dans un ouvrage frivole) "quoi! c'est ce sot ouvrier qui m'a faite, moi qui divise le temps! moi qui marque si exactement le cours du soleil; moi qui répète à haute voix les heures que j'indique! non, cela ne se peut pas." nous dédaignons de même, ingrats que nous sommes, cette mère commune de tous les règnes, comme parlent les chimistes. nous imaginons ou plutôt supposons une cause supérieure à celle à qui nous devons tout, et qui a véritablement tout fait d'une manière inconcevable. non, la matière n'a rien de vil, qu'aux yeux grossiers qui la méconnaissent dans ses plus brillants ouvrages; et la nature n'est point une ouvrière bornée. elle produit des millions d'hommes avec plus de facilité et de plaisir, qu'un horloger n'a de peine à faire la montre la plus composée. sa puissance éclate également et dans la production du plus vil insecte, et dans celle de l'homme le plus superbe; le règne animal ne lui coûte pas plus que le végétal, ni le plus beau génie qu'un épi de blé. jugeons donc par ce que nous voyons, de ce qui se dérobe à la curiosité de nos yeux et de nos recherches, et n'imaginons rien au delà. suivons le singe, le castor, l'éléphant, etc., dans leurs opérations. s'il est évident qu'elles ne peuvent se faire sans intelligence, pourquoi la refuser à ces animaux? et si vous leur accordez une âme, fanatiques, vous êtes perdus; vous aurez beau dire que vous ne décidez point sur sa nature, tandis que vous lui ôtez l'immortalité; qui ne voit que c'est une assertion gratuite? qui ne voit qu'elle doit être ou mortelle, ou immortelle, comme la nôtre, dont elle doit subir le même sort quel qu'il soit! et qu'ainsi c'est tomber dans scilla pour vouloir éviter caribde? brisez la chaîne de vos préjugés; armez-vous du flambeau de l'expérience et vous ferez à la nature l'honneur qu'elle mérite, au lieu de rien conclure à son désavantage, de l'ignorance où elle vous a laissé. ouvrez les yeux seulement, et laissez-là ce que vous ne pouvez comprendre; et vous verrez que ce laboureur dont l'esprit et les lumières ne s'étendent pas plus loin que les bords de son sillon, ne diffère point essentiellement du plus grand génie, comme l'eût prouvé la dissection des cerveaux de descartes et de newton: vous serez persuadé que l'imbécile ou le stupide sont des bêtes à figure humaine, comme le singe plein d'esprit est un petit homme sous une autre forme; et qu'enfin tout dépendant absolument de la diversité de l'organisation, un animal bien construit, à qui on a appris l'astronomie, peut prédire une éclipse, comme la guérison ou la mort, lorsqu'il a porté quelque temps du génie et de bons yeux à l'école d'hippocrate et au lit des malades. c'est par cette file d'observations et de vérités qu'on parvient à lier à la matière l'admirable propriété de penser, sans qu'on en puisse voir les liens, parce que le sujet de cet attribut nous est essentiellement inconnu. ne disons point que toute machine, ou tout animal, périt tout-à-fait, ou prend une autre forme, après la mort; car nous n'en savons absolument rien. mais assurer qu'une machine immortelle est une chimère, ou un être de raison, c'est faire un raisonnement aussi absurde que celui que feraient des chenilles, qui, voyant les dépouilles de leurs semblables, déploreraient amèrement le sort de leur espèce qui leur semblerait s'anéantir. l'âme de ces insectes (car chaque animal a la sienne) est trop bornée pour comprendre les métamorphoses de la nature. jamais un seul des plus rusés d'entr'eux n'eût imaginé qu'il dût devenir papillon. il en est de même de nous. que savons-nous plus de notre destinée, que de notre origine? soumettons-nous donc à une ignorance invincible de laquelle notre bonheur dépend. qui pensera ainsi, sera sage, juste, tranquille sur son sort, et par conséquent heureux. il attendra la mort, sans la craindre, ni la désirer; et chérissant la vie, comprenant à peine comment le dégoût vient corrompre un coeur dans ce lieu plein de délices; plein de respect pour la nature, plein de reconnaissance, d'attachement et de tendresse, à proportion du sentiment et des bienfaits qu'il en a reçus, heureux enfin de la sentir, et d'être au charmant spectacle de l'univers, il ne le détruira certainement jamais dans soi, ni dans les autres. que dis-je! plein d'humanité, il en aimera le caractère jusques dans ses ennemis. jugez comme il traitera les autres! il plaindra les vicieux, sans les haïr; ce ne seront à ses yeux que des hommes contrefaits. mais en faisant grâce aux défauts de la conformation de l'esprit et du corps, il n'en admirera pas moins leurs beautés et leurs vertus. ceux que la nature aura favorisés lui paraîtront mériter plus d'égards que ceux qu'elle aura traités en marâtre. c'est ainsi qu'on a vu que les dons naturels, la source de tout ce qui s'acquiert, trouvent dans la bouche et le coeur du matérialiste des hommages que tout autre leur refuse injustement. enfin le matérialiste convaincu, quoi que murmure sa propre vanité, qu'il n'est qu'une machine, ou un animal, ne maltraitera point ses semblables; trop instruit sur la nature de ces actions, dont l'inhumanité est toujours proportionnée au degré d'analogie prouvée ci devant; et ne voulant pas en un mot, suivant la loi naturelle donnée à tous les animaux, faire à autrui ce qu'il ne voudrait pas qu'il lui fît. concluons donc hardiment que l'homme est une machine; et qu'il n'y a dans tout l'univers qu'une seule substance diversement modifiée. ce n'est point ici une hypothèse élevée à force de demandes et de suppositions: ce n'est point l'ouvrage du préjugé, ni même de ma raison seule; j'eusse dédaigné un guide que je crois si peu sûr, si mes sens portant, pour ainsi dire, le flambeau, ne m'eûssent engagé à la suivre, en l'éclairant. l'expérience m'a donc parlé pour la raison; c'est ainsi que je les ai jointes ensemble. mais on a dû voir que je ne me suis permis le raisonnement le plus rigoureux et le plus immédiatement tiré, qu'à la suite d'une multitude d'observations physiques qu'aucun savant ne contestera; et c'est encore eux seuls que je reconnais pour juges des conséquences que j'en tire; récusant ici tout homme à préjugés, et qui n'est ni anatomiste, ni au fait de la seule philosophie qui soit ici de mise, celle du corps humain. que pourraient contre un chêne aussi ferme et solide ces faibles roseaux de la théologie, de la métaphysique et des écoles; armes puériles, semblables aux fleurets de nos salles, qui peuvent bien donner le plaisir de l'escrime, mais jamais entamer son adversaire. faut-il dire que je parle de ces idées creuses et triviales, de ces raisonnements rebattus et pitoyables, qu'on fera sur la prétendue incompatibilité de deux substances qui se touchent et se remuent sans cesse l'une et l'autre, tant qu'il restera l'ombre du préjugé ou de la superstition sur la terre? voilà mon système, ou plutôt la vérité, si je ne me trompe fort. elle est courte et simple. dispute à présent qui voudra! man a machine. it is not enough for a wise man to study nature and truth; he should dare state truth for the benefit of the few who are willing and able to think. as for the rest, who are voluntarily slaves of prejudice, they can no more attain truth, than frogs can fly. i reduce to two the systems of philosophy which deal with man's soul. the first and older system is materialism; the second is spiritualism. the metaphysicians who have hinted that matter may well be endowed with the faculty of thought{ } have perhaps not reasoned ill. for there is in this case a certain advantage in their inadequate way of expressing their meaning. in truth, to ask whether matter can think, without considering it otherwise than in itself, is like asking whether matter can tell time. it may be foreseen that we shall avoid this reef upon which locke had the bad luck to make shipwreck. the leibnizians with their monads have set up an unintelligible hypothesis. they have rather spiritualized matter than materialized the soul. how can we define a being whose nature is absolutely unknown to us?{ } descartes and all the cartesians, among whom the followers of malebranche have long been numbered, have made the same mistake. they have taken for granted two distinct substances in man, as if they had seen them, and positively counted them. the wisest men have declared that the soul can not know itself save by the light of faith. however, as reasonable beings they have thought that they could reserve for themselves the right of examining what the bible means by the word "spirit," which it uses in speaking of the human soul. and if in their investigation, they do not agree with the theologians on this point, are the theologians more in agreement among themselves on all other points? here is the result in a few words, of all their reflections. if there is a god, he is the author of nature as well as of revelation. he has given us the one to explain the other, and reason to make them agree. to distrust the knowledge that can be drawn from the study of animated bodies, is to regard nature and revelation as two contraries which destroy each the other, and consequently to dare uphold the absurd doctrine, that god contradicts himself in his various works and deceives us. if there is a revelation, it can not then contradict nature. by nature only can we understand the meaning of the words of the gospel, of which experience is the only true interpreter. in fact, the commentators before our time have only obscured the truth. we can judge of this by the author of the "spectacle of nature."{ } "it is astonishing," he says concerning locke, "that a man who degrades our soul far enough to consider it a soul of clay should dare set up reason as judge and sovereign arbiter of the mysteries of faith, for," he adds, "what an astonishing idea of christianity one would have, if one were to follow reason." not only do these reflections fail to elucidate faith, but they also constitute such frivolous objections to the method of those who undertake to interpret the scripture, that i am almost ashamed to waste time in refuting them. the excellence of reason does not depend on a big word devoid of meaning (immateriality), but on the force, extent, and perspicuity of reason itself. thus a "soul of clay" which should discover, at one glance, as it were, the relations and the consequences of an infinite number of ideas hard to understand, would evidently be preferable to a foolish and stupid soul, though that were composed of the most precious elements. a man is not a philosopher because, with pliny, he blushes over the wretchedness of our origin. what seems vile is here the most precious of things, and seems to be the object of nature's highest art and most elaborate care. but as man, even though he should come from an apparently still more lowly source, would yet be the most perfect of all beings, so whatever the origin of his soul, if it is pure, noble, and lofty, it is a beautiful soul which dignifies the man endowed with it. pluche's second way of reasoning seems vicious to me, even in his system, which smacks a little of fanaticism; for [on his view] if we have an idea of faith as being contrary to the clearest principles, to the most incontestable truths, we must yet conclude, out of respect for revelation and its author, that this conception is false, and that we do not yet understand the meaning of the words of the gospel. of the two alternatives, only one is possible: either everything is illusion, nature as well as revelation, or experience alone can explain faith. but what can be more ridiculous than the position of our author! can one imagine hearing a peripatetic say, "we ought not to accept the experiments of torricelli,{ } for if we should accept them, if we should rid ourselves of the horror of the void, what an astonishing philosophy we should have!" i have shown how vicious the reasoning of pluche is [ ] in order to prove, in the first place, that if there is a revelation, it is not sufficiently demonstrated by the mere authority of the church, and without any appeal to reason, as all those who fear reason claim: and in the second place, to protect against all assault the method of those who would wish to follow the path that i open to them, of interpreting supernatural things, incomprehensible in themselves, in the light of those ideas with which nature has endowed us. experience and observation should therefore be our only guides here. both are to be found throughout the records of the physicians who were philosophers, and not in the works of the philosophers who were not physicians. the former have traveled through and illuminated the labyrinth of man; they alone have laid bare to us those springs [of life] hidden under the external integument which conceals so many wonders from our eyes. they alone, tranquilly contemplating our soul, have surprised it, a thousand times, both in its wretchedness and in its glory, and they have no more despised it in the first estate, than they have admired it in the second. thus, to repeat, only the physicians have a right to speak on this subject.{ } what could the others, especially the theologians, have to say? is it not ridiculous to hear them shamelessly coming to conclusions about a subject concerning which they have had no means of knowing anything, and from which on the contrary they have been completely turned aside by obscure studies that have led them to a thousand prejudiced opinions,--in a word, to fanaticism, which adds yet more to their ignorance of the mechanism of the body? but even though we have chosen the best guides, we shall still find many thorns and stumbling blocks in the way. man is so complicated a machine{ } that it is impossible to get a clear idea of the machine beforehand, and hence impossible to define it. for this reason, all the investigations have been vain, which the greatest philosophers have made à priori, that is to say, in so far as they use, as it were, the wings of the spirit. thus it is only à posteriori or by trying to disentangle the soul from the organs of the body, so to speak, that one can reach the highest probability concerning man's own nature, even though one can not discover with certainty what his nature is. let us then take in our hands the staff of experience,{ } paying no heed to the accounts of all the idle theories of philosophers. to be blind and to think that one can do without this staff is the worst kind of blindness. how truly a contemporary writer says that only vanity fails to gather from secondary causes the same lessons as from primary causes! one can and one even ought to admire all these fine geniuses in their most useless works, such men as descartes, malebranche, leibniz, wolff and the rest, but what profit, i ask, has any one gained from their profound meditations, and from all their works? let us start out then to discover not what has been thought, but what must be thought for the sake of repose in life. there are as many different minds, different characters, and different customs, as there are different temperaments. even galen{ } knew this truth which descartes carried so far as to claim that medicine alone can change minds and morals, along with bodies. (by the writer of "l'histoire de l'âme,"{ } this teaching is incorrectly attributed to hippocrates.{ }) it is true that melancholy, bile, phlegm, blood etc.--according to the nature, the abundance, and the different combination of these humors--make each man different from another.{ } in disease the soul is sometimes hidden, showing no sign of life; sometimes it is so inflamed by fury that it seems to be doubled; sometimes, imbecility vanishes and the convalescence of an idiot produces a wise man. sometimes, again, the greatest genius becomes imbecile and loses the sense of self. adieu then to all that fine knowledge, acquired at so high a price, and with so much trouble! here is a paralytic who asks if his leg is in bed with him; there is a soldier who thinks that he still has the arm which has been cut off. the memory of his old sensations, and of the place to which they were referred by his soul, is the cause of his illusion, and of this kind of delirium. the mere mention of the member which he has lost is enough to recall it to his mind, and to make him feel all its motions; and this causes him an indefinable and inexpressible kind of imaginary suffering. this man cries like a child at death's approach, while this other jests. what was needed to change the bravery of caius julius, seneca, or petronius into cowardice or faintheartedness? merely an obstruction in the spleen, in the liver, an impediment in the portal vein? why? because the imagination is obstructed along with the viscera, and this gives rise to all the singular phenomena of hysteria and hypochondria. what can i add to the stories already told of those who imagine themselves transformed into wolf-men, cocks or vampires, or of those who think that the dead feed upon them? why should i stop to speak of the man who imagines that his nose or some other member is of glass? the way to help this man regain his faculties and his own flesh-and-blood nose is to advise him to sleep on hay, lest he break the fragile organ, and then to set fire to the hay that he may be afraid of being burned--a fear which has sometimes cured paralysis. but i must touch lightly on facts which everybody knows. neither shall i dwell long on the details of the effects of sleep. here a tired soldier snores in a trench, in the middle of the thunder of hundreds of cannon. his soul hears nothing; his sleep is as deep as apoplexy. a bomb is on the point of crushing him. he will feel this less perhaps than he feels an insect which is under his foot. on the other hand, this man who is devoured by jealousy, hatred, avarice, or ambition, can never find any rest. the most peaceful spot, the freshest and most calming drinks are alike useless to one who has not freed his heart from the torment of passion. the soul and the body fall asleep together. as the motion of the blood is calmed, a sweet feeling of peace and quiet spreads through the whole mechanism. the soul feels itself little by little growing heavy as the eyelids droop, and loses its tenseness, as the fibres of the brain relax; thus little by little it becomes as if paralyzed and with it all the muscles of the body. these can no longer sustain the weight of the head, and the soul can no longer bear the burden of thought; it is in sleep as if it were not. is the circulation too quick? the soul can not sleep. is the soul too much excited? the blood can not be quieted: it gallops through the veins with an audible murmur. such are the two opposite causes of insomnia. a single fright in the midst of our dreams makes the heart beat at double speed and snatches us from needed and delicious repose, as a real grief or an urgent need would do. lastly as the mere cessation of the functions of the soul produces sleep, there are, even when we are awake (or at least when we are half awake), kinds of very frequent short naps of the mind, vergers' dreams, which show that the soul does not always wait for the body to sleep. for if the soul is not fast asleep, it surely is not far from sleep, since it can not point out a single object to which it has attended, among the uncounted number of confused ideas which, so to speak, fill the atmosphere of our brains like clouds. opium is too closely related to the sleep it produces, to be left out of consideration here. this drug intoxicates, like wine, coffee, etc., each in its own measure and according to the dose.{ } it makes a man happy in a state which would seemingly be the tomb of feeling, as it is the image of death. how sweet is this lethargy! the soul would long never to emerge from it. for the soul has been a prey to the most intense sorrow, but now feels only the joy of suffering past, and of sweetest peace. opium even alters the will, forcing the soul which wished to wake and to enjoy life, to sleep in spite of itself. i shall omit any reference to the effect of poisons. coffee, the well-known antidote for wine, by scourging the imagination, cures our headaches and scatters our cares without laying up for us, as wine does, other headaches for the morrow. but let us contemplate the soul in its other needs. the human body is a machine which winds its own springs. it is the living image of perpetual movement. nourishment keeps up the movements which fever excites. without food, the soul pines away, goes mad, and dies exhausted. the soul is a taper whose light flares up the moment before it goes out. but nourish the body, pour into its veins life-giving juices and strong liquors, and then the soul grows strong like them, as if arming itself with a proud courage, and the soldier whom water would have made flee, grows bold and runs joyously to death to the sound of drums. thus a hot drink sets into stormy movement the blood which a cold drink would have calmed. what power there is in a meal! joy revives in a sad heart, and infects the souls of comrades, who express their delight in the friendly songs in which the frenchman excels. the melancholy man alone is dejected, and the studious man is equally out of place [in such company]. raw meat makes animals fierce, and it would have the same effect on man. this is so true that the english who eat meat red and bloody, and not as well done as ours, seem to share more or less in the savagery due to this kind of food, and to other causes which can be rendered ineffective by education only. this savagery creates in the soul, pride, hatred, scorn of other nations, indocility and other sentiments which degrade the character, just as heavy food makes a dull and heavy mind whose usual traits are laziness and indolence. pope understood well the full power of greediness when he said:{ } "catius is ever moral, ever grave, thinks who endures a knave is next a knave, save just at dinner--then prefers no doubt, a rogue with ven'son to a saint without." elsewhere he says: "see the same man in vigor, in the gout alone, in company, in place or out, early at business and at hazard late, mad at a fox chase, wise at a debate, drunk at a borough, civil at a ball, friendly at hackney, faithless at white hall." in switzerland we had a bailiff by the name of m. steigner de wittighofen. when he fasted he was a most upright and even a most indulgent judge, but woe to the unfortunate man whom he found on the culprit's bench after he had had a large dinner! he was capable of sending the innocent like the guilty to the gallows. we think we are, and in fact we are, good men, only as we are gay or brave; everything depends on the way our machine is running. one is sometimes inclined to say that the soul is situated in the stomach, and that van helmont,{ } who said that the seat of the soul was in the pylorus, made only the mistake of taking the part for the whole. to what excesses cruel hunger can bring us! we no longer regard even our own parents and children. we tear them to pieces eagerly and make horrible banquets of them; and in the fury with which we are carried away, the weakest is always the prey of the strongest.... one needs only eyes to see the necessary influence of old age on reason. the soul follows the progress of the body, as it does the progress of education. in the weaker sex, the soul accords also with delicacy of temperament, and from this delicacy follow tenderness, affection, quick feelings due more to passion than to reason, prejudices, and superstitions, whose strong impress can hardly be effaced. man, on the other hand, whose brain and nerves partake of the firmness of all solids, has not only stronger features but also a more vigorous mind. education, which women lack, strengthens his mind still more. thus with such help of nature and art, why should not a man be more grateful, more generous, more constant in friendship, stronger in adversity? but, to follow almost exactly the thought of the author of the "lettres sur la physiognomie,"{ } the sex which unites the charms of the mind and of the body with almost all the tenderest and most delicate feelings of the heart, should not envy us the two capacities which seem to have been given to man, the one merely to enable him better to fathom the allurements of beauty, and the other merely to enable him to minister better to its pleasures. it is no more necessary to be just as great a physiognomist as this author, in order to guess the quality of the mind from the countenance or the shape of the features, provided these are sufficiently marked, than it is necessary to be a great doctor to recognize a disease accompanied by all its marked symptoms. look at the portraits of locke, of steele, of boerhaave,{ } of maupertuis,{ } and the rest, and you will not be surprised to find strong faces and eagle eyes. look over a multitude of others, and you can always distinguish the man of talent from the man of genius, and often even an honest man from a scoundrel. for example, it has been noticed that a celebrated poet combines (in his portrait) the look of a pickpocket with the fire of prometheus. history provides us with a noteworthy example of the power of temperature. the famous duke of guise was so strongly convinced that henry the third, in whose power he had so often been, would never dare assassinate him, that he went to blois. when the chancelor chiverny learned of the duke's departure, he cried, "he is lost." after this fatal prediction had been fulfilled by the event, chiverny was asked why he made it. "i have known the king for twenty years," said he; "he is naturally kind and even weakly indulgent, but i have noticed that when it is cold, it takes nothing at all to provoke him and send him into a passion." one nation is of heavy and stupid wit, and another quick, light and penetrating. whence comes this difference, if not in part from the difference in foods, and difference in inheritance, [ ] and in part from the mixture of the diverse elements which float around in the immensity of the void? the mind, like the body, has its contagious diseases and its scurvy. such is the influence of climate, that a man who goes from one climate to another, feels the change, in spite of himself. he is a walking plant which has transplanted itself; if the climate is not the same, it will surely either degenerate or improve. furthermore, we catch everything from those with whom we come in contact; their gestures, their accent, etc.; just as the eyelid is instinctively lowered when a blow is foreseen, or as (for the same reason) the body of the spectator mechanically imitates, in spite of himself, all the motions of a good mimic.{ } from what i have just said, it follows that a brilliant man is his own best company, unless he can find other company of the same sort. in the society of the unintelligent, the mind grows rusty for lack of exercise, as at tennis a ball that is served badly is badly returned. i should prefer an intelligent man without an education, if he were still young enough, to a man badly educated. a badly trained mind is like an actor whom the provinces have spoiled. thus, the diverse states of the soul are always correlative with those of the body.{ } but the better to show this dependence, in its completeness and its causes, let us here make use of comparative anatomy; let us lay bare the organs of man and of animals. how can human nature be known, if we may not derive any light from an exact comparison of the structure of man and of animals? in general, the form and the structure of the brains of quadrupeds are almost the same as those of the brain of man; the same shape, the same arrangement everywhere, with this essential difference, that of all the animals man is the one whose brain is largest, and, in proportion to its mass, more convoluted than the brain of any other animal; then come the monkey, the beaver, the elephant, the dog, the fox, the cat. these animals are most like man, for among them, too, one notes the same progressive analogy in relation to the corpus callosum in which lancisi--anticipating the late m. de la peyronie{ }--established the seat of the soul. the latter, however, illustrated the theory by innumerable experiments. next after all the quadrupeds, birds have the largest brains. fish have large heads, but these are void of sense, like the heads of many men. fish have no corpus callosum, and very little brain, while insects entirely lack brain. i shall not launch out into any more detail about the varieties of nature, nor into conjectures concerning them, for there is an infinite number of both, as any one can see by reading no further than the treatises of willis "de cerebro" and "de anima brutorum."{ } i shall draw the conclusions which follow clearly from these incontestable observations: st, that the fiercer animals are, the less brain they have; d, that this organ seems to increase in size in proportion to the gentleness of the animal; d, that nature seems here eternally to impose a singular condition, that the more one gains in intelligence the more one loses in instinct. does this bring gain or loss? do not think, however, that i wish to infer by that, that the size alone of the brain, is enough to indicate the degree of tameness in animals: the quality must correspond to the quantity, and the solids and liquids must be in that due equilibrium which constitutes health. if, as is ordinarily observed, the imbecile does not lack brain, his brain will be deficient in its consistency--for instance, in being too soft. the same thing is true of the insane, and the defects of their brains do not always escape our investigation. but if the causes of imbecility, insanity, etc., are not obvious, where shall we look for the causes of the diversity of all minds? they would escape the eyes of a lynx and of an argus. a mere nothing, a tiny fibre, something that could never be found by the most delicate anatomy, would have made of erasmus and fontenelle{ } two idiots, and fontenelle himself speaks of this very fact in one of his best dialogues. willis has noticed in addition to the softness of the brain-substance in children, puppies, and birds, that the corpora striata are obliterated and discolored in all these animals, and that the striations are as imperfectly formed as in paralytics.... however cautious and reserved one may be about the consequences that can be deduced from these observations, and from many others concerning the kind of variation in the organs, nerves, etc., [one must admit that] so many different varieties can not be the gratuitous play of nature. they prove at least the necessity for a good and vigorous physical organization, since throughout the animal kingdom the soul gains force with the body and acquires keenness, as the body gains strength. let us pause to contemplate the varying capacity of animals to learn. doubtless the analogy best framed leads the mind to think that the causes we have mentioned produce all the difference that is found between animals and men, although we must confess that our weak understanding, limited to the coarsest observations, can not see the bonds that exist between cause and effects. this is a kind of harmony that philosophers will never know. among animals, some learn to speak and sing; they remember tunes, and strike the notes as exactly as a musician. others, for instance the ape, show more intelligence, and yet can not learn music. what is the reason for this, except some defect in the organs of speech? but is this defect so essential to the structure that it could never be remedied? in a word, would it be absolutely impossible to teach the ape a language?{ } i do not think so. i should choose a large ape in preference to any other, until by some good fortune another kind should be discovered, more like us, for nothing prevents there being such an one in regions unknown to us. the ape resembles us so strongly that naturalists have called it "wild man" or "man of the woods." i should take it in the condition of the pupils of amman,{ } that is to say, i should not want it to be too young or too old; for apes that are brought to europe are usually too old. i would choose the one with the most intelligent face, and the one which, in a thousand little ways, best lived up to its look of intelligence. finally not considering myself worthy to be his master, i should put him in the school of that excellent teacher whom i have just named, or with another teacher equally skilful, if there is one. you know by amman's work, and by all those [ ] who have interpreted his method, all the wonders he has been able to accomplish for those born deaf. in their eyes he discovered ears, as he himself explains, and in how short a time! in short he taught them to hear, speak, read, and write. i grant that a deaf person's eyes see more clearly and are keener than if he were not deaf, for the loss of one member or sense can increase the strength or acuteness of another, but apes see and hear, they understand what they hear and see, and grasp so perfectly the signs that are made to them, that i doubt not that they would surpass the pupils of amman in any other game or exercise. why then should the education of monkeys be impossible? why might not the monkey, by dint of great pains, at last imitate after the manner of deaf mutes, the motions necessary for pronunciation? i do not dare decide whether the monkey's organs of speech, however trained, would be incapable of articulation. but, because of the great analogy between ape and man{ } and because there is no known animal whose external and internal organs so strikingly resemble man's, it would surprise me if speech were absolutely impossible to the ape. locke, who was certainly never suspected of credulity, found no difficulty in believing the story told by sir william temple{ } in his memoirs, about a parrot which could answer rationally, and which had learned to carry on a kind of connected conversation, as we do. i know that people have ridiculed [ ] this great metaphysician; but suppose some one should have announced that reproduction sometimes takes place without eggs or a female, would he have found many partisans? yet m. trembley{ } has found cases where reproduction takes place without copulation and by fission. would not amman too have passed for mad if he had boasted that he could instruct scholars like his in so short a time, before he had happily accomplished the feat? his successes have, however, astonished the world; and he, like the author of "the history of polyps," has risen to immortality at one bound. whoever owes the miracles that he works to his own genius surpasses, in my opinion, the man who owes his to chance. he who has discovered the art of adorning the most beautiful of the kingdoms [of nature], and of giving it perfections that it did not have, should be rated above an idle creator of frivolous systems, or a painstaking author of sterile discoveries. amman's discoveries are certainly of a much greater value; he has freed men from the instinct to which they seemed to be condemned, and has given them ideas, intelligence, or in a word, a soul which they would never have had. what greater power than this! let us not limit the resources of nature; they are infinite, especially when reinforced by great art. could not the device which opens the eustachian canal of the deaf, open that of apes? might not a happy desire to imitate the master's pronunciation, liberate the organs of speech in animals that imitate so many other signs with such skill and intelligence? not only do i defy any one to name any really conclusive experiment which proves my view impossible and absurd; but such is the likeness of the structure and functions of the ape to ours that i have very little doubt that if this animal were properly trained he might at last be taught to pronounce, and consequently to know, a language. then he would no longer be a wild man, nor a defective man, but he would be a perfect man, a little gentleman, with as much matter or muscle as we have, for thinking and profiting by his education. the transition from animals to man is not violent, as true philosophers will admit. what was man before the invention of words and the knowledge of language?{ } an animal of his own species with much less instinct than the others. in those days, he did not consider himself king over the other animals, nor was he distinguished from the ape, and from the rest, except as the ape itself differs from the other animals, i. e., by a more intelligent face. reduced to the bare intuitive knowledge of the leibnizians he saw only shapes and colors, without being able to distinguish between them: the same, old as young, child at all ages, he lisped out his sensations and his needs, as a dog that is hungry or tired of sleeping, asks for something to eat, or for a walk. words, languages, laws, sciences, and the fine arts have come, and by them finally the rough diamond of our mind has been polished. man has been trained in the same way as animals. he has become an author, as they became beasts of burden. a geometrician has learned to perform the most difficult demonstrations and calculations, as a monkey has learned to take his little hat off and on, and to mount his tame dog. all has been accomplished through signs, every species has learned what it could understand, and in this way men have acquired symbolic knowledge, still so called by our german philosophers. nothing, as any one can see, is so simple as the mechanism of our education. everything may be reduced to sounds or words that pass from the mouth of one through the ears of another into his brain. at the same moment, he perceives through his eyes the shape of the bodies of which these words are the arbitrary signs. but who was the first to speak? who was the first teacher of the human race? who invented the means of utilizing the plasticity of our organism? i can not answer: the names of these first splendid geniuses have been lost in the night of time. but art is the child of nature, so nature must have long preceded it. we must think that the men who were the most highly organized, those on whom nature had lavished her richest gifts, taught the others. they could not have heard a new sound for instance, nor experienced new sensations, nor been struck by all the varied and beautiful objects that compose the ravishing spectacle of nature without finding themselves in the state of mind of the deaf man of chartres, whose experience was first related by the great fontenelle,{ } when, at forty years, he heard for the first time, the astonishing sound of bells. would it be absurd to conclude from this that the first mortals tried after the manner of this deaf man, or like animals and like mutes (another kind of animals), to express their new feelings by motions depending on the nature of their imagination, and therefore afterwards by spontaneous sounds, distinctive of each animal, as the natural expression of their surprise, their joy, their ecstasies and their needs? for doubtless those whom nature endowed with finer feeling had also greater facility in expression. that is the way in which, i think, men have used their feeling and their instinct to gain intelligence and then have employed their intelligence to gain knowledge. those are the ways, so far as i can understand them, in which men have filled the brain with the ideas, for the reception of which nature made it. nature and man have helped each other; and the smallest beginnings have, little by little, increased, until everything in the universe could be as easily described as a circle. as a violin string or a harpsichord key vibrates and gives forth sound, so the cerebral fibres, struck by waves of sound, are stimulated to render or repeat the words that strike them. and as the structure of the brain is such that when eyes well formed for seeing, have once perceived the image of objects, the brain can not help seeing their images and their differences, so when the signs of these differences have been traced or imprinted in the brain, the soul necessarily examines their relations--an examination that would have been impossible without the discovery of signs or the invention of language. at the time when the universe was almost dumb, the soul's attitude toward all objects was that of a man without any idea of proportion toward a picture or a piece of sculpture, in which he could distinguish nothing; or the soul was like a little child (for the soul was then in its infancy) who, holding in his hand small bits of straw or wood, sees them in a vague and superficial way without being able to count or distinguish them. but let some one attach a kind of banner, or standard, to this bit of wood (which perhaps is called a mast), and another banner to another similar object; let the first be known by the symbol , and the second by the symbol or number , then the child will be able to count the objects, and in this way he will learn all of arithmetic. as soon as one figure seems equal to another in its numerical sign, he will decide without difficulty that they are two different bodies, that + make , and + make , [ ] etc. this real or apparent likeness of figures is the fundamental basis of all truths and of all we know. among these sciences, evidently those whose signs are less simple and less sensible are harder to understand than the others, because more talent is required to comprehend and combine the immense number of words by which such sciences express the truths in their province. on the other hand, the sciences that are expressed by numbers or by other small signs, are easily learned; and without doubt this facility rather than its demonstrability is what has made the fortune of algebra. all this knowledge, with which vanity fills the balloon-like brains of our proud pedants, is therefore but a huge mass of words and figures, which form in the brain all the marks by which we distinguish and recall objects. all our ideas are awakened after the fashion in which the gardener who knows plants recalls all stages of their growth at sight of them. these words and the objects designated by them are so connected in the brain that it is comparatively rare to imagine a thing without the name or sign that is attached to it. i always use the word "imagine," because i think that everything is the work of imagination, and that all the faculties of the soul can be correctly reduced to pure imagination in which they all consist.{ } thus judgment, reason, and memory are not absolute parts of the soul, but merely modifications of this kind of medullary screen upon which images of the objects painted in the eye are projected as by a magic lantern. but if such is the marvelous and incomprehensible result of the structure of the brain, if everything is perceived and explained by imagination, why should we divide the sensitive principle which thinks in man? is not this a clear inconsistency in the partisans of the simplicity of the mind? for a thing that is divided can no longer without absurdity be regarded as indivisible. see to what one is brought by the abuse of language and by those fine words (spirituality, immateriality, etc.) used haphazard and not understood even by the most brilliant.{ } nothing is easier than to prove a system based, as this one is, on the intimate feeling and personal experience of each individual. if the imagination, or, let us say, that fantastic part of the brain whose nature is as unknown to us as its way of acting, be naturally small or weak, it will hardly be able to compare the analogy or the resemblance of its ideas, it will be able to see only what is face to face with it, or what affects it very strongly; and how will it see all this! yet it is always imagination which apperceives, and imagination which represents to itself all objects along with their names and symbols; and thus, once again, imagination is the soul, since it plays all the rôles of the soul. by the imagination, by its flattering brush, the cold skeleton of reason takes on living and ruddy flesh, by the imagination the sciences flourish, the arts are adorned, the wood speaks, the echoes sigh, the rocks weep, marble breathes, and all inanimate objects gain life. it is imagination again which adds the piquant charm of voluptuousness to the tenderness of an amorous heart; which makes tenderness bud in the study of the philosopher and of the dusty pedant, which, in a word, creates scholars as well as orators and poets. foolishly decried by some, vainly praised by others, and misunderstood by all; it follows not only in the train of the graces and of the fine arts, it not only describes, but can also measure nature. it reasons, judges, analyzes, compares, and investigates. could it feel so keenly the beauties of the pictures drawn for it, unless it discovered their relations? no, just as it can not turn its thoughts on the pleasures of the senses, without enjoying their perfection or their voluptuousness, it can not reflect on what it has mechanically conceived, without thus being judgment itself. the more the imagination or the poorest talent is exercised, the more it gains in embonpoint, so to speak, and the larger it grows. it becomes sensitive, robust, broad, and capable of thinking. the best of organisms has need of this exercise. man's preeminent advantage is his organism.{ } in vain all writers of books on morals fail to regard as praiseworthy those qualities that come by nature, esteeming only the talents gained by dint of reflection and industry. for whence come, i ask, skill, learning, and virtue, if not from a disposition that makes us fit to become skilful, wise and virtuous? and whence again, comes this disposition, if not from nature? only through nature do we have any good qualities; to her we owe all that we are. why then should i not esteem men with good natural qualities as much as men who shine by acquired and as it were borrowed virtues? whatever the virtue may be, from whatever source it may come, it is worthy of esteem; the only question is, how to estimate it. mind, beauty, wealth, nobility, although the children of chance, all have their own value, as skill, learning and virtue have theirs. those upon whom nature has heaped her most costly gifts should pity those to whom these gifts have been refused; but, in their character of experts, they may feel their superiority without pride. a beautiful woman would be as foolish to think herself ugly, as an intelligent man to think himself a fool. an exaggerated modesty (a rare fault, to be sure) is a kind of ingratitude towards nature. an honest pride, on the contrary, is the mark of a strong and beautiful soul, revealed by manly features moulded by feeling. if one's organism is an advantage, and the preeminent advantage, and the source of all others, education is the second. the best made brain would be a total loss without it, just as the best constituted man would be but a common peasant, without knowledge of the ways of the world. but, on the other hand, what would be the use of the most excellent school, without a matrix perfectly open to the entrance and conception of ideas? it is ... impossible to impart a single idea to a man deprived of all his senses.... but if the brain is at the same time well organized and well educated, it is a fertile soil, well sown, that brings forth a hundredfold what it has received: or (to leave the figures of speech often needed to express what one means, and to add grace to truth itself) the imagination, raised by art to the rare and beautiful dignity of genius, apprehends exactly all the relations of the ideas it has conceived, and takes in easily an astounding number of objects, in order to deduce from them a long chain of consequences, which are again but new relations, produced by a comparison with the first, to which the soul finds a perfect resemblance. such is, i think, the generation of intelligence.{ } i say "finds" as i before gave the epithet "apparent" to the likeness of objects, not because i think that our senses are always deceivers, as father malebranche has claimed, or that our eyes, naturally a little unsteady, fail to see objects as they are in themselves, (though microscopes prove this to us every day) but in order to avoid any dispute with the pyrrhonians,{ } among whom bayle{ } is well known. i say of truth in general what m. de fontenelle says of certain truths in particular, that we must sacrifice it in order to remain on good terms with society. and it accords with the gentleness of my character, to avoid all disputes unless to whet conversation. the cartesians would here in vain make an onset upon me with their innate ideas. i certainly would not give myself a quarter of the trouble that m. locke took, to attack such chimeras. in truth, what is the use of writing a ponderous volume to prove a doctrine which became an axiom three thousand years ago? according to the principles which we have laid down, and which we consider true; he who has the most imagination should be regarded as having the most intelligence or genius, for all these words are synonymous; and again, only by a shameful abuse [of terms] do we think that we are saying different things, when we are merely using different words, different sounds, to which no idea or real distinction is attached. the finest, greatest, or strongest imagination is then the one most suited to the sciences as well as to the arts. i do not pretend to say whether more intellect is necessary to excel in the art of aristotle or of descartes than to excel in that of euripides or of sophocles, and whether nature has taken more trouble to make newton than to make corneille, though i doubt this. but it is certain that imagination alone, differently applied, has produced their diverse triumphs and their immortal glory. if one is known as having little judgment and much imagination, this means that the imagination has been left too much alone, has, as it were, occupied most of the time in looking at itself in the mirror of its sensations, has not sufficiently formed the habit of examining the sensations themselves attentively. [it means that the imagination] has been more impressed by images than by their truth or their likeness. truly, so quick are the responses of the imagination that if attention, that key or mother of the sciences, does not do its part, imagination can do little more than run over and skim its objects. see that bird on the bough: it seems always ready to fly away. imagination is like the bird, always carried onward by the turmoil of the blood and the animal spirits. one wave leaves a mark, effaced by the one that follows; the soul pursues it, often in vain: it must expect to regret the loss of that which it has not quickly enough seized and fixed. thus, imagination, the true image of time, is being ceaselessly destroyed and renewed. such is the chaos and the continuous quick succession of our ideas: they drive each other away even as one wave yields to another. therefore, if imagination does not, as it were, use one set of its muscles to maintain a kind of equilibrium with the fibres of the brain, to keep its attention for a while upon an object that is on the point of disappearing, and to prevent itself from contemplating prematurely another object--[unless the imagination does all this], it will never be worthy of the fine name of judgment. it will express vividly what it has perceived in the same fashion: it will create orators, musicians, painters, poets, but never a single philosopher. on the contrary, if the imagination be trained from childhood to bridle itself and to keep from being carried away by its own impetuosity--an impetuosity which creates only brilliant enthusiasts--and to check, to restrain, its ideas, to examine them in all their aspects in order to see all sides of an object, then the imagination, ready in judgment, will comprehend the greatest possible sphere of objects, through reasoning; and its vivacity (always so good a sign in children, and only needing to be regulated by study and training) will be only a far-seeing insight without which little progress can be made in the sciences. such are the simple foundations upon which the edifice of logic has been reared. nature has built these foundations for the whole human race, but some have used them, while others have abused them. in spite of all these advantages of man over animals, it is doing him honor to place him in the same class. for, truly, up to a certain age, he is more of an animal than they, since at birth he has less instinct. what animal would die of hunger in the midst of a river of milk? man alone. like that child of olden time to whom a modern writer, refers, following arnobius,{ } he knows neither the foods suitable for him, nor the water that can drown him, nor the fire that can reduce him to ashes. light a wax candle for the first time under a child's eyes, and he will mechanically put his fingers in the flame as if to find out what is the new thing that he sees. it is at his own cost that he will learn of the danger, but he will not be caught again. or, put the child with an animal on a precipice, the child alone falls off; he drowns where the animal would save itself by swimming. at fourteen or fifteen years the child knows hardly anything of the great pleasures in store for him, in the reproduction of his species; when he is a youth, he does not know exactly how to behave in a game which nature teaches animals so quickly. he hides himself as if he were ashamed of taking pleasure, and of having been made to be happy, while animals frankly glory in being cynics. without education, they are without prejudices. for one more example, let us observe a dog and a child who have lost their master on a highway: the child cries and does not know to what saint to pray, while the dog, better helped by his sense of smell than the child by his reason, soon finds his master. thus nature made us to be lower than animals or at least to exhibit all the more, because of that native inferiority, the wonderful efficacy of education which alone raises us from the level of the animals and lifts us above them. but shall we grant this same distinction to the deaf and to the blind, to imbeciles, madmen, or savages, or to those who have been brought up in the woods with animals; to those who have lost their imagination through melancholia, or in short to all those animals in human form who give evidence of only the rudest instinct? no, all these, men of body but not of mind, do not deserve to be classed by themselves. we do not intend to hide from ourselves the arguments that can be brought forward against our belief and in favor of a primitive distinction between men and animals. some say that there is in man a natural law, a knowledge of good and evil, which has never been imprinted on the heart of animals. but is this objection, or rather this assertion, based on observation? any assertion unfounded on observation may be rejected by a philosopher. have we ever had a single experience which convinces us that man alone has been enlightened by a ray denied all other animals? if there is no such experience, we can no more know what goes on in animals' minds or even in the minds of other men, than we can help feeling what affects the inner part of our own being. we know that we think, and feel remorse--an intimate feeling forces us to recognize this only too well; but this feeling in us is insufficient to enable us to judge the remorse of others. that is why we have to take others at their word, or judge them by the sensible and external signs we have noticed in ourselves when we experienced the same accusations of conscience and the same torments. in order to decide whether animals which do not talk have received the natural law, we must, therefore, have recourse to those signs to which i have just referred, if any such exist. the facts seem to prove it. a dog that bit the master who was teasing it, seemed to repent a minute afterwards; it looked sad, ashamed, afraid to show itself, and seemed to confess its guilt by a crouching and downcast air. history offers us a famous example of a lion which would not devour a man abandoned to its fury, because it recognized him as its benefactor. how much might it be wished that man himself always showed the same gratitude for kindnesses, and the same respect for humanity! then we should no longer fear either ungrateful wretches, or wars which are the plague of the human race and the real executioners of the natural law. but a being to which nature has given such a precocious and enlightened instinct, which judges, combines, reasons, and deliberates as far as the sphere of its activity extends and permits, a being which feels attachment because of benefits received, and which leaving a master who treats it badly goes to seek a better one, a being with a structure like ours, which performs the same acts, has the same passions, the same griefs, the same pleasures, more or less intense according to the sway of the imagination and the delicacy of the nervous organization--does not such a being show clearly that it knows its faults and ours, understands good and evil, and in a word, has consciousness of what it does? would its soul, which feels the same joys, the same mortification and the same discomfiture which we feel, remain utterly unmoved by disgust when it saw a fellow-creature torn to bits, or when it had itself pitilessly dismembered this fellow-creature? if this be granted, it follows that the precious gift now in question would not have been denied to animals: for since they show us sure signs of repentance, as well as of intelligence, what is there absurd in thinking that beings, almost as perfect machines as ourselves, are, like us, made to understand and to feel nature? let no one object that animals, for the most part, are savage beasts, incapable of realizing the evil that they do; for do all men discriminate better between vice and virtue? there is ferocity in our species as well as in theirs. men who are in the barbarous habit of breaking the natural law are not tormented as much by it, as those who transgress it for the first time, and who have not been hardened by the force of habit. the same thing is true of animals as of men--both may be more or less ferocious in temperament, and both become more so by living with others like themselves. but a gentle and peaceful animal which lives among other animals of the same disposition and of gentle nurture, will be an enemy of blood and carnage; it will blush internally at having shed blood. there is perhaps this difference, that since among animals everything is sacrificed to their needs, to their pleasures, to the necessities of life, which they enjoy more than we, their remorse apparently should not be as keen as ours, because we are not in the same state of necessity as they. custom perhaps dulls and perhaps stifles remorse as well as pleasures. but i will suppose for a moment that i am utterly mistaken in concluding that almost all the world holds a wrong opinion on this subject, while i alone am right. i will grant that animals, even the best of them, do not know the difference between moral good and evil, that they have no recollection of the trouble taken for them, of the kindness done them, no realization of their own virtues. [i will suppose], for instance, that this lion, to which i, like so many others, have referred, does not remember at all that it refused to kill the man, abandoned to its fury, in a combat more inhuman than one could find among lions, tigers and bears, put together. for our compatriots fight, swiss against swiss, brother against brother, recognize each other, and yet capture and kill each other without remorse, because a prince pays for the murder. i suppose in short that the natural law has not been given animals. what will be the consequences of this supposition? man is not moulded from a costlier clay; nature has used but one dough, and has merely varied the leaven. therefore if animals do not repent for having violated this inmost feeling which i am discussing, or rather if they absolutely lack it, man must necessarily be in the same condition. farewell then to the natural law and all the fine treatises published about it! the whole animal kingdom in general would be deprived of it. but, conversely, if man can not dispense with the belief that when health permits him to be himself, he always distinguishes the upright, humane, and virtuous, from those who are not humane, virtuous, nor honorable: that it is easy to tell vice from virtue, by the unique pleasure and the peculiar repugnance that seem to be their natural effects, it follows that animals, composed of the same matter, lacking perhaps only one degree of fermentation to make it exactly like man's, must share the same prerogatives of animal nature, and that thus there exists no soul or sensitive substance without remorse.{ } the following consideration will reinforce these observations. it is impossible to destroy the natural law. the impress of it on all animals is so strong, that i have no doubt that the wildest and most savage have some moments of repentance. i believe that that cruel maid of chalons in champagne must have sorrowed for her crime, if she really ate her sister. i think that the same thing is true of all those who commit crimes, even involuntary or temperamental crimes: true of gaston of orleans who could not help stealing; of a certain woman who was subject to the same crime when pregnant, and whose children inherited it; of the woman who, in the same condition, ate her husband; of that other woman who killed her children, salted their bodies, and ate a piece of them every day, as a little relish; of that daughter of a thief and cannibal who at twelve years followed in his steps, although she had been orphaned when she was a year old, and had been brought up by honest people; to say nothing of many other examples of which the records of our observers are full, all of them proving that there are a thousand hereditary vices and virtues which are transmitted from parents to children as those of the foster mother pass to the children she nurses. now, i believe and admit that these wretches do not for the most part feel at the time the enormity of their actions. bulimia, or canine hunger, for example, can stifle all feeling; it is a mania of the stomach that one is compelled to satisfy, but what remorse must be in store for those women, when they come to themselves and grow sober, and remember the crimes they have committed against those they held most dear! what a punishment for an involuntary crime which they could not resist, of which they had no consciousness whatever! however, this is apparently not enough for the judges. for of these women, of whom i tell, one was cruelly beaten and burned, and another was buried alive. i realize all that is demanded by the interest of society. but doubtless it is much to be wished that excellent physicians might be the only judges. they alone could tell the innocent criminal from the guilty. if reason is the slave of a depraved or mad desire, how can it control the desire? but if crime carries with it its own more or less cruel punishment, if the most continued and most barbarous habit can not entirely blot out repentance in the crudest hearts, if criminals are lacerated by the very memory of their deeds, why should we frighten the imagination of weak minds, by a hell, by specters, and by precipices of fire even less real than those of pascal? [ ] why must we have recourse to fables, as an honest pope once said himself, to torment even the unhappy wretches who are executed, because we do not think that they are sufficiently punished by their own conscience, their first executioner? i do not mean to say that all criminals are unjustly punished; i only maintain that those whose will is depraved, and whose conscience is extinguished, are punished enough by their remorse when they come to themselves, a remorse, i venture to assert, from which nature should in this case have delivered unhappy souls dragged on by a fatal necessity. criminals, scoundrels, ingrates, those in short without natural feelings, unhappy tyrants who are unworthy of life, in vain take a cruel pleasure in their barbarity, for there are calm moments of reflection in which the avenging conscience arises, testifies against them, and condemns them to be almost ceaselessly torn to pieces at their own hands. whoever torments men is tormented by himself; and the sufferings that he will experience will be the just measure of those that he has inflicted. on the other hand, there is so much pleasure in doing good, in recognizing and appreciating what one receives, so much satisfaction in practising virtue, in being gentle, humane, kind, charitable, compassionate and generous (for this one word includes all the virtues), that i consider as sufficiently punished any one who is unfortunate enough not to have been born virtuous. we were not originally made to be learned; we have become so perhaps by a sort of abuse of our organic faculties, and at the expense of the state which nourishes a host of sluggards whom vanity has adorned with the name of philosophers. nature has created us all solely to be happy{ }--yes, all of us from the crawling worm to the eagle lost in the clouds. for this cause she has given all animals some share of natural law, a share greater or less according to the needs of each animal's organs when in normal condition. now how shall we define natural law? it is a feeling that teaches us what we should not do, because we would not wish it to be done to us. should i dare add to this common idea, that this feeling seems to me but a kind of fear or dread, as salutary to the race as to the individual; for may it not be true that we respect the purse and life of others only to save our own possessions, our honor, and ourselves; like those ixions of christianity{ } who love god and embrace so many fantastic virtues, merely because they are afraid of hell! you see that natural law is but an intimate feeling that, like all other feelings (thought included), belongs also to imagination. evidently, therefore, natural law does not presuppose education, revelation, nor legislator,--provided one does not propose to confuse natural law with civil laws, in the ridiculous fashion of the theologians. the arms of fanaticism may destroy those who support these truths, but they will never destroy the truths themselves. i do not mean to call in question the existence of a supreme being; on the contrary it seems to me that the greatest degree of probability is in favor of this belief. but since the existence of this being goes no further than that of any other toward proving the need of worship, it is a theoretic truth with very little practical value. therefore, since we may say, after such long experience, that religion does not imply exact honesty, we are authorized by the same reasons to think that atheism does not exclude it. furthermore, who can be sure that the reason for man's existence is not simply the fact that he exists?{ } perhaps he was thrown by chance on some spot on the earth's surface, nobody knows how nor why, but simply that he must live and die, like the mushrooms which appear from day to day, or like those flowers which border the ditches and cover the walls. let us not lose ourselves in the infinite, for we are not made to have the least idea thereof, and are absolutely unable to get back to the origin of things. besides it does not matter for our peace of mind, whether matter be eternal or have been created, whether there be or be not a god. how foolish to torment ourselves so much about things which we can not know, and which would not make us any happier even were we to gain knowledge about them! but, some will say, read all such works as those of fénelon,{ } of nieuwentyt,{ } of abadie,{ } of derham,{ } of rais,{ } and the rest. well! what will they teach me or rather what have they taught me? they are only tiresome repetitions of zealous writers, one of whom adds to the other only verbiage, more likely to strengthen than to undermine the foundations of atheism. the number of the evidences drawn from the spectacle of nature does not give these evidences any more force. either the mere structure of a finger, of an ear, of an eye, a single observation of malpighi{ } proves all, and doubtless much better than descartes and malebranche proved it, or all the other evidences prove nothing. deists,{ } and even christians, should therefore be content to point out that throughout the animal kingdom the same aims are pursued and accomplished by an infinite number of different mechanisms, all of them however exactly geometrical. for what stronger weapons could there be with which to overthrow atheists? it is true that if my reason does not deceive me, man and the whole universe seem to have been designed for this unity of aim. the sun, air, water, the organism, the shape of bodies,--everything is brought to a focus in the eye as in a mirror that faithfully presents to the imagination all the objects reflected in it, in accordance with the laws required by the infinite variety of bodies which take part in vision. in ears we find everywhere a striking variety, and yet the difference of structure in men, animals, birds, and fishes, does not produce different uses. all ears are so mathematically made, that they tend equally to one and the same end, namely, hearing. but would chance, the deist asks, be a great enough geometrician to vary thus, at pleasure, the works of which she is supposed to be the author, without being hindered by so great a diversity from gaining the same end? again, the deist will bring forward as a difficulty those parts of the animal that are clearly contained in it for future use, the butterfly in the caterpillar, man in the sperm, a whole polyp in each of its parts, the valvule in the oval orifice, the lungs in the foetus, the teeth in their sockets, the bones in the fluid from which they detach themselves and (in an incomprehensible manner) harden. and since the partisans of this theory, far from neglecting anything that would strengthen it, never tire of piling up proof upon proof, they are willing to avail themselves of everything, even of the weakness of the mind in certain cases. look, they say, at men like spinoza, vanini,{ } desbarreau,{ } and boindin,{ } apostles who honor deism more than they harm it. the duration of their health was the measure of their unbelief, and one rarely fails, they add, to renounce atheism when the passions, with their instrument, the body, have grown weak. that is certainly the most that can be said in favor of the existence of god: although the last argument is frivolous in that these conversions are short, and the mind almost always regains its former opinions and acts accordingly, as soon as it has regained or rather rediscovered its strength in that of the body. that is, at least, much more than was said by the physician diderot,{ } in his "pensées philosophiques," a sublime work that will not convince a single atheist. what reply can, in truth, be made to a man who says, "we do not know nature; causes hidden in her breast might have produced everything. in your turn, observe the polyp of trembley:{ } does it not contain in itself the causes which bring about regeneration? why then would it be absurd to think that there are physical causes by reason of which everything has been made, and to which the whole chain of this vast universe is so necessarily bound and held that nothing which happens, could have failed to happen,{ }--causes, of which we are so invincibly ignorant that we have had recourse to a god, who, as some aver, is not so much as a logical entity? thus to destroy chance is not to prove the existence of a supreme being, since there may be some other thing which is neither chance nor god--i mean, nature. it follows that the study of nature can make only unbelievers; and the way of thinking of all its more successful investigators proves this." the weight of the universe therefore far from crushing a real atheist does not even shake him. all these evidences of a creator, repeated thousands and thousands of times, evidences that are placed far above the comprehension of men like us, are self-evident (however far one push the argument) only to the anti-pyrrhonians,{ } or to those who have enough confidence in their reason to believe themselves capable of judging on the basis of certain phenomena, against which, as you see, the atheists can urge others perhaps equally strong and absolutely opposed. for if we listen to the naturalists again, they will tell us that the very causes which, in a chemist's hands, by a chance combination, made the first mirror, in the hands of nature made the pure water, the mirror of the simple shepherdess; that the motion which keeps the world going could have created it, that each body has taken the place assigned to it by its own nature, that the air must have surrounded the earth, and that iron and the other metals are produced by internal motions of the earth, for one and the same reason; that the sun is as much a natural product as electricity, that it was not made to warm the earth and its inhabitants, whom it sometimes burns, any more than the rain was made to make the seeds grow, which it often spoils; that the mirror and the water were no more made for people to see themselves in, than were all other polished bodies with this same property; that the eye is in truth a kind of glass in which the soul can contemplate the image of objects as they are presented to it by these bodies, but that it is not proved that this organ was really made expressly for this contemplation, nor purposely placed in its socket, and in short that it may well be that lucretius,{ } the physician lamy,{ } and all epicureans both ancient and modern were right when they suggested that the eye sees only because it is formed and placed as it is,{ } and that, given once for all, the same rules of motion followed by nature in the generation and development of bodies, this marvelous organ could not have been formed and placed differently. such is the pro and the con, and the summary of those fine arguments that will eternally divide the philosophers. i do not take either side. "non nostrum inter vos tantas componere lites."{ } this is what i said to one of my friends, a frenchman, as frank a pyrronian as i, a man of much merit, and worthy of a better fate. he gave me a very singular answer in regard to the matter. "it is true," he told me, "that the pro and con should not disturb at all the soul of a philosopher, who sees that nothing is proved with clearness enough to force his consent, and that the arguments offered on one side are neutralized by those of the other. however," he continued, "the universe will never be happy, unless it is atheistic."{ } here are this wretch's reasons. if atheism, said he, were generally accepted, all the forms of religion would then be destroyed and cut off at the roots. no more theological wars, no more soldiers of religion--such terrible soldiers! nature infected with a sacred poison, would regain its rights and its purity. deaf to all other voices, tranquil mortals would follow only the spontaneous dictates of their own being the only commands which can never be despised with impunity and which alone can lead us to happiness through the pleasant paths of virtue. such is natural law: whoever rigidly observes it is a good man and deserves the confidence of all the human race. whoever fails to follow it scrupulously affects, in vain, the specious exterior of another religion; he is a scamp or a hypocrite whom i distrust. after this, let a vain people think otherwise, let them dare affirm that even probity is at stake in not believing in revelation, in a word that another religion than that of nature is necessary, whatever it may be. such an assertion is wretched and pitiable; and so is the good opinion which each one gives us of the religion he has embraced! we do not seek here the votes of the crowd. whoever raises in his heart altars to superstition, is born to worship idols and not to thrill to virtue. but since all the faculties of the soul depend to such a degree on the proper organization of the brain and of the whole body, that apparently they are but this organization itself, the soul is clearly an enlightened machine. for finally, even if man alone had received a share of natural law, would he be any less a machine for that? a few more wheels, a few more springs than in the most perfect animals, the brain proportionally nearer the heart and for this very reason receiving more blood--any one of a number of unknown causes might always produce this delicate conscience so easily wounded, this remorse which is no more foreign to matter than to thought, and in a word all the differences that are supposed to exist here. could the organism then suffice for everything? once more, yes; since thought visibly develops with our organs, why should not the matter of which they are composed be susceptible of remorse also, when once it has acquired, with time, the faculty of feeling? the soul is therefore but an empty word, of which no one has any idea, and which an enlightened man should use only to signify the part in us that thinks.{ } given the least principle of motion, animated bodies will have all that is necessary for moving, feeling, thinking, repenting, or in a word for conducting themselves in the physical realm, and in the moral realm which depends upon it. yet we take nothing for granted; those who perhaps think that all the difficulties have not yet been removed shall now read of experiments that will completely satisfy them. . the flesh of all animals palpitates after death. this palpitation continues longer, the more cold blooded the animal is and the less it perspires. tortoises, lizards, serpents, etc. are evidence of this. . muscles separated from the body contract when they are stimulated. . the intestines keep up their peristaltic or vermicular motion for a long time. . according to cowper,{ } a simple injection of hot water reanimates the heart and the muscles. . a frog's heart moves for an hour or more after it has been removed from the body, especially when exposed to the sun or better still when placed on a hot table or chair. if this movement seems totally lost, one has only to stimulate the heart, and that hollow muscle beats again. harvey{ } made this same observation on toads. . bacon of verulam{ } in his treatise "sylva sylvarum" cites the case of a man convicted of treason, who was opened alive, and whose heart thrown into hot water leaped several times, each time less high, to the perpendicular height of two feet. . take a tiny chicken still in the egg, cut out the heart and you will observe the same phenomena as before, under almost the same conditions. the warmth of the breath alone reanimates an animal about to perish in the air pump. the same experiments, which we owe to boyle{ } and to sténon,{ } are made on pigeons, dogs, and rabbits. pieces of their hearts beat as their whole hearts would. the same movements can be seen in paws that have been cut off from moles. . the caterpillar, the worm, the spider, the fly, the eel--all exhibit the same phenomena; and in hot water, because of the fire it contains, the movement of the detached parts increases. . a drunken soldier cut off with one stroke of his sabre an indian rooster's head. the animal remained standing, then walked, and ran: happening to run against a wall, it turned around, beat its wings still running, and finally fell down. as it lay on the ground, all the muscles of this rooster kept on moving. that is what i saw myself, and almost the same phenomena can easily be observed in kittens or puppies with their heads cut off. . polyps do more than move after they have been cut in pieces. in a week they regenerate to form as many animals as there are pieces. i am sorry that these facts speak against the naturalists' system of generation; or rather i am very glad of it, for let this discovery teach us never to reach a general conclusion even on the ground of all known (and most decisive) experiments. here we have many more facts than are needed to prove, in an incontestable way, that each tiny fibre or part of an organized body moves by a principle which belongs to it. its activity, unlike voluntary motions, does not depend in any way on the nerves, since the movements in question occur in parts of the body which have no connection with the circulation. but if this force is manifested even in sections of fibres the heart, which is a composite of peculiarly connected fibres, must possess the same property. i did not need bacon's story to persuade me of this. it was easy for me to come to this conclusion, both from the perfect analogy of the structure of the human heart with that of animals, and also from the very bulk of the human heart, in which this movement escapes our eyes only because it is smothered, and finally because in corpses all the organs are cold and lifeless. if executed criminals were dissected while their bodies are still warm, we should probably see in their hearts the same movements that are observed in the face-muscles of those that have been beheaded. the motive principle of the whole body, and even of its parts cut in pieces, is such that it produces not irregular movements, as some have thought, but very regular ones, in warm blooded and perfect animals as well as in cold and imperfect ones. no resource therefore remains open to our adversaries but to deny thousands and thousands of facts which every man can easily verify. if now any one ask me where is this innate force in our bodies, i answer that it very clearly resides in what the ancients called the parenchyma, that is to say, in the very substance of the organs not including the veins, the arteries, the nerves, in a word, that it resides in the organization of the whole body, and that consequently each organ contains within itself forces more or less active according to the need of them. let us now go into some detail concerning these springs of the human machine. all the vital, animal, natural, and automatic motions are carried on by their action. is it not in a purely mechanical way that the body shrinks back when it is struck with terror at the sight of an unforeseen precipice, that the eyelids are lowered at the menace of a blow, as some have remarked, and that the pupil contracts in broad daylight to save the retina, and dilates to see objects in darkness? is it not by mechanical means that the pores of the skin close in winter so that the cold can not penetrate to the interior of the blood vessels, and that the stomach vomits when it is irritated by poison, by a certain quantity of opium and by all emetics, etc.? that the heart, the arteries and the muscles contract in sleep as well as in waking hours, that the lungs serve as bellows continually in exercise, ... that the heart contracts more strongly than any other muscle?{ }... i shall not go into any more detail concerning all these little subordinate forces, well known to all. but there is another more subtle and marvelous force, which animates them all; it is the source of all our feelings, of all our pleasures, of all our passions, and of all our thoughts: for the brain has its muscles for thinking, as the legs have muscles for walking.{ } i wish to speak of this impetuous principle that hippocrates calls enormôn (soul). this principle exists and has its seat in the brain at the origin of the nerves, by which it exercises its control over all the rest of the body. by this fact is explained all that can be explained, even to the surprising effects of maladies of the imagination.... look at the portrait of the famous pope who is, to say the least, the voltaire of the english. the effort, the energy of his genius are imprinted upon his countenance. it is convulsed. his eyes protrude from their sockets, the eyebrows are raised with the muscles of the forehead. why? because the brain is in travail and all the body must share in such a laborious deliverance. if there were not an internal cord which pulled the external ones, whence would come all these phenomena? to admit a soul as explanation of them, is to be reduced to [explaining phenomena by] the operations of the holy spirit. in fact, if what thinks in my brain is not a part of this organ and therefore of the whole body, why does my blood boil, and the fever of my mind pass into my veins, when lying quietly in bed, i am forming the plan of some work or carrying on an abstract calculation? put this question to men of imagination, to great poets, to men who are enraptured by the felicitous expression of sentiment, and transported by an exquisite fancy or by the charms of nature, of truth, or of virtue! by their enthusiasm, by what they will tell you they have experienced, you will judge the cause by its effects; by that harmony which borelli,{ } a mere anatomist, understood better than all the leibnizians, you will comprehend the material unity of man. in short, if the nerve-tension which causes pain occasions also the fever by which the distracted mind loses its will-power, and if, conversely, the mind too much excited, disturbs the body (and kindles that inner fire which killed bayle while he was still so young); if an agitation rouses my desire and my ardent wish for what, a moment ago, i cared nothing about, and if in their turn certain brain impressions excite the same longing and the same desires, then why should we regard as double what is manifestly one being? in vain you fall back on the power of the will, since for one order that the will gives, it bows a hundred times to the yoke.{ } and what wonder that in health the body obeys, since a torrent of blood and of animal spirits{ } forces its obedience, and since the will has as ministers an invisible legion of fluids swifter than lightning and ever ready to do its bidding! but as the power of the will is exercised by means of the nerves, it is likewise limited by them..... does the result of jaundice surprise you? do you not know that the color of bodies depends on the color of the glasses through which we look at them,{ } and that whatever is the color of the humors, such is the color of objects, at least for us, vain playthings of a thousand illusions? but remove this color from the aqueous humor of the eye, let the bile flow through its natural filter, then the soul having new eyes, will no longer see yellow. again, is it not thus, by removing cataract, or by injecting the eustachian canal, that sight is restored to the blind, or hearing to the deaf? how many people, who were perhaps only clever charlatans, passed for miracle workers in the dark ages! beautiful the soul, and powerful the will which can not act save by permission of the bodily conditions, and whose tastes change with age and fever! should we, then, be astonished that philosophers have always had in mind the health of the body, to preserve the health of the soul, that pythagoras{ } gave rules for the diet as carefully as plato forbade wine?{ } the regime suited to the body is always the one with which sane physicians think they must begin, when it is a question of forming the mind, and of instructing it in the knowledge of truth and virtue; but these are vain words in the disorder of illness, and in the tumult of the senses. without the precepts of hygiene, epictetus, socrates, plato, and the rest preach in vain: all ethics is fruitless for one who lacks his share of temperance; it is the source of all virtues, as intemperance is the source of all vices. is more needed, (for why lose myself in discussion of the passions which are all explained by the term, enormôn, of hippocrates) to prove that man is but an animal, or a collection of springs which wind each other up, without our being able to tell at what point in this human circle, nature has begun? if these springs differ among themselves, these differences consist only in their position and in their degrees of strength, and never in their nature; wherefore the soul is but a principle of motion or a material and sensible part of the brain, which can be regarded, without fear of error, as the mainspring of the whole machine, having a visible influence on all the parts. the soul seems even to have been made for the brain, so that all the other parts of the system are but a kind of emanation from the brain. this will appear from certain observations, made on different embryos, which i shall now enumerate. this oscillation, which is natural or suited to our machine, and with which each fibre and even each fibrous element, so to speak, seems to be endowed, like that of a pendulum, can not keep up forever. it must be renewed, as it loses strength, invigorated when it is tired, and weakened when it is disturbed by excess of strength and vigor. in this alone, true medicine consists. the body is but a watch, whose watchmaker is the new chyle. nature's first care, when the chyle enters the blood, is to excite in it a kind of fever{ } which the chemists, who dream only of retorts, must have taken for fermentation. this fever produces a greater filtration of spirits, which mechanically animate the muscles and the heart, as if they had been sent there by order of the will. these then are the causes or the forces of life which thus sustain for a hundred years that perpetual movement of the solids and the liquids which is as necessary to the first as to the second. but who can say whether the solids contribute more than the fluids to this movement or vice versa? all that we know is that the action of the former would soon cease without the help of the latter, that is, without the help of the fluids which by their onset rouse and maintain the elasticity of the blood vessels on which their own circulation depends. from this it follows that after death the natural resilience of each substance is still more or less strong according to the remnants of life which it outlives, being the last to perish. so true is it that this force of the animal parts can be preserved and strengthened by that of the circulation, but that it does not depend on the strength of the circulation, since, as we have seen, it can dispense with even the integrity of each member or organ. i am aware that this opinion has not been relished by all scholars, and that stahl especially had much scorn for it. this great chemist has wished to persuade us that the soul is the sole cause of all our movements. but this is to speak as a fanatic and not as a philosopher. to destroy the hypothesis of stahl,{ } we need not make as great an effort as i find that others have done before me. we need only glance at a violinist. what flexibility, what lightness in his fingers! the movements are so quick, that it seems almost as if there were no succession. but i pray, or rather i challenge, the followers of stahl who understand so perfectly all that our soul can do, to tell me how it could possibly execute so many motions so quickly, motions, moreover, which take place so far from the soul, and in so many different places. that is to suppose that a flute player could play brilliant cadences on an infinite number of holes that he could not know, and on which he could not even put his finger! but let us say with m. hecquet{ } that all men may not go to corinth.{ } why should not stahl have been even more favored by nature as a man than as a chemist and a practitioner? happy mortal, he must have received a soul different from that of the rest of mankind,--a sovereign soul, which, not content with having some control over the voluntary muscles, easily held the reins of all the movements of the body, and could suspend them, calm them, or excite them, at its pleasure! with so despotic a mistress, in whose hands were, in a sense, the beating of the heart, and the laws of circulation, there could certainly be no fever, no pain, no weariness,...! the soul wills, and the springs play, contract or relax. but how did the springs of stahl's machine get out of order so soon? he who has in himself so great a doctor, should be immortal. moreover, stahl is not the only one who has rejected the principle of the vibration of organic bodies. greater minds have not used the principle when they wished to explain the action of the heart, ... etc. one need only read the "institutions of medicine" by boerhaave{ } to see what laborious and enticing systems this great man was obliged to invent, by the labor of his mighty genius, through failure to admit that there is so wonderful a force in all bodies. willis{ } and perrault,{ } minds of a more feeble stamp, but careful observers of nature (whereas nature was known to the famous leyden professor only through others and second hand, so to speak) seem to have preferred to suppose a soul generally extended over the whole body, instead of the principle which we are describing. but according to this hypothesis (which was the hypothesis of vergil and of all epicureans, an hypothesis which the history of the polyp might seem at first sight to favor) the movements which go on after the death of the subject in which they inhere are due to a remnant of soul still maintained by the parts that contract, though, from the moment of death, these are not excited by the blood and the spirits. whence it may be seen that these writers, whose solid works easily eclipse all philosophic fables, are deceived only in the manner of those who have endowed matter with the faculty of thinking, i mean to say, by having expressed themselves badly in obscure and meaningless terms. in truth, what is this remnant of a soul, if it is not the "moving force" of the leibnizians (badly rendered by such an expression), which however perrault in particular has really foreseen. see his "treatise on the mechanism of animals." now that it is clearly proved against the cartesians, the followers of stahl, the malebranchists, and the theologians who little deserve to be mentioned here, that matter is self-moved,{ } not only when organized, as in a whole heart, for example, but even when this organization has been destroyed, human curiosity would like to discover how a body, by the fact that it is originally endowed with the breath of life, finds itself adorned in consequence with the faculty of feeling, and thus with that of thought. and, heavens, what efforts have not been made by certain philosophers to manage to prove this! and what nonsense on this subject i have had the patience to read! all that experience teaches us is that while movement persists, however slight it may be, in one or more fibres, we need only stimulate them to re-excite and animate this movement almost extinguished. this has been shown in the host of experiments with which i have undertaken to crush the systems. it is therefore certain that motion and feeling excite each other in turn, both in a whole body and in the same body when its structure is destroyed, to say nothing of certain plants which seem to exhibit the same phenomena of the union of feeling and motion. but furthermore, how many excellent philosophers have shown that thought is but a faculty of feeling, and that the reasonable soul is but the feeling soul engaged in contemplating its ideas and in reasoning! this would be proved by the fact alone that when feeling is stifled, thought also is checked, for instance in apoplexy, in lethargy, in catalepsis, etc. for it is ridiculous to suggest that, during these stupors, the soul keeps on thinking, even though it does not remember the ideas that it has had. as to the development of feeling and motion, it is absurd to waste time seeking for its mechanism. the nature of motion is as unknown to us as that of matter.{ } how can we discover how it is produced unless, like the author of "the history of the soul," we resuscitate the old and unintelligible doctrine of substantial forms? i am then quite as content not to know how inert and simple matter becomes active and highly organized, as not to be able to look at the sun without red glasses; and i am as little disquieted concerning the other incomprehensible wonders of nature, the production of feeling and of thought in a being which earlier appeared to our limited eyes as a mere clod of clay. grant only that organized matter is endowed with a principle of motion, which alone differentiates it from the inorganic (and can one deny this in the face of the most incontestable observation?) and that among animals, as i have sufficiently proved, everything depends upon the diversity of this organization: these admissions suffice for guessing the riddle of substances and of man. it [thus] appears that there is but one [type of organization] in the universe, and that man is the most perfect [example]. he is to the ape, and to the most intelligent animals, as the planetary pendulum of huyghens{ } is to a watch of julien leroy.{ } more instruments, more wheels and more springs were necessary to mark the movements of the planets than to mark or strike the hours; and vaucanson,{ } who needed more skill for making his flute player than for making his duck, would have needed still more to make a talking man, a mechanism no longer to be regarded as impossible, especially in the hands of another prometheus. in like fashion, it was necessary that nature should use more elaborate art in making and sustaining a machine which for a whole century could mark all motions of the heart and of the mind; for though one does not tell time by the pulse, it is at least the barometer of the warmth and the vivacity by which one may estimate the nature of the soul. i am right! the human body is a watch, a large watch constructed with such skill and ingenuity, that if the wheel which marks the seconds happens to stop, the minute wheel turns and keeps on going its round, and in the same way the quarter-hour wheel, and all the others go on running when the first wheels have stopped because rusty or, for any reason, out of order. is it not for a similar reason that the stoppage of a few blood vessels is not enough to destroy or suspend the strength of the movement which is in the heart as in the mainspring of the machine; since, on the contrary, the fluids whose volume is diminished, having a shorter road to travel, cover the ground more quickly, borne on as by a fresh current which the energy of the heart increases in proportion to the resistance it encounters at the ends of the blood-vessels? and is not this the reason why the loss of sight (caused by the compression of the optic nerve and by its ceasing to convey the images of objects) no more hinders hearing, than the loss of hearing (caused by obstruction of the functions of the auditory nerve) implies the loss of sight? in the same way, finally, does not one man hear (except immediately after his attack) without being able to say that he hears, while another who hears nothing, but whose lingual nerves are uninjured in the brain, mechanically tells of all the dreams which pass through his mind? these phenomena do not surprise enlightened physicians at all. they know what to think about man's nature, and (more accurately to express myself in passing) of two physicians, the better one and the one who deserves more confidence is always, in my opinion, the one who is more versed in the physique or mechanism of the human body, and who, leaving aside the soul and all the anxieties which this chimera gives to fools and to ignorant men, is seriously occupied only in pure naturalism. therefore let the pretended m. charp deride philosophers who have regarded animals as machines. how different is my view! i believe that descartes would be a man in every way worthy of respect, if, born in a century that he had not been obliged to enlighten, he had known the value of experiment and observation, and the danger of cutting loose from them. but it is none the less just for me to make an authentic reparation to this great man for all the insignificant philosophers--poor jesters, and poor imitators of locke--who instead of laughing impudently at descartes, might better realize that without him the field of philosophy, like the field of science without newton, might perhaps be still uncultivated. this celebrated philosopher, it is true, was much deceived, and no one denies that. but at any rate he understood animal nature, he was the first to prove completely that animals are pure machines.{ } and after a discovery of this importance demanding so much sagacity, how can we without ingratitude fail to pardon all his errors! in my eyes, they are all atoned for by that great confession. for after all, although he extols the distinctness of the two substances, this is plainly but a trick of skill, a ruse of style, to make theologians swallow a poison, hidden in the shade of an analogy which strikes everybody else and which they alone fail to notice. for it is this, this strong analogy, which forces all scholars and wise judges to confess that these proud and vain beings, more distinguished by their pride than by the name of men however much they may wish to exalt themselves, are at bottom only animals and machines which, though upright, go on all fours. they all have this marvelous instinct, which is developed by education into mind, and which always has its seat in the brain, (or for want of that when it is lacking or hardened, in the medulla oblongata) and never in the cerebellum; for i have often seen the cerebellum injured, and other observers [ ] have found it hardened, when the soul has not ceased to fulfil its functions. to be a machine, to feel, to think, to know how to distinguish good from bad, as well as blue from yellow, in a word, to be born with an intelligence and a sure moral instinct, and to be but an animal, are therefore characters which are no more contradictory, than to be an ape or a parrot and to be able to give oneself pleasure.... i believe that thought is so little incompatible with organized matter, that it seems to be one of its properties on a par with electricity, the faculty of motion, impenetrability, extension, etc. do you ask for further observations? here are some which are incontestable and which all prove that man resembles animals perfectly, in his origin as well as in all the points in which we have thought it essential to make the comparison.... let us observe man both in and out of his shell, let us examine young embryos of four, six, eight or fifteen days with a microscope; after that time our eyes are sufficient. what do we see? the head alone; a little round egg with two black points which mark the eyes. before that, everything is formless, and one sees only a medullary pulp, which is the brain, in which are formed first the roots of the nerves, that is, the principle of feeling, and the heart, which already within this substance has the power of beating of itself; it is the punctum saliens of malpighi, which perhaps already owes a part of its excitability to the influence of the nerves. then little by little, one sees the head lengthen from the neck, which, in dilating, forms first the thorax inside which the heart has already sunk, there to become stationary; below that is the abdomen which is divided by a partition (the diaphragm). one of these enlargements of the body forms the arms, the hands, the fingers, the nails, and the hair; the other forms the thighs, the legs, the feet, etc., which differ only in their observed situation, and which constitute the support and the balancing pole of the body. the whole process is a strange sort of growth, like that of plants. on the tops of our heads is hair in place of which the plants have leaves and flowers; everywhere is shown the same luxury of nature, and finally the directing principle of plants is placed where we have our soul, that other quintessence of man. such is the uniformity of nature, which we are beginning to realize; and the analogy of the animal with the vegetable kingdom, of man with plant. perhaps there even are animal plants, which in vegetating, either fight as polyps do, or perform other functions characteristic of animals.... we are veritable moles in the field of nature; we achieve little more than the mole's journey and it is our pride which prescribes limits to the limitless. we are in the position of a watch that should say (a writer of fables would make the watch a hero in a silly tale): "i was never made by that fool of a workman, i who divide time, who mark so exactly the course of the sun, who repeat aloud the hours which i mark! no! that is impossible!" in the same way, we disdain, ungrateful wretches that we are, this common mother of all kingdoms, as the chemists say. we imagine, or rather we infer, a cause superior to that to which we owe all, and which truly has wrought all things in an inconceivable fashion. no; matter contains nothing base, except to the vulgar eyes which do not recognize her in her most splendid works; and nature is no stupid workman. she creates millions of men, with a facility and a pleasure more intense than the effort of a watchmaker in making the most complicated watch. her power shines forth equally in creating the lowliest insect and in creating the most highly developed man; the animal kingdom costs her no more than the vegetable, and the most splendid genius no more than a blade of wheat. let us then judge by what we see of that which is hidden from the curiosity of our eyes and of our investigations, and let us not imagine anything beyond. let us observe the ape, the beaver, the elephant, etc., in their operations. if it is clear that these activities can not be performed without intelligence, why refuse intelligence to these animals? and if you grant them a soul, you are lost, you fanatics! you will in vain say that you assert nothing about the nature of the animal soul and that you deny its immortality. who does not see that this is a gratuitous assertion; who does not see that the soul of an animal must be either mortal or immortal, whichever ours [is], and that it must therefore undergo the same fate as ours, whatever that may be, and that thus [in admitting that animals have souls], you fall into scylla in the effort to avoid charybdis? break the chain of your prejudices, arm yourselves with the torch of experience, and you will render to nature the honor she deserves, instead of inferring anything to her disadvantage, from the ignorance in which she has left you. only open wide your eyes, only disregard what you can not understand, and you will see that the ploughman whose intelligence and ideas extend no further than the bounds of his furrow, does not differ essentially from the greatest genius,--a truth which the dissection of descartes's and of newton's brains would have proved; you will be persuaded that the imbecile and the fool are animals with human faces, as the intelligent ape is a little man in another shape; in short, you will learn that since everything depends absolutely on difference of organization, a well constructed animal which has studied astronomy, can predict an eclipse, as it can predict recovery or death when it has used its genius and its clearness of vision, for a time, in the school of hippocrates and at the bedside of the sick. by this line of observations and truths, we come to connect the admirable power of thought with matter, without being able to see the links, because the subject of this attribute is essentially unknown to us. let us not say that every machine or every animal perishes altogether or assumes another form after death, for we know absolutely nothing about the subject. on the other hand, to assert that an immortal machine is a chimera or a logical fiction, is to reason as absurdly as caterpillars would reason if, seeing the cast-off skins of their fellow-caterpillars, they should bitterly deplore the fate of their species, which to them would seem to come to nothing. the soul of these insects (for each animal has his own) is too limited to comprehend the metamorphoses of nature. never one of the most skilful among them could have imagined that it was destined to become a butterfly. it is the same with us. what more do we know of our destiny than of our origin? let us then submit to an invincible ignorance on which our happiness depends. he who so thinks will be wise, just, tranquil about his fate, and therefore happy. he will await death without either fear or desire, and will cherish life (hardly understanding how disgust can corrupt a heart in this place of many delights); he will be filled with reverence, gratitude, affection, and tenderness for nature, in proportion to his feeling of the benefits he has received from nature; he will be happy, in short, in feeling nature, and in being present at the enchanting spectacle of the universe, and he will surely never destroy nature either in himself or in others. more than that! full of humanity, this man will love human character even in his enemies. judge how he will treat others. he will pity the wicked without hating them; in his eyes, they will be but mis-made men. but in pardoning the faults of the structure of mind and body, he will none the less admire the beauties and the virtues of both. those whom nature shall have favored will seem to him to deserve more respect than those whom she has treated in stepmotherly fashion. thus, as we have seen, natural gifts, the source of all acquirements, gain from the lips and heart of the materialist, the homage which every other thinker unjustly refuses them. in short, the materialist, convinced, in spite of the protests of his vanity, that he is but a machine or an animal, will not maltreat his kind, for he will know too well the nature of those actions, whose humanity is always in proportion to the degree of the analogy proved above [between human beings and animals]; and following the natural law given to all animals, he will not wish to do to others what he would not wish them to do to him. let us then conclude boldly that man is a machine, and that in the whole universe there is but a single substance differently modified. this is no hypothesis set forth by dint of a number of postulates and assumptions; it is not the work of prejudice, nor even of my reason alone; i should have disdained a guide which i think to be so untrustworthy, had not my senses, bearing a torch, so to speak, induced me to follow reason by lighting the way themselves. experience has thus spoken to me in behalf of reason; and in this way i have combined the two. but it must have been noticed that i have not allowed myself even the most vigorous and immediately deduced reasoning, except as a result of a multitude of observations which no scholar will contest; and furthermore, i recognize only scholars as judges of the conclusions which i draw from the observations; and i hereby challenge every prejudiced man who is neither anatomist, nor acquainted with the only philosophy which can here be considered, that of the human body. against so strong and solid an oak, what could the weak reeds of theology, of metaphysics, and of the schools, avail,--childish arms, like our parlor foils, that may well afford the pleasure of fencing, but can never wound an adversary. need i say that i refer to the empty and trivial notions, to the pitiable and trite arguments that will be urged (as long as the shadow of prejudice or of superstition remains on earth) for the supposed incompatibility of two substances which meet and move each other unceasingly? such is my system, or rather the truth, unless i am much deceived. it is short and simple. dispute it now who will. the natural history of the soul. by jean offray de la mettrie. extracts. chapter ii. concerning matter. all philosophers who have examined attentively the nature of matter, considered in itself, independently of all the forms which constitute bodies, have discovered in this substance, diverse properties proceeding from an absolutely unknown essence. such are, ( ) the capacity of taking on different forms, which are produced in matter itself, by which matter can acquire moving force and the faculty of feeling; ( ) actual extension, which these philosophers have rightly recognized as an attribute, but not as the essence, of matter. however, there have been some, among others descartes, who have insisted on reducing the essence of matter to simple extension, and on limiting all the properties of matter to those of extension; but this opinion has been rejected by all other modern philosophers, ... so that the power of acquiring moving force, and the faculty of feeling as well as that of extension, have been from all time considered as essential properties{ } of matter. all the diverse properties that are observed in this unknown principle demonstrate a being in which these same properties exist, a being which must therefore exist through itself. but we can not conceive, or rather it seems impossible, that a being which exists through itself should be able neither to create nor to annihilate itself. it is evident that only the forms to which its essential properties make it susceptible can be destroyed and reproduced in turn. thus, does experience force us to confess that nothing can come from nothing. all philosophers who have not known the light of faith, have thought that this substantial principle of bodies has existed and will exist forever, and that the elements of matter have an indestructible solidity which forbids the fear that the world is going to fall to pieces. the majority of christian philosophers also recognize that the substantial principle of bodies exists necessarily through itself, and that the power of beginning or ending does not accord with its nature. one finds that this view is upheld by an author of the last century who taught theology in paris. chapter iii. concerning the extension of matter. although we have no idea of the essence of matter, we can not refuse to admit the existence of the properties which our senses discover in it. i open my eyes, and i see around me only matter, or the extended. extension is then a property which always belongs to all matter, which can belong to matter alone, and which therefore is inseparable from the substance of matter. this property presupposes three dimensions in the substance of bodies, length, width, and depth. truly, if we consult our knowledge, which is gained entirely from the senses, we cannot conceive of matter, or the substance of bodies, without having the idea of a being which is at the same time long, broad, and deep; because the idea of these three dimensions is necessarily bound up with our idea of every magnitude or quantity. those philosophers who have meditated most concerning matter do not understand by the extension of this substance, a solid extension composed of distinct parts, capable of resistance. nothing is united, nothing is divided in this extension; for there must be a force which separates to divide, and another force to unite the divided parts. but in the opinion of these physical philosophers matter has no actually active force, because every force can come only from movement, or from some impulse or tendency toward movement, and they recognize in matter, stripped of all form by abstraction, only a potential moving force. this theory is hard to conceive, but given its principles, it is rigorously true in its consequences. it is one of those algebraic truths which is more readily believed than conceived by the mind. the extension of matter is then but a metaphysical extension, which according to the idea of these very philosophers, presents nothing to affect our senses. they rightly think that only solid extension can make an impression on our senses. it thus seems to us that extension is an attribute which constitutes part of the metaphysical form, but we are far from thinking that extension constitutes its essence. however, before descartes, some of the ancients made the essence of matter consist in solid extension. but this opinion, of which all the cartesians have made much, has at all times been victoriously combated by clear reasons, which we will set forth later, for order demands that we first examine to what the properties of extension can be reduced. chapter v. concerning the moving force of matter. the ancients, persuaded that there is no body without a moving force, regarded the substance of bodies as composed of two primitive attributes. it was held that, through one of these attributes, this substance has the capacity for moving and, through the other, the capacity for being moved.{ } as a matter of fact, it is impossible not to conceive these two attributes in every moving body, namely, the thing which moves, and the same thing which is moved. it has just been said that formerly the name, matter, was given to the substance of bodies, in so far as it is susceptible of being moved. when capable of moving this same matter was known by the name of "active principle".... but these two attributes seem to depend so essentially on each other that cicero, in order better to state this essential and primitive union of matter with its moving principle, says that each is found in the other. this expresses very well the idea of the ancients. from this it is clear that modern writers have given us but an inexact idea of matter in attempting (through a confusion ill understood) to give this name to the substance of bodies. for, once more, matter, or the passive principle of the substance of bodies, constitutes only one part of this substance. thus it is not surprising that these modern thinkers have not discovered in matter moving force and the faculty of feeling. it should now be evident at the first glance, it seems to me, that if there is an active principle it must have, in the unknown essence of matter, another source than extension. this proves that simple extension fails to give an adequate idea of the complete essence or metaphysical form of the substance of bodies, and that this failure is due solely to the fact that extension excludes the idea of any activity in matter. therefore, if we demonstrate this moving principle, if we show that matter, far from being as indifferent as it is supposed to be, to movement and to rest, ought to be regarded as an active, as well as a passive substance, what resource can be left to those who have made its essence consist in extension? the two principles of which we have just spoken, extension and moving force, are then but potentialities of the substance of bodies; for in the same way in which this substance is susceptible of movement, without actually being moved, it also has always, even when it is not moving itself, the faculty of spontaneous motion. the ancients have rightly noticed that this moving force acts in the substance of bodies only when the substance is manifested in certain forms; they have also observed that the different motions which it produces are all subject to these different forms or regulated by them. that is why the forms, through which the substance of bodies can not only move, but also move in different ways, were called material forms. once these early masters had cast their eyes on all the phenomena of nature, they discovered in the substance of bodies, the power of self-movement. in fact, this substance either moves itself, or when it is in motion, the motion is communicated to it by another substance. but can anything be seen in this substance, save the substance itself in action; and if sometimes it seems to receive a motion that it has not, does it receive that motion from any cause other than this same kind of substance, whose parts act the one upon the other? if, then, one infers another agent, i ask what agent, and i demand proofs of its existence. but since no one has the least idea of such an agent, it is not even a logical entity. therefore it is clear that the ancients must have easily recognized an intrinsic force of motion within the substance of bodies, since in fact it is impossible to prove or conceive any other substance acting upon it. descartes, a genius made to blaze new paths and to go astray in them, supposed with some other philosophers that god is the only efficient cause of motion, and that every instant he communicates motion to all bodies. but this opinion is but an hypothesis which he tried to adjust to the light of faith; and in so doing he was no longer attempting to speak as a philosopher or to philosophers. above all he was not addressing those who can be convinced only by the force of evidence. the christian scholastics of the last centuries have felt the full force of this reflection; for this reason they have wisely limited themselves to purely philosophic knowledge concerning the motion of matter, although they might have shown that god himself said that he had "imprinted an active principle in the elements of matter (gen. i; is. lxvi)." one might here make up a long list of authorities, and take from the most celebrated professors the substance of the doctrine of all the rest; but it is clear enough, without a medley of citations, that matter contains this moving force which animates it, and which is the immediate cause of all the laws of motion. chapter vi. concerning the sensitive faculty of matter. we have spoken of two essential attributes of matter, upon which depend the greater number of its properties, namely extension and moving force. we have now but to prove a third attribute: i mean the faculty of feeling which the philosophers of all centuries have found in this same substance. i say all philosophers, although i am not ignorant of all the efforts which the cartesians have made, in vain, to rob matter of this faculty. but in order to avoid insurmountable difficulties, they have flung themselves into a labyrinth from which they have thought to escape by this absurd system "that animals are pure machines."{ } an opinion so absurd has never gained admittance among philosophers, except as the play of wit or as a philosophical pastime. for this reason we shall not stop to refute it. experience gives us no less proof of the faculty of feeling in animals than of feeling in men.... there comes up another difficulty which more nearly concerns our vanity: namely, the impossibility of our conceiving this property as a dependence or attribute of matter. let it not be forgotten that this substance reveals to us only ineffable characters. do we understand better how extension is derived from its essence, how it can be moved by a primitive force whose action is exerted without contact, and a thousand other miracles so hidden from the gaze of the most penetrating eyes, that (to paraphrase the idea of an illustrious modern writer) they reveal only the curtain which conceals them? but might not one suppose as some have supposed, that the feeling which is observed in animated bodies, might belong to a being distinct from the matter of these bodies, to a substance of a different nature united to them? does the light of reason allow us in good faith to admit such conjectures? we know in bodies only matter, and we observe the faculty of feeling only in bodies: on what foundation then can we erect an ideal being, disowned by all our knowledge? however, we must admit, with the same frankness, that we are ignorant whether matter has in itself the faculty of feeling, or only the power of acquiring it by those modifications or forms to which matter is susceptible; for it is true that this faculty of feeling appears only in organic bodies. this is then another new faculty which might exist only potentially in matter, like all the others which have been mentioned; and this was the hypothesis of the ancients, whose philosophy, full of insight and penetration, deserves to be raised above the ruins of the philosophy of the moderns. it is in vain that the latter disdain the sources too remote from them. ancient philosophy will always hold its own among those who are worthy to judge it, because it forms (at least in relation to the subject of which i am treating) a system that is solid and well articulated like the body, whereas all these scattered members of modern philosophy form no system. appendix. outlines and notes. by gertrude carman bussey. la mettrie's relation to his predecessors and to his successors. i. the historical relation of la mettrie to rené descartes ( - ). the most direct source of la mettrie's work, if the physiological aspect of his system is set aside, is found in the philosophy of descartes. in fact it sometimes seems as if la mettrie's materialism grew out of his insistence on the contradictory character of the dualistic system of descartes. he criticises descartes's statement that the body and soul are absolutely independent, and takes great pains to show the dependence of the soul on the body. yet though la mettrie's system may be opposed to that of descartes [ ] from one point of view, from another point of view it seems to be a direct consequence of it. la mettrie himself recognizes this relationship and feels that his doctrine that man is a machine, is a natural inference from descartes's teaching that animals are mere machines. [ ] moreover la mettrie carries on descartes's conception of the body as a machine, and many of his detailed discussions of the machinery of the body seem to have been drawn from descartes. it should be noted that la mettrie did justice to descartes, and realized how much all philosophers owed to him. he insisted moreover that descartes's errors were due to his failure to follow his own method. [ ] yet la mettrie's method was different from that of descartes, for la mettrie was an empiricist [ ] without rationalistic leaning. as regards doctrine: la mettrie differed from descartes in his opinion of matter. since he disbelieved in any spiritual reality, he gave matter the attributes of motion and thought, while descartes insisted that the one attribute of matter is extension. [ ] it was a natural consequence of la mettrie's disbelief in spiritual substance that he could throw doubt on the existence of god. [ ] on the other hand the belief in god was one of the foundations of descartes's system. la mettrie tried to show that descartes's belief in a soul and in god was merely designed to hide his true thought from the priests, and to save himself from persecution. [ ] iia. the likeness of la mettrie to the english materialists, thomas hobbes ( - ) and john toland ( - ). the influence of descartes upon la mettrie cannot be questioned but it is more difficult to estimate the influence upon him of materialistic philosophers. hobbes published "the leviathan" in and "de corpore" in . thus he wrote about a century before la mettrie, and since the eighteenth century was one in which the influence of england upon france was very great, it is easy to suppose that la mettrie had read hobbes. if so, he must have gained many ideas from him. the extent of this influence is, however, unknown, for la mettrie rarely if ever quotes from hobbes, or attributes any of his doctrines to hobbes. in the first place, both hobbes and la mettrie are thoroughgoing materialists. they both believe that body is the only reality, and that anything spiritual is unimaginable. [ ] furthermore their conceptions of matter are very similar. according to la mettrie, matter contains the faculty of sensation and the power of motion as well as the quality of extension. [ ] this same conception of matter is held by hobbes, for he specifically attributes extension and motion to matter, and then reduces sensation to a kind of internal motion. [ ] thus sensation also may be an attribute of matter. moreover hobbes and la mettrie are in agreement on many smaller points, and la mettrie elaborates much that is suggested in hobbes. they both believe that the passions are dependent on bodily conditions. [ ] they agree in the belief that all the differences in men are due to differences in the constitution and organization of their bodies. [ ] they both discuss the nature and importance of language. [ ] hobbes differs from la mettrie in holding that we can be sure that god exists as the cause of this world. [ ] however even though he thinks that it is possible to know that god exists, he does not believe that we can know his nature. la mettrie's system may be regarded as the application of a system like that of hobbes to the special problem of the relation of soul and body in man; for if there is nothing in the universe but matter and motion, it inevitably follows that man is merely a very complicated machine. there is great similarity also between the doctrine of la mettrie and that of toland. it is interesting to note the points of resemblance and of difference. toland's "letters to serena," which contain much of his philosophical teaching, were published in . there is a possibility therefore that la mettrie read them and gained some suggestions from them. the point most emphasized in toland's teaching [ ] is that motion is an attribute of matter. he argues for this belief on the ground that matter must be essentially active in order to undergo change, [ ] and that the conception of the inertness of matter is based on the conception of absolute rest, and that this absolute rest is nowhere to be found. [ ] since motion is essential to matter, there is no need, toland believes, to account for the beginning of motion. those who have regarded matter as inert have had to find some efficient cause for motion, and to do this, they have held that all nature is animated. but this pretended animation is utterly useless, since matter is itself endowed with motion. [ ] the likeness to la mettrie is evident. la mettrie likewise opposes the doctrine of the animation of matter, and the belief in any external cause of motion. [ ] yet he feels the need of postulating some beginning of motion, [ ] and although he uses the conception so freely, he does not agree with toland that the nature of motion is known. he believes that it is impossible to know the nature of motion, [ ] while toland believes that the nature of motion is self-evident. [ ] another point of contrast between toland and la mettrie is in their doctrines of god. toland believes that god, "a pure spirit or immaterial being," is necessary for his system, [ ] while la mettrie questions god's existence and insists that immateriality and spirituality are fine words that no one understands. it must be admitted, in truth, that la mettrie and toland have different interests and different points of view. toland is concerned to discover the essential nature of matter, while la mettrie's problem is to find the specific relation of body and mind. on this relation, he builds his whole system. b. the relation of la mettrie to an english sensationalist: john locke ( - ). locke's "essay concerning human understanding" was published in , and la mettrie, like most cultured frenchmen of the enlightenment, was influenced by his teaching. the main agreement between locke and la mettrie is in their doctrine that all ideas are derived from sensation. both vigorously oppose the belief in innate ideas, [ ] teaching that even our most complex and our most abstract ideas are gained through sensation. but la mettrie does not follow locke in analyzing these ideas and in concluding that many sensible qualities of objects--such as colors, sounds, etc.--have no existence outside the mind. [ ] he rejects locke's doctrine of spiritual substances, [ ] and opposes locke's theistic teaching, laying stress, on the other hand, upon locke's admission of the possibility that "thinking being may also be material." [ ] iiia. the likeness, probable but unacknowledged, to la mettrie, of the french sensationalists, etienne bonnot de condillac ( - ) and claude adrien helvetius ( - ). condillac's "traité des sensations" was published about ten years after la mettrie's "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," and therefore it is probable that condillac had read this work, and gained some ideas from it. yet condillac never mentions la mettrie's name nor cites his doctrines. this omission may be accounted for by the fact that the works of la mettrie had been so condemned that later philosophers wished to conceal the similarity of their doctrines to his. whether the sensationalists were influenced by his teachings or not, there is such a profound likeness in their teachings, that la mettrie may well be regarded as one of the first french sensationalists as well as one of the leading french materialists of the time. condillac and la mettrie agree that experience is the source of all knowledge. as lange suggests, [ ] la mettrie's development of reason from the imagination may have suggested to condillac the way to develop all the faculties from the soul. la mettrie asserts that reason is but the sensitive soul contemplating its ideas, and that imagination plays all the rôles of the soul, while condillac elaborates the same idea, and shows in great detail how all the faculties of the soul are but modifications of sensation. [ ] both la mettrie and condillac believe that there is no gulf between man and the lower animals; but this leads to a point of disagreement between the two philosophers, for condillac absolutely denies that animals can be mere machines, [ ] and we must suppose that he would the more ardently oppose the teaching that man is merely a complicated machine! condillac finally, unlike la mettrie, believes in the existence of god. a final point of contrast also concerns the theology of the two writers. la mettrie insists that we can not be sure that there is any purpose in the world, while condillac affirms that we can discern intelligence and design throughout the universe. [ ] like la mettrie and condillac, helvetius teaches that all the faculties of the mind can be reduced to sensation. [ ] unlike la mettrie, he specifically distinguishes the mind from the soul, and describes the mind as a later developed product of the soul or faculty of sensation. [ ] this idea may have been suggested by la mettrie's statement that reason is a modification of sensation. helvetius, however, unlike la mettrie, does not clearly decide that sensation is but a result of bodily conditions, and he admits that sensation may be a modification of a spiritual substance. [ ] moreover, he claims that climate and food have no effect on the mind, and that the superiority of the understanding is not dependent on the strength of the body and its organs. [ ] la mettrie and helvetius resemble each other in ethical doctrine. both make pleasure and pain the ruling motives of man's conduct. they claim that all the emotions are merely modifications of corporeal pleasure and pain, and that therefore the only principle of action in man is the desire for pleasure and the fear of pain. [ ] b. the likeness to la mettrie of the french materialist, baron paul heinrich dietrich von holbach ( - ). as condillac and helvetius emphasize the sensationalism taught by la mettrie, so holbach's book is a reiteration and elaboration of the materialism set forth in la mettrie's works. the teaching of holbach is so like that of la mettrie, that the similarity can hardly be a coincidence. la mettrie regards experience as the only teacher. holbach dwells on this same idea, and insists that experience is our only source of knowledge in all matters. [ ] holbach likewise teaches that man is a purely material being. he disbelieves in any spiritual reality whatsoever, and makes matter the only substance in the world. he lays stress, also, on one thought which is a natural consequence of la mettrie's teaching. la mettrie has limited the action of the will and has insisted that the will is dependent on bodily conditions. holbach goes further and declares repeatedly that all freedom is a delusion, and that man is controlled in every action by rigid necessity. [ ] this teaching seems to be the natural outcome of the belief that man is a machine. holbach's atheistic theology is more extreme than his predecessor's, for la mettrie admits that god may exist, while holbach vigorously opposes the possibility. moreover holbach holds the opinion, barely suggested by la mettrie, that an atheistic doctrine would ameliorate the condition of mankind. [ ] he insists that the idea of god has hindered the progress of reason and interfered with natural law. holbach is indeed the only one of the philosophers here discussed, who frankly adopts a fatalistic and atheistic doctrine of the universe. in these respects, his teaching is the culmination of french materialism. outline of la mettrie's metaphysical doctrine. pages [ ] i. insistence on the empirical standpoint f.; f.; , ii. arguments in favor of materialism: a. the "soul" is affected, . by disease f.; f. . by sleep f.; f. . by drugs ; . by food f.; ff. . by age and sex f.; f. . by temperature and climate f.; ff. b. there is no sharp distinction between men and animals (machines) f., ff.; ff., ff.; f., f. c. bodily movements are due to the "motive power" of the body ff., ff. iii. conception of matter. a. matter is extended f. b. matter has the power of motion , ; ff. c. matter has the faculty of feeling ff. iv. conception of man: a. man is a machine , ; , ; , ; , f.; , ; , b. all man's faculties reduce to sense and imagination ff., ff. c. man is like animals in being capable of education , d. man is ignorant of his destiny , v. theological doctrine: a. the existence of god is unproved and practically unimportant , b. the argument from design is ineffective against the hypothesis of mechanical causality ff., ff. c. atheism makes for happiness , f. notes. [ ] note on frederick the great's eulogy. this translation is made from the third volume, pp. ff. of "oeuvres de fréderic ii., roi de prusse, publiées du vivant de l'auteur," berlin, . la mettrie was received at the court of frederick the great, when he had been driven from holland on account of the heretical teaching of "l'homme machine," the "eloge" was read by darget, the secretary of the king, at a public meeting of the academy of berlin, to which, at the initiative of frederick, la mettrie had been admitted. the careful reader will not fail to note that frederick's arithmetic is at fault, and that la mettrie died at the age of forty-one, not forty-three, years. at a few points, perhaps, the eloge demands elucidation. coutances, like caen, is a norman town. st. malo lies, just over the border, in brittany. la mettrie's military service was with the french in the silesian wars against maria theresa. the battle of dettingen was fought in bavaria and was won by the austrians through the aid given by george ii of england to maria theresa. the battle of fontenoy in the netherlands was the only victory of the french in this war. other accounts of the life of la mettrie are: j. assézat, introduction to "l'homme machine," paris, . f. a. lange, "history of materialism." ph. damiron, "histoire de la philosophie du dix-huitième siècle," paris, . n. quépat, "la philosophie matérialiste au xviiie siècle. essai sur la mettrie, sa vie, et ses oeuvres." paris, . notes on man a machine. . "matter may well be endowed with the faculty of thought." although la mettrie attempts to "avoid this reef," by refraining from the use of these words, yet he asserts throughout his work that sensations, consciousness, and the soul itself are modifications of matter and motion. the possibility of matter being endowed with the faculty of thought, is denied by elie luzac, the publisher of "l'homme machine," in his work "l'homme plus que machine." in this work he tries to disprove the conclusions of "l'homme machine." he says: "we have therefore proved by the idea of the inert state of matter, by that of motion, by that of relations, by that of activity, by that of extension, that matter can not be possessed of the faculty of thinking".... "to be brief, i say, that if, by a material substance, we understand that matter which falls under the cognizance of our senses, and which is endowed with the qualities we have mentioned, the soul can not be material: so that it must be immaterial, and, for the same reason, god could not have given the faculty of thinking to matter, since he can not perform contradictions." [ ] . "how can we define a being whose nature is absolutely unknown to us?" la mettrie uses this as an argument against the belief in a soul, and yet he later admits that the "nature of motion is as unknown to us as the nature of matter." it is difficult then to see why there is more reason to doubt the existence of spirit, than to doubt the existence of matter. locke makes this point very well. "it is for want of reflection that we are apt to think that our senses show us nothing but material things. every act of sensation, when duly considered, gives us an equal view of both parts of nature, the corporeal and spiritual." [ ]... "if this notion of immaterial spirit may have, perhaps, some difficulties in it not easy to be explained, we have therefore no more reason to deny or doubt the existence of such spirits, than we have to deny or doubt the existence of body because the notion of body is cumbered with some difficulties, very hard and perhaps impossible to be explained or understood by us." [ ] . "author of the 'spectacle de la nature.'" noel antoine pluche ( - ) was a jansenist author. he was director of the college of laon, but was deprived of his position on account of his refusal to adhere to the bull "unigenitus." rollin then recommended him to gasville, intendant of normandy, who entrusted him with his son's education. he finally settled in paris. his principal works are: "spectacle de la nature," (paris, ); "mécanique des langues et l'art de les enseigner," (paris, ); "harmonie des psaumes et de l'evangile," (paris, ); "concorde de la géographie des différents ages," (paris, ). [ ] la mettrie describes pluche in the "essais sur l'esprit et les beaux esprits" thus: "without wit, without taste, he is rollin's pedant. a superficial man, he had need of the work of m. réaumur, of whom he is only a stale and tiresome imitator in the flat little sayings scattered in his dialogues. it was with the works of rollin as with the 'spectacle de la nature,' one made the fortune of the other: gaçon praised person, person praised gaçon, and the public praised them both." [ ] this quotation from la mettrie occurs in assézat's edition of la mettrie's "l'homme machine," which was published as the second volume of the series "singularités physiologiques" ( ). assézat was a french publisher and writer. he was at one time secretary of the anthropological society, and collaborated with other writers in the publication of "la revue nationale," "la revue de paris," and "la pensée nouvelle." his notes to "l'homme machine" show great knowledge concerning physiological subjects. he intended to publish a complete edition of diderot's works, but overwork on this undermined his health, so that he was unable to complete it. [ ] . torricelli was a physicist and mathematician who lived from to . he was a disciple of galileo, and acted as his amanuensis for three months before galileo's death. he was then nominated as grand-ducal mathematician and professor of mathematics in the florentine academy. in , he made his most famous discovery. he found that the height to which a liquid will rise in a closed tube, depends on the specific gravity of the liquid, and concludes from this that the column of liquid is sustained by atmospheric pressure. this discovery did away with the obscure idea of a fuga vacui, and laid bare the principle on which mercurial barometers are constructed. for a long time the mercurial thermometer was called the "torricellian tube," and the vacuum which the barometer includes is still known as a "torricellian vacuum." [ ] . "only the physicians have a right to speak on this subject." luzac says: "'tis true that if the materiality of the soul was proved, the knowledge of her would be an object of natural philosophy, and we might with some appearance of reason reject all arguments to the contrary which are not drawn from that science. but if the soul is not material, the investigation of its nature does not belong to natural philosophy, but to those who search into the nature of its faculties, and are called metaphysicians." [ ] . "man is ... a machine." this is the first clear statement of this theory, which as the title of the work indicates, is the central doctrine of this work. descartes had strongly denied the possibility of conceiving man as a machine. "we may easily conceive a machine to be so constructed that it emits vocables, and even that it emits some correspondent to the action upon it of external objects which cause a change in its organs,... but not that it should emit them variously so as appositely to reply to what is said in its presence, as men of the lowest grade of intellect can do." [ ] . "let us then take in our hands the staff of experience." la mettrie repeatedly emphasizes the belief that knowledge must come from experience. moreover he confines this experience to sense experience, and concludes "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme" with these words: "no senses, no ideas. the fewer senses there are: the fewer ideas. no sensations experienced, no ideas. these principles are the necessary consequence of all the observations and experiences that constitute the unassailable foundation of this work." this doctrine is opposed to the teaching of descartes, who insists that "neither our imagination nor our senses can give us assurance of anything unless our understanding intervene." [ ] moreover descartes believes that the senses are fallacious, and that the ideal method for philosophy is a method corresponding to that of mathematics. [ ] condillac and holbach agree with la mettrie's opinion. thus, condillac teaches that man is nothing more than what he has become by the use of his senses. [ ] and holbach says: "as soon as we take leave of experience, we fall into the chasm where our imagination leads us astray." [ ] . "galen (galenus) claudius, to circa a. d. an eminent greek physician and philosopher. born at pergamus, mysia, he studied both the platonic and peripatetic systems of philosophy. satyrus instructed him in anatomy. he traveled extensively while young to perfect his education. about a. d. he moved to rome, and became very celebrated as a surgeon and practising physician, attending the family of marcus aurelius. he returned to pergamus, but probably visited rome three or four times afterwards. he wrote in philosophy, logic, and medicine. many, probably most, of his works are lost. he was the one medical authority for thirteen centuries, and his services to logic and to philosophy were also great." [ ] . the author of "l'histoire de l'âme" is la mettrie himself. . hippocrates is often termed the "father of medicine." he was born in cos in b. c. he studied medicine under his father, heraclides, and herodicus of selymbria; and philosophy under gorgias and democritus. he was the first to separate medicine from religion and from philosophy. he insisted that diseases must be treated by the physician, as if they were governed by purely natural laws. the greeks had such respect for dead bodies that hippocrates could not have dissected a human body, and consequently his knowledge of its structure was limited, but he seems to have been an acute and skilful observer of conditions in the living body. he wrote several works on medicine, and in one of them showed the first principles on which the public health must be based. the details of his life are hidden by tradition, but it is certain that he was regarded with great respect and veneration by the greeks. [ ] . "the different combinations of these humors...." compare this with descartes's statement that the difference in men comes from the difference in the construction and position of the brain, which causes a difference in the action of the animal spirits. [ ] . "this drug intoxicates, like wine, coffee, etc., each in its own measure, and according to the dose." descartes also speaks of the effect of wine. "the vapors of wine, entering the blood quickly, go from the heart to the brain, where they are converted into spirits, which being stronger and more abundant than usual are capable of moving the body in several strange fashions." [ ] . the quotation from pope is from the "moral essays," published to , epistle i, , . . jan baptista van helmont ( - ) was a flemish physician and chemist. he is noted for having demonstrated the necessity of the balance in chemistry, and for having been among the first to use the word "gas." his works were published as "ortus medicinae," . [ ] . the author of "lettres sur la physiognomie" was jacques pernety or pernetti. he was born at chazelle-sur-lyon, was for some years canon at lyons, and died there in . [ ] . boerhaave. see note . . pierre louis moreau de maupertuis ( - ) was a french mathematician, astronomer and philosopher. he supported the newtonian theory against the cartesians. in he became president of the academy of berlin. he was the head of the expedition which was sent by louis xv to measure a degree of longitude in lapland. voltaire satirized maupertuis in the "diatribe du docteur akakia." [ ] . luzac sums up the preceding facts by saying: "here are a great many facts, but what is it they prove? only that the faculties of the soul arise, grow, and acquire strength in proportion as the body does; so that these same faculties are weakened in the same proportion as the body is.... but from all these circumstances it does not follow that the faculty of thinking is an attribute of matter, and that all depends on the manner in which our machine is made, that the faculties of the soul arise from a principle of animal life, from an innate heat or force, from an irritability of the finest parts of the body, from a subtil ethereal matter diffused through it, or in a word, from all these things taken together." [ ] . "the diverse states of the soul are therefore always correlative with those of the body." this view is in diametrical opposition to the teaching of descartes, who says: "the soul is of a nature wholly independent of the body." [ ] yet descartes also states that there is an intimate connection between the two. "the reasonable soul ... could by no means be educed from the power of matter ... it must be expressly created; and it is not sufficient that it be lodged in the human body, exactly like a pilot in a ship, unless perhaps to move its members, but ... it is necessary for it to be joined and united more closely to the body, in order to have sensations and appetites similar to ours, and thus constitute a real man." [ ] holbach later emphasizes this close connection between body and soul, which is so insisted upon by la mettrie. "if freed from our prejudices we wish to see our soul, or the moving principle which acts in us, we shall remain convinced that it is part of our body, that it can not be distinguished from the body except by an abstraction, that it is but the body itself considered relatively to some of the functions or faculties to which its nature and particular organization make it susceptible. we shall see that this soul is forced to undergo the same changes as the body, that it grows and develops with the body.... finally we can not help recognizing that at some periods it shows evident signs of weakness, sickness, and death." [ ] . "peyronie (françois gigot de la), a french surgeon, born in montpellier, the fifteenth of january, , died the twenty-fifth of april, . he was surgeon of the hospital of saint-eloi de montpellier and instructor of anatomy to the faculty; then, in , served in the army. in he became reversioner of the position of first surgeon to louis xv; in , steward of the queen's palace; in , a doctor of the king; in , first surgeon of the king, and chief of the surgeons of the kingdom. the greatest merit of la peyronie is for having founded the academy of surgery in paris, and for having gained special protection for surgery and surgeons in france. he wrote little." [ ] . "willis, thomas ( - ), english physician, was born at great bedwin, wiltshire, on th january, . he studied at christ church, oxford; and when that city was garrisoned for the king he bore arms for the royalists. he took the degree of bachelor of medicine in , and after the surrender of the garrison applied himself to the practice of his profession. in , shortly after the restoration, he became sedleian professor of natural philosophy in place of dr. joshua cross, who was ejected, and the same year he took the degree of doctor of physic.... he was one of the first members of the royal society, and was elected an honorary fellow of the royal college of physicians in . in , ... he removed to westminster, on the invitation of dr. sheldon, archbishop of canterbury.... he died at st. martin's on th november, , and was buried in westminster abbey." [ ] . "fontenelle, bernard le bovier de. born at rouen, france, february , ; died at paris, january , . a french advocate, philosopher, poet, and miscellaneous writer. he was the nephew (through his mother) of corneille, and was 'one of the last of the précieux, or rather the inventor of a new combination of literature and gallantry which at first exposed him to not a little satire' (saintsbury). he wrote 'poésies pastorales' ( ), 'dialogues des morts' ( ), 'entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes' ( ), 'histoire des oracles' ( ), 'eloges des académiciens' (delivered - )." [ ] . "in a word, would it be absolutely impossible to teach the ape a language? i do not think so." compare with this haeckel's statement of the relation between man's speech and that of apes. "it is of especial interest that the speech of apes seems on physiological comparison to be a stage in the formation of articulate human speech. among living apes there is an indian species which is musical; the hylobates syndactylus sings a full octave in perfectly pure harmonious half-tones. no impartial philologist can hesitate any longer to admit that our elaborate rational language has been slowly and gradually developed out of the imperfect speech of our pliocene simian ancestors." [ ] . johann conrad amman was born at schaffhausen, in switzerland, in . after his graduation at basle, he practised medicine at amsterdam. he devoted most of his attention to the instruction of deaf mutes. he taught them by attracting their attention to the motion of his lips, tongue, and larynx, while he was speaking, and by persuading them to imitate these motions. in this way, they finally learned to articulate syllables and words, and to talk. in his works "surdus loquens," and "dissertatio de loquela," he explained the mechanism of speech, and made public his method of instruction. from all accounts it seems that his success with the deaf mutes was remarkable. he died about . [ ] . "... the great analogy between ape and man...." compare haeckel: "thus comparative anatomy proves to the satisfaction of every unprejudiced and critical student the significant fact that the body of man and that of the anthropoid ape are not only peculiarly similar, but they are practically one and the same in every important respect." [ ] . sir william temple was born in london in . he attended the puritan college of emmanuel, cambridge, but left without taking his degree. after an extensive tour on the continent, he settled in ireland in . his political career began with the accession of charles ii in . he is particularly noted for concluding "the triple alliance" between england, the united netherlands, and sweden, and for his part in bringing about the marriage of william and mary, which completed the alliance of england and the netherlands. temple was not as successful in political work at home as abroad, for he was too honest to care to be concerned in the intrigues in english affairs, at that time. he retired from politics and died at moor park in . temple wrote several works on political subjects. his "memoirs" were begun in ; the first part was destroyed before it was published, the second part was published without his consent, and the third part was published by swift after temple's death. his fame rests more on his diplomatic work than on his writings. [ ] . "trembley (abraham) a swiss naturalist, born in geneva, the third of september, , died in geneva, the twelfth of may, . he was educated in his native city, and in the hague, where he became tutor of the son of an english resident, and later the tutor of the young duke of richmond, with whom he traveled in germany and italy. in , he obtained the position of librarian at geneva, and gained a seat in the council of the 'two hundred.' his admirable works on the fresh-water snake procured for him his election as member of the royal society of london, and as correspondent of the academy of sciences in paris. from to he published several works on natural religion, and articles on natural history in the 'philosophical transactions,' - . his most important work is 'mémoires pour servir à l'histoire d'un genre de polype d'eau douce' (leyden, ; paris, volumes)." [ ] . "what was man before the invention of words and the knowledge of language? an animal." compare this with the statement of hobbes: "the most noble and profitable invention of all others was that of speech, consisting of names or appellations, and their connexion, ... without which there had been amongst men neither commonwealth, nor society, nor contract, nor peace, no more than amongst lions, bears, and wolves." [ ] . fontenelle. see note . . "all the faculties of the soul can be correctly reduced to pure imagination." compare with this la mettrie's statement in "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme": "the more one studies all the intellectual faculties, the more convinced one remains, that they are all included in the faculty of sensation, upon which they all depend so essentially that without it the soul could never perform any of its functions." [ ] this resembles condillac's doctrine of sensation: "judgment, reflexion, desires, passions, etc., are nothing but sensation itself which is transformed in diverse ways." [ ] helvetius also says: "all the operations of the mind are reducible to sensation." [ ] . "see to what one is brought by the abuse of language, and by the use of those fine words (spirituality, immateriality, etc.)." compare hobbes, "though men may put together words of contradictory signification, as spirit and incorporeal; yet they can never have the imagination of anything answering to them." [ ] . "man's preëminent advantage is his organism." luzac says: "this no more proves that organization is the chief merit of man, than that the form of a musical instrument constitutes the chief merit of the musician. in proportion to the goodness of the instrument, the musician charms by his art, and the case is the same with the soul. in proportion to the soundness of the body, the soul is in better condition to exert her faculties." [ ] . "such is, i think, the generation of intelligence." luzac argues against this statement thus: "but if thought and all the faculties of the soul depended only on the organization as some pretend, how could the imagination draw a long chain of consequences from the objects it has embraced?" [ ] . pyrrhonism is "the doctrine of pyrrho of elis which has been transmitted chiefly by his disciple timon. more generally, radical scepticism in general." [ ] . pierre bayle was born at carlat in . although the child of protestant parents, he was converted by the jesuits. after his reconversion to protestantism, he was driven out of france, and took refuge first in geneva, and then in holland. in he became professor of philosophy at the protestant college of sedan, and in professor of philosophy and history at rotterdam. in he was forced to resign from his position on account of his religious views. bayle was one of the leading french sceptics of the time. he was a cartesian, but questioned both the certainty of one's own existence, and the knowledge derived from it. he declared that religion is contrary to the human reason, but that this fact does not necessarily destroy faith. he distinguished religion not only from science, but also from morality, and vigorously opposed those who considered a certain religion necessary for morality. he did not openly attack christianity, yet all that he wrote awakened doubt, and his work exerted an extensive influence for scepticism. his principal work is the "dictionnaire historique et critique," published - , and containing a vast amount of knowledge, expressed in a piquant and popular style. this fact made the book widely read both by scholars and by superficial readers. . arnobius the elder was born at sicca venerea in numidia, in the latter part of the third century a. d. he was at first an opponent of christianity, but was afterwards converted, and wrote "adversus gentes" as an apology for christianity. in this work, he tries to answer the complaints made against christians on the ground that the disasters of the time were due to their impiety; vindicates the divinity of christ; and discusses the nature of the human soul. he concludes that the soul is not immortal, for he believes that the belief in the immortality of the soul would have a deteriorating influence on morality. for translation of his work compare vol. xix of the "ante-nicene christian library." [ ] . "there exists no soul or sensitive substance without remorse." condillac had said: "there is something in animals besides motion. they are not pure machines: they feel." [ ] la mettrie also attributed remorse to animals, but believed that they are none the less machines. luzac said in comment: "what renders these systems completely ridiculous, is, that the persons who pronounce men machines, give them properties which belie their assertion. if beings are but machines, why do they grant a natural law, an internal sense, a kind of dread? these are ideas which can not be excited by objects which operate on our senses." [ ] . "nature has created us solely to be happy." this is a statement of the doctrine, which la mettrie develops in his principal ethical work "discours sur le bonheur." he teaches that happiness rests upon bodily pleasure and pain. in "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," la mettrie states that all the passions can be developed from two fundamental passions, of which they are but modifications, love and hatred, or desire and aversion. [ ] like la mettrie, helvetius makes corporeal pleasure and pain the ruling motives for man's conduct. thus he writes: "pleasure and pain are and always will be the only principles of action in man." [ ]... "remorse is nothing more than a foresight of bodily pain to which some crime has exposed us." [ ] he definitely makes happiness the end of human action. "the end of man is self-preservation and the attainment of a happy existence.... man, to find happiness, should save up his pleasures, and refuse all those which might change into pains.... the passions always have happiness as an object: they are legitimate and natural, and can not be called good or bad except on account of their influence on human beings. to lead men to virtue, we must show them the advantages of virtuous actions." [ ] holbach, finally, goes further than la mettrie or helvetius, and makes purely mechanical impulses the motives of man's action. "the passions are ways of being or modifications of the internal organs, attracted or repulsed by objects, and are consequently subject in their own way to the physical laws of attraction and repulsion." [ ] . "ixions of christianity." ixion, for his treachery, stricken with madness, was cast into erebus, where he was continually scourged while bound to a fiery wheel, and forced to cry: "benefactors should be honored." . "who can be sure that the reason for man's existence is not simply the fact that he exists?" luzac opposes this by saying: "if the reason of man's existence was in man himself, this existence would be a necessary consequence of his own nature; so that his own nature would contain the cause or reason of his existence. now since his own nature would imply the cause of his existence, it would also imply his existence itself, so that man could no more be considered as non-existent than a circle can be considered without radii or a picture without features or proportions.... if the existence of man was in man himself, he would then be an invariable being." [ ] . "fénelon (françois de salignac de la mothe-fénelon), born at château de fénelon, dordogne, france, august , , died at cambrai, france, january , . a celebrated french prelate, orator, and author. he became preceptor of the sons of the dauphin in , and was appointed archbishop of cambrai in . his works include 'les aventures de télémaque' ( ), 'dialogues des morts' ( ), 'traité de l'éducation des filles' ( ), 'explication des maximes des saints' ( ), etc. his collected works were edited by leclère ( vols., - )." [ ] . "nieuwentyt (bernard), a dutch mathematician, born in west-graftdijk the tenth of august , died at purmerend the thirtieth of may, . an unrelenting cartesian, he combated the infinitesimal calculus, and wrote a polemic against leibnitz, concerning this subject. he wrote a theological dissertation translated into french under the title "l'existence de dieu démontrée par les merveilles de la nature" (paris, )." [ ] . "abadie, james (jacques), born at nay, basse-pyrénées, probably in ; died at london, september , . a noted french protestant theologian. he went to berlin about as minister of the french church there, and thence to england and ireland; was for a time minister of the french church in the savoy; and settled in ireland as dean of killaloe in . his chief work is the 'traité de la vérité de la religion chrétienne' ( ), with its continuation 'traité de la divinité de nôtre seigneur jesus-christ' ( )." [ ] . "derham (william), english theologian and scholar, born in stoughton, near worcester, in , died at upminster in . pastor of upminster in the county of essex, he could peacefully devote himself to his taste for mechanics and natural history. besides making studies of watch-making, and of fish, birds, and insects, published in part in the transactions of the royal society, he wrote several works on religious philosophy. the most important, which was popular for a long time and was translated into french ( ), has as title 'physico-theology, or the demonstration of the existence and the attributes of god, by the works of his creation' ( ). he wrote as complement, in , his 'astro-theology, or the demonstration of the existence and attributes of god by the observation of the heavens.'" [ ] . rais, or cardinal de retz ( - ), was a french politician and author. from his childhood he was intended for the church. he took an active part in the movement against cardinal mazarin, and later became cardinal, but lost his popularity, and was imprisoned at vincennes. after escaping from there he returned to france and settled in lorraine, where he wrote his 'mémoires,' which tell of the court life of his time. [ ] . marcello malpighi ( - ) was a renowned italian anatomist and physiologist. he held the position of lecturer on medicine at bologna in , a few months later became professor at pisa, was made professor at bologna in , went from there to messina, though he later returned to bologna. in he became physician to pope innocent xii. malpighi is often known as the founder of microscopic anatomy. he was the first to see the marvelous spectacle of the circulation of the blood on the surface of a frog's lung. he discovered the vesicular structure of the human lung, the structure of the secreting glands, and the mucous character of the lower stratum of the epidermis. he was the first to undertake the finer anatomy of the brain, and he accurately described the distribution of grey matter, and of the fibre tracts in the cord. his works are: "de pulmonibus" (bologna, ), "epistolae anatomicae narc. malpighi et car. fracassati" (amsterdam, ), "de viscerum structura" (london, ), "anatome plantarum" (london, ), "de structura glandularum conglobatarum" (london, ). [ ] . deism is a system of thought which arose in the latter part of the seventeenth century. its most important representatives in england were toland, collins, chubb, shaftsbury, and tindal. they insisted on freedom of thought and speech, and claimed that reason is superior to any authority. they denied the necessity of any supernatural revelation, and were consequently vigorously opposed by the church. partly because of this opposition by the church, many of them argued against christianity, and tried to show that an observance of moral laws is the only religion necessary for man. they taught that happiness is man's chief end, and that, since man is a social being, his happiness can best be gained by mutual helpfulness. although they declared that nature is the work of a perfect being, they had a mechanical conception of the relation of god to the world, and did not, like later theists, find evidence of god's presence in all the works of nature. [ ] . "vanini, lucilio, self-styled julius cæsar. born at taurisano, kingdom of naples, about ; burned at the stake at toulouse, france, february , . an italian free thinker, condemned to death as an atheist and magician. he studied at rome and padua, became a priest, traveled in germany and the netherlands, and began teaching at lyons, but was obliged to flee to england, where he was arrested. after his release he returned to lyons, and about settled at toulouse. here he was arrested for his opinions, condemned, and on the same day executed. his chief works are: 'amphitheatrum aeternae providentiae' ( ), 'de admirandis naturae reginae deaeque mortalium arcanis' ( )." [ ] . desbarreaux (jacques vallée). a french writer, born at paris in , who died at chalon-sur-saône the ninth of may, . he wrote a celebrated sonnet on penitence, but was rather an unbeliever and sceptic than a penitent. guy patin, hearing of his death, said: "he infected poor young people by his licence. his conversation was very dangerous and destructive to the public." [ ] . boindin (nicolas), french scholar and author, born the twenty-ninth of may at paris, where he died the thirtieth of november . he was in the army for a while, but retired on account of ill health. he then gave himself up to literature, and wrote several plays. in he was elected royal censor and associate of the academy of inscriptions. his liberty, or, as it was then called, license of mind, shut the doors of the french academy to him, and would have caused his expulsion from the academy of inscriptions if he had not been so old. he died without retracting his opinions. [ ] . denis diderot ( - ) was one of the leaders of the intellectual movement of the eighteenth century. he was at first influenced by shaftsbury, and was enthusiastic in his support of natural religion. in his "pensées philosophiques" ( ) he tries to show that the discoveries of natural science are the strongest proofs for the existence of god. the wonders of animal life are enough to destroy atheism for ever. yet, while he opposes atheism, he also opposes vigorously the intolerance and bigotry of the church. he claims that many of the attributes ascribed to god are contrary to the very idea of a just and loving god. later, diderot was influenced by la mettrie and by holbach, and became an advocate of materialism which he set forth in "le rêve d'alembert" and in the passages contributed to the "système de la nature." diderot was the editor of the "encyclopédie." [ ] . trembley. see note . . "nothing which happens, could have failed to happen." an enunciation of the doctrine so insisted upon by holbach. "the whole universe ... shows us only an immense and uninterrupted chain of cause and effect." [ ]... "necessity which regulates all the movements of the physical world, controls also those of the moral world." [ ] . "all these evidences of a creator, repeated thousands ... of times ... are self-evident only to the anti-pyrrhonians." la mettrie holds an opinion contrary not only to that of descartes and locke, but also to that of toland, hobbes, and condillac. descartes, for instance, says: "thus i very clearly see that the certitude and truth of all science depends on the knowledge alone of the true god." [ ] hobbes asserts: "for he that from any effect he seeth come to pass should reason to the next and immediate cause thereof, and from thence to the cause of that cause, ... shall at last come to this, that there must be, as even the heathen philosophers confessed, one first mover, that is a first and an eternal cause of all things, which is that which men mean by the name of god." [ ] toland's words are: "all the jumbling of atoms, all the chances you can suppose for it, could not bring the parts of the universe into their present order, nor continue them in the same, nor cause the organization of a flower or a fly.... the infinity of matter ... excludes ... an extended corporeal god, but not a pure spirit or immaterial being." [ ] condillac writes: "a first cause, independent, unique, infinite, eternal, omnipotent, immutable, intelligent, free, and whose providence extends over all things: that is the most perfect notion of god that we can form in this life." [ ] locke declares: "from what has been said it is plain to me we have a more certain knowledge of the existence of a god than of anything our senses have not immediately discovered to us. nay i presume i may say, that we more certainly know that there is a god, than that there is anything else without us." [ ] . "lucretius (titus lucretius carus). born at rome, probably about b.c., died october , b.c. a celebrated roman philosophical poet. he was the author of 'de rerum natura,' a didactic and philosophical poem in six books, treating of physics, of psychology, and (briefly) of ethics from the epicurean point of view. he committed suicide probably in a fit of insanity. according to a popular but doubtless erroneous tradition, his madness was due to a love-philter administered to him by his wife." [ ] . "lamy (bernard) was born in mans in the year . he studied first in the college of this city. he later went to paris, and at saumar studied philosophy under charles de la fontenelle, and theology under andré martin and jean leporc. he was at length called to teach philosophy in the city of angers. he wrote a great many books on theological subjects. his philosophical works are: 'l'art de parler' ( ), 'traité de méchanique, de l'équilibre, des solides et des liqueurs' ( ), 'traité de la grandeur en général' ( ), 'entretiens sur les sciences' ( ), 'eléments de géométrie,' ( )." [ ] . "the eye sees only because it is formed and placed as it is." la mettrie doubts whether there is any purpose in the world. condillac, on the other hand, teaches that purpose and intelligence are shown forth in the universe. "can we see the order of the parts of the universe, the subordination among them, and notice how so many different things compose such a permanent whole, and remain convinced that the cause of the universe is a principle without any knowledge of its effects, which without purpose, without intelligence, relates each being to particular ends, subordinated to a general end?" [ ] . "non nostrum inter vos tantas componere lites." vergil, eclogue iii, line . . "the universe will never be happy unless it is atheistic." although la mettrie calls this a "strange opinion" it is clear that he secretly sympathizes with it. holbach affirms this doctrine very emphatically. "experience teaches us that sacred opinions were the real source of the evils of human beings. ignorance of natural causes created gods for them. imposture made these gods terrible. this idea hindered the progress of reason." [ ] "an atheist ... is a man who destroys chimeras harmful to the human race, in order to lead men back to nature, to experience, and to reason, which has no need of recourse to ideal powers, to explain the operations of nature." [ ] . "the soul is therefore but an empty word." contrast this with descartes's statement: "and certainly the idea i have of the human mind ... is incomparably more distinct than the idea of any corporeal object." [ ] compare this doctrine, also, with holbach's assertion: "those who have distinguished the soul from the body seem to have only distinguished their brains from themselves. truly the brain is the common center, where all the nerves spread in all parts of the human body, terminate and join together.... the more experience we have, the more we are convinced that the word 'spirit' has no meaning even to those who have invented it, and can be of no use either in the physical or in the moral world." [ ] . william cowper ( - ) was an english anatomist. he was drawn into a controversy with bidloo, the dutch physician, by publishing under his own name bidloo's work on the anatomy of human bodies. his principal works are: "myotamia reformata" (london, ) and "glandularum descriptio" ( ). [ ] . william harvey ( - ), an english physician and physiologist, is renowned for his discovery of the circulation of the blood. he was educated at canterbury and cambridge, and took his doctor's degree at cambridge in . during his life he held the position of lumleian lecturer at the college of physicians, and of physician extraordinary to james i. his principal works are: "exercitatio de motu cordis et sanguinis" ( ), and "exercitationes de generatione animalium" ( ). [ ] . francis bacon ( - ) was one of the first to revolt against scholasticism and to introduce a new method into science and philosophy. he claimed that to know reality, and consequently to gain new power over reality, man must stop studying conceptions, and study matter itself. yet he did not himself know how to gain a more accurate knowledge of nature, so that he could not put into practice the method which he himself advocated. his works are full of scholastic conceptions, though many of the implications of his system are materialistic. lange claims, [ ] indeed, that if bacon had been more consistent and daring, he would have reached strictly materialistic conclusions. the account of the motion of the heart of the dead convict is found in "sylva sylvarum." [ ] this book, published in , a year after bacon's death, contains the account of bacon's experiments, and of his theories in matters of physiology, physics, chemistry, medicine, and psychology. . robert boyle, one of the greatest natural philosophers of his age, studied at eton for three years, and then became the private pupil of the rector of stalbridge. he traveled through france, switzerland, and italy, and while at florence, studied the work of galileo. he decided to devote his life to scientific work, and in became a member of a society of scientific men, which later grew into the royal society of london. his principal work was the improvement of the air-pump, and by that the discovery of the laws governing the pressure and volume of gases. boyle was also deeply interested in theology. he gave liberally for the work of spreading christianity in india and america, and by his will endowed the "boyle lectures" to demonstrate the christian religion against atheists, theists, pagans, jews, and mohammedans. [ ] . nicolas sténon was born at copenhagen, , and died at schwerin in . he studied at leyden and paris, and then settled in florence, where he became the physician of the grand duke. in he became professor of anatomy at florence, but three years later he gave up this position and entered the church. in he was made bishop of heliopolis and went to hanover, then to munster, and finally to schwerin. his principal work is the "discours sur l'anatomie du cerveau" (paris, ). [ ] . la mettrie's account of involuntary movements is much like that of descartes. descartes says: "if any one quickly passes his hand before our eyes as if to strike us, we shut our eyes, because the machinery of our body is so composed that the movement of this hand towards our eyes excites another movement in the brain, which controls the animal spirits in the muscles that close the eyelids." [ ] . "the brain has its muscles for thinking, as the legs have muscles for walking." neither condillac nor helvetius go so far. helvetius explicitly states that it is an open question whether sensation is due to a material or to a spiritual substance. [ ] . giovanni alfonso borelli ( - ) was the head of the so-called iatro-mathematical sect. he tried to apply mathematics to medicine in the same way in which it had been applied to the physical sciences. he was wise enough to restrict the application of his system to the motion of the muscles, but his followers tried to extend its application and were led into many absurd conjectures. borelli was at first professor of mathematics at pisa, and later professor of medicine at florence. he was connected with the revolt of messina and was obliged to leave florence. he retired to rome, where he was under the protection of christina, queen of sweden, and remained there until his death in . [ ] . "for one order that the will gives, it bows a hundred times to the yoke." descartes, on the other hand, teaches that the soul has direct control over its voluntary actions and thoughts, and indirect control over its passions. [ ] la mettrie goes further than to limit the extent of the will, and questions whether it is ever free: "the sensations which affect us decide the soul either to will or not to will, to love or to hate these sensations according to the pleasure or the pain which they cause in us. this state of the soul thus determined by its sensations is called the will." [ ] holbach insists on this point and contends that all freedom is a delusion: "[man's] birth depends on causes entirely outside of his power; it is without his permission that he enters this system where he has a place; and without his consent that, from the moment of his birth to the day of his death, he is continually modified by causes that influence his machine in spite of his will, modify his being, and alter his conduct. is not the least reflexion enough to prove that the solids and fluids of which the body is composed, and that the hidden mechanism that he considers independent of external causes, are perpetually under the influence of these causes, and could not act without them? does he not see that his temperament does not depend on himself, that his passions are the necessary consequences of his temperament, that his will and his actions are determined by these same passions, and by ideas that he has not given to himself?... in a word, everything should convince man that during every moment of his life, he is but a passive instrument in the hands of necessity." [ ] . the theory of animal spirits, held by galen and elaborated by descartes, is that the nerves are hollow tubes containing a volatile liquid, the animal spirits. the animal spirits were supposed to circulate from the periphery to the brain and back again, and to perform by their action all the functions of the nerves. . berkeley uses the fact that the color of objects varies, as one argument for his idealistic conclusion. [ ] . it is hard to tell what pythagoras himself taught, but it is certain that he taught the kinship of animals and men, and upon this kinship his rule for the abstinence from flesh was probably based. among the writings of the later pythagoreans we find strange rules for diet which are plainly genuine taboos. for example they are commanded "to abstain from beans, not to break bread, not to eat from a whole loaf, not to eat the heart, etc." [ ] . plato forbade the use of wine in his ideal republic. [ ] . "nature's first care, when the chyle enters the blood, is to excite in it a kind of fever." thus, warmth is the first necessity for the body. compare with this, descartes's statement: "there is a continual warmth in our heart, ... this fire is the bodily principle of all the movements of our members." [ ] this is one of the many instances in which la mettrie's account of the mechanism of the body is similar to that of descartes. . "stahl (george ernst), born at ansbach, bavaria, october , ; died at berlin, may , . a noted german chemist, physician of the king of prussia from . his works include: 'theoria medica vera' ( ), 'experimenta et observationes chemicae' ( ), etc." [ ] . philip hecquet ( - ) was a celebrated french physician. he studied at rheims, and in became the physician of the nuns of port royal des champs. he returned to paris in and took his doctor's degree in . he was twice dean of the faculty of paris. in he became the physician of the religious carmelites of the suburb of saint jacques, and remained their physician for thirty-two years. [ ] . the quotation: "all men may not go to corinth," is translated from horace, ep. , , . "non cuivis homini contigit adire corinthum." . hermann boerhaave was born at voorhout near leyden, on december , . his father, who belonged to the clerical profession, destined his son for the same calling and so gave him a liberal education. at the university of leyden, he studied under gronovius, ryckius and frigland. at the death of his father, boerhaave was left without any provision and supported himself by teaching mathematics. vandenberg, the burgomaster of leyden, advised him to study medicine, and he decided to devote himself to this profession. in he received his degree and began to practice medicine. in he was made "lecturer on the institutes of medicine" at the university of leyden. thirteen years later he was appointed rector of the university, and the same year became professor of practical medicine there. he introduced into the university the system of clinical instruction. boerhaave's merit was widely recognized, and his fame attracted many medical students from all europe to the university of leyden. among these was la mettrie whose whole philosophy was profoundly influenced by the teaching of boerhaave. in boerhaave was elected into the royal academy of sciences of paris, and two years later he was made a member of the royal society of london. in his health compelled him to resign the rectorship at leyden. at this time he delivered an oration, "de honore, medici servitute." he died after a long illness on april , . the city of leyden erected a monument to him in the church of st. peter, and inscribed on it: "salutifero boerhaavii genio sacrum." boerhaave was a careful and brilliant student, an inspiring teacher, and a skilful practitioner. there are remarkable accounts of his skill in discovering symptoms, and in diagnosing diseases. his chief works are: "institutiones medicae" (leyden, ); "aphorismi de cognoscendis et curandis morbis" (leyden, ), "libellus de materia medica et remediorum formulis" (leyden, ), "institutiones et experimentae chemicae" (paris, ). [ ] . willis. (see note .) . claude perrault ( - ) was a french physician and architect. he received his degree of doctor of medicine at paris and practised medicine there. in he became a member of the royal academy of sciences. although he never abandoned his work in mathematics, in the natural sciences, and in medicine, he is more noted as an architect than as a physician or scientist. he was the architect of one of the colonnades of the louvre, and of the observatory. [ ] . "matter is self-moved." in "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme" la mettrie claims that motion is one of the essential properties of matter. see "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," chap. v. . "the nature of motion is as unknown to us as that of matter." unlike la mettrie, toland holds that it is possible to know the nature of matter, and declares that motion and matter can not be defined, because their nature is self-evident. [ ] holbach, resembling la mettrie, teaches that it is futile to seek to know the ultimate nature of matter, or the cause for its existence. "thus if any one shall ask whence matter came, we shall say that it has always existed. if any one ask, whence came movement in matter, we shall answer that for this same reason matter must have moved from eternity, since motion is a necessary consequence of its existence, its essence, and of its primitive properties, such as extent, weight, impenetrability, shape, etc.... the existence of matter is a fact; the existence of motion is another fact." [ ] . huyghens (christian) was born at the hague, , and died there in . he was a dutch physicist, mathematician, and astronomer. he is celebrated for the invention of the pendulum clock which could measure the movements of the planets, for the improvement of the telescope, and for the development of the wave-theory of light. his principal work is "horologium oscillatorium" ( ). [ ] . julien leroy ( - ) was a celebrated french watchmaker. he excelled in the construction of pendulums and of large clocks. some have attributed the construction of the first horizontal clock to him, but this is doubtful. among many other inventions and improvements of clocks, he invented the compensating pendulum which bears his name. [ ] . jacques de vaucanson ( - ) was a french mechanist. from his childhood he was always interested in mechanical contrivances. in he presented to the french academy his remarkable flute player. soon after, he made a duck which could swim, eat, and digest, and an asp which could hiss and dart on cleopatra's breast. he later held the position of inspector of the manufacture of silk. in he was admitted to the academy of sciences. his machines were left to the queen, but she gave them to the academy, and in the disturbances which followed the pieces were scattered and lost. vaucanson published: "mécanisme d'un flûteur automate" (paris, ). [ ] . "[descartes] understood animal nature; he was the first to prove completely that animals are pure machines." contrast this with la mettrie's former reference in "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme" to "this absurd system 'that animals are pure machines.' such a laughable opinion," he adds, "has never gained admittance among philosophers.... experience does not prove the faculty of feeling any less in animals than in men." [ ] it is evident that la mettrie's opposition to this 'absurd system' was based upon his insistence on the similarity of men and animals. in "l'homme machine" he argues from the same premiss, that animals are machines, that men are like animals, and that therefore men also are machines. notes on the extracts from "l'histoire naturelle de l'ame." . matter, according to la mettrie, is endowed with extensity, the power of movement, and the faculty of sensation. as la mettrie says, this conception was not held by descartes, who thought that the essential attribute of matter is extension. "the nature of body consists not in weight, hardness, color, and the like but in extension alone--in its being a substance extended in length, breadth and height." [ ] hobbes's conception of matter is very similar to that of la mettrie. he specifically attributes motion to matter: "motion and magnitude are the most common accidents of all bodies." [ ] he does not name sensation as an attribute of matter, but he reduces sensation to motion. "sense is some internal motion in the sentient." [ ] since motion is one of the attributes of matter, and since matter is the only reality in the universe, sensation must be attributed to matter. . la mettrie always insists that matter has the power of moving itself, and resents any attempt to show that the motion is due to an outside agent. in this opinion he is in agreement with toland. toland says that those who have regarded matter as inert have had to find some efficient cause for motion; and to do this, they have held that all nature is animated. this pretended animation, however, is utterly useless, since matter is itself endowed with motion. . "this absurd system ... that animals are pure machines." (see note .) works consulted and cited in the notes. (an asterisk indicates the edition to which reference is made.) julien offray de la mettrie. "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme." the hague. (this work appears as "traité de l'âme" in la mettrie's collected works.) "l'homme machine." leyden. "l'homme machine par la mettrie, avec une introduction et des notes." j. assézat. paris, . "oeuvres philosophiques." london (berlin). * "oeuvres philosophiques de monsieur de la mettrie," amsterdam. besides "l'homme machine" and "traité de l'âme," the "oeuvres philosophiques" contain the following (dates of first publication added in parentheses): "abrégé des systèmes." "l'homme plante" ( ). "les animaux plus que machines" ( ). "l'anti-sénèque" ( ). "l'art de jouir" ( ). "système d'epicure." elie luzac. "l'homme plus que machine." london (leyden). * "man more than a machine," translated from the french of elie luzac, and printed with the translation of "man a machine" for g. smith, . renÉ descartes. "essais philosophiques," including "discours de la méthode." * "the discourse on method," translated by john veitch. open court publishing co., . "meditationes de prima philosophia." "principia philosophiae." * "the meditations and selections from the principles of philosophy," translated by john veitch. open court publishing co., . "les passions de l'âme." * "oeuvres de descartes," vol. iv. edited by victor cousin, paris, . john toland. * "letters to serena." london. printed for bernard lintot. thomas hobbes. "human nature or the fundamental elements of policie." london. "leviathan; or the matter, form, and power of a commonwealth, ecclesiastical & civil." london. "elementorum philosophiae sectio prima: de corpore." london. * english works edited by sir william molesworth, - . volume iii. leviathan. volume iv. human nature. john locke. "an essay concerning human understanding." london. * edition of books ii and iv (with omissions) preceded by the english version of le clerc's "eloge historique de feu mr. locke," ed. m. w. calkins. open court publishing co., . etienne bonnot de condillac. "traité des sensations." paris and london. "traité des animaux." paris and london. * "oeuvres complètes," vols. edited by guillaume arnoux and mousnier. paris, . vol. iii. "traité des sensations." "traité des animaux." baron p. h. d. von holbach. "système de la nature," par m. mirabaud [really von holbach]. * nouvelle edition avec des notes et des corrections par diderot. paris, . c. a. helvetius. "de l'esprit." paris. * "de l'esprit, or essays on the mind and its several faculties," translated from the french by william mulford. london, . "de l'homme, de ses facultés, et de son éducation." vols. london. * "a treatise on man; his intellectual faculties and his education," translated from the french, with notes, by w. hooper, m. d., . frederick the great. * "oeuvres de frederic ii., roi de prusse, publiées du vivant de l'auteur." berlin, : "eloge de julien offray de la mettrie," vol. iii, pp. ff. francis bacon. * "sylva sylvarum, sive historia naturalis," transcripta a j. grutero lug. batavor. . f. a. lange. * "history of materialism," translated by ernest chester thomas, boston, . w. windelband. * "history of philosophy," translated by j. h. tufts, new york, . a. w. benn. * "history of english rationalism in the nineteenth century." london, . "la grande encyclopédie. inventaire raisonné des sciences, des lettres, et des arts, par une société de savants et de gens de lettres." paris, - . "the encyclopaedia britannica. a dictionary of arts, sciences, and general literature." ninth edition. "the century dictionary and cyclopedia." new york. "dictionary of philosophy and psychology," edited by j. m. baldwin. london and new york, . notes [ ] il péche evidemment par une pétition de principe. [ ] l'histoire des animaux et des hommes prouve l'empire de la semence des pères sur l'esprit et le corps des enfants. [ ] l'auteur de l'histoire naturelle de l'âme etc. [ ] l'auteur de l'hist. de l'âme. [ ] il y a encore aujourd'hui des peuples, qui, faute d'un plus grand nombre de signes, ne peuvent compter que jusqu'à . [ ] dans un cercle, ou à table, il lui fallait toujours un rempart de chaises, ou quelqu'un dans son voisinage du côté gauche, pour l'empêcher de voir des abîmes épouvantables dans lesquels il craignait quelquefois de tomber, quelque connaissance qu'il eut de ces illusions. quel effrayant effet de l'imagination, ou d'une singulière circulation dans un lobe du cerveau! grand homme d'un côté, il était à moitié fou de l'autre. la folie et la sagesse avaient chacun leur département, ou leur lobe, séparé par la faux. de quel côté tenait-il si fort à mrs. de port-royal? j'ai lu ce fait dans un extrait du traité du vertige de mr. de la mettrie. [ ] au moins par les vaisseaux. est-il sûr qu'il n'y en a point par les nerfs? [ ] haller dans les transact. philosoph. [ ] boerhaave, inst. med. et tant d'autres. [ ] he evidently errs by begging the question. [ ] the history of animals and of men proves how the mind and the body of children are dominated by their inheritance from their fathers. [ ] the author of "the natural history of the soul." [ ] the author of "the history of the soul." [ ] there are peoples, even to-day, who, through lack of a greater number of signs, can count only to . [ ] in a company, or at table, he always required a rampart of chairs or else some one close to him at the left, to prevent his seeing horrible abysses into which (in spite of his understanding these illusions) he sometimes feared that he might fall. what a frightful result of imagination, or of the peculiar circulation in a lobe of the brain! great man on one side of his nature, on the other he was half-mad. madness and wisdom, each had its compartment, or its lobe, the two separated by a fissure. which was the side by which he was so strongly attached to messieurs of port royal? (i have read this in an extract from the treatise on vertigo by m. de la mettrie.) [ ] haller in the transact. philosoph. [ ] "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," chapters xi, viii. [ ] "man a machine," p. . cf. la mettrie's commentary on descartes's teaching in "abrégé des systèmes philosophiques," oeuvres, tome . [ ] "abrégé des systèmes, descartes," p. , oeuvres philosophiques, tome . [ ] "man a machine," page . cf. "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme" (or "traité de l'âme"), oeuvres, , p. . [ ] descartes, "principles," part ii, prop. . [ ] "man a machine," pp. - . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] hobbes, "leviathan," part iii, chap. ; part i, chap. xii, open court edition, p. . [ ] "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," chapters iii, v, and vi. [ ] "leviathan," part i, chap. i. cf. "concerning body," part iv, chap. xxv, . [ ] "man a machine," pp. - . [ ] "leviathan," part i, chap. vi, molesworth ed., p. . cf. "man a machine," p. . [ ] ibid., part i, chap. iv. cf. "man a machine," p. . [ ] ibid., part i, chap. xii. [ ] "letters to serena," v, p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," chap. v, p. . [ ] "man a machine," p. . [ ] "man a machine," p. . [ ] "letters to serena," v, p. . [ ] ibid., v, p. . [ ] john locke, "essay concerning human understanding," book i, book ii, chap. i. [ ] locke, "essay," book ii, chap. . [ ] ibid., book ii, chap. . [ ] ibid., book iv, chap. . for la mettrie's summary of locke, cf. his "abrégé des systèmes," oeuvres, tome . [ ] f. a. lange, "history of materialism," vol. ii, chap. ii. [ ] "traité des sensations," part i. [ ] "traité des animaux," chap. i, p. . [ ] "traité des animaux," chap. vi, p. ff. [ ] "treatise on man," sect. ii, chap. i, p. . [ ] ibid., sect. ii, chap. ii, p. . [ ] "essays on the mind," essay ii, chap. i, p. . [ ] "treatise on man," chap. xii, p. . [ ] ibid., chap. ix, p. ; chap. vii, p. . [ ] "système de la nature," vol. i, chap. i, p. . [ ] "système de la nature," vol. i, chap. vi, p. . [ ] ibid., vol. ii, chap. xvi, p. , and chap. xxvi, p. . cf. "man a machine," pp. - . [ ] the references are to pages of this book. [ ] page-references are to the editions cited on pp. - , except references to "man a machine" which are to this translation. the translated or original title of a french book is cited according as the editor has made use of translation or of french text. [ ] "man more than a machine," pp. , . for statement of the editions to which these notes make reference, see pp. - . [ ] locke's "essay concerning human understanding," book ii. chap. xxiii, § . [ ] ibid., § . [ ] condensed and translated from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] translated from a note of assézat in "l'homme machine." [ ] condensed and translated from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, th ed., vol. xxiii. all references are to this edition. [ ] "man more than a machine," p. . [ ] "discourse on method," part. v. [ ] "discourse on method," part iv. [ ] "meditations," ii. [ ] "traité des sensations," part iv, chap. ix, § . [ ] "système de la nature," vol. i, chap. i. [ ] quoted from baldwin's dictionary of philosophy and psychology, vol. i. [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. xi. [ ] "les passions de l'âme," part i, art. xv, and art. xxxix. [ ] ibid., part i, art. xv. [ ] condensed from the century dictionary, vol. ix. [ ] translated and condensed from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] condensed from the century dictionary, vol. ix. [ ] "man more than a machine," p. . [ ] "discourse on method," v, last paragraph. [ ] "système de la nature," vol. i, chap. vii. [ ] translated from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] quoted from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. xxiv. [ ] quoted from the century dictionary, vol. ix. [ ] e. haeckel, "the riddle of the universe," chap. iii. [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. i. [ ] "the riddle of the universe," chap. ii. [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. xxiii. [ ] translated from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] "leviathan," part i, chap. iv. [ ] "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," chap. xiv. p. . [ ] "traité des sensations," p. . cf. ibid., chap. xii ( ). [ ] "treatise on man," sect. ii, chap. i, p. . cf. "essays on mind," essay i, chap. i, p. . [ ] "leviathan," part i, chap. xii. [ ] "man more than a machine," p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] quoted from baldwin's dictionary of philosophy, vol. ii. [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. ii. [ ] "traité des animaux," chap. i, p. . [ ] "man more than a machine," p. . [ ] "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," chap. x, § xii. [ ] "treatise on man," chap. x. [ ] ibid., chap. vii. [ ] "le vrai sens du système de la nature," chap. ix. [ ] ibid., vol. i, chap. viii, p. . [ ] "man more than a machine," pp. and . [ ] quoted from the century dictionary, vol. ix. [ ] translated from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] quoted from the century dictionary, vol. ix. [ ] translated from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] condensed from the century dictionary, vol. x. [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. xv. [ ] cf. a. w. benn, "history of english rationalism," vol. i, chap. iii. [ ] quoted from the century dictionary, vol. x. [ ] translated and condensed from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] translated and condensed from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] condensed from f. a. lange, "history of materialism," vol. ii, chap. i, and from w. windelband, "history of philosophy," part v, chap. i. [ ] "système de la nature," vol. i, chap. i, p. . [ ] ibid., vol. ii, chap. xi. cf. vol. i, chap. vii. [ ] "meditations," iii and v. [ ] "leviathan," part i, chap. xii. [ ] "letters to serena," v, p. . [ ] "traité des animaux," chap. vi, p. . [ ] "essay concerning human understanding," book iv, chap. x. [ ] quoted from the century dictionary, vol. ix. [ ] translated and condensed from the dictionnaire des sciences philosophiques, vol. iii, paris, . [ ] "traité des animaux," chap. vi. [ ] "système de la nature," vol. ii, chap. xvi, p. . [ ] ibid., chap. xxvi, p. . cf. luzac's criticism in "man more than a machine," p. . [ ] "meditations," iv. [ ] "système de la nature," vol. i, chap. vii, pp. - . [ ] condensed and translated from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] condensed from the century dictionary, vol. ix. [ ] f. a. lange, "history of materialism," vol. i, sec. ii, chap. iii. [ ] "sylva sylvarum sive historia naturalis latio transcripta a j. gruteo." lug. batavos, . cf. bk. iv, experiment . [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. iv. [ ] translated and condensed from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] "les passions de l'âme," part i, art. . [ ] "essays on the mind," essay i, chap. i, pp. ff. [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. iv. [ ] "les passions de l'âme," part i, art. . [ ] "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," chap. xii, p. . cf. chap. xii, p. . [ ] "système de la nature," vol. i, chap. vi, pp. ff. [ ] "dialogues between hylas and philonous," i, open court edition; pp. , , . cf. "principles of human knowledge," par. , . [ ] quoted from j. burnet, "early greek philosophy," chap. ii. [ ] republic, iii, . [ ] "les passions de l'âme," part i, art. viii. [ ] quoted from the century dictionary, vol. x. [ ] translated and condensed from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] condensed from the encyclopaedia britannica, vol. iii. [ ] translated and condensed from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] "letters to serena," v. [ ] "système de la nature," vol. ii, chap. ii, p. . [ ] condensed from the century dictionary, vol. ix. [ ] translated and condensed from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] translated and condensed from la grande encyclopédie, vol. . [ ] "l'histoire naturelle de l'âme," chap. vi. [ ] "principles of metaphysics," part ii, prop. . [ ] "de corpore," part iii, chap. xv. [ ] ibid., part iv, chap. xxv, ( ).