IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I _!.8 lit 1^ 2.2 IL25 in 1.4 III^^^B iJ^I 1.6 ^ z. ^ ^ ^ FholDgraphic Sciences CarpoiHtion ■•V 33 VMST MAIN STRUT WnSTn,N.Y. 14SM (716)172-4303 4^ A* 4^ 4^ \ ^v"0 ■^.*- "^IV" <«^ CIHM/iCMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/iCMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian da microraproductions historiquas Tachnical and Bibliographic Notas/Notaa tacliniquaa at bibiiographiquaa Tha Inatituta liaa attamptad to obtain tlia baat original copy avaiiabia for filming. Faaturaa of thi« copy which may ba bibliographicaily uniquo, which may altar any of tha imagaa in the raproduction, or which may aignificantly changa tha uauai mathod of filming, ara chackad balow. 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Tha copy fil to the gene The imagaa poaaibia coi of tha origii filming coni Original cof beginning v the iaat peg aion, or tha other origin f irat page m aion, and ar or illuatrata< The Iaat rec ahall contaii TINUED "), ^ whichever i Mapa. plate different re< entirely inci beginning ii right and to required. Ti method: Thia item ia filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document eat filmA au taux de reduction indiquA ci-deaaoua. 10X 14X 18X 22X 2BX 30X V 12X tsx 20X 24X 28X 32X implair* . Lm dAtails uniquM du iiv«nt modifiar It exigar una ila da filmaga Id/ oxad/ J piqutes iai/ nantaira urad by arrata raf llmad to »/ iliamant ata, una palura, J da fa9on h ■ibia. 30X Tha copy filmad hara haa baan raproducad thanka to tha ganaroaity of: National Library of Canada Tha imagaa appaaring hara ara tha baat quality poaaibia conaldarlng tha condition and lagibillty of tha original copy and in kaaping with tha filming contract spacificationa. Original coplaa in printad papar covara ara filmad baginning with tha front covar and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraa- alon, or tha back covar whan appropriata. All othar original coplaa ara filmad baginning on tha f Irat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraa- aion, and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraaaion. Tha laat racordad frama on aach microflcha ahall contain tha aymbol — ^- (moaning "CON- TINUED"), or tha aymbol y (maaning "END"), whichavar appliaa. Mapa, plataa, charta, ate. may ba filmad at diffarant raduction ratioa. Thoaa too larga to ba antlraly includad in ona axpoaura ara filmad baginning in tha uppar laft hand cornar, iaft to right and top to bottom, aa many framaa aa raqulrad. Tha following diagrama illuatrata tha mathod: 1 2 3 L'axamplaira film* fut raprodult grAca i la gAnAroaltA da: BibiiothAqua nationaia du Canada Laa imagaa auivantaa ont Att raproduitaa avac la plua grand aoln, compta tanu da la condition at da la nattati da I'axampialra film*, at an conformity avac laa conditiona du contrat da filmaga. Laa axamplairaa originaux dont la couvartura an paplar aat imprimte aont filmfo an commandant par la pramiar plat at an tarminant aoit par la darnlAra paga qui comporta una amprainta d'Impraaalon ou d'illuatration, aoit par la aacond plat, aalon la caa. Toua laa autraa axamplairaa originaux aont fllmte an commandant par la pramlAra paga qui comporta una amprainta d'Impraaalon ou d'illuatration at an tarminant par la darnlAra paga qui comporta una talla amprainta. Un daa aymbolaa auivanta apparattra aur la darnlAra imaga da chaqua microflcha, aalon la caa: la aymbola -^ aignifia "A SUIVRE", la aymbola ▼ aignifia "FIN". Laa cartaa, planchaa, tablaaux, ate, pauvant Atra fllmAa i daa taux da rMuction diffiranta. Loraqua la documant aat trop grand pour Atra raproduit an un aaul clichA, 11 aat film6 A partir da I'angia aupArlaur gaucha, da gaucha A droita, at da haut an baa, an pranant la nombra d'imagaa nicaaaaira. Laa diagrammaa auivants illuatrant la mAthoda. 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 A !t -^;^-r->'=y=9*= A Handbook of Psychology ^ NOTICES OF THE PRESS. '*The author has read widely in the literature of his subject, both English and foreign, and has systematised his knowledge in a way that shows grasp of it from his own point of view. And his book, being much smaller than either of those mentioned (Mr. Sully's and Mr. Thompson's), and written for less advanced students, has a place and a value of its own independent of any rivalry with them.** — IVestminster Review. " The book, on the whole, is not only well conceived, but well wrought out. To the student we can cordially commend it ; and even to those who are more advanced, it will be stimulating and suggestive through the breadth and comprehensiveness of its spirit, and its original glances into many parts of the subject." — British Quarterly Review. "It is neither so exhaustive nor so important a work as Mr. Stilly's, but in a good many respects it is likely to prove a more attractive introduction to the subject. It is also to be welcomed as a sign that the philosophical empiricists will no longer be allowed to claim a monopoly of scientific psychology. Professor Murray has marshalled his materials as a rule with much skill. . . . The treatment of Association deserves high praise. ... The chapter on the Special Senses, in the first book, and that on the Perceptions of the Different Senses, in the second book, are excellent examples of clear exposition." — Professor Seth in the Contemporary Review. *' Like Hamilton's Lectures^ it is an excellent and stimulating introduction to reflective philosophy in general. . . . The sections on the Feelings, on Idealisation, and the briefer discussions of Visual Perception and of the pritnum cognitum are admirable specimens of his expository method. ... It is written in excellent style and with a genuinely philosophical spirit." — Professor Adamson in Mind. "Those accustomed to think of philosophy as 'harsh and crabbed,' who will take the trouble to read this book with ordinary diligence, will be surprised to find how fascinating a subject it may be made. Although the author modestly hints that he does not propose to enter the field as a rival of the more ambitious produc- tions of Sully and Thompson, he has no cause to deprecate the comparison. . . . Dr. Murray's thought is always clear and precise, and he possesses that faculty^of ^mple and orderly arrange- ment and classification, which is characfieristic of the born teacher. . . . No more pleasant and interesting guide could be found thaa Professor Murray.*' — Professor Watson in Kingston Daily News. \ \ ■• HANDBOOK OF 4 PSYCHOLOGY BY J. CLARK MURRAY, LL.D., F.R.S.C. JOHN FROTHINGHAM PROFESSOR OF MENTAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY, M'GILL COLLEGE, MONTREAL SECOND EpJT^^i^^^^ 1888- ALEXANDER GARDNER, PAISLEiT; AND PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON. DAWSON BROTHERS, MONTREAL. Y>- s 6f /3I \ \ Serai's- •t PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. \ w In the preface to the fi/:st edition it was explained that " this handbook is designed primarily to introduce stu- dents to the science of psychology ; and to this design every other purpose, which the book may serve, has been made subordinate. Psychology embraces a considerable body of systematised facts which are beyond dispute; but there are also some problems, still unsettled, which affect even the fundamental principles of the science. No fair exposition of the science is possible without in- dicating the expositor's standpoint in reference to these problems ; but it is not advisable to perplex the beginner with a prefatory discussion of controverted questions; and to the more advanced student, who may honour the book with a perusal, its general standpoint ought to be evident without preliminary explanations." The original object of the book has been always kept in view in the present edition. Numerous alterations have been suggested on revision ; but these, though adding on the whole a few pages to the volume, are not individually of such importance as to require specific mention. I may observe that, had I received Professor Ladd's Elements of Physiological Psychology in time, I should have referred to it at p. 12, as the best equivalent in English for the great German work of Wundt. J. CLARK MURRAY. Montreal^ i6th Aprils 1888, CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION. 1. Definition of Psychology, 2. Method of Psychology, • Pagtt • I ,u BOOK I.— GENERAL PSYCHOLOGY. Part L — Elements of Mind, Chapter I.— General Nature of Sensation, § I. The Sensible Organism, § 2. Agencies which Excite Sensibility, § 3. Classification of Sensations, Chapter IL— The Special Senses, - § I. Taste, • § 2. Smell, - § 3. Touch, - § 4. Hearing, § 5. Sight, ■ 17 18 18 21 29 33 33 37 41 48 56 Chapter HI.— The General Senses, • • 62 § I. General Sensations connected with a Single Organ, 64 § 2. General Sensations not limited to particular organs, • - - • 70 -f'* vni. Contents. Part II.— The Mental Processes, Chapter I.— Association, § I. Primary Laws of Suggestion, • § 2. Secondary Laws of Suggestion, * Chapter II.— Comparison, BOOK II.— SPECIAL PSYCHOLOGY. 75 7« 77 88 109 Introduction, • - - •. • IIS Part I.— Cognitions, . . . . . 119 Chapter I.— Perception, - • 121 § I. Perceptions of Taste, - . 137 § 2. Perceptions of Smell, • • 133 § 3. Perceptions of Touch, . - - ■ ■ 139 § 4. Perceptions of Hearing, . 15a § S. Perceptions of Sight, - . 163 § 6. Muscular Perceptions, - . 188 Chapter II.— Generalisation, . 191 § I. Abstraction, .... . 191 § 2. Generalisation Proper, '• • 195 § 3. Denomination, .... • 20a Chapter III.— Reasoning, . . . . 909 § I. Conception, - - -, . 211 § 2. Judgment, . . - . . ■ 213 § 3. Reasoning Proper, . - . . . 217 t Pi t r\ f Contents. ix. Chapter IV.— Idealisation, .... 336 if I. The Speculative Ideal, .... aaft I a. The i^sthetic Ideal, . . . • 229 I 3. The Ethical Ideal, - . •341 S 4. The Religious Ideal, . . •244 Chapter V.— Illusory Cognitions, . . 247 8 I. Illusions in General, .... 247 § 2. Dreaming, ..... 256 § 3, Hypnotic States, .... jh^ Chapter VI.— General Nature of Knowledge, • 282 § I. Self'Consciousness, .... 287 § 2. Time, > . . • 295 8 3. Space, ...... 299 § 4. Substance, ..... 304 8 5. Cause, ...... 309 Part II.— Feelings, ..... 312 Introduction. . • • . - 312 8 I. The nature of pleasure and pain, - - 313 8 2. The expression of the feelings, * . 333 8 3. Classification of the feelings, * • . 337 Chapter I. — Feelings of Sense, . - . 339 I Chapter II.— Feelings originating in Association, 359 8 I. Feelings for external nature, . . * 361 X. Contents. § 2. Feelings for self, § 3. Feelings for others. 366 370 Chapter III. — Feelings originating in Compari- son, . - . - - - 389 Chapter IV.— Intellectual Feelings, Chapter V. — Feelings of Action, Part III.— Volitions, 397 402 405 Chapter I.— The Gener>.u Natore OF Volition, - 406 Chapter II. — The Motive Power of the Feelings, 410 Chapter III* — Extension of Voluntary Control OVER Muscles, Feelings, and Thoughts, 419 Chapter IV.— Freedom of Volition, 426 ^<^" V^ - tlt^^:? '^^g^ IAhy '^-^I^xO. PSYCHOLOGY. f v» IIIMii INTRODUCTION. § I. — Definition of Psychology. PSYCHOLOGY* is the name now generally applied to the s'cience which investigates the phenomena of the mind. Mind t is also denoted by the words soul and spirit^ while in modern times it has become common to use, as equivalent to these, certain expressions con- nected with the first personal pronoun, thrown into the form of substantives — the /, the me^ the ego, the self. Another modern fashion in psychological language is to describe the mind by the term subject. The external world, when contrasted with mind or soul or spirit, is spoken of as matter or body ; it is opposed to the terms * This name, though deriveJ from ancient Greek, is of compara- tively modern origin. It was used for the first time apparently during the sixteenth century, perhaps among the Ramists ; at least, Freigius is the earliest author, in whose writings it has been discovered. See Hamilton's Lectures on Metaphysics, Vol. i., pp. 135-6. t On the history of the word viind a learned philological article by Mr. Earle will be found in Mind for July, 1881. 2 Psychology. expressive of the first person as the nonego or notself^ while the counterpart of subject is object. In recent times mental phenomena are frequently distinguished from physical by the term psychical^ — a term of some advantage from its being cognate with the name of the science. The phenomena of the self or mind are distinguished from those of matter by a very marked characteristic. Any material thing whether organic or inorganic, whether at rest or in motion or undergoing any internal change, is wholly unaware of its own condition. It is not so with me. I may be ignorant of innumerable actions and processes going on in my own body and in other bodies ; but of what I myself do or suffer I must be cognisant, else it could not be said to be done or suffered by 7tie. If I feel a pleasure or a pain, I must know that I feel it; and to deny my knowledge of the feeling would be to deny its existence. In like manner, when I see or hear, remember or imagine, believe or disbelieve, love or hate, I must know that I do so. Now, this knowledge of what is passing within me is called consciousness ; and it forms the distinctive attribute of the mind or self. To avoid misapprehensions, it may be observed that we often speak of doing an action ^^consciously. This seems to contradict the assertion that consciousness characterises all the actions we perform. But the truth is, that, when we use this expression, we mean that such an action is in reality done, not by ourselves^ but by those notselves^ — those material things which we call our muscles, nerves, and brains. When a muscle twitches, or a nerve or brain-fibre thrills, without the movement being willed or intended by me, it is not I that produce the movement. It will be shown, in fact, that nervous and muscular actions often simulate strikingly the ^ \ ^ ^ Introduction. )r notseift [n recent inguished of some ne of the inguished acteristic. inorganic, y internal It Is not le actions , in other must be )r suffered know that ing would n I see or ieve, love nowledge ness ; and self. rved that This iciousness the truth that such by those call our twitches, novement produce t nervous ingly the * appearance of being originated and controlled intelligently by me, when, in reality, they are immediately due to habits of body formed long before by myself, or perhaps by my ancestors, or by the general constitution of nature. But an action, of which we are wholly unconscious, is one with which we have truly nothing to do, and that is the reason why we often exculpate ourselves by pleading that we acted unconsciously, inasmuch as the action could not then really have proceeded from us. It follows from this, that, in speaking of the mind, we must avoid supposing it to be the brain or the heart or any other portion of the material thing we call our body. We sometimes, indeed, by a figure of speech, use brain and heart to mean mind or soul ; and the figure is allowable, so far as the inexact requirements of ordinary language are concerned. But, in scientific accuracy, " I " am not a brain, or heart, or system of nerves, or any part or the whole of a body. It appears, then, that the distinctive characteristic of mind is, to be conscious of its phenomena ; and,, consequently, these phenomena are often described as phenomena of consciousness. Like the phenomena of external nature, those of our internal consciousness will commonly be found to be composite, and therefore to require analysis. In order to such an analysis, it is necessary to know the elementary materials which enter into the composition of the phenomena analysed ; and accordingly the description of these materials will form the subject of the First Book of this work, which, as applying to all the phenomena of mind in general, may be appropriately styled General Psychology. The Second Book, to be distinguished as Special Psychology, will investiu;ate the various combinations which form the special phases of our mental life. 4 Psychology. Before proceeding to these subjects, some further introductory remarks may be found of service in reference to the method which should be adopted in the study of our science. h § 2. — Method of Psychology. The method of Psychology is determined by the nature of the phenomena which it investigates. The nature of these phenomena, as we have seen, is that they are always accompanied by consciousness on the part of their subject. It is consequently by means of this accompanying consciousness, directed by proper precautions, that we must investigate the mind. The proper precautions, indeed, must not be neglected in studying the phenomena of mind any more than in observing the phenomena of the material world : for it cannot be supposed that the ordinary consciousness of men will give them a scientific knowledge of what is pas- sing in their minds more readily than their ordinary perceptions reveal the physical facts disclosed to the scientific observer. The precautions which the psycho- logist must adopt in order to direct and correct his observations, are not essentially different from those which must be taken by other scientific observers ; they are rendered only more necessary inasmuch as nearly all the difficulties in the way of accurate observation are greatly enhanced by the peculiar character, especially by the extreme evanescence and complexity, of mental phenomena. One of the most valuable safeguards against mistakes in observation is found by varying the circumstances in which phenomena are observed. Now this safeguard is Introduction. 5 readily supplied to the psychological observer by refusing to satisfy himself with the mere introspection of his indi- vidual mind, and endeavouring to watch the mental operations of others, as far as these are expressed in their language and external conduct. The study of psycho- logy, by reflection on one's own conscious life, is some- times spoken of as the Introspective or Subjective Method, by observations on the minds of others, as the Objective Method. Though some schools reject or un- duly depreciate the former, it is evident that both methods must be combined ; for objective observations can be in- terpreted only by reference to the facts of our own consciousness.* In such observations it is important to seek the assistance of those studies which have for their object to inquire into the phenomena of human life that reflect the mental condition of men under every variety of external circumstances. The facts which reflect the mental life of man may do so either as being its product, or in so far as it is theirs. These it may be convenient to consider apart. I. Of the phenomena which result from the action of the human mind, most have been already reduced to orderly study in separate sciences. I. The main instrument which man employs for the expression of his conscious states is language, and there- * Objective observations may sometimes usefully be extended to the mental life of the lower animals, which may occasionally throw light on the lower activities, at least, of the human mind ; but the interpretation of the actions of animals, as implying facts similar to those of our consciousness, cannot be accompanied with too great caution. For the student who wishes to follow out this line of in- quiry, probably the most serviceable aids are the two works by Dn G. J. Romanes on Animal Intelligence and Mental Evolution in Animals. Psychology. fore the Science of Language will be found of continual service to the psychologist ; for whether in the wide re- searches of comparative philology, or in the etymology of isolated words, the speech of men often reveals the histoiy of ideas and feelings and mental habitudes, which could not otherwise be traced with so sure a step. 2. The origin of language is hidden in the trackless distance of a prehistoric past ; so also is the origin of society and of the system of life which society entails. But the actual condition of society, both in our own day and throughout historical periods, is within our reach ; and there are few more fascinating branches of study than that which investigates the picturesque varieties of moral standard, of social custom, of political institutions, by which human life is diversified under different climates and at different stages of civilisation. The accumulation of evidence on these subjects, especially in recent times, throws occasionally a welcome light, if not on the origin, at least on the development of many feelings and ideas and convictions, which play an important part in the human consciousness. The collection and preservation of accurate statistics with regard to the existing pheno- mena and the current changes of society, are becoming a serious work among all civilized nations ; and the facts thus obtained may often be consulted for evidence of the operation of great mental laws. 3. The studies, which have just been indicated, belong to what older writers, with some propriety, were wont to describe as the Natural History of Man. But the civil or political history of man, — what we understand by history simply, including, of course, biography, which is but the history of individuals — is not without its value to the psychologist, as revealing the mental influences by which human life receives its determinate character in any } Introduction. 7 particular country at any particular time, as well as its development from age to age. In fact, the Philosophy of History must seek to bring the periods in the evolution of a nation, or in the vaster evolution of the human race, into harmony with the universal laws of the human mind. 4. But the phenomena, which most directly reflect the mental life of man, are the product of his mind in science and art. Science is evidently the systematic effort of human intelligence to unfold the intelligible order that exists throughout every realm of the universe ; and the evolution of scientific ideas must be an exponent of the laws which govern the evolution of man's general intelli- gence. In science the cool intellect alone is called into play ; in art the intellectual life is warmed with feeling. The fine arts, therefore, represent a double aspect of man's mental nature, — his power of knowing and his powc. of feeling. Accordingly the critical study of the fine arts, — of sculpture and painting, of music and litera- ture, — will be found extremely serviceable in assisting to unravel some of the most complicated operations of the mind. II. But the mind is not only a producer, it is also a product. It is true that the function of the mind is, by becoming conscious of the forces of nature, to free man from subjection to their unqualified sway. Still whatever freedom from the mere force of nature the mind may reach, there is another aspect in which it remains a natural product ; and in this aspect it receives an explanation in the agency of those natural forces by which it is modified. I. Here the vast cosmic forces of the solar system may be practically left out 01 account, as their influence on the human mind is of an extremely remote and indirect character. The changes of summer and winter, of day and night, of morning and evening, as well as the 8 Psychology. varying phases of the moon, do exercise an appreciable influence over the thoughts and feelings of men. But the influence of these agencies in human life is not the irresistible domination of a natural force, such as they exert over vegetation, or over the life of migratory or hibernating animals ; it is an influence which, in normal health, is completely under the control of intelligent volition, and grows tyrannical only when by disease life becomes helplessly subject to external nature.* It is true that the grandeur and mystery of the great cosmic move- ments have, in earlier times, exercised such a fascination over the human mind as to gain the credit of a direct influence on human life, the systematic interpretation of which formed the exploded science of astrology. But the general advance of human thought to the modern scientific point of view, is strikingly indicated when we contrast an antique astrological calculation on the effect of a man's "star" with the causal connection which recent observations have endeavoured to establish between the sun's spots and the social disasters which follow a famine. 2. Only less remote than the influences just described are those which have their origin in terrestrial nature, — the influences of a geographical, climatic, and meteoro- logical character. Climate and geographical feature? have an undoubted power to mould the thoughts and feelings of men ; but their effects in the history of the human mind have often been exaggerated by forgetting or underestimating the energy of intelligence in asserting • The belief at least in the tyranny of the moon over the diseased mind is preserved in the Latin lunaticus, the Greek (reXi;»'toK6s, our English moonstruck, as well as the older expressions, moonish and inoonling. \ \'- Introduction. itself over the force of its environment. Soil and climate and weather determine absolutely the life of animal and plant ; but man succumbs to their influence only in proportion as disease reduces him to the condition of a mere animal organism, and thereby renders impossible the independent play of intelligence. 3. But in what is appropriately called human nature we come upon a region of the natural forces, which necessarily have a very direct influence in modifying the mental life of man. Among the powers of human na- ture some may be distinguished as universal from others which are particular. i. By the former are meant of course those powers which are common to the whole of mankind. Now, some of these are extrinsic to the individual. {a) The modifying influences here characterised as ex- trinsic to the individual are the race to which he belongs, and those general tendencies of his time which are some- times spoken of as the Zeitgeist or spirit of the age. Amid the innumerable varieties by which human beings are distinguished, there are certain prevailing types, along which these varieties are ranged ; and such predominant types of variation may be traced in the mental as well as in the bodily characteristics. A type of this kind may often be referred to the common origin of the individuals in whom it predominates, and it then constitutes what we understand by a diff'erence of race. It would be out of place, at this introductory stage, to discuss the explan- ation of race differences which may seem to be demanded by the present state of the science of man. It is suffi- cient to recognise the fact of the power which such differences are calculated to exert in shaping the charac- ter of a man's mind. But the influence of race is apt to be traversed by the influence of those mental tendencies 10 Psychology. that are characteristic of the period in which a man's life is passed. And it must not be forgotten that both in- fluences are qualified by the principle already noticed, that the mind, being essentially intelligent of the forces of nature, may rise above their unconditional sway, and direct their operation. {!)) But this qualification is of less value when we come to those influences of human nature which are in- trinsic to the individual. These are two : one being of a permanent character — sex ; another, of a mutable char- acter — age. Even these agencies, however, are not ab- solutely irresistible in their effects. The freedom of the mind from the tyrannous sway of sex is seen in the manly courage which emergencies have sometimes called forth in women, and in the womanly tenderness often displayed by stern men. Such freedom may occasionally reach an extreme of excess ; a person may become " un- sexed," though this cannot happen without a violation of human nature. Effeminacy in miii, or masculine bold- ness in woman, are both unnatural monstrosities. In like manner the natural tendencies of age are also some- times counteracted ; youth occasionally displays a sober thoughtfulness more characteristic of advanced life, while a happy juvenility of spirit is not infrequently carried down into a hale old age. ii. But, besides the universal influences of race and sex and age, the human mind is subject to other influences that are particular, as theyform the distinctive peculiarities of individuals. («) Sometimes these peculiarities are acquired in the course of the individual's life, and then they constitute his habits or character. Habit has been well named a second nature, for it acts in the same way as any tendency in the original nature of man. As habit is Introduction. II In the tute id a any it is acquired, so it can also be overcome, or supplanted by an opposite tendency. In fact, all hope of intellectual and moral improvement rests on the power of reforming habits. {b) But there is a less variable sphere of human nature — that of the tendencies which are born in the individual. These form what we express by the French naturel in the largest sense of the term, comprehending all that is commonly understood hy genitts in the intellectual sphere, and in the emotional by temperament or disposition. The contact of man with the general system of forces in his own, as well as in external nature, depends on the fact that, in one aspect, he is an animal organism. The part of this organism, by which his conscious relations with nature are governed, is the system of nerves dis- tributed throughout his body and centred in his brain. Accordingly, among the auxiliary studies, to which the psychologist resorts, the highest value must be attached to human anatomy and physiology, in so far as these ex- plain the structure and functions of the different parts of the nervous system. It must not, indeed, be supposed, as has been too hastily assumed by some, that the physi- ology of the nervous system can enable us to dispense with that direct observation of consciousness, which is the special province of psychology. For even if the system of nerves in the human body were known much more perfectly than at present, no observation of it could ever reveal anything but material structures and processes ; no such observa- tion could ever reveal the thoughts and feelings and volitions which make up our conscious life, or the laws by which these are governed. Still, it would be very unfortunate for the psychologist, were he unduly to depreciate the assistance which he may receive from the •r«-«P>H.i|- «lll* JI'll 12 Psychology physiologist. It may now be accepted as a fact, that with every phenomenon of consciousness a correspond- ing phenomenon is set up in the nervous system ; and it will often be found that a knowledge of the nervous action is the most trustworthy guide to a psychological explanation of the phenomenon in consciousness, or the most efficient safeguard against mistakes about its nature. The student of psychology will, therefore, be materially assisted by seeking at least such acquaintance with physiology as may be obtained from Professor Huxley's Lessons in Elementary Physiology^ or from works which treat especially of the physiology of the nervous system in its bearing on psychology, like Dr. Carpenter's Principles of Mental Physiology or the more elaborate Grundziige der Physiologischen Psychologic of Wundt. For the treatment of psychological questions in their connection with the evolutionism of the present day, the student should consult Spencer's Principles of Psychology^ which will be found of great value in other aspects as well. Most of the other studies, which have been referred to in this section as tributary to psychology, are compre- hended under anthropology in the widest conception of its range. The student, who is not familiar with the researches of this science, will find an interesting account of their drift, and an admirable preparation for more detailed study, in the Introduction to Anthropology^ by Dr. E. B. Tylor. ct, that cspond- ; and it nervous ological , or the nature, iterially :e with [uxley's s which system penter's aborate Wundt. ti their lay, the :hologyy >ects as B O O K I rred to Dmpre- tion of th the count more Syy by tl n tl A F P GENERAL PSYCHOLOGY. AN analysis of the phenomena of consciousness discovers the fact, that they are composed of cer- tain simple factors, which may be regarded as the ele- ments of our mental life, and that the combination of these elements is due to certain simple processes. Accordingly this Book divides itself naturally into two Parts, devoted respectively to the elements and the processes of mental life. The Elements of Mind. 17 PART I THE ELEMENTS OF MIND. ELEMENTS are phenomena which are incapable of being decomposed ; and therefore the ele- ments of mental life are those simple facts, beyond which science, in its last analysis of consciousness, has been unable to go. Such elementary facts form merely what may be called the raw materials of mind j they are wrought into actual mental states only as they are combined by the processes which will be afterwards explained. These raw materials of mind are connected by natural law with the great system of natural phenomena ; and the drift of the present in- vestigation must be to trace that connection. In doing so we shall describe first the general nature of the mental elements, and then their specific forms. B i8 Psychology. CHAPTER I. THE GENERAL NATURE OF SENSATION. THE natural elements, of which conscious life is formed, are the phenomena called sensu' iions.^ A sensation is any consciousness arising from an action in the bodily organism. The organism, considered as endowed with the capacity of exciting consciousness, is said to be sensitive or sensible. The general capacity is spoken^ of as sensil 'Hty^ and the particular forms of the sensibility are called senses. As sensation depends on the action of the bodily organism, it may be well, before examining the nature of sensation itself, to consider the structure of the organism, and the agencies by which its sensibility is excited. § 1. — The Sensible Organism. All bodies act and react on each other. Even the mineral is subject, not only to the mechanical impulse of bodies impinging on it, but occasionally also to chemical * On the various meanings of the term sensation see Hamilton's edition of Reid's Works, p. S77, note. A history of theories in regard to sensation will be found in the same work, Note D, § I. The General Nature of Sensation. 19 alteration from bodies in affinity with it, and to thermal and electrical changes as well. The vegetable, and even the most rudimentary form of animal, exhibit the influence of foreign bodies by taking from them the constituents necessary for existence or growth, and restoring them after a period to the environment. But the higher animal organisms, and that of man especially, possess the power of responding in an innumerable variety of ways to surroundmg agencies, and this responsive power is due mainly to the elaborate differentiation of the bodily organs in general, and more particularly of the nervous system. It is sometimes said that the brain is the organ , / mind. It would be more correct to say that the mind finds an organ, that is, an instrument, in the entire animal organism ; and this seems to be the explanation of the ancient doctrine, which, instead of restricting the soul to one part of the body, finds it " all in the whole, and all in every part." For the whole organism is, in every part, adapted to furnish materials for the building up of man's mental structure ; but it owes this adaptation to the elaborate system of nerves, with which every part is more or less completely supplied. The nervous system of man is two-fold : it consists of two systems, which are distinguished as the cerebrospinal and the sympathetic. The latter, by its distribution among the viscera, seems to be connected with the functions of organic life, rather than with those of the mind, though some hold it to be the special organ of the emoiional nature. The cerebro-spinal system, which certainly shows a vastly more intimate and complicated connection with mind, is divisible into two parts, — a central and a peripheral. The central portion is found in the brain and spinal cord. It is distinguishable to the eye by its i %' 20 Psychology. greyish colour, and appears under the microscope to be formed by masses of minute vesicles or cells. The other portion, which connects the centres with the extremitie?, as well as the different centres with each other, is white in colour. It consists of strands of fibres, distributing themselves in ever minuter ramifications to every part of the organism. Among these fibres two groups may be distinguished as possessing distinct functions. One group, which issue from each side of the front of the spine, carry impulses from the centre outwards, and thereby stimulate muscular movement ; the other group, which issue from the back of the spine, transmit impulses inwards, and excite sensation. The nerves of sensation are, therefore, called afferent or centripetal ; those of motion, efferent or centrifugal. The body is thus seen to be the organ of the soul, not merely as the passive recipient of sensations excited by the action of external bodies, but as a source of energy by which it reacts on these and produces modifications in them. The afferent nerves, which are thus distributed over the body, are perpetually carrying to the spinal cord and brain the impressions which have been excited in the various organs ; and these organs become thus the channels of different sensations. It is a moot point among physiologists, whether the specific differences of sensation are due to different nerves being endowed with different specific properties, or whether all nerves are identical in property, and becorhe differentiated to different functions merely in consequence of the different uses to which they are put. This question, however, is of no essential moment to the psychologist j for him it is sufficient, that specifically different sensations are awakened by the various alterations to which the different organs of the body are subject. But of course it is The General Nature of Sensation. 21 implied that a bodily organ can form the channel of sensa- tion, only in so far as it is supplied with sentient nerve- fibres, and these are in uninterrupted connection with the brain. All the organs of the body are thus more or less sensitive ; but in respect of their sensibility a marked distinction may be drawn between two classes. For one set of organs are evidently by their very structure adapted mainly to the special function of producing sensation, and these are acc(3rdingly said to be the organs of the special senses ; while the other organs of the body give rise to sensation only incidentally, in performing the various functions of animal life, to which they are respec- tively adapted. But this is a distinction which can be conveniently explained only under the third section of this chapter, in the description of the various sensations we receive through the different organs. § 2. — Agencies which excite Sensibility. The bodily organism, especially in consequence of its developed nervous system, is, as we have seen, responsive to the action of the various forces of nature ; and these forces may accordingly be spoken of in general as the agencies which excite sensation. Now, the action of these forces is conceived as some form of motion, whether it be the motion of masses of matter, or motion among the particles of which masses are composed. Consequently, the immediate stimulus of sensation may, in every case, be represented as some kind of movement. The movement may originate in the organism itself; for all the higher organisms are preserved and developed only by innumerable processes, which are apt to produce alterations of nervous tissue that may excite sensibility. In other cases, and these are more numerous, the move- 22 Psychology. i ment originates in extraorganic bodies ; but it must always be translated into a nervous process before it can produce sensation. Sensations are of innumerably various kinds ; they vary in accordance with the variation of the natural move- ments by which they are produced, and the part of the organism affected. There is, however, one difference among sensations, which traverses all others, and may therefore be noticed first. This is the intensity, that is, the degree in which a sensation absorbs consciousness. This property has a natural correspondence with the breadth or amplitude of the movement by which the sensation is produced, and by the breadth or amplitude of a movement is meant the space through which the moving body travels from the point of rest or equilib- rium. It is true, as will be shown more fully in the sequel, the degree, in which a sensation absorbs con- sciousness, depends also on the voluntary strain of atten- tion, however that is to be explained; but still the natural tendency of any movement, which comes into contact with our organism, is to obtrude itself into consciousness with increasing force in proportion to every increase in its breadth. Now, as every movement may vary in breadth, every kind of sensation is liable to varying de- grees of intensity. Besides the general difference of intensity, sensations are distinguished by specific difference — differences of quality or kind. These may be conceived as due to the form of movement, and the form of a movemei^t is itself due mainly to its length or velocity. There are, first, the long slow movements of material masses, which mani- fest themselves in the form of mechanical pressure, either by sensations of touch, or by sensations of resis- tance to muscular effort, or by felt pulsations upon the The General Nature of Sensation. 23 skin, or throughout the nervous tissue. When move- ments become shorter and more rapid, reaching a velocity of between twenty and thirty in a second, they begin to affect an organ — the ear — specially differentiated to receive the impact of such vibrations, and then excite in consciousness the sensations of sound. The most rapid vibrations audible do not exceed 38,000 in a second, and even these are far beyond the limit of agreeableness. We must, therefore, pass over a vast interval before we reach the movements which manifest themselves in conscious- ness as sensations of heat. These movements lie at the lowest verge of luminous vibrations, the slowest of which, represented by the red rays of the spectrum, rise to the number of 451 billions in a second. But beyond the highest verge of light, — the violet rays, whose vibrations amount to 785 billions in a second, — there lie the atomic movements, which appear in the chemical or actinic action of light. Somewhere in this series lie the move- ments of electricity, the action of which on the nervous system produces the well-known electrical sensations of a sudden shock or a continuous thrill. The phenomena of sensation are thus brought into relation with the general forces of the physical world \ and the question will naturally occur, whether the rela- tion is that uniform ratio, by which the physical forces themselves are held in a system of unalterable correspon- dences, — a system which is being gradually unfolded in the admirable investigations of modern science on the correlation and convertibility of the physical forces. If the correspondence of sensation to the physical forces is of the same kind, then both must admit of quantitative commensuration. That would imply that we are able (i ) to measure the quantity of a given sensation, and (2) to form an equation between that quantity and a given 24 Psychology. quantity of the physical force by which it is stimulated. The fact that the same sensation admits of more or less intensity, seems to furnish an obvious basis for quanti- tative measurements ; and on this basis a new line of in- vestigation has been opened up in recent times under the name of Psychophysics. It is contended that a psychophysical law has been established, expressing a measurable correspondence between the intensity of sensations and the quantity of physical force which forms their sensible stimulus. To explain, it must be observed that the law is admitted to hold only within certain limits. The sensi- bility has a double limit, — one on the side of increase, another on the side of decrease. I. On the latter it is evident there must be a point, below which a stimulus would be insufficient to excite the sensibility at all. II. But on the other side also it is found that a given increase of stimulus is not always followed by a corresponding increase of intensity in the sensation produced. The effects of excessive increase are different. 1. Very often an extremely powerful or extremely prolonged stimulus may deaden the sensibility altogether. The ear is deafened by a very loud noise, the eye is blinded by excess of light. The skin also becomes insensible to a continued contact, like that of the clothing. 2. But in other cases the sensibility, instead of being deadened, is altered by an additional force of stimulus. The specific sensation, usually produced by an external agent, may disappear when the agent becomes unusually powerful, and be replaced by a general sensation of an unpleasant character. Thus, the sense of temperature gives way to an indefinite feeling of pain under excessive heat or excessive cold. At times, however, a specific ■^9!l!***>" The General Nature of Sensation. 25 sensation of a new character is excited, that is to say, under certain conditions an increase of physical force produces, not an increased (quantity, but a different quality, of sensation, — not the old sensation with a new intensity, but a new sensation altogether. Thus, the sensation of cold is not merely a lower degree of heat, though the stimuli of the two may be said to vary merely in force. So a diminution of light will make a white gray, and a blue black. The sphere of the psychophysical law, then, is restricted by those limits within which the specific sensibility is not destroyed or altered. But within these limits the law claims to express the exact difference of sensation. The difference is not indeed the same for all sensations. It is said to be in the proportion 3:4 for hearing and touch, 15:16 for touch assisted by the muscular sense, and 100:101 for sight. But it is held that there is a constant difference for all the senses, and that this is expressed in the following law : — To make sensations differ in intensity in the ratio of an arithmetical series, their stimuli must differ in the ratio of a geometrical series. Now, before discussing whether this law is verified by experience, it is worth while inquiring whether the relation between physical and psychical phenomena is such as to allow the establishment of any psychophysical law what- ever. To determine this, it is necessary to consider the nature of the transition from physical stimulus to sensa- tion. In this transition there are two stages which it is important to distinguish. i. The physical movement must be translated into a nervous action; and though this may be conceived as a mode of motion, yet in the present state of physiology the precise nature of the motion is unknown, certainly cannot be differentiated in correspon- I 26 Psychology. dcnce with the dirfcrences of physical stimulus on the one hand or of sensation on the other. 2. The physical and nervous movements must be translated into sensa tion, into consciousness. Here is the point where the difficulties of psychophysics become insurmountable. I. By the acknowledgement of all thinkers the transition from movement to consciousness is over a chasm which cannot be bridged by the ordinary ideas of science; and therefore there can be no strictly scientific explanation of the transition. The scientific incomprehensibility here is twofold. 1. There is a general incomprehensibility in the transi- tion from movement to consciousness. This is not like the translation of one mode of motion into another. The one fact which renders possible the commensuration of the various physical forces, is the circumstance that they are all capable of being described in terms of motion. Even phenomena, like light or chemical action, which cannot by direct observation be proved to be modes of motion, may yet be hypothetically interpreted as such ; and in fact they receive thereby such a fruitful scientific elucidation, as seems to '^ord an establishment of the hypothesis. But no similar hypothesis is conceivable in reference to the sensations of our conscious life; and consequently there is here an absolute break in the continuity of scientific interpretation, by which alone sensations could be brought into commensurable relation with the physical forces of the universe. 2. There is also a special incomprehensibility in the transition from any particular kind of motion to any particular kind of sensation. We cannot explain why air-waves appear in consciousness as sound, ether-waves as light, chemical movements as taste or smell. We cannot even discover any reason for the ratio between The General Nature of Sensation. V changes in the velocity of movement nnd concurrent changes in sensation. There is indeed a certam uniform progress in tones correspondent with the varying vt^locity of the atmospheric vibrations on which they depend. Still the dificrencc between a higher and a lower note cannot i)e intelligibly represented as having any similarity to the difTerence between a larger and a smaller number. In like manner an increase in the rapidity of ethereal vibrations exhibits no resemblance to the progress from the red to the violet side of the rainbow. II. Another obstacle to the establishment of a psycho- physical law is met with in the impossibility of finding one of the terms in the equation which the law supposes. As sensation requires both a physical stimulus and a sensitive organism, its intensity depends not only on ob- jective, but also on subjective, conditions. 1. Now this implies, in the first place, that the inten- sity of the nervous action excited by the physical move- ment depends, not only on the force of that movement, but also on the state of the organic sensibility at the time. If the general organism is exhausted, as by an ordinary day's work, or by any extraordinary exertion, or if the particular organ affected is occupied by some other stimulus at the moment, the resulting sensation may be greatly enfeebled, while it is susceptible of violent inten- sity, not so much from the normal vigour of the organism, as from abnormal irritations due either to emotional ex- citement or to inflammatory disease. 2. But leaving these organic conditions of intensity out of account, there are mental conditions which oppose an insuperable barrier in the way of any such quantitative measurements as that under consideration. These men- tal conditions are summed up in the fact that we are intelligent beings. The primary datum for forming an 28 Psychology. equation between our sensations and their physical stimuh is, as we have seen, a determinate intensity of sensation. But we have no means of discovering what is the real intensity of any man's sensations ; we can ob- tain merely tne judgment which he has formed of their intensity. Now there is no reason to suppose that men's judgments are not in this matter, as they are well known to be in others, deflected from the truth by many a bias.* Another quantitative calculation has endeavoured to find the interval of time that elapses between the occur- rence of a physical stimulus and a resulting sensation. Here, again, it must be born in mind that organic con- ditions are called into play. The physical stimulus must be converted into a movement in nervous tissue, and transmitted along nerve-fibre. The rate at which nerve- force is propagated along nerve-fibre must evidently be modified by causes similar to those which interfere with intensity. It would appear, therefore, that any rate of velocity, which may be assigned to nerve-force, can be at best but an average gathered from a numberless variety of rates. But this question belongs to the physio- logy of the nervous system, rather than to psychology. If we waive the physiological question altogether, there is still a psychological factor in the general problem. For the velocity, with which a physical phenomenon is * The origination of psychophysical investigations is due to a veteran German physiologist, G. T. Fechner, though he generously ascribes to Professor E. II. Weber the discovery of the psychophysi- cal law. His original work, Elemente der Psychophysik (i860), is now out of print ; but a resume of i's doctrines, as well as of the controversies and the literature which it has called forth, will be found in a later small work by the same author. In Sachen der PsyJiOphysik (1877). More recently he has again returned to the subject in Revision der Hattptpunkte der PsyeJiophysik (1882). The General Nature of Sensation. 29 followed by a recognition of it on the part of an intelli- gent being, depends on the judgment which is involved in the act of recognition ; and that leads us into a sphere beyond the range of mere physical causation. It is a well known fact, therefore, that, whenever accurate ob- servations are required in reference to time, remarkable variations of judgment appear among different observers. These variations have attracted attention especially in the science of astronomy, where accuracy of calculation de- pends on exactness, even to fractions of a second, with regard to the time of an astronomical event ; and conse- quently it has become necessary, in taking observations, to form a ** personal equation " in order to eliminate pos- sible error from this source. § 3. — Classification of Sensations. We have seen that sensations differ not only in inten- sity, but also in quality or kind ; and we have now to seek a systematic arrangement of the different kinds of sensation in the same fashion as other sciences classify the phenomena with which they deal. For such an ar- rangement the first requisite is a natural principle of classification. Now the sensations, by their very nature, seem to furnish such a principle ; for they are connected, by some kind of natural law, with the alterations in ner- vous tissue that are brought about by the forces of the external universe. But these forces generally produce a different effect on different parts ^^ the nervous organ- ism ; and therefore the differences of sensation hold a certain correspondence with the difference of the organs in which they originate. The distinction, then, between the organs of sensibility forms the fundamental principle 30 Psychology. on which the sensations are classified. At the same time there are other facts, to which a subordinate value must be attached in guiding our classification. For even if we include in one genus all the sensations which originate in one organ, yet among these, numerous species, and still more numerous varieties, may often be distinguished. To trace such distinctions we must at times simply appeal to observations of consciousness, which are familiar to the every-day experience of men. For sensations, being the simple or elementary facts of mind, cannot be defined or described by anything more simple or elementary. The only way in which a sensation can be made known is by being y^//. No descriptive language can ever make a person know what any particular sensation is, if he is incapable of feeling it. Those who are born blind can form no conception of a colour, nor those born deaf of a sound ; and if any one wishes to know the taste, or odour, or touch of a substance with which he is not familiar, he must taste or smell or handle it. But men who are normally formed feel all tne ordinary sensations of human life, and denote them by familiar terms ; so that we have no difficulty in referring to them a? well- know facts of consciousness. For the differences of sensation are often clearly marked in our ordinary con- scious life; and we can generally direct or correct our ob- servations of these differences by referring to the organic processes or the physical agencies in which they hc.ve their origin. In fact, these agencies and processes are sometimes adopted as guides to independent classifica- tions of the senses which, even though imperfect, are full of fruitful suggestions. Thus, in reference to the organic pr-^cess by which sensation is excited, the senses have sometimes been separated into two classes, distinguished as mechanical and chemical, touch being trken as type The General Nature of Sensation. 31 of the former, taste and smell of the latter. Again, the senses of smell, taste, and touch may be characterised as being adapted to the gaseous, the liquid, and the solid conditions of matter respectively ; while hearing and sight, thermal and electrical sensibility, respond to the vibratory movements of which molecules or atoms are susceptible. But the accepted classification of the senses is that which follows the classification of the sentient organs. It is too common, however, to accept a popular descrip- w'on which represents by 5ir too restricted a conception about the varieties of sensibility. We have seen that we gain an adequate view of the complicated instrumentality with which mind is endowed, only when we regard the whole body, and not the brain merely, as the organ of mind. The whole bodHy organism, with its elaborate system of nerves, is perpetually vibrating to the innumer- able vibrations of the world's forces, and wakening in conscic isness the innumerable sensations that form the materials of our mental life. The kinds of sensation, therefore, are as various as the organs of the body, and the processes to which these are subject. Now, the classification of the bodily organs and their processes will naturally follow the order which is generally found convenient for anatomical and physiological description. But there is one group of organs distinctly marked off from the rest by the fact, that, by their very structure, they are adapted primarily to the function of giving specific kinds of sensation, and any other function they may subserve in the animal economy is evidently subordinate. Such, for example, are the ear and the eye, whose peculiar formation obviously renders them susceptible of being affected by the sound-waves of the atmosi^here, and the light-waves 32 Psychology. of ether respectively : these are the functions, to which they are specially differentiated. Accordingly, such- organs are distinguished as the organs of the special senses. The other organs of the body do give rise to sensations ; but they do so only incidentally, in the performance of the various functions to which they are specially adapted by their structure. The muscles, the stomach, the lungs, and the other organs of animal life, are thus, at the same time, organs of sensation. The susceptibility of sensa- tion, which is thus spread over the organs of the body in general, is commonly called the general sensibility. Its various forms may, in contrast with the special senses, be appropriately named the general senses ; but the language of psychology, in reference to this distinction, is not yet fixed. TJie Special Senses. 33 CHAPTER II. THE SPECIAL SENSES. THESE are what are called the five senses. They are here, for a reason that will be afterwards explained, taken up in the following order : — taste, smell, toach, hearing, sight. In the account of each we shall follow the order already adopted in treating of sensation in gen- eral; we shall describe (i) the organ, (2) the substances or agencies by which the o^gan is excited, (3) the sensa- tions which result from such excitation. § \.— Taste. (A) The organ of this sense is situated in the back of the mouth. The most important parts of the organ are the posterior region of the upper surface of the tongue, and the soft palate, that is, the posterior portion of the palate. But the adjoining structures, called the pillars of the soft palate and the tonsils, are also sensitive to taste. The gustative sensibility of the palate has im- pressed itself on ordinary language in the use of the word palate for taste, not only as a noun, but, formerly, also as a verb,* and in the verbal adjective /^/a/^^/*?. " Not palating the taste of her dishonour." Troihts ami Ciessida, Act iv., Sec. I. C 34 Psychology. (B) Sapid substances^ as belonging to the physical world, form a subject of investigation for the physical sciences. It is for the chemist especially to trace the constituent of any substance, on which its taste depends. It may be sufficient here to noti'^e merely two facts about sapid bodies, — one referring to their physical condition, the other to their chemical character. The first is, that they must all be either liquids or solids in a state of solu- tion j it is, in fact, a frmiliar experience of every-day life, that a dry substance yields no taste till it has been moistened or dissolved in the mouth. The other fact with regard to sapid bodies is that they are crystalloids, while colloids are tasteless. It is for the physiologist to explain the mode in which bodies act upon the organ of taste. It has been already mentioned that taste ranks among the senses which are distinguished as chemical \ and it does so because sapid substances, when dissolved in the mouth, seem to under- go some kind of chemical reaction, by which they stimu- late the terminal filaments of the gustatory nerve. A dry substance could not set up the necessary reaction, and a colloid, being unable to permeate animal tissue, could not reach the nerves underlying the mucous membrane of the mouth. Only crystalloids, therefore, in a state of solution can excite taste. (C) Among gustatory sensations or tastes we must dis- tinguish those that are properly, from those that are im- properly, so named. I. Of tastes proper there have been various attempts at classification. " Plato and Galen reckon seven, Aristotle and Theophrastus eight, species of simple tastes. These are estimated at ten by Boerhaave and Linnaeus, by Haller at twelve."* More modern writers have given * Sir W. Hamilton in Rcid's Works, p. ii6, note. The Special Senses. 35 diflferent enumerations, so that no classification can yet be said to be universally accepted. II. But many sensations are improperly called tastes, being in reality sensations of a different sense altogether, or mixed with such sensations. 1. Smell undoubtedly contributes to many so-called tastes. This fact seems to be implied in the yioxds flavour and savour^ which are both used for tastes and smells indiscriminately; and it was pointed out so long ago, at least, as by Lord Bacon.* It explains why a catarrh generally renders a person iisensible apparently to tastes which can be readily appreciated in health, the real in- sensibility being to the odour of bodies that are put into the mouth. From the same cause the unpleasantness of nauseous drugs may often be lessened or removed by holding the nose while they are swallowed, and a fuller gratification seems to be obtained from wines, especially when sparkling, by the use of wide glasses. So obtrusive is this element of odour in many of the familiar sensa- tions of taste, that some writers have gone to the extreme of holding all flavour to be due to the sense of smell ; but this is contradicted by cases in which the sense of smell has been destroyed without the taste being im- paired.! 2. Some of the general sensations, called alimentary, also mingle and become confounded at times with pure tastes. By alimentary sensations are meant those ex- cited in the alimentary canal, that is, the passage through which the food is conveyed in the process of digestion. The parts of this canal nearest to the mouth, namely the oesophagus and the stomach, give rise to a variety of * Novum OrganoHt Book ii., Aphor. 26 + Carpenter's Human Physiology, § 744 (American Ed., i86o)» 36 Psychology. sensations siniultaneously with tastes ; and it is not always easy to distinguish them from tastes even by attentive observation. The canal is similar in structure, and is immediately contiguous, to the posterior region of the mouth, in which the sense of taste is situated ; and as soon as a sapid body is introduced into the mouth, it dissolves into the saliva, its particles in solution find their way into the oesophagus and stomach, and excite the sensibility of these organs. It is scarcely possible, therefore, to determine with exactness where gustatory sensibility terminates, and the sensibility of the alimen- tary canal begins ; so that the sensations of taste are to be viewed as merely the first in a long series of sensations connected with the digestion of food. It is on this account that, whenever any article of food is introduced into the mouth, we feel whether it is agreeable to the stomach or not, that is, we feel the stomachic sensations of relish or nausea. 3. Another class of general sensations, which cannot here be more definitely described than as being of an irritating character, are sometimes confounded with tastes proper. Such are the sensations produced by substances like alcohol, pepper, as well as other spices, and com- monly spoken of as pungent^ sharps or fiery tastes. That these are quite distinct from true tastes is evident from two circumstances. («) Mechanical irritation, such as is caused by a smart rap or a scratch with the finger on the tongue, may excite similar sensations. (^) They can be excited also on other parts of the body be- sides the organ of taste. Not only is the mucous mem- brane, which lines the whole mouth, the nostrils, and the alimentary canal, irritable under the action of such sub- stances, but the most powerful of them at least can set The Special Senses. 17 up severe inflammation even in the tougher skin which covers the exterior of the <^rganism. § 2. — Smell. (A) The or^an of this sense is the posterior region of the nostrils. The fact that there are two nostrils brings them into analogy with the organs of the higher senses, which are also double, and which derive an increase of efficiency from this feature. In man, however, the organ of smell is not so highly developed as in some of the lower animals, especially the carnivorous. The cerebral ganglion, from which the olfactory nerve proceeds to the nostrils, is in man a comparatively insignificant bulb of nervous matter, while in those animals it forms a con- siderable proportion of the whole brain. It may there- fore be said that there is more brain-power expended in smelling by those animals than by man. The signifi- cance of this fact in comparative anatomy wil. appear when we come to analyse the perceptions of this sense. It will then be shown that in man the sense has lost in cognitional power, while its emotional side has become predominant. (B) Odorous substances furnish interesting subjects of investigation to the chemist. Without entering into details which have no bearing on psychology, there are two fiicts worth noti-iiig here. I. Odorous bodies are either gases, or, if liquids or solids, they must be volatile. Any agent, thereiorc, like heat, which increases volatility, also intensifies odour. Accordingly, odour is conceived to be due to minute particles, called effluvia^ emitted by odorous bodies. These particles, being diffused throughout the atmos- ' 38 Psychology. l)herc, are carried, by the act of inhaling, through the nostrils, where they excite the sensation of smell.* II. Odorous bodies have all a strong affinity for oxygen ; and substances like hydrogen, which do not combine with oxygen at ordinary temperatures, are in- odorous. Chemical observations afford ground for believing that the effluvia of an odorous body become oxidised in the nostrils in the act of stimulating the olfactory nerve. It is consequently inferred that the action of bodies on this sense, as on taste, is chemical. (C) In regard to the sensations of smell there is a con- fusion similar to that which has been already noticed in reference to tastes. f. Of smells properly so called various classifications have been attempted, but none generally recognised. In fact, the language of common life shows a remarkable absence of names for distinct odours, the only definite distinction being that which is based on pleasantness and unpleasantness — sweet or fragrant perfumes, and stinks or stenches. It has sometimes been asserted that the odour-sense has been evolved within the human race, and even within historical times. But the evidence of compara- tive psychology is apt to be misinterpreted. The truth is, as already indicated, that, in the transition from the lower animals to man, there has been an increase merely in sensibility to the agreeableness and disagreeableness * This explanation lias been almost universally accepted in science. The only difticulty connected with it is the fact, that highly odorous substances like musk have been known to emit effluvia for years without suffering an appreciable diminution of weight or bulk. But this fact is matched by other evidences of the indefinite divisibility of matter. The Special Senses. 59 of odours, while there has been a diminution in the power of perception by scent — a diminution which seems an instance at once of organic atrophy and of intellectual degeneration, arising from the disuse of a faculty.* II. But not a few sensations are improperly called odours, because they are in reality sensations of a differ- ent class, or mixed with such sensations. I. Pulmonary sensations, that is, sensations connected with the action of the lungs, become inevitably con- founded with odours. In the act of breathing, the air, carrying the effluvia of bodies, passes through the nos- trils on its way to the lungs; and the sensations awakened arise often as much from the state of the lungs as from the state of the nostrils. This is the case with what are called fresh and close smells. A close smell is the sensation experienced in an over-crowded assembly or ill-ventilated room, where the vitiated atmosphere does not supply a sufficient quantity of oxygen for healthy respiration. The feeling excited is not merely that of irritation in the nostrils, but a consciousness of de- pression diffused over the whole animal system, which depends for its vitality at every moment on the aeration of the blood through the lungs. On the other hand, some of the most voluminous pleasures of our animal nature are due to the combination of delicious odours with the bracing effect upon all the powers of life arising from the stimulation of cool fresh air. Any one who, after being confined during the heat of a wet summer day, has gone out to walk in a country redolent with the fragrance which the showers have drawn from the sur- * This is illustrated afterwards in connection with the perceptions of smell. 40 Psychology. rounding vegetation, m?»" have recalled the fine ode \n In Memoriam: — " Sweet after showers, ambrosial air, Th;U rolKst from the gorgeous gloom Of evening, over brake an.l bloom And meadow, slowly breathing bare The round of space, and rapt beluw Through all ihe dewy-tassclled wool, And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples, fan my brow, and blow The fever from my cheeks, and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Through all my frame, till Doubt and Death, 111 brethren, let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far To where in yond er orient star A hundred spirits whisper. Peace." 2. The alimentary canal also seems to be affected as much as the nostrils in many so-called smells. Whether this is due to effluvia passing into the canal and irrigating its interior coat, or to some nervous connection between the organ of smell and the organs of digestion, is a prob- lem for physiology to solve. Many aromatic substances, however, both solid and liquid, various kinds of flesh when well cooked, especially when highly spiced or flavoured with sauce, undoubtedly excite the stomach, and stimulate the appetite, by their odour ; and it is this that makes the artifices of cookery so valuable when the appetite is not naturally strong. So, too, many smells, by the fact that they are called disgusting^ indicate that they are irritating to the alimentary canal. When the stomach is already out of order, it is easily thrown into violent nausea by any disagreeable smells ; but even in- «■ The Special Senses. 41 health some horrible odours, espec ially when unexpected, produce a disturbance of the digestive organs. 3. Pufigent smells, like the taste described b the same name, seem to be rather general sensations of an irritating' character than smells strictly so called. This may be made evident from two considerations : — (a) Sensations similar to those excited by snu(T, pepper, ammonia, &c., can be produced by mechanical irritation, as, for example, by the sudden contact of the nostrils with a cold atmosphere, or by tickling them with a feather or a straw. This mechanical irritation will even start the spasmodic act of sneezing, which results from the more violent sensations of a pungent character, (p) Moreover, persons who have long indulged in the use of snuff sometimes lose the sense of smell proper, while remaining sensitive to the pungency of their favourite stimulant. § I.— Touch, (A) In the most general meaning of the term the organ of touch is the skin of the whole body, includ- ing the membranes which line the mquth, the nostrils, and other internal organs. The skin consists of two layers. The outermost is an insensitive protective covering, called the scarf skin (cuticle, or epidermis). Underlying this is the true skin (cutis vera, or derma),, which is sensitive. But the sensibility of the skin to the contact of foreign bodies is dependent on certain minute elevations under the true skin called papillae^ which are found to be most largely developed in size . H 'lUmber at those parts which are proved by experi- ment to be most sensitive to touch. It appears, there- fore, that different parts of the general organ of touch 42 Psychology, possess different degrees of acuteness. To determine the extent of this difference, experiments were first insti- tuted by a distinguished German physiologist, Professor E. H, Weber ; and the results, at which he arrived, have been, in general, confirmed by subsequent observers. His aim was to discover at what distance two points could be felt distinct on different parts of the skin. For this purpose, he used a pair of compasses with blunted points; and the persons, on whom he experimented, were blindfolded, to prevent the sight from coming to aid the touch. It is unnecessary here to state in detail the results obtained. Suffice it to say that the most acute parts were found to be the tip of the tongue and the palmar surface of the tip of the forefinger, where the points of the compasses could be felt distinct at the distance of half a line and one line respectively ; while on the most obtuse parts, which were proved to be the middle of the back, the arm, and the thigh, the points made two distinguishable impressions only at the dis- tance of thirty lines. It may be observed that these results represent merely the average sensibility, for in making experiments of this sort, it must always be borne in mind, that the same part exhibits various degrees of acuteness in different individuals and even in the same individual at different periods. Moreover, these experi- ments test merely one form of tactile sensibility ; but, as far as touch proper is concerned, all its forms are fai) ly represented by the sensibility to distinctness in the points nf contact. The most sensitive part of the general organ of touch appears thus to be the tip of the tongue ; but in many respects it is obviously incapable of being used for ordinary tactile observations so conveniently as the finger-tips. For delicate observations, however, the ■!!■ The Special Senses. 43 "blind are often seen employing the tip of the tongue. With this organ, blind women sometimes thread their needles, and John Gough, the blind botanist, used to examine any plant with which he was not familiar, though he could readily distinguish common plants by the touch of his fingers.* But apart from the obvious inconveniences of such an employment of the tongue, the finger-tips are infinitely better adapted by their posi- tion and structure for the ordinary examination of tangible bodies. The numerous joints of the fingers, along with those at the wrists, the elbows, and the shoulders, give art enormous sweep and a great variety of direction to the movements of the finger-tips, while in two respects they exhibit that doubleness which has been already referred to as a characteristic feature in the organs of the higher senses, each hand acting against the other, and the thumb acting against the fingers in each hand. The finger-tips are thus admirably adapted at once for dex- teiity of manipulation, and for delicacy of discernment in regard to the geometrical and physical properties of bodies. In fact, there is no organ of sense, in which the superiority of man to the lower animals, with their clumsy hoofs and paws, is so definitely marked, as in the organ of touch ; and since the time when Anaxagoras declared it to be the hands that make man the most in- telligent of animals, it has been frequently observed that there seems to be a proportion between the development of general intelligence and the development of touch in the animal kingdom, f * Less commonly the lips are used by the blind for accurate touch, as in reading raised type (Levy's Blindness and the Blind, p. 58). Dr. Franz's patient sometimes examined objects with the lips {Philosophical Transactions for 1841, p. 62). t An interesting exposition of this proportion will be found in Spencer's Principles of Psychology, § 163-4. 44 Psychology. To sum up, while the general organ of touch is the skin of the whole body, the special organ of the sense may be limited to the finger-tips. Numerous symbolicar actions in which the hand is the chief instrument em- ployed; numerous figurative expressions in which the word hand, or its derivatives, convey the principal idea — to be at hand or on hand^ to he in the hands or tinder the hand of, to lay hands on^ hands off ! handy^ handsome^ handsel, handle — the various compounds like handbook, handiwork, manufacture, etc. — all these point to a recog- nition, even by the popular mind, of the fact, that the hand is the conspicuous organ of active intelligence. * (B) The action of tangible bodies contrasts with that of sapid and odorous bodies by being purely mechanical — mechanical pressure. Accordingly, any form of matter, which can exert such pressure, may become an object of touch. Even the air or any gas may be felt, if brought with sufficient force against the skin, as when we are standing against a breeze, or moving rapidly through a * In connection with the organ of touch the phenomenon of righl- handedness desv^rves notice, though the superiority of the right hand consists rather ii> its prehensile than in its sensitive power. Ex- tremely divergent views on the source of this peculiarity are still maintained. Some hold that it implies merely a degeneration of the left hand from comparative disuse, and that ambidexterity — double-righthandedness, to use a Hibernicism — might and shouk! be generally cultivated. The science of evolutionism, however, at the present day tends to look upon righthandedness as one of the differentiations naturally arising in the process of evolution, and in- fers that instances of lefthandedness are merely survivals from an earlier stage of the process. Perhaps the completest discussion of the subject in ah its historical and scientific details will be found in a recent dissertation by Dr. Daniel Wilson On the Right Hand and Lefthandedness in the Transactions of the Royal Society of Canada for 1886. L. The Special Senses. 45 still atmosphere; and instances may be adduced of deli- cate tactile perceptions by means of the pulse of the air on the face. Liquids also, in so far as they can press against the skin, are tangible. In virtue of the law which requires change or contrast of excitement in order to sensation, a jet of air or water is felt with special ease, as a spot of light or colour becomes peculiarly distinct against a dark ground, or a faint tone is heard most clearly amid a profound silence. By the same law, when any part of the body is at rest in water, the contact of the water is felt only along the line of its surface, as the continued even pressure of a solid on the skin is felt only around the edge. Commonly, however, in the action of gases as well as of liquids on the organ of touch, their temperature is more obtrusively felt than their contact. It is, therefore, the solid condition that is appropriate to this sense. (C) It is an often-quoted saying of the ancient philo- sopher Democritus, that all the senses are merely modi- fications of touch ; and there is a certain amount of truth in the statement, inasmuch as the special senses are all normally excited by the impact of external forces on their organs. On this account touch is sometimes spoken of as the primitive sense of animal life — the rudimentary type out of which all the other senses have been evolved. But this could be held true only of an indefinite sensibi- lity to the contact of foreign bodies, not of the highly specialised touch of man. It has long been recognised that the human sense called by this n^ime combines several forms of dermal sensibility ; and it is scarcely possible for science to define wi«^h precision all these varieties.* Of touch, even in its strictest definition, the sensations are various. * At the present day experiments are being carried on, both in r 46 Psychology. I. Perhaps the simplest and purest form of touch is that, in which a body is felt in mere contact vith the skin, without exciting any sensation of positive pressure. II. Next to this are the sensations which depend on different degrees of pressure. The pressure may arise either from the repulsion of the particles composing a body, or from its attraction towards the centre of the earth. On the sensations thus originated, therefore, is based our knowledge of the comparative hardness and softness, the comparative heaviness and lightness, of bodies. Here, however, touch is supplemented by the muscular sense. In all ordinary instances in which we feel hardness or softness, we squeeze the body between the fingers so as to discover the degree of resistance it offers to the muscular effort of squeezing it ; commonly, also, when we feel the weight of a body, we try how much muscular force requires to be exerted by the hands or arms to keep it from being drawn to the earth. Still the touch by itself can feel different degrees of pressure ; and the experiments of Weber tend to show that this sensibility of the skin varies in acuteness, at different parts, in tolerably exact correspondence with the sensi- bility to separate points. III. The last form of tactile sensibility is that which implies pressure at more points than one. From this, as will afterwards appear, we form our perception of the mutual externality of different points. To it we owe also the sensations connected with smooth and rough Europe and America, which promise some fruitlul results in regard to the more exact science of touch. Some account of these experi- ments, especially of those conducted by Prof. Hall and Dr. Donald- son in the psychophysical laboratory of the Johns Hopkins Univer- sity in Baltimore, will be found in Mind for July and October, 1885, and January, 1886. The Special Senses. 47 surfaces : for if a number of points simultaneously in contact with the skin are felt to be absolutely continuous, the sensation is that of smoothness or fineness ; whereas, if the continuity is felt to be broken by minute intervals between the points, the sensation is that of rough or coarse touch. In these sensations, also, touch is usually aided by the muscular sense, by rubbing the finger-tips over the tangible surface. To guard against misapprehension, it may be well to notice here several sensations which are apt to be con- founded with touches, inasmuch as they are located on the skin, and perhaps even the nerves of touch form the organ of sensibility in the case of some. 1. Among the most prominent of these are those irritating sensations which have been already described as pungent tastes and odours. 2. Tickling is another familiar sensation connected with the skin. The nervous condition, upon which this feeling depends, is unknown j and, therefore, it is impossible to tell what makes one part of the skin sensitive to tickling rather than others ; but it may be observed that the most sensitive parts, such as the armpits and the soles of the feet, are those of comparatively obtuse tactile sensibility. As a pheno- menon in consciousness, however^ the sensation is very distinctly marked. In its milder forms it constitutes a pleasurable excitement ; but when excessive in dura- tion or intensity, it becomes more or less intolerable. In all forms it is exciting, and is apt to explode in spas- modic actions, such as a sneeze or an hysterical laugh. 3. Another cutaneous sensation of an irritating char- acter is itch, which is also clearly defined in conscious- ness, whatever may be its nervous cause. 4. In this connection ought to be mentioned the sen- 48 Psychology. sation of tingling^ which is popularly described by saying that a limb is " asleep." 5. Lastly, the sensation of the temperature of the skin must likewise be distinguished from a touch, properly so called. § 4. — Hearing. (A) The organ of hearing is perhaps the most com- plicated structure of the same size in the human body. Only its most general features can or need be noticed here. It is divided into three parts — the external, the middle, and the internal, ear. I. The external QQX consists of two parts : — (i) the p'/ina, that' is, the wing-like structure which projects from the side of the head, and the convolutions of which seem to collect the vibrations of the atmosphere for transmission into (2) the meatus auditorius^ the passage by which these vibrations are conveyed to the interior of the organ. II. The middle ear, called also the tympanum or drum, is a bony cavity, separated from the auditory passage by a membrane — the metnbrana tympani — and communicat- ing with the mouth, and therefore with the external at- mosphere, by means of a passage called the Eustachian tube. This part of the ear contains a chain of three small bones, attached at one end to the membrana tym- pani, and at the other end to a membrane — the me7n- brana vestibuli — which separates the middle from the in- ternal ear. III. The internal ear is also a bony cavity, or rather a set of cavities, so complicated in structure as to obtain the name of labyrinth. This set of cavities contains a membranous sac — the inembranons labyrinth — suspended The Special Senses. 49 in a fluid, and attached to the terminal filaments of the auditory nerve. The ear is thus an organ specially adapted to be sensi- tive to minute vibrations. Vibratory movements in general, and especially those of a coarser character, are apt to communicate themselves to all elastic bodies, and may thus be transmitted through the atmosphere to objects at a considerable distance. Thus a discharge of artillery will smash glass windows, and shake heavy masonry in the neighbourhood, while its shock can be distinctly felt by the general sensibility of the organism. The rumble of a waggon passing on the street shakes the ground on which we tread, and sends a tremor through all our frame. Even the finer vibration of a wire in a musical instrument may shoot a thrill through the fingers, or through other parts of the body, by which the wire is touched. Ordinarily these general forms of sensibility to vibratory movement are scarcely noticed, because the special sensations of hearing are so much more valuable. But to the deaf such substitutes for the lost special sense are often wel- come. Laura Bridgman, who is blind as well as deaf, has often surprised her teachers by the readiness with which she could perceive the vibrations of audible bodies through her hands or even her feet."* In the morning she knew when it was time to rise by putting her finger in the keyhole of a door beside her bed and "feeling" * Life and Education of Lawa Bridgman, by Mrs. Mary Swift Lamson, pp. 68-9, 75, 85, 109, in, 133, 135, 209, 260, Dr. Kitto describes with great vividness his almost morbid sensibility to these general impressions of vibrations on the organism. S-^e the chapter on Percussions in The lost Senses, r 50 Psychology. the vibration caused by the other girls moving about.* She used to find great enjoyment in a musical box by placing it on a chair with her feet on one ^.f the spars and thus "i^eling it play."t She even seemed to take pleasur'^ in the rhythm of a vibration, as she kept time to it herself.f The organism in general is thus found to be sensitive to vibratory movements ; but this sensibility is immensely incre"3ed by being specialised in a particular organ differentiated for this function from the rest of the organism. The essential part of this special organ is evidently the internal ear. The sensibility of the audi- tory nerve cm be excited by merely igitating the fluid with which this part is filled, and thus throwing into vibration the minute nerve-threads which are suspended in the fluid. Thus a person, deaf to all ordinary sounds, may be made to feel, not merely the general thrill of a vibratory movement, but veritable sensations of hearing, by vibrations conveyed to the labyrinth from the bones of the head. A young Scotch lad, named James Mitchell, a blind deaf-mute like Laura Bridgman, showed in his childhood " an eager desire to strike upon his foreteeth anything he could get hold of; this he would do for hours, and seemed particularly gratified if it was a key, or any instrument that gave a sharp sound when struck against his teeth." § In like manner, an ordinary sounri may be intensified, if it is conveyed to * Ibid., p. 191. f IbiL, p. 331. Xldid.f p. 225. § Stewart's Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, Vol. iii., p. 319 (Hamilton's edition), where an elaborate account of Mitchell wiil be found. The Special Senses. 51 the internal ear, not only by the ordinary channel of the external and middle ears, but by vibrations in the bones of the head. Thus if a watch, whose tick at the distance of a few inches may be scarcely perceptible, is pressed against the ear or placed petween the teeth, the move- ment of every wheel seems to become audible. Other familiar facts, illustrating this intensification of sound, will readily occur to any one's mmd. Bu , the ordinary mode in which the sensibi ity of the ear is excited is by vibrations of the atmosphere carried through the auditory passage and the tympanum into the labyrinth. (B) A sonorous body is any form of matter wh. .h is capable of exciting atmospheric vibrations. This pro- perty of bodies, as well as the collateral property of transmitting atmospheric vibrations, forms the subject of the physical science of Acoustics. From that science, as well as from the theory of music, the student of psycho- logy will often find material assistance in studying the mental phenomena of hearing. Such data of these sciences as are required to explain mental phenomena will be noticed in their proper place ; but the student is referred, for fuller information, to the most important work on the subject in modern times, Helmholtz's Lehre von den Tonempfindun^cn.''^ (C) Sound is the general name applied to all sensa- tions of hearing. Like other sensations, sounds vary in intensity^ the intensity of a sound being what we familiarly call its comparative loudness. This proi)erty of sounds * On the Sensations of Tone, an a Physiological Basis for the Theory of Music, by II. Ilclmlioltz, M. 1). Translated, with Acklition.al Notes and an Adiliiional Appendix, by Alexander Ellis, B.A. London, 1875, 53 Psychology, depends on the breadth or amplitude of the vibrations by which they are produced. If you take a string in a musical instrument and pull it to one side, on letting it go it rebounds to the opposite side, and continues lo swing for a while with a gradually decreasing breadth of moveiDent. It will be observed that with the decrease in the breadth of the movement there is a corresponding decrease in the loudness of the sound produced. This explains, among other phenomena, the familiar fact, that a sound, proceeding from a distant body, is fainter than when produced near at hand \ for the sound-waves in the atmosphere, like the waves on the surface of water, diminish in breadth the farther they travel. Besides the physical condition of intensity, there is also an organic condition. It depends on the tension of the membrane of the drum ; for the membrane will evidently be agitated less, the more its tension is in- creased. Any cause, therefore, like yawning, or blowing the nose, which increases the tension of this membrane, deadens sounds. This effect is specially observable on sounds of a grave character, which are produced by long slow vibrations, though it may be scarcely noticed in the case of shrill sounds, that is, those that are produced by short rapid vibrations. Now, the tension of the mem- brane in question is regulated by two muscles, — the tensor tympani and the stapedius^ — and, by the sensi- bility residing in these muscles, we must feel to what extent the membrane is tightened or slackened, before we can be aware of the intensity of a sound. In being conscious, therefore, of loudness or faintness, it would seem that muscular, as well as auditory, sensibility is called into play. AVhile sounds vary by this general difference of in- tensity, they are distinguishable into two classes by The Special Senses. 53 another very marked difference. The one class are called tones or musical sounds, the other, noises or //«- musical soMnds. The former are produced by isochronous (equal-timed) vibrations, that is, by vibrations which are eq lal in number in equal times. If, for example, a tone, produced by 500 vibrations in a second, were prolonged for any length of time, it would continue, during every subsequent second, to be produced by precisely the same number of vibrations. On the other hand, the vibrations producing a noise are destitute of any similar periodicity. Now, tones vary, not only in the general property of intensity, but in a special property termed pitch. There is another property vi^hich constitutes a difference among tones. It is commonly called quality ; but on its ultimate analysis, it will be found to be a modification of pitch. These two properties of tones we shall now examine. I. The pitch of a tone is its position in the musical scale, and this is determined by the rapidity of the vibrations producing it. The more numerous the vibrations caused by a sonorous body in a given time, the higher is the pitch of the tone produced. Tones may, therefore, be varied in pitch by an insensible gradation, so that they are not separated by an absolute distinction. But from very early times a scale has been formed in which different tones hold a fixed position in relation to one another. This scale starts from the fact, that there is an easily recognisable interval between tones, when one results from twice the number of the vibrations producing the other. Such an interval is called an octave^ because the tone at one extreme is eighth from the other. The musical scale, therefore, is composed of seven tones, which repeat themselves in ever ascending octaves. The intervals between the 54 Psychology. several parts of the octave are not all the same, but the nature of the interval in each case is a subject which must be left for the theory of music. The larger intervals are called tones ; the smaller, semi-tones ; but these terms want precise definition, as a tone is not necessarily equal to two semi-tones, except in instruments tuned on a peculiar principle. Some people, again, like the Arabs, use even quarter-tones in their music. The compass of the ear's sensibility to pitch may be roughly estimated as extending over seven octaves, the lowest tone being produced by about 40 vibrations in a second, the highest by about 4000. The seven-octave piano goes down to A of 27^ vibrations, and on larger organs there is even a C of 16^ vibrations; but when these low notes are siruck by themselves, a succession of separate pulses is heard rather than a single tone. These notes are, accordingly, used always in combina- tion with notes an octave above, which have the effect of fusing their vibrations into one tone. In the ascend- ing scale the seven-octave piano stops at A of 3520 vibrations ; but notes as high as would be represented by about 38,000 vibrations in a second, can be detected by the ear, though with difficulty. Such higher notes, however, are too painfully shrill to be of use for musical purposes, but, if we take them into account, the compass of the ear embraces about eleven octaves. 2. There is another property of tones commonly called in English by the somewhat indefinite term quality. For greater definiteness the French timbre is occasionally employed for quality, and some recent writers have adopted the term clang-tint as a translation of the German klangfarbe. By quality is meant the peculiarity that a tone receives from the instrument by which it is produced. If a tone of a certain pitch The Special Senses. 55 and intensity is produced by several instruments of different sorts in succession, notwithstanding the same- ness of pitch and intensity, a difference can be detected in the different renderings of the tone. This difference arises partly from causes extrinsic to the tone, such as the stroke of fingers or hammers, or the rush of wind. But after eliminating all such extrinsic circumstances, there remains a certain pecu- liarity, intrinsic to the tone itself, and distinctive of the instrument by which it is produced. It is this intrinsic peculiarity in the tone of an instrument that is understood by its quality. In explanation of this peculiarity the fact has been observed, that tones are usually composite. There can be detected in them, not only a prominent fundamental tone which gives its character to the whole, but a series of fainter tones occupying a higher position on the musical scale. These over-tones stand in a definite ratio to the fundamental tone, the first being produced by twice the number of the vibrations producing that tone, the second by thrice, the third by four times that number,' and so on by an uniformly increasing multiple. Now, there are a few tones, like that of a tuning-fork, which possess an apparent simplicity, though there is ground for questioning whether even these are absolutely unaccompanied by over-tones ; but the rule is, that tones exhibit this composite character. It is further observed that the tones of one instrument are accompanied by over-tones which cannot be detected in those of another ; and the conclusion has, therefore, been drawn, that the quality of the tone is determined by its accompanying over-tones. The same fact is also expressed by saying, that the quality of a tone depends on the form of its vibrations; for the atmospheric waves, representing its 56 Psychology. over-tones, must modify the form of the wave repre- senting the fundamental tone. % 5'— Sight, (A) The organ of this sense can be more easily described than the ear. The eye is a ball, nearly spherical in shape, the interior of which forms a dark chamber like the photographer's camera obscura. The only aperture, by which light can find admittance into this chamber, is the pupil, which shows like a black spot in consequence of the intense darkness of the interior. This darkness is owing to a black pigment in the internal lining of the eye : otherwise the interior is perfectly pervious to light, being filled with transparent humours. Of these humours the most important is called the crystalline lens. It lies directly behind the pupil, so that it refracts every ray of light that enters the eye. Being a convexo-convex lens, it brings to a focus the rays of light radiating from objects in front of the pupil, and thus forms an image of these objects on the internal coat of the eye. This coat is called the retina^ because it is mainly a network of minute fibres from the optic nerve. These nerve-fibres are excited by the rays of light converging upon them, and visual sensation is the result. It remains to be added that the eye is supplied with an elaborate set of muscles, which impart to it that ex- treme mobility upon which the charm of its expressive- ness depends. In consequence of the muscular sensibi- lity thus added to its own special sensibility, the value of the eye, as an organ of sense, is immensely increased. (B) The agent^ therefore, in visual sensation is light, that is, light considered as a physical fact, not as a fact of consciousness. Physically considered, light is con- The Special Senses. 57 jeclured to be an inconceivably rapid vibration of an elastic ether diffused throughout space. Light is either original or reflected. In the former case, it originates in the body from which it comes to the eye, as in the sun and in terrestrial bodies at a high temperature. In the latter case, the body, which throws light on to the eye, derives it, mediately or immediately, from some original source of light. The light, which is thus reflected by a body, does not always render the body visible. If the body is a mirror, and the mirror is perfect, it reveals, not itself, but the objects in front, which throw on to it their original or reflected light. Except in the case of mirrors, reflection makes the reflecting body itself visible. In order to visibility a body must be more or less opaque. A perfectly transparent substance, allowing all the light which falls on it to pass through it, reflects none to the eye; so that it fails to stimulate the sensibility of the retina, and no vision takes place. (C) The sensations of sight are those of pure light and of colour. I. As a phenomenon in consciousness pure light appears simple, though its physical cause may, in a certain sense, be said to be composite : it may be decom- posed by a prism into the colours of the spectrum ; and these colours, by being combined, produce again the single sensation of pure or white light. II. Colours admit of an indefinite variety of modifica- tion ; but their variations run along either of two lines, tone and depth. . I. Tone is the name given to the position of a colour on the spectrum or rainbow. If a sunbeam is made to pass through a prism, and caught by the eye or thrown on to a screen, it may be observed that it is broken up into a bar of variegated hues : this bar is technically S8 Psychology. called a spectrum. On careful observation it is found that, even though there are occasional dark lines crossing the bar, its hues merge imperceptibly into each other ; but the extreme points are seen to be occupied by a line of red and a line of violet, while a green line distinguishes the centre. Between the red and the green two prominent types of colour may be marked — an orange and a yellow. At the other end indigo and blue lie between the violet and the green. The spectrum is, therefore, commonly divided into seven parts, — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. But the colours, red, green, and violet, occupying the three most prominent places on the spectrum, — its centre and its two extremities, — are distinguished by the name primary. The four intermediate colours, orange and yellow, blue and indigo, which can be produced by •combinations of the primary colours, are called secondary. The division of the spectrum into seven tints has, not unnaturally, led to some ingenious speculations aiming at the establishment of an analogy between the so-called tones of colour and the seven tones on the musical scale. Whatever success may ultimately attend speculations of that drift, it is certain that even yet science is far from a fixed definition of the different colours, such as was reached long ago in the distinction of musical tones. In recent times, indeed, attempts have been made by physicists to establish a scientific nomenclature of colours by dividing the spectrum into definite parts, and assigning a specific colour-name to each. But the common names of colours in all languages are applied with that vagueness which might be expected from the fact, that there is no absolute line of demarcation between the different tints on the spectrum. This vagueness may be The Special Senses. 59 it is found es crossing ach other ; d by a line stinguishes green two -an orange id blue lie tectrum is, larts, — red, But the the three centre and the name range and Dduced by ire called ts has, not >ns aiming e so-called sical scale, ulations of far from a :h as was tones. In made by :Iature of parts, and e common [ with that fact, that tvveen the ss may be due also to the circumstance, that colour-names in geuv^ral seem to have been originally the names of familiar objects which naturally display certain colours,* while these colours, like that of the sea, for example, are apt, under various natural influences, to modify their tone considerably from hour to hour, from day to day, and from one season of the year to another. The com- mon names of colours must, therefore, be interpreted as covering each a considerable breadth on the spectrum, and as applicable, in consequence, to a considerable variety of tints. Accordingly, it is not a matter for sur- prise that colour-names should occasionally be employed with such latitude that they seem to be tossed at random over all sorts of natural phenomena. This want of exactness in the designation of colours forms the sole plausible ground for a recent hypothesis, that the sen- sibility to differences of colour, so far from being a pos- session of the lower animals or of primitive man, has been developed in the human race within comparatively recent times. f The hypothesis, however, vanishes be- fore a critical exegesis of the ancient authors in light of the fact, that, in consequence of the imperceptible grada- tion of the colours on the spectrum, their names must be employed with a considerable latitude. J * This etymology is illustrated at length in Mr. Grant Allen's Colour-Sense, chap. xiii. But the theory is perhaps too sweepingly stated. It seems an accepted doctrine among philologists, that word-roots primitively express an impression of sense ; and it remains still to be made out, that in no instance has a colour been the attribute primarily determining a name. t See Geiger's Zur Entwickelungsgeschichte der Menschheit, iii., and an article by Mr. Gladstone in the Nineteenth Centwy for October, 1877. X Mr. Grant Allen's work on the Colour-Sense is largely occupied with a criticism of this hypothesis. 6o Psychology. The problem of the difference of colour presents a physical and a physiological, as well as a psychological aspect, {a) So far as it concerns physics, the problem is solved by an application of the physical theory of light. On that theory, as already explained, light is conceived to be the vibration of an ethereal form of mat- ter diffused throughout space ; and the difference of colours is conceived as due to the varying velocities of the ethereal vibrations. At the red end of the spectrum it is calculated that the light-waves amount to 451 billions in a second, while with increasing velocity they produce the other colours, till they attain the number of 785 billions in a second at the highest limit of vision, where the violet rays appear, ip) The problem of the physiologist is to explain the effect of light on the organ of vision in such a way as may account for the various sensations of colour. Here, however, science has not yet attained the general agreement which prevails in regard to the physical source of the difference in colours. One theory maintains that the physiological explanation of this difference is to be found, not in a functional variation, but in organic structure. The conjecture is, that the terminal filaments of the optic nerve, which go to form the retina, are of three kinds at least, correspond- ing to the three primary colours, and that each set of retinal fibres reacts only under the impulse of the colour-rays, to which it is adapted. This theory was suggested long ago by Young, and has been extensively adopted in recent times, especially under the influence of Helmholtz ; but it meets with opposition from physiologists so eminent as Wundt. The psychologist must, therefore, wait for further advance in the physiology of vision, before he can make use of any facts connected with the organic action of light to explain the The Special Senses. 6i difference of colours, (r) With regard to the psycho- logical aspect of this difference more will be said in the sequel, when illustrating the function which colours perform in developing our mental life. Suffice it to observe at present a fact, the import of which will after- wards appear, that the colours at the red end of the spectrum belong to the exciting class of sensations, whereas they acquire a calmer tone as we pass towards the opposite end. 2. A second ^-'.riation of colours arises from their depth. It is unfortunate that the term intensity has been applied to the depth of colours ; for this term, as already explained, is the universally recognised technical expres- sion for the force with which a sensation obtrudes itself in consciousness. Like all sensations, those of sight vary in intensity, as a matter of course ; and of these variations an exact measurement is attempted in different ways by means of the various instruments, to which the name photometer is applied. But what is meant by depth of colour is that peculiarity which is sometimes expressed by speaking of one tint as darker or lighter than another. These expressions indicate the source of this peculiarity. It arises from colours being diluted with pure light in different degrees. Thus a dark blue is comparatively undiluted, while a light blue is comparatively diluted, with pure or white light. For further information on all subjects connected with vision, the student is referred to another great work of Helmholtz, Handbuch der Physiologischen Optik. ■i '} 62 Psychology. CHAPTER III. THE GENERAL SENSES. THE various forms of the general sensibility, which have been named in an earlier chapter* the general senses, were there distinguished from the special by the cir- cumstance, that they have no organs specially adapted for the production of their sensations. Their organs are simply the organs of the body in general, in which the ramifications of the nerve-fibres are distributed. These organs are primarily adapted to the lower functions of animal life ; but in subserving these functions they give rise to the higher function of sensation, and thereby become organs of sense. In consequence of this the classification of general sensations is beset by a difficulty which is scarcely felt in the case of special sensations. It is true, as was shown above in several instances, the unscientific consciousness occasionally confounds the sensations of different special senses ; but, as a rule, these sensations can be readily distinguished and referred to the organs, from the affections of which they arise. It is not so, however, with the general sensations. They are often so obscure in their nature, that they can neither be clearly distinguished in consciousness, nor precisely localised in the organism. This, in fact, is na slight cause of the difficulty a physician experiences in * Chapter i., § i. The General Senses. 65 forming a satisfactory diagnosis of a disease. The sensations of disease are connected mainly with the general sensibility. The patient commonly feels but a vague uneasiness, which he is unable to describe or localise ; and fortunate will it be, if he does not mislead his medical adviser by an illusory description of its nature and locality. In consequence of the characteristic vagueness of these sensations it will be found that they possess in general comparatively little value as sources of knowledge ; it is as sources of feeling — of our pleasures and pains — that they are most obtrusive in consciousness. In the absence of that clear definition which is necessary to a scientific classification of the general sensations, we must perhaps content ourselves with £• provisional enumerj tion '^f their principal varieties. But even in such an en ameration we must be guided by the principle which governs the classification of the special sensations, — we must follow the distinction of the bodily organs, keeping in view at the same time the conscious distinction of the sensations excited. For the purpose of reducing to some sort of order the complex variety of phenomena to be enumerated, it may be convenient to separate them into two groups. For some of the general sensations approach more nearly the character of special sensations, inasmuch as they arise from the action of a particular organ or set of organs. Such, for example, are the muscular and the alimentary sensations, which are excited respectively by the action of the muscles and of the alimentary canal. Others, again, like the sense of temperature, instead of being limited to a single organ, are distributed more or less over the whole sentient ■ organis.il ; and these may, with some propriety, be regarded as general sensations in the most restricted meaning of the term. !!' 64 Psychology, § I. — General Sensaticm connected ivith one Organ. Of this class the feelings derived from the exercise of the murcles are, in many respects, by far the most important ; the muscular sense may, in fact, claim the rank of a rixth special sense. We shall accordingly t;eat it wi*^' le .ame detail as the special senses. i. — The Muscular Sense. In earlier ('mes this form of sensibility was usually confounded with touch. It is true that, as far back as the aeventeenth century,* some writers had recognised the fact that certain feelings, such as weight, commonly ascribed to touch, must be due to a totally different sense ; yet it was not till a comparatively recent date, that the distinction of muscular sensibility was generally accepted in psychology. Even at the present day there is considerable variation of opinion among physiologists as to the precise nature of the organic process in muscular feeling. The various opinions on the "subject may be conveniently ranged under three heads. There are those who find, in the nerve-fibres that are imbedded among the muscular tissues, a special apparatus of sensation, affording a suffi- cient physiological explanation of the feelings of muscular exertion. Others, again, refuse to ascribe any indepen- dent sensibility to the muscles ; and they explain the feelings excited by muscular action as being due either * A history of the discovery of this sense is given in a learned and interesting note by Sir William Hamilton, in his edition of Reid's Works, p. 867. For more recent doctrines on the subject, see Wundt's Physiologische Psychologic, vol. i., pp. 376-8 (2nd od.), and an article on The Muscular Perception of Space, by G. Stanley Hall, in Mind for October, 1878, The General Senses. 65 to a peripheral cause, such as the resulting movement of the skin and adjacent tissues, or to a central stimulus,- - the slimul ' • of the brain implied in volitional effort. Perhaps a complete physiological explanation will accept something from each of these theories. By this mode of reconciling the divergent opinions, a distinct organ of sensibility is recognised in the structure of the muscles, while it is admitted, as it may be in the cas'^ of all the senses, that sensations excited by this organ may be as- sociated with other sensations exci*^ ^ at the same time, and that the resulting consciousne. ^. r- 7 be a fusion of various co-existent sensations, 'it i psychology of muscular sensibility is not calle ' 1 ccide between rival physiological theories on the subje . ; it postulates as its data merely certain distingur '\blp forms of sensation connected with the r.ction of ti.c .nuscles. (A) The special organ, then, of the muscular sense is the muscular tissues. These are, both in an anatomical and in a psychological point of view, of two ^u'nds. In anatomical structure, some are distinguished by minute transverse bars or stripes, for which they are said to be striped, while others are called the tnistriped muscles owing to the absence of this feature. Again, some muscles are under the control of the will, and are there- fore named voluntary, while others are distinguished as involuntary in consequence of their being beyond the will's control. Nov;, the voluntary muscles are all striped, and the unstriped are all involuntary ; but a few involun- tary muscles, such as those of the heart, are striped. It is the voluntary muscles that form the organ of muscular sensation proper. These muscles are supplied both with afferent and wiih efferent nerves, so that in their structure they exhibit all the features necessary to an organ of sense. E \i, i I 66 Psychology. (B) In regard to the agency by which the muscular sense is excited, it differs from the special senses in their normal action. We have seen that these senses are usually stimulated by fcrccs external to the organism ; in the case of the muscles, it is their own specific action that produces their sensations. The function, to which the muscles are specially adapted, is the production of motion ; and this they produce by the peculiar property with which they are endowed. This property is called their contractility. It is a peculiar power of shortening their tissues, so as to pull those parts of the organism to which they are attached. (C) Muscular sensations^ properly so called, are there- fore the sensations excited during the peculiar action of the muscles ; and the term is not to be understood as including sensations excited by any condition of muscular tissue besides its contraction. In* this restricted sense, the muscular sensations are divisible into two classes, comprehending respectively the sensations of simple tension and those of motion. I. The former class includes all the feelings excited by a muscular strain that does not pass into living move- ment, — a " dead strain," as it is called. Such feelings are experienced when supporting the body, especially in an upright posture. Other examples are found in the support of an external weight, or in the effort of merely resisting any force, as well as in the push against an insuperable obstacle. II. The second class comprehends the sensations ex- cited by a muscular effort which results in movement. The only marked difference among this class of sensa- tions is founded on the varying rapidity of the motion produced. The sensations of rapid movement are more exciting, while those of slow movement belong to the The General Senses. 67 calmer type. For this reason, as will afterwards appear, the latter class afford more valuable materials for know- ledge ; and the same may be said regarding the sensations of a dead strain. The sensations of rapid movement, on the other hand, are more powerful stimulants of feeling, — of our pleasures and pains. It remains to be added, that in our mental develop- ment the muscular sense is of value, not merely in itself, but also as an aid to the other senses. This has been already noticed incidentally ; but in the analysis of our perceptions it will appear more clearly that, not only in touching, but also in tasting and smelling, in seeing and hearing, the acuteness of perception is largely increased by muscular activity and sensibility. And it will thus be seen that, as was observed before, the body is the organ of the soul, not simply as the passive recipient of external impressions, but also in virtue of its active power. Muscular exertion stimulates respiration ; and there- fore muscular sensations, especially of the intenser sort, are apt to be mingled with the sensations of the next class. ii. — The Pulmonary Sensibility, This class comprehends those sensations which may be called pulmonary, inasmuch as they are connected with the action of the lungs. They have been already noticed as mingling with olfactory sensations in what are known as fresh and close smells. The lungs do not obtrude their normal action into consciousness ; but more or less distinct sensation is excited by any marked variation in their action, arising from any unusual stimuliint or impediment. Thus we feel the influence of any cause which, by increasing the supply of oxygen to 68 Psychology. the lungs, stimulates the respiration. This is one of tic effects experienced from the fall of the thermometer ; and it is partly in consequence of this, that the breathing of cool air is felt to be " bracing," though the effect of cold on all the bodily tissues must not be overlooked in explaining the general feeling of exhilaration described by this term. A similar stimulation is felt in facing a breeze, in passing from a confined atmosphere to the open air, or in brisk muscular exercise. These sensa- tions, however, cannot, from their very nature, be limited to the lungs. The accelerated oxidation of the blood, with which they are associated, stimulates all the vital processes, and produces, in consequence, a feeling of intensified vitality throughout the whole animal system. " O there is sweetness in the mountain air, And life which bloated ease may never hope to share ! " On the other hand, any impediment to the healthy action of the lungs produces a feeling of depression, which diffuses itself rapidly over all the functions of life. This feeling may vary in all degrees from the compara- tively mild torpor induced by breathing a somewhat vitiated atmosphere up to the terrible agony of suffocation. iii. — The Alimentary Sensibility. Another group of sensations to be noticed in this section are those connected with the alimentary canal. There is a great variety among these sensations, corresponding, partly, to the different regions of their organ, partly to the different stages in the process of digestion, which is its function. Connected with the earliest stages of this process, the mastication and salivation of food in the mouth, as well as its solution under the action ot the gastric juice in the stomach, there The General Senses. 69 Phis is one of the lermometer; aiul the breathing of the effect of cold e overlooked in iration described ; felt in facing a mosphere to the I. These sensa- lature, be limited on of the blood, ates all the vital ice, a feeling of e animal system. lope to share ! " to the healthy g of depression, functions of life. )m the compara- ing a somewhat ny of suffocation. mty. noticed in this dimentary canal, tese sensations, regions of their the process of nected with the nastication and as its solution e stomach, there are those pleasant sensations of relish, and those un- pleasant sensations of nausea or disgust, which have been already referred to as being sometimes confounded with tastes and smells. During the unimpeded perfor- mance of its functions the alimentary canal does not ol'trude itself upon consciousness in the form of any definite sensation. Healthy digestion is, indeed, accom- panied with a feeling of comfort, extremely luxurious though vague ; but this feeling is evidently diffused so extensively over the whole animal system, that it cannot be regarded as a sensation of the alimentary canal exclusively, though this organ may be its primary source. On the other hand, indigestion gives rise to a great variety of disagreeable sensations, deriving their various characters from the nature of the interruptions from which they proceed, but seldom, except in milder cases, confining themselves to the alimentary canal. Moreover, when the food has been digested and absorbed, the want of a new supply produces the familiar sensations of hunger. But this sensation also, though, in its earlier stages, definitely localised in the stomach, tends, when prolonged, to spread into a dreadful state of general suffering that obliterates the sense of its original source. iv. — The Sensibility of Other Organs. It must not be forgotten that the remaining organs of the body, such as the bones, the ligaments, the arteries and veins, are sensitive ; but the sensations, of which they are the source, are either so completely fused with concomitant sensations of other organs that they cannot be distinctly defined, or their sensations ate essentially similar to those which may be experienced in ali the organs of the body, and are therefore referred to the \ext section. The only exception is the sensations derived 70 Psychology. from the distinctive organs of the sexes ; and these sen- sations, if they admitted of a detailed treatmer '^^ might be shown to form a very important factor in the upbuild- ing of the human mind. § 2. — General Sensations, not limited to Particular Organs. The sensations belonging to this section have already been described as peculiarly deserving to be styled gen- eral sensations. Besides the fact that they cannot be defined by their association with separate organs — per- haps in consequence of this fact — they possess, in a hi^Ljh degree, that characteristic vagueness which con- trasts most of the general sensations with the special. This renders it impossible, in the present state of psy- chology, to attempt anything like an exact or exhaustive classification of these sensations. I. The most obtrusive in our daily consciousness ap- pear to be the sensations of temperature. Animal tis- sues, like all other bodies, are subject to the expansion and contraction which result from the rise and fall of temperature ; and it has been supposed that this action on the nervous tissues affords a sufficient physio- logical explanation of the feelings of heat and cold, though some physiologists have held that the sensi- bility is due to a special set of nerves.* Whether the sensibility to temperature be, as this theory sup- poses, a special sense or not, it certainly is not limited to any single part of the organism. The feeling of * Recent investigations seem to show that this sensibility is dis- tributed sporadically over the skin, different spots being sensitive to boat and cold. See On the Temper ature-Sense^ by Dr. H. H. Donaldson, in Mind for July 1885. The General Senses. 71 heat or cold may, indeed, for the moment be localised in some particular region of the body j but it may equally well, at another time, be confined to a different region, or diffused generally throughout every part, internal and external. As the sense of temperature must be affected mainly by the temperature of the environment, it is probably the skin, either in general or at some definite part, that is most frequently the seat of warmth or chill. But these sensations, though thus associated with the organ of touch, must not on that account be considered tactile ; for not only are the two kinds of sensation wholly distinct in character, but the parts which are most sensitive to touch are not pro- portionally sensitive to temperature. In connection with the relation of touch to the sense of temperature, a somewhat interesting fact may be mentioned. Suppose a part of the skin endowed with an acute sense of touch is brought into contact with a part comparatively obtuse, then, unless an effort of attention interfere, the acute part feels most prominently the touch of the obtuse, while the latter feels most prominently the temperature of the other. If the brow, for example, is feverishly hot, and the hand chilled, it is pleasant to feel on the brow the coolness of the hand, which does not so perceptibly realise the temperature of the brow. So, too, the warmed hand is often applied to the face, when suffering from any neuralgic affection which is relieved by heat. II. Another very extensive group of sensations may be described somewhat indefinitely as due to abnormal or, at least, unusual conditions of the various bodily tissues. 4 I. Diseases and injuries may be mentioned first among these abnormal conditions. Some organs, like the bones and ligaments, never affect our consciousness, except 1 1 72 Psychology. under such unusual influences as a rupture, a fracture, or some kind of internal decay. The muscles, also, are the seat of many painful sensations in cases of laceration, bruising, or cramp. The condition of nerve-tissue, in health, can scarcely be said to appear in consciousness, except, perhaps, in a vague sense of general well-being j but one of the most unendurable forms of acute pain is that which arises from a diseased state of some nerve, and which is therefore appropriately described by the name of neuralgia {nerve-ache). Perhaps the sensations of fatigue cJught to be in- cluded among those arising from an injured condition of bodily tissue ; for these sensations become obtrusive in consciousness only when the Umit of health is being transgressed in the action of any organ. These sensa- tions may, indeed, in earlier stages, assume the form of a mild lassitude, which is just sufficient to give a zest to repose ; but even then they are to be taken as a warning, that the action of the fatigued organ cannot be con- tinued with impunity. It is the sensations arising from excessive and irksome muscular toil, that fill the cup of daily misery in the life of the overwrought poor. But probably the most intolerable sensations of weariness are those which have their origin in the excessive waste of nerve-tissue produced by prolonged periods of sleep- lessness, of intense emotional excitement, of severe intellectual labour, or — what is still worse — of all these combined. 2. The abnormal conditions of animal tissue, which are thus found to be the source of sensation, may be produced by the application of various substances. Powerful irritants, like peppers, acids, ammonia, or alcohol, have been already referred to as setting up an inflammatory action on the skin and other parts of the I The General Senses. n nmonia, or body. But the various substances, designated as poisons, are those vrhich play the strangest freaks wich human sensibility, apparently by their action on the nerve-tissues. The term intoxication^ if its original meaning be kept in view, might be used to describe the sensations arising from the action of poisons. But the terri:) commonly implies, what must be obvious to every observer, that the influence of these substances extends at once to the highest nerve-centres, resulting often in the most startling effects upon intellect and emotion. It seems impossible, therefore, to eliminate these pheno- mena of intellectual and emotional elevation or depres- sion, arising from the stimulating or narcotic action of poisons, so as to define their effect on the mere sensibility. 3. Among the influences originating unusual con- ditions of nervous tissue, electricity and magnetism demand a place. The artificial application of electricity produces a well-marked kind of feeling, the spark from a Leyden jar* startling the subject of the experiment with an acute shock, while the Voltaic current pours a con- tinuous thrill of wrenching sensations. On the other hand, the influence of the natural electricity on the nervous system is by no means so well marked. It appears only when there are considerable disturbances in the electrical state of the atmosphere, or in the earth's magnetism, as during thunderstorms or earthquakes. It is also limited to very vague effects in consciousness, with which probably psychical processes of an intellectual or emotional kind are intermingled. Moreover, these effects appear to depend largely en individual peculiari- ties of nervous temperament : in some persons they take the form of an inexplicable elevation, in others that of an equally inexplicable depression. In a cold dry climate like that of the Canadian winter, where animal 74 Psychology. electricity is sometimes developed with extraordinary power, there appear to be no definite electrical sensations experienced, except when a spark is drawn by the touch of a conductor. Since the time of Mesmer and Von Reichenbach the influence of animal electricity and magnetism has often been connected with some of the strangest phenomena in the psychical life of man ; but the attempt to establish this connection raises a problem which can be con- veniently discussed only at a later stage. The Mental Processes, 75 PART II. THE MENTAL PROCESSES. THE phenomena of mind resemble the phenomena of matter in the fact, that ordinarily they are of a •complex character. The elementary constituents of mental phenomena, described in the previous Part of this Book, are not found in distinct isolation in our ordinary consciousness ; they are separated only by scientific abstraction, — by analysis. The combination of these elements into co-existent groups or consecutive series, ^owever capricious it may -eem to a careless observer, is found, on more accurate inquiry, to be due to certain determinate processes wh ' h are governed by invariable laws. These processe re Association and Comparison. They form the sul: t of this Part. r" 1^ Psychology, CHAPTER I. ASSOCIATION. TO understand this process it must be observed that the elements of mind may not only make their ap- pearance in consciousness, under the conditions explained in the previous Part, but may re-appear any time after, generally in a fainter degree, when these conditions no longer exist. Such a re-appearance of any mental state is appropriately named a representatiotiy while its original appearance in consciousness is called 2i presentation.* A former state of mind is thus represented in consciousness- in consequence of a certain relation existing between it and the mental state immediately preceding the re- presentation. This relation is technically named an association. The act, by which the preceding mental state evokes a representation, is called, in technical as- well as in ordinary language, suggestion. The conditions under -vhich this act is performed, are therefore called the Laws of Suggestion ; but; as suggestion is founded on an association between the suggesting and the * This revival of former presentations implies of course that they have not been altogether lost, that they have been retained in some way as a possession of the mind. In the present state of science such retention must be accepted simply as a fact, though various- hypotheses have been propoc- 1 to account for it. A ssociation. 77 suggested states of mind, these laws are sometimes named also the Laws of Association. Of these laws some are distinguished as primary, others as secondary. The difference between these will be more easily com- prehended after the explanation of the former class. § I. — Primary Laws of Suggestion. In their highest generalisation these laws are reducible to two. I. The Law of Similarity or of Direct Remembrance : — States of mind, identical in nature, though differing in the time of their occurrence, are capable of suggesting each other. II. The Law of Contigu pp. 912-3). It is a matter of regret that this dissertation was never finished by its author, and that his theory of suggestion was there- fore never brought into complete shape. + Umnittelhare und Mittelhare Reproducticn (IFer/ce, Vol. v.,. pp. 24-5). These terms are used also by Lotze {Mikrokosimts, Vol. i., p. 236; and Grundziige dtr Psychologie, p. 22.), X Thus I would translate Wundt's inncre und dtisscre Association {Physiologische Psychologic, Vol. ii., p. 300, 2nd ed.). Association. 79 ere Association- States from those which imply merely the extrinsic acci- dent of simultaneous occurrence in consciousness. Although the general drift of these laws may be indi- cated by the above explanation, yet the full bearing of their influence in the processes of mind requires a more detailed exposition. Such an exposition may be conveni- ently given in connection with certain forms of sugges- tion, which were supposed by old psychologists to be in- dependent laws, but which may be shown to be merely resultants of the two more general laws under considera- tion. i. — Suggestion by Local Association. To the ordinary observer of what is passing in his mind, there is perhaps nothing more obvious than the fact that things are apt to suggest one another, if they have been associated in place ; and therefore this mode of suggestion was noticed even by the earliest inquirers. Among the multitude of phenomena illustrative of this principle there are two which possess a special interest. I. Local Association is the link by which mental states seem to be most easily connected, and by which therefore they suggest each other with the greatest readi- ness. The reason of this will be considered again. Here it may be observed that the great mass of the knowledge, which we acquire naturally, is given through the senses, especially through the sense of sight, and the idea which we form of an object is, wherever possible, a visual image. Consequently, it is natural that the easiest transition between mental states should occur when they have such a local relation as to form parts of one visual picture. On this account local association forms a predominant power of suggestion in minds that have not been / f\ So Psychology. disciplined to methodical habits of thinking ;* and even in men of cultured intelligence the train of thought is directed along this line, when mental discipline is relaxed under the indolence of reverie, or the general decay of old age. Then a simple story cannot be told without introducing a number of circumstances, which have only a local connection with it, and by which, accordingly, its point is often concealed, and its interest flags. It has been mentioned as an indication of the genius of Shakespeare, that he guides the talk of uneducated characters along the track of local associa- tions. " Thou didst swear to me," says the Hostess in Henry the Fourth^* upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, on Wednesday, in Whitsun' week, when the Prince broke thy head," etc. In consequence of the readiness with which thoughts are suggested by local association, it has been made the basis of many systems and artifices for aiding the memory. Mnemonic systems of various plans have been invented since the time of Simonides, in the sixth century b.c. ; but their ingenuity has generally been too artificial to render them of much service. Still there are several simple expedients by which local contiguity may be used to make recollection easier. Of these the most familiar and the most useful are tabular views and genealogical trees. Thus an elaborate classification, which could be mastered only with great labour and, perhaps, uncertainty, if we depended entirely on the relations of resemblance * Apparently associations of locality are strong also among some of the lower animals, at least in the domestic state, such as the horse, the dog, and the carrier-pigeon. + Part ii., Act ii., Scene I. Association, 8l or causality between its parts, may be committed to memory with comparative ease by arranging them in a tabular view, that is, by placing them in local association with one another.* II. Another fact to be observed in connection with this power of suggestion is, that a place may recall, not only another place or a material object in its neighbour- hood, but also any thought or emotion which has been experienced there. It is by such associations that localities come to wield such an influence over the feel- ings and the actions of men. In all settled communities the power of " home," especially over the inner life ot individuals, has become a familiar theme for literature. But an influence of wider sweep is acquired by places that have become associated with the lives of great men or with great events in the history of the world. It * The recognition of this fact has been common among writers of all times. " When things to be remembered are so placed, that the relation of contiguity concurs with those of similitude, cause and effect, in leading the memory from one to another, the task of recollection may be performed with proportional ease " (Ferguson's Principles of Moral and Political Science, Part i.. Chapter ii., § 6). *' Quicquid deducat Intellectuale ad feriendum Sensum (quae ratio etiam praecipue viget in artificiali memoria) juvat Me* moriam" (Bacon, Novum Organon, ii., 26). " Vidit hoc prudenter, sive Simonides, sive alius quis invenit, ea maxime animis effingi nostris, quae essent a sensu tradita atque im- pressa ; acerrimum autem ex omnibus nostris sensibus esse sensum videndi ; quare facillimc animo teneri posse ea, quae jjerciperentur auribus aut cogitatione, si etiam oculorum commendatione animis traderentur " (Cicero, Z>^ Oratore, ii,, 87). This discovery, thus ascribed doubtfully to Simonides, is connected in tradition with a well-known beautiful myth in the poet's life. See also Quinctilian, De Orat Inst., xi., 2, where detailed illustrations are given of the " topical memory " based on local association. F r^^.v' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // V^ 1.0 1.1 Ittllft |25 ■tt lU ■2.2 S US 1 2.0 II& 1 L25 lu |i.6 ^- 6" ► FhotDgraphic Sdmces CorpQFEitiQn 23 VVMT MAM STRUT WltfTRR,N.Y. l4SiO (7U)l7a.4S09 4^ J'^^ 82 Psychology. is an often-quoted saying of Johnson's, that "that man is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of lona." * It is this that forms to Americans the charm of travel in the Old World. It is thus that the church or temple, — the building or locality, — set apart for worship, becomes associated in the devout mind with the purest thoughts and the highest aspirations of his life, so that it grows suggestive to him of a sacredness which can be at best but clumsily symbolised in any ritual of consecration. Any locality, which has taken a position in the history of a good man, becomes powerful to stimulate aspirations after the saintliness of his life ; and this imparts its religious significance and justification to the practice of making pilgrimages to the shrines of saints. The great series of events, known by the name of the Crusades, in which the conflict of Christendom and Islam found its most vivid and enthusiastic expression, forms a striking example of the part which local associations have played in directing even the grander movements of the world's history. Such are a few illustrations of this suggestive force : it remains for us now to analyse it into the two more general laws of Direct and Indirect Remembrance. In order to do this it must be observed^ that, in all cases of suggestion by local contiguity, there must have been a cognition, whether a presentation or representation, of some locality, and co-existing with it in consciousness, there must have been either a cognition of something in the neighbourhood, or 1 ! ■Journey to the Hebrides. Association. 83 some thought or emotion, or other state of mind. These mental states, having been contemporaneous with the cognition of the locality, fulfil thus the conditions upon which the law of Indirect Remembrance depends : however different in nature they may be from the cognition of the locality, they do not differ from it in the time of their occurrence. Now, when the locality is subsequently presented or represented, this subsequent cognition is identical in nature with the previous cognition, differing from it only in the time of its occur- rence, so that the later cognition suggests the earlier by the hw of Direct Remembrance. The combined operation of the two laws may be illustrated by the following diagram, in which P* symbolises an earlier cognition of any place, P" a sub- sequent cognition of the same ; while AS is a symbol for mental states associated with the former cognition, and the arrows point in the line of suggestion. The diagram Law of Contiguity. P»» ^AS e O P2 also illustrates the fact, that the Law of Similarity is the fundamental principle of suggestion, inasmuch as mental states are recalled by it directly or immediately, but only indirectly or mediately by the Law of Contiguity. 84 Psychology, ii. — Suggestion by Resemblance. This force of suggestion is scarcely less obvious than the preceding, and has therefore been long familiar to students of the mental processes. It is not, however, so readily suggestive as local associations, and, accordingly, is not so characteristic of vulgar minds. On the contrary, its presence, as a powerful and frequent energy in determining the course of thought, is one of the most obvious evidences of intellectual culture. The more cultivated intellects may be roughly distinguished into two groups as the scientific or philosophical, and the poetical or artistic ; in both an essential factor of their superiority is the prominent part that is played by suggestions based on resemblance. It is by this power that the scientific mind ascends to ever higher generalisa- tions, for a new generalisation is a connection of pheno- mena by resemblances which had not operated as links of suggestion before. It is by the same power that the poetic imagination embodies the abstract in the concrete, the spiritual in the material. When Newton, according to the familiar story, saw in the fall of an apple a manifestation of the force by which the planets are kept in their orbits round the sun, a resemblance, previously undiscovered, between terrestrial and celestial motions suggested itself to his mind. So when Troilus describes the relation of a lover to the object of his passion as being like that of " earth to the centre," when Cressida more explicitly asserts that — " The strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth, Drawing all things to it,"* * Troilus and Cressida, Act iv., Sc. 2. Association. 85 we have a fine expression of the close approximation between the scientific classification of similar processes and the poetical illustration of the spiritual by the material, of obscure phenomena by those that may be clearly pictured to the imagination. But it is not in minds of the higher order alone that resemblance is suggestive. It is this that enables the ordinary mind to perform such a common act as the recognition of a portrait by its resemblance to the person portrayed. But, in fact, without this power of suggestion even the simplest acts of intelligence would be impossible. When, for example, in any dish at table, I perceive a peculiar flavour, like that of peach or lemon or strawberry, the perception implies that some previous taste of the same nature is suggested to my mind, and recognised as being identical with the taste at present experienced. To see that this suggestive force results from the two general laws, it must be observed that resemblance implies, not absolute identity, but merely identity in some feature or features, along with any degree of difference in others. Thus the resemblance, on the ground of which quadrupeds are classed in one group, is founded merely on the one feature of four-footedness, while it admits all such variations, in size and other properties, as, for example, between the elephant and the mouse. Now, the cognition of four-footedness in the elephant, and the cognition of the same attribute in the mouse or any other quadruped, are mental acts identical in their nature, though differing in the time of their occurrence ; and they fulfil, therefore, the conditions of the Law of Similarity. But this cognition co-existed, in the one case, with the cognition of the distinctive properties of the elephant, in the other, with the cogni- i 86 Psychology. tion of the distinctive properties of the mouse or some other quadruped, fulfilling thus the conditions of the Law of Contiguity. We can, therefore, understand wliy the cognition of four-footedness in one case should suggest, (i) by the Law of Similarity, some previous cognition of the same attribute, (2), by the Law of Contiguity, the associated cognition of the other attributes. iii. — Suggestion by Contrast. The suggestion of one contrasted object by another has struck all observers. The sketches of the mental life of man in general literature often imply a tendency in present happiness to recall former suffering. " Forsan et haec olitn meminisse juvabit." * Present misery seems likewise suggestive of joys tha are past : — ** There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery." f A very slight attention to the course of private medita- tions or of social talk will soon disclose numerous instances in which one subject suggests another by way * Aeneiii, i., 203. Compare King Richard n.^ Act iii., Sc. 4: — '* — Joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of sorrow." t Dante's //(/l?r«<7, v., 121-3 (Longfellow's Translation). Com- pare Tennyson's Locksley Hall: — '* This is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things." Association* 87 )r some he Law vliy the suggest, lition of lity, the another mental endency oys tha 5 medita- lumerous :r by way ,, Sc. 4:- m). Corn- ier things." of contrast ; so that the thoughts run readily between such opposites as heat and cold, joy and sorrow, great- ness and littleness, virtue and vice. It may be added that the advance of culture tends to give increasing power to this principle of suggestion in directing the cur- rent of a man's thoughts. For accurate thinking requires, not only that objects be identified with those which they resemble, but often also that they be clearly distinguished from those which are different. Accordingly, the culti- vation of scientific habits tends to make objects sugges- tive of others with which they stand in contrast. This law of suggestion had, therefore, attracted atten- tion among psychologists, so long ago at least as the time of Aristotle, and it seems, by him as well as by some later writers, to have been considered a special power, incapable of being resolved into any other. Some modern psychologists, indeed, seem to have thought that, in respect of association by the two opposite principles of resemblance and contrast, the world of mind affords a parallel to the world of matter, in which there are the two antagonistic forces of attraction and repulsion. But it is unnecessary to postulate any such independent power, if it can be shown to be merely another resultant of the two laws of Similarity and Contiguity. To explain this analysis it must be observed that, as resemblance implies some contrast, so contrast implies some resemblance. Two things cannot be contrasted, except in reference to some common feature, in which they exhibit opposite extremes. Giant and dwarf, for example, occupy the extremes of excess and defect in the commor property of stature, virtue, and vice are the opposite extremes of moral character, heat and cold the opposite extremes of temperature. But there is no con- trast between giant and virtue, between vice and cold. 88 Psychology. I This is the fact which the logicians express in the doctrine, that there is no logical opposition between propositions, unless they have the same subject and the same predicate. Suggestion by contrast is, therefore, capable of explanation in the same way as suggestion by resemblance. The cognition of the common property, on which the contrast is based, in one extreme, and the cognition of it in the other, are mutually suggestive by the Law of Similarity, while the distinctive characteristics of each extreme are suggestible by the law of Contiguity. iv. — Suggestion by Relativity. The relation of cause and effect is often referred to as forming a bond of connection between our thoughts ; but other relations, such as those of parent and child, teacher and pupil, author and production, are also operative in the same way. Yet before a relative can suggest its correlate, the two must have been previously known to be mutually related. Now, to say that the mutual relation of the two must have been previously known, implies that they must have been in our consciousness at the same time, and have thereby fulfilled the conditions of the Law of Contiguity. Accordingly, when any relative term occurs to the mind a second or subsequent time, it may, by the Law of Similarity, recall its previous appearance in consciousness, and this, by the Law of Contiguity, will recall the correlate with which t was associated. § 2 . — Secondary Laws of Suggestion. There are some phenomena of suggestion which are inexplicable by the primary laws alone, which therefore imply the operation of another set of laws. These !ss in the 1 between :t and the therefore, [gestion by { property, e, and the gestive by racteristics Contiguity. referred to thoughts ; and child, , are also jlative can previously that the previously in our ly fulfilled [cordingly, second or ity, recall lis, by the lith which Association, 89 ?hich are I therefore These phenomena are connected with the complex character of the mental states which make up the course of our conscious life. For that course is not to be conceived as a thread on which one solitary state of consciousness is strung after another, — as a chain formed of successive links. On the contrary, our conscious life is a complex series of successive clusters of mental states, in which the members of each cluster hold more or less complicated relations with one another, as well as with the members of the immediately contiguous clusters. In this fact there are involved two problems connected with suggestion. 1. Among the mental states which compose the consciousness of each moment, any one may suggest, or several may combine in suggesting, the mental states of the next moment. Now, since all the mental states of the present do not operate equally in suggesting those that immediately follow, the question arises, what is it that makes some of them more suggestive than the rest ? 2. But of the states which form the consciousness at any moment each is capable of suggesting, not merely one other state, but usually a number, often a large number, of other states. It is impossible, for example, to enumerate all the thoughts which might be suggested to the mind of an educated Englishman by the thought of Shakespeare. It might suggest any of his dramas, or any of the characters in these, or any of the other Elizabethan dramatists, or any of his editors or commen- tators, besides a multitude of other subjects. In like manner a vast range of subjects are associated in the minds of educated men with the name of any great author in the world's literature. But all such associated thoughts are never in any case actually suggested : on the contrary, as a rule, only one or a very few ever make their appearance in consciousness. What, then, determines 90 Psychology. this selection of the thoughts that are actually suggested among a multitude that are capable of being suggested ? These are the two problems which find their solution in the Secondary Laws of Suggestion. The Primary Laws describe the relations that are required to make one mental state capable of suggesting another. But they do not explain why it is that, when several states are capable of suggesting, and several capable of being suggested, some of them suggest, and some are suggested, more easily than others. The explanation of this is to be sought in the Secondary Laws ; and these may there- fore be described as the laws which determine the comparative suggestiveness and suggestibility of mental states. They may be brought under three heads, inas- much as they refer to suggestiveness, or to suggestibility, or to mutual suggestiveness and suggestibility. i. — Law of Suggestiveness. States of mind are more suggestive in proportion to their intensity and to the number of them that com- bine in suggesting. This law consists of two parts. The first expresses the fact that, in the cluster of mental states composing our present consciousness, any one may, by superior intensity, become more powerful to suggest the thoughts of the next moment. The second part of the law implies, that a mental state of the present moment acquires more suggestive power, if its suggestions are aided by other present states. Each of these facts demands explanation. (A) The first part of the law is of incalculable importance in intellectual life. Without it all study would be impossible. The mental attitude called study is the concentration of consciousness on some object to Association. 91 the exclusion of others ; but this means the intensifica- tion of the thoughts relating to the object of study. Now, what is the purpose of intensifying these thoughts ? It is evidently to make them more suggestive than any of the other mental states which unite with them to make up the entire consciousness of the moment. If any passing sound, or a stray glance, or the unceasing sensations of contact, or any transient emotion, were as powerfully suggestive as the thoughts in which we endeavour to absorb our consciousness, we should always be tormented by that distraction which we fortunately experience only at times, and the difference between consecutive and rambling thought would be abolished. The prolonged attitude of the mind called study is essentially identical with the briefer act of voluntary recollection. This act, as it involves volition, opens up, in its ultimate issues, the problem in regard to the nature of will; but this problem need not be discussed at present. Suffice it to recognise the fact, that there is a certain effort of the mind which we understand by volition, however that effort may be explained. When we wish to recall any object, such as a name, which does not suggest itself at once, we make such a voluntary effort. How do we succeed in restoring to consciousness the object sought ? In reproducing any previous thought we cannot of course violate the laws of suggestion, as in the product- tion of any physical result we cannot violate the laws of external nature. But the productions of art imply the direction of physical laws towards some human purpose ; and so the mental laws of suggestion may be directed by voluntary effort towards some end. We can concentrate our consciousness on any thought which is present ; and thus this thought will be rendered more suggestive in 93 Psychology. virtue of the law we are now considering, so that every- thing associated with it will be more likely to be recalled. There may thus be brought up a whole cluster of thoughts related to that of which we are in search. In this way the second part of the present law may be brought into operation too ; a number of thoughts may simultaneously combine to direct our consciousness to the object wanted. For example, I see a face that I know well, but cannot fix on it a name. I make an effort of recollection. With all my efforts I must still wait till the name is suggested in accordance with the laws of associa- tion ; and, therefore, the utmost I can do is to direct the operation of these laws. Accordingly I concentrate my attention on the face, presented or represented. That will recall possibly the place where I saw it before, as well as other associated circumstances, till at last the desired name may turn up.* It may be added that, as facts locally associated must be made known by sensible impressions, and as these are commonly more vivid than mere abstractions of thought, the superior suggestiveness of local association is partially explained by the law under consideration. This law will be further illustrated in a subsequent chapter by the striking fact of the increased power which memory often acquires in dreams. (B) In illustrating the first part of this law an instance * It often happens, in the midst of study, that we strive to remember something in vain. In view of such failure, a useful practical suggestion is given by several writers. If the object sought does not readily recur to the mind, it is better not to waste the mental energy in prolonging a fruitless effort. A prosecution of the collateral study often leads to some link of suggestion, by which the desired object is spontaneously recalled. Association. 93 at every- recalled. thoughts this way ight into aneously 3 object low well, effort of it till the f associa- lirect the trate my i. That )efore, as last the ted must these are thought, partially law will by the Dry often instance strive to a useful he object t to waste rosecution estion, by has been incidentally noticed, in which the second part is also called into play. A further illustration of this part may be found by observing the difference in the effects produced by different portraits. One portrait is said to be a j/r/X'///^ likeness, because it strikes or impresses the mind at once by its resemblance to the person portrayed. Another portrait is said to be ^ faint likeness, because it fails to show the same suggestive power. Now, what is the source of the difference in the suggestiveness of the two portraits ? In the case of a striking likeness all, or most, of the features in the portrait resemble the corres- ponding features in the person portrayed; and, conse- quently, the perceptions of all these features combine in suggesting the person. In the other case there is per- haps but a single feature in which there is any resem- blance between the portrait and the original, while even in that feature the resemblance may be imperfect : so that there is possibly but one perception capable of sug- gesting, and that with some hesitation, the person repre- sented. The same fact is further illustrated in the history of science. In so far as the progress of science consists in the widening of human generalisation, it may also be said to consist in the discovery of previously undetected resemblances among the phenomena of the universe. Now, all the more obvious resemblances, — the re- semblances which touch a considerable number of features, — were discovered in the earliest stages of scientific inquiry ; it is the subtler resemblances, — those which connect but a few features, or only one, — that are being revealed in modern times. ii. — Law of Suggestibility. States of mind are more suggestible in proportion to 94 Psychology. (i) their recentness, (2) their previous intensity, and (3) the frequency of their previous recurrence.* The three qualities upon which, in this law, suggesti- bility depends, require to be separately considered. (A) Recentness. Few facts in the mental life of man are more familiar than the experience that impressions recently received are more readily revived than those received long ago. Every schoolboy knows that the lesson he learnt yesterday may be repeated easily to-day, but that he might tremble if called to repeat it a month hence. So certain is the law, that it is often applied in medical practice, in the treatment of patients suffering from mental anxiety. S':ch anxiety commonly arises from the mind being strained to excessive activity by certain thoughts and emotions connected with business or other cares of life ; and it becomes of the utmost importance for mental health that these thoughts and emotions should be excluded as much as possible from conscious- ness. This can be done only by diminishing their suggestibility ; and this effect, again, is most likely to be produced by occupying the mind with other subjects of a more suggestible character. Accordingly it is common to recommend a change of scene, so that the patient may receive novel impressions, which, on account of their * There might be an increased exactness gained by expressing this law in the form: — "Representations are more likely to be suggested in proportion to the recentness, the intensity, and the frequency of recurrence of the mental states of which they are representations." Yet it is scarcely necessary to be reminded that, in suggestion, it is not the prior state itself that is brought into existence again, but merely a representation of it. No serious con- fusion is likely to arise from speaking, in accordance with ordinary usage, of a former mental state being suggested or recalled. Association. 95 ity, and e.* uggesti- d. of man ressions n those hat the ' to-day, \ month medical ig from es from ,' certain or other Dortance motions mscious- ig their ily to be Djects of :ommon ent may of their expressing ely to be and the they are ided that, lught into rious con- i ordinary d. superior recency, will be suggested more readily, and may ultimately supplant the old causes of anxiety. For this reason travel is generally more effective than residence in one place, since, by repeated change of scene, new scope is continually found for the operation of the law which renders mental impressions more suggestible in proportion to their recentness. *' Haply the seas and countries different, With variable objects, shall expel This something settled matter in his heart. Whereon his brain's still beating puts him thus From fashion ot himself."* There is an apparent exception to this law, which should not be overlooked. When the memory begins to fail in old age, its failure is observable chiefly in reference to recent impressions, while those of earlier life are recalled with comparative ease. So far as the psychologist has to do with this phenoinenon, it must be viewed rather as an illustration of the second part of the Law of Suggestibility than as a violation of the first. In childhood and youth and manhood the mind is un- doubtedly more impressible than in old age, and the impressions of those earlier times are accordingly characterised by greater intensity. It is, therefore, natural that they should be suggested more readily than the fainter impressions made upon decaying powers. (B) Intensity. We are now thus brought to consider the effect of this quality upon the suggestibility of mental states. Under the previous law we have seen that the more intensely a mental state absorbs consciousness, it becomes invested with a stronger suggestive power. Hamlet, Act iii., Scene i. 96 Psychology. Many familiar facts may now be adduced to show that the greater intensity of a mental state makes it also more readily suggestible at any subsequent time. An illustration of this will be found in the effect of an intense emotion, whether joyful or sorrowful, on the current of our thoughts. The unendurable anguish, that attaches to many an intense sorrow, has its source in this law. For everything, that has the remotest associa- tion with the sorrow, suggests it readily on account of its superior intensity, so that our consciousness is scarcely ever freed from its presence, " we cannot get it out of our minds." Almost every object around us, being suggestive of our grief, comes to be invested in its gloom : tlie brighter aspects of nature recall it by contrast, the darker by harmony, and the whole world appears gloomy ia consequence. All literature is full of this reaction between the aspects of external nature and the moods of the soul. Fortunately the same cause imparts an additional zest to our intenser joys. In consequence of their being perpetually re-suggested, " we cannot help thinking of them ; " and this perpetual re-suggestion forms what has been felicitously described as an under-current of glad- ness in the soul. Our joy being readily suggested by almost any object, everything around us comes to be lighted up with its radiance ; the whole world seems happy. " Let no one ask me how it came to pass : It seems that I am happy, that to me A brighter emerald twinkles in the grass, A purer sapphire melts into the sea."* ■ Tennyson's Maud, xviii., 6. 3W that 30 more :t of an on the sh, that »uree in associa- nt of its scarcely t out of 5, being J gloom : :ast, the appears , of this and the )nal zest ir being iking of vhat has of glad- ;sted by ;s to be seems Association. 97 \ The love-songs of all literature, represent the dominant passion as being continually re-awakened even by the most trivial associations, while it throws its charm over the whole of nature and of life; and all the other emotions, in their intenser forms, manifest the same power. In the light of this law we may, therefore, inter- pret a number of phenomena, which Mr. Mill and other psychologists have endeavoured to summarise in a general statement. " The following," says Mr. Mill,* "is one of the simple laws of mind. Ideas of a pleasurable or painful character form associations more easily and strongly than other ideas, that is, they become associated after fewer repetitions, and the association is more durable By deduction from this law, many of the more special laws which experience shows to exist among particular mental phenomena may be demonstrated and ex- plained : the ease and rapidity, for instance, with which thoughts connected with our passions or our more cherished interests are excited, and the firm hold which the facts relating to them have on our memory ; the vivid recollections we retain of minute circumstances which accompanied any object or event that deeply in- terested us, and of the times and places in which we have been very happy or very miserable; the horror with which we view the accidental instrument of any occurrence which shocked us, or the locality where it took place, and the pleasure we derive from any memorial of past enjoyment ; all these effects being pro- * System of Logic, Book iii., Chapter xiii., § 6. See further on the subject Mill's Dissertations and Discussions, Vol. i., fourth paper. G 98 . Psychology. portional to the sensibility of the individual mind^ and the consequent intensity of the pain or pleasure from which the association originated. Associations being of two sorts, either between synchronous or between successive impressions; and the influence of the law, which renders associations stronger in proportion to the pleasurable or painful character of the impressions, being felt with peculiar force in the synchronous class of associations; .... in minds of strong organic sensibility synchronous associations will be likely to predominate, producing a tendency to conceive things in pictures and in the concrete, richly clothed in attributes and circumstances, a mental habit which is commonly called Imagination, and is one of the peculiarities of the painter and poet ; while persons of more moderate sensibility to pleasure and pain will have a tendency to associate facts chiefly in the order of their succession, and such persons, if they possess mental superiority, will addict themselves to history or science rather than creative art." The interesting phenomena, referred to in this quota- tion, all admit of being viewed as results of the more general law, that the superior intensity of a mental impression, without reference to its pleasurable or painful character, renders it more suggestible as well as more suggestive; and this generalisation of the phenomena is, indeed, implied in the words of the passage which I have italicised. One other remark may be made in this connection. It is suggested, in the above quotation, that an intense sensibility will generally create the poetic or artistic tendency to synchronous rather than successive, that is, local rather than temporal, associations. It thus appears that local associations are based on the comparatively 1 1' '1 Association, 99 and the hich the IS being Detween ;he law, 1 to the s, being :lass of organic kely to ; things hed in vhich is of the rsons of all have of their mental science is quota- le more mental :able or 1 well as of the of the nection. intense artistic , that is, appears iratively intense impressions of sense, and that therefore in this fact, coupled (as already observed) with the superior suggestiveness of intensity, we have a partial, if not complete, explanation of the phenomenon noticed in the previous section, that mental states become more easily suggestible when they are linked together by some local association. (C) Frequency of recurrence. This cause of increased suggestibility becomes universally known in our earliest years. When a child is set to learn a lesson, he naturally repeats it over and over again, confident that by this artifice it will be more readily suggested to his mind when he is called to remember it al examination. It is probably this circumstance also that mainly constitutes what is understood by familiarity^ an object that is described as familiar being thereby classed among those that are frequently recurring to the mind in the home-life of a family. It is important, however, to observe that this part of the Law of Suggestibility is always conditioned by the previous part. For suppose two boys of equal ability set themselves to learn the same lesson, one repeating it a dozen times inattentively, while the other repeats it but two or three times with intense concentration of mind, the chances are all in favour of the latter remembering it more easily afterwards. Before passing from this law, an illustration of it may be noticed, which explains a peculiar difference in the memory of different persons. It has often been pointed out, that memory implies both a capacity of retaining knowledge and a faculty of recalling it ; and therefore it is not uncommon to find men who, by their retentive capacity, have accumulated vast stores of learning, and are yet gifted with comparatively little readiness in re- 100 Psychology. calling it when wanted, though it is more common to meet with those who exhibit great quickness in repro- ducing comparatively slender acquirements. This familiar distinction between retentive and ready memories is, partially at least, explained by the different conditions of suggestibility ; for, as some psychologists have already observed, retentiveness is cultivated mainly by intense concentration of the mind in the acquisition of knowledge, while readiness is attained rather by frequent repetition of what has been learnt. As the reproduction of what we have already mastered is an easier and pleasanter occupation than the task of master- ing what is yet unknown, it is not difficult to understand why memories of comparative readiness should be met with more frequently than those of vast extent. Readi- ness, moreover, though often combined with extremely limited attainments, yet produces in the popular mind the most striking and intelligible impression of mental power, while, on the other hand, the absence of quick- ness in recollection may create an appearance of mental slowness — of dullness — in men of great erudition ; and this contrast may account for the popular illusion, which is fortunately contradicted by many conspicuous examples, that great memories are incompatible with great intellects.* * Sir W. Hamilton, who expresses this distinction by his Conservative (or Retentive) and Reproductive Faculties, adduces a number of philosophers, ancient and modern, by whom the distinction has been recognised. See his Lectures on Metaphysics^ Lect. XXX. ; and compare Stewart's Elements^ Chap. vi. Foth of these passages may be recommended to the student for their abundant illustration, not only of this distinction, but of other interesting facts connected with memory. 3mmon to in repro- ts. This nd ready e different chologists :ed mainly icquisition rather by As the :red is an of master- nderstand Id be met :. Readi- extremely Lilar mind of mental of quick- of mental :ion; and illusion, nspicuous ible with m by his , adduces a whom the WapAj'sics, . Foth of ; for their It of other Association. lOi iii. — Law of Mutual Suggestiveness and Suggestibility. The drift of this law admits of its being appropriately described also as the Law of Uniform Association. It may be expressed as follows : — States of mind are more likely to suggest each other in proportion to the uniformity of their previous association, and in the order in which they have been associated. It may not be without use to distinguish here between this law and the third part of the previous law. A mental state may frequently recur in consciousness, without being always associated with the same mental state \ and this frequent recurrence, even in different ass iations, will render it more suggestible than at first by any suggestive circumstance. But if its frequent recurrence has been due to its association with the same cause, then the likelihood of its being suggested when- ever that cause makes its appearance will be greatly increased, and increased in proportion to the uniformity with which it has been previously associated with that cause. It follows also from this law that, if a mental state A has been associated very frequently with a second B, and only at occasional intervals with a third C, then unless some other law of suggestion intervene, B is more likely than C to be suggested by A. The full exposition of this law can be found only in later analyses ; but here it may be observed that a simple instance of its operation is met with in learning a passage by heart. In this process not only do we repeat the words frequently, but we repeat them in the same connections, so that each preceding word becomes attached in our consciousness to each succeeding word with a certain degree of uniformity. As this uniformity I02 Psychology, increases, there grows a stronger tendency in each preceding to suggest each succeeding word. The strength of this tendency is often exhibited by speakers, when they quote a passage, inadvertently dragging in its context, even though it may have no logical connection with the point, to illustrate which the quotation was made. We say that they have become habituated to connect the context with the text ; and it will appear by and by, that the strength of habit is due to the power of suggestion arising from the uniform association of the suggesting and suggested states of mind. It must be observed, however, that the tendency arising from uniform association, manifests its strength merely in the order of the association. A familiar illustration is experienced in the difficulty of repeating backwards the alphabet or any familiar passage in literature, compared with the mechanical ease with which they may be repeated in the right direction. There is an extreme case of this law which demands special consideration. When an association of mental states has attained the highest degree of uniformity, — has reached, or approached, absolute invariability, — there arises an effect of such a peculiar nature, that it could scarcely have been anticipated from the Law of Uniform Association. The suggestion resulting from such an invariable association becomes irresistible and instantaneous. When, in all our ordinary experience, two states of mind, A and B, have been uniformly associated for a while, A acquires such a power of suggesting B, and B such a power of being suggested by A, that it no longer remains a matter of choice with us whether the suggestion shall take place or not; it becomes irresistible. But it becomes instantaneous as well : there is no appreciable interval between the Association. 103 in each d. The speakers, ing in its nnection tion was uated to ppear by power of 1 of the endency strength familiar epeating isage in h which lemands mental rmity, — bility,— , that it Law of ig from ble and erience, liformly >wer of sted by with us not ; it ;ous as en the ( I suggesting and the suggested states; the latter rushes into consciousness like a flash of immediate intuition, and we fail to observe that it is given merely through the medium of the former, which generally passes unnoticed. Although this phenomenon is in reality merely an extreme form of the Law of Uniform Association, yet it is at once so striking in its character, and of such signihcance as affording a clue to many otherwise inexplicable facts, that it is deserving of separate recog- nition. It may, accorl'ngly, be distinguished, from one point of view, as the Law of Invariable Association^ * from another point of view, as the La7V of Irresistible and Instantaneous Suggestion. The drift of this law is in- dicated in the following expression : — States of mind, which have long been invariably, or almost invariably, associated, suggest each other irresistibly and instantaneously in the order in which they have been associated. Numerous illustrations of this law must be noticed afterwards, especially in the analysis of our perceptions. These cognitions generally appear like direct presenta- tions of an external object to consciousness, whereas psychological analysis discloses the fact that they are merely suggestions which have become instantaneous from long association. Our perceptions belong to a class of phenomena which may appropriately be noticed here by way of illustrating the effects of irresistible and instantaneous suggestion. They are the phenomena styled habits. A habit is a tendency in certain actions to recur, which is acquired by repeated occurrence. * Some writers have employed the less unexceptionable term, Inseparable Association. 104 Psychology. It differs, in the fact of its being acquired, from an instinct ^ which is a tendency of the same sort, born with the individual. Habit, therefore, pre- sents a problem for the psychologist in the fact, that a tendency to perform certain actions is created by repeating them frequently before. When we begin to acquire a habit or dexterity, we perform deliber- ately, slowly, and in general with difficulty, the actions which it implies ; but gradually by frequent repetition, — by practice, as it is commonly expressed, — the difficulty, slowness, and deliberation, with which the actions were done at first, give way to ease, rapidity, and unconscious- ness. The actions are then described at times as being done instinctively ^ from their resemblance to the results which nature produces in us without any conscious voli- tion on our part \ while their resemblance to the regular, easy, unintelligent workings of a machine leads us to speak of them also as being done mechanically. In learning to read, for example, the c.iild at first familiarises himself slowly with the sound of every letter, slowly acquires the power of recognising the sounds of different combinations, of spelling syllable by syllable, and word by word, till he is able to recognise at a glance entire words without the previous painful labour of spelling each letter, entire clauses and sentences without dwelling upon each word, and even to catch the meaning of whole pages when they are merely run over in a hurried glance. The same process is observed in learning to walk, to speak, to sing, to play on a musical instrument, to direct pencil or chisel or sword, and generally in acquiring all those arts that are necessary for existence or for the enjoyment of life. The peculiar problem of these phenomena is solved mainly by the law of Irresistible and Instantaneous Association. 105 from he sort, e, pre- le fact, created begin deliber- actions ition, — ifficulty, US were tiscious- is being : results >us voli- regular, s us to ly. In liliarises slowly lifferent id word I entire ng each ig upon e pages e. The peak, to encil or ose arts nent of solved aneous ^ Suggestion. Of course in the acquisition of a habit that is interesting the mind will naturally be occupied with some degree of intensity, while the mere repetition of an action tends to make it more easily suggested, whether it has entered into any uniform association with others or not. But the tendency in a series of phenomena to recur, which constitutes a habit, is created by the general fact, that one phenomenon tends to be suggested by another more readily in proportion to the uniformity with which the former has already been suggested in association with the latter. Take, by way of illustration, the learning of a language, native or foreign. In learning to understand the language, we associate sounds with ideas, so that after a while the latter come to be sug- gested irresistibly and instantaneously by the former. On the other hand, in learning to speak the language it is necessary, first of all, to associate ideas with articulate sounds, so that the former will suggest the latter ; but the suggested sounds must further be associated with the remembered sensations of the muscular effort in the vocal organs, by which the sounds are produced. We are thus in a position to explain the peculiar cir- cumstance connected with our habits, that we become capable of performing a series of actions without being conscious of the individual actions in the series, but merely of the series as a whole. When a habit is con- firmed, when any dexterity is perfectly mastered, each antecedent in the series of actions involved becomes so indissolubly associated with each consequent, as to suggest it irresistibly and instantaneously. Now, to excite consciousness any stimulus must fulfil certain conditions. It must not only reach a certain intensity, but it must endure for a certain length of time. The duration necessary to excite consciousness varies evi- io6 Psychology. dently for different organs in the same person, for the same organ in different persons, and even for the same organ in the same person at different times. In taste and smell sensations are very soon confounded, even when they do not follow each other in very rapid succession. The higher senses themselves, though their sensations are much more quickly distinguishable, are subject to the same condition. In hearing, as we have already seen,* when vibrations reach a greater rapidity than about forty in a second, they become fused into one tone. Even in the most intellectual of the senses a rapid series of impressions results in a similar fusion. Thus the appearance of a circle of light may be produced by whirling a lighted point with sufficient velocity before the eyes ; the sensation of white light may be excited by a similar movement of the colours of the spectrum, into which it is decomposed; while many striking optical effects of the same sort are now familiar in the thauma- trope, the wheel of life, and other interesting scientific toys. In all such fusion of different impressions the same cause may be traced. Before each prior impression has died away, or even before each prior stimulus has had time to excite distinct consciousness, the next supervenes. The resultant consciousness is, therefore, the conscious- ness, not of any single impression in the series, but of them all blended together. Now, this is precisely the phenomenon that^ is witnessed when a series of actions are performed with the velocity characteristic of habits and dexterities. The indistinguishability of the individ- ual actions, — their fusion in a general consciousness of the series as a whole, — is a result of the rapidity, the instan- * Book i., Part i.. Chapter ii., § 4. Association, 107 1, for the he same In taste ed, even ry rapid igh their able, are we have rapidity into one senses a r fusion, loduced y before cited by jm, into optical thauma- ific toys. le same ion has las had Tvenes. iscious- but of ely the actions habits ndivid- s of the instan- 4 taneousness, with which suggestion takes place when it is based on a prolonged association of an uniform kind. It thus appears that actions, originally voluntary, may, by frequent repetition for a length of time, be re- moved from the sphere of human will into the sphere of those natural forces that form the human constitution. From the physiological point of view these phenomena are described as actions of the nervous system which work out their results in human life without exciting con- sciousness. It is a problem for the physiologist to ex- plain how nerve-tissues, which at first adapt themselves only with difficulty to certain movements, become so pliable after repeated practice of the movements, that these are performed with mechanical ease. Probably the nutrition of the tissues is so directed that their structure becomes modified in adaptation to the repeated move- ments. It is in fact obvious, even to one simply obser- ving his own sensations, that, when certain currents of the blood and currents of nerve-force have been prolonged for a while by the repetition of a series of movements, they often continue their course for hours after the movements have ceased. But, whatever explanation physiology may give, there can be no doubt of the fact, that actions in the nervous and muscular systems, which at first are per- formed with deliberate and even painfully conscious efforts of volition, come to be carried on automatically after a while. This phenomenon is accordingly described as automatic or reflex action ; and as even some of the higher mental operations may be thus, by habitual exer- cise, withdrawn from the region of conscious effort into the control of the highest nerve-centres in the brain, it has become customary, of recent years, to recognise a process of " unconscious cerebration." io8 Psychology. I It is in the phenomena thus brought under the general Law of Irresistible and Instantaneous Suggestion, that the great moral and religious teachers of the world have found the inevitable fact of retribution which rules with an unfailing justice all the actions of men, a fact which has often been expressed by the singularly appropriate figure, implied in the statement, that " whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." le general tion, that orld have ules with LCt which propriate ^er a man Comparison. 109 CHAPTER II. COMPARISON. IN our consciousness mental states appear, not in ab- solute isolation from each other, but in manifold relations ; and mental life consists, not in the conscious- ness of isolated states, but in the consciousness of the relations which they hold one to another. The consciousness of relations is always, in its essential nature, an act of comparison ; the related phenomena must be compared in order to the discovery of their relations. The term comparison may not fully express all that is involved in the mental act under consideration ; but it implicitly denotes all that is understood, inasmuch as there cannot be a comparison without a consciousness of some relation between the objects compared. There are some features of resemblance between comparison and suggestion ', but a confusion of the two would lead to a 'very radical misapprehension regarding mental phenomena. It is desirable, therefore, to make clear the distinction between the two processes, The two resemble one another in the fact that both require two mental states in order to their possibility. Suggestion always implies a suggesting and a suggested state of mind, while comparison supposes two things to be compared. There is a further resemblance in the fact that both acts imply a relation between the two i no Psychology. states which they presuppose. In connection with the Primary Laws of Suggestion, it was shown that two mental states must be related by similarity or contiguity before they can suggest each other ; and it is still more obvious that, in being compared, they are brought into relation. But there are two important differences which dis- tinguish comparison and suggestion. The first is, that suggestion implies a sequence, — a transition from the suggesting to the suggested state ; while, in order to the very possibility of comparison, the phenomena compared must be simultaneously present to conscious- ness. Besides, there is a second and more radical difference — it is the essential difference — between the two acts. In suggestion we are conscious of the one related state, then of the other, the relation forming merely an unconscious bond of connection between them; whereas the distinctive nature of comparison consists in its being a consciousness of the relation between the related states. Comparison may thus be defined a knoivledge of rela- tions. As such it is the highest function of mind; it implies not only the capacity of receiving impressions, and of allowing these unreflectingly to repeat themselves in the order and connexions determined by their accidental associations in consciousness ; it implies further the faculty of cognising, beyond the separate impressions, the relation in which they stand to each other. This is the faculty which is understood by the various expressions descriptive of mind in its highest aspects, — Thought, Understanding, Judgment, Intellect, Reason. To the full explanation of comparison, it would be necessary to unfold all the relations which it is capable M' Comparison. Ill with the ;hat two Dntiguity till more ight into lich dis- first is, Dn from order to momena >nscious- radical een the the one forming ;n them ; nsists in een the of rela- lind; it essions, mselves ly their implies eparate ;o each by the highest itellect, )uld be :apable of discovering. It is impossible, however, to describe these at present without entering upon problems, which must be reserved for subsequent discussion. But, with- out anticipating this discussion, it may be observed that there are two fundamental relations, which, if not the type of all others, form at least the basis of all knowledge. These are the relations of Identity and Difference. The consciousness of the former is technically called an Affirmative Judgment; that of the latter, a Negative Judgment. It will soon be seen that these judgments enter into all our knowledge. Such acts of judgment or comparison, in which pheno- mena are identified and discriminated, are governed by laws. These laws, in their supreme form, are three, which are accor'^ingly named the General Laws of Thought. Though it may seem paradoxical to say so, the chief difficulty which is experienced in understanding the pur- port of these laws arises probably from their excessive simplicity. They are such obvious truisms, that there seems almost an insult to intelligence in their mere statement ; and, accordingly, there is a temptation to seek some more profound meaning in them than that which they show on their surface. But the laws, which form the elementary principles of all thinking, must be so utterly evident, that nothing more evident can be con- ceived, — so absolutely certain, that nothing more certain can be adduced either for their proof or for their dis- proof. The following, then, are the General Laws • of Thought :— I. The Law of Identity is popularly expressed in the formula. Whatever is, is ; more technically in the formula, A is A. Its purport, as a law of thought will probably be better understood by the following state- 112 Psychology. ment : — Whatever is thought must be thought to be that which it is thought. II. The Laiu of Contradiction^ as it is commonly called, or the Law of Non-Contradiction^ as it has been, perhaps more appropriately, called, is expressed in the popular formula. It is impossible for a thing to be and not to be at the same time, sometimes in the technical formula, A is not non-A. The purport of the law may be more clearly indicated by the statement : — Whatever is thought cannot be thought not to be that which it is thought. III. The Law of Excluded Middle is so called, because by it a middle or third alternative is excluded between two contradictory judgments, inasmuch as one of these must always be in thought affirmed, the other in thought denied. This law is not, like the other two, known by any familiar statement. Its technical expression is the formula, A either is or is not B ; but perhT)S the follow- ing formula may explain it more distinctly: — Of whatever is thought anything else that is thinkable must either be or not be thought. The science, which expounds these laws in all their subordinate applications, is Logic. The function of Logic is, therefore, to discover the norm, by which thought should be regulated. It is not, however, with normal, but with actual, thinking, that psychology has to do ; and we shall find, as we proceed, that the problems of the two sciences have sometimes been unnecessarily complicated by not being kept distinct. ' be that mmonly Ls been, i in the and not ichnical aw may Whatever 'ch it is because between )f these thought own by 1 is the ; follow- 'whatever er be or BOOK II ill their :tion of ■ which er, with 1 has to oblems essarily H U i SPECIAL PSYCHOLOGY. IN the previous Book we have examined those elementary products of natural sensibility which have been called the raw materials of mind, as well ai the processes by which these are wrought into the com- binations which form the actual mental life. Our task is now to investigate the distinctive nature of the different combinations which are thus formed in the living consciousness of men. These combinations assuiue three fundamental types, which are usually distinguished by the names of Cognition, Feeling, and Volition. Those different types of mental life arise from the development of three different aspects which elementary sensations present. For these may be viewed as sources either of (i) information, or (2) of pleasurable and painful excitement, or (3) of impulse to action. In so far as the first aspect of sensation is developed in any mental combination, the resultant consciousness is a cognition ; the development of the second aspect gives rise to feeling or emotion, while volition is evolved from the third. These three aspects of sensation may, there- fore, be described as the intellectual or cognitional, the emotional, and the volitional.* • Though the germ of this threefold classification is by some writers traced as far back as the Timaeiis of Plato, yet it seems to' ii6 Psychology. ri !■ The evolution, therefore, of those mental combinations which form the intellect, the emotions, and the will of man, is determined by the readiness with which sensa- tions submit to the two processes of association and comparison. Now, association involves both a suggesting and a suggested state of mind ; and, accordingly, the associability of a sensation must be interpreted by reference both to its suggestiveness and its suggestibility. Comparison, also, involves both identification and dis- crimination, so that the comparability of sensations is to be estimated by their power of being at once identified and distinguished. It may be added that comparability holds in representation as well as in presentation. The distinct representability of a sensation, therefore, expresses the clearness with which it may be distinguished and identified when it is merely represented in memory or imagination. Consequently, distinct representability is not to be confounded with ready suggestibility ; for a sensation may be readily recalled as an indefinite fact of mental life, even when its nature cannot be vividly repre- sented in consciousness.* hiwe taken definite form first among the writers of the Leibnitio- Wolfian School about the middle of last century, especially Meier, Moses Mendelssohn, and Tetens (Erdman. 's Geschichte der Philoso- phies § 301, 2). As Kant was brought up in this school and adopted the classification, it has passed through his writings into the philosophical literature of all Europe. See an historical and critical discussion of the subject in Wundt's Physiologische Psycho- logic, Vol. i., pp. 11-18 (2nd ed.) See -cho Ylaxm\\.ox\% Lectures on Metaphysics, Lect. xi., and Lotze's Mikrokosnms, Book ii., chap. 2. * The distinction here indicated is expressed by Sir William Hamilton in the discrimination of the Representative from the Reproductive Faculty. See his Lectures on Aletaphysics (xxxi.- xxxiii.), where interesting illustrations of the distinction will be found. special Psychology. 117 mbinations the will of lich sensa- iation and . suggesting dingly, the preted by jgestibility. n and dis- ations is to identified nparability ion. The ;, expresses lished and nemory or ntability is lityj for a nite fact of 'idly repre- e Leibnitio- nally Meier, (ier Philoso- school and mtings into storical and ':cJie Psycho- I Lectures on ii., chap. 2. >ir William e from the 'sics (xxxi.- ion will be It will be seen, then, that we are thus furnished with a criterion to determine the order in which the senses take rank as contributing more or less important materials for the upbuilding of mind in all its three functions. Their relative value for this purpose depends on the associability and comparability of their sensations. The examination of the different senses in detail with the view of determining their relative value in this respect is part of the problem which forms the subject of the present Book ; but one or two general remarks on the subject may be made at present. 1. The two properties of associability and compara- bility evidently coincide in general, those sensations, which can be most clearly discriminated and identified, being the most powerfully suggestive and the most readily suggestible. Accordingly the mental value of sensations may sometimes, with sufficient accuracy, be estimated by distinct representability. For as representa- tion is impossible without suggestion, and as the distinct representation of anything implies that it can be clearly discriminated and identified, the distinct representability of a sensation may be taken as a convenient, though not a complete, expression of its associability and compara- bility. These two qualities, moreover, enable us to interpret the language which ascribes a superior refine- ment^ intellectual or moral, to some sensations over others. For the association and comparison of a sensation with others imply thf ^ the consciousness is raised above the gross act of sense, and occupied with an act of thought — a relation. This power of rising above the mere animal sensibility is what constitutes refinement. 2. The associability and comparability of a sensation depend on the nature of the other sensations with which Ii8 Psychology. it is associated and compared, (a). Take associability first. A sensation with low powers of association will associate more readily with other sensations which are of strong associability. Thus a taste, which is of compara- tively slight mental value, is neither very suggestive of other tastes nor very readily suggested by them, but it becomes at once more suggestive and suggestible, if it is associated wiih a higher sensation, such as a colour. {b). The same fact may be noticed in the relative comparability of different sensations. The sensations, which do not admit of distinct comparison with one another, are easily compared with any class of sensations that are in themselves more comparable. These remarks will receive illustration as we proceed in our analysis of the three forms of mental activity. For convenience in exposition we shall divide this Book into three Parts. I Cognitions. 119 ssociability iation will hich are of f compara- ?gestive of em, but it ible, if it is a colour, ne relative sensations, with one sensations PART I. COGNITIONS. re proceed ivity. For Book into THOUGH the more technical term, Cognition, has come into general use for the class of phenomena investigated in this Part, yet we shall frequently recur to the familiar word, knowledgCy using, where necessary, the plural, knoivledges, which, though commonly abandoned in modern English, was employed by older writers. As cognate with the substantive, cognition, it may often be convenient to use the verb, cognise, and the adjective, cognitive. In classifying the phenomena of cognition, the most natural principle of guidance would be to follow the natural evolution of human intelligence. The course of such an evolution is not so easily traced as in the case of many among the simpler and more palpable phenomena of external nature ; for, as the subsequent analysis will show, the principal forms of intelligence are, to a certain extent, developed simultaneously. At the same time it is not impossible to discover the order in which the most distinctly marked varieties of cognition tend to reach a certain degree of maturity. Naturally the developing intelligence apprehends first of all the individual sensible 120 Psychology. object. Ihis is the cognition to which the name of Perception is now commonly applied. The next stK.ge is the conception of a class, — the intellectual activity described by such terms as Generalisation. Running alongside of these cognitions, but later in its distinct evolution, is the process of Reasoning, by which thought ascends from the individual to the class, or descends from the class to the individual, with a consciousness of the reason for its ascent or descent. Lastly, there is an activity of intelligence which apprehends the universal in the particular, — the general attributes of the class in individual form ; and this may, with sufficient accuracy at present, be described as Idealisation. Besides these normal functions of intelligence, it will be advisable to examine some of those familiar illusions which simulate the appearance of cognition. Each of these subjects demands a separate chapter for satisfactory discussion ; and we shall then proceed, in a concluding chapter, to summarise the results, to which the discussion of these subjects points, in regard to the general nature of knowledge. \ » ; ! e nan^e of next st&.ge lal activity Running its distinct ch thought r descends iousness of there is an ; universal he class in t accuracy sides these Ivisable to ti simulate le subjects iscussion ; :hapter, to n of these nature of 1. Perception. 121 CHAPTER I. PERCEPTION. THE word Perception, like its Latin original, was^ in earlier philosophical writings, and is still, in common speech, employed in a somewhat looser sense for any kind of knowledge, at least, if it is apparently immediate, that is, if it does not seem to imply any very lengthy process for its attainment. In more recent times, however, it has come to be limited, in English philoso- phical literature, to the knowledge of an individual sensible object, this limitation having probably been brought about mainly by the influence of the Scottish School* The perception of an object, especially through the sense of sight, seems, to the ordinary co.isciousness, the most simple of cognitions, — the direct presentation of an object to the mind through the channels of sense. This cognition has, therefore, long withstood the efforts of psychological analysis; and an appeal against such efforts has been repeatedly made, even in recent philosophy, to the common sense, to the universal and * An interesting note by Sir William Hamilton on the history of this word will be found in his edition of Reid's Works, p. 876. »i I 122 Psychology. irresistible convictions of men * It will appear, however, on examination, that even the simplest act of perception implies both association and comparison, and therefore a combination of elements which are associated and com- pared. To make this evident, let us take a very simple perception by way of a general illustration. The percep- tion of the taste of an apple furnishes a good example. To an unscientific mind the perception will appear simply as the immediate cognition of an object revealed through the sense of taste. But the moment scientific analysis sets to work on the perception, it discloses a much more complicated composition. For it becomes at once evident that the sense of taste, by itself, is altogether incompetent to give even such a simple cog- nition, or indeed any other cognition whatever. Isolate the sense of taste from other sources of imformation, in order to find what it contributes to our knowledge ; and what is the result ? What are we conscious of in tasting? Merely of the sensation, — the mental phenomenon, — that we call a taste. But to understand the full purport of this, observe what it implies ; and what we are conscious of may perhaps be most fully brought to view by pointing out what we are not conscious of in tasting. I. We are not conscious, by taste alone, of any sapid property in a body, — of any property by reason of which it is capable of exciting a sensation of taste. It is necessary to bear this constantly in mind on account of the ambiguity in the word taste. Like the names of other sensations, such as smell, colour, sound, and heat, * See the Dissertation on the Philosophy of Common Sense, by Sir W. Hamilton, appended to his edition of Rciifs Works. Perception. 123 r, however, perception therefore a I and com- vcy simple 'he percep- 1 example, ill appear ct revealed scientific discloses a t becomes itself, is imple cog- r. Isolate mation, in sdgej and in tasting? )menon, — all purport It we are ht to view n tasting. ' any sapid 1 of which ;e. It is iccount of names of and heat, 'emcy by Sir > taste is used both for a sensation and for the external cause by which the sensation is produced. Now, we are immediately conscious of the sensation which we call a taste ', but what that is in a body, which excites the sensation, could never be discovered by any use of the sense of taste alone, — can be discovered only by those researches of the chemist, which call into play various other senses and faculties of intelligence. 2. We are not conscious, by taste alone, of any body at all. A body is a thing that occupies space, and resists our efforts to displace it from the space occupied ; but it need scarcely be said that neither space nor resistance can be tasted. 3. It follows from this that taste of itself gives us information, not even of our own body, nor — it is almost needless to add — of any organ in our body, through which we afterwards learn that the sensations of taste are received. If, then, in the mere act of tasting, our consciousness is limited to the sensation excited, it may be asked, how do we come to knoWy — to perceive anything by the sense of taste at all? To answer this question, we must understand all that a sensation involves. Now, it is true that, in its abstract indeterminateness, a sensation may be described as a purely subjective condition of mind. But as a concrete fact of mental iife, it is a fact of which we must be conscious ; and to say that we are conscious of it is merely another way of saying thnt it is an object known. The consciousnesb '^f a sensation may, indeed, take a variety of forms. The sensation may be such, that its pleasurable or painful character becomes pre- dominant j and then the consciousness appears as mere feeling. But the pleasure or pain felt may act as a stimulus to the will, and then a conscious volition is the I 124 Psychology. result. If, however, the pleasure or pain excited by a sensation is subordinate to the information communicated, the consciousness has risen to a cognitive act. It will, therefore, appear by and by, that sensations of absorbing intensity, however important in view of the contributions they make to the pleasures and pains of human life, are comparatively valueless for the purposes of human knowledge ; while nearly all our information about the world in which we live is based on sensations which, if not absolutely neutral in quality, are at least so faintly pleasurable or painful, that the consciousness, instead of being absorbed in our subjective condition, may con- template that condition with the same calm disinterested- ness as if it were an objective fact. The truth is that, in being conscious of a sensation, it becomes to us, not merely a snbjecthe state, but an object of knowledge. This objectification of sensations implies, of course, that we distinguish an object known from ourselves who know it. How those antithetical ideas of self and notself are originally formed, is a problem that must be reserved for subsequent discussion. At the present stage it need only be observed that, in some way or other, this distinction is rendered possible. Now, it is this distinction that constitutes the first step in the evolution of knowledge ; for I cannot be sair* to know until I am conscious of something that is not I, that is known by me. But whenever anything becomes to me an object, it may be brought into those combina- tions and comparisons which constitute all our cognitions in their various degrees of complexity. To these combinations and comparisons we now proceed ; but it should be observed that, even at this stage, an act of comparison has been performed; for the discrimination of self and notself is a consciousness of difference. Perception, 125 ited by a unicated, It will, absorbing ributions life, are human bout the which, if so faintly nstead of may con- iterested- isation, it \ but an sensations !ct known itithetical led, is a iscussion. 1 that, in possible. St step in : said to is not I, becomes :ombina- Dgnitions ^o these i ; but it , an act iiination e. Proceeding in the analysis of the simple perception with which we set out, — the perception of the taste of an apple, — we immediately detect further acts of comparison involved. To know this sensation as the taste of an apple, implies both a cognition of difference and a cognition of identity, — in fact, a twofold cognition of each. For, in the first place, I cannot know the sensation to be a taste, without distinguishing it from other sensations which are not tastes j nor, still further, can I know it to be the taste of an apple, without distinguishing it from tastes which are produced by other substances. We may leave out of consideration the case in which my perception may be more specially discriminative by my knowledge of the ^-fference between the tastes of varieties of apples. But, in the second place, I cannot know this sensation to be a taste, except by identifying it with similar sensation?, e und, others ner may be as percep- ms of spaccy ey are not al relations, f here and Sounds are [uality, but ensions of they may ley can be perceive 5n in the ation and 2d on the , the pro- intensity, inated — Dver, the 2C1.). different intensities become associated in experience with different relations in space. Accordingly, the intensity of a sound, after a certain length of association, forms a sign of the spatial relation with which it has been associated. There are two such relations which are thus made known — distance and direction. I. The association, which forms the perception of distance^ has been already mentioned. It is founded on the physical law, that the sound-waves in the atmosphere diminish in breadth, and therefore impinge with less force on the ear, the farther they have travelled. As a result of this, loudness becomes a common sign of proximity, faintness of distance. The association, indeed, is not absolutely invariable ; but it is uniform enough to make the suggestion of the fact signified by the intensity of a sound almost as instantaneous as an immediate intuition. In those instances in which the familiar association is interrupted, there is usually some collateral circumstance which prevents us from being deceived. In the case of thunder and artillery, for example, we have generally learnt, from the familiar character of the sounds, that there is not necessarily any connection between their loudness and the close proxi- n ity of their source ; on the other hand, the recognition of a sound as a whisper dissociates its faintness from the idea of distance. Still we are deceived often by the habit of this association, oftenest probably by a faint sound suggesting irresistibly a remote sonorous body. In fact, the art of the ventriloquist, apart from his histrionic power and his skill in mimicking various voices, aims at producing an illusory perception of hearing by imitation of the signs with which we have been accustomed to associate different distances. II. The perception of the direction of a sound, that is. 154 Psychology, of the situation of a sonorous body in refereiace to our own position in space, is also due to the discrimination of different intensities of sounds ; but it implies that we discriminate the intensities of the sensations in the two ears. The ear, which is nearest to a sonorous body, will receive its sound with greater force ; and from this fact we learn to recognise the direction in which the sound comes. Here, again, in mature intelligence the process becomes so rapid from long association, that we fail to analyse it in ordinary perceptions. But the process may yet be detected in two circumstances, (i.) When we are un- certain about the direction of a sound, as we must be if its cause is right above or beneath, right in front or behind, we keep tentatively altering the position of the head, till we satisfy ourselves by catching the sound more strongly on one ear. (2.) It is the experience of persons who have lost the sensibility of one ear, that they lose also, to a large extent, the power of perceiving the direc- tion of sounds. Still there is ground for believing that this perception has been exaggerated, so far as it is supposed to be in- dependent on any extraneous knowledge of the situation of audible bodies. When, for example, you are in a company of several persons, and are able to turn without hesitation to each whenever his voice is heard, your per- ception of the direction of the voice is, in all probability, to be ascribed mainly to your previous acquaintance with the peculiar tones of the various persons in the company, and with the various positions which they respectively occupy. Though it is common to consider geometrical relations alone, like distance and direction, among these percep- tions of hearing, yet sometimes physical properties also Perception. 155 are associated with sound, and thus perceived by its means. This is the case, for example, with the weight of bodies, which is apt to show a certain correspondence with the intensity of the sounds they produce. We thus distinguish easily the tread of an adult from the light footstep of a child, we detect at once the heavy foot of a man bearing a burden, and we can tell whether the vehicle wh'^'i we hear passing down the street is a loaded waggon oi an empty cart. Perceptions of this sort are, of course, peculiarly frequent and acute among the blind ; and their appreciation of minute differences in the intensity and pitch of sounds forms one of the chief guides in threading their way through crowded thorough- fares. (B) The value of the musical perceptions of the ear is evinced in the fact, that they form the basis at once of articulate speech and of the fine art of music. I. Articulate speech depends on the power of dis- criminating the musical properties of sound. This is evident from an examination of the vocal organ of man, as well as of the elementary sounds, whose combinations form his spoken language. 1. The organ of the human voice is, in the strictest sense, a musical instrument of the reed sort. The structures, which play the part of reeds, are the vocal cords, — two elastic ligaments, which are stretched acro«;s the upper part of the larynx, and are thrown into vibra- tion by the expired breath. In fact, in singing, the organ of the voice is used for strictly musical purposes. 2. The articulate sounds, produced by this organ, have from ancient times been divided into two classes, — consonants and vowels. {a) The consonants — literae consonantes — are not, indeed, independent sounds ; they can be sounded only 156 Psychology. along with the vowels. They are simply checks on the vowel sounds, produced by obstruction of the breath after it has issued from the larynx ; and the difference of the consonants depends on the point where the obstruc- tion is formed. Is the breath checked just as it leaves the larynx by a contraction at the top of the throat ? we have a guttural. Is it allowed to pass further, and arrested only by a pressure of the tongue against the teeth ? a dental is the result. Is it not stopped till we close the lips upon it? then they produce a labial. Now, although to the philologist tracing the modifications of a word, or to the elocutionist anxious about distinct articulation, the consonants form the most important constituents of speech, yet phonetically they are not essential. A word may be formed without a consonant, but not without a vowel. {h) The vowels — literae vocales — are independent sounds, formed by the current of breath being modified by the configuration of the mouth. A change in the configuration of the mouth forms it into a practically new instrument by giving it a different resonance ; that is to say, the mouth becomes thus tuned to a different key, and adapted to resound tones that are in harmony with it. The result is that with each new configuration of the mouth different overtones are brought into prominence ; and consequently the vowels are distinguished from one another by the quality of their tone. It is not necessary here to enter into details on this subject ; these will be found in Helmholtz's great work, which has been already mentioned.* Of course it must be borne in mind that the sounds of the voice are merely the raw formless materials of * Lehre von den Tonempfindungen, pp. 163-180. Perception 157 speech. That there is a strong animal instinct to us^ vocal sounds for the expression of mind is evinced in the inarticulate cries of beasts and the musical notes of birds. A very striking manifestation of this instinct is the fact that Laura Bridgman, who was blind and deaf almost from her birth, produces vocal sounds which she can feel merely as muscular sensations in the larynx, and that she associates these with different objects, animate and inanimate, in the same way as we associate words with such objects as their names or signs.* The raw materials — the mere sounds — of articulate speech can be reproduced even by many of the lower animals, like the parrot, which have a powerful instinct of mimicry ii. this direction. Put ^^he essential form of language — tb.i syntax or intelligent arrangement of articulate sounds — is never acquired by any of the lower animals. Syntax implies the connection of different thoughts as factors of a larger thought — the connection of different parts of speech as forming by their relation one organic whole. It is simply, therefore, a modification of that general action of intelligence which consists in association and comparison ; but as quite distinct from any perception of hearing, it does not require further consideration here. The perception of articulate sounds, though a more humble, is still an essential part of the faculty of speech ; and, humble though it be in comparison with the other, it involves a somewhat elaborate intellectual effort. The labour, accumulated in the effort, is disguised by the easy rapidity with which it is performed after long practice ; but it is partially revealed to any one who sets about educating his ear to follow a foreign speech. The * Mrs. Lamson's Life and Educalion of Laura Bridgman, ppt xvi.-xvii., 61-2, 84. wmmm 158 Psychology, first impression of a foreign tongue is an unintei . ible jabber ; and it is a significant philologiral fact, that in n-any languages the words used commonly to dtM >te a foreigner, like the Greek harbaros anri the Tcuionic wehch^ seem to have expressed ori^u.a ly tiie idea of lab! ling or talking inarticulately.* in fiact, not a few phenomena in language are to be !' J plained by the difficulty of catching distinctly the sou> ' of unfamiliar words. Occasionally, for example, when two words are commonly used together, the final consonant of the one coalesces with the beginning of the other, or the initial consonant of the latter is attracted to the termination of the preceding. Of the former phenomenon we have examples in a neivt for an eft, a nickname for an ekename ; of the other, examples occur in an adder for a nadder, uti orange for tin narange (Spanish naranja from the Arabic ndranj). Old manu- scripts, at a time when spelling was less an object of care, and printing had not made orthography familiar, show numerous examples of such confusion. Another common confusion occurs when a word imported from a foreign language resembles the sound of a word in the language into which it is introduced. The familiar word is then made to do duty for the unfamiliar, even though the two may have no connection in etymology or meaning. Of this there is a well known example in the vulgar corrup- tion of asparagus into sparrowgrass ; and numerous additional illustrations may be found in works on the science of language. II. The fine art of music is of course built up on the musical sensibility of the ear. It implies a power of See Renan, De torigine du langage, pp. 177-181. Perception. 159 perceiving both of the musical properties of tone, — thei-; pitch ar I their quality. 1. The perception of quality forms a considerable element of musical gratification ; and this property, as we have seen, depends on the overtones by which a tone is accompanied. Simple tones, like those of a tuning fork, which are nearly or altogether unmodified by overtones, being deficient in any pronounced quality, are felt to be weak, though agreeably soft, "^^hose tones, again, in which the lower overtones, up o 'out the sixth, are most prominent, such as the to ^s c piano or the open pipes of an organ, produc n. icher, grander clang; while those, in which the highf. overtones prevail, such as the tones of most ree -instruments, are harsh in quality, though valuable for oCxHe musical effects. The reason of this difference is, that the higher overtones form discords, the lower form concords, with the funda- mental tone. It appears, therefore, that th? appreciation of quality is akin to the appreciation of harmony ; and this is a subject which will be immediately discussed. 2. The perception of relative pitch may apply either to consecutive or to simultaneous tones. («) In the case of consecutive tones the succeeding tone must be such as to follow without violent shock upon the preceding. , This agreeable relation of successive tones is melody. To understand the nature of this relation, it must be borne in mind that, in a succession of tones, each preceding tone is apt to linger, if not in sense, certainly in memory, after the succeeding has been struck ; and therefore a marked discord between the two tones would be disagreeable. This would be the case at least with the emphatic notes of a melody j and it seems that, in those airs which have been the delight of a people for generations, the emphatic notes are related by simple i6o Psychology. and familiar concords. The nature, therefore, of a melodious succession of tones, like that of the quality of single tones, seems to point to the same source of auditory gratification, from which harmony derives its power. {b) We are thus brought to the consideration of Jiarmouy\ that is, the musical or agreeable relation of simultaneous tones. The complete explanation of harmony involves three problems, only one of which is strictly psychological. (a) From physics harmony demands an account of its physical cause. This cause must be some peculiarity in the combination of the atmospheric vibrations p o- ducing the various tones that form a harmony. It is evident that different sound-waves, having a certain raiio, will coincide at regular intervals, while ether combinations admit of no such coincidence. It is also evident that coincidences of this kind can be represented by the ratio between the numbers of the vibrations that produce the several tones of a harmony. A few of the more simple ratios are very obvious, and have long been familiar in music. Thus, when the vibrations of two tones stand in the ratio of 1:2, that is, when two tones at an interval of an octave are combined, each beat of the air producing the lower tone will coincide with every second beat producing the higher. A similar coincidence will also obviously result from such simple ratios as r : 3, 2 : 3, 1 : 4, etc. But it is unnecessary here to go into details, which belong to acoustics and the theory of music. (^) To physiology also a problem is offered by harmony, — the problem of explaining the peculiar organic action that is set up during an harmonious conbination of tones. Here we enter on a more obscure region, and must grope our way mainly by deduction from our general knowledge of the nature of nervous Perception. i6i action. It is commonly held that the effect of coincident atmospheric vibrations upon the auditory nerve is to pro- duce a continuous nerve-current, while a discordant combination excites a confused set of intermittent shocks. The pleasantness of the one effect, and the unpleasantness of the other, will be considered in the next Part of this Book, when we come to discuss the nature of pleasure and pain. (7) But the physical and physiological aspects of harmony are noticed here mainly to avoid confounding them with its psychological aspect. To the psychologist harmony is a phenomenon in consciousness. The consciousness here is very largely emotional, but it contains a cognitional factor as well. This factor appears, of course, most distinctly where it is most fully developed, — in the mind of a cultivated musician. To such the consciousness of harmony is a perception of some sort of coalescence between the combiriing tones, while in discord there is a consciousness that the tones will not coalesce. In its intellectual aspect discord may therefore be compared with the consciousness arising from the presentation or representation of objects, so numerous and so dissimilar, that the intellect is baffled in the effort to comprehend them in one cognitive act ; and in its emotional aspect, as may appear more clearly in the sequel, discord may be classed with the more general feelings of distraction or confusion. To prevent misunderstanding, it may be observed in passing, that of course there are other factors in music besides the perception of tone. There is, for example, the cognition of time, of which it need only be said here that the sense of hearing is a pretty fair measurer.* * Time in music is essentially connected with metre and rhythm l62 Psychology, There is also the resthetic consciousness, which is com- mon to music with the other fine arts. But the con- sciousness of time and of beauty opens up questions which can be discussed only at a later stage. It is scarcely necessary to insist on the intellectual rank of this sense, as it is obvious that sounds are among the most readily associated and the most distinctly compared of all sensations, (i.) Their associability, that is, their suggestiveness and suggestibility are strikingly illustrated in the familiar use of speech ; for the under- standing of language implies that sounds have the power of instantaneously suggesting thoughts, as speaking im- plies that thoughts have the power of instantaneously suggesting sounds, as well as the muscular adjustments requisite for producing them. (2.) The comparability of sounds is also remarkable. We have already seen that, in succession, they must reach the number of about forty in a second before they become fused into one tone ; and the power of a cultivated ear to discriminate minute differences of pitch or quality is often marvellous. The leader of a large orchestra can at once detect a false note, and turn to the offending instrument, while a tuner must recognise any variation, even to a small fraction of a tone, from the pitch which he is seeking to restore.* With this high intellectual quality sounds have natur- in versification, and the dependence of these on hearing is evinced by the fact that, while blind men have produced the most delicate charms of poetical structure, the annals of the deaf contain no great poets. See Kitto's The Lost Senses, pp. 140-4, where the author gives an interesting account of his own experience of deafness. * Observations seem to show that a practised ear can detect a difference of pitch, when it depends merely on a fraction of a vibration. Wundt's Physiologische Fsychologie, vol. i., p. 396 (second ed. ). r^*i Perception, 163 ally entered very extensively into the materials of poetic art. Their artistic value, however, is most prominently exhibited in music ; but as the effect of music is chiefly, if not exclusively, emotional, this subject must be re- served for the next Part. § 5. — Perceptions of Sight. It is by the agency of light, as we have seen, that the sense of sight receives its impressions ; and, conse- quently, by itself it can give us no information beyond what is involved in the sensations of light, — of pure light or of colour. But in mature life sight is the sense to which we commonly resort for most of our information regarding the external world, especially for such informa- tion as involves ideas of space, — the magnitude, figure, distance, and direction of bodies. There is, therefore, a more uniform association of these ideas with visual sen- sations than with the sensations of any other sense. The association will be shown to be, in some instances, practically invariable, and therefore irresistibly and in- stantaneously suggestive. On this account, while it was comparatively easy to dissociate ideas of space from other sensations, it has been found more difficult to do so in the case of sight. Even in recent limes attempts have been made to show that the unaided sight is capable of perceiving space, if not in all dimensions, at least in length and breadth. It is, therefore, advisable to adduce the evidence, on which it is now generally admitted that the eye, of itself, has no such perception. (A) We shall take first the cri?e of plane erJension. This perception need not detain us long. It m iy be a question whether an indefinite consciousness oi extension Hi 164 Psychology. is not involved in the consciousness of light and colour : that is a problem which depends on the ultimate analysis of the idea of space. But whatever may be the solution of this problem, it is certain that definite extension in length and breadth can never be actually perceived by sight alone. Take, for illustration, one form of plane extension, the magnitude of a body, that is, the extent which it covers on the field of vision. It is a fact familiar even to the child, that to sight a body appears smaller or larger in proportion to its distance, and that therefore the illusions of visible magnitude have to be corrected by reference to other standards of measure- ment. Consequently, the experience of persons borri blind, and afterwards restored to sight, — an experience of which a more explicit account will presently be given, — tends to show that at first they could form no definite notion regarding the magnitude of bodies from their visible appearance. Thus the patient of Dr. Franz could not understand the significance of perspective ; it seemed to him unnatural that the figure of a man in the fore- ground of a picture should be larger than that of a house or a mountain in the background. It is a singular circumstance, which it is difficult to ex- plain, but which is conclusive on the point under consideration, that both Franz's and Cheselden's patients, after the restoration of sight, saw for a time objects magnified, especially when in motion.* * This fact recalls a well-known trait ot the narrative in Mark's Gospel, viii., 24. The case of Cheselden's patient was compli- cated by the curious fact, that one eye was cured before the other, and gave rise to this illusion. When the second eye was cured, objects appeared to it larger than to the first cured eye, though not so large as they had appeared to this eye immediately after its cure. I have discussed the jDroblcin of this magnification in a short Perception. i6s From the same cause the variations in the apparent size of a body which form such a familiar fact to those endowed with sight, are unimaginable by the congenitally blind; and thus Cheselden's patient could not under- stand how his mother could have a portrait of his father in her watch-case, which seemed to him as impossible as putting a bushel into a pint-measure. A similar inability is experienced in regard to the perception of figure, which is merely the outline of the extent covered by a body on the field of vision. Except in the case of a few objects with very simple outline, such as a sphere, the visible figure of a body varies with the point of view from which it is seen. Consequently, persons born blind, after being restored to sight, are unable for some time to distinguish by their visible appearance, even objects that are very different in form, and are obliged to have recourse to the familiar sensa- tions of touch and muscular sensibility. Thus Cheselden tells of his patient, that " he knew not the shape of any- thing, nor any one thing from ano";her, however different in shape or magnitude ; but upon being told what thi^'igs were, whose form he before knew from feeling, he would carefully observe that he might know them again ; but having too many objects to learn at once, he forgot many of them; and (as he said) at first learned to know, and again forgot a thousand things in a day. One particular only (though it may appear trifling) I will relate : Having often forgot which was the cat, and which the dog, he was ashamed to ask; catching the cat (which he knew by feeling), he was observed to look at her stedfastly, and then setting her monograph in the Transactions of the Royal Society of Canada for 1883. i66 Psychology. \ down, said, * So, puss ! I shall know you another time.' " It may be added that Dr. Franz's patient was at first perplexed over the visible appearance of even simple geo- metrical figures, though he had made some progress in the study of geometry before his recovery of sight. These facts make it evident that the visual perception of any definite plane extension is not an immediate and original intuition of the mind through the sense of sight, but must be explained as the result of a mental process. (B) The same conclusion, however, is still more evident in the case of solid extension, which implies the third dimension of space, — depth, or distance from the eye. I. The impossibility of seeing this dimension may, in fact, be said to be indicated by the very nature of vision. 1. To use a phrase of Berkeley's, distance is a line turned endwise to the eye. It is, therefore, only its end, not its length, that we see. Our condition may be illustrated by reference to a similar condition in the sense of touch. Were the end of a wire brought into contact with the hand of a person blind or blindfold, could he tell its length ? It might be but a short knitting-needle ; it might be an Atlantic cable : the touch of the end would indicate no difference of length. So a ray of light may come from a neighbouring gas-lamp or from a star count- less millions of miles away ; it is merely the termination of the ray that strikes the eye. 2. All parts of a scene, however near some, however remote others may be, are presented on the retina at the same elevation, precisely as they would be represented on canvas by a painter. There is, therefore, nothing in the structure or action of the eyes to indicate various distances. II. But it may be urged that such a priori arguments Perception. 167 are unsatisfactory, unless they are confirmed by facts. Indeed, however extraordinary it may appear in the face of these arguments, it will be shown in the sequel that, as far as can be judged from careful experiments on new- born animals of some species, these form accurate visual perceptions of distance and direction without requiring to go through any process of learning. But whatever explanation may be given of these observations on other animals, the experience of human life does not allow us to endow man with any such instinctive cognition. To prove this the most conclusive evidence is that of infants, though it cannot be obtained by direct testimony, but must be gathered from iheir actions. It has long been familiar to mothers and nurses that children require some weeks' experience before they learn to notice things. The meaningless gaze of an infant, even when striking objects, like a lamp, are passed before his eyes, has long been regarded as showing that he is incompe- tent at first to interpret his visual sensations. But for- tunately we are not left to the vague impressions of un- methodical observers ; for within the last few years the mental developmeiit of infancy has been made the sub- ject of numerous observations, conducted with the minute accuracy and precaution characteristic of modern science. From a large number of observations, directed specially to the development of visual perception, it appears that the child requires some weeks, or even months, to master the adjustments of the ocular muscles necessary to form a distinct retinal image, and that it is long after this power has been acquired before he can perceive by sight an inequality in the distance of objects.* * Die Seele des Kindes, by Dr. Preyer (Leipzig, 1881), pp. 35-41. See especially the summary on p. 39. This work may be recom- It 1 68 Psychology. This result of the observations made on infant life is happily confirmed in the most unequivocal manner by the experience of persons in maturer years who ha\3 been born blind, but afterwards restored to sight. A number of such cases have been recorded ; but probably the most important, certainly the most accessible to an English reader, are those of which the reports are pre- served in the Philosophical Transactions. * . A selection of one or two passages from the first and the last of these reports will sufficiently indicate the conclusion to which they point. I. The earliest case, and the one most frequently cited, is that of a lad born with a cataract of an unusually- opaque quality. He was about fourteen years of age when the cataract was removed by Cheselden. The re- port of this case has been already cited in connection mended as the latest, and probably the most complete, treatise on the infant-mind. Earlier works are mentioned by Wunc't, Grund- ziige der Physiologischen Psychologies Vol. ii., p. 218, note i, (2nd ed). The work of M. Perez on The First Three Years of Child- hood, though earlier than that of Dr. Preyer, has recently (1885) appeared in an English translation. * The cases are these : — (i) Cheseldeu's, 1728 ; (2) Ware's, 1801, where there is reference to another (p. 389) ; (3) and (4) Home's two cases, which are of minor psychological interest, 1807 ; (5) "Wardrope's, 1826 ; (6) Franz's, 184.1. Another case is described in Nunneley's Organs of Visions (1838). p. 31. Additional cases are referred to by Helmholtz, Physiologische Optik, Vol. ii., p. 178 (2nd ed. ) ; by Preyer, Die Seek des Kindes, p. 404. In making psycho- logical inferences from the data of these cases, it should never be forgotten that the patients were but imperfectly blind, all being able to perceive the difference of light and shade, and therefore the presence of objects before the eyes, while some could even vaguely distinguish colours. It should also be borne in mind, that the patients had al- reached a somewhat nivxture notion of space by the us. ii the Other senses, if not also by their imperfect vision. Perception. 169 the the with the perception of plane extension. The following statements may now be adduced to show that the percep- tion of the third dimension of space through the newly recovered sense had to be gradually acquired : — " When he first saw, he was so far from making any judgment about distances, that he thought all objects whatever touched his eyes (as he expressed it), as what he felt did his skin. . . . We thought he soon knew what pictures represented which were showed to him, but we found afterwards we were mistaken ; for about two months after he was couched, he discovered at once that they represented solid bodies, when, to that time, he con- sidered them only as parti-coloured plains, or surfaces diversified wiih variety of paints ; but even then he was no less surprised, expecting the pictures would feel like the things they represented, and was amazed when he found those parts, which by their light and shadow ap- peared now round and uneven, felt only flat like the rest ; and asked which was the lying sense, feeling or seeing." 2. Th'^ other case to be cited is one in which superior accuracy seems to have been observed in making rnd reporting experiments. The patiei was a young man, practically blind from birth, of g; i intelligence, well educated, and acquainted especi.my with geometrical figures. He was about eighteen } rs of age at the time of his cure. The report of the ase was in after-life declared by the patient himt i to be substantially correct.* After relating a number of interesting experi- ments, the report goes on : — *' When the patient first acquired the faculty of sight, all objects appeared to him so near, that he was sometimes afraid of coming in con- KSt * See a lettor of Mr. MahafFy's in th« Aihenceum for January 22nd, 1 88 1, where there is an interesting notice of the patient. i 170 Psychology. tact with them, though they were in reality at a great distance from him. . . . If he wished to form an estimate of the distance of objects from his own person, or of two objects from each other, without moving from his place, he examined the objects from different points of view by turning his head to the right and to the left. Of perspective in pictures he had of course no idea ; he could distinguish the individual objects in a painting, but could not understand the meaning of the whole picture. . . . All objects appeared to him perfectly flat ; thus, although he very well knew by his touch that the nose was prominent, and the eyes sunk deeper in the head, he saw the human face only as a plane. . . . E.'en though he could see both near and remote objects very well, he would nevertheless continually have recourse to the use of the sense of touch."* It thus appears that the visual perception both of solid and of plane extension is gradually acquired \ and there- fore it is a problem for the ps5'chologist to explain the process of acquisition. It will be convenient in this ex- planation to separate the two modes of extension. i. Extension in Depth, Here tliere are two conditions of perception so diJerent that it is necessary to consider them apart. The one in- volves the use of both eyes ; the other does not. (A) Binocular vision affects the perception of depth only when objects are at no great distance ; for then the eyes must be turned in to see an object, and turned in the more, the nearer the object is. This will be evident * Phil. Trani. for i84i, p. 66. Perception, 171 from the accompanying diagram, in which E E represent the eyes, and Oi an object near, O2 an object more remote. Technically this fact is expressed by saying that the angle formed by the optic axes varies inversely as the distance. Consequently, since that angle dimin- ishes with mcreasing distance, it is obvious that, when an object is ver'- remote, th<- optic axes must be nearly parallel. This produces tvo effects on our sensibility, which are of great significance in the perception of depth in space — one a muscular sensation arising from the ad- justment of the optic axes, the other a visual sensation determined by the different points of view from which the two eyes look at a near object. I. It has been already mentioned that the eyes are supplied with an elaborate muscular apparatus, enabling them to move in every direction. The muscular sensi- bility is of course excited in the movement of the eyes, as they ar?i turned inwards or outwards to see objects near or more remote ; and the muscular sensations, thus invariably produced in adjusting the eyes to different distances, become uniformly associated with the different distances for which they are required. The result is that the distance associated with any particular adjust- ment of the eyes, is suggested irresistibly and instan- taneously, appearing in consciousness as if it were im- mediately perceived. This is no mere hypothetical explanation of the per- 172 Psychology. ception of distance. It can be verified by the most satisfactory evidence. It is possible to alter the adjust- ment of the optic axes at pleasure without altering the real position of objects within the range of vision. We cin thus observe the effect of this muscular adjustment without reference to any effect that might be produced by an alteration of the distance of objects. If there is an object before the eyes, and they are directed to a point in front of it or behind it, in the former case it ap- pears to approach, in the latter to '•ccede ; and the suggestion of the appropriate distance is so irresistible, that one yields to it, even when it is known to be an illusion. II. The other guide to the perception of relative dis- tances is a fact of visual sensation — the dissimilarity of the retinal images of an object. It must be evident, from the foregoing diagram, that this dissimilarity, like the angle formed by the optic axes, varies inversely as the distance of the object seen ; in other words, the difference between the pictures formed on the two retinae increases as the object approaches the eyes. Another invariable association is thus formed, resulting in an irre- sistible and instantaneous suggestion. Here, again, the process, by which the perception is formed, admits of complete verification both by positive and by negative evidence. I. The appearance of depth in space — of solidity — may be artificially produced by imitating this natural sign. The stereoscopist takes two pictures of an object from the two different points of view from which it would naturally be seen by the eyes ; and when these are ad- justed so that each eye sees only the picture intended for it, the object stands out with all the appearance of solid extension which it possesses in reality. Perception. 173 2. But this explanation is more powerfully confirmed by the negative fact, that the appearance of solid exten- sion is not produced when a near object is seen with both eyes, if the images on both are identical. Thus two solid bodies, placed near vX hand in such a position as to produce the same picture on both retince, appear plane. But a more familiar illustration is found in the fact, that no painting, however skilful its imitation of nature may be, ever produces the stereoscopic appear- ance, when seen near at hand with both eyes. The reason is, that, if the object or scene represented were really before us, it would produce a different image on each eye, whereas the picture produces two images that are identical.* An objection may perhaps, in some minds, be urged against this analysis on the ground that we do not see the two alleged pictures, but merely one object. In reply to this it is necessary only to point out, that we do see, and can at pleasure attend to the two retinal pictures. This may be made evident in various ways. We may, for example, by closing either eye, see the retinal pirHires separately, when we shall find that the one eye sees more of the right, the other more of the left of an object. Or, again, we may direct the two eyes to different points of an object, and by this the spell of uniform association is broken. This may be done by holding an object before you, and directing your eyes to some point beyond it ; or * This was discovered, nearly four centuries ago, \fj the genius of Leonardo da Vinci. See his Treatise on Painting (translated Ijy Rigaud), p. 57. But the significance of the discovery remained unrecognised, till it was taken up and developed by Sir Charles Wheatstone in a celebrated paper on Binocular Vision, in the Philosophical Transactions for 1838, reprinte 1 in his Scientific Papers (1879), p. 225. 174 Psychology. if you cannot readily control the movement of the eyes by voluntary effort, you may by the application of a finger, push one eyeball out of the direction, to which it would naturally adjust itself. In either case the two retinal pictures will be at once apparent.* But when the natural adjustment of the eyes is not interfered with, the presence of two dissimilar pictures on the retinae is invariably associated with the idea of a single solid body at a certain distance. It is infinitely more important that the mind should dwell upon the fact associated with the two pictures than upon the pic- tures themselves; and there is, therefore, nothing to check the suggestion of that fact. The two pictures, accord- ingly, seem to coalesce. In strict language, of course, they do not coalesce at all ; they simply suggest irrciictibly and instantaneously the presence of a single Gb;ec% and they are not themselves noticed in the in:tanlaneousness of the suggestion. (B) The binocular vision of near objects, however, is itself materially assisted by various data, upon which the * This might be illustrated further by some curious facts con- nected with squinting ; but these are somewhat complicated, owing to the various causes to which this maladjustment of the eyes is due, as well as the peculiar habits of different patients. The student is therefore referred for details to Helmholtz's Physiologische OpHk, pp., 699-701. Reid's Inquiry (Chapter vi., § 16) is not un- worthy of reading still. The phenomenon of double vision may be compared with the double touch referred to above (p. 147) ; and a still closer analogue is found in the somewhat unfamiliar phenomenon of double hearing, which, I am led to believe, is due to one ear being less quick in its sensibility than the other. By the way, is it this cause of double vision that is noticed in A Mid- summer Night'' s Dream^ Act iv., Scene i. ? " Methinks I see these things with parted eye, When everything seems double." I — ■ Perception. 175 mind is obliged to depend entirely when no advantage can be derived from the use of two eyes. In looking at remote objects the axes of the eyes are virtually parallel, and the images on the retinae virtually identical ; so that, in perceiving distance, we are limited to signs which do not depend on the inclination of the optic axes, — signs which are indispensable also in monocular vision. I. Probably the most important of these signs is the visible or retinal magnitude, that is, the size of the retinal image. This, as even the child knows, varies inversely as the distance ; and an uniform association is thus formed, with the usual result upon suggestion. This result may be artificially produced by varying the retinal magnitude without really altering the distance of an object. Such, in fact, is the artifice adopted for bringing remote objecli within the range of distinct vision. By applying the laws of optics an instrument, — the tele- scope, — is constructed, which magnifies the retinal image of remote objects, and reduces in proportion their apparent distance. Thus a telescope, magnifying ten times, gives you a retinal image of the same size as if the object were ten times nearer ; and the mind, instead of dwelling on the magnified image, rushes rather to the fact of increased nearness, which is commonly associated with such increase of visible magnitude. The visible magnitude by itself, l.owever, cannot tell the distance of an object. It is true, if an object is varying in apparent size, it may be known to be ap- proaching or receding, as when a distant sail grows larger or smaller while we gaze on it. But to know the specific distance of a body from its visible size, we must have an idea of its size from some other source — from some other sense — besides sight. This requirement, however, is rio serious inconvenience, as we have formed independent IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A ^ 1.0 1.1 liilM |25 ■*> Itt 12.2 lit L25 Hu M iy4i 1.6 ^ V Fhotogrsqjiic ScMices Corporation 23 WKT MAM STRMT WltSTM.N.Y. I4SM (71«)I73-4S03 h. ■ ^ ^ 3>^ 176 Psychology. it ' ideas of size with regard to all the familiar objects of daily experience. II. Another help to the visual perception of depth in space is the distribution of light and shade. On a plane surface light falls equally ; it is interrupted and falls un- equally on a solid or a number of solids making up a scene. The unequal distribution of light and shade, therefore, becomes suggestive of the solid extension, to which it is due. The following facts may be noticed in illustration. 1. A skilful picture, seen with one eye, especially if isolated by a tube, produces the stereoscopic appearance, because the conditions of natural vision are, in one way, thus fulfilled. 2. For binocular vision solidity is easily imitated, provided the imitation be kept at a sufficient distance from the eyes. On lofty cornices or ceilings the appear- ance of bas-relief may be produced, though it should never be attempted in the imitation of pillars, which descend to the floor, and can therefore be approached by spectators. On this principle, also, are founded the popular exhibitions known as dioramas, in which pictures of life-size are exhibited on a stage at a sufficient distance from the spectators to fulfil the requirements of natural vision. It is said that in these exhibitions the illusion of reality is at times so irresistible as to have completely overcome some of the spectators. 3. An interesting experiment may be added. The visible difference between concavity and convexity con- sists in the fact, that in the former the shadow is on the side from which the light comes, in the latter on the opposite side. To determine, therefore, whether an object is concave or convex, we must know the side from which the light comes ; and if that be unknown, an ■ 1 \ Perception, 177 on the on the ler an le from m. an object may appear either concave or convex, sometimes at will. For this reason also a concavity, seen through an inverting telescope, appears convex; a convexity, concave. A curious illusion of this sort is mentioned by Sir David Brewster. One day, as he was walking with a lady on the sea-shore at St. Andrews, the footmarks and other indentations in the sand appeared to both to be raised. He explained this appearance by the fact, that, though the sunlight was on the right, yet on the left there was a bright fringe of white surf, which seems to have momentarily simulated the light that caused the shadows.* III. A third sign of distance in space is the comparative sharpness or vagueness of outline, and brilliance or dull- ness of colour, with which objects are seen. These features in the visible appearance of objects depend on the interference of the atmosphere with the rays of light ; and they vary, therefore, with the state of the atmosphere. The result is that, in an unusually clear atmosphere, bodies are apt to appear nearer, in a dull atmosphere farther off, than they really are. Accordingly, people accustomed to a humid climate find that, in a dry climate, they are often deceived by an illusory appear- ance of nearness. The same principle explains why it is that, in pictures, objects in the background must be sketched with less definite outline, and their colouring toned down, else they would simply appear to be small without being remote. IV. The number of intervening objects also assists in the perception of distance, these being usually more numerous in proportion to the remoteness of the body seen. This explains the difficulty, especially for a lands- * On the Stereoscope, Chap. 16. M 178 Psychology. \\ man, of estimating distance at sea ; and a similar difficulty is also experienced by an unpractised eye on the prairies of the West or the vast desert plains of the East. V. An additional assistance in this perception is derived from a somewhat obscure muscular sensation connected with the adjustment of the ocular focus. The distance of the focus behind a lens varies inversely as the distance of the object in front. In order to distinct vision it is necessary that the focus of the lens in the eye should fall exactly on the retina; and consequently it must be variously adjusted in accordance with the varying dis- tances of objects. The process of adjustment long formed a subject of dispute among physiologists ; but it is now generally ascribed to an increase in the convexity of the lens by the pressure of the ciliary muscle. This will explain why we feel a painful strain when an object is brought too close to the eye. VI. As a guide by which we are frequently, if not al- ways, directed in the perception of distance, may be mentioned the motion of objects across the field of vision. As the most of objects are stationary, their apparent motion is generally due to ourselves — to the movement of the whole body, or a turn of the head, or simply a sweep of the eye. In the apparent motion thus produced, the nearer objects are, the more rapidly do they flash across the field of vision, while they approach the appearance of being stationary in proportion to their remoteness. Such a very obtrusive phenomenon cannot be without "ts effect on our ordinary consciousness ; and, especially in a complicated scene, like a forest, it will be found that the idea of relative distances, obtained from a fixed gaze, is extremely indefinite when compared with that which is acquired by a series of glances that sweep the scene. This is confirmed by the experience of Dr. Perception. 179 Franz's patient. "If," it is said in a passage already cited, " he wished to form an estimate of the distance of objects from his person, or of two objects from each other, without moving from his place, he examined the objects from different points of view by turning his head to the right and to the left." An additional illustration will be found immediately below in an illusion produced by the rapid flash of objects across the field of vision in railway-travelling. ii. Plane Extension. The chief perceptions, involving merely plane exten- sion, are those of magnitude and situation. (A) The visual perception of the magnitude of a body is based on its retinal magnitude combined with any of the signs of distance. The retinal magnitude, as we have seen, varies with distance ; and cannot, therefore, by itself signify real magnitude. It is for this reason that, in the illustration of objects whose size is unknown, the artist adopts the expedient of placing alongside for com- parison some familiar object, such as a human figure. Consequently in order to judge of the real magnitude of an object by sight, its distance must be taken into con- sideration along with its visible magnitude. From this •it follows that any cause, which affects our judgment of distance, will affect equally our judgment of size. If an object appears nearer than it really is, inasmuch as its real distance makes its retinal image comparatively small, it cannot but appear to be also of comparatively diminutive size; while, on the other hand, as a near object forms a comparatively large image on the retina, 't must to appearance enlarge in its dimensions, if there is anything to make it seem farther off than it is in reality. i8o Psychology. Among the more familiar facts illustrative of this may be mentioned the well-known illusions of magnitude pro- duced by the comparative clearness or obscurity of the atmosphere. Objects seen through a fog, or even at night, whether by starlight or moonlight, always loom in vaster proportions, because, while they seem at an obscure distance, they yet produce a retinal image of undiminished magnitude. This phenomenon is so familiar that it is frequently alluded to in literature. Thus Tennyson speaks of ♦• Towers, that, larger than themselves In their own darkness, thronged into the moon." But more beautifully Sir Bedivere is pictured in Morte d* Arthur: — " But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked. Larger than human on the frozen hills. " Again, the presence or absence of intervening objects, as it influences our perception of distance, modifies also our judgment of magnitude. Thus to a landsman's eye at sea distant bodies seem unusually small, because, owing to the absence of intervening objects, they seem nearer than they really are. Probably it is for this reason also that objects at the foot of a perpendicular height, when seen from the top, appear of diminished size.* On the other hand, it has long been observed that the moon on the horizon looks as if it were of larger diameter than when it has risen high into the heavens. The difference, indeed, seems to depend, in some measure, on the state * A fine illustration of this effect is the imaginary description of the view from the cliffs of Dover in King Lear, Act iv., Scene 6. Perception. i8i of the atmosphere ; * but it disappears to a large extent, if the horizontal moon is viewed through a tube which cuts off intervening objects. Another illusion may be mentioned here, as experi- enced by some persons in railway travelling, t While a train is moving at the ordinary rate of railway speed, objects in the vicinity scud across the traveller's field of vision with a rapidity altogether unusual, and are apt on that account to appear nearer than they are in reality. But this produces necessarily also an apparent diminu- tion in size. To complete the explanation of the perception of magnitude, it ought to be added that, in the case of vaster objects, the perception is aided by the muscular sweep of the eyes or of the head, or even by pacing the ground. The latter alternative, however, introduces us to the artificial metliods of measuring space, which are distinct from the estimates of natural vision. (B) In speaking of the relative situations of different objects on the field of vision, we implicitly include the relative situations of different parts of the same object ; and these relative situations constitute its visible figure. Situation, in this comprehensive sense, is perceived by data that are partly visual, and partly muscular. I. The primary datum is visual ; it is the fact that the portion of the retina affected by the light which a body radiates has an uniform correspondence with the position of the body in space. By invariable experience we learn that the position of a body is precisely opposite to the portion of the retina on which its light falls ; in other words, by its essential structure the eye forms an inverted • Helmholtz, Physiologische Optik^ pp. 630 — I. t Ibid.^ p. 635. 1 82 Psychology. image of every object, of the whole visible world. It seems to have been a puzzling problem to many minds, that, with an inverted image of objects on the retina, we should still see them erect. But the puzzle dissolves at once if we bear in mind that the retinal image is not perceived by us, but is merely a sign suggestive of certain spatial relations. The suggestion, however, is governed, as in all other cases, by the laws of association. Now, in everyday experience we associate an impression on the right side of the retina, not with an object to the right, but with an object to the left ; and a similar asso- ciation is formed in the case of all other positions. Consequently all the associations of ordinary life suggest positions for objects the very reverse of those parts of the retina, on which visua^ sensations are felt. Instead, therefore, of its being unintelligible that we should see objects erect by means of an inverted retinal image, it would be wholly unnatural, — it would imply a reversal of all the usual associations of life, — to see ob- jects in any other positions than those in which they appear. Occasionally, indeed, new associations are formed, and it is surprising how rapidly perception adapts itself to them. The microscopist soon learns to move his object " instinctively " in the right direction ; and in civilized life all persons acquire, at an early age, the faculty of dressing before a mirror, guided by an image in which right and left change their natural posi- tions. But that such dexterities are acquired by a more or less gradual process, may be perhaps rendered more evident to those who have forgotten the process of ac- quisition, by recalling the awkwardness of any unusual association, such as the first attempt to use a razor or a pair of scissors under the guidance of an image in a mirror. ' Perception. 183 II. It has been already observed that the perception of distance is very materially assisted by the motion of the eyes. An equal value must be attached to their motion in the perception of situation. This can be tested in ordinary experience by comparing the vague result of a fixed gaze on a scene, where the relative positions of objects a'-e not otherwise known, with the distinct idea obtained from a series of shifting glances. It thus appears that this perception is aided by the association established in daily experience between the external position of an object and the muscular feeling of ad- justing the eyes to look at it. This statement finds an interesting confirmation in the results that are sometimes observed to follow from paralysis of the ocular muscles. Cases are mentioned, in which the rectus externus^ — the muscle that pulls the eye horizontally outwards, — has been paralysed by a sudden injury. The patient, how- ever, will continue making ineffectual efforts to move the eye in the direction in which it was wont to be drawn by the paralysed muscle. There is, therefore, excited in consciousness a feeling of effort, though it is followed by no overt movement ; that is to say, the patient feels as if he were looking in a different direction, while the scene represented on the retina remains unchanged. By an irresistible suggestion, therefore, the whole scene appears to shift in the direction which has been uniformly associated in his mind with the felt effort of adjusting the eye.* It remains to be added that the direction in which we are looking depends on the adjustment, not only of the eyes, but also of the head, and that therefore the mus- * Wundt, Grundziige der Physiologischen Psychologic^ Vol. ii., p. 91 (2nd ed.) 1 84 Psychology. cular feeling connected with this adjustment forms a factor in the perception of situation. Concluding Observations. There are a few points connected with visual perception, which could not so conveniently be introduced into the above exposition, and may therefore be now noticed at the close. I. The perceptions, whose acquisition has just been explained, seem to be congenital in some of the lower animals ; and this fact has sometimes appeared to militate against the theory that they are not possessed at birth, but must be gradually formed, by man. Attempts have been made to question the correctness of the usual interpretation put upon the actions of those young animals that seem to direct their movements by sight almost from the very moment of birth. With regard to some of these animals, certainly, observations have yet to be made with sufficient care to show that their first movements might not be directed with equal accuracy by extraordinary acuteness of smell and muscular feeling. But the experiments of Mr. Douglas A. Spalding have apparently placed it beyond doubt, that the chick of the domestic hen, as well as the young of some other birds, are able to perceive by sight all dimensions of space as soon as they are fairly out of the shell.* The explanation of this congenital perception belongs to Animal Psycho- logy. It forms, in fact, a part of the general problem of instinct. But, even if the perception is admitted to be instinctive in some of the lower animals, the admission would simply accord with the obvious fact, that several powers, which are instincts in other animals, must be slowly acquired by man. * These experiments are related by Mr. Spalding with interesting detail in an article on Instinct in Macmillan^s Magazine for February, 1873. * Perception. 185 ' II. It is impossible to over-estimate the extent or the value of those ideas which we receive through the sense of sight, and difficult, therefore, to describe the mental condition of a man born blind. To interrogate such a person philosophically would throw light on many an obscure problem, and has therefore been justly described by Diderot, as "an occupation worthy of the united talents of Newton and Descartes, of Locke and Leibnitz."* The chief difficulty of such an investigation is the fact that the blind must use the language of other men. Now, as a very large proportion of our ideas are derived from the sense of sight, a very large proportion also of the words that we employ can find their full interpretation only in visual ideas. Accordingly we are apt to be misled by the blind man's employment of our language, and to take for granted that he attaches to that language the same meaning as ourselves. But notwith- standing this difficulty, the following facts are obvious. I. The fundamental deficiency of the congenitally blind consists, of course, in their inability to feel^ and therefore to imagine^ light or colour. At times, indeed, they hit upon happy expressions to describe differences of colour in certain aspects. Such is the well-known description of red as being " like the sound of a trumpet," ascribed to a blind man by Locke. So also the blind Dr. Moyes remarked that red gave him a disagreeable sensation like the touch of a saw, and that the other colours decreased in harshness towards green, which gave him an idea like that of passing the hand over a polished surface, t It is obviously natural that the blind should *D. Stewart's Works, Vol. iv., p. 304, (Hamilton's ed.). t See above, pp. 151-2. An interesting analogue to these compari- sons is found in the experience of a deaf man, to whom the sound 1 86 Psychology. form their conception of colours, either from sounds or from touches or from both, as these are the most important sensations left to them. But all such com- parisons bring out, only the more clearly, the insuperable defect in the physical sensibility of the blind. They point to the analogy between colours and other sensations in certain general characteristics of all feeling ; they do not express the special characteristic of colour : they describe wherein the sensations of colour resemble, not wherein they differ from, other sensations. 2. As a result of this defective sensibility there is a corresponding defect in the power of perception. Body, as body, — as extended, — the blind perceive only through the tactile and muscular senses ; and though they can recognise the existence of objects at a distance from the organism by an instrument in the hand, by sound, or even by smell, yet they are unable to comprehend an agent which can bring within the ken of sense bodies that are millions of miles away, so that their mechanical and other properties may be made the object of scientific investigation. This inability is strikingly indicated by several attempts, made by blind men, to describe visual perception. Thus M. du Puiseaux, the blind son of a Professor of Philosophy at the University of Paris, is said to have remarked : — " The eye is an organ on which the air* should have the same effect as my stick on my of a trumpet seemed like yellow, of a drum like red, of an organ like green, etc. (Maudsley's Physiology of the Mind, p. 93, note). * He has no conception of light, merely of a substance which can be felt by contact. It may be interesting to compare the case of Massieu, who was stone-deaf from birth, and who, in trying to conceive sound, imagined that persons hearing **saw with their ears" when they could not see with their eyes, as, for example, by night. Kitto's The Lost Senses, p. 158, (Am. ed.). : Perception, 187 hand," — that is, a kind of touch. When asked if he would not like to be restored to sight, it is not, therefore, surprising that he should have replied : — " If it were not for curiosity, I would rather have long arms : it seems to me that my hands would teach me better what is passing in the moon than your eyes or telescopes ; and, besides, the eyes cease to see sooner than the hands to touch. It would, therefore, be as well to improve the organ I have as to give me the one I want."* We have seen that an extension of touch is obtained by the use of instruments ; and this distant contact seems to have afforded to the blind poet. Dr. Blacklock, an approximate conception of vision, though still only a conception of touch. He states that, when awake, he could distinguish men only in three ways, viz., by their voices, by feeling their heads and shoulders, by listening to the sound and manner of their breathing. But he adds that in dreams, he had a distinct impression of objects in a different way, — in the way of a distant con- tact effected by threads between himself and them.f As illustrating further the mental condition of the congenitally blind man, it may be added that, even after recovering sight, he takes some time to acquire the power of imagining visual perceptions, that is, a visible space that is not actually present. Thus it is related of Cheselden's patient, that at first he was " never able to imagine any lines beyond the bounds he saw j the room he was in he said he knew to be but part of the house, yet he could not conceive that the whole house could look bigger." * Quarterly Review for October, 1865. + Abercrombie's Intellectual Powers, p. 220, i88 ■;-v 1 ' ' 1 i "*•'«_. *%^/' i Psychology. % 6. — Muscular Perceptions. Theie is only one of the general senses that is of very great value in furnishing, materials of cognition, and that is the muscular sense. Accordingly, in quitting the per- ceptions of the special senses we shall confine our atten- tion to muscular perceptions. The muscular sensations, from which most perceptions are derived, are those of a dead strain, or of slow move- ment. The sensations of rapid movement are generally too exciting to admit of being calmly examined, and used as materials of knowledge j while, even in the case of a dead strain, the strain must be moderate, as an excessive strain is apt to deaden the sensibility. I. The first and fundamental perception of this sense is that of the degree of muscular effort put forth. The sensations of muscular effort may, of course, be associated and compared like others ; and the readiness of suggestion, as well as the acuteness of discrimination, thus originated, are marveHous. It is upon such percep- tions that general dexterity, as well as gracefulness, of movement depends. Some of the muscular perceptions have been already noticed in connection with the per- ceptions of touch, where it was shown that the latter would be comparatively insignificant without the aid of the former. Here, therefore, it may be sufficient to notice an example or two of special muscular acuteness. It was shown, in the preceding section, how the ocular muscles are called into play in judging the relative dis- tances of visible objects \ and it must be obvious that the muscular adjustments, required for the minute differ- ences of distance which we can easily appreciate, can differ only in a very slight degree. This case illustrates the suggestiveness of muscular sensations ; the next Perception. 189 furnishes an example of their suggestibility. The tones of the voice are produced by means of the laryngeal muscles, aided, in speaking and singing at least, by the complicated muscular apparatus about the mouth. When we reflect on the manifold modulations of the voice, even in ordinary talk, when we consider that a good singer can easily produce notes that differ only by a frac- tion of a tone, we can scarcely avoid wonder at the refinement of muscular perception which renders possible this delicacy of adjustment. II. The counterpart of this perception is that of the resistance which the muscular effort overcomes. This perception implies the association of muscular sensations with other seiisations, visual and tactual. The muscular effort, which we are conscious of putting forth, becomes thus connected with the world of sights and touches, and that world accordingly shapes itself in our consciousness into a world of objects that are not only visible and tangible, but offer resistance to our efforts. It is only by this process that we form the complete notion of body or matter. Other sensations, indeed, discover that which is independent of my will : for I cannot choose but feel them when exposed to the conditions of their pro- duction. But this consciousness of a thing which is different from me, and does not depend for its existence on my volition, becomes obviously most distinct with the consciousness of a resistance presented to my voluntary exertion. Of course, we do not require to obtain first the incomplete notion of the material world, furnished by other senses, before we learn by muscular play that it is a world of resisting bodies ; for the muscular activity is incessant from the moment of birth. It is from the sensibility excited by this incessant activity of muscle, that we obtain the materials to build up our conception I90 Psychology. of the world as a vast system of bodies endowed with force to resist ourselves. It is in its mechanical aspects that matter is thus made known, these aspects being so many forms of force resisting our muscular efforts. It is the function of physi- cal science to investigate these forms of force, with the view of arranging them into a systematic classification, and ascertaining precisely the laws in accordance with which they act. Generalisation. sd with is thus of force f physi- ni\\ the ication, :e with 191 CHAPTER II. GENERALISATION. THIS form of cognition contrasts with perception as the knowledge of classes with that of indi- viduals. It has been usually analysed into three stages : Abstraction, Generalisation proper, or Classification, and Denomination. There is a convenience in adapting our exposition to this analysis. § I. — Abstraction. The nature of abstraction may be explained by dwel- hng upon two facts : — (i) that it is the counterpart of attention ; (2) that it is merely an exercise of thought or comparison. I. Abstraction is the counterpart of attention. Atten- tion is the concentration of consciousness upon one among the nmltiplicity of phenomena. Now, as human consciousness is limited in its power, it cannot be con- centrated upon one phenomenon, without being to that extent withdrawn from others. This withdrawal consti- tutes the mental act of abstraction.* The act of abstrac- * If it be worth while to adhere to technical language in this matter, it may be observed that, according to that language, the phenomenon attended to is spoken of as being preset n(/ed, while the 192 Psychology, tion is therefore one form of the general limitation of human energy. The force which is organised in the individual is essentially limited j and, when it is largely absorbed in one form of activity, cannot be at disposal for others. Thus it is well known that the excessive expenditure of human energy in intellectual toil, and still more in emotional excitement, is apt to interrupt vital actions, like digestion, at the time, and, if prolonged, to issue in chronic dyspepsia. Now, an act of attention on the part of any individual implies a discharge of his energy mainly in the direction in which consciousness is concentrated ; and it is therefore often accompanied by that " inhibitory action," as it is termed,* by which the functions of various bodily organs are apt to be inter- rupted. A man frequently finds himself thus arrested in the midst of any act in which he is engaged ; he may be brought to a stand-still, while walking in a crowded thoroughfare, and remain absorbed in his own thoughts, oblivious of the stream of passengers jostling against him in his awkward position. Even a large assembly of men, when their attention is rapt by an entrancing outburst of oratory, are at times checked in such an essential act of vitality as breathing, as may be evinced by the long sigh that is drawn at any pause. It will be seen therefore, that the state which is popularly described as absent- mindedness^ is essentially identical with abstraction. A person in this state is absent mentally, that is, has his mind is said to be abstracted from others. The notion of a prescinded phenomenon is what we mean by an abstract notion, while the notion of the same phenomenon in its actual connections with other phenomena is concrete. See Hamilton's Lectures on Metaphysics, Vol. ii., p. 292, with notes. • Ferrier's Functions of the Brain^ pp. 70-1 (2nd ed.) Compare also pp. 460-8. Generalisation. 193 mind abstracted from, the concrete actualities around his body; but this arises from the fact that he is present mentally, — that his attention is engrossed, — with some- thing else. Consequently, the stories of absentminded- ness, which are met with in anecdotical biographies, may be taken as illustrative of the mental phenomenon under consideration. II. But it is still more important to observe, that in its essential nature abstraction is an act of thought, that is, of comparison. It is, in fact, simply that discrimina- tion, — that separation in thought, — which begins and continues with every step in the progress of knowledge. Abstraction and attention are, therefore, not only identi- cal with each other ; they are identical with the process of cognition itself. The fact signalised in these expres- sions is simply the intensification of a certain element which is implied more or less in all knowledge, but obtrudes itself more prominently in the careful procedures of the knowledge that is distinctively called science. The presence of this element will be realised, when it is borne in mind that, although for the necessities of scien- tific abstraction we discriminate cognition and feeling and will, yet such abstraction does not represent the concrete facts of mental life. Now, attention implies that the consciousness is strained in a particular direc- tion by some involuntary impulse or by a voluntary effort. The involuntary impulse may be either sensational or emotional. The attention may be absorbed in a sen- sation of excessive pleasure or excessive pain ; it may be rivetted on an object of some irresistible emotion, such as a passionate fondness or a paralysing fear. But the crowning triumphs of intellectual concentration are to be found in those efforts of voluntary attention or abstrac- tion, by which the cultivated mind girds itself for the un- N 194 Psychology. impeded pursuit of truth. The necessity of such concen- tration in all forms of culture points to the dependence of intellectual greatness on a certain kind of moral great- ness, — on the power of will " to scorn delights, and live laborious days," in order to the attainment of .a philos- ophic or artistic ideal. For practical wisdom, therefore, as well as for insight into the theory of abstraction, the student may read with profit the interesting citations, which Sir W. Hamilton has collected, from the testimony of great men, who have ascribed any intellectual eminence they have attained to their superior power of attention.* Abstraction then may be said to be an artificial act of thought, in so far as it separates what are conjoined in nature. We never find, and cannot even imagine, one object or one aspect of an object, existing apart from all others. On the contrary, every object holds some relation to other objects, and the various parts or the various qualities of an object appear in our consciousness as if they had grown together^ that is, had become concrete. But while abstraction breaks up this natural concretion of the parts and qualities of things, it is not to be sup- posed that the act is unnatural. It is rather a necessary movement of intelligence \ for to have intelligence of any object is to think it as marked by this or that quality, as made up of this and that part. We can therefore compre- hend the complex phenomena of nature only by breaking them up into parts and qualities. Thus, when a plant or an animal is submitted for examination, if we would make our knowledge of it exact and complete, we must study apart the different organs of which it is formed, or the qualities, such as colour and figure, which constitute its different aspects. The relations also, in which one object * Lectures on Metaphysics, Vol. i., pp. 255-261. Generalisation. 195 concen- jndence al great- and live I philos- lerefore, ion, the itations, ;stimony minence ention.* al act of )ined in ine, one from all relation various ess as if concrete. ncretion be sup- ecessary :e of any ality, as compre- )reaking plant or d make it study or the itute its e object stands to another, may be separately considered ; we may investigate their relations in space or their relations in time, their resemblances or their points of contrast, or their adaptability to various ends. Thus any of the mul- titudinous facts in the confusing complication of the l)henomena presented in consciousness may be made an object of abstract attention, and the entire complication may be completely evolved into distinct cognition. The very organisation of a human being adapts him for this decomposition of a complex phenomenon, inasmuch as many of its factors, — its sensible qualities at least, — are made known to him through separate organs. To guard against misapprehension, it only remains to add that an abstract notion, as ?'ich, is not yet necessarily general. I may attend exclusively to some aspect of an individual ; and so far I form an abstract notion that is singular. This observation may be useful owing to the fact, that the terms, general and abstract^ are often used convertibly in popular language, and even by some psychological writers who have been influenced by the usage of Locke. The reason of this confusion will im- mediately appear. • § 2. — Generalisation Proper. The fact is, that in the natural evolution of conscious- ness the abstract notion never rests at the stage of singularity. This must be evident from the nature of the process of perception, which was described at the beginning of the previous chapter. It was there shown that even in perceiving the individual we assign it to its class, that is, we identify one or more of its qualities with one or more of the qualities of other individuals. There is not, therefore, the rad.cal distinction, which the 196 Psychology, old psychologists supposed, between the perception of an individual and the conception of a class. As we proceed, they will appear rather intellectual acts of the same com- plex nature, with the general element subordinated in one case, and brought into prominence in the other. In fact, it may sometimes happen to be doubtful, whether our consciousness should be described as individual or as general in its reference. Suppose, for example, the word apple is spoken. That word will bring up an image, more or less vague, of the object it is used to denote. But this image may be thought as representative of all similar objects, or merely as representative of some par- ticular apple that I saw or ate to-day. In the former case, my consciousness is to be regarded as the concept of a class ; in the latter, as the imagination only of an individual. It appears, therefore, that in all cognition there is a general factor, which receives prominence in the cognition of a '^ass, but retires into a subordinate place in the cognition of an individual. This factor is that which, when disconnected from the rest, is spoken of as an abstract notion. An abstract notion, as we have seen in the previous section of this chapter, is a consciousness of some quality or aspect of an object considered without reference to others. When a quality, of which an abstract notion might be formed, is cognised in actual connection with a certain set of other phenomena, the cognition is a perception ; the notion of the quality loses its abstractness, it becomes concreted with the other phenomena. The notion of a quality loses its abstract- ness also when it becomes general ; but in this case it is conceived as in possible connection with numerous sets of phenomena. Thus the cognition expressed in " I perceive this quadruped " implies the connection of Generalisation. 197 ion of an proceed, ime com- nated in ther. In whether vidual or nple, the in image, » denote, ive of all ome par- e former ; concept nly of an there is a cognition e in the it which, 3f as an ave seen :iousness 1 without rhich an in actual lena, the lity loses he other abstract- s case it lumerous essed in ection of fourfootedness with an individual set of phenomena; while the cognition, " I conceive a quadruped," implies the connection of the same quality, not with any definite set of actual phenomena, but with an indefinite number of possible phenomena. In other words, the notion of a quality, which in itself is an abstract notion, becomes general when it is thought as applying to various in- dividuals, as it is singular when it applies' only to one. The evolution of general notions has formed the sub- ject of a controversy known in former times as the 'raes- tion of the Primum Cognitum* The controversy deals with the problem, whether our knowledge, and therefore our language, begins with classes or with individuals. Two antagonistic theories most readily suggest them- selves to the mind, — one holding that knowledge starts from individual objects, and ascends from these to classes, another that the evolution of intelligence is in the reverse way. The young student of psychology is apt to be perplexed at first by the array of facts which each of these rival theories is capable of summoning to its support. We are now in a position to see that either theory expresses a part, but only a part, of the truth, and that there is a point of larger view which embraces the partial truth of both. I. Our analysis of perception, in its various complica- tions, has dispelled the popular mistake, which still in- fects much of our scientific literature, that the individual is a ready-made object, presented to the mind by an * Of this controversy, an interesting historical and critical sketch is given by Sir William Hamilton in his Lectures on Metaphysics^. vol. ii., pp. 319-332. Some interesting remarks on the question, from a philological point of view, will be found in Max Miiller's Lectures on the Science of Language (First Series), pp. 373-386. 198 Psychology, indecomposable flash of intuition. The cognition, by which the individual is revealed to consciousness, might rather be compared to a many-coloured light, whose variously-tinted rays are brought by the mind itself to the focus of distinct vision. In other words, an individual object of perception is the result of an in- tellectual process ; and the process is one that continues with every definition of individuality, with every exten- sion of our insight into the attributes, by which an object is differentiated from all others. It is evident, therefore, that our knowledge cannot begin with individuals. 2. But it would be equally incorrect to suppose, that knowledge starts from classes. The child, indeed, learns at ar early period certain broad differences between things; but these differences remain for a long time very broad, and it is only after a considerable evolution of intelligence, that they are narrowed down to definite characteristics, and conceived as belonging in common to a number of individuals which are thus constituted into a distinct class. It cannot, therefore, be said that knowledge begins with what is definitely general any more than with what is definitely individual. Since neither of these alterna- tives is admissible, there is but one conclusion to which we are shut up : knowledge must begin with something that is indefinite. Now, we have seen, in Book I., that the raw materials of knowledge, as of all mental life, are sensations. It is true, these cannot,*as such, be called cognitions \ but cognition begins with the definition of sensations in consciousness, that is, with the identifica- tion of those that resemble, and the discrimination of those that differ. Whenever I become conscious, how- ever vaguely, that a sensation experienced now differs from other sensations, and yet resembles some sensations Generalisation. 199 , felt before, the sensation becomes to that extent defined, that is, definitely known. Every advance in knowledge, moreover, is a progress towards the more definite dis- crimination of a phenomenon from those that are different, and its more definite identification with those which it resembles. This, however, is merely another way of saying that the evolution of knowledge is in the direction at once of more definite individualisation and generali- sation. With regard to the Prtmum Cognitum^ while neither of the above-mentioned rival theories can be maintained in its exclusiveness, it is not to be overlooked that the per- ception of the individual is an easier process of intelli- gence than the conception of a class ; and therefore it was observed above, that naturally the perception of the individual comes first in the evolution of intelligence. For, although the individual is not a simple object apprehended by an indivisible act of cognition, yet its complexity is based mainly on the natural associations of space and time ; the individual is a concretion of nature. But in the conception of a class the mind requires to abstract from the concretions obtruded on it by nature, and to form a combination of its own among individuals that are related, not by spatial or temporal associations, but merely by resemblance. It is for this reason, that concrete thinking is commonly more natural than that which is abstract or general ; while concrete forms of expression are most readily intelligible, and are therefore always to be preferred in addressing children or un- tutored minds. Accordingly it is not incorrect to regard generalisation as a measure of the mastery of nature by human intelli- gence. It is true tliat even the perception of individuals is a certain mastery of intelligence over the confusing 1 1 h 200 Psychology. variety of nature ; it is also true, as we have seen, that perception implies a certain generalisation, for the in- dividual perceived must be referred to its class ; and it is true still further, that every ascent in generalisation extends our insight into the nature of individuals by unfolding their relations to one another. Still, it is by knowing the unities that pervade nature, rather than by acquaintance with a multitude of individuals, that nature becomes intelligible. Particulars, even when cognised as individual objects, are so multitudinous and so various, as to be hopelessly perplexing to the limited understanding of man until they are reduced to some kind of compre- hensible unity by classification. The grouping, therefore, of any number of individuals into a class by the recog- nition of some feature common to them all is man's intellectual conquest of their perplexing multiplicity. The whole class of objects can then be treated as a single object of thought ; and, by the discovery of a resemblance between it and other classes, we may ascend to a higher genus which embraces them all. This process, which is the process of science, may be carried on till we reach some supreme generalisation, in which all the subordinate classes shall find their appropriate place. At low stages of culture, as might be expected, this process has advanced but a short way. It appears from the languages of many savage tribes, that they have not reached the higher classifications that are familiar among civilised men, though they often possess a luxuriant growth of expressions for the lower species. In some Australian languages, for example, there are no generic names for tree, fish, or bird, but only specific names for the different kinds of each. The languages of the uncivilised races are said to be also extremely deficient in abstract terms. Of a piece with this is the ex- ■f II Generalisation, 201 tremely limited capacity of savages in regard to numbers, the limit in many cases being apparently the five fingers of one hand, or at most the ten fingers of the two.* But the truth of all this must be understood as by no means implying that the savage has reached definite individualisation before reaching definite generalisation. It is true, that a comparatively uncultured mind some- times attains a peculiar definiteness of individualisation. This is illustrated in the familiar fact, that a peasant will distinguish from one another his sheep and cattle, which seem to many a cultured mind destitute of any individual differences. But this arises from the circumstance of the rustic intellect being largely expended on the observation of such individual differences ; and it is important to bear in mind, that the marks, by which to such an intel- lect ore object is distinguished from another, are often of that insignificant character which is due to an acci- dental association in time or place ; they are not those essential attributes of an object, upon which the scientific intellect would fix in forming its discriminations. At this stage, therefore, the mind is still in bondage to the combinations of nature ; it is only when the mind asserts its own free activity, that it learns to recognise individual differences which depend on general laws, and not on casual associations. The progress of knowledge, — the mastery of nature by human intelligence, — may therefore truly be said to be indicated by both individualisation and generalisation alike. * Facts illustrative of these statements will be found in Tylor's Primitive Culture^ Chap. vii. ; Lubbock's Prehistoric Times, pp. 437-9, and 562-3 ; H. Spencer's Principles of Sociology, Part i.» Chap, vii., § 43. 202 Psychology. § 3. — Denomination. The process of generalisation is incomplete till the class, which has been formed by thought, receives a name. Now, since nature becomes intelligible only in proportion as its manifold phenomena are grouped into classes, it is evident that intelligence implies the forma- tion of general terms. Consequently general terms are found in all languages, being in fact essential to the very possibility of human speech ; and their origin, like that of language, dates of course from prehistoric times. The function of such terms in human thought must therefore be explained in order to the complete exposition of the process of generalisation. But this function has formed the subject of an impor- tant controversy, which is not yet altogether settled. The history of this controversy might, indeed, be regarded in some measure as the history of philosophy itself; and consequently it would be out of place to attempt even a sketch of it here. It is especially unnecessary to enter upon any account of mediaeval Realism, which involves a problem in ontology rather than in psychology. We may, therefore, confine our attention to the more modern controversy between Conceptualism and Nominalism, which does possess a psychological interest. The two rival theories may be briefly described as holding, — the former that we can, the latter that we cannot, frame some idea corresponding in generality to any class of things that we name. To a careful reflection it must be evident that, even if the whole controversy cannot be set aside as a mere disputef about words, yet it is in a large measure stripped of any meaning when the terms involved are ac- curately employed. For I. On the one hand, it must evidently be conceded to 1 Generalisation. 203 the Conceptualist, that thought has a certain generality of reference, however that may be explained. We can think, judge, reason about classes of things, — about men, animals, vegetables, triangles, circles, and so forth, — with the clear consciousness that our thoughts, judgments, reasonings, hold good with regard to the whole of each class. On any other supposition sciepce, and ordinary thinking itself, would be impossible ; and the language of Nominalists, when fairly considered, never amounts to a denial of this. 2. On the oth' Iiand, it must with equal certainty be conceded to the Nominalist, that we cannot form a mental image of a class, that is, an image combining all the contradictory attributes by which the different individuals of the class are distinguished from each other. Whenever the doctrine of Conceptualism seems to maintain this, the very statement of it becomes its adequate refutation. Take, for example, the well-known passage of Locke's Essay Concerning Human Under- standing ••• — " Does it not require some pains and skill to form the general idea of a triangle (which is yet none of the most abstract, comprehensive, or difficult) ; for it must be neither oblique, nor rectangle, neither equilateral, equicrural, nor scalenon ; but all and none of these at once. In effect, it is something imperfect that cannot exist ; an idea, wherein some parts of several different and inconsistent ideas are put together." This has not unfairly been regarded as a rediidio ad absurdmn. Consequently, when thought refers to a class, as when it refers to an individual, the mental image before our consciousness is that of an actual or possible individual, * Book iv., Chap, vii., § 9. I 204 Psychology, or, if the process of thought is prolonged, there may be a series of changing images representing many distinct varieties in the class. If the mental image before our consciousness were taken to represent merely an in- dividual, then its individual peculiarities would form the chief object of attention ; but these peculiarities are abstracted from as much as possible, when the image is made to represent a whole class. In accordance with the principles explained in the first section of this chapter, the attention is then concentrated on the general features of the individual imaged, — on those features which that individual possesses in common with other individuals of the class. Accordingly, we know that our reasonings hold good with regard to that individual simply because it possesses the features of the whole class, and therefore that they hold good also of all individuals possessing the same general features. The function of the mental image implied in all general reasonings is precisely analogous to that of the diagram commonly used in geometrical demonstrations. The diagram must be a single figure with something to distinguish it from all others. If of a triangle, for example, it must be large or small, equilateral, isosceles, or scalene, right-angled, obtuse-angled, or acute-angled, and it must be made of some particular sort of stuff. But in a demonstration we can think of it as a triangle without reference to any of its individual peculiarities ; and we can therefore feel assured that our demonstration applies equally to any other triangle as such. We are now in a position to explain more definitely the part which general terms play in the process of generalisation. That part is twofold. The general term assists us in keeping before the mind the class-properties of individuals to the exclusion of their distinctive pecu- GeneralisattotL 205 liarities ; and it enables us also to retain a classification, once formed, as a permanent possession of the mind. 1. The general name is usually given to a number of objects, because it is significant of some property which they all possess ; and, consequently, it is calculated to suggest that property alone to the mind. , A general name, therefore, becomes a sort of symbol for all objects possessing the property which it signifies ; and our general reasonings accordingly approach, if they do not actually attain, the nature of symbolical reasoning. The reasoning that is called symbolical is typified in the sciences of arithmetic and algebra. In arithmetic, by means of symbols, we carry on reasonings about abstract numbers, that is, about numbers without reference to the things that are numbered ; while in algebra, by a similar instrumentality, we can reason a.»out number in the abstract without reference to any particular numbers. Our general reasonings may never reach this absolutely symbolical character; but general terms enable us to dispense with the continued reference in consciousness to the actual individuals they signify, in the same way, if not in the same degree, as arithmetical figures and algebraical signs form an instrument for working out numerical calculations that are quite independent on the peculiar nature of the things that may be numbered. 2. But there is another function for general terms. We have analysed the process by which the cognition of a class is formed ; but after the class is thus cognised, how is it to be recognised ? The individual, as a natural combination, is perpetually presented in the course of nature, and requires, therefore, no other means of re- cognition, though the recognition even of the individual is facilitated by the expedient of proper names. But the class has no natural existence like that of the individual, 2o6 Psychology. and therefore is not obtruded on consciousness again and again in the mere order of natural events. How, then, does it become a permanent acquisition for the mind? By means of general terms. The general term, we have seen, is significant of the common property be- longing toa number of individuals, and preserves for us, therefore, the fact that these individuals have been grouped into one class on the ground of their al! pos- sessing that common property. The process of classifi- cation has often been compared to the action of the merchant who counts a confused heap of coins by group- ing them in piles of a definite number. The comparison might be extended by observing that, as the continuance of the piles implies the law of gravitation, without which they would all be scattered as soon as formed, so the permanent classification of phenomena implies the faculty of naming, else the phenomena would return to their uncomprehended multiplicity, as soon as they were arranged into classes. It has been questioned, whether any generalisation would be possible without the assistance of general names. The question is perhaps futile, as all normal human intelligence is developed by means of language, and we have no opportunity of knowing what might be possible to a being, could such be conceived, who was endowed with a normal human mind, and yet incapable of language, — of any system of signs. But the close de- pendence of generalisation on the faculty of speech is indicated by the fact, that deaf mutes find a difiiculty in abstracting, and therefore in grasping the signification of common nouns.* • Dr. Howe, in the Eighth Annual Report of the Massachusetts Asylum, quoted in Mrs. Lamson's Life and Education of Laura Generalisation. 207 This analysis shows that our general reasonings are exposed to a twofold danger, — one arising from their symbolical nature, the other from the fact that the men- tal image which represents a class is necessarily the image of an individual. 1. The fact, that general terms become to our thought symbols of a whole class of objects, implies that the meaning they suggest cannot be perpetually corrected by examining all the individuals of the class. Now, however closely such a term may be defined, it remains capable of suggesting more or other meanings than that to which it is Hmited by definition ; and though we may set oat with the defined signification, this is apt to be lost sight of in the course of a long process of reasoning. This danger is to a considerable extent avoided by the coinage of a purely scientific nomenclature ; but in many depart- ments of thought, especially in the mental and moral and political sciences, we are still largely exposed to all the vague and vacillating suggestions of ordinary language. In the history of psychology an interesting chapter might be written on the influence which has been exerted by the figurative implications of such terms as impression, affection, representation, image, idea. 2. In general reasonings the image of an individual stands before the consciousness as a sort of mental diagram to represent its class. We may begin a process of reasoning with the exclusion of all features of the indi- vidual image except those which are common to the class ; yet in course of the process we often find the Bridgman, p. 16. Laura Bridgman herself used general adjectives at first as proper names, that is, as names of the individual objects to which they were applied (Il>id,, p. 40). Compare Tylor's Inlro- duction to Anthropologyy p. 119. 208 Psychology. imagination lording it over thought, and are pulled up by some opponent objecting another individual or other individuals, to which our reasonings do not apply. This is a vice which perpetually besets the scientific inquirer, who is not on his guard against the temptation to leap at conclusions after an inadequate induction of particular facts. It is in all minds the source of much of the power which custom wields over our thoughts, leading us to ascribe the characteristics of the objects with which we are familiar to all objects of the same class, however different their circumstances may be. This tendency is, therefore, the peculiar defect of what we might, in the largest sense, call the untravelled mind. I a; i ; Reasoning. 209 r^ ^^ON 0£/>.i,, LlSr?S%^^'^ Jixr^ ■^-A.IRX'?:' / REASONING. REASONING is often described as the procedure of consciousness from individuals to the class which they form (Induction), or from a class to an individual or individuals that it includes (Deduction). It is, therefore, rather b. process, more or less lengthy, by which an object is comprehended, than an act of immediate intuition, by which an object is apprehended. It follows from this, that reasoning cannot always be precisely distinguished either from perception or from generalisation, just as these cannot be precisely distinguished from one another. Every perception, as implying a cognition of the class- attributes of the object perceived, involves a reasoning, commonly of the deductive sort ; while generalisation is obviously the result of some mode of inductive reasoning however vague. But in the mental phenomena, which we commonly speak of as perceptions and generalisations, the reasoning process becomes unconscious, being absorbed in its products. It may therefore be studied to more ad- vantage in those conscious efforts of intelligence to which the name of reasoning is, in a stricter sense, confined. But it must not be supposed that, in actual mental life, conscious and unconscious reasonings can be always distinguished with exactness. In the daily consciousness o 2IO Psychology. of every man there are numerous acts which it would be difficult to refer exclusively to either class. In analysing the process of reasoning, it is important to keep in view the distinction between the psychology of the reasoning process and the science of logic. Psychology, as the science of mental facts, details the steps which reasoning follows in actual life with all its comic and tragic inaccuracies. Logic, on the other hand, belongs to that class of sciences which, as dealing with laws that must be observed in order to the attain- ment of a certain end, have been appropriately styled by the general title of nomology. Every sphere of our mental life, in fact, may have a nomology of its own according to the end which it is designed to subserve. Thus we point an end to our sensitive life in such studies as those of gastronomy, perfumery, music, the theory of colours ; while the higher activities find their norm in mechanics, aesthetics, ethics, politics. In the same way, then, as the psychology of the moral life is distinguished from ethics, or the psychology of calculation from arithmetic, the psychology of reasoning ought to be kept apart from logic* Actual, as distinguished from logical, reasoning is manifold. It commences, perhaps, with the movement from particulars to particulars, if this be not mere unreflective association, and then developes into the reflective, or at least more reflective, movements from the particular to the general, from the generat to the * Sometimes, it may be further observed, psychology, and logic also, are confounded with philosophy, as in the discussion by psychologists and logicians of the question regarding " the ultimate postulate," "the fundamental axiom," which, in the last analysis, iorms the criterion or warrant of all thinking, of all science. Reasoning. 211 particular. To determine the warrant for such in- ferences, is the function of logic ; but the theory of the fallacies, which always forms a prominent part of that science, shows how the actual movements of thought are often regardless of logical warrant. There are three factors of the reasoning process, which have been usually distinguished by psychologists and logicians. The first is the object reasoned about ; the second, the predication, to which the reasoning process leads, in reference to that object ; the third, the process itself, by which the predication is establibhed. We shall take these factors in separate sections. § I. — Conception. The mental act, by which an object of thought is formed, was commonly named, in the old logical text- books, simple apprehension ; but by many logicians it is more appropriately called conception. The word concep- tion, Wke comprehension, signifies XyttraWy grasping together^ and is therefore an appropriate name for any kind of knowledge which is obtained by gathering many into one. Such an act of knowledge may be accomplished either by mentally grouping into one class a number of different individuals on the ground of their possessing some common property or properties, or by associating a number of different properties on the ground of their belonging in common to the same individual or the same class. The object of consciousness in a conception, — that which is conceived, — is called, in the technical language of logic, a concept ; and the word or combination of words, expressing a concept, is called a term. From this it will be seen that a term, as expressing a 212 Psychology. concept, may be viewed in various aspects. For a con- cept, as just explained, is either a combination of indi- viduals forming a class, or a combination of properties belonging to an individual or to a class. The former combination constitutes what is called the extension of a concept or of the term expressing it ; the latter combina- tion is called intension. Consequently a term may be, and in thought actually is at different times, interpreted in reference to both of these aspects. Thus the term man^ to different minds, or even to the same mind at different times, may mean either the individuals who compose the human race, or the attributes that constitute human nature. It has also been made a subject of discussion, whether terms are the names of things, or merely of our ideas of things.* In all such discussions confusion is apt to arise from failure to distinguish the logical and the psychological as- pects of the quesiion at issue. The logician, dealing with the laws which must be observed for the sake of accurate thinking, may select one aspect of terms as that which is most suitable for the end he has in view. But his selec- tion does not foreclose the cognate psychological ques- tion : it does not imj)ly that the aspect selected is the only possible aspect in which terms may be interpreted, or even that it is the most common interpretation put upon terms in the confused and blundering thoughts that make up the daily mental life of men. On the contrary, whatever interpretation of terms may be considered most convenient for logical thinking, it remains a fact, which the psychologist cannot ignore, that the aspect in which a term is viewed, may vary with the attitude of the mind. Mill's Logic^ Book i., Chap, ii., § 2. Reasoning. 213 Mr. Mill holds that t.^nns properly denote things rather than merely our ideas of things:* and with certain explanations his theory is correct ; for thought would fiiil in its function, if it did not take us beyond its own sub- jective operations, if it did not construe for us an objec- tive world of things. But the explanations, which ought to accompany this statement, take us into the sphere of ontology. Mill is led into the ontological question which his statement suggests ; and it is worth noting that his statement is nearly eviscerated of its meaning by his doctrine as to what constitutes a thing.f All our concepts, whether they represent perceptions of individuals, or generalisations, imply, as we have already seen, reasonings more or less unconscious. Our intellectual life begins with unreflective reasonings, and the concepts thus reached form the starting-point of more reflective reasonings, by which the obscure and uncertain and limited results of unreflective reasoning are developed and confirmed and extended. § 2. — -Judgment. An object of thought — a concept — is usually, as we have seen, a combination of attributes. But, of course, all the attributes of an object are not within the know- ledge of every intelligence; and even when they have become familiar to any intelligence, are not always present to his consciousness. He may have learnt, for example, all the properties by which a particular species of animals, vegetables, or minerals is characterised ; but * Mill's LogtCf Book i., Chap, ii., § 2. iJbid., Book i., Chap, iii., §§ 13-15. 214 Psychology, in his ordinary thoughts these properties are seldom all consciously recalled. Take, by way of illustration, any plant with its peculiar corolla, calyx, and leaf, the num- ber ot its petals, sepals, pistils, and stamens, as well as other facts in reference to its organisation, its growth, or its geographical distribution. Even the simpler consti- tution of a mineral does not exclude a multiplicity of properties, geometrical, physical, and chemical, not to speak of its adventitious aesthetic or commercial uses. Thus gold is distinguishable from other minerals by no less than eight different properties. Then, when we come to the more complicated concepts of biology and psycho- logy, of ethics and politics, — life, thought, beauty, con- science, right, and many others of a similar nature, — we find not only that our concepts usually exhibit a very incomplete grasp of all the factors implied, but a very indefinite apprehension even of those which are con- ceived. Our concepts are, therefore, ordinarily of a somewhat indefinite character. Now, when an ordinary indefinite concept becomes defined by attributing to it some quality, our thought assumes the form that is tec. .."cally called Zi judgment, the indefinite concept being the sub- ject, and the defining quality the predicate. When, for example, to the indefinite concept of gold as a yellow metal I add the predicate, that it is the most malleable of all metals, or that it is fusible in a mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acids, I form a judgment about the subject gold. It is scarcely necessary, therefore, to add that judgments cannot by a rigid line be separated from concepts : the judgment is in fact simply the concept unfolding itself to clearer definition. Of judgments some are formed by simply evolv- ing the meaning involved in the subject. Thus, when I Reasoning. 215 say, A quadruped is a four-footed animal^ the predicate of four-footedness merely unfolds the idea implied in the subject. Such judgments have accordingly been called analytic^ explicative^ verbal^ essential. On the other hand, judgments, which add to the idea implied in the subject, are called synthetic^ ampliative, real^ accidental.^ Explicative judgments are dismissed by some writers as useless fictions. t But this extreme depreciation of such judgments overlooks their real nature. To most minds the ordinary subjects of thought are indefinite concepts which require explication ; and such explication is rendered all the more necessary from the fact that most of the terms in common use have wandered so far from their primitive meaning, that their etymology no longer reveals their full connotation. Still this very fact implies that the distinction between analytic and syn- thetic judgments is one that cannot always be carried out. For when the etymology of a term does not reveal its connotation, any factor of the connotation may con- stitute a synthetic judgment ; and, on the other hand, when a scientific thinker has mastered the complete con- notation of a subject, it might be said that for him every judgment about it must be merely analytic. It some- * Some writers, like Thomson {Outline of the Lazvs of Thought^ § 81), distinguish, as a separate class, tautologotis judgments, in which a term is simply predicated of itself, as in Facts are facts, A mail's a man. By writers of the school of Locke such judgments are described by the name identical, and are commonly dismissed as frivolous. See Locke's Essay, Part iv.. Chap, viii., §§ 2-3. Thomson, indeed, recognises the fact that such judgments may become charged with meaning by some particular emphasis. But he is mistaken in regarding that as accidental to them ; it is rather their essential and ordinary use. + Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, Part iv.. Chap, viii., §§ 4-10 ; Mill's System of Logic, Book i., Chap. vi. 2l6 Psychology. times happens, however, that a concept, in its general attributes perfectly definite, receives some particular qualification, as when a well-known mineral or vegetable is said to be applied to certain adventitious uses, or when an accidental action or state is ascribed to any person. From this it appears that subjects admit of various sorts of predicates. The classification of these is the object of the logical doctrine of predicables, the term predicable being employed for any word that is capable of being used as a predicate. This doctrine is of special interest to the logician for the sake of that accuracy in thinking at which he aims ; for to attain that end it is indispensable to know precisely the relation of the pre- dicate to the subject of a judgment. But the classifi- cation of predicables is not of the same importance to the psychologist. Connected with this subject, however, there is a general question which does possess psycho- logical interest, — the question, namely, as to the import of a judgment or proposition. In the preceding section it was shown that a similar question is discussed in reference to the import of terms; and it was there explained that a term may be interpreted from different points of view. The same points of view also affect the import attached to propositions. For example, we may consider mainly either the extension or the intension of a predicate, and this difference will alter the mode in which we interpret its relation to the subject. In fact, an alteration in the form of expression will often give prominence to the one of these views over the othe- Thus, if I say, The ornithorynchus is a quadruped^ I naturally think of this animal as belonging to the class of quadrupeds, that is to say, I interpret the proposition as meaning that the subject is included within the exten- sion of the predicate. When I vary the expression into Reasoning, 217 The ornithorynchus is four footed^ I think rather of four- footedness as forming one of the attributes of the animal, that is, the predicate is conceived as being included in the intension of the subject. In consequence of the various aspects in which it thus appears that a proposition may be viewed, a good deal of controversy has been excited regarding the real import of propositions. Mr. Mill devotes considerable space to the criticism of various theories on this subject.* He opposes the doctrines, that a proposition expresses a relation between two ideas, or between the meanings of two terms, or that it refers something to, or excludes something from, a class ; and, in accordance with his theory of the import of terms, he holds that a proposition is to be interpreted as meaning that the things denoted by the subject possess the attributes connoted by the predicate. Now, in all such discussions, as in the similar discus- sions with reference to the import of terms, consider- able confusion arises from allowing the inquiry of the logician to run into the field of psychology. The pro- blem of logic is to find out what is the aspect in which a proposition should be treated with the view of securing the greatest accuracy of thought in its use. But the import attached to propositions for logical purposes is not necessarily supposed to be that of which alone they admit, or even to be the interpretation most commonly put upon them in the confused thinking of ordinary mental life. § 3. — Reasoning Proper. When a judgment is analytic, it must be evident to every one who understands its terms, its evidence is con- System of Logic, Book i., Chap. v. 2l8 Psychology. tained in its own terms, in itself ; it is, therefore, called self-evident. Whether any synthetic judgments also are self-evident, is a question that need not be discussed here. It is admitted that a vast proportion of our judg- ments do not contain their evidence in themselves : their evidence must, therefore, be sought outside. Now, a judgment is a relation of two concepcs, — of two things conceived ; and when that relation is in itself unknown, it must be reached from some other relation that is known. The process, by which this is reached, is called reasoning or inference, in the stricter sense of these terms. It is this process that is now to be i.nalysed. In order to this analysis it is to be observed, that the process implies (i) an unknown relation, (2) a relation that is known, (3) a transition from the latter to the former relation. Now, such a transition of thought must consist in the conscious comparison of the two relations. The analysis may be rendered clearer by a few expository observations. I. Reasoning is thus seen to be, in its essential nature, merely the universal process of intelligence, — comparison, with association of course implied. Objects, — materials, — therefore, form fit data for reasoning, in proportion to their fitness for the uses of intelligence in general, — -in proportion to tli^Ir comparability, that is, the ease with which their relations are discoverable. Now, no rela- tions are so obvious, so distinctly apprehensible, so measurable, as those relations of mutual externality which constitute space; and, therefore, geometry was the earliest science to attain exactness of reasoning. Based on the concept of space is the concept of quantity in general ; and the relations of quantities are among the most easily comparable. Accordingly, not only have the sciences of abstract quantity, — arithmetic and Reasoning. 219 algebra, — long ago attained exactness, but other sciences become exact precisely in so far as their reasonings take the form of quantitative calculations. 11. S:nce it thus appears that reasoning is essentially identical with the universal process of intelligence, it must have a certain affinity with those other forms of intelligence, the ordinary perceptions and generalisations, which have been analysed in the immediately preceding chapters. Still there is of course also a certain difference between eith\?r of these forms of intelligence and rea5;oning. That difference consists in the fact, that reasoning is a more complicated comparison. The superior complication of reasoning may be expressed by saying, that it is not, like judgment, a comparison of concepts, but a comparison of judgments. This analysis of reasoning has perhaps never been more clearly expounded than by Mr. Herbert Spencer, who describes the process as a comparison, not of terms, but of relations.* Of course this v.escription is not sufficient always to distinguish reasoning from judgment, or even from conception ; for these are often the results of reasoning. Still, reflective reasoning implies previous concepts and judgments, even if, as when they are general, they have been formed by previous reasonings, reflective or unreflective. From this it follows that the account of the reasoning process given by logicians cannot be taken as a psychol- ogical analysis. In the common textbooks on logic, reasoning is described as a comparison of two terms with a third in order to their comparison with one another. * Principles of Psychology, Part vi. , Chapters 2 — 8. The doctrine is perhaps foreshadowed by Hobbes. See, besides his Computation, the Leviathan, p. 30 (Molesworth's edition). jjSSSKKK 220 Psychology, Now, for logical purposes such a description may be con- venient and useful. That is a question which the psycho- logist need not discuss. But no psychological analysis would completely exhibit the nature of reasoning, which did not point out that it implies a comparison of two relations or judgments. Then the premisses are to be- regarded as representing the two relations, and the con- clusion in reality expresses their relation or comparison. To illustrate, let us exhibit the syllogism under the form which it would take from this analysis. Let P = major term, S = minor term, and M = middle term. Then- the following formula would represent a syllogism in the first figure : — M is P, S is M, , .-. S is P. This, according to the above analysis, would run intrv- the more complete formula : — S : M : : M : P ; and that, of course, is equivalent to S : M = M : P. If the syllogism were negative, as M is not P, S is M, .*. S is not P, then the relation of S : M would be represented as un- equal to the relation of M : P. This will perhaps be clearer in the case of quantitative- reasonings. Take, therefore, a very simple algebraical process : — i> Reasoning. 221 4^ + 2 = 3^ + 4 (I) /\X- 3^ — 4 — 2 (2) 1 • oc — 2 (3) Here it is evident that the operation is a procedure in thought from (i) to (2), and from (2) to (3). Each of these three stages in the procedure, however, is an equa- tion, that is, a relation or judgment of equality ; and the procedure from one to another involves the comparison of each with that to which it leads. The reasoning, therefore, in this instance, if fully expressed, would run thus : — (4^+2) : (3A, + 4) : : (4^:— 3^^) : (4—2), and (4:*: — 2i^) : (4 — 2) : '. X '. 2. This simple operation may be taken as a type of quanti- tative reasonings in general, for the most elaborate calcu- lations are simply a lengthening out of the same process. It appears, therefore, that all quantitative reasonings, in applied as well as in pure mathematics, involve a similar comparison of equations more or less numerous. But quantitative reasonings differ from others only in the fact, that they exhibit the reasoning process with the great advantage of absolutely exact terms ; and, conse- quently, all reasoning is analysed into a comparison, not of terms merely, but of judgments. III. All the varieties of the reasoning process are usually regarded as modifications of two fundamental types, — one proceeding from the general to the particu- lar, and called Deduction ; the other, from the particular to the general, and called Induction. But some recent writers, following Mr. Mill,* recognise an inference from Sytem of Logic y Book :i., Chap, iii., § 3. f 222 Psychology. particulars to particulars, maintaining even at times, that all reasoning is of this nature. Now, there can be no doubt of the fact, that a procedure of this sort does occur in consciousness. It may even be admitted that it is probably more common than a definite ascent to the general, or a definite descent to the particular. Take, for illustration, one of Mr. Mill's own examples, the reasoning implied in the proverb, that "a burnt child dreads the fire." It is well known that one or two experiences are sufficient to associate in a child's mind the appearance of a fire with the painful sensation of burning, and that any subsequent sight of the fire will probably suggest the thought that the touch of the fire will be followed by the former pain. Any of the more intelli- gent among the lower animals can go through this process. The actuality of such a mental process, then, is not a matter of doubt. The only question is as to the pro- priety of calling it reasoning. It may appear at first as if this were merely a question of words ; but, as in many similar cases, a failure to distinguish by different terms phenomena that have only a superficial resemblance may lead to serious confusion of thought. Here there is an essential difference between the mental processes that would be included under one term. In one process a fact is simply suggested by another fact in accordance with the unconsciously operating laws of association ; in the other process a fact is thought as founded on a certain reason. The latter is appropriately called reasoning, because it is the consciousness of a reason. Whether the former, — the mere suggestion, — should also be called reasoning, may not be considered a question of prime importance ; but i* is certainly important to distinguish, in some un- mistakable way, processes so essentially different as those described. Mr. Mill himself explains that, whenever the Reasoning. 223. reason of proceeding from particulars to particulars is sought, that reason is to be found in a general proposi- tion with reference to the whole class of phenomena to which the particulars belong ; and it is more in accord- ance with the use of language, as well as more convenient for scientific purposes, to restrict the term reasoning to those transitions of consciousness, in which a reason for the transition is thought. Ccnsequently, when any reasonings are spoken of as unreflective, this expression must be understood in a qualified sense. When any process which simulates reasoning, is absolutely unre- flective, — when it is a simple transition of consciousness without any reflection on its reason, — it ought, in psycho- logical analysis, to be degraded to a mere suggestion. The common distinction between Deductive and In- ductive Reasonings may, therefore, be retained, and more closely examined. I. Deduction is not, as often represented, a mere / r;. . I^': chronic deficiency caiiod colour-blinciiiess, w! ■'- 1' '• also subject to such well-known temporary dcianj_ ..;2nt." '■<;. that produced by jaundice. In the ear, also, there occur, a defect which, by its analogy with colour-blindness, might be called tone-deafness.* For such alterations of sensibility the XidXi\t paresthesia has been suggested. The conditions of the sensibility, which originate hal- lucinations, are thus found to be various. They are by no means confined to disease ; occasionally remarkable hallucinations surprise persons in sound health. The general soundness of health in such cases is evidenced by the fact that the patient is not deceived by the hal- lucinations, but sometimes even holds them under such complete control as to make them come and go at will. Thus Earl Grey used to be haunted by the vision of a gory head, which vanished, however, at his bidding. It is generally diflficult, often impossible, to discover any explanation of these hallucinations in sane life ; but the difficulty is obviously due to our ignorance of all the circumstances in which the patient happened to be at the time. It may be fairly conjectured, however, that in such cases there must be some peculiar discharge of ner- vous energy, arising from an emotional outburst or a volitional effort, which the patient may never have * See observations by Mr. G. Allen on a case of this defect in Mind for April, 1878. Illusory Cogftitions. 253 lis defect in dream< of connecting with the hallucination, or perhaps from i.ne constitutional tendency of v/hich he may be ignora».'. But if v>-e ca-.not generally discover the stimu- lating rause of Vall'jcinations, it is Oiien possible to accoii. ' for ^ne peculiar form they r.ssume. This form depc'^ds on the sense that is affected by some cause, known or unknovvn. Now, the sense is often determined by a person's habits. Thus, a painter generally sees hal- lucinations, while a musician hears them.* Sometimes in the heat of compositic ^ Dickens heard his characters speak ; f and Taine mentions that the French novelist, Gustave Flaubert, while writing the story of Emma Bovary's poisoning by arsenic, became twice so veritably sick as to vomit his dinner. | From the fact that most of our impressions of the real world are received through the '■ense of sight, it might be supposed that most hallu- cinations must be visual ; but it is questionable whether auditory hallucinations are not more frequent. There are strong reasons for believing that such is the case, at least in disease ;§ and, though the reverse is said to hold good in health, yet this assertion seems by no means established.il Professor Huxley states that to him hallu- cinations of hearing are more common than visual appari- tions ; H and the experience of many others will probably be found to accord with his in this respect. Though there are many hallucinations of ordinary life * Wundt's Physiologische Psychologies Vol. ii., p. 354 (2nd ed.). + Maudsley's Physiology of the Mind, p. 293, X Taine's De P Intelligence^ Vol. i., p. 90 (4th ed.). § Maudsley's Pathology of Mind, pp. 371-6. y Sully's Illusions, p. 119, note. ^ Elementary Lessons in Physiology, pi 267. 'M miiiiii! ■I, Mi \ m \m i Im^ i : ^11 254 Psychology. which cannot be accounted for, yet there are also many the source of which is obvious. In next section it will appear that the peculiar hallucinations of dreaming often admit of being traced to their source ; and in fact the hallucinations of waking life are sometimes evidently the slowly fading residues of a dream, the excitement of nerve being prolonged even after the real world has broken in upon consciousness. Dr. Abercrombie men- tions the case of a man who, while sitting up late one evening, fell asleep, and had an unpleasant dream, in which a hideous baboon figured. Startled into complete wakefulness, he walked to the middle of the room, where he continued to see the baboon against the wall for about half a minute.* After wakening in the middle of a dream I have sometimes amused myself by dwelling upon the vanishing dream-figures which retained almost the vivid- ness of reality for some minutes, provided the eyelids were kept closed, t It will probably be found that most of the common hallucinations, whether of hearing or of sight, experienced by persons in ordinary health, come at those moments of deep reverie, which approach in char- acter the condition of sleep. Although many hallucinations of ordinary waking life do not obtrude any definite peculiarity of nerve to account for .them, yet in most cases which have been subjected to careful investigation the patient's health has furnished some explanatory fact. Thus, a gentleman, who was subject to epileptic fits, and therefore to some * Abercrombie's Inquiries Concerning the Intellectual Powers, p. 278 (13th ed.). + A similar siirvival of dream-images after waking has been ob- served by Spinoza {Opera, Vol. ii., p. 216, ed. Bruder), and by Dr. Maudsley {Physiology of the Mind, p. 292, note). •^mmim Illusory Cognitions. 255 painful disorder in the brain, found his attacks generally preceded by the spectre of a little woman in a red cloak striking him on the head with a crutch.* A lady, on being attacked with an acute inflammation in her left side, saw the traditional skeleton-figure of Death strike at her diseased side with a dart.f Dr. Maudsley men- tions an analogous hallucination of smell. A''gentleman of perfectly sound mind in other respects was tormented by the apparently groundless fancy that he was a source of annoyance to all his friends and neighbours by reason of a horrible odour emitted from his person. After some months an abscess formed on the lower part of the sternum, indicating the growth of some latent disease which had probably been the source of the " subjective odour." J It may, therefore, be inferred that even those hallucinations of ordinary life, which are seemingly the most inexplicable, would yield the secret of their origin to a thorough scientific investigation. That the explana- tion of these liallucinations merely requires to wait for further knowledge of the persons interested, is strikingly evinced by a fact connected with the history of Dr. Aber- crombie's work on the Intellectual Foivers. In the earlier editions an account is given of some inexplicable hallu- cinations, to which a gentleman of sound mind was sub- ject \ but between the fourth and fifth editions of the work the development of a serious cerebral disorder clearly indicated the source of the hallucinations.§ (B) Illusions are distinguished from hallucinations by the fact, that in the former the senses are not at fault, the illusory effect arising solely from the erroneous in- * Abercrombie's Intellectual Powers, p. 284. t Maudsley Pathology of Mind , pp. 376-7. § See p. 276, 13th ed. ■\Ibid., p. 286. l;!!i|i!:ili •. 1 1 1 ! J! i 1 l|l 1 '" nil 256 Psychology. tellectual process which misinterprets a normal im- pression of sense. In the first chapter of this Part, while illustrating the formation of ordinary perceptions, we have had such numerous opportunities of noticing and explaining illusory cognitions of this sort, that it is unnecessary to dwell upon them at further length here. We may accordingly proceed to describe some of the most familiar states of consciousness, in which hallucina- tions and illusions hold sway. § 2. — Dreaming. Among the facts of our mental life, which derive their peculiar character from being composed mainly of illusory cognitions, a prominent place must be assigned to dreams ; and the analysis of these will be found to furnish the fundamental principles, on which a large number of others should be explained. In the analysis of dreaming it will be of some advantage to describe the distinctive peculiarities of the state, before proceeding to indicate the psychological principles which furnish their scientific explanation. (A) The peculiarities which commonly distinguish dream-fancies from those of waking life, are two. The first is the fantastic combination of circumstances by which dreams are usually characterised ; the second is the irresistible appearance of their reality. I. The former of these is so obtrusive a characteristic of dreaming, that in our waking life any improbable fancy is very commonly described as a dream. All the ordinary probabilities of the real world, whether founded on internal character or external circumstances, are set at naught in the world of dreams. Here the coward achieves deeds of heroic courage, while the brave man is Illusdiry Cognitions, 257 mortified by the meanness of his poltroonery. The guilty sometimes dream of an innocence which is un- happily unknown to them in real life, while the pure mind is shocked at times by dreaming of being seduced into the most improbable sins. The untravelled lover of domestic comforts often spends his nights in wander- ing over the face of the earth, while the restless wanderer settles down to the quiet routine of home. The man, who in the real world was never known to be guilty of an eccentric action, rides in his sleep along the edge of precipices, seats himself on dizzy pinnacles, rushes into mad encounters with wild beasts, and exposes himself to all sorts of ridiculously needless dangers. In like man- ner there are no external restrictions — no obstacles of time or space — in the world of dreams. A few seconds carry us round the globe ; and the events of years may be packed into a single night, or even into a few minutes. Persons who are separated by a hemisphere in space, or even by centuries in time, enter into familiar intercourse in the dreamer's society; and those friends, who have long ago passed beyond the veil, descend to him from the spirit-world as readily as they are supposed to come for the purpose of rapping upon tables at a spiritualistic stance. We pass from place to place in our dreams as if we were charmed by the cap of Fortunatus or shod in three-league-boots ; we spurn all ordinary modes of loco- motion, for we can float through the atmosphere as easily as if aerial navig tion were no longer among the problems which have yet to be solved. Whether in its pleasanter or in its sadder aspects, the conditions of human life are extravagantly exaggerated in our dreams. They make us drink at times a draught of horror 'which is happily too large for the measured cup of actual woe ; and they enchant us again by the revelation of ecstasies R I 1 1 » 1 1 E ill ' 11 ! I I : ^1 li I : III ■' ■|'i!il!i; iiiiliii !i1(i 258 Psychologj/i which transcend in beauty and in joy the sober realities of human life. It thus appears that the dreamer creates for himself a world which is governed by laws of its own. The only laws which he cannot set aside are the laws of his own mind. But it must not be supposed essential to a dream, that it should possess this fantastic character. In familiar experience, dreams are often marred by no improbability which would render them impossible as real events. This fact, though at first sight apparently a difficulty in any theory of dreams, will be found to assist in their explanation. II. The second characteristic of dreams is the irre- sistible appearance of their reality. This illusor/ reality is so strong, that it is not weakened by any improbability, however extravagant. The strength of the illusion is rlso strikingly evidenced by two analogous facts, both of which are familiar in the experience of nearly all dreamers. The first is the fact that often, as the real world breaks in upon the middle of a dream, we find ourselves in doubt for a moment whether the dream is noi a reality — in other words, which is the dream-world, whici the real. Analogous to this is the other fact, that often a real event, especially if it has been of an extra- ordinary character, seems long afterwards like a dream \ and, indeed, most men have probably been in doubt at times with reference to some such event, whether it was a dream or a reality. The same remark, however, which was made about the former peculiarity of dreams, must also qualify this : the appearance of reality is by no means absolutely essential to a dream ; sometimes we are conscious that a dream is unreal. This apparent anomaly, instead of Illusory Cognitions. 259 sober realities u instead of being a difficulty, will be found rather to assist in the explanation of dreams. (B) In proceeding to such an jexplanation it is desir- able to bear in mind that the course of thought in sleep as well as in waking hours is governed by the laws of association. If you fancy any event or scene in a day- dream, its details must all be suggested in accordance with these laws ; and so are all the details of any event or scene in the dreams of sleep. It is desirable also to remember, that a sensation requires merely some action in a nerve ; and if this action can be produced by any internal excitement, without the presence of an external body, the same result will follow as if an external body were there. Such "subjective sensations" have been already noticed in the preceding section as the source of hallucinations. Keeping these facts in view, we are prepared to ex- plain the characteristics by which dreaming is dis- tinguished from waking consciousness. The explanation is evidently to be sought in the peculiar condition of body and mind which sleep implies. Sleep is a cessation of activity in the brain, as well as generally in the nervous system to which the brain belongs. The thoughts and feelings which make up our waking life imply a large consumption of those elements of food which go to supply nerve and brain. After this has gone on for a considerable part of the twenty- four hours, the brain and nerves have spent most of the force at their disposal, and do their work more feebly. You may stimulate them for a time by tea, coffee, alcohol, tobacco, agree- able conversation, exciting work, and other artifices ; but at last they cease work from pure exhaustion. The nerves of hearing, sight, and touch are no longer affected I. I I ''li'i ■ M ill \' 260 Psychology. by ordinary sounds, sights, and contacts; all thought, all consciousness fades away. Now, it is known that the brain becomes comparatively bloodless in sleep, while there is a partial return of blood to its vessels when the sleep is disturbed by the imper- fect consciousness of dreams \ and the quantity of blood in its vessels becomes greatly increased with the perfect restoration of consciousness on awaking. Dreaming is, therefore, a state in which we are half-asleep and half- awake — sufficiently awake to have some consciousness, but sufficiently asleep to be unable to control the direc- tion of our consciousness. In this we have an explana- tion of the generally admitted fact, that most dreams take place at the transition from waking to sleep or, perhaps more commonly, from sleep to waking. I. Here, then, we have an obvious explanation of the first characteristic of dreams, their ludicrous improba- bility. The state of the dreamer is evidently one in which the mind is comparatively torpid — is doing little or no work. "Dreams are the children of an idle brain."* Now, when the mind is doing good work, we do not surrender ourselves to every idle fancy that is suggested ; on the contrary, we resolutely exclude every thought which is not connected with the work of the mind \ we control the direction of our thoughts. But in a torpid or inactive state of mind we let our thoughts take any order in which they happen to be suggested. Such a state we often indulge in during our waking hours; and it resembles dreaming so obviously, that popular language calls it a daydream^ or by the French equivalent of reverie. The improbable character of the pictures, with which we allow ourselves to be amused in * Romeo and Juliet, Act i., Scene 4. Illusory CogrAtions, 261 such reverie, is witnessed by the fact, that the man who indulges in them is said to be building castles in the air or chdteaux en Espagne. If our thoughts can form such fantastic combinations even during our waking life, when we never lose control of them altogether, is it wonderful that they run into an utterly lawless riot when the tor- pidity of the mind leaves them undirected by any active purpose ? The state of the dreamer's consciousness, then, is one in which the higher function of thought or comparison, implying (as the third Part of this Book will show) voluntary control, is dormant, and only the more mechanical function of association is active.* After the lengthy analysis of our perceptions, it need not be re- peated that the meaning of an impression on any sense * It is one of the fine comparisons of Hegel that discovers an analogy in waking and sleep to the great cosmic pheiiomena of day and night. At night the mere mechanical forces, on which the existence of the earth in the planetary system depends, co.itinue their movements : but the subtler forces, connected with the calorific, actinic, and optical action of light, cease ; and organic life in plant and animal is affected thereby. Leaving the plant out of account, we find that, in the animal, as in tht vast cosmic bodies during night, it is only the forces necessary to existence llat con- tinue during sleep — the forces of organic life. The higher forces of animal life — sensibility and irritability — cep.se. Nov , the soul — the consciousness — in so far as it is a natural phenomenon, has an analogy with the other phenomena of nature. Its lower functions do not cease in sleep ; sensation, and even ideas that have been originally the result of intellectual processes, may still be excited ; but they are arranged solely by the laws of suggestion, not by the categories ot the understanding. The higher function of reason — comparison — by which sensations are interpreted in their real rela- tions, is dormant. Ideas appear merely in subjective, fortuitous, superficial association ; things lose all necessary, objective, rational connection. (See Hegel's Encyklopadie, § 398.) i! iliM 262 Psychology. depends on our interpretation of it ; and as that inter- pretation implies a somewhat complicated intellectual effort both of comparison and suggestion, we cannot be astonished that it is beyond the' sluggish intellect of the sleeper. As a dream is a partial disturbance of sleep, some at least of the senses are sufficiently roused to stir in consciousness sensations which are generally so obscure as to be all the more easily misinterpreted ; and the misinterpretation is commonly directed by any sug- gestion that happens to predominate at the time. That this origin of dreams is no mere conjecture, but a familiar fact, is implied in the delicious fancy of Queen Mab, as " She gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love ; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on courtesies straight ; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees ; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream. Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, ' And then dreams he of smelling out a suit ; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep. Then dreams he of another benefice. Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. Of health's five fadom deep ; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes."* If we took the necessary trouble, we might often, without calling in the aid of any poetical fiction, trace a dream not only to its originating sensation, but also through the suggestion from which it received its peculiar shape. Thus Dr. Gregory relates that in earlier life he had ascended. Mount Vesuvius, and during the ascent had felt the heat Romeo and Juliet ^ Act i., Scene 4. Illusory Cognitions. 263 of the mountain on his feet. Long subsequently he had read an account of Mount Etna, though he had never seen it. Some time afterwards he went to bed one night with a vessel of hot water at his feet ; and during the course of his sleep he dreamt that he was walking up Mount Etna, and felt the ground under his feet warm. On another occasion he mentions that he had read an account of the Hudson's Bay Territory, which gave a vivid description of its severe climate. One night, shortly afterwards, he dreamt of being in that territory, and suffering intensely from the cold ; he awoke, and found that in his sleep he had kicked the bedclothes off. * The obscure sensible impressions, which thus suggest fantastic interpretations in the torpid mind, will easily explain those horrors of dream-life which have their source in the various painful sensations of indigestion. To such obscure impressions also can be referred that large class of horrid dreams which go by the name of nightmare^ in which the common circumstance is ah effort to do something, with the feeling of inability to do it. These dreams will be generally found to arise from impeded respiration. The sleeper is lying on his back or face, or in some other positiou in which his chest can- not freely expand to allow a full inhalation ; and naturally, therefore, he has a dim sensation of endeavouring to perform the most essential of the vital processes, while there is some difficulty in its performance which he cannot overcome. This sensation is of course enhanced if there is the additional oppression arising from a flatulent or overloaded stomach. But the general resui Abercrombie's Inquiries Concerning the Intellectual Powers, p. 201. 264 Psychology. m'-a is the same in all, varied only according to the habits or circumstances of each individual.* Other facts of dream-life receive a similar explanation. It is well known, for example, that questions addressed to a dreamer, especially if they are connected with the subject of his dream, will often elicit answers which show that the question has been heard, and has even become mixed up with some of his amusing fancies. It is also a familiar experience of many, that they can waken at a fixed hour by determining upon it before going to sleep. This would seem to imply that, notwith- standing the torpid state of '.he sensibility in general, a certain degree of wakefulness was preserved, sufficient to keep note of time, without preventing the refreshment of sleep ; and it is known that the dominant idea of rising at a particular hour occasionally gives shape to a dream. It was noticed above that, though dreams generally exhibit a whimsical cl.aracter, yet this is by no means essential j for the fictions of dreaming may often be less strange than the facts of real life. This is not at all inconsistent with the theory which ascribes the impro- bable caprices of dreaming to the fact of the mind being in such a dormant state that it is unable to control the directions of its thoughts ; for though thoughts, when uncontrolled, may run riot, yet it is quite possible for them to take a perfectly sober course. In fact, the * Nightmares with me take a turn which is evidently suggested by professional work. I am standing in front of an audience, who are writing to hear me speak ; but, although often deas and the words to express them seem to rise with greater readiness and brilliance than during waking hours, the most frantic efforts of the vocal organs fail to elicit a single sound. Illusory Cognitions. 265 subject of a dream may sometimes control the direction of our thoughts, and produce thereby a concentration of mind, of which we are incapable amid the distractions of the waking world. As a result of this, it has been the testimony of several distinguished men, that in sleep they have seen their way through problems which had per- plexed their waking hours; and Coleridge informs us that his poem of Kubla Khan was composed in a dream.* II. There still remains for explanation the second peculiarity of dream fancies, the irresistible illusion of their reality. This peculiarity, too, must be attributed to the dormant state of the mind. This torpidity of mind implies two circumstances, which explain why the imagery of our dreams should appear so real in comparison with any imaginations of our waking consciousness. L. The first of these circumstances is the absence )f any impressions from the real world to exhibit, by force of contrast, the unreality of the images which play before us in dreams. That the want of this contrast has to do with the illusory reality of dreams, must appear from the fact that a dream is instantaneously dispelled by any violent sensation, such as a loud noise, which suddenly rouses the dreamer to waking life. It is an interesting fact, which illustrates the same effect, that spectral illusions, which have tormented a patient in a darkened chamber, often vanish by simply letting in the light, and revealing thereby the realities around. 2. A second circumstance connected with the condi- tion of the sleeper also accounts for the illusory reality of his dreams. The vividness, with which we can call up * Several facts of this sort are related by Mr. Dallas in The Gay Science^ Vol. i., pp. 232-4. 266 Psychology. an image of anything, depends, among other conditions, on the sense, through which the image was first received, being occupied or not at the time. It is difficult to represent distinctly the visual appearance of anything, if the eyes are at the moment engaged in examining some actual object ; and this is the reason why many people instinctively close the eyes during intense efforts of thought or recollection. It is equally difficult to recall distinctly a tune Avhile the ears are being assailed with actual music or loud talk ; and the same fact is notice- able in the case of the other senses. It is, indeed, for this reason that we can generally study to better purpose amid quiet surroundings and familiar scenes. Now, in sleep the senses are so torpid that they disturb us very little with impressions from the outside world at all ; and th'^rpfore any images that are suggested, being allowed to absoib the consciousness, become as vivid as if they were produced by real objects. An interesting result occasionally follows from this. By one of the Secondary Laws of Suggest? "^n we have seen that, the more vivid an idea is, it becom>\. the more powerfully suggestive; and therefore it sometimes happens that facts are suggested in a dream, which had been totally forgotten in waking life. Several interesting anecdotes are told of persons who recovered in a dream important information regard- ing events which they had fruitlessly endeavoured to recollect when awgke.* * Some of these are preserved by Abercrombie (Inquiries' Concerning the Intellectual Powers, pp. 205-11). Dr. O. W. Holmes relates a story of a lost bond having been recovered by its owner recollecting, during the excitement of drowning from which he was saved, the place where it had been laid (Mechanism in Thought and Morals, p. 75). m Illusory Cognitions. 267 But how is it that sometimes a dream loses its decep- tive reality, and we become aware that it is a dream ? That such is not infrequently the case, must have been the experience of most dreamers ; and there have been instances of men, tormented by nightmare, who have succeeded in vanquishing its delusions by resolving, as they went to sleep, that they would treat its horrid fantasies as harmless unrealities. Dr. Reid relates that in his early life, being tormented almost every night for a while by frightful dreams, he resolved to try and remember that his terrors were unreal. After some fruitless efforts he was at last successful ; and " often," he says, " when I was sliding over a precipice into the abyss, I recollected that it was all a dream, and boldly jumped down."* Such effects are obviously to be ex- plained from the circumstance that the dreamer is not only half-asleep, but also half-awake, and that he tends either to relapse into the unconsciousness of profound slumber, or to struggle into the distinct consciousness of waking life. Now, if the latter should be the course of his dream, and if he is not suddenly staaied into com- plete wakefulness, there will often be a stage in his dream-life, at which its spectres continue to hover b^ifore his mind, but he is sufficiently aroused to be perfectly conscious of their spectral nature. It will generally be found, in fact, that the dreamer wakens immediately after realising that his dream is a dream. Perhaps it would be regarded as an incomplete dis- cussion, which did not refer to those remarkable coin- cidences between dreams and real events, which play a conspicuous part in the literature of modern spiritualism. * Letter in Stewart's Account of the Life and Writings of Thomas Reid, near the end. i* ' i' ! \-\ II li ; i. III 1 268 Psychology. It cannot be denied that such coincidences have oc- curred, in which dreams seem to have contained prog- nostications with regard to future events, or information about contemporary events taking place in another part of the world. But it should not be forgotten that it is seldom, if ever, possible to tell how much a good story of this sort may have been embellished even by the original narrator, and still more by imaginative story- tellers. Moreover, it must be remembered that, while we hear all the remarkable coincidences between dreams and real occurrences, we seldom hear of those dreams which had all the appearance of being significant and yet turned out after all to be meaningless foolery of the imagination. I have known instances of dreams which at the time deeply impressed the dreamers with the suspicion of being intimations regarding future or distant events, and were found to indicate nothing but a little indigestion or an uneasy position of the body. Indeed, when it is borne in mind that there are probably several hundred millions of dreams every night, perhaps we ought to wonder, not that such coincidences are so many, but that they are so few. Besides, such dreams are practically worthless. Like the prophecies of Cas- sandra, they are fated to be received with incredulity. Few men will go even the length of Antigonus : — "Dreams are toys; Yet for this once, yea superstitiously, I will be squared by this."* For who is to determine when a dream is a trustworthy informer, and not merely "a false creation proceeding from a heat-oppressed brain "? Winter's Taie, Act iii,, Scene 3. Illusory Cognitions. 269 § 3. — Hypnotic States. The term hypnotic, from the Grcf.k word for sleep, was suggested by an eminent English surgeon, Mr. Braid, to describe a class of phenomena which have their source in a nervous condition resemblmg sleep. The affinity between these phenomena and dreams is so remarkable, that the former will be f'jund to have received the chief part of their explanation in the treatment of the latter. At the same time, hypnotic phrjnomena are so interesting in many respects that they deserve a separate considera- tion. We shall, therefore, ^irst describe their distinctive peculiarities, and then inquire how these may be ex- plained. (A) In studying the characteristics of hypnotism, we come upon one that is fundamental. I. This primary characteristic is a nervous condition resembling ordinary sleep. The condition may be in- duced either involuntarily by some disorder of the nervous system, or voluntarily by some artifice of a monotonous character, such as is often adopted for the purpose of overcoming sleeplessness. I. Of the hypnotic states which come on involuntarily the most familiar is common somnambulism. The fact of walking in sleep, which is alone expressed by this term, although a common phenomenon, is by no means an essential or distinctive characteristic, of the state. Frequently it consists in mere talk during sleep, and at this stage can scarcely be distinguished from those dreams in which the dreamer is heard speaking, at times in reply to questions. An interesting case in point is recorded of a military gentleman, whose brother-officers often amused themselves in directing the course of his IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) (/ .^Ak ^: i^ The intense mental concentration of the hypnotic patient often assumes the form of an overpowering belief that he can or cannot do certain actions. The increased ability and disability, which are thus gener- ated, are paralleled by the well-known effects of ex- cessive confidence and diffidence in daily experience. These effects are realised, in a homely form, which makes them familiar to all men, in games of skill Success at the outset is one of the most important con- ditions of success at the close. The confidence thus awakened in the player's mind imparts an increased firmness to nerve and muscle, enabling him to direct his movements with precision ; so truly has it been said of those who make a good start, — "Hos successus alit ; possunt, quia posse videntur."* On the other hand, an unfortunate slip at the commence- ment of a game, on the part even of one who usually plays well, may often be observed creating a distrust in one's powers, — a feeling of anxious timidity, — which is almost sure to interfere with accuracy of stroke. This effect of confidence is, in truth, similar to that which is produced by any emotion powerful enough to concen- trate an individual's energies on one object. It is thus that under the influence of high enthusiasms men become capable of achievements, for which the tamer motives of everyday life are inadequate; and occa- sionally a human career is blighted by a single crime, to which the criminal might never have been seduced but for the overmastering temptation of a moment. * Aeneidf v., 231. Illusory Cognitions. 277 ypnotic Dwering I. The 1 gener- of ex- erience. , which 5f skill, int con- ce thus icreased irect his said of amence- I usually strust in which is This which is concen- t is thus ns men tamer d occa- single ve been )n of a The irresistible subjection of the somnambulist's mind to a dominant idea often assumes the form of a belief that he does or does not experience certain sensations. This phenomenon scarcely requires any elucidation by reference to other spheres of mental life, after what has been said, in the first section of this chapter, on the hallucinations and illusions to which even the same mind is sometimes subject Here a single additional remark may appropriately be made on the effect of mere imagination in creating actual sensations. Numerous instances are recorded of persons being made to feel sensations of almost every variety under the influence of strong conviction, and such instances could probably be multiplied from the experience of most men. It is, in fact, not an uncommon social amusement to find sport at a friend's expense by making him the victim of some harmless hallucination ; and any one may by an experi- ment of this sort discover how easily subjective sensations can be excited.* The ease with which a person may be thus victimised, is of a piece with the power which the mesmeric operator wields over his subject. Nor is the disconnection of hypnotic and normal * The Memoirs of Dr. Chalmers relate two such pleasantries, intended to exhibit imagination overriding sense. In one the victim is made to feel the taste of coffee, in another the smell of sulphur. (Vol. i., pp. 191-3). A remarkable case is known to me of a farm servant who, treading inadvertently on a harrow, saw one of its prongs protruding through the upper leather of his boot. " My God I" he exclaimed, " I have got lockjaw ; " and fell into a sort of tetanic paroxysm. He was carried in this state into the house, his boot tenderly pulled off, when it was found that the prong had passed without hurting him between two of his toes. Yet it was some hours beforfi he could free himself from the terror of lockjaw. 278 Psychology. \ !•!■ ' consciousness without a parallel in our ordinary mental life. The oblivion of hypnotic actions in waking life is analogous to the difficulty of reinstating at will moments of intense mental absorption, whether in intellectual work or in emotional outburst. This difficulty is probably owing to the fact, that all such absorption involves an excessive waste of energy which is essentially destructive, and that the destructive nature of the state forbids its reproduction even in the fainter form of memory. It is from this cause that human character often presents combinations apparently the most incon- gruous. For the ecstasies of the enthusiast, however ennobling their influence might be, cannot be recalled with sufficient distinctness to exert that influence on his conduct; and therefore his life may be separated into two parts, which seem not only quite distinct, but even antagonistic to each other. A fanatic of the type of Robespierre or a devout inquisitor may indulge one day in a gush of religious fervour, and the next find diabolical satisfaction in a butchery at which healthy human nature stands aghast* The disconnection of hypnotic and normal conscious- ness is in some respects also illustrated by the phenomena of habitual and dexterous actions. These exhibit an accuracy which parallels that of the somnambulist's conduct, — an accuracy which disappears under any attempt at conscious direction as completely as the somnambulist's increase of power is destroyed by the restoration of normal consciousness. There is also a separation in consciousness between the actions that are * Some striking instances of such incongruous combinations in moral character are given by Mr. Leckie in his History of European Morals, Vol. i., pp. 305-8. Illusory Cognitions. 279 1 mental (ig life is noments ellectual iculty is isorption sentially the state form of ;haracter }t incon- however recalled e on his ted into )ut even type of one day ext find healthy tnscious- nomena hibit an nbulist's kr any as the by the 3 also a that are done under the influence of habit and those that are governed by conscious volition, — a separation so com- plete, that we often go through a long series of habitual actions without being able to recall a single detail of the series. Even the fact that a patient in one hypnotic state can recall what he did in a previous state, — this connection of hypnotic states with each other, while they remain disconnected with ordinary consciousness, is not without an analogue in the phenomena of habitual actions. For it is often observable that, if we break down in the performance of such action, we start the whole series afresh with better prospects of success ; that is to say, by going back to the beginning, or to some well-marked point in the series, we endeavour to reinstate the condition of habitual activity in the hope of being able to proceed to the end of the series with that mechanical accuracy which we despair of attaining by any conscious direction. This is illustrated, not only in ordinary cases of repeating by rote, but still more strikingly in that extraordinary memory which some exhibit, and which is almost always of a mechanical character. For example, the scholarly Scottish poet, Ley den, could repeat verbatim anything, even a dry legal document, by reading it once. But he found this mechanical memory inconvenient ; for, if he wished to recall any particular point, he had to start from the beginning and repeat the whole mentally till he came to the passage required.* So necessary and so effective is the expedient of reinstating the whole of the associated circumstances, upon which suggestion depends. An additional illustration of this is afforded by the amusing, lations in European • Abercrombie's Intellectual Powers^ p. 47, 28o I Psychology. but significant fact, that instances are on record of a man doing an action when drunk, wholly unable to remember it when sober, but recollecting it at once on getting drunk again.* The above remarks indicate the general explanation of hypnotic phenomena, which seems to be demanded by the present state of our knowledge. At the same time it must not be concealed, that there are many particular details which are far from having received a complete psychological explanation ; and, on its physiological side, the whole subject presents still a wide field of research for cerebral physiology. To the student unfamiliar with the facts, the general description of this section can scarcely convey any idea of their marvellous nature; but it was impossible to illustrate the subject more fully without giving the whole treatment too much of a merely anecdotical character. A fuller narrative of the interesting facts connected with this region of mental life must be sought in the special literature which it has called forth. Some of this litera- ture has been occasionally cited above ; and it is con- stantly receiving accessions, either in the periodicals of the day, or in independent monographs. Dr. Carpenter gives considerable space to the subject in his Principles of Mental Physiology , with which may be compared his two lectures on Mesmerism^ Spiritualism^ etc.^ historically and critically considered. Two papers by Mr. G. Stanley Hall in Mind (Number xxi., p. 98, and Number xxx., p. 170), give some account of the most recent researches both in Europe and in America. Wundt's Physiologische Psychologic (Vol. ii., pp. 375-8) gives a sketch of foreign * Ibidy p. 238, .>! Illusory Cojytitwns, 281 3rd of a nable to once on nation of inded by e time it tarticular :omplete ical side, research ; general any idea ssible to he whole haracter. pted with e special lis litera- ls con- dicals of arpenter "Principles >ared his \torically Stanley xxx.) p. searches ologische foreign researches and literature. It may be added that the societies, recently instituted on both sides of the Atlantic for the promotion of psychical research, will probably at least succeed in collecting a body of facts connected with the abnormal activities of mind, free from those imaginative embellishments which, however pardonable in the art of the story-teller, are fatal to scientific inquiry. Some idea of the work already done by the English Society iftay be gained from the recent work, Phantasms of the Livings by Mr. Gurney, Mr. Myers, and Mr. Pod- more. With this may be compared four articles by Mr. Gurney in Mind (Numbers 33, 36, 46 and 47). • * i ^ i 282 Psychology. CHAPTER VI. GENERAL NATURE OF KNOWLEDGE. WA THE explanation of our intellectual life would not be complete, if we did not attempt to generalise the detailed analyses through which we have gone. We have traced intelligence gradually evolving, out of associ- able and comparable sensations, perceptions of individual objects, out of associable and comparable objects, classes of those that resemble. Then we have seen it evolving processes, by which it extends our knowledge from indi- viduals to classes, and from classes to individuals, with a consciousness of the reason for the extension. And lastly, we have followed it in its loftier movements, through the philosophic, the artistic, the moral, and the religious consciousness, seeking the interpretation of isolated particulars in the light of the universal order which they express, and stripping that order of its dead al'otf^rtness by finding it in the living particulars. Id sum up, there is thus evolved to our consciousness % veld of objects^ pla«ed over against ourselves^ extending hroughout an immeasurable space^ and undergoing alter- ations during a limitless time — alterations which are pro- duced in the objects by each other in consequence of their reciprocal causality. There are, therefore, certain supreme categories, under which the intelligible world is )GE. vould not generalise: one. We ; of associ- individual :ts, classes t evolving from indi- ds, with a on. And avements, I, and the tation of sal order f its dead rs. iciousness extending oing alter- h are pro- quence of e, certain world is General Nature of Knowledge. 283 thought, and which are indicated in the terms italicised in the preceding sentence. These being the universal categories of the intelligible world, their interpretation involves the interpretation of the general nature of know- ledge. Consequently, we find that the problem of the ultimate generalisations of psychology gathers round these categories and their implications. The discussion of this problem carries us into the most controverted field of our science. The controversy over this field has been perplexed by being mingled with a philosophical question which, though having an affinity with the psychological, still in strictness lies wholly be- yond its sphere. The philosopher inquires into the validity of the categories as facts in the real existence of the world. To the psychologist, on the other hand, they are simply facts of human consciousness, which call for scientific explanation as far as the processes of science can be of service for this purpose. Accordingly, these universal factors of intelligence are now to be examined in a purely psychological aspect. Even in this aspect the examination* has furnished a subject of extensive controversy. Among the innumerable theories which the controversy has called forth, there are commonly distinguished two general tendencies of speculation. Without attempting to describe these tendencies in a single sentence, it may be faid, by way of preliminary explanation, that one, starting from the assumption of a world of realities, such as is formed in our consciousness, explains all factors of intelligence as being alike products of these realities. The other theory, on the contrary, starts from self-conscious intelligence as the primary fact of all science, sees in the realities of the world no mean- ing except as constructions of intelligence, and therefore refuses to find in these realities the source of intelligence I ru ! 284 Psychology. itself. The former of these two tendencies is variously named, for reasons which will appear in the sequel, Realism, Empiricism, Sensationalism or Sensualism ; the latter is distinguished by such names as Idealism, Transcendentalism, Intuitionalism. Before proceeding to the discussion of these rival systems of thought, there are some terms of frequent occurrence in the controversy, with the exact use of which the student must be made familiar. 1. The term ^Intuition, from which one of the above systems receives its name, expresses etymologically the act of looking upon (or into ?) anything. As we seem to gain an immediate knowledge of things by looking at them, intuition is very commonly applied, in general literature, to any cognition which is given in a sudden flash of consciousness without the intermediation of a lengthy process of reasoning. Now, if there are any knowledges involved in the very nature of knowledge it- self, they cannot be the product of any cognitive process ; for without them the process would itsjplf be impossible. For that reason they are called intuitions. 2. Such knowledges are also said to be transcendental. They do not take co-ordinate rank with other factors of knowledge, which are merely adventitious. As condi- tions essential to the very possibility of knowledge, they may be said to transcend all its adventitious factors. 3. A priori is another expression applied to such knowledges, especially since the time of Kant ; while all other constituents of our knowledge are named a posteriori.* A cognition a priori is, literally, one that * The Germans have even made these expressions into regular adjectives, as we might do by adopting the forms apHoric and aposterioric. s variously be sequel, insualism ; Idealism, )roceeding ight, there mtroversy, t be made the above ;ically the e seem to Doking at n general a sudden tion of a 5 are any wledge it- ! process ; ipossible. ^endental. actors of Ls condi- ige, they ;ors. to such while all lamed a )ne that io regular ioric and General Nature of Knowledge, 285 proceeds from what is prior, as an a posteriori cognition proceeds from what is posterior. It is on this account that arguments have been distinguished as a priori or a posteriori^ when they proceed from cause to effect or from effect to cause ; for the cause is naturally prior. If I know an effect, — a fact or thing done, — from seeing it done, I know it from what comes last in regard to that thing, — from its ultimate accomplishment. My know- ledge is, therefore, a posteriori On the other hand, if I know a fact before seeing it done, I know it from some source prior to the fact. My knowledge is, therefore, a priori. The former kind of knowledge is often spoken of as experience. Now, experience is literally trial. When we observe a fact as it actually happens, we may be said to have found it out by trial ; and, therefore, our know- ledge of it is appropriately described as experiential, or by the Greek equivalent empirical. Mu^h of the knowledge, on which we act every day, is a priori in a certain sense. While I am writing, I have not yet tried the ink that is at the moment on my pen ; but I know a priori that it will leave a permanent mark on paper. Still, this knowledge, which, relatively to these drops of ink, is a priori, is not absolutely so. It is based on knowledge previously acquired by ex- perience, — by trying similar ink. As far as such cases are concerned, therefore, it remains a question, whether there is any knowledge that is absolutely a priori 4. Various other terms are applied to a priori cognitions, describing the same characteristic from different points of view, {a) They are called pure^ because they are derived from the intrinsic nature of intelligence, without the admixture of anything extrane- ous, {b) They are, therefore, to be viewed, not as 286 Psychology. \ \ I exotics transplanted into the mind from some foreign source ; they are rather native^ innate (inborn), {c) On that account, they must also be conceived to be at the origin of all cognition, to be original, {d) As essential to the possibility of cognition, they are further spoken of as necessary ; and (e\ being necessary to intelligence, they must be found in all minds, that is, they are universal. 5. Such cognitions, being common to all men, are sometimes described as together constituting the Common Sense. This expression was brought into special promin- ence in the literature of British philosophy by the Scottish School ; and the student will find a learned justification of the term, along with much interesting information about other terms of kindred meaning, by the greatest representative of the school, Sir William Hamilton, in his edition of HeiiTs Works, Note A, § 5. 6. The distinction, drawn between Reason and Understanding, has some interest in the present connec- tion. Both terms are often employed for intelligence in general, or at least, as already mentioned,* for the higher process of intelligence, namely, comparison. But along with this general meaning, Understanding is often used, in a special sense, to designate intelligence considered merely as constructing cognitions of an empirical and particular nature, while Reason is, in contrast, applied to intelligence as furnishing, by its own nature, those a priori principles which form the supreme categories, the highest unifications of all knowledge. The further explanation of this distinction, with the modifications which it has received from different writers, would lead, however, into controversies of a philosophical * See above, Book i., Part ii.. Chapter ii. General Nature of Knowledge, 287 e foreign {c) On be at the essential spoken of elligence, they are men, are I Common 1 promin- e Scottish jtification formation i greatest [nilton, in son and t connec- igence in for the nparison. inding is elligence of an m is, in y its own supreme owledge. with the t writers, )Sophical nature. It need only be added that, whatever distinc- tions of this kind may be recognised, they must not be conceived as breaking up the essential unity of self- conscious intelligence ; for it is in virtue of this unity, that intelligence forms the supreme categories that give a structure to all experience. We may now proceed to the examination of these categories. § I. — Self-Consciousness. The previous chapters have described the evolution of our knowledge through its various stages. From this description it appeared that the very earliest step in forming the simplest perception is the consciousness of a sensation. This means that the sensation is no longer a purely subjective state, in which the sentient being is himself absorbed; it must have become an object of knowledge, to be compared with others, — to be identified and discriminated. But this objectifying of a sensation implies that it is projected from me : in this act I become conscious of something which is not I; and the con- sciousness of that which is not I is the consciousness at the same time of myself. Self-consciousness, therefore, is involved in the very beginning of knowledge. Accordingly, self-consciousness is not so much an essential factor of intelligence, as rather intelligence itself. It cannot, therefore, be a product of processes of intelligence, themselves products of non-intelligent forces : for processes of intelligence without selfconsciousness would be processes of intelligence without intelligence ; and the forces, producing processes of intelligence, would, though non-intelligent themselves, be intelligible, 11 !i: I' i; sii ■iM ll iii ! 288 Psychology. and an intelligible system of forces pre-supposes an in- telligence, to which it is related. Still, Empiricists have endeavoured to explain self-conscious intelligence as merely one among the innumerable products of the universal forces, which intelligence itself construes into intelligible system. It is, therefore, necessary to consider this theory. Recent expositions will be found in Mill's Examination of Hamilton's Philosophy ^ Chap. XII. ; Bain's Emotions and IVill, Note on Subject and Object at the end of the volume; Spencer's Principles of Psychology^ Part VII., Chapters 16-17. The following statement contains the salient points of the theory, the language of Mr. Mill being generally adhered to as closely as possible. We have no conception of mind itself; we neither know nor can imagine it, except as represented by the succession of feelings which are called states of mind. Nevertheless, our notion of mind is the notion of a permanent something, contrasted with the perpetual flux of mental states which we refer to it ; but the something, which we thus figure as remaining the same while its states change, resolves itself into a permanent possibility of these states. This permanent possibility of feeling, which forms my notion of myself, is distinguished from those permanent possibilities of sensation, which form my notion of external objects. The latter are permanent possibilities of sensation only, while the former includes all kinds of feeling ; and, what is more important, the former is a possibility to me alone, the latter to other beings as well. The distinction has also,— at least so Dr. Bain insists, — a certain correspondence with the distinction between the ideal and the actual, between imagination and reality. To account for this notion of self it is postulated, General Nature of Knowledge. 289 ts an in- sts have ;ence as i of the rues into consider in Mill's . XII.; I Object ciples of "oUowing Bory, the :d to as ! neither d by the of mind, on of a itual fiux mething, while its Dssibility feeling, ed from ch form rmanent includes ant, the o other least so (rith the Detween itulated, that the mind is capable of association and of expecta- tion. By these principles the actual feelings of the present become associated with the once actual feelings of the past and with possible feelings expected in the future J and the aggregate thus formed is the something permanent amid changes of feeling, — the self which we figure as remaining the same while its manifestations vary. This theory suggests some obvious criticisms. I. Exception may surely be taken to the initial limitation of our knowledge of self. You may predicate what you like about stages of mental life prior to the origin of self-knowledge, or of any other kind of know- ledge, whether in the human infant, or in organisms of ruder type. You may assert that at these stages mental life is merely a succession of feelings which jver refer themselves to any self who feels them. But the limita- tion, to which exception is taken, has nothing to do with such a stage of mind : it expressly applies to a self- conscious activity ; an J it asserts that, even when I do know myself, I know myself merely as a succession of feelings. So far am I from knowing myself always and only as s succession of feelings, that I never know nor can conceive myself as such. The assertion is, in fact, a contradiction in terms ; it is tantamount to the assertion, that I know myself as that which is not I. There is, indeed, a sense in which the assertion might be interpreted as an awkward expression of a truth. A feeling, considered as a concrete fact, is but a mind or self in a certain state. It is true that by the ordinary process of abstraction we may give special attention to the state of feeling without thinking specially of the self who feels, just as we may withdraw our attention from the centre of a circle and confine it specially to the cir- T 290 Psychology. cumference. But as the latter abstraction is never sup- posed to imply that a circle can be known only by its circumference and without any centre, surely the abstrac- tion of feeling from the mind that feels cannot be under- stood to mean that the mind may be known only by its feelings without reference to itself. Whenever we descend from the dead abstractions of science to the living facts of our mental existence, it becomes obvious that feelings, thoughts, volitions are merely mind in its different activities and states. Accordingly, when it is asserted that we know the mind merely as a succession of feelings, the statement might be interpreted as imply- ing nothing more than that, when I know myself, I must know myself, not as an unreal abstraction, but as a living reality — not as a mere indeterminate something, but as a being who knows and feels and wills. This, however, is not what is meant, by the limitation which the theory imposes on our knowledge of self. It assumes that we may know certain phenomena called feelings or mental states, but that we cannot know a being who feels, a mind that exists in these states. The truth is, that the whole description is based on the ap- plication to self-conscious intelligence of a wholly inap- plicable category — the category of substance and quality. The self-conscious intelligence constructs, by processes which we have analysed, a world of things or substances distinguished by determining qualities. But the form, in which the world is thus construed by intelligence, cannot be reflected on the construing intelligence, as if itself were merely one of its own constructions. Even the category, here applied, is misunderstood. It is used as if it implied that substance is an unknown and unknowable something, hid behind the impenetrable veil of its qualities. Without discussing here how far General Nature of Knowledge. 291 er sup- ^ by its ibstrac- : under- y by its ver we ; to the obvious id in its hen it is iccession as imply- i, I must is a hving ;, but as a limitation f self. It ma called t know a tes. The 3n the ap- .olly inap- d quality, processes Isubstances e form, in ice, cannot as if itself understood, unknown ipenetrable Ire how far this is a proper account of the category, it must be evident that, under such an interpretation, it has no ap- plicability to self-consciousness. We may, indeed, if we choose, speak of the self as a secret that is inexplicable. But it is a very open secret. There is nothing that we can apprehend more clearly than the meaning of " I " and " me," when they are used simply to express self- hood. All that can be understood by speaking of the self as inexplicable is, that in self consciousness we come upon a fact, beyond which science, knowledge, cannot go ; for it is the fact of knowledge itself. The truth is, that the attempt to restrict self-knowledge to a series of changing feelings is abandoned as soon as it is made. For after declaring that we cannot knoiu or conceive or imagine the mind except as represented by a succession of feelings, Mr. Mill adds in the immediately following sentence, that our notion of mind is the notion of a permanent something. It is this notion whose origin the theory seeks to explain. II. The explanation, however, will be found to involve throughout a begging of the question at issue. I. The postulates assumed and their application will make this evident. {a) The first of these postulates is association. Now, our analyses have shown that the effects of association are often marvellous ', but, after all, it can merely associate. It can link together this, that, and the other feeling. It can, after a while, make one suggest another rapidly and uniformly, even instantaneously and irresistibly. But no mere association can create what is not contained in any of the associated states. These remain this, that, and the other feeling to the end. Certainly no multiplicity of feelings can, simply by the fact of their being associ- 292 Psychology. ated in a continuous succession, produce the unity of self-consciousness. ip) The other postulate, that the mind is capable of expectation, is still more obviously out of the question ; for expectation is inconceivable without self-conscious- ness. The language employed by Mr. Mill in the state- ment of this postulate conceals the inconceivability. The assertion that '* the mind is capable of expectation," is intelligible only on the supposition that the expecting mind is already self-conscious, is able to imagine itself feeling in the future. But it should not be forgotten, that, on this theory, the expecting mind, not being yet developed into self-consciousness, is at any mom.cut merely a feeling or a cluster of co-existent feelings. Consequently, th postulate, expressed with strict regard to the conditions of the theory, should have been to the effect that a feeling or a cluster of feelings is capable of expecting other feelings in the future. It may fairly be presumed that in this form the postulate would have placed itself beyond the necessity of criticism. 2. The description of the mind as a permanent possi- bility of feeling is another point demanding consideration in this theory. The term possibility is, indeed, some- what vague ; but, in any sense, it can be taken only as an intensified abstraction of a term already sufficiently abstract, namely, power. Now, on any empirical theory, power, or (what is the same idea) cause, reduces itself, as we shall see,* to an uniform antecedence. But evidently this idea has no application in the present case. The only cause, power, or possibility, from which a mental state proceeds, is, for the empiricist, the state or cluster of states forming its antecedent. Empiricism * See § 5 of this chapter. General Nature of Knowledge, 293 inity of Dable of lestion ; nscious- le state- :y. The tion," is icpecting ne itself )rgotten, eing yet moment feelings, ct regard 2n to the ipable of fairly be uld have snt possi- iideration ;d, some- 1 only as ufficiently al theory, ces itself, ce. But e present om which the state ,mpiricism cannot even entertain the conception, that, in addition to these determining antecedents, the self enters into the temporal current of feelings as a constant factor in their causation. And yet, on any other interpretation, it is difficult to comprehend what is meant by speaking of the mind as a permanent possibility of feeling. The fact is, as already urged, that the categories, by which the self-conscious intelligence gives order to the succession of phenomena, are not the qualifications by which that intelligence is itself described. It is true that I, as an individual person, distinguish myself from other individuals by the particular current of feelings and thoughts which make up my mental life. But in the Fclf consciousness, which characterises that life^ there is a principle implied, which cannot be conceived as itself a mere product in time of any temporal association of phenomena. It is but due to Mr. Mill to observe that he himself admits the intrinsic inconceivability of his theory. " The thread of consciousness," he says in closing the discussion, " which composes the mind's phenomenal life, consists not only of present sensations, but likewise, in part, of memories and expectations. Now what are these ? ' In themselves, they are present feelings, states of present consciousness, and in that respect not distinguished from sensations. They all, moreover, resemble some given sensations or feelings, of which we have previously had experience. But they are attended with the peculiarity that each of them involves a belief in more than its own present existence. A sen- sation involves only this : but a remembrance of sensa- tion, even if not referred to any particular date, involves the suggestion and belief that a sensation, of which it is a copy or representation, actually existed in the past : and an expectation involves the belief, more or less 294 Psychology. positive, that a sensation or other feeling to which it directly refers will exist in the future. Nor can the phenomena involved in these two states of consciousness be adequately expressed without saying that the belief they include is, that I myself formerly had, or that I my- self, and no other, shall hereafter have, the sensations remembered or expected. The fact believed is, that the sensations did actually form, or will hereafter form, part of the self-same series of states, or thread of conscious- ness, of which the remembrance or expectation of those sensations is the part now present. If, therefore, we speak of the Mind as a series of feelings, we are obliged to complete the statement by calling it a series of feelings which is aware of itself as past and future : and we are reduced to the alternative of believing that the Mind, or Ego, is something different from any series of feelings, or possibilities of them, or of accepting the paradox, that something which ex hypothesi is but a series of feelings, can be aware of itself as a series The true incomprehensibility perhaps is, that something which has ceased, or is not yet in existence, can still be, in a manner, present : that a series of feelings, the infinitely greater part of which is past or future, can be gathered up, as it were, into a single present conception, accom- panied by a belief of reality. I think by far the wisest thinf A^e can do is to accept the inexplicable fact, with- out any theory of how it takes place." No one can fail to be impressed with the fairness of spirit, which characterises this exposition by Mr. Mill of the inconceivability attaching to his theory. The ex- position implicitly contains most of the criticism which this section has passed upon the theory ; for it admits that self-consciousness cannot be conceived as construct- ed by an association of successive sensations. The full General Nature of Knowledge. 295 purport of this admission the sequel of this chapter will show. It will then appear that, with the admission, empiricism in psychology is virtually abandoned. The empirical theory of self-consciousness assumes, in the postulate of expectation, even if in no other respect, that the consciousness of time precedes the conscious- ness of self. We shall now consider the tenability of this assumption. § 2. — Time. The consciousness of time is explained, on the empi-ical theory, as generated by the succession of conscious states. Probably the fullest exposition of the theory in recent times is that of Mr. Herbert Spencer.* His exposition may be summed up thus : — I. In the consciousness of successive states one part of the fact of which we are conscious is their succession. The state A appears in consciousness, not as the isolated state A, but as prior to its consequent B. Again, B appears as posterior to A, and prior to some third state, C ; and so on with the other factors of any conscious series. II. Now, suppose, as often happens in actual con- sciousness, two states separated, first by a brief interval, say a second ; afterwards by a longer interval, say a minute ; and again by an interval longer still, such as an hour, a day, or a year. Here we have the same conscious states separated by different intervals. We are thus led * Principles of Psychology, Part vi., Chapter xv. See also Sully's Outlines of Psychology, pp. 255 — 265. ■asHi 296 Psychology. to distinguish the intervals from the states they separate, — to form the abstract idea of succession^ that is, of time. This abstraction may also be created, or, if already created, may be confirmed, by the fact, that different sets of conscious states may be separated by the same interval of time. Thus an odour and then a taste, a colour and then a sound, a sorrow and then a fit of anger, may follow one another, each at the interval of a second or an hour or a day or any other definite period. The theory, thus sketched, explains, if such an explanation were nececsary, how, given the consciousness of our feelings being related in time, we may separate the idea of time from the feelings ; that is, it explains how, from the consciousness of feelings being successive, we may form the abstract idea of succession. But it does not begin to explain how we first become conscious of the concrete fact, that our feelings are not merely feelings, but are related as consecutive or as contem- poraneous. For the .proposition, with which the theory starts, is either untrue or an assumption of the point at issue. The proposition is untrue, if it be taken to mean .ha.: the fact of succession is a part of the successive feelings, of which we are conscious. I am conscious of one feeling, then of another ; but in the one or the other there is nothing to tell that it comes before or after. Do I taste time, or smell it, or touch it with my fingertips, or see it in colours, or feel it when I am roused into anger or melted into tenderness ? But it may perhaps be urged that, though no feeling is itself a consciousness of time, yet the association and mutual suggestion of feelings form this consciousness. Need it be repeated that association can merely associate? It can give us a taste and an odour, a colour and a sound, etc. ; and, if prolonged, it may produce an General Nature of Knowledge. 297 irresistible and instantaneous suggestion. But the fact of one sensation being suggested by another, however irresistibly and instantaneously, is not the consciousness of their being related as prior and posterior ; it is simply the consciousness of one sensation, then of another; it is not the consciousness of any relation whatever between them. But in a certain sense it is true, that the fact of their succession is a part of the whole fact of which we are conscious in a series of feelings. Only the proposition is not true in the sense which the theory requires. The consciousness of their succession is a wholly different act from the consciousness involved m the successive feelings themselves. It implies that consciousness is not restricted to feelings, but goes beyond them, and compares them with one another. Now, how is such a consciousness possible ? If our mental life be merely a succession of feelings, if the consciousness of each moment absolutely vanishes as that moment passes away, there can be no principle in consciousness to connect the different moments by a comparison which goes beyond each and cognises its relation of priority or posterity to others. For this there must be some peimanent factor of conscious- ness, — a factor that is out of the succession which it observes. That factor is self-consciousness ; and without self-consciousness the consciousness of time is thus seen to be impossible. Thus also memory is explained. For memory is some- thing more than mere suggestion, with which it seems at times to be confounded in a purely empirical psychology. By memory is meant, not merely the representation of a former presentation, called up by the Laws of Association. It is a representation accompanied by the consciousness that it is a representation of what was formerly present. 298 Psychology. w I I Memory therefore implies a higher function of the mind than a bare association. It is the higher function of comparison applied to the suggestions of the past. As perception is an interpretation by thought of the presen- tations arising in consciousness from the excitement of the sensibility at the time, so memory may be described as an interpretation of the representations suggested to consciousness by associations formed before. It is a judgment with regard to the time — the temporal circum- stances — in which these representations were previously presented in consciousness. We can therefore under- stand why it is that, while suggestion is active in the earliest manifestations of mental life that we can trace, memory is a later development. Young children evi- dently often confound mere fictions of the fancy with valid reminiscences ; and the poor creatures are some- times ignorantly punished for lying, when their sole fault is a mistaken judgment with regard to a suggestion. Even in mature life most men must have had experience of the inconveniences arising from a slip of memory, which is no more unintelligible than an illusion of sense ; and the scrupulous thinker will sometimes find himself in doubt as to whether his memory deceives him or not. When memory is thus fully described, it is seen to be impossible without self-consciousness. For if there were no permanent self, continuing identical amidst all the changes of consciousness, — if there were but a perpetually altering consciousness, in which each moment absolutely perishes as the next supervenes, — then there might per- haps be suggestion of one feeling by another, but there could be no memory. For memory is the consciousness that I, remembering in the present, am identical with my self of the past remembered. The inconceivability of memory on any empirical theory of mind is strikingly General Nature of Knowledge. 299 )f the mind function of ; past. As the presen- citement of e described jggested to e. It is a >ral circum- i previously fore under- :tive in the e can trace, hildren evi- ! fancy with IS are some- 1 their sole L suggestion. I experience of memory, on of sense ; ind himself him or not. seen to be f there were idst all the L perpetually It absolutely I might per- but there )nsciousness ical with my ;eivability of is strikingly expressed in the quotation from Mr. Mill near the clo^e of last section. § Z'— Space. The empirical theory on the origin of this notion starts from the position, that all ideas of space may be interpreted in terms of muscular sensibility and time. It may, therefore, be observed in passing that, on this theory, the idea of space pre-supposes that of time ; so that it is possible to admit the empirical origin of the former, while denying that of the latter. To explain the fundamental position of the theory, it is to be observed that every notion of space may be described as referring to a possible series of muscular sensations in a given time. Is the particular notion that of magnitude ? hen suppose, for example, I am thinking that the desk before me is larger than the book lying on it, my thought implies that a longer or quicker series of muscular sensations would be experienced in passing the hand over the surface of the one than in passing it over that of the other. Again, is the particular notion that of distance? then suppose, byway of illustration, I perceive this house to be nearer than yonder mountain, my perception means that a longer or quicker series of muscular sensations wouid be felt in reaching the one than in reaching the other. Starting from this interpretation of our notions of space, the empiricist proceeds to the fact that space implies more than a succession of sensations; it implies a co-existence of positions. I conceive that the points, successively occupied by my hand or my body in traversing a space, do not vanish out of existence, but continue to exist when my hand or my body has left 300 Psychology. / them. How is this additional notion to be explained ? Partly by the fact, that we can feel simultaneous sensations of touch corresponding to the points succes- sively touched during the series of muscular sensations experienced in traversing a tangible surface. Still more fully, however, is this notion of simultaneity developed by simultaneous sensations of sight, as these can compass a far vaster extent of surface. In fact, Mr. Mill at least holds that, without the aid of sight, in other words, to the congenitally blind, ideas of space can never imply more than a mere succession of muscular feelings. But perhaps the idea of points successively touched being co-existent would be most unequivocally suggested to the mind by our ability to repeat the series of touches in any order. The different points, simultaneously discerned by touch and sight, or thought as co-existent by being touched in different orders, become thus the symbols of different stages in a series of muscular sensations by being associated with them. Finally, by abstraction these different points or positions may be dissociated in thought from the muscular sensations with which they were originally associated, and which they originally re- presented. We thus reach the abstract idea of co- existent positions, that is, of space. For space, as in- dicated especially by the German term Raiim^ is simply the room or sphere in which muscular exertion is possible.* The opponents of the older empiricism have usually * Expositions of this theory will be found, among other places, in Mill's Examination of Hamilton^ Philosophy, Chapter xiii. ; Bain's Senses and Intellect, Part ii., Chapter i., §§ 33-45 ; Spencer's Principles of Psychology, Part vi., Chapter xiv., with which com- pare Chapter xxii. General Nature of Knowledge. 301 jxplained ? lultaneous nts succes- sensations Still more developed n compass [ill at least words, to iver imply ings. But hed being sted to the hes in any :erned by by being jymbols of lations by Dstraction ociated in lich they finally re- ea of co- ice, as in- is simply icertion is ^e usually ther places^ apter xiii. ; ; Spencer's vhich corn- contended that its genesis of this notion assumes im- plicitly the existence of the notion before the process of origination begins. The more recent empiricists, how- ever, ascribe the imperfection of the old empirical theory to the fact that it failed to recognise the function of the muscular sense in the development of this notion. But it is difficult to see how the introduction of this new factor into the development evades the old charge. For in educing the notion of space from muscular sensations, it must not be supposed that these are anything but sen- sations. They are, of course, distinguishable in con- sciousness from other sensations — from tastes, sounds, colours — as these are from one another. Different muscular sensations also are distinguishable from one another in intensity, in duration, and in other respects ; but still they are only sensations. Now, the problem is to explain how such sensations become objective relations — of distance, magnitude, situation — between things. In solving this problem we must not describe these sensations as if they were already such objective relations. But descriptions of this pur- port seem hardly avoidable. Some muscular sensations, for example, are spoken of, and with propriety, as "sen- sations of movement." Yet this language is apt to be used as implying that a muscular sensation is a conscious- ness of movement, and therefore of the space through which the moving body passes ; but this consciousness is not really involved in muscular sensations, or in any other sensations as such. Occasionally in the discussion of this subject phrases are employed with less justifica- tion, as when "consciousness of position," or "position" simply, is made to stand as an equivalent for any sensa- tion of touch. 302 Psychology. ■(■ In such descriptions of sensations the whole question is apt to be begged. A sensation cannot take us beyond itself; and that is necessary in order to conceive a rela- tion of space or of any other sort. Here again, there- fore, empiricism falls into its general confusion between sensations, whether isolated or associated, and the act of self-conscious thought by which sensations are compared. But, in addition to this general confusion, the empirical theory on the notion of space falls into the special mis- take of confounding the sensations associated with a notion and the notion itself — the sensations of muscular exercise and the notion of space. It is quite true that we can interpret space in terms of muscular sensation and time ; for muscular sensations are associated with our notion of space : but they do not generate or constitute that notion. In the first chapter of this Part it was shown that solidity, distance, and other relations of space become associated with visual sensations, and therefore irresistibly suggested by them. In hke manner they are associable with, and suggestible by, muscular sensations. But before we have obtained any notions of space at all, it would of course be meaningless to speak of them as being associated with muscular or visual or any other sensations. To say that the notion of space is merely the notion of a possible series of muscular sensations, is to beg the whole question. The feeling excited by the movement of a muscle is not the consciousness of a muscle moving. How do I know that muscular feeling implies masses of muscle which fill space, and a space in which these masses may move ? Not from sensations, either isolated or associated. For space is not feeling; it is not a sub- jective state, or an Association of subjective states. It is General Nature of Knowledge. 303 question s beyond ve a rela- in, there- i between the act of om pared, empirical ecial mis- id with a muscular Lie that we iation and with our constitute art it was tis of space I therefore T they are lensations. lace at all, ■ them as any other le notion o beg the movement e moving, masses of ich these ;r isolated lOt a sub- :es. It is a relation of objects ; and, as a relation, it can be known only by comparison. Once obtained, the notion of space may become associated, and that inseparably, with sensations. With what sensations ? It is hard to answer definitely, if we mean the sensations with which alone the notion asso- ciates. But it seems as if the organs of touch and sight, by the sub-division of their terminal fibres, were peculiarly adapted for suggesting that reciprocal outness, which constitutes spatial relation. Once a sensation is associated with locality, the inseparableness of the association, and the irresistibility of the consequent suggestion, are remarkable. The loss of an arm or leg might be expected to break the association, and to arrest the suggestion of these parts of the organism ; but when any irritation is set up in the trunk of a nerve which formerly extended to a lost limb, the irritation continues to be felt as if at the former termination of the nerve. What is still more astonishing, the same suggestion is observed even in cases of congenital imperfection. For instance, a girl of nineteen years, in whom all the metacarpal bones of the left hand were very short, and the bones of all the phalanges on that hand entirely awanting, used to experience sensations that seemed to be in the palm and fingers of a hand that never existed, as well as in the right hand which she had.* Some other problems with regard to space and time will be more appropriately discussed at the close of next section. * Some notice of such cases will be found in M 'Cosh's Defence of Fundamental Truth, p. 164. Dr. M'Cosh quotes the Reper- toriumfiir Anatoniie and Physiologie for 1836, p. 330. 304 Psychology. I! I i||« \Y'. § 4. — Substance. The cosmos, that is unfolded to self-conscious intelli- gence, is a world of things, objects, substances. It is this aspect of the world of consciousness, that now demands consideration. The empirical theory on the notion of substance has not advanced since the time of Locke. A number of simple ideas, Locke explains, are found to occur together; in more modern language we should say, that a number of sensations are uniformly associated in our experience. On the ground of this association, we become accustomed to think of them as connected by some real bond, this habit being confirmed by the fact that such aggregates of simple ideas or sensations are commonly distinguished by a single name.* Here again the empiricist must be reminded that association simply associates. One sensation may, by uniform association, be made to suggest others, even instantaneously and irresistibly ; but that is not the idea of substance. For in any number of sensations, how- ever long associated and however powerfully suggestive of each other, we have not yet got an objective world at all. This is apt to be concealed by the imperfection and ambiguity of Locke's language, in which " sensation " and "idea of a quality" are confounded. But sensations are the states of a subject, and contain in themselves no reference to an object. Tastes, touches, colours are merely tastes, touches, colours ; they are not the con- sciousness of a thing sapid, tangible, coloured. Whenever we describe them as qualities or ideas of qualities we assume the point at issue, — we take for granted the exis- tence of the notion of a substance to which they belong j for qualify has no meaning apart from a thing qualified. * See Locke's Essay, Book ii., Chap. 25. General Nature of Knowledge, 305 as intelU- It is this demands itance has number of r together ; ; a number experience, iccustomed bond, this ggregates of istinguished ninded that ion may, by ithers, even not the idea lations, how- ly suggestive Itive world at irfection and " sensation " lut sensations emselves no colours are Inot the con- Whenever qualities we inted the exis- they belong ; ing qualified. It is a striking proof of the impossibility of eliciting this idea from sensations, that Hume, on the empirical principles of Locke, denies not only the objective validity of the idea, but even its very existence, on the ground that there is no sensation,* from which it could be derived. The empiricists of the present day generally accept Hume's doctrine, but proceed in defiance of it by starting from an object outside of consciousness, — a sub- stance or force, — as the generator of consciousness itself. If we cannot trace the notion of substance to sensa- tions, its origin must be sought in some other factor of consciousness. To do this, let us observe the import of the notion. We are accustomed, as Locke puts it, to suppose that the qualities, represented by our simple ideas, are connected by some bond. Even Hume acknowledges, that " they are commonly referred to an unknown somethifig^ in which they are supposed to inhere ; or granting this fiction does not take place, are at least supposed to be closely and inseparably connected by the relations of contiguity and causation." That is to say, that the world, which unrolls itself before conrcious intelligence, is conceived not as a series of vanishing sensations, but as a system of things which, with all their variableness, are endowed with a certain permanence. How comes it that the world shapes itself thus to intelligence ? It arises from the fact, that otherwise there would be no intelligible world at all ; it is therefore the form of the world, that is implied in the very nature of intelligence. For to be intelligent is to be self-conscious; and to be conscious of self is to be conscious of notself. Consequently, the very act of * Impression is Hume's name for sensation. See Hume's Treatise of Human Nature^ Book i., Part i.. Section 6. U Il— ^ 306 Psychology. \ I intelligence, by which v/e are conscious of sensations, projects these into an objective sphere, transmuting them into qualities of objects, and thus forming out of them a world that is not ourselves. Accordingly, in their psychological aspect at least, qualities are simply the form in which self-conscious in- telligence construes sensations. By a similar construc- tion is formed the notion of substance as that unity by which qualities are essentially connected, and which re- mains unaltered amid their changes. For the variable elements — the qualities — of things in the world of con- sciousness can be conceived, even as variable, only by relation to that which is permanent. The very condi- tions, under which alone an intelligible universe can be conceived, render necessary the notion of substances as enduring while their qualities change. And here perhaps we find also the source of those two supreme forms under which *^he objective world is con- ceived — the world of objects co-existing in space, and undergoing successive modifications in time. For the world takes its intelligible form from its being posited, by intelligence that is conscious of self, as something that is not self. Now, 1. The notself cannot be thought as an absolute identity. It is the opposite of the identical factor of consciousness ; it is a construction of factors which are necessarily thought as varying, />., as in time. 2. Neither can the notself be thought as an absolute unity. Whatever relative unity may be ascribed to it, it must still, as opposed to the absolutely simple factor of consciousness, be thought as essentially manifold. That is merely another way of saying that it must be thought not as one indivisible whole, but as composed of distinct parts — of parts that are mutually exclusive. But the General Nature of Knowledge, 307 ensations, ansmuting ling out of t at least, fnscious in- r construc- at unity by i which re- he variable orld of con- »le, only by very condi- verse can be ubstances as of those two world is con- space, and e. For the ,g posited, by ithing that is an absolute lical factor of )rs which are \t. |s an absolute :ribed to it, it iple factor of Inifold. That |st be thought ked of distinct [ve. But the relation of mutual externality between co-existent things is space. Space and time would thus appear to be forms in which the world must necessarily be conceived in order to be intelligible — in order to be an object to self-con- scious intelligence. This view of these forms takes away the ground from the puzzles which have been often built upOii them since the time of the Eleatic Zeno. It has been often maintained, even in recent times, that human intelligence is the helpless victim of a mysterious antinomy or contradiction in applying the notions of space and time ; and from this alleged fact various meta- physical inferences have been drawn with regard to the intrinsic impotence and limitation of our intelligence. This is not the place to enter upon the metaphysical aspects of the problems involved in this doctrine, but in so far as the doctrine bears upon the notions of space and time as psychological phenomena, a few words of explanation are required. The doctrine in question asserts that it is impossible to conceive time and space as, on the one hand, uncon- ditionally infinite or unconditionally finite, as, on the other hand, infinitely divisible or absolutely indivisible. However far you may stretch the imagination into the regions of space, into the past or the future of time, you cannot touch in thought an absolute limit — a limit be- yond which there can be conceived to be no space or time. Repelled from the conception of such a limit, you endeavour to conceive space or time as absolutely unlimited ; but you find that thought sinks exhausted in the effort to compass this conception. Again, if time and space are broken up into parts, it is found impos- sible, on the one hand, to imagine a portion of either so small that it cannot be divided into portions smaller still, 3o8 Psychology. on the other hand, to carry any portion of time or space to an infinite division in thought.* Notwithstanding the high authority under which these perplexities have been propounded, it does seem that they imply a misapprehension regarding the nature of the notions upon which they play. It is quite true that we cannot think an absolute limit to space or time, while we are equally unable to think of them as ab- solutely unlimited. But the reason of this is to be sought in no mysterious impotence, which restricts in a special manner the finite intellect of man. The impot- ence arises from the fundamental condition of all think- ing — the law which prevents thought from contradicting, and thereby removing, its own positions. For space and time are, as we have seen, forms of relation ; and to ask us to conceive them under those modes, which the doctrine in question pronounces inconceivable, would be to require the conception of a relative which is not re- lated to anything. Take, by way of ilUustration, the idea of a space absolutely limited. Space is a relation of mutual out- ness ; the very idea of space implies that every space has something outside of it. But a space with an absolute limit would be a space* to which there is nothing outside, — a space that is not a space at all. So, time means a relation to a before and an after. An absolute limit to the past, therefore, would be a time with no before ; an absolute limit to the future, a time with no after. But either limit would be a time that is not a time. * See Kant's Kritik of Pure Reason (Chapter on the Antinomy of Pure Reason); Sir William Hamilton's Discussions, pp. 13-15, 601-9 ; Lectures on Metaphysics, Vol. ii., pp. 367-374. Compare Mansel's Limits of Religious Thought, Lecture ii., and Spencer's First Principles, Part i., Chapter iv. General Nature of Knowledge. 309 or spnce lich these eem that nature of i true that or time, im as ab- i is to be stricts in a rhe impot- if all think- itradicting, r space and and to ask which the e, would be ti is not re- of a space lUtual out- ry space has an absolute ling outside, ,me means a ^lute limit to before; an after. But le. the Antinomy \ons, pp. i3-*5» J74. Compare and Spencer's Take, again, the opposite extreme of the infinite. An infinite space or time, as the writers on the subject explain, is a conception that could be formed only by the infinite addition in thought of finite spaces and times; in other words, the conception implies an endless process. But when I am asked to form the conception now, I am asked to think a contradiction ; I am asked to end a process of thought which by hypothesis is endless. The same remark applies to the infinite division of space and time ; for like an infinite addition, an infinite division is a process which it would be a contradiction to speak of completing. On the other hand, space and time are, by their very nature as relations, conceived to be made up of related parts. The conception, therefore, of a space or time absolutely indivisible would involve an inherent contradiction. § 5. — Cause. After the preceding analyses, especially that of last section, little remains to be said on the special problem which the notion of cause presents. There is evidently a close affinity between the notion of cause and that of substance : in some metaphysical analyses substance and cause are regarded as ultimately identical. As far as they form distinct notions, the one refers to a necessary or objective connection of co-existing pheno- mena, the other to a similar connection of phenomena that are consecutive, in the world of which we are conscious. Accordingly, as empiricism derives the notion of 'substance from the uniform association ot co-existing sensations, so it analyses the notion of cause w '■ ft 1 I I ! ' MA 'I u llf :h .^10 Psychology. into an uniform association of sensations that form a sequence. This analysis is obviously chargeable with the general vice of all empiricism : it gives us a world merely of associated sensations, not of connected objects. A for- tuitous association of sensations, however frequently repeated, is not a necessary connection of objects ; a temporal association in our consciousness is not an ob- jective connection between the things of which we are conscious. There need be no reluctance to admit, to the fullest extent, the marvellous effects of association, especially when uniform and frequent. We have seen Vi at the two factors of an uniform sequence may, after a V/hile, be able to suggest one another irresistibly and .nstantaneously. Still this implies merely that first the one7appears iii consciousness, and then the other im- mediately and inevitably arises. But the thought that the two are essentially connected, so that the one cannot appear without the other — this is a new thought, wholly different from either or both of the terms in the sequence. This thought, again, is the thought of a relation or connection, and cannot therefore be identified with sen- sation. It implies a consciousness which goes beyond transient sensations, and connects them with each other by a comparing act. This act is rendered possible by the presence in consciousness of a permanent factor that is not itself merely one of the phenomena which flow in unceasing variation. It is this factor by which, as we have seen, a plurality of co-existent qualities are con- nected into the unity of a substance. The same factor connects the successive movements in the world that rolls before consciousness. The changing modifications of substances, which constitute this succession, are thus thought as intrinsically connected in their temporal General Nature of Knowledge. 311 liat form a the general merely of cts. A for- frequently objects; a s not an ob- hich we are o admit, to association, e have seen may, after a isistibly and hat first the e other im- hought that J one cannot ught, wholly e sequence, relation or [cd with sen- ;oes beyond each other possible by t factor that hich flow in hich, as we ies are con- same factor Irld that rolls lifications of n, are thus lir temporal relations — as coming necessarily before and after one another. But to say that one is necessarily prior, and another necessarily posterior is to say that the one is cause and the other effect. 312 Psychology. .^j. PART II. FEELINGS. Introduction. IN the remarks at the beginning of this Book it was explained that the various functions of mental life are evolved from the raw materials of sensation by the twofold process of association and comparison j and the student may with advantage here refer to the explanatory remarks on this subject. The development of the first function, — that of cognition, — has been illustrated at length in Part I. It is the development of the second function, that we have now to trace. This function is variously termed feelings emotion^ sentiment. The term affection^ as we shall afterwards find, has been commonly restricted to ^ single class of feelings, while passion is, in ordinary usage, applied to any feeling of unusual intensity. Of the three terms properly descrip- tive of these phenomena, emotion has the advantage of possessing the cognate adjectival form emotional: the adjective sentimental is not available for the same purpose, as it implies, in popular use, a preponderance of the emotional over the intellectual factor in our mental constitution. The various forms of feeling have their origin in the The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 3 1 3 s Book it was ns of mental f sensation by iparison j and refer to the ; development n, — has been evelopment of D trace. This ion^ sentiment. find, has been feelings, while any feeling of )perly descrip- ; advantage of motional: the 'or the same ireponderance Ifactor in our Ir origin in the fact, that sensations are sources, not only of knowledge, but also of pleasure and pain. In the analysis, upon which we are entering, it will appear that the capacity of the different sensations for developing emotion, like their capacity for developing cognition, is to be measured by their associability and comparability. The most complex emotions, therefore, are those which draw their materials mainly from the more intellectual senses of hearing and sight. Those are also the emotions which are sometimes described as the most refined, inasmuch as in them the consciousness is freed from the dominion of mere sense, and exalted into a state in which purely mental activity becomes predominant over bodily sensation. We have seen that the aspect of sensations, in which they form the source of our emotional life, is that in which they are regarded as giving pleasure and pain. Consequently, this aspect of sensation demands our attention at the outset. Further, it may be observed that, though emotions are not connectea with bodily organs in the same manner as sensations, yet there is an important connection, on the ground of which certain states or movements of bodily organs have come to be accepted as expressions of emotion. It will be advisable, therefore, before entering on the detailed analyses of this Part, to discuss the two general subjects thus indicated, nam.ely, the nature of pleasure and pain, and the expres- sion of the emotions. § I. — The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. In this inquiry it need scarcely be said that the question does not concern the intrinsic nature of pleasure and pain as facts of consciousness. To be 314 Psychology. known they must be felt ; and you can explain what they are in themselves only in the way in which any simple sensation — a taste, a colour, or a sound — may be explained, by referring to the fact in consciousness. The inquiry, therefore, is of the same nature with other inquiries which have been already instituted with regard to our sensations ; it concerns the conditions under which pleasure and pain arise in consciousness. Here, however, we are at once struck by a difference between our present inquiry and those which have been already carried out in reference to sensations. It was found that the quality, and even the intensity, of sensations are directly referable to conditions in their objective causes. On the other hand, the pleasantness or painfulness of a sensation is not in general obviously connected with a specific condition in the object, on which it depends. Accordingly, the conditions, which determine the plea- surable or painful character of any conscious state, are to be sought, noj in the object with which it is associated, but rather in the subject itself. On this fact is founded the ethical doctrine, preached by Epicurean and Stoic alike, regarding the indifference of externals to the real happiness of human life. This fact is also expressed in the psychological doctrine, which describes feelings of pleasure and pain as purely subjective states. For while in knowledge and volition there is necessarily a reference to an object known or willed, in the mere feeling of being pleased or pained, the subject is occunied solely with his own conscious condition. What, then, is it that makes one state of consciousness pleasant, and another painful ? This question seems to have attracted scientific attention for the first time under the great impulse, given by Socrates and by his contem- porary adherents and opponentc, to speculation on the The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 315 chief good of human Hfe. Probably the earliest theory on the subject was that of the Cyrenaics, one of the various schools into which the many-coloured followers of Socrates separated immediately after his death. The theory, in its germ at least, may perhaps be traced to the Master ; for it apparently received the sanction of his greatest disciple in the Platonic dialogue, Philebus. But a theory, taking a far larger grasp of the phenomena, was soon after elaborated by Aristotle ; and it is marvellous to what an extent subsequent speculation on the subject has been influenced by Aristotelian thought. Sir William Hamilton has done more than any other British psychologist to draw attention to the subject, and his own theory professes to be little mere than a reproduc- tion of the Aristotelian. But the most recerit discussions on the subject, even among the expositors of the psychology of evolutionism, follow the essential line of the same theory, happily enriching it with a new wealth of illustration from the vast range of modern biological science.* Stript of the technical and even scholastic language in which it has sometimes been unnecessarily dressed, * The completest exposition of Aristotle's own theory is in the Nicomachean Ethics, Book x. Sir W. Hamilton devotes to the subject the last six of his Lectures on Metaphysics (Compare my Outlifie of Sir W. Hamilton's Philosophy, pp. 195-222). Mill's Examination of Hamilton's Philosophy contains a chapter (the twenty-fifth) of hostile criticism on the theory. In Dallas' The Gay Science (Chapters 10-13) will be found an exposition of the theory with charming originality of illustration, and a chivalrous cham- pionship of Hamilton against Mill's attack. Among recent discussions by evolutionists, the chief work to be consulted is, of course, Spencer's Principles of Psychology, Part ii.. Chapter ix., with which compare his Data of Ethics, Chapter x, ; but a ,- 4, H ■ i' I .1 11 ill 316 Psychology. the theory may be summarised in the following brief statement : — All our conscious states — our activities and passivities equally — are capable of various degrees both of intensity and of duration. Still they are limited and that in two ways. There is firstly, an absolute or ultimate limit to the intensity and duration of any state, — a limit which cannot by any exertion be overstepped. There is, besides, a natural or ordinary limit, that is, a limit which the mental "state tends spontaneously to reach, but which may be exceeded by an extraordinary exertion. This limit may be defined in various ways. It is here spoken of as natural, because it is the limit to which a mental state tends by its very nature. As affording a norm or rule for moderating the ordinary stimulation of a mental state, it may be called the normal limit. It is also the limit of health : if it is not usually reached, the organ or power called into play becomes atrophied ; if it is usually transgressed, hypertrophy and destructive waste ensue. Pleasure, then, may be defined as the consciousness arising from the stimulation of a mental state to its normal limit, and no further \ pain, as the consciousness arising from a mental state being strained beyond, or restrained within, that limit. According to this law, therefore, those actions give pleasure which fulfil the conditions of healthy life, those,^ on the contrary, give pain, in which these conditions are violated. Accordingly, it has been pointed out by recent evolutionists that this is precisely the course- prominent place must be accorded to Mr. Grant Allen's Physio' logical Esthetics, c i-^ecially Chapter ii. A history of theories is- given by Hamilton, and also by Wundt {Physiologische Psychologies Vol. i., pp. 494-9). ii: !l 'I The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 3 1 7 following brief being strained which the development of life would take through a struggle for existence in which the fittest survive, as it has been held from of old that the arrangement is a beneficent provision which the wise Author of Nature has made for the preservation of the individual and the continuance .of the species.* But the abstract statement of this theory of pleasure and pain calls for some explanatory remarks in order to understand its interpretation of our emotional life. It may, therefore, be considered proper at the outset to notice an objection which appears in Mr. Mill's criticism of the theory. The objection is urged in an observation made by Sir W. Hamilton himself. " When," he says, " it is required of us to explain particularly and in detail, why the rose, for example, produces this sensation of smell, assafcetida that other, and so forth, and in what peculiar action does the perfect or pleasurable, and the imperfect or painful, activity of an organ consist, we must at once profess our ignorance." Mr. Mill cites this confession as implying that Hamilton was himself " more than half aware " of his theory being unable to fit all the facts. But, in spite of Mill's demand, Hamilton's assertion holds good with regard to all theories, that " in general we may account for much ; in detail we can rarely account for anything." There is not an animal or plant, not a star in space or a pebble on the seashore, whose position and shape and properties we are able to explain in complete detail. The utmost we can do is to show how, if we were acquainted with *It may be interesting to compare with Spencer's Data of Ethics Ferguson's Principles of Moral and Political Science^ Fart ii., Chapter i., § 6. 3i8 Psychology. %Y the history of each individual object, every detail in reference to it might admit of being explained ; but to show how each detail has actually been brought about, is beyond the power of the most industrious intellect. This inability, however, does not militate against our ex- tending to unknown facts a theory which furnishes a simple explanation of all the known facts of the same class. From the accidental limitations of human knowledge, we may be unable to explain how certain facts have been, in all their minutest details, the result of a certain law : our ignorance does not imply that we know the facts to be incompatible with the law. Now, it is true that, in many cases, we cannot tell how the pleasantness or unpleasantness of a particular mental state has actually been produced. It is sufficient to be able to show how, if we were fully acquainted with the process at work in such mental states, their pleasant or painful nature would be seen to flow from the general law of pleasure and pain. But this is precisely what we are able to do in reference even to our simple sensations. Take, by way of example, an unpleasantly sour taste. We know the destructive action of powerful acids on all animal tissues even of the toughest sort. Is it an illegitimate supposi- tion that milder acids, like those of unripe fruit, which do not actually disintegrate the gustative organs, but merely produce an unpleasant taste, set up a violent activity in these organs, and that this excessive strain is the cause of the painful sensation ? For we know that an activity of the same kind, but more moderate in degree, such as is excited by the delicate acids of many common fruits, when ripe, is capable of affording one of the most pleasant tastes. On the other hand, it is worth observing that, if an acid of this sort is extremely diluted, The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 319 :very detail in lained ; but to brought about, trious intellect, against our ex- ch furnishes a ;ts of the same ins of human in how certain .ils, the result of imply that we the law. Now, ot tell how the irticular mental sufficient to be ainted with the heir pleasant or rom the general able to do in Take, by way We know the 11 animal tissues itimate supposi- ""ipe fruit, which ive organs, but :t up a violent cessive strain is »r we know that e moderate in acids of many .ffording one of and, it is worth tremely diluted, it is apt to excite that unsatisfactory feeiing which appears due to an imperfect stimulation ; and in such circum- stances the sapid body is appropriately spoken of as insipid or tasteless. But it is evident that the full explanation of such phenomena must wait upon the pro- gress of physiology in disclosing the nature of the organic processes concerned in our various sensations. But whatever judgment may be passed on Mr. Mill's criticism, there are evidently not a few facts connected with our emotional life, which receive an interesting interpretation in the light of this theory. Among these prominence may be given to a fact which has often been noticed, that, on the one hand, feelings which seem intrinsically painful sometimes give pleasure, while, on the other hand, feelings which seem intrinsically pleasant sometimes give pain. To explain, it may be observed that some feelings appear to depend for their pleasurable or painful character on their intrinsic qualities. This is the case, as Wundt points out,* especially with those sensations, in which, as in tastes, odours, and the feelings of organic life, the consciousness is mainly taken up with the pleasure or pain received. Thus in distin- guishing tastes of a sweet quality from those of a bitter quality, we commonly attach an intrinsic agreeableness to the former, an intrinsic disagreeableness to the latter. So, as already observed, smells are in general distinguished only by their agreeable and disagreeable qualities. In like manner, certain emotions, such as love and hope, seem to be intrinsically delightful, while others, like fear and hate, seem intrinsically painful. Now, if it were really the natural quality of a feeling * Physiologische Psychologies Vol. i., pp. 470-1 (2nd ed.). 320 Psychology. \ w which yielded its pleasure or its pain, it would involve an irreconcilable contradiction to speak of a painful feeling giving pleasure, or a pleasant feeling giving pain. But the truth is indicated by our theory : it is not the essential quality of any conscious state that makes it agreeable or disagreeable, but its accordance or dis- cordance with the limit of healthy exercise. This will appear from both sides of the fact under t onsideration. I. The transition of generally painful feelings into an agreeable state is experienced where it might be least expected, — in sensation, where it might be supposed that, as there is a physical basis for the pain, there must be a physical barrier against its yielding to an opposite feeling. Yet we know that beverages and viands, disagreeable at first, come to be indulged in with even a greedy relish. Habits, like smoking, snuffing, chewing tobacco, are sometimes practised by the beginner with positive disgust, but become after a while the sources of a fascinating pleasure. It seems as if in these and kindred sensations the limit of healthy, and therefore of agreeable, stimulation were very near the limit where consciousness begins; and, consequently, even a faint stimulation is apt to overstep the limit of pleasure. But a persistent exercise of the organ, on which the stimulant acts, seems to produce such a modification of its struc- ture, to impart such a strength or toughness to its tissues, as enables it to stand a degree of excitement which would previously have been unendurable. This is confirmed by the familiar fact, that the longer such a habit is indulged, and the more excessive the indulgence, the greater is the quantity of stimulus required to yield the gratification craved, — '• As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on." The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 321 would involve of a painful ig giving pain. : it is not the that makes it rdance or dis- ise. This will onsideration. eelings into an might be least t be supposed ain, there must to an opposite IS and viands, , in with even a uffing, chewing : beginner with ; the sources of in these and nd therefore of e limit where even a faint pleasure. But |h the stimulant ton of its struc- ghness to its of excitement urable. This longer such a ;he indulgence, uired to yield It is but an extension of this explanation to suppose, that emotions, like grief and fear, which are apparentl}' painful in their very nature, are so in reality only because they scarcely admit of any indulgence without transgres- sing the limits of healthy action. Feelings of the irascible type, for example, in all their ordinary out- bursts, imply too violent a disturbance of our sensitive nature to be capable of yielding any pure enjoyment ; and yet the proverbial sweetness of revenge is a proof that these passions do form the source of a strong gratification, Moreover, prolonged or excessive indul- gence produces here the same effect as in the case of the unpleasant sensations which are converted into pleasure; the man, who continues to find delight in the indulgence of malicious feelings, may be hardened into a coarse insensibility to human sympathies, that will lead him to seek his hideous gratification in strong stimulants of envy and spite and cruel revenge, from which ordinary minds shrink with horror. But we need not dwell further on the malevolent side of human nature, as it will require to be considered fully in the sequel, when the source of its gratifications may be more appropriately examined. In the instances which have just been described, feelings that are usually painful are made to give pleasure by raising the normal limit of healthy excitement, and thus enabling the mind to bear a more powerful stimulant. But there .ire instances in which the same result is reached in another way, — by lowering the intensity of the stimulation. An example of these is furnished by one of the main branches of literature. Tragedy plays upon the pain- ful emotions of the human soul. These emotions, when aroused by causes in the world of reality, com- monly imply an excitement too serious for any sort w i '' ' , I I ! ! W 322 Psychology. of pleasure. They may, indeed, as we have seen, afford a gratification to coarse natures that crave strong emotional stimulants, or to morbid sensibilities that feed on excitement. But to most minds that seek recreation in literature the tragedy of real life is too shocking. An ideal representation of life's tragedies^ however, excites the appropriate sentiments in such a moderate degree as involves no unwholesome strain upon our sensibility, and fulfils thereby the condition of pleasurable indulgence. These remarks are not, of course, intended to be understood as discovering the source of all the enjoyment that is derived from tragic literature. It is obvious, for example, that part of this enjoyment must be due to the aesthetic gratification afforded by literary art. But greater than all the mere delight in artistic workmanship is the pleasurable excitement which is felt in the emotions themselves that are aroused by the ideal pictures of tragedy ; and it is a significant fact that philosophical critics, without any design of establishing a psychological theory, have yet sometimes analysed the pleasure felt in tragedy as if they were expressly illustrat- ing the theory of pleasure and pain, which is now under consideration.* A further result of this theory is the rule of poetic art which demands that a tragedy shall not be excessive, or at least without relief; and it becomes a fair question of criticism, whether some great poems, such as even King Lear and Othello^ do not transgress the limits which are required for poetic effect. The emotions, which, since the time of Aristotle, have been regarded as pre-eminently the materials of * See Hume's well-known essay On Tragedy {Essay s^ Part i., 22.). The quotation from Fontenelle is especially interesting. lave seen, afford t crave strong bilities that feed seek recreation 3 shocking. An however, excites moderate degree 1 our sensibility, rable indulgence, intended to be all the enjoyment It is obvious, for ust be due to the erary art. But Stic workmanship 1 is felt in the ed by the ideal lificant fact that Tn of establishing imes analysed the sxpressly illustrat- lich is now under theory is the rule gedy shall not be md it becomes a me great poems, do not transgress effect, me of Aristotle, the materials of The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 323 tragedy, are pity and terror, or, as they might perhaps be more accurately described, sympathy with grief and sympathy with fear.* Yet grief and fear are, of all emotions, precisely those which force us, amid the realities of life, to face sufTering without disguise. There is nothing, howwer, better established in experience than the fact, that these very emotions are capable of being transformed into pleasurable excitements. I. Take, for example, fear. Even when it is not without ground in real danger, it is yet capable of being toned down so as to yield a genuine, though strong enjoyment, to men at least of robust nerve. It has often been observed that not a few sports owe their joyous stimulation in no slight measure to the excitement of the genuine peril which they involve. The ascent in a balloon, the shooting of a rapid in a canoe, the hunt of the tiger and other beasts of prey, perhaps even the glory of a battle-charge, '* And that stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel," are instances in which even a well-grounded fear does not surpass the limit of pleasure when the sensibilhy has the toughness of vigorous health. But the purest pleasure of this stimulant is felt when it is drawn from imaginary sources ; and it is not merely the drama, but other forms of literature as well, that take advantage of its power. Here, therefore, is disclosed the secret of the spell which poet or story-teller may weave from tales of edy {Essay s^ Part i., tally interesting. * See some capital remarks on this point in Dallas' The Gay ScieniCf Vol. ii., pp. 53-59. 324 Psychology. \\\ horror, and from all the weird imagery that clothes the mysterious a.^ents of an r,ntique superstition. 2. A similar fact is noticeable in the case of the other tragic emotion. It has often been observed that, after the first shock of a bereavement is over, the heart seems to become accustomed to the natural feeling of sorrow, yearns even after the indulgence, and finds a solace in the sad exercise. Sir William Hamilton has cited numerous references to this strange experience of sorrowing minds ;* but he has apparently overlooked the most exquisite expression that it has ever found, when Queen Constance, justifying herself against Philip's complaint that she had become " as fond of grief as of her child," pleads : — " Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words. Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. Then have I reason to be fond of grief, "f If, even in the real calamities of life, the heart may thus find pleasure in dallying with its own woe, it is not surprising that literature should seize upon a fact so favourable to its effects. Not only, therefore, does the agreeable stimulation of grief form one of the principal charms of tragic representation in the drama, as well as in the narratives of history and fiction ; but in all poetry still the favourite theme is // PenserosOy — " The sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought." i II 'i • Lectures on Metaphysics y Vol. ii., pp. 482-3. ■\ King /ohn, Act iii., Scene 4. 1 i •y that clothes the itition. e case of the other bserved that, after ;r, the heart seems feeling of sorrow, i finds a solace in amilton has cited ge experience of itly overlooked the ever found, when f against Philip's fond of grief as of ;nt child, wn with me, his words, parts, th his form. grief, "t he heart may thus Nn woe, it is not e upon a fact so herefore, does the e of the principal drama, as well as ; but in all poetry Isaddest thought." T/te Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 325 It need scarcely be added that, while for convenience illustrations have been drawn from literature, the same principle must explain the charm of pathos in all the arts. II. But the counterpart of the fact we have been considering affords an equally remarkable illustration of the law, on which pleasure and pain depend. Feelings, that seem in their essential nature pleasant, may be rendered painful by repression or by excess. This, too, is experienced, even in, the case of sensations, where it might be supposed that there is a physical necessity for the pleasure. The experience is extremely familiar in connexion with the manifold forms of physical enjoy- ment, which the strong and healthy find in muscular exercise : the moment the limit of health is passed, the moment an injurious waste sets in, that moment a warning is sounded in consciousness by the pleasure of exertion giving place to the pain of fatigue. But the same result is observed also in the indulgence of the passive sensations. Every child soon learns, by some uncomfortable experience, *' To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little More than a little is by much too much."* There is a point, also, which the most delicious fragrance may not exceed ; a slight increase in its intensity may transform it into a nuisance. But here it is surely unnecessary to enter into details ; all that has ever been written on the disagreeableness of surfeits might be cited in illustration of the same truth. In sensations, like those mentioned, which seem • Shakespeare's King Henry IV., Part i., Act iii., Scene 2. 326 Psychology. intrinsically pleasant, it must be supposed that the limit of healthy activity for the sentient organ is considerably above the verge of consciousness, and that therefore the sensation in all ordinary degrees is a source of pleasure. But it is evident that the pleasure arises from no inherent quality of the sensation : it arises from the healthy moderation of the exercise which it involves, and is therefore neutralised by excess. Familiar facts oblige us to extend the same law to our emotions. The experience of men under all conditions has been, that no cup of joy can ever be safely drained to the very dregs. Every attempt to charge our pleasures with an undue intensity, or to prolong them for an undue length of time, is inevitably frustrated by the irreversible laws of our nature. And, therefore, even when life thrills with a moment of ecstatic joy, there often shoots through consciousness a pang from feeling that the intensity of bliss cannot be sustained, that we are trembling on the verge, where a breath may decide whether pleasure or pain is to prevail. This fact has, indeed, opened an in- exhaustible then'.e for the moralist in all ages, founding, as it does, on an unassailable basis the injunction to moderation in all our enjoyments. In an often-quoted passage from Romeo and Juliet this moral precept is actually based on the psychological law with which it is here connected; and the law is itself illustrated by reference to the very phenomena already noticed of pleasant sensations becoming in excess disagreeable. '■ 'i;! ! ;! " These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey Is loathesome in its own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite. ! ii rii. The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 327 sed that the limit m is considerably that therefore the )urce of pleasure. 5 from no inherent rom the healthy involves, and is e same law to our der all conditions be safely drained large our pleasures hem for an undue by the irreversible en when life thrills :en shoots through It the intensity of trembling on the lether pleasure or ed, opened an in- ill ages, founding, ;he injunction to an often-quoted moral precept is s with which it is elf illustrated by ready noticed of disagreeable. owder, etest honey Therefore love moderately ; long love doth so : Too swift arrives as tardy as to slow."* Beside the double fact, now illustrated, of pains becoming pleasant, and pleasures painful, there is another feature of our emotional life, which also receives explanation from the law of pleasure and pain. The law leads us to expect that pain may be produced by opposite causes, — by defective exercise as well as by excess. This expectation seems in many cases to be realised. In illustrating the statement that a taste of sour quality is not intrinsically disagreeable, it was pointed out that, when of moderate strength, as in the delicate acids of many fruits, sourness is rather agreeable, and that it becomes disagreeable either by excess, as in the strong acids of unripe fruits, or by defect, as in an insipid dilution. The same observation may be made in reference to sweet tastes, only that the limit of agree- able intensity is higher than in the taste of acids. The contrast between pains of excess and those of defect is not so obtrusive in other sensations ; yet here and there it may be traced. Thus, an aromatic substance like the odoriferous fruits, may, in course of putrefaction, become so strongly scented as to be offensive, while it excites a milder dissatisfaction also when its aroma is gone. In colour-decorations an excessive display of the powerfully stimulating tints at the red end of the spectrum may * Act ii., Scene i. Compare the apposite passage in Goldsmith's Deserted Village: — " In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; And, e'en when fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy ? " 328 Psychology. I III derive its disagreeableness, partly if not wl>olly, from the surfeit of the eye, while a superabundance of the milder greens and blues, and, still more, of neutral tints, may owe its unpleasant effect to the disappointment arising from imperfect stimulation. Most of these forms of unsatisfying sensations are without names, probably from the fact that they are not sufficiently obtrusive in human life to require specific mention often; but it is one of the earliest lessons of all science to learri that the variety of nature is not to be restricted by the imperfections of human language. Here, fortunately, the want of specific names is compensated by a common artifice of language. The most familiar instance of unpleasantness arising from defective s-nsation is met with among our tastes ; and, as in numberless other cases, the typical representative of a class is used to provide a name for all the rest. Salt that has lost its savour, viands in which the customary seasoning is missed, the extreme dilution of any flavour, — these have long been taken as types of everything that fails to impart an adequate zest to our enjoyments. In- sipidity has, therefore, become a term of extensive apolication to feelings of an unsatisfying nature.* These feelings are met with throughout the entire ' range of our emotional life ; but probably they are to be found in their most striking form in connection with the general exercise of our powers. The happiness of life as a whole must depend on our having sufficient occupation to afford an agreeable stimulation of feeling. It is true * Various other terms, though not more specific than insipid^ are also employed to denote the same idea of the unsatisfactoriness of deficient stimulation of the feelings, such as, dull^ slow, flat ^ stale, vapid, spiritless, lifeless, dead, dead-alive. The emotional state must therefore be familiar enough in ordinary life. wbolly, from the ice of the milder leutral tints, may pointment arising f these forms of es, probably from )trusive in human ut it is one of the hat the variety of imperfections of le want of specific tifice of language. itness arising from 5 our tastes ; and, cal representative r all the rest. Salt ch the customary n of any flavour, — Df everything that enjoyments. In- :rm of extensive y nature.* ighout the entire Ay they are to be nnection with the ppiness of life as ficient occupation eling. It is true ific than insipid, are unsatisfactoriness of '«//, slow, flat, stale, "he emotional state ife. The Nature of Pleasure and Pain. 329 thav the necessities of life compel most men to work beyond the limit of health and pleasure : the minute sub- division of labour in modern times, moreover, aggravates this evil by withholding the relief of variety in occupation, demanding, as it generally does, the special exercise of one power or one set of powers to excess. It is, there- fore, the irksomeness of excessive toil that is most frequently forced on our attention, as indeed it is the pains of excess that are in general the more obtrusive. Still, the irksomeness, arising from an unsatisfactory amount of activity, is not the less a fact. • " Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed."* This is the unpleasantness that we name tedium, ennui. The Germans name it well Langeweile ; for in this state all time seems a long while, it passes so slowly. Accord- ingly, it is to escape from this condition that men invent the various devices appropriately called pastimes ; and when time, by its dreariness, appears like a foe to be got rid of, men are not unwilling to " kill time " by engaging even in laborious sports or feverish excitements like gambling. Perhaps in the light of these facts we may find an ex- planation of the sad phenomena of satiety. Variation of stimulus is essential to consciousness; but even a change perpetually rung on the old set of objects begins after a while to be followed by more languid feelings. Novelty is, therefore, essential to enjoyment, as well as variety, both being necessary to stimulate feeling to the lowest Cowper's Retirement. 330 Psychology, limit of pleasure. But most lives are restricted within a comparatively narrow sphere ; and, whatever variety they may enjoy, cannot long continue to find scope for novelty of impression. Accordingly, if the mind has oppor- tunities of reflection, there is apt to arise, in varying de- grees of intensity, a feeling of dissatis-'faction with circum- stances as unable to afford adequate stimulation in con- sequence of having lost their freshness. This feeling may attach itself merely to single objects which, from long fa- miliarity, have lost their power to please. But it may also extend to the whole surroundings ; and if no bene- ficent necessity prevents the sensibility from morbidly preying on itself, the result may be a state of intolerable discontent with the general insipidity of life. " How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world ! " * In this state of feeling may we not see the source of those pessimistic systems of thought, which find in hu- man life nothing worth living for ? This incapability of * Hamlet, Act i, Sc. 2. The citation of Hamlet suggests that the student will find an invaluable subject of psychological specula- tion in the mood of mind which has been immortalised in this drama. The same life-weariness, with its developments inhuman character, has formed a favourite theme with the poets of the modern world ; and the student may derive an interest from comparing in this con- nection other celebrated treatments of the same theme, such as Byron's Manfred and Tennyson's Maud, but especially Goethe's Faust, and perhaps also the less successful reproductions of the Faus -legend by Marlowe, Miiller, Lenau, and Bailey. There are some admirable remarks on this mood of the soul, with a general reference to its manifestations in life and literature, but with special reference to his Sorrows of IVerther, in Goethe's Wahrheit und Dii.htung, Book xiii. The Nature of Pleasure and Pain, 331 jstricted within a tever variety they find scope for J mind has oppor- ;e, in varying de- tion with circum- mulation in con- This feeling may ich, from long fa- se. But it may and if no bene- ^ from morbidly Lte of intolerable life. ifitable )rld ! " * e the source of hich find in hu- incapability of imlet suggests that chological specula- ised in this drama, human character, le modern world ; jaring in this con- ne theme, such as specially Goethe's jroductions of the alley. There are ul, with a general e, but with special ;'s Wahrheit und 1 receiving pleasure from the feeble excitement of objects that are no longer new may explain also the fact, often referred to by the poets, that to young eyes there is thrown over nature a glamour which vanishes with ad- vancing years. ** There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore ; Turn wheresoe'er I may. By night or day. The things which I have seen I now can see no more."* It only remains to add that another influence must be taken into consideration in order to comprehend ade- quately the phenomena of our pleasures and pains. Our feelings depend for their pleasantness or painfulness, not solely upon themselves, but also upon the relation in which they stand to one another. There a:e two results which follow from this. I. A feeling, which, if allowed free play, might burst into vigorous activity or even absorb our consciousness for the time, may be held in check or, perhaps, wholly submerged by another feeling of an opposite nature, with which it happens to be associated. This is strikingly illustrated by the fact that the same objecc may, by its different aspects, awaken extremely different feelings. Take, for example, an exhibition of vice like drunken- ness. By his droll behaviour the drunkard is adapted to excite irrepressible mirth as naturally as, by his deg- * Wordsworth's Ode on the Intvnations of Immortality from the Recollections of Childhood. Psychology. rjidation of humanity, a feeling of pitiful sorro v or of pitiless scorn. Take, again, aesthetic feeling or taste. Its vagaries have long been a subject of common remark. Nor is this hard to explain, for such feelin^, is often raodified or entirely neutralised by other feelings that are out of harmony with it, such as physical pain, mental suffering, anger, or envy. Nearly all the objects that excite feeling are capable of being viewed in a variety of asptcts; and consequently our emotional life is, In most instances, of a complex nature, while in many instances it exhibits a strange unior. of discordant passions. In ruch combinations it depends on numerous causes, which «;r the contending emotions is to prevail ; but it will be found, in subsequent analyses, that the prevailing emotion is often misinterpreted from ^lalure to appreciate the influence of the others with which it may have been associated. 2. Another important fact results from the relation of different feeling"^. A feeling rnay owe its pleasantness or painfulness, either wholly or partially to its contrast with the immediately preceding state or mind. T'lus a men- tal state, which is neutral in regard to pleasure and pain, may be rendered pleasant by being a relief from previous suffering, while it may be rendered painful by the mere want of some previous luxury. By the same cause, also, our pleasures and pains may be intensified; and it is this fact, that gives to sudden calamities an addit'onal bitterness, as well as an additional z3st to unexpected good news. In the vicissitudes of life this character- istic of our pleasures and pains finds fresh illustration every day ; and therefore tlie pleasures of vicissitude have afforded to Gray a natural theme for one of his finest odes. Expression of the Feelings. 333 ful sorro V or of feeling or taste. :ommon remark. feelin^j is often feelings that are ;al pain, mental he objects that d in a variety of l1 life is, in most many instances nt passions. In us causes, which 1 ; but it will be the prevailing jre to appreciate : may have been n the relation of Dleasantness or ts contrast with Taus a men- lasure and pain, f from previous ful by the mere ime cause, also, fied; and it is ;s an addit'onal to unexpected this character- esh illustration of vicissitude for one of his " See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale. The common sun, the air, the skies. To him are opening paradise." These facts have been embodied in technical language by the p:ychologists. In so far as our feelings owe their agreeable and disagreeable characters to themselves, they are said to be positive or absolute pleasures and pains. On the other hand, the terms negative and relative are used, when pleasure and pain are due to comparison with some previous feeling. § 2. — The Expression of Feelings. Our pleasures and pains have come to be associated with certam bodily actions, so that these can be interpreted by other persons as signs of our sensitive condition at the time. For accuracy three classes of such signs may be distinguished, (i.) There is the ordinary form of intelligent expression for feeling as well as thought in articulate language. This, however, is a mode, not of emotional expression in particular, but of mental expression in general, and, consequently, it presv'jnts no claim for special discussion here. (2.) There arc many actions which are at first voluntarily adopted for the expression of various feelings, and afterwards become so habitual as to be practically automatic. Such are the established usages of courtesy, by which we express kindlmess, respect, and other social feelings. Under this head ought to be included 334 Psychology. Hi, also the numerous exclamations which different persons adopt as expressions of joy, surprise, horror, and other emotions. All expressions of this class are particular in their character. They are limited to particular in- dividuals or to particular communities; and their various forms are often determined by trivial accidents, so that they seldom illustrate, except in a very remote way, any universal law of human nature. (3.) But, after making every allowance for these two modes of express- ing emotion, there remain other expressive actions which are in all men apt to be stimulated by certain emotions, and which seem therefore to be connected with these by some general law. Such are the paleness of fear and the blush of shame, the arching of the eyebrows and open- ing of the mouth under the influence of surprise, the furrowing of the brow into a frown of anger, the curling of the lip into a sneer of scorn, and the effusion of tears in sorrow. Even the internal organs of the body are affected by various emotions. This is indicated in the use of the word hearty as well as of its equivalents in other languages, as a general name for the sensibility. The terms melancholy and splenetic connect the feelings they express with the liver and the spleen respectively ; while the Greek word o-7r\d7x»'a points to some influence of compassion on the bowels. These phenomena must have excited speculation at an early period. The surviving works of the ancient sculptors show that these artists had made the natural expressions of the emotions a subject of careful study. It is impossible also that mimicry and the histrionic art could have attained the perfection which they had reached in ancient Greece and Rome, unless play-actors had made at least an empirical acquaintance with the actions in which feelings are commonly expressed. The Expression oj the Feelings. 335 so-called science of physiognomy may be said to have aimed at explaining the physical expressions of feeling, though it went generally on the wrong scent by tracing peculiarities of temperament to permanent features of anatomical structure, or by interpreting them in the light of fanciful resemblances between human features and those of other animals which were supposed to be en- dowed with certain natural dispositions. A new epoch in the history of the stu(fy may be dated from the publication of Sir Charles Bell's Anatomy and Philosophy of Expression as connected with the Fine Arts^ which appeared first in 1806 as a set of somewhat fragmentary essays, afterwards in 1844 in a greatly enlarged form. Another epoch is marked by Mr. Darwin's Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (1872). This work, while tracing all emotional expres- sions to three laws, lays great stress on the influence of heredity in the formation of these expressions ; and it may, therefore, be taken as a monograph in exposition of the general evolution-theory, which is commonly associated with the name of the author. More recently Professor Wundt, while maintaining the general theory of evolution, has devoted some hostile criticism to Darwin's special theory of emotional expressions, and endeavours to explain them by three laws different from those of Darwin.* *SeeWundt's Physiologische Psychologies Vol. ii., pp. 418-428; and compare his article in the Deutsche Rundschau for April, 1877. Both Darwin and Wundt give a sketch of the literature of the subject. A more rf.cent work by Dr. Warner, Physical Expres- sions : its Modes and Principles (1885), refers to movements that express phases of organic life rather than of mind, and deals there- fore with questions preliminary to those of emotional expression. 1 I( lil i 1 i ' 1';' ii ill ■'■ II 336 Psychology. It is evident, then, that we are still a good way from being able to formulate a law of the relation between feelings and their bodily manifestations. The subject is one where the inquiries of psychology and physiology become inextricably intertwined, and on a field where both psychologist and physiologist must walk with hesitating steps. The inquiry is, indeed, strictly speak- ing, physiological rather than psychological ; it concerns the functions of certain bodily organs in so far as these are affected by mental states. In the present condition of science, therefore, it seems preferable in a handbook to be content with an occasional notice of such facts as may seem to be of psychological interest in connection with the manifestation of the various emotions. Mean- while it may be observed that the tendency of emotions to associate with bodily symptoms is not equally strong in the case of all ; and in relation to this difference there is a generalisation of Hegel's, which seems sufficiently suggestive to deserve mention. He observes that our emotions may be separated into two classes as particular and universal, the former referring to the special condi- tion of the individual, like anger, shame, etc., while the latter includes those emotions which, like the aesthetic, moral, and religious, are free from any tinge of individual interests. The former preserve a close association with their bodily expressions, whereas the latter tend to liberate themselves from these accompaniments. More- over, owing to the complexity of our emotional life, the universal and the particular feelings often take on some of the characteristics of each other ; and the more any feeling tends towards particularisation, it tends also to embodiment in some form.* * Hegel's EncyklopadiCy § 401. Classification of the Feelings. 337 § 3. — Classification of the Feelings. By their very nature as states of merely subjective excitement, the feelings cannot be made objects of such distinct conception as the cognitions. A distinct and exhaustive classification of them is, therefore, beyond the reach of psychology in its present stage. In their lowest form, indeed, as aspects of our sensations, they follow of course the classification of these ; and in their higher forms it might at first sight appear as if they could be classified on the same principle as the sensations, that is, by reference to the bodily organs with which they are associated. It is true, they are not, like the sensa- tions, excited by affections of the bodily organs j but we have seen in the previous section, that they are apt to excite such affections as their natural expression. This principle, however, is found to carry us only a little way ; for it is often impossible to connect a peculiar affection of an organ with one emotion exclusively. A convincing illustration of this is afforded by one of the most familiar manifestations of feeling, namely, the action of grief on the lachrymal glands. For the same action is set up by the very different emotion of anger, and even by the opposite emotion of joy, so that tears of rage and tears of joy are almost as familiar in daily life as tears of sorrow. Indeed, almost any emotion at a high pitch of intensity seems capable of stimulating the secretion of tears ; while it is a still more remarkable fact, that the deepest griefs are tearless. ** Home they brought her warrior dead, She nor swot^ned nor uttered cry ; All her maidens watching said, She must weep or she will die." 338 Psychology. No other principle of classifying the emotions has been suggested which is most obviously natural; and con- sequently no classification has been proposed which has met with general acceptance.* Any classification sug- gested at present must, therefore, be merely provisional ; and the following is adopted mainly as a convenient order for describing the development of the emotions in our mental life. It starts from the rudimentary stage of feeling as simply the pleasurable or painful accompani- ment of sensation. It then proceeds on the assumption that the more complex phenomena of our emotional life, like those of our intellectual life, are developed by the two universal processes of mental action, association and comparison. As the former is the more primitive process, it seems natural to notice first those emotions which are due mainly to association, and then to take up those in which the higher process of comparison is the most prominent factor. There are other emotions which presuppose a certain development of intellectual and moral life, as they arise in connection with our cognitions and volitions. These two classes of emotions, which may appropriately be styled intellectual and moral, will naturally come last in our treatment. I i • In Professor Bain's The Emotions and the Will, Appendix B, the student will find a brief outline of some of the modern classifications. lit Feelings of Sense. 339- CHAPTER I. FEELINGS OF SENSE. HERE feelings are considered as merely certain aspects of the elementary mental states, out of which the emotional life proper is developed. A superficial observation shows that, as sources of pleasure and pain, the rank of sensations is the reverse of that which they take as sources of knowledge. The more prominent in consciousness the pleasantness or painful- ness of a sensation, the less is it adapted for that calm contemplation of its intrinsic qualities by which our knowledge is built up. Consequently, the general sensations, in contrast with the special, are, as a rule, with the exception of the muscular, associated irr consciousness almost exclusively with the pleasure or pain they afford, and but slightly, if at all, with any information they communicate. The sensations arising from the healthy or unhealthy action of the nerves, df the digestive and other organs, commonly intrude themselves into consciousness only as states of pleasure or pain. Occasionally, indeed, a mind of scientific habits or of practical prudence may, by observation and reasoning, arrive at a knowledge of important facts associated with such sensations ; but for the ordinary mind they remain 340 Psychology. states of a vague uninterpreted delight or uneasiness. The result is, that feeling in such cases remains indis- solubly attached to the sensation in which it originates. Feelings of this primitive character may be of incalculable importance as contributing to the comfort and discomfort of our daily existence, which are of course essentially dependent on our animal condition. But as the sen- sations, arising from the functions of animal life, are in- capable of being distinctly observed and compared, they do not enter readily into association with other sensations to form those more complex states of feeling which compose our emotional life. Still it is not to be supposed that our emotional states are altogether dissociated from these vague general sensations. Occasionally we find the pleasantness or unpleasantness, characteristic of these sensations, applied to the description of feelings which have no apparent connection with sense. The heart is ** broken " or " gnawed " with care, the feelings are " wounded," the spirit is " crushed." Often we are " cut " to the heart, we "burn" with impatience and other passions, we are " chilled " by a friend's unexpected manners. A certain " atmosphere of thought " is spoken of as " stifling," 'while we " breath a freer air '" when we adopt a different set of convictions. Even the pleasures and pains, which are apt to be thought of as the most grossly animal of all, — the sensations of the alimentary canal, — may be transfigured in this way, as is shown in the secondary application of such terms as relish, zest, gusto, on the one hand, as nauseating and disgusting on the other. These feelings have, in fact, been exalted into a sort of sacredness in the memorable blessing of those who " hunger and thirst after righteousness." It is not always easy to tell how this transference of Feelings of Sense. 341 ; or uneasiness, s remains indis- Lch it originates. >e of incalculable t and discomfort ourse essentially But as the sen- limal life, are in- l compared, they I other sensations )f feeling which emotional states e vague general pleasantness or insations, applied jave no apparent is "broken" or "wounded,'^ the ' to the heart, we passions, we are mers. A certain of as "stifling," adopt a diff"erent and pains, which rossly animal of canal, — may be n the secondary |st, gusto, on the ig on the other. ;ed into a sort of of those who Is transference of the names of sensations is brought about. In some cases it seems to arise from a resemblance of some sort between the sensation and the feelings designated by its name. In other cases, however, its source is to be found in facls connected with the expression of the emotions. It was shown, in the immediately preceding Introduction, that emotions are associated in some way with various bodily organs, so that the affection or movement of these forms a more or less distinct expression of the associated emotions. This association, however originated, seems to react on the emotions ; and thus an organic affection or movement comes to be suggestive of the emotion which it primarily expressed. For this reason, if for no other, dyspepsia, which may be induced by various unpleasant passions, especially by those of a malevolent nature, tends to darken the mental life by passions of the same order ; while, on the other hand, eupepsia, which is promoted by a cheerful and benevolent disposition, returns this favourable in- fluence by making the culture of such a disposition more natural. A careful observer may easily convince himself by experiment, that those movements of the facial muscles, which are among the most familiar manifesta- tions of feelings, — smiles, frowns, sneers, — can be made to excite in a vacant mind the emotions which they com- monly express \ and it is a significant confirmation of this, that, in hypnotic states in which the conscioutir.ess is dominated by purely natural p.jsociations, it is com- mon for an operator to introduce into his subject's mind any feelings or ideas he wishes by setting the features or limbs to some adjustment usually expressive of an emotion. There is another fact deserving of notice in this con- nection. Pleasure and pain, by whatever cause excited, mi I ')>! 342 Psychology. \\i IH:: tend to combiiie with their natural emotional associates ; and consequently any agreeable sensation is favourable to joy, love, hope, and aesthetic delight, whereas any disagreeable sensation is apt to excite melancholy, ill- temper, fear, despair. But in all such cases it still remains a distinctive characteristic of the general sensations as a class, that they are not so adapted for entering into the vast combinations of feeling which form the most interesting as well as the most important feature of our emotional life. Such combinations have their chief source in the definitely comparable sensations of special sense, and especially of hearing and sight. In signalising these two senses it is meant that they are better adapted than any of the others for developing the more complicated emotions as well as the more complicated cognitions; and this superior adaptation may be made evident by a comparison of the different senses in respect of their emotional power. I. Of the two less intellectual senses, taste and smell, almost enough has been of necessity said in analysing the cognitions which they go to form. The sensations of taste, though more distinctly marked than those of smell in our ordinary consciousness, were shown to be but slightly endowed with associability or comparability, and therefore to be incapable of distinct representation. Accordingly, it was observed that they do not readily enter into those ideal combinations, which are equally essential to emotional and intellectual development. Moreover, the sensations of taste are too closely bound up with the functions necessary for the preservation of life to admit of free indulgence in their pleasantness ; and this also, as we shall find, excludes them from aesthetic uses. Burke, indeed, thinks that the pains, — Feelings of Sense. 343 we might say, the horrors, — of taste may enter into our feelings of the sublime ; but the only instance he gives is the literary use of the phrases, "a cup of bitterness," " to drain the bitter cup of fortune," " the bitter apples of Sodom."* With these may be compared such terms as "sweet" or "sour temper," "sour looks," "bitter fate," " honeyed words," " bitter language." Expressions of this sort are merely examples of what was noticed a few pages before, — the transference of the names of sensations to describe feelings which have no connect with sense ; and it may be questioned whether the use of these expressions ever approaches the character of sub- limity. II. The sense of smell, as already observed, is in man mainly emotional. It is true that, in many species of the lower animals, its organ is more developed and its uses are more numerous. It serves to attract the sexes, as well as parents and young, to one another ; it forms a guide in the discovery of food, in evading more powerful enemies, and in tracking prey. Whether these facts are causally connected with the emotional character of odours in man, is still a matter of conjecture. It is no mere conjecture, however, that in each individual these sensations afford many of the familiar pleasures of life. Not only the interested enjoyments of the table, but all the purer delights of forest and garden, of rural life in general, derive a large element from the pleasures of smell. This naturally leads us away from the simple sensations of odour to the emotional associations which they form ; but although the subject belongs properly to the next chapter, it is not altogether out of place to * Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful ^ Part li., § 21. 344 Psychology, notice the comparative readiness with which odours enter into such associations. It has long been observed, for example, that odours have an influence on the sexual feelings; and the use of incense in religious service points to some connexion with the feelings of devotion. It is true, that these emotional influences of smell are more prominent among Southern people ; and it may be in- ferred that the increased and uninterrupted development of odours under a warmer sun and a perpetual summer, is paralleled by an increased development of sensibility to their effects.* III. Touch is commonly conceived as more destitute of emotional character than any of the special senses. It is, therefore, a remarkable fact, that the itxm feelings which is the most general name for the phenomena of pleasures and pains, has been borrowed from the sense of touch. As already hinted in treating of our tactile per- ceptions, the emotional side of this sense is probably overlooked from the fact that its contributions to our mental life have become largely absorbed in those of sight. Yet a more careful examination soon shows that the emotional elements of touch are neither few nor unimportant ; and that they obtrude themselves in our daily consciousness is shown by the fact, that a strong emotional impression is very commonly described by saying that we feel touched, while a strong emotional stimulant is spoken of as touching. The effect of touches upon our feelings varies according to the part of the skin affected, as well as the quality of the sensation excited. I. The emotional susceptibility of different parts of * Some interesting observations on this point will be found in a popular, but suggestive, little book by Dr. George Wilson, The Five Gateways of Knowledge, pp. 62-85 Feelings of Sense. 345 the skin evidently does not show a close parallel to their intellectual discriminativeness. The reason of this I take to be, not that the parts of great discriminative power are not also extremely sensitive to the pleasantness and unpleasantness of touches, but that the two modes of mental activity, cognition and emotion, are essentially incompatible. Accordingly where, as in the hand, con- sciousness is usually engrossed with the information given, the emotional uses of the organ are reduced to a minimum. Still the hand affords many tender delights, as well as many repulsive unpleasantnesses, of touch. It is the grasp of the hand that is taken, over most of the civilised world, as the appropriate expression of common kindly feelings. The tongue, though seldom used by man for discriminating anything but articles of food, and though the most acute part of the whole organism, is yet scarcely ever applied to emotional uses. But dogs, cows, and other animals, lick the objects of their affection. It is in parts not commonly employed for purposes of dis- crimination, thai the highest emotional susceptibility is realised. The lip and cheek,* and even parts of lower intellectual rank, are commonly associated with the most delicious enjoyments of touch. 2. Among the various kinds of tactual sensation, that which yields the purest and most independent pleasure is smoothness. Softness is also a plentiful source of agreeable sensations ; but it is more dependent on concomitant feelings, and accordingly it is more apt to be supplanted by such associations as a rough or clammy surface. On the other hand, even the hardest substances, when highly polished, are capable of yielding an inde- pendent delight in their smoothness. Even the pleasure Some African tribes rub noses in expression of friendly feeling. 346 Psychology. \ m n that we take in the sight of polished surfaces is, in a large measure, a revival by suggestion of the tactile feel- ing which such surfaces excite. The additional gratifica- tion, also, which we derive from gloss or lustre, though partly visual, is likewise partly due to its manifest suggestion of smoothness.* But tb^ greatesi volume of iioy - ,< *-, i^at we owe to touch, IS found in the comDinriiutr. of its two most emotional sensations, smooti.ae ■ .vid sr>ftness. The delicate petals of our common fioweri,, 'he downy feathers of birds, the sleek and glossy fur of many animals, are objects over which the fingers play with perpetual delight ; while the use of feathers and furs for clothing, as well as the imitation of their qualities in cloths of velvety texture, is evidently suggested by the agreeableness in the touch of smooth and soft bodies. But it is the human skin, especially in the infant and the female sex, that realises most completely the con- ditions of delight in tactual sensation; and the tenderness of such delight has furnished to thought and language a description characteristic of all kindly emotions. Among the pains of this sense hardness and roughness are of course the most prominent ; and their combina- tion, as in unwrought stone or unpolished iron, is as repulsive as the union of their opposites is attractive. The terms hard and rough are, therefore, of very extensive application to objects that excite emotions of a disagreeable nature. But it is important also to observe that smoothness and softness, especially the latter, are * The reader of Burke's Inqtiiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, may recall the extravagant importance which he attaches to smoothness among the conditions of beauty. See especially iii., § 14, and iv., § 20-25. Feelings of Sense. 347 themselves c" ble of an unpleasanl excess. Perhaps the unpleasaii-'iess in such rises is due to defective stimulation ; ai d that mry he the reason why t',c; terms smooth and S(: > are often figuratively applied to objects of a mean and contemptible character. But whatever may be the cause wf this unpleasantness, the pain of hard and rough impressions is undoubtedly due to excessive stimulation. Hardness evidently is akin to those violent pressures which crush and bruise the tissues. On the other hand, roughness resembles various sensations of an intermittent character, which ■were referred to before when explaining the nature of discord. In such sensations it seems as if the inter- mission gave time for the organ to recuperate, and thus to become capable of a wasteful degree of activity, which would be impossibh under the numbing influence of a continuous stimulation. In this way we may explain the unpleasant effect produced by a discordant clash of sonorous vibrations, or by a flickering light. Thus also it would appear that instead of the continuous impression made by a smooth body, a rough surface, being formed of projections separated by minute intervals, owes its unpleasantness to the violent tactual excitement caused by a series of intermittent shocks. The sensation of weight is mainly muscular, but may be noticed here, as it is also to a slight extent tactual. The only definite enjoyment which such sensation yields is that arising from a weight light enough to be borne with moderate exertion, so that light comes to be •descriptive of all performances that are made pleasant by being easy. On the other iiand, the extreme easiness of any action is unsatisfying ; and consequently light is often applied to objects of contemptible triviality. But the decided form of uneasiness connected with this class 348 Psychology. K "i \\ \ \ ! ■ I! of sensations is that of excessive weight ; and therefore heavy is a term of wide use to describe the various feelings arising from the difficulties of life, by which its energies are oppressed. It only remains to add that, as touch is endowed in an eminent degree with distinct representability, its pleasures and pains enter readily into those ideal combinations which form the more complex emotions. Thus, " the touch of a vanished hand," and *' remembered kisses after death," are referred to in well-known poems of the Laureate's as revivable with distinctness and suggestive with power enough to stir the deepest movements of our emotional nature. IV. Hearing is a sense of the very highest emotional value. Superior to touch in intellectual adaptation, it is superior also in capacity for pleasure and pain. In this capacity it is superior to sight as well, so that, although it does not ally itself so definitely with specific emotions, yet it originates some which stir our nature more pro- foundly. This is most familiarly illustrated in the influence of music. Here, it must be borne in mind, the influence of this art is considered, not in all its manifold character, but merely at its lowest — its sensuous stage. There is considerable difference of opinion as to the nature and origin of the emotional effects produced by music ; but all theories on the question must recognise a certain basis in organic sensibility, on which higher effects are built up. That sensibility implies, as has been ex- plained in earlier pages, a capacity for agreeable and disagreeable impressions, both from single tones, and from the melodic and harmonic relations of different tones. Single tones depend for their pleasant or unpleasant character on their intensity, their pitch, or their quality. Extremely loud or extremely shrill sounds are painful ; ! Feelings of Sense. 349 and the pain seems obviously due to the violence of the organic action which they excite. Harsh qualities of tone have been already traced to the same cause as discords, — the inharmonious interference of the overtones with the fundamental tone.* Now, the unpleasantness of discord has just been explained as, like roughness, caused by a series of intermittent stimulations, which allow the organ to recover between each, and thus call forth a wasteful expenditure of energy.! On the other hand, the unsatisfactory character of the weak tones, which from the absence of overtones possess no decided quality, is perhaps dufj to defective stimulation. The sensibility to luditory enjoyment, however, in its refined forms, is a la'er growth of evolution in the indi- vidual as well as in the race. Not to speak of the innumerable harsh cries of the lower animals, or the deafening noises which monkeys delight to make by beating sticks as well £s by screeching, it' is evident that, in early life, when the auditory sensibility is still undeveloped, and the general nervous organisation robust, the ear can not only endure, but enjoy, violent excite- ments, — loud noises that irritate, if they do not stun, an adult ear, or wild tones that pay little or no regard to musical law. The coarse sensibility of the savage enables him also to find delight in a music which is distinguished • See Book ii., Part i., Chapter i., § 4 (B). ii. + The depth of feeling which may be stirred by the mere organic effect of discord is strikingly displayed by the experience of hypnotic patients. "A discord, such as two semi-tones sounded at the same time, however soft, will cause a sensitive patient to shudder and recede when hypnotised, although ignorant of music, and not at all disagreeably affected by such discord when awake." (Neurypnology, or the Rationale of Nervozis Sleeps by James Braid, p. 62, note). '! !■ 1} ■' 1 '• I ? I* ! i, '■•III; \f ;l 350 Psychology. mainly by its overpowering stimulation of the sense. It may be observed, moreover, that, as the limit of healthy excitement varies even in the individual for hearing as well as for other senses, men of general refinement, in hours of boisterous mirth, relapse not unnaturally into the early rude taste for uproarious song and clamour. There is, however, a peculiar richness in the emotional effects of music, which extend over a vastly wider area than the mere sensibility to sound. It is in fact practically impossible to set a limit to the feelinj,'s which may be stirred by this art ; and no psychological theory could be accepted as a complete account of the nature and origin of the emotional influence of music, which restricted that influence to one set of emotions, such as sexual feeling, or derived it exclusively from one class of sounds, like those of speech. The truth seems to be, that tones readily associate with all the leading emotions of the human soul, and that therefore the sensuous gratifications of tone become at once intermingled with some of the associated emotions, though which of these shall be stirred must be determined by the various cir- cumstances of the individual and of the moment. It is a significant fact that, in Collins' fine Ode to Music, the passions, though of the most conflicting order, are all pictured as resorting to this art, at once for their approp- riate stimulus and for their appropriate expression. V. The sensations of light and colour owe their pre- eminent intellectual value to their comparative neutrality in respect of pleasure and pain. The organic feeling is here so slight, that, in mature life, at least among educated minds, it is generally absorbed in the pre- dominant perceptions, with their intellectual and emo- tional accompaniments. Still the emotional side of visual sensation is not wholly obscured ; and among. Feelings of Sense. 351 children, as well as the untutored and uncivilised, who exercise less control over their feelings, the sensuous excitement of light and colour is frequently to be ob- served. I. The sensibility to visual pleasure commences with the earliest form of visual sensation. There can be no doubt of the fact, that for months before the child shows any appreciation of colours, he finds pleasure in pure light ; * and this remains throughout life the simplest enjoyment of vision. This enjoyment, however, is of two kinds. {a) When pure light is spread over a large expanse, as in a luminous atmosphere with the sun away from the eyes, or even when it is softened, as by a lampshade, the sensation excited belongs to the gentle and soothing class, and consequently light has always been regarded as itself one of the purest of organic gratifications, and as affording a type of the purest gratifications of life in general. " Truly," says an old Hebrew, " the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun."t The note is one that is echoed by many a tone of ancient literature. So the light of life is often used as a symbol of all that makes life worth living ; while terms, like bright and serene^ expressive of clear light, are found appropriately descriptive of general happiness, whereas terms, that express the absence of light, such as shadow or gloom., are extended naturally to any joyless condition of mind. (b) But light, when concentrated in brilliant centres, * Preyer, Die Seek dea Kindes, pp. 6-17. + Eccles. xi., 7. The commentators cite in illustration Euripides, Iphig. in Aulis, vs. 1218 :— ■^8i> 7ip rh 358 Psychology, ness, we must investigate the specific foims which this general agreeableness and disagreeableness assume under the play of modifying influences. These inflnenct-s, when external, can act only through the processes of mind ; and the process, which comes into play first, is association. : !■ ii |!i!!;^ll! ill ill i ! i 'W^ il Feelings Originating in Association. 359 CHAPTER II. FEELINGS ORIGINATING IN ASSOCIATION. ASSOCIATION gives a peculiar tinge to our feelings by connecting them in consciousness with their objeciS or causes. The conscious states, thus originated, are described by such terms as liking and dislike, love and hatred, as well as other synonymous expressions, some of which will be noticed immediately. The formation of such states is easily intelligible from the nature of the pleasures and pains, out of which they arise. These pleasures and pains have their origin in certain objects, with which they are thus necessarily co-existent. When we become conscious of this co- existence, an association is formed between the feeling and its object, so that the feeling will recall the object, or, as happens probably ofibener, the object, even when merely remembered or imagined, may revive the feeling with which it was associated. But observe the effect which this has on our emotional relation to the object. If the feeling involved is pleasant, then, from the very nature of pleasure, there is an instinctive impulse to prolong it ; if it v. painful, there is a similar impulse to bring it to an end. But I cannot pro- long a pleasure without keeping in consciousness the object which causes it ; I cannot bring a pain 36o Psychology. W to an end without banishing its object from conscious- ness.* It is for this reason, that, in the former case, I am said to " dwell upon " the object, to " linger over " it, to " take pleasure in " it, such phrases being often used as synonymous with liking or love. On the other hand, dislike or hatred is often expressed by such terms as aversion and revulsion ; its object is described as repulsive, — as one that we cannot " brook," t that we can "take no pleasure in," that we are "displeased with," — as one that we cannot " bear," | that we cannot " bear the sight of," that we " cannot away with." The object of a feeling must here be understood in its widest sense. Frequently of course, — perhaps most frequently, — it is the natural cause of a feeling, that is, ihs phenomenon which, by its natural properties, is adapter^ <:o produce the feeling. Thus a sensible body produces with a healthy constitution its appropriate sensation ; the death of a friend naturally awakens sorrow ; the good opinion of another gives us joy. In other cases, howev>i an object becomes associated with a feeling by a n ere accident \ and its subsequent power to excite the feeling depends, not on its intrinsic properties, but merely on its accidental association. Only by bearing this in mind can we explain the fact. * " Amor nihil aliud est, quam laetitia concomitante idea causae externae ; et odium nihil aliud, quam tristitia concomitante idea causae externae. Videmus deinde quod ille, qui amat, necessario conatur rem, quam amat, praesenlem habere, et conservare ; et contra, qui odit, rem, quam odio habet, amovere et destruere conatur. (Spinoza, Ethica, iii., 13, Scholium). t Anglo-Saxon drucan, enjoy. :|: Suffer, endure, tolerate, as well as the Old English and Scotch tha/e, are also employed. Feelings Originating in Association. 361 that the most unreasonable hatreds are often formed for persons intrinsically loveable, while love clings at times with tragic pathos to those who have done everything by which love is commonly repelled. For the same reason any paltry article, like many a keepsake, that is intrinsi- cally of trivial value in relation to pleasure or pain, may yet become linked with a power to awaken either an un- speakable gladness, or a sorrow ** Whose muffled motions blindly drown The bases of the life in tears." It is evident, therefore, this description includes a range of emotions second to none either in their variety or in their importance as factors of human life. As our feelings of liking and dislike may have their sources in external nature or in ourselves or in other persons, they may be conveniently studied under these three heads. iglish and Scotch § I. — Feelings for External Nature. All the phenomena of the external world, organic and inorganic • alike, are capable of exciting various modes and degrees of fondness and revulsion, according to the predominence of pleasure or pain in the impressions they produce on our consciousness. Occasionally also they awaken that mingled state of feeling, in which delight and aversion strangely alternate. Varieties in the form of these feelings may be determined by single definite objects, on the one hand, or, on the other, by more or less indefinite groups of objects. {A) The definite object of a liking or dislike may be an animal, a plant, or any inanimate thing ; and the feeling for it may be based either on the effect of its 362 Psychology. iS -t I 1 wm. intrinsic properties on our sensibility, or on some extrinsic association. We need not dwell again on the fact, that any object may, by the merest accident, become linked in our consciousness vith agreeable or disagreeable feelings. It is well known, that many ennobling sentiments, as well as some of the most whimsical infatuations of human life, have their origin in this cause. But in the evolution of our feelings for nature we shall discover the same tendency which may be traced in the general evolution of mind, — the tendency to liberate our emotional life from subjection to the merely natural effects of association, to raise it into the free control of reason. Consequently, the most interesting feelings of this class are probably those which are due to intrinsic properties in the object of love or aversion. The special interest, centring on such emotions, consists in the fact that they enter into the feelings of the beauty and ugliness, with which we invest natural objects. These feelings must be considered again ; but at present it may be mentioned that some writers have ascribed them -entirely to association. There is at least this inadequacy in such a theory, that it overlooks the intrinsic pleasant- ness of the sensations, especially of sight and hearing, which beautiful objects are adapted to produce. The primrose may to many be "a primrose and nothing more ; " but it is a primrose, — an object endowed with the property of producing certain sensations in every human sensibility. At the same time there is this of truth in the theory, that the agreeableness of a beautiful object is not to be found, solely or even mainly, in the plea: ant sensations which it is intrinsically qualified to produce. The very fact, that to the uncultured mind the primrose is sim.ply ^ or on some Feelings Originating in Association. 363 a primrose and nothing more, implies that, while it produces the natural sensations of a primrose, it fails to open up the world of thought and sentiment, with which it can become associated by culture. Without, there- fore, foreclosing further inquiry into the feelings of beauty, it is evident that these must draw largely from the associations which mental culture forms. I'his conclusion is confirmed by the most hurried reflection on the poetry which interprets for us the influence of natural objects over the soul. If the poet lingers with aesthetic delight over a "wee modest crimson-tipped flower," it is because " To him the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." {B) But this feeling for nature takes a larger range, when it attaches to no limited object, but embraces an indefinite group of phenomena. It is thus, that we may describe the sentiment excited by scenery. Evidently such a feeling presupposes a considerable development of mental culture. The child, 'during the first few months of life, is extremely restricted in his grasp of things. He notices an object near his eyes, or clasped in his hands ; he catches any distinct or startling sound in the immediate neighbourhood : but even a limited group of objects, such as make up the general appear- ance of a room, is obviously beyond his apprehension. He requires a longer growth to seize intelligently the entire view of a garden or a field, or the nearest surroundings of home; and he may never attain the ability to master for intellectual or emotional results the vast outline and variegated colour and innumerable subordinate features of an extensive landscape. s^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) h7* «*VV ^* ^ "^ 4^ 1.0 I.I lii|21 |Z5 ■" 140 112.0 !IIIIL25 mil 1.4 liiSi 11^ II 1.6 FholDgraphic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRHT WIUTIR,N.Y. t4SM (7l«)t73-4S03 w ^ \v ; II lis liiii'li mWm It; ;;l: l||l !| HI |; I .li'; :[!! 364 Psychology. It need scarcely be said that the pleasantness or unpleasantness of a scene is sometimes purely extrinsic. The dominating mood of the soul at the moment when a scene is viewed may overpower the most pronounced natural adaptation to give pleasure or pain. Innumer- able illustrations of this are to be found in the love-songs of all literature. Drawing their imagery mainly from nature, these lyrics give an infinite variety of expression to the psychological fact, that the cheerful or gloomy aspect of the external world depends mainly on the mood of the ruling passion. Through all their changes runs the general strain, — *• Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale." It is thus that the most charming landscape may become to the sorrowful spirit invested in a gloom which it will wear throughout life, while it requires little inherent attractiveness about the scenery of a happy home to make it capable of awakening a deeper and more varied joy than any other part of the world. Even the disinterested enjoyment of beautiful scenery is closely dependent on the pleasantness of the circumstances in which a scene is visited ; and the great extension of this emotion in very recent times is probably due in a considerable measure to the facilities for comfortable travelling in modern railway-coaches and steamers and luxurious hotels. But the development of the emotional life, as of the intellectual, is essentially an elevation above the tyranny of merely natural influences, — of temporal and spatial associations. Consequently the expansion of our love, as well as of our hatred, for natural scenes is continually raising us out of merely natural into rational feeling. It Feelings Originating in Association. 365 is thus that the cultivated emotional nature refuses ever more and more to be subjugated by selfish or restricted associations which are meaningless for men in general ; and, while not ignoring the natural power of such associations, seeks its enjoyment rather in those that are of universal interest to intelligent beings. As it grows, therefore, from the intellectual and emotional grasp of the little nook to that of the vast landscape opening from a mountaintop, so it may expand into what has been not inappropriately called "cosmic emotion," — an emotion which, though not exhausting the rehgious sentiment, yet forms not its least noble factor in the higher order of minds. The poetry of the Hebrews shows at what an early period man had learnt to look with devout feeling on the sublimer phenomena of nature ;* and the larger insight into the vastness of the universe, which is a chief result of modern science, has surely not weakened this feeling. " When I gazed into these stars, have they not looked down on me as if with pity, from their serene spaces, like eyes glistening with heavenly tears over the little lot of man ! Thousands of human generations, all as noisy as our own, have been swallowed up of time, and there remains no wreck of them any more; and Arcturus and Orion and Sirius and the Pleiades are still shining in their courses, clear and young, as when the Shepherd first noted them in the plains of Shinar." t In the same way the dislike, which is limited at first to single objects or scenes that are intrinsically or extrinsically painful, may expand into a pessimistic emotion in view of the universe ; and to such a mood ♦Compare especially Job ix., 6-9; Psalms viii., xix., 1-6, and civ. + Carlyle's Sartor Resartus, Book ii., Chapter 8. 366 Psychology. the stars, no longer "glistening with heavenly tears," may become '* Tyrants in their iron skies, Innumerable, pitiless, passionless eyes. Cold fires, but with power to burn and brand His nothingness into man."* \% § 2. — Feelings for Self. Like external nature and other human beings, we ourselves are adapted to excite agreeable and disagree- able feelings in our own consciousness ; and this power must be ascribed to all the varied features of our nature, external and internal. Not only our permanent characters, but also our occasional thoughts and feelings and actions, our personal appearance, our dress, and even the estimate taken of us by others, are all capable of exciting varied states of emotion. Here again the evolution of feeling is in the direction already indicated, from the tyranny of restricted influences to delight in the sources of enjoyment that are universal. The general form of these self-regarding emotions is, on the one hand, self-complacency in the contemplation of anything about ourselves that is calculated to give pleasure, on the other hand, a dissatisfaction with ourselves on account of anything that is fitted to produce pain. It is not of course necessary that the feature, causing pleasure or pain, should be really attached to us. It need only be before the consciousness, whether as a known fact or as an imagined fiction ; and therefore not a few forms of self-gratulation, as well as of self-torture, are based on nothing more substantial than the power of fancy. * Tennyson's Maud^ xviii., 4. heavenly tears," Feelings Originating in Association. 367" Self-complacency, though often based on fanciful grounds, tends under culture to grow into that self- respect, that " honest pride," that feeling of " honour,"" which forms an important element of moral character. In like manner dissatisfaction with oneself tends ever more and more to be confined to the shock of pain which is felt on doing wrong, and to form therefore the distinctively moral sentiment known as remorse. The feeling of shame evidently arises from such disagreeable impressions as originate other forms of self-dissatisfaction ; its peculiarity seems mainly due to- the fact, that it implies a reference to the actual or possible knowledge by others of the circumstance which causes the disagreeable impression. This enables us to explain the confusion in thought and language between< shame and a feeling so different as modesty. Any unusual exposure before others, such as even the introduction to strangers, is apt to produce, in sensitive natures, a shock like that which is due to the real or fancied inspection by others of something unworthy ia us ; and the emotional shrinking from such exposure constitutes the essential character of modesty.* The feeling of shame connects itself thus with the love of esteem. This emotion was regarded by many of the older psychologists as an instinctive form of human sensibility ; but it requires no very skilful analysis to find * Mr. Darwin's theory of blushing chimes in with this account of the emotion which it expresses. He regards it as due to the unusual attention directed to the exposed part of the body causing an unusual discharge of blood in that direction, and he finds that it diffuses itself over a larger surface of the body among races that do not dress so completely as civilised men. (Expression of the- Emotions^ Chapter xiii.). 368 Psychology. Jn:,lii! in association with the good opinion of others many pleasantnesses which make the desire of esteem intelligible, as well as the dislike of reproach. In some minds this desire grows to remarkable intensity. All the great movements of history, — military, political, ecclesiastical, literary, — bring out men in whom the love of fame is a strong passion. Though ethically not the highest principle of action, it becomes valuable as an aid to more purely ethical motives in that happy coincidence when fame points in the direction of duty. " Not once or twice in our fair island'Story The path of duty was the way to glory."* In truth, the love of merited praise acts as a not incon* siderable stimulus in the better class of minds ; and insensibility to the esteem of others is an evidence either of extraordinary elevation or of equally extra- ordinary degradation. With truth, therefore, Milton may speak of fame as "the last infirmity of noble mind." An aspiration, having its root in the love of esteem, enters into the religious consciousness in the form of a desire to please God, and win lX\s favour. It is such a serene aspiration that Milton has in view in that glorious passage of Lycidas^ from which a familiar phrase has just been cited, — •• Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad humour lies, But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes / id perfect judgment of all -seeing Jove. " Tennyson's Ode on the Death of Wellington, V V ! Feelings Originating in Association. 369 There are two remarkable evidences of the strength of this desire in human life : one is the desire of an esteem which we can never enjoy ; the other, the desire of an esteem which we do not deserve. \. The love of posthumous fame cannot, from the necessities of life, be a prominent feeling in the human mind ; but it is by no means an unknown experience for men to find pleasure in the imagined praises of posterity. Indeed, some writers of the present day maintain that a similar feeling, — the feeling of satisfaction at anticipating in fancy the beneficent results of our influence on pos- terity, — may take the place, as a motive in human life, of the Christian faith in immortality. 2. But it is perhaps a more striking proof of the strength of the craving for esteem, that, when men are unable to secure it by df aert, they are eager to win it by any means, rather than lose the gratification it affords. This eagerness appears in two forms. It may be a desire to get esteem for things that are not estimable, as implying no merit on our part. Such is the vanity of personal appearance, of family connection, of dress and other external displays of wealth. Or, again, this desire may seek esteem for qualities which are estimable, but which we do not possess. Such are the intellectual vanity of the ignoramus, and the moral vanity of the hypocrite. All the self-regarding emotions imply the presence in consciousness of an ideal by which we judge ourselves, whether this be the good opinion of others, or some abstract standard of goodness. All men are apt to have forced on them the contrast between this ideal and their actual attainments ; and the feeling oi this contrast is humility. 370 Psychology. § 3. — Feelings for Others, The largest and most varied class of our likings and dislikes are those which relate to other persons. To these the term affection has been restricted by many of the older writers, and a distinction drawn between affections that are benevolent and those that are male- volent. In the ordinary use of language aflfection for a person is understood to mean benevolent feeling. There is no class of feelings where the complications of our emotional life appear so intricate, and ijaffle so completely all attempts at an exhaustive analysis, even by the most cautious and laborious science. Literary art, using as its favourite material the interests of human life, and obliged to represent these in all their concrete variations, is more successful in giving descriptions, and perhaps even analyses, of the affections than can be drawn by the abstractions of science. It is true, that the general source of affections is not hard to trace. It is to be found in the fact, that pleasure and pain can be derived, not only from external nature and from ourselves, but also from other persons. The vast variety, however, of the circumstances on which affection depends, and the complexity of their endless combina- tions, place their emotional effects altogether beyond the range of the most skilful analysis. We may enumerate facts both in the inner and outer life of men, by which our feelings are excited or modified. We may remind ourselves, that even circumstances, like rank, wealth, nationality, party-connection, and other social relation- ships, wholly intrinsic to an individual, may alter entirely our affection for him ; that we receive some of our most powerful influences from external features like beauty or ugliness of figure, of manner, or of dress Feelings Originating in Association. 371 itself; that, in instances of rarer culture, we seek cur emotional stimulants mainly in the intellectual or moral character and achievements of others. We may also keep in view the fact, that some of the most passionate affections are based on no more solid ground than mere fancies. But were a complete enumeration of the causes of emotion possible, it would still be necessary to keep in mind, that their influence is greatly modified by each individuals general susceptibility and by its varying moods. The truth is, that the multitudinous aspects which a human being may present to the mind, and the multitudinous modes in which these may affect us, far surpass in number and variety the influences exerted by any object in nature; for while man is a natural product, he is something infinitely more. The result is, that he is^capable of awakening all the v inotions which are due to natural objects, with many others of a more subtle character that are peculiar to himself. Aniung the influences which may be specially noticed as giving a tinge to our affections, prominence should be given to the feelings of others, so far, of course, as these can be read in their outward manifestations. Here the analysis of psychologists and moralists has been singu- larly imperfect, when contrasted with the achievements of dramatic skill in the literature of history and fiction. It has been too oflen assumed that the feelings of others excite always kindred feelings in ourselves, that their pleasure pleases, and that their pain pains us. This is an amiable assumption, but the darker phases of human life forbid us to regard it as true. Both the pleasures and the pains of others exert a complex emotional effect. Even if we set aside obscurer feelings, such as wonder, novelty, fear, contempt, which often impart a peculiar shade to our affections, it still remains an important fact 1 ^^B i 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 I ^|: ^H 1 ■ 1 1 '1 i : ;| 11 i '■ ' i % 111:' 1 372 Psychology. that fellow-feeling is not the only emotional state excited by the pleasures and pains of others. Along with this sympathetic effect there is another which by contrast may be called antipathetic. Before we proceed further* therefore, this subject demands a careful investigation. I. We shall take first the sympathetic effect. In its generality this emotional phenomenon is most unequivo- cally expressed by the Xtxia fellow-feeling. The needs of human life make fellow-feeling with the sufferings of one another by far the more important exercise of this emotion. This circumstance explains the fact in lan- guage, that, while we have several terms to express fellow-feeling with pain, there is none restricted to the specific expression of fellow-feeling with pleasure. On the one hand, there are such terms as pity^ commiseration^ compassion^ condolence; and even sympathy itsdlfismost frequently employed with the same limitation. On the other hand, words, like congratulation^ complacency^ complaisance^ which signify literally fellow-feeling with pleasure, have all received a somewhat different meaning. Of fellow-feeling in its widest sense the source is the same as that of imitation.''' Both imply the reproduc- tion by ourselves of what is apprehended outside 6f ourselves. Of this imitative or sympathetic tendency an instinctive basis is perhaps to be found in an un- conscious agency of the nervous system. We do not allude to those instances, in which one member is said to sympathise with another in the same organism, as, for example, eye with eye or ear with ear; for these have no natural affinity with the phenomena of sympathy, *In common language sympathy is applied to the reproduction rather of the feelings of others, imitation to the reproduction of their movements. See Bain's The Emotions and the Will, p. 172. Feelings Originating in Association. 373 organism, as. properly so called. But it is a familiar fact, that the sight of tears, the sound of a sob or wail, tends, by an automatic impulse, to excite tears, sobs or wailing in ourselves. A yawn or a smile by one person may set a whole company yawning or laughing; and you may see a crowd of gaping rustics swaying their bodies in corres- pondence with the admired movements of an acrobat. Children may even be heard at times responding, in the same unreflective way, to the bark of a dog, the bleating of a sheep or the crowing of a cock. How far these imitative or sympathetic instincts are the result of educa- tion in the individual or in the race, it is impossible to say with certainty. But these automatic movements do not yet constitute fellow-feeling. To reproduce in our consciousness the feeling of another person requires that we should apprehend what this feeling is. Consequently, fellow- feeling is impossible without a certain act of intelligence, and it is not difficult to understand why the required act of intelligence should be associated with this emotional accompaniment. This will be most clearly seen by referring in the first instance to the lower order of feelings. When I represent any sensation, — a touch, a sound, or a colour, — the representation is evidently but the revival of the sensation in a fainter degree. It is a well-known fact even that the representation implies a revival of the same sort of nervous thrill, by which the organ was stirred during the original sensation. In like manner, when a muscular movement is represented, a faint twitch is started in the same muscular region which the original movement called into play. Now, a large number of the pleasures and pains of others, with which we feel sympathy, are sensations ; and the sympathy felt is simply a fainter revival in our own organism of the I 374 Psychology. ii'j pleasurable or painful sensations which others are conceived to feel. It is thus that all men, even of moderate sensibility, on observing another person suflfer a severe bodily injury, are apt to feel a pang shoot through the corresponding part of their own bodies ; and many are unable to look at serious wounds owing to their vivid realisation of the pain endured. Apply all this to pure emotions. These can be made known to us, of course, only by their expression in Janguage or by some other form of bodily manifestation. It is obviously requisite, however, that the expression of the emotion be intelligently interpreted by us ; in other words, that we represent to ourselves, with some degree of distinctness, the emotion that is expressed. But the representation of an emotion is its revival in our own consciousness ; and, consequently, the intelligent appre- hension of an emotion felt by another person is a fellow- feeling with him. This* analysis is confirmed by the fact, that in all the lower grades of culture the power of sympathy remains extremely rudimentary and restricted in its range, while its expansion keeps pace with the evolution of general intelligence. It is true, that human life, especially among civilised communities, owes many alleviations of its sorrows, and much even of the sweet- ness of social intercourse, to persons in whom a comparatively limited intelligence is combined with a remarkable quickness of sympathy. But it will be found that, however limited the general range of intelligence in such persons may be, it has been specially directed to the interpretation of all the familiar symptoms of suffer- ing, and that, therefore, in the interpretation of these, it often outstrips intellects that have become famous by grappling successfully with the complicated problems of nature or of political or military affairs. On the other Feelings Originating in Association, 375 hand, ihe dependence of sympathy on the intelligent apprehension of the feelings of others is strikingly evinced by the fact, that the finest emotional nature may at times be seen exhibiting an unpleasant callousness in presence of sufferings which it is unable to understand. For the wider reaches of sympathy require that construc- tive activity of intelligence which places us by imagina- tion in situations which we have never personally tried, and enables us to construct out of the materials drawn from our own experience an ideal representation of the real experience of another. But this ideal construction is by no means always ready to command ; and hence with all men sympathy is quickest and most intense in the case of those sufferings which are precisely similar to their own, while it becomes more sluggish and less vivid in proportion as the circumstances of a sufferer differ from theirs. Probably the highest development of sym- pathy is that which runs out readily to meet emotional experiences which cannot at the time be understood, which are realised merely as inexplicable sorrows or joys. II. We now come to notice the less pleasing effect of an antipathetic nature, which is apt to be produced by the feelings of others. 1. The pleasures of others are not ours ; and, though this consideration may be overwhelmed in a generous sympathy, yet it may also at times force into conscious- ness the contrast between their pleasurable and our pleasureless condition. If this contrast is not banished from thought, but brooded over, it may give rise to the various forms of malicious feeling that come under the description of envy and jealousy. 2. On the other hand, XhQ pains of others are capable of producing a twofold antipathetic effect. (a) The contrast between ourselves and the sufferer 376 Psychology. Iff may excite a feeling of self-gratulation, which may even rise to a coarse exultation, over our own freedom from his misfortune. One of the most common forms of this exultation is met with in the ungenerous reflection on a competitor's defeat, which often gives a zest to the triumphs of successful rivalry. ip) Again, the sight of suffering has often a varied pleasurable effect. It may relieve the langour of mono- tony, it may by its extraordinary nature startle with a pleasant surprise ; while the contortions of the victim exhibit at times that character of oddity, which is the source of ludicrous effects. These emotional excite- ments are, in finer natures, generally supplanted by the vivid sympathetic realisation of the suffering expressed ^ but to coarse or morbid natures, that feed on such excitements, they bring a real, though horrid, pleasure. Savage life evidently derives one of its keenest zests from the torture of enemies ; the scenes of the amphitheatre formed one of the most fascinating attractions to the populace of ancient Rome ; a child bursts into boisterous fun over the wriggles of a mutilated insect; and even the most refined nature betrays a faintly malicious disposition in the occasional pleasure of teasing a friend. It is evident from all these considerations, th?t a very large factor of our emotional life consists of the feelings excited by our fellow men. A very large proportion of that pleasurable excitement, without which human life would be intolerably dull, is derived from social inter- course. Accordingly, psychologists and moralists have long recognised the love of society as forming one of the most powerful feelings in the human mind. It is true, that in many minds, — perhaps in all minds at some time, — there is a love of solitude which seems to con- tradict the theory that the love of society is an inherent Feelings Originating in Association. 377 ich may even freedom from forms of this ^flection on a zest to the ften a varied our of mono- itartle with a )f the victim ty, which is »tional excite- anted by the g expressed; eed on such rid, pleasure, ist zests from amphitheatre :tions to the to boisterous ind even the s disposition th?t a very the feelings iroportion of human life social inter- iralists have \ one of the It is true, Is at some ms to con- an inherent craving of human nature. But society has its distractions, vexations, fatigues ; and to those who have known these solitude is a relief. Still the life of the recluse is essen- tially a sacrifice of manifold pleasures, and has therefore been a favourite form of ascetic self-denial in nearly all religions. Fellowship is one of the most imperious wants of man, and the power of this want is pathetically illustrated in numerous stories of solitary confinement or enforced seclusion. " Cast on the wildest of the Cyclad isles, Where never human foot had marked the shore, These ruffians left me ; yet believe me, Areas, Such is the rooted love we bear mankind, All ruffians as they were, I never heard A sound more diumal than their parting oars."* But our emotional relation to our fellow men consists not merely of this general delight in their companionship ; it assumes the form of specific affections for particular persons. It is usual, as already observed, to classify these in two great divisions as benevolent and malevolent; but such a division is apt, without explanation, to mis- * Thomson's Agamemnon. Hobbes is usually represented as maintaining that the natural state of men is one of unsocial hostility ; but this doctrir e is often inadequately understood as implying that there is no basis for social existence in human nature. Hobbes does recognise certain natural impulses that attract men to friendly intercourse, and are more powerful than the " three causes of quarrel," namely, compelit'on, diffidence, and glory. The only fault one can find with Hobbes' doctrine is the ludicrous incom- pleteness in his enumeiation of man's social impulses. "The passions that incline men to peace," he says, "are fear of death, desire of such things as are necessary for commodious living, and a hope, by their industry, to enjoy them." (Leviathan, Fart i.. Chapter 13). 'i '' m ' r f 1: \h 378 Psychology. represent the .concrete realities of our emotional life. The feelings we entertain for others are generally of a very mingled, often of a vacillating, character j and now it is the benevolent, now the malevolent, factors that prevail. Still, if we bear this complication in mind, the division affords a convenient guide for more detailed examination of the phenomena. Here of course emotion follows the usual course of its development. It starts with those feelings which depend on purely natural associations, and expands gradually to those which imply an intelligent choice. Consequently, it will be found that the affections, both benevolent and malevolent, may be subdivided into two main types, the natural and the rational ; though here again it must be borne in mind, that our actual feelings seldom belong to either type exclusively.* (A) Benevolent affections are the various modes, in which we find pleasure in other persons. They are called benevolent obviously because they seek their gratification in the real or imagined wellbeing of their objects, though it is an important moral truth that, without rational guidance, these emotional impulses often produce the very opposite effects to those which they seek. In the very front of the benevolent affections we come upon one that may be regarded as forming the centre from which social life, and therefore also social feeling, radiate. Sexual love is an emotion sui generis ^ exhibiting * This distinction was first drawn by Bishop Butler, and has been geneially adopted by subsequent writers, in reference to the malevolent affections. See Butler's Sermon on Resentment. The distinction, however, is obviously applicable, with equal propriety, to the benevolent affections. Feelings Originating in Association. 379 the characteristics both of the natural and the rational types. Psychologists have too generally treated it in the spirit of Dr. Reid, who declares that " it is fitter to be sung than said," and accordingly leaves it " to those who have slept on the two-topped Parnassus."* It is true, that this emotion has formed a favourite material -of poetry ; and the reason is probably to be found in the fact, that it is distinguished by an unusual combination of great intensity with great ideal power. Still this should render it only a more interesting subject of scientific analysis. The complete analysis of the emotion is, indeed, impossible. The truth is, that all the influences, by which one human being is capable of exciting amiable sentiment in another, are apt to be distilled into a finer essence of concentrated power in passing through the alembic of the sexual nature. Consequently this emotion may be modified into a thousand different forms according to the •character of the influences by which it has been generated ; and therefore literary art, by its concrete treatment, is always able to describe the love of the sexes with more of the truth of nature than can be given to the abstractions of science. The peculiar character of this affection finds, of course, its natural basis in the difference of sexual constitution. A grossly inadequate view of this difference restricts it mainly to one set of organs ; but as a true physiology and a true psychology look on no single organ, but rather on the whole organism, as being the organ of mind, so they compel us to regard the whole organism as an exponent of the difference of sex. The more thoroughly this view takes possession of the mind, the more * Reid's Works, p. 564, Hamilton's edition. 38o Psychology. I ■ thoroughly also does sexual feeling free itself from a mere animal appetite, and expand into that spiritual sentiment which forms at once one of the purest enjoy- ments and one of the purest moral influences of life. It has been maintained that this spiritualisation of the senti- ment has been the result of mediaeval chivalry ; but this is a question which belongs rather to history than to psychology. Whatever may have been the history of this sentiment in the past, it must follow the general course of emotional evolution j and any reversion to the sensuous restriction of the feeling, such as occasionally makes its appearance among the eccentricities of litera- ture, is not only an anachronism, but a solecism in art,, as decided as if the poet were to seek the fittest material for the artistic description of a banquet in the animal gusto with which the viands are devoured. I. Among the other benevolent affections, those which are founded on relationships of nature come appropriately first under consideration. The characteristic of these is determined by the fact, that they arise from " natural associations, not from combinations of intelligence. It is not any rational consideration that directs them to their objects; it is simply the extrinsic associations of space and time. They appear, therefore, as blind instincts, as unreasoning passions, that cling to their objects without any reflection upon the intrinsic character of these. I. Of such social instincts the type is to be found in what is called, by pre-eminence, natural affection {cTopyi{)y that is, affection between persons of the same kindred. The passionate intensity of this affection is mainly de- termined by the closeness of the natural relation, out of which it arises ; and consequently a mother's love has in all ages been regarded as among the most irresistible instincts of nature. Even within the sphere of the i^ I Feelings Originating in Association. 381 family, as intelligence matures with age, natural aflfection is apt to be modified by rational considerations ; while, outside of that sphere, although the natural relation may still have a powerful influence on the affections, these receive their colour, in a very large measure, from the character of their objects. 2. A natural affection is often developed towards a community, with which we are connected by natural causes. Wherever social organisation exists, this senti- ment ennobles human life ; it appears in the devotion of the savage to his tribe, in the attachment to a municipal home, in the patriotism with which men sacrifice them- selves for a fatherland. The last fruit of nature's growth in this direction is that philanthropy, — that " enthusiasm of humanity," — in which is attained an emotional reali- sation of the natural relationship of all mankind. II. But such a late outgrowth of natural affection can scarcely be distinguished from the other form of benevo- lence ; for this is but the extension to persons who are not akin to us of those affections which are naturally excited towards our own kindred.* This expansion of benevolent feeling, however, is but a mode of the general development of mind, which frees itself from the spatial and temporal associations of nature, rising into the inde- pendent combinations of thought. Affection tends thus to lose the passionate force of an unreflecting instinct, and to be distinguished by the deliberate calm of intelli- gent choice. This characteristic of the rational aflfections :? expressively embodied in the Latin verb diligOy which * This seems indicated in the adjective kind^ which, like the substantive, is from the Anglo-Saxon cennan, to beget (cf. kindle), cognate with the archaic Latin geno {gigno), and the Greek yewiu. 382 Psychology. I : L i; i is properly limited to them, and which is suggestive of the cognate intelligo and seligo.* Like the natural affections, the rational begin with attachments to individuals, and form the friendships of human life. But they, too, may extend to societies, that is, to societies which we enter by voluntary choice ; and it is thus that the sentiment of esprit de corps is created. It is important to bear in mind, further, that when any rational affection for an individual or a society has existed some time it originates numerous associations which are apt to impart to it some of the passionate blindness of natural affection. This explains why the- benevolent sentiment, which actuates the members of a society in common, may appear in relation to other societies, not only as a "generous rivalry," but also in the- malevolent form of party-spirit or sectarianism. (B) We are thus brought to the second great division of the affections, — the malevolent. The fundamental type of these is the emotional state named resentment. This term (originally resentiment) denotes etymologically ;■ movement involve the relation of time as well. The feeling, too, of vastness in extent, awakened by an immense landscape, or, still more, by the infinite spaces of the stars, derives its peculiar nature rather from the idea of sublimity than from that of space alone. Time enters as a subordinate factor into many of our emotions ; but we must limit ourselves to those, in which it is the distinctive element. Here meet us first the emotions already noticed, the feelings of move- ment, which have a spatial element in their primitive form, but throw that off in what has been called the " ideal movement " of music and speech. Here abstract rapidity and slowness produce pleasant or unpleasant effects, without reference to any change of place. Another class of feelings arising from temporal relations are those which have been called the prospec- tive and the retrospective. The prospect of pleasure is, on its emotional side, hope ; the prospect of pain is fear. But the uncertainty of the future often leaves the mind in that state of suspense, in which hope and fear strangely alternate or conflict with one another.* This state is undoubtedly one of the most exhausting to which our emotional nature is subject ; and possibly its painfulness may be due to the fact that, like discordant sounds and other feelings noticed before, it consists of a series of intermittent shocks, the intervals of which allow the sensibility to recover, and thus to undergo an excessive stimulation. * " Spemque metumque inter dubii " (Aeneid, i., 218), which Byron probably had in his eye when writing Donjuan^ ii., 98 : — ** And then of these some part burst into tears ; ■ And others, looking with a stupid stare, Could not yet separate their hopes from fears." Feelings Originating in Comparison. 391 On the other hand, the retrospect of past pleasures has long been considered as one of the largest and purest sources of human enjoyment. For, in accordance with laws of feeling which have been sufficiently explained already, it is easier to reproduce in consciousness a state of invigorating pleasure than a painful condition of injurious excitement ; and therefore in general for all '* the past cloth win A glory from its being far, And orbs into the perfect star We saw not when we moved therein." There is, indeed, —: distinctive name for the emotional state excited by the pleasures of memory ; but the pain- ful events of the past are the sources of the emotion familiarly known as regret. Both the prospective and retrospective feelings enter extensively as modifying influences into our emotional life. Our loves and hates, for example, are deeply tinged by hopes and fears ; while regret becomes aggra- vated into remorse when the painful event, on which we reflect, is thought as due to any moral fault of our own. This may explain why a psychologist, like Dr. Thomas Brown, should be able to classify a large proportion of our emotions under the heads of prospective and retrospective.* 'Tis true, it may be shown that in all the feelings thus distinguished a prospect or retrospect is implied; but in most this element is not the differentiating cause which gives its character to the feeling. But the universal relations of intelligence are, as we * Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind^ 63 — 72 inclusive. 392 Psychology. have seen, those of identity and difference ; and these give rise to a long series of varied emotions. Such emotions have not always separate names. Sometimes it is the pleasant, sometimes the unpleasant, side which is most prominent in human life, and which is accord- ingly distinguished by a familiar name. The most common of these emotions may be briefly described. I. Variety, as has already been noticed more than once, is essential to the continuance of consciousness itself. It is, therefore, essential to that stimulation of the sensibility which is required for pleasure. Consequently the prolonged repetition of the same mental state pro- duces the unpleasant feeling known as monotony^ — a feel- ing which is capable of completely neutralising any form of enjoyment. II. We may enjoy a variety of impressions that are all familiar \ but even the repetition of such a variety produces at last a feeling akin to monotony, — the feeling of excessive familiarity or staleness. This is relieved only by the presentation of netv objects to the mind. Novelty supplies the wonted stimulus to the sensibility, and is therefore a well-knoiwn source of agreeable effects. III. Familiarity implies the repetition of the same objects ; but a similar effect on the feelings may be pro- duced by the continued presentation of the same kind o' objects. This is the disagreeableness which we associate with anything extremely commonplace. On the other hand, any object, which is not so much individually a novelty, which rather differs wholly from the kind of things to which we are accustomed, excites the emotion of wonder. This emotion is sometimes too intense to be pleasant. An excessive deviation from what we are used to expect may lead to disappointment, to painful astonishment. In extreme cases a marvel may even pro- Feelings Originating in Comparison. 393 duce the effect of other excessively powerful stimulants ; it may deaden the sensibility : we may be astounded, dumbfounded, stupified.* But this feature of objects is, perhaps more frequently, the source of a pleasant surprise. Its pleasantness is illustrated by the power which the love of the marvellous exercises over thp mind. Not only is the marvel-monger a favourite among vulgar minds ; the same passion often induces the scientific student to accept without hesitation ill-verified assertions regarding natural phenomena of a marvellous kind, while it also forms at times a misleading taste in the literature of history and fiction. IV. Resemblance and contrast are additional modifica- tions of identity and difference. As already explained, resemblance is identity in the midst of difference, while contrast is difference in the midst of identity. These re- lations are the source of various emc ions, generally of an agreeable nature. A contrast may sometimes be too violent for pleasure. This is, in fact, the cause of pain- fulness in extreme astonishment or novelty. But more generally the flash of contrast, and probably always the flash of resemblance in consciousness is an agreeable stimulus. They both enter largely into the pleasures of scientific discovery and artistic invention. The develop- ment of science is a progressive insight into the resem- blances and contrasts that pervade nature, while agree- able devices of literary art, such as the common figures of speech, are founded on the emotional effects of simili- tude and antithesis. * It is worth observing that, at times, though I'iss frequently, excessive variety is fatiguing, and excessive novelty (brandnewness) too striking; so-,that occasionally a moderate sameness or familiarity mny form a pleasing relief to the mind. 394 Psychology. i^i'H i 1 V. When identity and difference are applied to time, we get the relations of periodicity and aperiodicity, of rhythm and irregularity of movement; for these relations imply respectively the recurrence of identical and of different times. Even in the feelings of sense the organism appears adapted to rhythmical stimulation. As already explained, it is this adaptation that makes tones agreeable m contrast with noises, rich in contrast with harsh qualities of tone, and harmonious combina- tions of tone in contrast with discords. It may also account in some measure for the disagreeableness of a flickering light, of false time in music, of a false quantity or metre in the recitation of poetry, of false steps in a dance, of an unsteady gait, of any movement by jerks, of an orator who speaks in spurts. It is not easy to say where, in such cases, sensuous feeling ends; but it is evident that in the higher feelings also rhythm mingles as an emotional agent. It enters especially, as an influential factor, into the enjoyment of poetical and musical form. VI. Another set of relations involving identity and difference are those of harmony and discord, understood in the figurative application of these terms. In their most general use these terms may be interpreted as im- plying an identity or difference of relations, as when two objects do or do not form complementary parts of one whole. Such identity and difference is, therefore, what we understand by the various expressions, order and disorder, proportion and disproportion, symmetry and asymmetry, congruity and incongruity. The relation, denoted by the former term in each of these sets of expressions, is a very extensive source of the more refined enjoyments of human Hfe. It enters largely into the varied forms of aesthetic gratification Feelings Originating in Comparison. 395 which we receive from nature and from all the arts, while the vast cosmic order gives in cultured minds a tone to the religious sentiment. The other relation is of interest perhaps chiefly because it forms the basis of the ludicrous. The sentiment of the ridiculous has given rise to almost as great diversity of opinion as the feeling of beauty. Various qualities in objects have been main- tained to be the sources of ridicule. Incongruity, mean- ness, degradation accompanied by the fev^ling of power or self-exaltation, have all found their advocates. Against each of these qualities instances have been cited, where, not ridicule, but some other emotion, — pity, anger, scorn, &c. — has been excited.* Such criticisms over- look the fact that there is a subjective as well as an ob- jective condition of feeling. The emotional effect, there- fore, of any objective quality cannot be told without knowing how the mind is related to that quality at the time. Thus incongruity will excite ridicule, if it is not counteracted by the mental condition of the moment. But an incongruous object may often be viewed in other aspects ; and consequently it may produce different feel- ings in different minds, or even in the same mind at dif- ferent times. Take, for example, the odd contortions of pain, or the comical behaviour of a drunkard. When viewed exclusively on their droll side, these phenomena will assuredly excite the sentiment of the ridiculous ; but that side may be entirely obliterated in minds of deeper insight or more sympathetic tenderness. On going over ridiculous objects no more prominent characteristic than incongruity can be found universally present. Other qualities, such as degradation, with the relief of self-exal- See, for example, Bain's The Emotions and the Will, pp. 248. 11 li ! 1 i H ^B I '111! ww ^ 1 B 1 W' 11 1 1 H F"! ' ^f "i ■ 1 ■ ' IBM ii; 1 K, \ i ii ' i ! i ' ii "[,' ii ii 1 : i'''i il' ' '! 1 M 1' ' f, ' i .!,.,! 1,; 1 r % 1 ' jl ; . 1 i*'i ■ ■ i 1 1 1 1 " i .1^ , i.j H t ' ^iwi H |!nii H I 1 ■ ! 1 I ! \ ' '. f • 1 ! 1 -; ' ^:p 1' ■ i: 8 ii; ' . f\ 1 , ;. -■ j V \ !t'.: ;|J I- i i •- '', ■ ■■ 1 ' ^H 1 n i 1 1^1 H, m ;■. hM^ ■ iij -ill H ' 1 ^i 1. . 1 , ' i" ft'ii i -;' ! 1 1 1 1 '1 fji )'Jj ■ 1! '! '-iiv''.' 'T ■i'^ ■I'i^-.'vi 1' h : • \ ■■ ■>'!'■ ''I'p'i \ '■ i ; I \ ''.!■' 'm ; ■ . 1 , ' ! '- 1 1 i i 1 i -i Ml ' i irij i' "i ! ' ' 1 1 ■'!'■' 1 .'■ '~. i .1 ■(. ■ IJ [^ '1 ' '^ 111 i ;'l|:|. ii IJ llji^ J 396 Psychology. tation, may be frequently, perhaps commonly, met with ; but even if they could be shown to be uniformly there, in the production of ridicule they are altogether subordi- nate to the relation expressed by such terms as dispro- portion, incongruity, oddity, droUness. VII. The feelings of freedom and restraint have also been enumerated among those that are based on com- parison ; for it is only by relation to each other that these conditions have any meaning in consciousness. Were it not for the fact that human life provides all men with an occasional experience of the irksomeness of restraint, the glory of freedom would never be realised ; and with- out a taste of freedom it is proverbial that the slave will " hug his chains." VIII. Emulation, that is, the emotional excitement developed in competition, is obviously due to a compari- son between the subject of the feeling and his rival or rivals. This feeling undergoes, of course, the same kind of expansion to which mental evolution in general is sub- ject, and therefore it manifests itFelf in a great variety of directions. It also enters extensively as a factor into many of the complex emotions, inasmuch as the activi- ties, by which our sensibility is excited, are very often pursuits in which we are, implicitly or explicitly, com- peting with our fellowmen. Intellectual Feelings. 397 CHAPTER IV. INTELLECTUAL FEELINGS. OUR pleasures and pains are the concomitants of the varied activities of life. Now, our activities may be regarded as either cognitional or volitional, as intellectual or practical ; and there are some feelings whose chief determining cause is an activity of the one or of the other kind. In the present chapter we shall examine the intellectual, and in the concluding chapter the practical emotions. The acquisition of knowledge is the source of many and varied enjoyments. There is scarcely one of the pleasurable feelings described in the previous chapter which may not be at times experienced in intellectual pursuits. The exertion of intellect, when not overstrained, is in itself an agreeable activity ; while self-esteem, the esteem of others, the pleasure of power, and other feel- ings may enter as subsidiary factors of the whole enjoy- ment. It is not, therefore, difficult to explain the love of knowledge — the feeling commonly treated by psycholo- gists under the name of curiosity. During the earlier years of life, until the familiar facts of the world are mastered, curiosity forms a strong and useful impulse. In later life it is only among men of some education that it forms a useful and refining power. In vulgar minds it allies itself with the more petty instincts, and 398 Psychology. M\\ W even with the malicious passions of human nature, degenerating into a prurient craving after the knowledge of facts too trivial or too pernicious to be worth know- ing. It thus appears that the use of the intellect in acquir- ing knowledge is a source of numerous pleasures. Generally, however, the emotional factor of intellectual work is subordinate, the consciousness being absorbed in the primal end of the work, the object to be known. This end may be purely speculative — the acquisition of knowledge for its own sake ; or it may be practical — the acquisition of knowledge for the purpose of directing us to some ulterior result. But in either case it is the object sought that engrosses the conscious effort. Sometimes, however, the end of intellectual activity is neither specu- lative nor practical, but simply the delight in the activity itself, not excluding, of course, any collateral pleasures which it may involve ; and then arises the emotional state known as aesthetic feeling. The nature of this feeling has been already indicated in the chapter on Idealisation.* It was there shown that intellectual activity, to be aesthetic, must be of the nature of piay. But play is an exercise which seeks no end beyond its own pleasure ; and therefore aesthetic en- joyment is found in the intellectual activity itself, out of which it arises, not in any ulterior end. It follows from this, that aesthetic gratifications are distinct from selfish pleasures, on the one hand, and from moral interests on the other. I. They are distinct from all selfish enjoyments — all enjoyments connected with the struggle for existence Hence, |. • u *Book. ii., Part ii., Chapter iv. Intellectual Feelings. 399 1. Some sensations, such as the gustative and the ali* mentary, are wholly excluded from the aesthetic field. In fact, sensation as such — mere sensuous excitement — is, strictly speaking, not yet aesthetic. The higher sensa- tions furnish natural materials for the aesthetic conscious- ness j but they yield a purely aesthetic pleasure only when they have entered into suggestive associations and intel- lectual combinations. Accordingly it was shown that the different sensations are adapted to artistic purposes in proportion to their distinct representability. Esthetic material, being thiis found rather in ideal representations than in actual sensations, can be enjoyed by many ; it is not consumed in being enjoyed by one. The enjoyment is, therefore, essentially unselfish, disinterested. The contrast between selfish and aesthetic gratifications is ex- treme, when we compare the pleasure of merely viewing a tastefully decorated banquet with the pleasure of eating the viands. The unselfishness of aesthetic emotion, therefore, constitutes also its refinement ; for refinement, as previously explained, is the power of freeing con- sciousness from mere sensuous states, and occupying it with mental products. 2. But even ideal representations, to be aesthetic, must be absolutely disinterested. Beautiful objects may at times naturally excite meaner passions like envy, jealousy or vanity. A bitter drop of envy or jealousy is often sufilicient to neutralise all the sweetness of aesthetic feeling; an artistic production, that is known to be a vulgar parade of wealth, may fail to achieve the aesthetic effect that might have been expected from its intrinsic merit. If a work of art implies wealth in its possessor, it is not this fact which fits it for yielding aesthetic grati- fication. In the same way, although the useful may be beautiful, it is so, not because it is useful, but because of !:i ' '1^/ |j:i i:i |,; ' : I I : ■ r 400 Psychology. the intellectual pleasure afforded by contemplating the manner in which it is useful. II. But aesthetic feeling is essentially distinct from all moral interests, as it is from the selfish passions of the struggle for existence. Moral activity supposes an ulte- rior end ; in fact, it supposes an implicit reference to the ultimate end of our being. Consequently it stands re- lated to art in the same way as the production of utilities. Art may be moral as it may be useful, and its aesthetic effect may be enhanced by its morality or by its utility. Nay, the artist, being a moral agent, must have some sort of moral aim in his artistic activity as in other spheres of his conduct. Moreover, the object of art being the production of an intellectual pleasure, the artist dare not overlook the value of the moral sentiments, as any flag- rant offence to these would inevitably defeat his aesthetic aim. Still the aesthetic gratification, which a work of art yields, cannot be derived from the fact that it has a moral purpose. This fact would excite the sentiment of m^oral approbation. The aesthetic pleasure is derived from con- templating the manner in which the moral facts of life are combined for the production of an artistic effect. The pure form of aesthetic pleasure is that expressed by the term beauty^ and pure aesthetic pain is ugliness. But, like other emotions, these admit of numerous modi- fications according to the subsidiary influences which may happen to predominate in the artistic material by which the aesthetic effect is produced. In works on psychology and aesthetics it is common to give promin- ence to the feelings of sublimity, in which aesthetic enjoy- ment is just passing over into the disturbing emotions of wonder and awe and power. The picturesque and the ludicrous are also familiar objects of aesthetic pleasure. In the former, the pure aesthetic feeling is modified by Intellectual Feelings. 401 an excess of variety ; in the latter, by an excess of in- congruity. In strictness, however, aesthetic feeling is much more variously modified than it is commonly re- presented to be. The weird, for example, in which the mysterious, the "uncanny," the supernatural plays a prominent part, has, indeed, a certain affinity with the sublime in the common feeling of awe, but is destitute of its other essential factors.* A distinct place ought also to be given to the tragic, in which the painful emo- tions, especially terror and pity, form the chief assthetic material, and also to the dramatic, in which aesthetic effects are based mainly on plot-interest. But the complete analysis of these various aesthetic effects would carry us into the details of the science of aesthetics. * The feeling of the weird is expressed in the Scottish adjective B 2 402 Psychology. CHAPTER V. FEELINGS OF ACTION. I \ > :iL • i IN the general evolution of mental life volition, that is, action in the strictest sense of the term, is called into play ; and the action, as action, gives rise to various feelings, pleasurable and painful. There is a pleasure in mere action, — a pleasure which, at an earlier period of life, displays itself mainly in the love of muscular sports, and during later years gives a zest to the varied industrial, intellectual, and moral activities of men. But all action, strictly so called^ im- plies an end ; and this circumstance constitutes it a more fruitful source of emotion. I. The attainment of any end gives us the pleasure of feeling that it is within our power, as failure to reach it excites the mortification of powerlessness, c i bafHed en- deavour. In this we have the source of ambition, the love of power, which obviously forms an extensive and varied influence in human life. If in younger years, and in many men to the very last, it shows itself only in the pleasure of producing results of bodily strength or skill, it expands under advancing culture into the aspiration after that power which high intelligence wields over nature and men. It has been pointed out that this emotion enters as an ingredient into the pleasure of virtue, inasmuch as the virtuous life is a realisation of Feelings of Action. 403 complete power over self, not to speak of the i ifluence it may exert over others. But the love of powt*" seems also to add force to the cruel side of human nature; nothing yields such a vivid consciousness of our power over another as his subjection to our torture.* II. But without evoking the definite feeling of power, the presence of an end may kindle a more or less eager desire for its attainment. This eagerness takes sometimes an egoistic, sometimes an altruistic, direction, i. In its egoistic form it originates the pleasure of pursuit, the pleasure of approximating to the end of an action, to the ideal of a life. 2. In its altruistic form this emotion arises from contemplating the activity of others, and the development of its results. We thus obtain that large element of literary gratification, the pleasure of plot- interest. III. As each action supposes an end, so each subordinate end supposes some supreme end, to which it is merely a means. All the immediate ends of human actions, therefore, point to a chief end of man, a summum bonum of his life. The pleasures connected with the pursuit and attainment of this end, the pains connected with the failure to reach it, — these enter as prominent factors into the moral sentiments. * Stewart has given a specially interesting illustration of the numerous directions of the love of power in his Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers, Book i., Chap, ii., § 4. Volitions. 40s PART III. VOLITIONS. VOLITIONS are actions consciously directed to an end ; and the problem of psychology is to explain the process by which we acquire control over our ac- tions so as to make them subserve the ends we have in view, instead of being aimless. In the treatment of this problem we shall discuss (i) the nature of volition, (2) the motive power of the feelings, (3) the extension of voluntary control over muscles, feelings, and thoughts,. (4) freedom of volition. 4od Psychology, CHAPTER I. THE GENERAL NATURE OF VOLITION. :' r! '-^t HERE, as in cognition and feeling, the rudimentary material of the mental life is to be found in sensation, — here considered as giving, noi; information or pleasure and pain, but impulse to action. There are indeed impulses outside of conscious sensation. There are possibly, as a favourite doctrine of Professor Bain holds, spontaneous discharges of surplus muscular energy.* Certainly stimuli transmitted along afferent nerves are often reflected along efferent nerves without exciting consciousness. These spontaneous and refle^ muscular movements are moreover not without value in the development of voluntary movements ; but they are by no means so valuable as those experiences, in which movement follows, though involuntarily, upon a conscious sensation. Thus we close the eyes, or turn the head away, from a dazzling light. We shrink or scream or groan under an excessive pain. The hand plays tenderly with any smooth soft body which it touches. We are constantly shifting to relieve the uneasiness of a posture maintained too long. In a thousand ways the * The Senset and the Intellect^ pp. 59-73 ; The Emotions and the WiU, pp. 297-308. The General Nature of Volition. 407 feeling of pleasure, perhaps more frequently the feeling of pain, discharges itself in excitements of motor nerve. The movements, thus involuntarily stimulated by sensa- tion, are observed very strikingly in the changing positions of the sleeper, when he is disturbed. It is not possibk^ always to distinguish such movements from strictly reflex actions ; but the distinction is real. When an action is thus involuntarily performed, whether by a spontaneous or reflex or sensational stimulus, it may be the cause, directly or indirectly, of pleasure or pain. In fact, most of our pleasures and pains imply some action on our p^t. We speak of objects being the causes of our feelings; but objects must be brought into the proper relation to our organism to excite its sensibility. Thus a beautiful scene must be looked at ; a sapid body must be put into the mouth, an odour must be sniffed, before the appropriate feelings can be experienced. The action therefore comes to be associated in consciousness with the pleasure or pain it produces ; and, as alread^' explained,* it is thus that likings and dislikes are aioused. The association of action and feeling makes them mutually suggestive. The feeling, therefore, whether actually felt or merely remembered, will suggest the action, by which it is pro- duced ; but an action, — a muscular movement, — cannot be represented in consciousness without a faint thrill in the muscular region which would be stirred if the movement were actually made. This thrill of repre- senting an action in connection with a pleasure to be reached or a pain to be avoided by it, — this is that conscious state of desire, craving, longing, yearning. B i Hons and the * See Chap. ii. of the previous Part. 4o8 Psychology. : 'it!! vm Ai i!:^n which has been well named " the small beginnings of action."* This mental state finds its most vivid and familiar illustration in the earliest form in which it shows itself in human life — our animal appetites. The term, appetite, when used in its most restricted sense, is applied to those periodic cravings which arise from the recurring wants of animal nature. Of these it is common to distinguish two kinds — one as being natural and original, the other as artificial and acquired. The latter are simply particu- lar habits imposed on the nervous system by the peculiar indulgences of individuals. Such are the cravings for alcohol, tobacco, opium, tea, fiesh, spices, and other stimulants or narcotics. Appetites of this sort are of course not universal impulses of the human mind, but are mere accidents of individual life. On the other hand, the natural or original appetites have their source in the intrinsic wants of our animal constitution, and are therefore common to all men. The most obstrusive of these in daily consciousness are those most closely con- nected with the struggle for individual existence, hunger and thirst. But, in addition to these, the sexual organic cravings, the craving for sleep, the cravings for activity and rest, and perhaps some other bodily desires of a more obscure character, are also to be included among natural appetites. These earliest and simplest forms of desire remain throughout life the types of all the more complex longings of the mind. In common language the terms hunger and thirsty in particular, are extensively applied to describe even the highest asoirations of life. For it scarcely needs observing, that cravings may have their origin not merely in the pleasures and pains 1 1' \ * Hobbes' Leviathan, p. 39, Molesworth's ed. The General Nature of Volition. 409 of sense. The impulsive power of a sensation depends on its power of giving pleasure and pain ; but this power is not confined to feeling at the stage of mere sensation ; it belongs equally to the stage of pure emotion. The impulsive action of feeling, however, even at this higher stage, does not constitute volition. Numberless actions in the daily life of all men are the thoughtless, involun- tary promptings of emotion. A sudden ecstasy of joy, an unexpected excess of sorrow, a flash of hope or despair, an overwhelming panic, a furious outburst of anger, — such emotions will diffuse themselves irresistibly over various muscular regions, and determine all sorts of aimless actions. But a volition is not aimless or thought- less ; it implies a thought of the end to be attained by the action. How is this developed ? A volition, we have seen, is not merely an action un- reflectively prompted, suggested by a previous associa- tion with some pleasure it produces. It implies a consciousness of this association, a conscious co.-npari- son of action and pleasure with a cognition of their relation as means and end. It is only when we thus reflect on the end to be attained by an action, that the action becomes voluntary. This fact is apt to be lost sight of, as it is obscured by an ambiguity in the use of the word motive. This term is sometimes employed to denote an impulse of sensibility, by which we are moved to act without reflection; and such action implies no intelligent control. But in a higher application the term is identified with intention or intelligent purpose ; that is to say, a motive, in this sense, is an object set before consciousness as the end to be reached by the perform- ance of an action. It is only actions directed by this higher sort of motives that are voluntary. A volition is an act of an intelligent being acting intelligently. i I 'I ;l^ I m 'li! : 1 !■ /' '■': !' ','■' ! ■ ■ ! I il.i' ■•4j 1* i, , ,i; n '■i<\ HH Ik 410 Psychology, CHAPTER II. THE MOTIVE POWER OF THE FEELINGS. FROM the previous chapter it appears that, in order to volition, there must be a representation of the end to be attained. We have thus a test of the voli- tional quality of diflferent feelings ; and it is found to be identical with that quality on which the intellectual and emotional life also depends, — that combination of associa- bility and comparability which has been briefly described before as distinct representability. It is true that in the mental picture of ends it is often not so much the future feelings themselves that are represented, but rather the external circumstances in which these are expected. Nor is it difficult to understand why this should be the case. Not only are external circumstances, implying usuallj' visual images, capable of being represented with greater vividness than pleasures and pains; but it is by picturing in imagination the external stimulants of our pleasures and pains that these are realised in anticipation. Still, in order to endow our feelings with volitional power, they must be represented to the mind ; and therefore this power of our feelings demands some consideration here. To understand this power in all its bearings, the feel- *ngs must be viewed both on their sensible side, that is, The Motive Power of the Feelings. 411 FEELINGS. as sources of pleasure and pain, and on their intellectual side, that is, as sources of knowledge. I. In the former aspect they possess two somewhat contrasted properties, intensity and durability. I. The intensity of a feeling, as we have already seen, is the degree in which it absorbs the consciousness. Now, the intensity of a feeling may be said to be the measure of its motive power while it lasts. This law implies two facts : — {a) that the power of a feeling to move .us is naturally in proportion to its intensity, but {p) only while it lasts. (a) The former statement is evidenced by the manner in which our moral judgment is modified by finding that an action has or has not been done under the influence of intense feeling. This modification is observed not only in the judgments of individuals and particular social circles \ it has influenced even civilised jurisprudence. Though law properly concerns itself only with external acts, it has become common, in modern legislation, to mitigate the punishment of crimes perpetrated under powerful temptations, such as a theft of bread to escape starvation, or a homicide prompted by a sudden over- •powering passion. ip) But this statement is subject to the important qualification, that the intensity of a passion measures its motive power only while it lasts. After it has died away, it can be of influence as a motive only by being repre- sented ; and therefore its motive power depends then on its distinct representability. Indeed, as soon as reflec- tion has had time to work, passion begins to wane \ and in general, therefore, it may be said, that our feelings are powerful stimulants of action in proportion to their intensity only while they operate as unreflecting motives. As motives in the higher sense of the term, as objects of ' I I 412 Psychology, li' ' i.\\ ']. U ii.' M' intelligent purpose, they imply the now er of being dis- tinctly represented. a. But before proceeding to this intellectual quality of the feelings, there is another quality, which they possess in their sensible aspect, demanding consideration. The durability of a feeling is its capacity of continuing in consciousness without relief. The relation of durability to intensity may be sufficiently expressed by saying that the two are in an inverse proportion to each other, if this mathematical formula is understood not to imply the exact measurements of quantity, which are characteristic of mathematical science. This relation has impressed itself deeply on the com- mon consciousness of men, and impressed itself as a fact of supreme importance in its bearing on the sum of human happiness. For, as already explained in connec- tion with the theory of pleasure and pain, excessive or prolonged intensity, passing the limit of healthy action, destroys sensibility ; so that a period is soon put to the duration of intense feeHngs. " The breath of flowers," says Lord Bacon, "is far sweeter in the air, where it comes and goes like the warbling of music, than in the hand."* And the principle here implied holds good,* not only of odours, but of all kinds of feeling. The pleasures which contribute most to our general welfare are those which come and go, or are of calmer tone and enjoyed in moderation. Fortunately, persistent intensity destroys sensibility to pain as well as pleasure. The worst agonies, therefore, as the brutal malice of the savage and the refined malice of the inquisitor eq'nlly know, are those pains which die away and return upon us afresh ; or they are those calm griefs which settle Essay Of Gardens. The Motive Power of the Feelings. 413 down into a calm despair. " Dolor in longinquitate levis, in gravitate brevis solet esse ; ut ejus magnitudinem celeritas, diuturnitatem allevatio consoletur."* It is for this reason that we refuse to trust in the continuance of intense feelings : we prefer a sober friendship to any " gushing " affection ; and we look with certainty to the early decay of all ecstasies, sensual, intellectual, moral, and religious alike. "His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves ;"t and there is a wise psychology in the old proverb, "Love me little and love me long." Even in the loftiest senti- ment an excess of fervour, equally with any excess in mere sensation, is apt to abolish consciousness. *' In such high hour Of visitation from the living God Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired." But the lesson, impressed on the mind by the relation of durability to intensity of feeling, is affected by an im- portant qualification. We have already seen that variety is an essential condition of consciousness in general, of pleasurable consciousness in particular. Nothing neu- tralises all kinds of enjoyment more completely than monotony. An uniform calm, therefore, even of enjoy- ment, tends to degenerate into insipidity. To avoid this result it is usual to vary the even tenor of the emo- tional life by occasional seasons of heig^^^^ned enjoy- ment. Though plain food forms the staple gratification * Cicero, De Finibus^ i. 12. + Richard the Second, Act ii., Scene I. Compare the passage from Romeo and /uHet, quoted above, p. 326. ■ 1 1 I • 1 1 1 y ; i r ■ 1 , 1 1 i 1 1 1 i i t i, ■ i : 1 5 I . I;? I ' V: 414 Psychology, of life, there is a need for feasts at times ; and this forms the reason of banquets, holidays, hightides. For one moment of intense enjoyment may, in many instances, be infinitely preferable to a feeble prolongation of the same feeling. " Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight."* It would appear also as if in the anguish of a second might be summed up the misery of years. In the history of some kinds of suffering man is not without occasional experience of a moment of unspeakable horror, regarding which it may be truly said, that *' In that instant o'er his soul Winters of memory seemed to roll, And gather in that drop of time A life of pain, an age of crime. "t This fact, however, bears upon the feelings considered not merely as sources of pleasure and pain, but also as impulses to action. There is a tide in the emotions of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to high achieve- ments. Enthusiasm, that is, an unusual intensity of elevating sentiment, is necessary to raise men above a humdrum existence. And therefore, for the sake of energetic activity, men dare to risk the emotional storms * Romeo and Juliet, Act ii.. Scene 6. The idea is felicitously ex- pressed in a German students' drinking-song : — " Nippet nicht, wenn Bacchus' Quelle fliesset, Aengstlich an des vollen Bechers Rand ; Wer das Leben tropfenweis' geniesset, * Hat des Lebens Deutung nie crkannt." t Byron's Giaour, is felicitously ex- The Motive Power of tJu i ^s» 415 that are apt to arise out of inspiring enthusiasms, rather than be content with the dull ease of a placid career. " Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife, To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name."* For the same reason man finds more interest in a brief period of the great historical nations with all their stir and strife than can ever be felt in the uneventful records of those peoples that have left no impress on the development of humanity. *' Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay ! '* Accordingly, to render possible a more exalted course of action, men adopt various means for cultivating to higher intensity the sentiments by which such a course is inspired. This is the happy effect that we seek in the companionship of sympathetic minds ; and the great religious teachers of all ages are never weary of proclaim- ing that acts of religion have no significance or value except in cherishing the state of feeling which gives a nobler tone to life. Of course, there is a danger that the passionate susceptibility, which leads to splendid deeds, may be misdirected to meaner ends. Still, without its enthusiasms, life would scarce be worth living. To the general life of man they impart the charm of romance, and in the moral life particularly they are indispensable to heroic virtue. We can therefore understand why, in the more earnest movements of religious history, modera- tion has often been stigmatised, not indeed as implying positive vice, but as tending to cool the ardour of senti- * Scott, 0/d Mortality^ Chapter xxxviii. II il 416 Psychology, ment necessary to reach the ideal at which these move ments aim. II. But it is not on their sensible side that the feelings are of chief interest in the development of the mental life. We have already seen that cognition and emotion owe their complicated developments to the intellectual qualities, — the associability and comparability, — of our sensations ; and it is in virtue of these qualities, which have been summarily described as forming distinct repre- sentability, that the feelings contribute to the development of volition. Considered merely as sensible phenomena, the feelings may form unreflective impulses to action ; but it is only by being distinctly represen table that they can form intelligent ends. This aspect of the feelings, therefore, alters altogether the estimate of their motive power which we should form from their sensible qualities. It values a feeling not only while it lasts, but when it is afterwards revived in memory or imagination to form an object of intelligent reflection. It appears that the distinct representability of feelings may be generally described as in direct proportion to their durability, and therefore in inverse proportion to their intensity. From this it follows on the one hand that the calmer feelings are not only more durable, but more distinctly revivable in idea. Both of these facts are of great practical import. I. We may well at times be struck with awe at the fact that feelings, which for the moment overpower by their intensity all other impulses, cannot be afterwards repre- sented with any vividness. The reason of this fact has been already pointed out in the general principle, that a feeling, even if naturally pleasurable, passes, by its excess, the limit of health, and becomes destructive. The fact finds its illustration in all departments of our emotional life. There are many sensations, like those of sickness, The Motive Power of the Feelings. 4 1 7 1 these move- which absolutely control our conduct while we are under their power, yet leave but the faintest traces in . imagina- tion and memory. Perhaps, however, the most startling instance of the fact under consideration is to be found in the rapid access of repentance after excess, after the inordinate indulgence of any passion. Owing to the inverse ratio, between the intensity and the durability of our feelings, the power of the criminal impulse collapses with appalling suddenness ; and in consequence of the inverse ratio of intensity to representability, being unable to quicken the dead passion into the after-life; of memory, the guilty wretch stands aghast at his conduct, and cannot now realise what ever induced him to act as he has done. The famous scene, with which the second act of Macbeth opens, will long retain its terrible charm over the mind from the truthfulness with which it pictures th' ; dread revulsion of feeling. It may be observed that a more pleasing illustration of the same revulsion is found in an emotional state resem- bling the nature of shame, that sometimes follows upon actions done under the influence of a high enthusiasm. 2. But the counterpart of this tact is also familiar in human life. The sources, from which we draw the materials for happy reflection and for pleasing construc- tions of the fancy in after years, are not, as a rule, the violent excitements of our sensibility, but those feelings which are of a calm nature, and which also endure commonly for a long time. This fact, however, is of Intercast, not only as pointing to the perennial sources of human happiness ; it points equally to the kind of feelings which must form the objects of intelligent volition. The man, whose conduct is dictated by the most intense passion of the moment, leads a life that is destitute of any determinate character. To attain con- c 2 4i8 Psychology, ;f ! sistency of character the life must be guided by an ideal plan ; and an ideal plan of life supposes, not merely the impulses that proceed from the variable moods of the sensibility, but motives than can be retained permanently in idea. Such motives, however, can be found only in connection with feelings that are distinctly representable. •l\ '■: r- Voluntary Control over Muscles ^ etc. 419 CHAPTER III. THE EXTENSION OF VOLUNTARY CON- TROL OVER MUSCLES, FEELINGS, AND THOUGHTS. THE most obvious and therefore the most intelli- gible sphere of volition is muscular activity. The nature of the volitional control of muscle has been partially explained in the opening Chapter of this Part. It was there shown that muscular activity is first stimulated by spontaneous or reflex or sensational im- pulses. The muscular activity, originated in any of these ways, excites pleasure or pain ; and the pleasant or painful feeling excited becomes accordingly associated in consciousness with the activity which is its cause. When the feeling is afterwards represented, it recalls the cause \ and we are accordingly moved to reproduce the cause in order to the reproduction of the effect. But to guard against mistake, and prepare the way for further developments of volition, it is necessary to con- sider the nature of the feelings connected with the activity of the muscles. Muscular sensation is merely a peculiar mode of feeling which, though distinguished in quality from other feelings, is not a consciousness of the muscles, by whose action it is excited. Apart from anatomical study, muscular sensation can no more reveal the structure, or even the existence, of muscles 420 Psychology. J !■ :|::m I . f than a bound can tell the form of the cochlea, or a colour can reveal the rods and cones of the retina. The volition, therefore, which issues in muscular contraction, is not directed consciously towards the muscles contracted. I will, for example, to write certain characters on the paper before me with the pen which I hold in my hand. I am unable, without consulting an anatomical work, to tell precisely what muscles must be called into play in guiding the pen. But I have written the same charac- ters a countless number of times before. After scores of somewhat unsuccessful efforts in school-days I have hit upon the precise muscular contraction required. That precise contraction is the source of an equally definite muscular sensation ; and it Is through this sensation alone that the required contraction becomes associated with the facts of my conscious life, and comes within the sphere of conscious volition. Accordingly when a familiar act is represented as an object of volition, I am able, through the muscular sensibility, to hit upon the muscular contraction necessary to the accomplishment of the act. If the act is still unfamiliar, — if it is one the peitormance of which still requires to be made into a habit or dexterity, — it is through the muscular sensibility that the acquisition is directed. From general use of the muscles I must of course be acquainted roughly with the limits within which the required muscular exertion lies. I can, therefore, hit more or less nearly on the precise contractions. It is here that the vast differences appear between individuals in regard to the sensibility and pliability of muscle. Some show a quick expertness, that seems to want no tuition, in finding the exact stroke of muscle demanded. For such nature has formed a basis for proceeding at once to those higher refinements, by which they may excel all ordinary Voluntary Control over Muscles^ etc. 421 teachers, and attain the achievements of genius. Others, again, less favoured by nature, never succeed, even after laborious repetitions, in overcoming the clumsy awkward- ness of learners. It is important, then, to bear in mind, that, even in voluntary control of the muscles, volition is directed immediately, not to the muscles themselves, but to the sensations excited by muscular action. In passing, therefore, to voluntary control of the feelings, there is not such a wide gap in the evolution of will as might at first be supposed. In controlling the muscles themselves the consciousness is directed to a certain mode of feeling, — a mode of feeling, indeed, connected with the muscular mechanism by which we modify the external world, but a mode of feeling all the same. Consequently the transition, in this expansion of voluntary power is, . in strictness, not so much from control of muscle to control of feeling as from controlling one mode of feeling to the control of another. In fact there is, in many, if not in most, of the voluntary acts which control the feelings, a close atfinity with those which control muscular movement. We have seen in the Introduction to ihe previous Part of this Book, that the feelings are in many instances associated with specific muscular movements as their expression. This asi ociation, it was further observed, is so close, as to constitute a certain dependence of the feelings on their expression; so that, by producing an expressive movement, the associated feeling may be in some measure reinstated. The dependence, indicated in this fact, is, however, manifested in other ways. The expres- sion of an emotion is connected with the emotion by some natural law or laws, in whatever manner the connection may have originated ; and consequently the < u ;i:..i 1 i 422 Psychology. tendency of an emotion, when unresisted, is to find vent in its natural expression. But this tendency may b& resisted, at least in those cases in which expression is connected with the voluntary muscles. We cannot indeed arrest the relaxation of the intestinal muscles often brought on by violent fear ; we cannot check the quickened beat of the heart which emotional excitement generally produces, or restore the interrupted rhythm of the circulation which, under the influence of various feelings, makes the colour come and go on the face. But the L'lUgh and the frown, the start of surprise, and the numerous gestures which form the familiar expres- sions of /eeling, — these are all under conscious controL Now, the repression of these movements necessarily interferes with the natural play, and deadens the vivacity, of emotion. In fact the play of emotion, — its indulgence, — consists in the influence which it exercises over the conduct of life; and this influence is exhibited, not only in the general human expressions of emotion, but also in par- ticular acts in which emotion may be indulged at any moment. The real control of emotion consists in the repression of all its overt manifestations. The emotional life feeds upon its overt indulgencies, and without them cannot be sustained. Such indulgencies are often private, like the secret fondling of objects associated with any affection, or retired acts of devotion. There is nothing more frequently enjoined in treatises on practical religion than the necessity of such private acts for the cultivation of religious feeling. This injunction of religious teachers is based on an universal principle with regard to the culture of the emotions, — the principle that any emo- tional excitement may be controlled by keeping in check its active manifestations, and that emotions may be Voluntary Control over Muscles ^ etc. 423 starved out of existence by being habitually refused the indulgence they crave in directing external conduct. To what extent such emotional repression should be carried, is a problem of ethics ; and the great divisions of ethical speculation might be described as separating on the problem. For while an extreme Epicureanism seeks the chief good of humanity in some form of emotional excitement, and while an extreme Stoicism, finding in such excitement the source of all evil, enjoins the cultivation of an emotional apathy ; more moderate ethical theories hold up the ideal of a life, in which rational conduct is warmed and beautified by rational feeling. This is not the place to dwell on these theories further than to point out that, amid all their differences, they agree in recognising the psychological fact, that the emotions can be voluntarily allowed to determine, or prevented from determining, the character of any human life. It is this check upon their external manifestations that is commonly understood by the control of the feelings in our daily life. But it remains a question, whether such an account exhausts all that can be said of this control. I^ may be true that feeling is, not only in general, but always, bound up with some muscular manifestation ; yet it is a very simple task of abstraction to separate in thought the feeling from its expression. It is quite con- ceivable, therefore, that though the feelings are usually repressed by restraining their outward manifestations, yet it is possible to direct conscious volition to the feelings themselves without reference to their manifestations. Whether this is actually the case or not, is a question which brings us to the ultimate problem of the will. In the discussion of this problem it will be found that some psychologists refuse to recognise any sphere of voluntary 124 Psychology. 1 i control beyond the muscular system; and to such the utmost that]|[canj be meant by volition is the conscious anticipation of {?. muscular movement that is about to be felt by us. Whether this is a complete account of the limits of the will, muLt be discussed in the sequel. Mean- while, as preparatory to that discussion, it is important to notice another extension of voluntary control. As there is a certain control exercised over the feelings, so we can also, in'a certain sense, control the thoughts. The explanation of this act has been prepared in discus- sing the Secondary Laws of Suggestion '* and the nature of attention.! It was then shown that, while the pheno- mena before consciousness at any moment are multifa- rious, the consciousness is unequally distributed over them. While the majority of these phenomena attract comparatively little notice, on some, perhaps only on one, the consciousness may be concentrated either by an in- voluntary impulse of feeling or by voluntary effort. This concentration of consciousness controls our thoughts, not only for the moment, but also for the moments immedi- ately following. For it makes the thoughts, on which the consciousness is concentrated, more powerfully sug- gestive than the rest, and consequently determines the line in which the current of thought will flow. It is this straining, this attention of the mind, that renders possible voluntary recollection, study, consecutive thinking. Let us look at the nature of the act more closely. In some instances, at least, the act obviously resembles that of controlling the feelings by restraint of their out- ward manifestations. When the object of thought is a body actually present to sense, then attention to it in- * Book i., Part ii., Chapter i., § 2. t Book ii.. Part i., Chapter ii., § i. Voluntary Control over Muscles^ etc. 425 solves some muscular act, — the fixing of the eyes, the breathless listening, the manipulation of a surface, the sniff of efHuvia, or some similar action. Even when the object is one of abstract thought, the concentration of consciousness upon it implies, as already explained,* such a tension of our limited powers as to arrest activity in other directions. Unless a voluntary restraint is exercised over the restless muscular movement by which bodily life is in health usually characterised, the con- sciousness would be so distracted by the innumerable •changing phenomena brought within its ken that atten- tion would be impossible. The enforced quiet of the muscular organism produces a state of monotony in re- gard to outward impressions, and deadens thereby their power of stimulation. But this quiet is, of course, en- forced by the voluntary control of the muscles ; and it cannot, therefore, be doubted that attention, at least in its more definite forms, frequently, — it may be usually or even always, — implies muscular restraint. But here, as in regard to the voluntary control of the feelings, the question arises, whether in recognising this muscular restraint we have disclosed the whole nature of the voli- tions which direct the course of our thoughcb. This -question cannot be properly discussed except by entermg upon the probleru reserved for the concluding chapter. Ibid. §0 Hill: '<• '^ 426 Psychology, • < u ■ \ -ay ■n ;■ a :: CHAPTER IV. FREEDOM OF VOLITION. ' r^HE problem of this chapter is essentially identical X with those ultimate problem^ regaroing the general nature of knowledge, which were discussed in the sixth chapter of the first Part of this Book ; and, therefore, little remains to be done but to explain the bearing upon this problem of the principles involved in the previous discussion. At the outset it may be worth while to recall the definition of voluntary action in the first chapter of this Part. It was there shown that many so-called actions are due to unreflecting impulses, and that the term motive is very often used for impulses of this kind. On the other hand^ this term is also frequently applied to the conscious purpose, the end which we have in view when we act. It is only actions of the latter class that are voluntary. A volition is therefore an act of a parson who knows what he is doing, and who, in knowing what he does, knows the end which his action is aciipted to attain. Now, it is not maintained that human actions are generally of this voluntary sort. On the contrary, it may be admitted that the majority of actions, — all the actions which make up the routine of daily life, — are of the mechanical type, even though they may be the result of habits voluntarily formed, and may therefore Freedom of Volition. 427 continue subject to voluntary restraint. Man is encir- cled by the systems of natural law, limited by them in his original constitution, rewarded or punished by them in his repeated actions. So far his activity is like any other natural product ; but the question remains, whether it does not essentially imply something more. The question, then, in reference to the freedom of volition is confined to those acts which alone are en- titled to be ci.llcd volitions, — those in which the agent consciously seeks to reach a certain end. Accordingly, it leaves out of account, and we may throw aside as a meaningless fiction, that sort of freedom which has been called the " liberty of indifference," that is, a power to act free from the influence of any motive whatever. Whether such a freedom can be claimed for man or not, it is not worth claiming ; for a motiveless act cannot be an intelligent act, since it implies no intelligence of the end which the act is designed to accomplish. On the freedom of the will, then, as thus defined, there are two theories, or sets of theories. I. One holds that, whatever distinction may be drawn between the actions, to which the term volition is restricted, and those that are done unreflectingly, there is no difference in so far as the law of causality is con- cerned. According to this law, every phenomenon is absolutely determined by some antecedent phenomenon or phenomena ; and consequently every action of man receives its definite character from the immediately antecedent circumstan<:es in which it was done, it being understood that antecedent circumstances comprehend the condition ot the agent himself as well as the con- dition of his environment. The manifold agencies in the physical world excite their multitudinous tremors in the nervous system : these are followed by appropriate r. • ■\ M ::l 428 Psychology, states of consciousness, — feelings, cognitions, desires ; and the phenomena, which we call volitions, are merely further links in this chain. Every volition, therefore, on this theory, is regarded simply as an event in time, wholly determined, like any other event, by events preceding. This has been commonly called, in former times, the theory of Necessity, and its supporters Necessitarians. Recent advocates of the theory, however, generally object to the term Necessity, as implying compulsion without consent, whereas the theory regards the consent of the agent as one of the conditions of a voluntary action. On this account Determinism has been sug- gested, and is now generally adopted, as an appropriate designation of the theory. Though a certain form of Determinism has often been maintained by theologians of the Augustinian and Calvin- istic schools, yet the doctrine tends at the present day to ally itself with that general theory of man's origin, which regards him as, in mind and body alike, merely the last evolution of organic nature on our planet. According to this view man's consciousness is simply the product of the forces in his environment acting on his complicated sensibility, and of that sensibility reacting on the environ- ment. His consciousness, therefore, stands related to other phenomena precisely as these are related to each other, each being acted upon by the rest, and reacting upon them, so that all are absolutely determined by this reciprocity of action. On this view man's self is not a real unity, forming by its unifying power, out of an unin- telligible multiplicity of sensations, an intelligible cosmos; it is a mere name for a factitious aggregate of associated mental states. The only actual self is the sum of feelings of which we are conscious at any moment; and the actual Freedom of Volition. 429 self, therefore, differs with the variation of our feelings. Such a self evidently offers no intelligible source of any activity that is not absolutely determined by natural causation. II. The opposite theory, maintaining that volition is in its essential character free from the determinations of natural law, is spoken of as the doctrine of Liberty, or of the Freedom of the Will. Its supporters are sometimes called Libertarians. This doctrine contends, in one form or another, that there is an essential difference between human volitions and other events, and that their character is not to be interpreted, like that of other events, solely by referring to the antecedent circumstances in which they were done. This theory tends to ally itself at the present day with that Transcendental Idealism, which refuses to accept Empirical Evolutionism as a complete solution of the problem of man's nature. The doctrine of Liberty insists on the essential distinction between the reality, the unity, of the self and that of objects. The notselves, that make up the. objective world, have no real point of unity, no self- hood ; so that from themselves nothing can originate. But the self is a real self, a real centre of unity, from which radiate all the unifying functions of intelligence that form into intelligible order the world of sense. The self, therefore, stands related to the notselves of the objective world, not simply as these are related to each other ; it is contradistinguished /rom the whole of them in a way, in which each is not contradistinguished from the others, as the intelligent interpreter without which they could form no intelligible system. This system is formed of parts which are construed as holding relations of reciprocal causality ; but the intelligence, that con- strues the system, is not simply one of the parts, whose 430 JPsychology. 'i.i M^ action is absolutely determined by the action of the rest. As we have seen in the previous discussion on self- •consciousncss, it is this distinction of self from the whole universe of notselves, that alone renders intelligible the cognition of that universe. It is also the independence of self on the universe of notselves, that alone renders intelligible its voluntary action on that universe. For a volition is not an act, to which I am impelled by the forces of external nature beating upon my sensitive nature ; it is an act, in which I consciously set before myself an end, and determine myself towards its attain- ment. The very nature of volition, therefore, would be contradicted by a description of it in terms which brought it under the category of causality. This freedom of the self from determination by the world of objects is the fact which alone explains, without explaining away, the consciousness, that there is within us a centre of conscious activity which is, in the last resort, impregnable by any assaults of mere force. You may apply to my organism superior forces of organic or inorganic bodies, and compel // to act as you wish. You may employ all the sensible inducements at your disposal in order to bend me to your purpose ; you may tempt me with the most bewitching delights of sense, or scare me with its most frightful agonies. You may even, by ingenuity of torture, so shatter my nervous system as to prevent me from carrying out into the world of sense the deliberate resolutions of myself. But there is one thing which mere force, — force separated from reason, — cannot •do ; it cannot compel me. ction of the INDEX. Abercrombie, Dr., 187, 254, 255, 263, 266, 270, 279, 280 Addison, 129 Afiection, 370 Aflferent nerves, 20 Age, 10 Alimentary sensations, 35, 40, 68 Allen, G., 59, 132, 133, 230, 252, 316 Anaesthesia, 252 Anaxagoras, 43 lAnthropology, 12 Antipathy, 375 Anytus, 386 Apparitions, 248 Apprehension, Simple, 21 1 A priori and a posteriori^ 284 Aristotle, 34, 315, 322 Architecture, 237 Art, 234 Articulate sounds, 155 Artman and Hall, 151 Astrology, 8 Attic salt, 128 Augustinianism, 428 Bacon, Lord, 35, 81, 412 Bailey's Festus, 330 Bain, Professor, 143, 288, 300, 338, 372, 383. 395. 406 Barbaras, 158 Beaumont and Fletcher, 144 Beauty, 234 Bell, Sir Charles, 335 Berkeley, 146, 166 Biography, 6 Blacklock, 187 Blushing, 367 Boerhuave, 34 Brace, Julia, 135 Bradley, 395 Braid, 349 Brewster, 177 Bridgman, L., 49, 50, 141, 145, 206- 7 Brillat-Savarin, 129, 131 Brown, Dr. T., 391 Burke, Edmund, 343, 346 Burns, 132 Butler, Bishop, 378 Byron, Commodore, 384 Byron, Lord, 330, 390, 414 Calvinism, 428 Carlyle, 365 Carpenter, Dr., 35, 145, 280 Cerebro-spinal system, 19 Chalmers, Dr., 277 Cheselden's patient, 165, 168, 169. 187. 352. 353, 354, 355 Cicero, 81, 382, 413 Clang-tint, 54 Coleridge, 265 Colloids, 34 Colours, 57 Common sense, 121, 286 Composition, 240 Concept, 211 Conceptual ism, 202 Consciousness, 2 Consonants, 155 Contractility, 66 Contrast, 86, 393 Cowper, 329 Crusades, 82 Crystalloids, 34 Cumberland, S. C, 144 Curiosity, 397 ;:i^ Mi ti' m run • . rf fv- 432 Index, Cyrenaics, 315 Dallas, 265, 273, 31S, 323 Dante, 86 Darwin, 335, 367 Davy, Sir H., 143 Dead strain, 66 Deduction, 223 Demeter, worship of, 357 Detnocritus, 45 Descartes, 185 Determinism, 428 Dickens, 253 Diderot, 185 Dionysus, worship of, 357 Direct remembrance, 77-78 Disposition, 11 Donaldson, H. H., 46, 70 Drummond, Agnes, 270 Ecclesiastes, 351 £ery, 401 Efferent nerves, 20 Electricity, 73 Elertrobiology, 271 Emotion, 312 Empirical, 285 Emulation, 396 Envy, 385 Epicureanism, 423 Epidermis, 41 Erdmann, 116 Euripides, 351 Experience, 285 Facial sense, 141 Fallacies, 248 Familiarity, 99 Fatigue, 72, 325 Fear, 390 Fechner, 28 Ferguson, Adam, 81, 317, 386. Fine arts, 234 Flaubert, 253 Flavour, 35 Fontenelle 322 Franz's patient, 43, 166, 168, 169 Galen, 34 Geiger, 59 Genius, 11 Giants, 134 Gladstone, 59 Goethe, 330 Goldsmith, 327 Gough, 43, 150 Grace at meals, 128 Gray, 333 Gregory, Dr., 262 Grey, Earl, 252 Gurney, 281 Habit, 10, 103-7 Hall, G. S., 46, 64, 280 Haller, 34, 133 Hallucinations, 248 Hamilton, Sir W., 34, 64, 78, I(XV 116, 121, 122, 146, 192, 194, 197, 223, 227, 231, 233, 286j 308. 324 Harmony, i6o-l Hauser, Caspar, 135 Hecker, 352 Hegel, 261, 336 Helniholtz, 51, 60 61, 156, 168, 174, 181, 250 Herbart, 78 History, 7 Hobbes, 219, 377, 408 Holmes, O. W., 138, 266, 273 Hope, 390 Howe, Dr., 136, 206 Humboldt, 134 Hume, 305, 322 Huxley, 12, 253 Hyperaesthesia, 251 Idea, 227 Ideal, 226-7 Imagination, 230- 1 Indignation, 384 Indirect remembrance, 77 Induction, 224 Innate^ 286 Instinct, 104, 184 Intoxication, 73 Intuition^ 284 Invariable association, 103 Itch, 47 Jealousy, 386 Job, 365 im 28o 34. 64. 78, 100^ 146, 192, 194, 231. 233. 286, Index, 433 61, 156, 168, fo8 i, 266, 273 ce, 77 n, 103 Johnson, 82 Kant, 116, 227, 308 Keats, 132 Kitto, 49. 150, 152, 162, 186 Lamson's Life of L. Bridgman, 49, 50, 145, 157, 206 Langerveilc, 329 Language, Science of, 6, 158 Leckie, 278 Lefthandedness, 44 Leibnitio-Wolfian School, 116 Leibnitz, 185 Lenau, 330 Leonardo da Vinci, 173 Levy, 43, 141, 145 Leyden, 279 Libations, 128 Linnaeus, 34 Literature, 238 Locke, 185, 203, 215, 304, 305 Logic, 112, 210 Longet, 131 Lotze, 78, 116, 149 Lubbock, 201, 384 Lunaticus, 8 Magnetism, Animal, 271 Mahaffy, 169 Mansel, 308 Mark's Gospel, 164 Marlowe, 330 Massieu, 186 Maudsley, 134, 136, 141, 186, 253, 254. 25s M'Cosh, 303 Meier, 116 Melody, 159 Memory, 90-100, 297-9 Mendels':ohn, Moses, 116 Mesmer, 74, 271, 274 Mill, J. S., 97, 212, 213, 215, 217, 221, 222, 288. 291, 292, 293, 294. 299, 300, 315, 317, 319 Milton, 132, 137, 358 Mind, I Mitchell, James, 50, 135, 138 Mnemonics, 80 Modesty, 367 Monotony, 392 Moonstruck, 8 D 2 Motive, 409 Movement, breadth, form, and velo- city of, 22 Movement, sensations of, 66 Moyes, 151, 185 Miiller, Maler, 330 MuUer, Max, 197 Music, 158-163, 238, 348-350 Natural history of man, 6 Naturel, 1 1 Nausea, 36 Negative pleasures and pains, 333 Neuralgia, 72 Newton, 185 Nightmare, 263 Nominalism, 202-3 Nomology, 210 Nunneley, 168 Object, 1-2 Odylism, 271 Overtones, 55 Painting, 237-8 Palate, 33 Paraesthesia, 252 Passion, 312 Pastimes, 329 Pearson, 143 Perez, 168 Personal equation, 29 Physiology, 11 Pitch, 53, 159 Plato, 34, 115, 257, 315 Plot-interest, 401, 403 Positive pleasures and pains, 333 Prescind, 191 Preyer, 167, 351, 352 Psychology, origin of the name, i; distinguished from Logic, 210 Psychophysics, 24-8 Puiseaux Du, 186 Pulmonary sensations, 39, 67 Pungent sensations, 36, 41, 47 Pure cognitions, 285 Quality of tones, 54, 159 Quinctilian, 81 Race, 9 434 Index, f Ivi; Raniists, i Realisih, 202 Reason, 286 Recollection, 91 Refinement, 117 Reichenbach, Von, 74, 271 Reid, 174, 267, 379 Relativity, 88 Relish, 36 Remorse, 367 Renan, iqS Representation, 76 Resemblance, 84, 393 Resentment, 382 Ridicule, 395 Righthandedness, 44 Romanes, 5 Rousseau, 138 Savour, 35 Schelling, 236 Schiller, 230 Scott, 323, 415 Scottish School, 121, 286 Sculpture, 236 Self-evidence, 218 Sensation, sense, sensibility, sensible, sensitive, defined, 18 Sentiment, 312 Sex, 10, 378-380 Shakespeare, 33, 80, 84, 137, 174, 180, 260, 268, 320, 322, 324, 325* 326, 330, 364. 413. 414 Shamo, 367 Simonides, 81 Socrates, 314, 315, 386 Somnambulism, 269-28^ Spalding, 184 Spectres, 248 Spectrum, or after-image, 250 Spectrum, or rainbow, 57 Spencer, 12, 43, 201, 219, 230, 288, 300, 308, 315, 317 Spinoza, 254, 360 Spirit of the age, 9 St. Vitus' dance, 352 Stewart, D., 50, 100, 135, 137, 141, 149, 185, 267, 270, 403 Stoicism, 314, 423 Striking likeness, 93 Study, 90-91 Subject, 1-2 Suggestibility, 93-100 Suggestion, 76 Suggestiveness, 90-93 Sully, 253, 29s Sympathetic system, 19 Sympathy, 372-5 Taine, 253 Tarantati, 352 Tedium, 329 Teiresias, 149. Temperament, 1 1 Temperature, sensations of, 48, 70 Tennyson, 40, 86, 96, 132, 180, 330, 348, 361, 366, 368, 415 Tetens, 116 Theophrastus, 34 Thomson, Dr. W., 215 Thomson, James, 377 Thought-reading, 144 Tickling, 47 Timbre, 54 Todd and Bowman, 145 Tragedy, 321-5 Transcendental, 284 Trench, 382 Truth, 228 Tylor, 12, 201, 207, 384 Unconscious cerebration, 107 Understanding, 286 Uniform association, loi Vanity, 369 Virgil, 86, 276, 387 Vowels, 156 Wardrope's patient, 168, 352 Warner, 335 Weber, 28, 42, 146 Weird, 401 Welsch, 158 Wheatstone, 173 Wholes, different kinds of, 232-3 Wilson, Dr. D., 44 Wilson, Dr. G., 344 Wordsworth, 235, 236, 331, 363, 4^3 Wundt, 12, 60, 64, 78, 116, 162, 168, 183, 253, 280, 3.6, 319, 335 X Y 19 ans of, 48, 70 '}, 132, 180, 330, 58, 41S IS '45 384 ion, 107 loi 68, 352 3s of, 232-3 236. 331. 363, 78, 116, 162, 280, 3.6, 319, 4 Index. 435 Xenophon, 386 Young, 60 Zeitgeist^ 9 Zeno, 307 A PRINTED BY ALEXANDER GARDNER, PAISLEY.