'i^{M:^jiy:^^i 'V/^-^'i^vTvv^v?^ ^i000m^^ •Mmk^mMmmm: ^m^^ ■mwmmm^ immmmmm Cf-- REESE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. Received^ rt/c C/^ , 1^8 Accessions o No. ^ ^ ^t / Shelf No O^ IBRAI EDUC. i^sycH. LIBRARY THE HUMAN MIND A TREATISE IN MENTAL PHILOSOPHY BY EDWARD JOHN HAMILTON, D.D. •ORNIA. NEW YORK ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS 530 Broadway 1883 -un PSYCH. LIBRARY Copyright, 1882, By Robert Carter & Brothers. 3 ^y ^ 5 / Si. yohnland Cambridge: Stereotype Foundry, ^^"^ ^^ c - Suffolk Co.. N. y. ^*« ^^'^''" ^ ^^ PREFACE The treatise now offered to the public, though the outgrowth of studies which the author has long pur- sued with pleasure, immediately originated from aims which have been entertained during the last ten oi twelve years. First of all it has been his effort to compose a metaphysical system satisfactory to himself. Discontent with the various published theories of belief and conviction forced him to form new views on these fundamental topics; and, from this beginning, he was led on to attempt a general reconstruction of the phi- losophy of mind. While deeply conscious of imperfec- tion both in the design and in the execution of this undertaking, he yet is confident that the leading doc- trines advocated have been framed correctly, and cannot be set aside by future investigations. Along with the desire of producing a satisfactory philosophy, the ambition arose to write a scientific book, such as every American gentleman should have for read- ing and for reference. During the composition of this treatise, the author has had in view those thousands of our people, whose education has interested them, more or less, in metaphysical studies. He felt assured that this considerable body of his fellow-citizens would wel- come a volume in which the principal names and terms, questions and controversies, of mental philosophy might be compendiously presented and discussed. He sincerely IV PREFACE. hopes that the system expounded in the following pages may secure the attention and approbation of learned professors, but the treatise has not been specially pre- pared for them. Finally, the adaptation of the work for use in our higher educational institutions, has been a constant aim with the author. In furtherance of this end, he has distinguished separate dissertations by the numbering of sections, has indicated speclgc topics by side-headings, and has employed many logical divisions and defini- tions. The advocacy of new opinions renders the book larger than would be needful, if it were merely the digest of a finished science; yet the study of the whole volume is recommended in all cases in which this may be found practicable. At the same time, certain discus- sions, concerning matters which are not essential to a fair knowledge of psychology, and which are not com- monly considered in text-books, may properly be passed over by those who do not wish to make a speciality of metaphysics.* Owing to circumstances which the writer would have gladly altered, had he been able, the chapters of the Hu- man Mind were composed without any assistance from friendly consultation or criticism. Had such advantages been available, probably some defects would have been avoided, which cannot now be rectified. It has, how- ever, been a matter for felicitation that one's lot has been cast in an age which has inherited from preced- ing ages the works of many men of genius, and which has been distinguished by the talent of its own phi- losophers. So far as possible, the author has indi- cated his obligations to previous thinkers, in the course of his discussions. But he here acknowledges a special indebtedness to two writers, whose influence upon his speculations has been very pervasive. The undertaking • See note, page 721. PREFACE. V now completed could not have been begun with any great confidence of success, had not the mind of the author been indoctrinated and stimulated by the pro- ductions of those great philosophers — the most em- inent of living metaphysicians — the presidents of Yale and of Princeton. In conclusion, it would be ungrateful not to mention the fidelity, judgment, and skill with which Mr. John F. McCabe has superintended the manufacturing of the book. He has spared no pains in the effort to secure accurate typographical expression. New York, July 6, 1882. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Mental Philosophy Defined and Recomiviended . . 1 II. The true Method of Philosophical Investigation . 4 m. The Sources of Psychological Information ... 7 rV. The Powers of the Soul Classified 14 V. The Intellect Defined and Dr^ided 20 "VT. Sense 'and its Relations 27 VII. The Efficiency Producing Sensation 37 VIII. Cerebralism 42 IX. Sensationalism and Associationalism 53 X. The Activity of ^Mind (^2 _ XI. Mental States and Mental Actions 68 XII. The Objectivity of Thought 74 Xin. The Ultimate in Thought 81 XTV. Ideal Existences 90 XV. Belief Defined 99 XVI. Judgment 108 XVII. Knowledge 120 XVIII. Evidence 129 XIX. Illative Evidence • 145 XX. Logical Necessity 154 XXI. The Unconditioned, the Morally Necessary, and the Impossible 166 XXII. Logical Possibility 181 XXIII. Contingency and Probability 197 XXTV. The Calculation of Chances 227 XXV. Attention and Acquisition 253 XXVI. Association or Suggestion 266 XXVII. Analysis and Synthesis 280 XXVIII. Abstraction and Conception 292 XXIX. Generalization and Individuation 312 XXX. Perception or Cognition 337 XXXI. Consciousness 353 vm CONTENTS'. CHAPTER PAGE XXXII. Sense-Perception 372 XXXIII. The Objects of Direct Perception 396 XXXIV. Concomitant Perception 419 XXXV. Compound and Acquired Perception 430 XXXVI. Memory 450 XXXVn. Phantasy . 471 XXXVIII. Imagination 491 XXXIX. The Kational Faculty 518 XL. The Notion in Logic 525 XLI. Logical Definition 541 XLII. Logical Division 553 XLIII. Predication .562 XLIV. Katiocination 588 XLV. Orthological Demonstration 598 XL VI. Homological Demonstration . . .616 XL VII. The Aristotelian Syllogism 626 XL VIII. Probable Reasoning 637 XLIX. Experience and Intuition 665 L. The Elements of Entity 690 THE HUMAN MIND. CHAPTER I. MENTAL PHILOSOPHY DEFINED AND RECOMMENDED. § 1. Mental philosophy is the science — ^that is, the scjntifio knowi- accurate and systematized knowledge — of the intel- lect. When scientific knowledge is thorough and satisfactory, we know not only what a thing is, but also what it has to do with other things, and especially how it comes to be what it is. In other words, we know not only the nature of the object, but also its relations to other objects, and especially to the conditions of its existence. Mental philosophy, therefore, considers, not only thought in its various forms and develop- ments, but also the conditions on which these depend, and all the various relations of thought. This science is a department of psychology, which d^efine^ ^*^^'''* cmbraccs, not only mental philosophy, but also the philosophy of sensation, and that of the emotional and motive powers of the soul, and that of the will. The mind or intellect is not an existence separate from the will, or from the heart, but, like each of these, it is simply the soul or the spirit viewed with exclusive reference to one set of its powers. It is natural to us to denominate the same object in different ways as it may be viewed in different lights. Thus the same person may be spoken of as the judge, the law-giver, and the king of a people. The word intellect was originally applied to that higher power of thought to which we commonly give the term understanding; and which is an ability to perceive, not merely objects and facts, but also the reasons and re- lations of things. Now, however, it is very frequently used so as to include every form and development of thought, from the highest to the lowest; and thus it corresponds exactly with the word mind. In saying that mind or intellect is the power of ^w^^to tiiink.^ thinking, we differ from an eminent authority who defines it as the power of knowing. This difler- ence, perhaps, primarily regards terms, yet, even in this respect, has some importance. A wrong use of terms in philosophy is always perplexing, and frequently results in error. The words knowing^ and knoidedge^ are not generically applicable to the 2 THE HUMAN MIND. % 2. phenomena of intellect, because men generally are conscious of various states and acts of mind to which they never apply the term hioidedge^ and which they would deny to be knowledge; as, for example, suppositions and imaginings. But there is no mental state or operation which might not be characterized as thought, or thinking. It is true that the word thought is used in more specific senses, as well as with this general meaning. But it has the general meaning. We sometimes say that we think, but that we do not know, that so and so is the case. Thinking, when thus contrasted with knowledge, signifies a less confident and perfect conviction concerning truth. But we would also allow that, when we know, we have a thought — a conception — of that concerning which we know; and thinking, in this sense, is always a part of knowing. Again, the word thought, used emphatically, may signify an attentive and rational exercise of the intellect. We speak of persons as thoughtful and as thoughtless; just as we speak of a man of mind, and of a man without mind. We say, "Sits, fixed in thought, the mighty Stagirite." Here is another special sense which co- exists with the more general meaning of the word thought. For even the most thoughtless person is not without some form and degree of thinking. Psychology and mental philosophy are concerned ^ntai^^clence?^ propcrly ouly with the human soul and the human intellect. Yet there are laws common to man and to other beings both of a lower and of a higher grade of exist- ence, and the philosopher should illustrate the stud}^ of the hu- man mind by whatever information may be obtained from ana- logical instances. Important questions, too, respecting other than human beings may be incidentally treated in the course of psychological discussions. § 2. With some persons of intelligence, mental J^coSmenS^^^ philosophy, or at least that important portion of it, which concerns the fundamental elements of thought and of existence, and Avhich has been named metaphys- ics, forms a subject of ridicule. These, mostly, are practical men who care little for abstract speculations and sometimes de- spise them as useless; or persons whose temperament renders them averse to the more rigorous exercises of the intellect; or those students of material nature to whom no knowledge is sat- isfactory save such as can be derived from physical observation and experiment. It must be allowed that the past history of philosophy has afi'orded proper subjects for the exercise of wit. Not only, in every age, have certain stupid students and teach- ers sought a reputation for wisdom by addicting themselves to mental science, and by uttering profound nonsense respecting abstruse questions, but even able and subtle thinkers, also, have been led, by the inherent difiiculty and intricacy of metaphysical discussions, into paradoxical and absurd opinions. Neverthe- less, notwithstanding egregious mistakes, in some of which the §2. MENTAL PHILOSOPHY DEFINED AND RECOMMENDED. 3 whole thinking world has participated, the philosophy of the human spirit has always interested many able minds; and to- day, uiore than ever, it is worthy of their pursuit. For the progress in metaphysical knowledge, which began ages ago, has been particularly rapid during the last hundred years. We have now a well-ascertained body of mental science. And, what is of greater consequence, the true methods and tests of this branch of philosophy are now so well known, that a safe and steady advancement seems to be assured for the future. It would be idle to expect metaphysical inquiry to ilte^thriSfd?^^" afford pleasure to such as are radically unfitted or indisposed for mental application. But we can commend this study to those who have delight in convincing and satisfactory thought on hard subjects, and who would exer- cise, to the fullest extent, the high faculty of reason. And, beside the exhilaration arising from the vigorous employment of one's powers, the successful student of philosophy enjoys the acquisition of clear views respecting the workings of his own nature : he comprehends what, to other men, are mysteries. He feels, also, that the subject of his investigations is of the very highest dignity. An ancient author, quoted by Hamilton, has said, "On earth there is nothing great but man; in man, there is nothing great but mind " ; and a modern poet, animated by this sentiment, teaches that "the proper study of mankind is man." These statements are true, whether we consider man's history and relations or contemplate that nature which, making him what he is, gives to him his exalted position and fits him for an immortal destiny. Man's physical structure, although this is that which allies him to the brutes and even to the inani- mate creation, is the subject of a noble science. How much more elevated is the study of that psychical nature by which man is allied to spiritual intelligences, and to God Himself! For with reference, especially, to the endowments of the soul we read, " God created man in His own image." Psychological studies, moreover, are as useful as utiHtyf "^"^^"^ they are noble. If, indeed, their only utility were to satisfy a thirst for knowledge and to occupy the mind with pure and elevating thoughts, this, of itself, would be a great benefit ; but they have value in other respects. The mental strength to be obtained from metaphysical pursuits is one of their chief recommendations. Perhaps no other employ- ment contributes so eifectually to develop those powers of pene- tration and discrimination which are the chief elements of intel- lectual manliness and maturity. Then, too, psychology is the necessary foundation for those arts and sciences which pertain to the proper use of the various faculties of man. It is a study indispensable to those who would improve and perfect such sci- ences; and of great assistance to all who would obtain a satisfac- tory understanding of them. Logic, which treats of the correct use of the rational faculty, is a direct outgrowth of mental phi- 4 THE HUMAN MIND. § 3. losophy; and is constantly receiving important modifications from the latter science. Ethics, also, especially in its more fundamental discussions, is based on a searching analysis of certain intellectual workings. Similar remarks apply to aes- thetics, or the philosophy of taste, and to rhetoric, which is the science of the pleasing and the persuasive in human thought and speech. A wise system of education must be regulated by a true psychology. Whether we would establish efficient schools for the young, or, in a more general way, subject ourselves and others to wholesome . formative influences, we should seek the advice of mental science. Psychology, too, throws great light on theology. The former science is the necessary servant of the latter. To understand Deity we must understand man. In short, every science which, in any way, involves a consideration of the laws of spiritual existence, finds a powerful assistant in the general philosophy of mind. CHAPTER II. THE TEUE METHOD OP PHILOSOPHICAL INVESTIGATION. § 3. Not every one is capable of clear opinions in Btouctors.^ °^ ^" philosophy. Some find it difficult to form any opin- ions at all; and many, even of the intelligent, find it necessary to adopt views at second hand, without any thorough investigation, accepting what may seem most probable. Never- theless, so far as may be, we should seek for clear convictions, founded on good reasons. This duty is particularly incumbent on teachers of philosophy. He who has no opinions of his own, had better be a learner till he may become confident as to the truth. Moreover, an instructor should express his positive opin- ions in a positive way. Well-established beliefs should not be uttered as if they were unsettled questions of controversy. Otherwise truth is put on a par with falsehood, or, at least, the student is bewildered in dubious debate. At the same time the true teacher avoids even the appearance of dogmatism; he would have nothing accepted simply on his own authority. So far as possible he gives reasons for his views ; and he especially desires that others should know the method by which his convictions have been formed. For then they can judge whether the method be a correct one ; and, if so, whether, in any case, he has departed from it. Without method no satisfactory progress can be jnwBaconian me- jnade in philosophical investigations. The impor- tance of it cannot be over-estimated; and has al- ways been acknowledged by thinking men ; but more especially since the true method was illustrated and advocated by Lord § 4. TRUE METHOD OF PHILOSOPHICAL INVESTIGATION. 5 Bacon. The system inaugurated by this distinguished man is founded on the evident truth, that, as philosophy aims to ex- plain facts, so it should seek that explanation in a questioning of the facts themselves. From this principle two modes of work originate, the first and more rudimentary of which is preparatory and ministerial to the other. The primary philosophy merely observes facts and classifies those which are similar, and, in this way, obtains general facts which are also the expression of cer- tain laws or modes of nature; the more advanced philosophy carries on the investigation by analyzing the general facts already secured and co-ordinating their essential elements. By means of it we reach more profound and satisfying laws. Thus Newton, analyzing those laws, of falling bodies, of planetary motions and of projectiles, with which he was already familiar, discovered the more fundamental law of gravitation, which enters into these, and which continually operates on matter everywhere. In like manner Sir Wm. Hamilton, following the suggestions of earlier writers, has resolved those various laws of the association of ideas, which careful observation had estab- lished, into the comprehensive law of redintegration, i. e., that the mind tends to repeat fully any complex operation which it may formerly have experienced, and which it has now, in any degree, begun. In short, the laws of psychical, no less than those of physical nature, are to be learned through the ascertainment and co-ordination, the analysis and generalization, of facts. Such being the case, the student of philosophy may boldly question any doctrine, though upheld by the highest ability and learning, which can claim no record of experience or observation in its support; and as confidently hold any opinion sustained by accurately re- corded and carefully analyzed phenomena. ^„ . i. ^ § 4. The statement that facts are the necessary The importance ?. t , • p t . , , , , "^ of these princi- loundation lor philosophy may seem to some too pies, piatomsm. gyj^j^j^^ ^^ require emphasis. But the neglect of it in times past, and even in our own day, has been the source of many and great errors. The metaphysical worthlessness of almost all the ancient and of much of modern philosophy origi- nates in the admission of high-sounding notions, the truth of which never was proved, and never could be proved, from any examination of things really existing. Only fanciful and un- satisfactory systems could be constructed after such beginnings. Plato and his followers, in ancient days, carried out the sepa- ration of philosophy from actuality more fully than any other class of thinkers; and, in modern times, this has been done most signally by the German Idealists. Plato adopted the principle that general or universal ideas are the only proper sources of knowledge and objects of study. The individual or specific he rejected as transitory and, in a sense, unreal. Such a commencement destroyed the possibility of progress. A revival of these Platonic views in an exaggerated form gave rise to the systems of Spinoza, Fichte, Schelling and Hegel, by 6 THE HUMAN MIND. § 5. which the thought of continental Europe was powerfully de- bauched. These philosophers, being too wise to appeal to ex- perience, sought truth by the " immediate beholding of reason ;" and evolved it out of "the depths of their consciousness." The spirit of Hegelianism even at the present time may be inferred from the condemnation, by Dr. Schwegler, of Lord Bacon, as " the author of scientific empiricism," and by his contemptuous assertion regarding Locke's philosophy, that its " empiricism is clear as day." It seems a strange perversion of judgment when learned men condemn a philosophy on account of its chief ex- cellence, and simply because it has been carefully deduced from facts! (See Schwegler's "History of Philosophy.") Of those investigators, ancient and modern, who sSooSe^^ *^^ tiave rejected Platonic methods as dreamy and mystical, very few, until comparatively recent times, have systematically based their doctrines on the analysis of observed phenomena. Aristotle, the illustrious rival of Plato, did not do so. The acuteness of this great man cannot be over-estimated, but the intrinsic value of his metaphysical writings has been grossly over-estimated. He did, indeed, recognize the truth that all our general knowledge is an in- duction from the observation of particulars; yet he did not sufficiently perceive the practical importance of this principle — that it is the only true starting-point* of all philosophy. The patient reader of his works can see that he has accepted from previous teachers many absurd doctrines which admit of no proof, and that he forms his own theories depending, first on his own penetration, then on the opinions of preceding philo- sophers, then on the logical support which other doctrines may give the one under discussion, and then, last and least of all, on facts. Remarks similar to these might be made respecting the Schoolmen of the Middle Ages, and regarding the authors of some famous systems of speculation. We might also trace the progress of the last few generations, in psychology, to a more faithful observation and a more patient analysis of mental phenomena, than were formerly attempted. § 5. The Baconian method of philosophizing is ^^^IT "^^ frequently termed "The Inductive System," be- cause the induction of principles from facts is its distinguishing characteristic. This work largely consists in the observation and classification of facts as similar. But it includes more than this: it reaches from the past to the future, from that which has been seen to that which has not as yet been seen ; and, indeed, the most essential part of it is the exercise of a power of judgment natural to us. Every fact, that is, every causal fact — for of such only we speak at present — con- sists of certain antecedents and consequents; and it is an intui- tion of the intellect that similar antecedents must be accom- panied or followed by similar consequents. Whenever a fact seems to contradict this principle, it is because some element, § 6. THE SOURCES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL INFORMATION'. 7 which should exist in the antecedent to make the case similar to one previously observed, has escaped observation, and is not seen to be wanting. Thus, by means of an intuition, the obser- vation of" facts results in the ascertainment of laws. But, in the conjunction of circumstances which make up the antecedent in any particular fact, some circumstances only are essential elements of the antecedent: others are merely accidental and no part of the true cause. Hence the necessity of analysis — of discrimination — without which induction alone could not obtain the exact statement of any law. Moreover, as the laws of existence do not operate singly but in combination, there is yet more need of analysis to resolve these combinations, and, in this way, to ascertain laws which are simple and ultimate. In the ruder attainments of philosophy, induction is jnore prominent than analysis : the latter takes place spontaneously. But, in the more abstruse inquiries, this state of things is reversed. It is difficult to say whether of the two is more necessary to philo- sophical progress. They are equally the indispensable instru- ments of science; and all the rules of philosophizing simply as- sist and direct us to the successful employment of these tw. modes of thought. CHAPTER III. THE SOUECES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL INFORMATION. § 6. As science arises from the investigation of facts, an im- portant question with respect to any department of knowledge is, whether there be abundant and reliable sources of information. In this respect the mental philosopher is peculiarly fortunate. The study of psychical phenomena demands attention and thought- fulness; and it is found to be a work of special difficulty to those unaccustomed to it; just as reading or mental application of any kind is commonly irksome and laborious to uneducated persons. Yet the student of mind has this great advantage, that the op- erations and states of this wonderful agent are continually sub- ject to his observation, and even, in a considerable measure, to his control. Besides, the facts thus submitted to him are those respecting the truth of which it is impossible to entertain a doubt. The most extravagant skeptic cannot question the existence of those thoughts, feelings, wishes and actions, which constitute his restless life of unbelief. The radical source of all information regarding onnformSion^^^ mind is consciousness; or that immediate knowl- edge which the mind has of its own states and op- erations. All other means of knowledge are of use only as they co-operate with this. Our knowledge, through consciousness, 8 THE HUMAN MIND. § 7. of the nature and workings of our own spirits is our only means of understanding the life of other spiritual beings and of com- prehending the indications of their psychical activity. Each of us, knowing what passes within his own bosom, learns to under- stand the experience of others. A child not more than two or three years of age can speak of its thoughts and affections, wishes and pleasures, pains, hopes and disappointments; and knows, also, that others are similarly exercised. This statement can be easily verified: question the little prattler, and you will find that he uses terms expressive of mental, just as intelligently as those indicative of bodily, operations. ' And these cognitions of spirit, thus early begun, are continued throughout life, pertain to every form of experience, and are free from all uncertainty. Two important difficulties are to be encountered in using the testimony of consciousness. In the first place, the changeful rapidity of our psychical operations interferes with the steadi- ness of our gaze. What the poet says of pleasures is true of mental phenomena in general ; they are •• Like that Borealis race Which flit e'er you can point their place." And even when the current of inward life is partially arrested, that special phase of experience which is made the object of scrutiny, often changes its nature while we are endeavoring to look upon it. The feeling grows cold ; the mental image becomes dim ; the concrete practical notion resolves itself into its elements. Psychological facts call for a keen and quick observation. They resemble those sea-birds which are ever on the wing; which move even Avhile at rest, and must be shot while flying. The second hindrance experienced in using the testimony of con- sciousness, arises from the impossibility of proving the correct- ness of one's observation by exhibiting to others those phenomena which are visible directly only to one's self. This difficulty is more formidable in appearance than in reality. The earnest and patient student can generally sympathize sufficiently with his teacher to understand and appreciate an appeal to consciousness. Nevertheless there is here some opportunity for difference: the disputatious opponent, and even the honest inquirer, may some- times say, "That may be your experience; but it is not mine." o^ ^,_„ „ § 7. Because, therefore, of the subtle and evanescent Secondary Bources ^ , n i i i i r ,^ of information. Character ol mental phenomena, and because oi the Language. impossibility of presenting the facts of conscious- ness to the immediate observation of others, great value attaches to certain indirect revelations of mind, which are subject to public and general scrutiny. The most important of these is language — that marvelous in- strument, the expression and embodiment of human thought. Not only every word, but also every change, construction and combination of words, in language, represents some form or mood of man's intelligence. And so well suited is this instru- i § 7. THE SOURCES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL INEOHMATIOIf: 9 ment for its office, that no idea, howeTer delicate, which maj haYC secured the interest of men, £ii]s of expression in their speech. He who has mastered the Tocabnlary and linguistic forms of an J people^ has obtained a perfect measure of their mental dcTelopment MoreoTcr, CTeiy word in any langnage has a certain fuced meaning, which can be ascertained; and this circumstance is of ^reat assistance when we would study the thoughts of men. For the transitoiy idea is made fixed and permanent by its sign; and is shown also to be an existing reality. No matter how much we may question the truthful- ness of any conceptions, we cannot deny the existence of the notions themselves if they only have bea>me estaUished in the Gpeech of any people. The relations of words, also, illustrate the relations of ideas; so that many points, concerning the con> tents and combinations, changes and successions, agreements and differences, of thoughts, can be understood better through a critical study of language than in any other way. 13m «,>,»^y KA. Another source of information is found in those vol- noBiB HaddaSi uutary actious, labors and accomplishments, which ** ""*^ result £rom mental activity. Eveiy human being has the power of perceiving both his own actions and those of his comj>anions; and, as he refers his own conduct to his own inward life as its cause, he intuitively adopts a similar rule with regard to the conduct of others. Moreover, as different thoughts and aims result in different actions corresponding to them, we learn to use specific deeds as the indicators of specific thoughts. Sometimes, the thoughts of men are even better understood firom their actions than from their language. We not only trace actions to thoughts; we also ascribe accomplished results to actions. This is a yet greater exercise of mental penetration; and by means of it, we can perceive most plainly the former presence and activity of departed laborers. Beholding a field fenced and tilled, we are as sure that husbandmen have wrought in it, as if we had seen them witb our eyes. Nor is it necessary to such a judgment that we should have previously witnessed the performance of a work in every respect the same as that submitted to our consideration. There is need only of an e^eii- Uci sameness or similarity. One who might be acquainted with the manufiicture of locomotives, but who had never seen a steam> ship, could affirm, on an inspection of the latter, that it was the product of a similar exercise of inteUigence, and intended for a similar purpose. In Hke manner we think that there is as much evidence of design in the sting of a wasp as in the barbed and poisoned arrow of a savage; and that there is more proof of skill and wisdom in the formation of the eye than in the construction of the telescope. All investigators of mind, from the earliest ages, have learned much respecting the existence and the ac- tivity of intellect firom its manifestations in human life and history, and in the mightier works and ways of the Sapreme Being. 10 THE HUMAN MIND. * § 7. Many data of mental science may be obtained from ^rks of litera- ^orks of literature. These themselves are the pro- ductions of intellect, so that every volume may be studied as well with reference to the mind of the author, as with reference to the subjects treated. What wonderful powers, what interesting operations, are revealed in the orations of Cicero and Demosthenes, in the poems of Homer and Virgil, in the discussions of Plato and Aristotle ! Besides, by the labors of men of genius, the varying phases of human thought and life, the history of man's past experience and achievements, and the peculiarities of the different races inhabiting the earth, have been carefully represented, recorded, and discussed. The writ- ings of such men — poets, dramatists, historians, philosophers — yield to us great dived assistance. The study of certain bodily phenomena, as being nomen?^^as*^ SnI ^norc or Icss closcly councctcd with, psychical states »^?ted witii psy- and operations, is another source of philosophic in- gy. etc. lormation; to which, however, some have ascribed undue importance. The influence of health and of disease upon mental vigor, the effect of severe study or of strong passion on the physical frame, the connection of sensation and of sense-perception with the nervous system, and the general dependence of psychical activity upon the condition of the brain, are topics deserving of earnest con- sideration. It is only through an investigation of these topics that we can determine those laws by which soul and body are united in one life. At the same time, we have the fol- lowing remarks to make. First: it is clear that no study of physical phenomena can, of itself, reveal the phenomena of spirit. No thought, feeling, or desire can be discerned by any of the senses. No one has ever seen, touched, or han- dled these things; or made any approach to doing so. Our knowledge of the relations of soul and body is not founded on a perception of bodily changes alone, but quite as much on our consciousness of mental states and operations. If we were not first cognizant of inward experiences, we never could think of their connection with our outward and corporeal life. A scru- tiny of the teachings of consciousness is, therefore, a necessary requisite for the successful prosecution of phrenological or simi- lar studies. Mere anatomical investigations, however skillfully conducted, must be useless even for those purposes in mental science which they may properly promote, if the questioning of consciousness be carelessly or imperfectly performed. In the next place, the psychical laws, connected with these phys- ical phenomena, are not the laws of spirit viewed simply as spirit, or essentially; they are only the laws affecting the soul in its connec- tion with the body. The former, which are the more numerous and influential, can be ascertained solely by the questioning of the facts of consciousness as directly or indirectly revealed; the main work of the mental philosopher has respect to them. The § 8. THE SOURCES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL INFORMATION. 11 latter, that is, the laws affecting the spirit as embodied, form only a secondary, though important topic of study. Finally, it is to be noticed that, while the more general and fundamental laws of the causal connection between soul and body have been tolerably Avell ascertained, litU.e> has been deter- mined regarding the special modes in ivhich these laws operate. Sense-perception, on the one hand, handling and dissecting the body, and consciousness, on the other, reflecting on the soul and its activities, disclose to us two very different objects. Hence we distinguish mind from brain, and from aught else material, as clearly and as easily as we distinguish the coiled electric wire from that subtle agency which lives and works within it. After this, observation and induction show that soul and body, through different parts of the nervous system, are continually acting on each other in various ways. But when we ask in luhat manner brain and mind affect each other — by what means mental excite- ment may cause cerebral disturbance, and cerebral disturbance mental excitement — in what way each sensory nerve produces its peculiar and appropriate sensation — or what may be the sev- eral offices of the different ganglia and other portions of the brain, the investigation becomes difficult. The attempt to solve such questions as these has often resulted in discouragement to the patient investigator; and most of the answers which have been offered to any of them must be regarded as merely conjectures of greater or less probability. We think, therefore, that those commit a mistake who say that certain physiological and anatomical researches are the only or chief^ources of psychological knowledge. Such studies of themselves can impart no information as to the mind and its w^orkings. Even when properly conducted they do not disclose any of the essential laws of spirit, but only those affecting the soul as embodied. And, so far as they concern specific instru- ments and modes of operation, they have, as yet, made very moderate progress. At the same time, while rejecting the doc- trine of the dependence of mental philosophy on physiological facts or theories we would not be understood to deny the impor- tance of the specific inquiries already mentioned, nor yet the in- debtedness of psychology to anatomical science for much most valuable information. § 8. The beliefs and judgments of our fellow-men are fre- quently referred to by writers in mental science. These judg- ments often prove incorrect, and are not always reliable even in matters apparently simple. Yet the consideration of them is a source of assistance to which the true thinker, however self- reliant he may be, constantly and seriously applies. There are two ways in which a reference to the beliefs of men is of prime The value and use importance in philosophy. ^ In the/r5^ place, we of human beliefs mav resTard these beliefs simply as psycholo2:ical simply as facta. p I^ i i , '' , • , i ^ tacts; and we may endeavor to ascertain them ac- curately and to explain the laws of their formation. It is from 12 THE HUMAN MIND. § 8. this point of view that we begin the work of solving that most fundamental problem of philosophy, namely, that of deter- mining those general modes of conviction which, by reason of an innate intellectual necessity, are invariably followed by the human mind. And any law, regulating the formation of beliefs, and explaining the causes of error or the progress of knowl- edge, can be properly learned only by a critical examination of the facts of experience. Again, the convictions of others are important to ^lue^of^tie op£ the investigator, not simply as facts for study, but ions of others. Of as opiuious cudowed with more or less authority. o/phii^sofhSr This use is related to the first, but is clearly dis- tinguishable from it. Very diverse estimates have been put, both on the views of learned and scientific men, and on the beliefs and judgments of men in general. Some have held to the absolute truth of any universally entertained opinion. They have asserted, too boldly, that the voice of the people is the voice of God. Others, despising the conceptions of the vul- gar, as concerned only with the appearances of things^ have as- cribed wisdom to philosophers alone. Their doctrine is that the vision of the real, the true, the eternal is granted to wise men only; the mass of men see only the uncertain and transitory, and do not penetrate to the essence of things. The truth is, that, within certain limits, the convictions of mankind in gen- eral should have great authority; while, beyond those limits, the opinion of the people, as opposed to that of the learned, is of very little weiglit. Those facts (or phenomena), which are immediately subject to the perception of sense or consciousness, can be witnessed as well by the uneducated as by the scientific; and the general testimony of men concerning such facts must be re- ceived without question ; provided only that it first be accurately ascertained and understood. For example, we must believe with all men that the world around us exists, and that we exist in it, that we have bodies gifted with certain powers and capable of certain affections, and that we have souls, also, which think and feel, resolve and act. These are matters of immediate as dis- tinguished from discursive or rational knowledge. Moreover, in such practical affairs as involve questions of ad- vantage and disadvantage which are not complicated, the judgment of communities is commonly correct and wise. Interest sharp- ens the understanding for its own service ; and, when questions of profit and loss have been determined by the best minds of a community, according to the teachings of experience, and in a way satisfactory to all, we can depend confidently on the result. The customs of a country, though sometimes ridiculous in the eyes of strangers, are generally just what that country needs. Travelers bear witness to the sagacity with which the modes of business even of barbarous tribes are adapted to their rude condition. The following is an extract from Dr. Livingstone's account of the Bakwains, who live in the interior of Africa. § 8. THE SOURCES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL INFORMATION. 13 "In general," he says, "they were slow, like all African people hereafter to be described, in coming to a decision on religious subjects; but in questions affecting their worldly affairs, they were keenly alive to their own interests. They might be called stupid in matters which had not come within the sphere of their observation; but in other things they showed more intelligence than is to be met with in our own uneducated peasantry. They are remarkably accurate in their knowledge of cattle, sheep and goats, knowing exactly the kind of pasturage suited to each; and they select with great judgment the varieties of soil best suited t(5 different kinds of grain. They are also familiar with the habits of wild animals; and, in general, are well up in the maxims which embod}^ their ideas of political wisdom." Pub- lic opinion, also, should have considerable weight in moral dis- cussions; though, on account of various disturbing causes, it is not so reliable as in cases of interest. In consulting it on a question of duty we should especially inquire whether the con- viction be, not only general, but also deliberate, disinterested and enlightened. But, clearly, those rules of right conduct which all men everywhere approve and uphold, must be founded on good reasons. In general, we may say that the farther ques- tions are removed from facts of common observation, or from those more evident laws which are little more than the gener- alization of such facts, the less we can rely upon the utterances of the common voice. Hence the necessity, when appealing to what has been called " the common sense " of men, of distin- guishing between the perception of phenomena, and the ex- planation of them. All men everywhere know of the exist- ence of the sun, moon and stars, and of their daily and nightly appearance and disappearance. Their testimony as to the ex- istence of these phenomena is reliable. But their judgment regarding the size of the heavenly bodies, and as to the nature of their motions, may be questioned. All men once believed that the sun revolved around our earth. Those who can accept the views now expressed, regarding the convictions of the generality of mankind, will probably approve of views, somewhat corresponding to them, concerning ilie opinions of scientific men. We cannot join with those who despise philosophers as dreamers and theorizers, and who boast " common sense " and " experience " as their only guides. The vain self-sufficiency of such persons should be humbled by the consideration that almost all the great elements of modern civilization are the offspring of philosophy and science. The implements, the inventions, the usages and laws, the ideas and institutions, which distinguish us from savages, once were the property of only a few thinking men. The material, moral, and political progress of the world, depends, under God, on its men of thought and learning. While, therefore, the philosopher is no greater authority in matters of fact than his fellow-men; and while his practical judgment is often inferior to that of 14 THE HUMAN MIND. % 9. men in active life; liis opinions, concerning those general ques- tions which he investigates, are not to be lightly rejected ; and any general agreement in the world of philosophy is a very weighty presumption, indeed, either for or against a doctrine. Who now questions the Newtonian theory of the solar system ? Who doubts the ordinary analyses of chemistry, or statements of geology ? And who rejects the explanation of sense-percep- tion, of dreams and phantasies, of general notions, and of the reasoning process, given by psychology ? It is true that even the weightiest of human opinions have only a provisional au- thority; and that no one, who can investigate for himself, should accept, without examination, the statements of others. But for many this is impossible; they are otherwise and fully occu- pied; their talent lies in some other direction; or the means of research are not at their command. Besides, a knowledge of the achievements, and even of the failures, of preceding la- borers is indispensable to those who would carry on a work which has already been begun. So that the philosopher him- self, who seeks for independence and originality of view, must study with care the efibrts of his predecessors. If he do not, in all probability he will neither avoid their mistakes nor equal their attainments. CHAPTER IV. THE POWEES OF THE SOUL CLASSIFIED. § 9. The word 'power., in mental philosophy, when dS^^shed!^*^ used in its concrete sense, denotes any of those attributes in the exercise of which the soul shows itself a living being. It has nearly the same meaning as the term faculty^ but it is of wider application. The latter word, which signifies a power of doing, gives prominence to the form of action, or doing, in which some power is manifested; but we speak simply of a power, when the potency exerted, rather than the thing done, is the prominent element of thought. As doing pertains to spiritual beings alone, the no^mQ faculty is applied only to attributes belonging to them; joo2ue7\ on the contrary, may indicate any potency, mental or material. In psychology the words are interchangeable, though sometimes one is more suitable than the other. It is more proper to say, " the power of attention and the faculty of observation," than to say, "the faculty of attention and the power of observation." Be- cause, in the one case, the exercise of potency, in the other, the mode or result of that exercise, is the emphatic element. Both elements, however, are present in each case. As a rule, the idea of doiiig^ i e., of intentional accomplishmeiit, is connected ivith the § 9. THE POWERS OF THE SOUL CLASSIFIED. 15 term facility ; ivhUe the term 'poioer is not limited in this loay. On this account the latter term is to be preferred as a general name for all the natural endowments of the soul. Every system of philosophy must, of necessity, be Mthe?to adoVtS! Constructed with reference to some classification of phenomena. Psychological systems, generally, have been constructed according to a classification of the powders of the soul derived from an observation of its activities. As these phenomena are simply the actings of powers, the classifi- cation of the powers is that also of the activities. The principle, therefore, of this classification may be accepted as satisfactory. At the same time the divisions of psychical powers hitherto given seem somewhat open to the objection that they are not svfficiently hosed on philosophic analysis. They differ little, if any, from the more marked distinctions of common speech. But language is first formed for practical, not for scientific, purposes; its terms and notions do not result from that examination which seeks for simple and ultimate laws; and therefore the general- izations and distinctions of ordinary speech, though of great authority and generally correct, do not always set forth those radical differences of nature which scientific division should indicate. The old division of psychical powers into the understanding and the will was that employed by the philosophers and theolo- gians of the IMiddle Ages; and perhaps served sufficiently well for their peculiar discussions. Our earlier English writers, also, whose attention was devoted chiefly to the intellectual powers, contented themselves with this division. Locke did so; and Reid, the illustrious founder of the Scotch school of philosophy (he lectured in Glasgow during the middle of the eighteenth century), expresses himself thus: "There never has been any division of the powers of the mind proposed, which is not liable to considerable objections. We shall, therefore, take that gen- eral division, which is most common, into the powers of under- standing and those of will." But, afterwards, in his second essay on the will, he condemns this division. " Some philos- ophers," he says, "represent desire, aversion, hope, fear, joy, sorrow, all our appetites, passions, and affections, as different modifications of the will; which, I think, tends to confound things which are very different:" and he remarks that things wlrich have not a common nature should not be confounded under one name. The dissatisfaction, thus expressed, being generally felt, resulted in that threefold division which is now commonly made. "Our conscious acts or states," says Dr. Porter ("The Human Intellect," § 35), "are separated into the three broad and general divisions of states of knowledge, states of feeling, and states of will. To know, to feel, and to choose are the most obviously distinguishable states of the soul. These are referred to three powers or faculties, which are designated as the intel- lect, the sensibility, and the w^ill. This threefold division is now 16 THE HUMAN MIND. § 9. universally adopted by those who accept any division, or doc- trine, of faculties." Nevertheless, for several reasons, we cannot regard SSimon^diviLi^! this threefold division as sufficient and satisfactory, let. No separate i^irst of all, it sccms a scrious defect that no separate place for the pow- -, -ti -y ' • , c i^ r i • i er of sense. placc IS aliowcd in it lor the power oi sensation, and that, on this account, the discussion of the subject of sense is made to fall under the head of intellect. The former of these powers presents objects to the latter and contributes a stimulus to its exercise; but they are radically different from each other. The treatment of them together, under the same division of thought, favors the materialistic doctrine that intel- lect is but a modification, or development, of sense. Sensation, too, is essentially diverse from that emotional feel- ing which the perception or remembrance of objects often ex- cites; although, we think, it might as well be classified with emotion as with intellect. It differs greatly, and perhaps equally, from both : and, if this be so, ought not sense to be reckoned an independent power ? Secondly, this division makes no distinct place for Buffic^nd^disSn^ dcsirc, or, using a more befitting and comprehen- guished from give term, for that motivity, by reason of the ex- emotion, on the . pi-iii • ' , i' i one hand, or from crcisc OI wliich the Spirit 01 man sccks various e^rtion on the ^^^^^ rj.^^ motivitics Constitute a marked and important class of psychical phenomena ; they in- clude the instincts and appetites, the propensities and passions, the affections, and such active principles as self-interest, public spirit, rational benevolence, a sense of duty or of justice, and the love of what is right and good. Some authors, as Drs. Upham and Haven, place motive tendencies and emotions to- gether under the head of Sensibilities. Sir Wm. Hamilton, on the other hand ("Metaphysics," Lect. XL), unites will and desire together, as the third grand division of spiritual life ; and calls them "the exertive faculties." He also employs the term "ap- petency" to signify "a genus comprehending under it both desires and volitions." Were a choice necessary, we would rather classify motivity with will than with the emotional power; and to this last, exclusively, we would assign the term sensibility. But we prefer to consider desire, or motivity, as itself an elementary power, which should be distinguished from every other. This leads to a third objection. The threefold Shouid^o^t be^i^ division is professedly a generic classification of Sower^^*^"^^^^ ^^^ powers, not as these exist and operate in com- bination, but 05 they are seen after an ultimate analysis. In other words, it is given to represent only simple and undefin- able elements of our conscious spiritual life. Now, with Brown and Hamilton and other older metaphysicians, we believe that there is something in volition of the nature of motive tendency. At the same time we hold that volition contains more than § 9. THE POWERS OF THE SOUL CLASSIFIED. 17 motivity; that it is a combination of intellect and motivity under special and modifying conditions. For this reason we cannot regard volition as being a simple and fundamental power, nor even as being a specific form of such a power. In- tellect comprehends sense-perception, consciousness, memory, reasoning, imagination, and so forth, but cannot include volition, determination, or purpose; because, although these last contain an intellectual element, they have also, essentially, a quality not intellectual. In like manner, motivity may be divided into ap- petite, propensity, affection, self-interest, public spirit, ' and so on, but must be separated from decisions, intentions, and reso- lutions; because these are characterized by a peculiar exercise of the intellect which distiiiguishes them from mere motivities. We might, indeed, with Hamilton, consider the will with exclu- sive reference to its motivity; and define it as the motive element of determination or purpose. But this would modify our ac- cepted and proper notion of will. The better way is to ex- clude the will from our radical division of psychical powers, and to treat it as a complex faculty. Yet, if any hold fast to the belief that the will is a simple power, and, in its es- sential part, incapable of analysis, this view also leads to a more than threefold division. For, after sensation, intellect, emotion, and motivity, volition would come as the fifth radi- cal mode of conscious life. Aqain, we object to the common classification that 4th. The distinc- -.^ -j i. *^ • x- j x i tive character of it docs uot recoguizc, as a lundamcntal power, tion?^overiooked!" ^hat may be called the faculty of exertion, or of action. For every exertion is an action when it is successful in accomplishing some result. This power is gener- ally included under that of will. Dr. Haven thus describes "the third form of mental activity." " Thought and feeling lead to action. I resolve what to do. I lay down my book, and go forth to perform some act prompted by the emotion awakened within me. This power also I have; the faculty of voluntary action, or volition." But we distinguish, easily, the volition or determination to act from the action which we resolve and purpose to do. Intentions and deeds are things radically di- verse. The language of Keid applies here: "Things that have no common nature ought not to be confounded under one name, or represented as different modifications of the same thing." Therefore, among the simple powers of the soul, we would place that of action or of exertion, or, to use terms of Hamilton's, the exertive or conative faculty. But it should be stated that while Hamilton employs this language, he does not specify any such power as that now mentioned. He rather identifies desire, volition, and conation, as to their essential nature, by making them the manifestations of the same general power. In our view, these activities, though closely connected with each other, differ radically as to their internal character. 18 THE HUMAN MIND. § 10. 6th. The capahill- _ _ Our concluding objection has reference to the phe- ty of pleasure and nomena of pleasure and pain, and to the power or be recognized as capabiHtj which the mind has of experiencing ai power*"^^"*' "^l^^se phenomena. This power has no proper place in the common division. It is true that pleasure and pain have not so independent an existence as the other activities of mind. Happiness is a kind of aroma which ac- companies a well-ordered and well-sustained life ; misery is the effluvia of an ill-regulated life. Nevertheless these phenomena should 6e distinguished from those which they attend, and es- pecially from those to which they are most intimately related. For this reason we object to Hamilton's classification of them with our emotions or sensibilities. He discusses both of these elements of experience under the head of " Feelings," and makes no distinction at all between them. But the pleasure or pain of an emotion should be distinguished from the emotion itself, just as the pleasure or pain of a sensation should be distinguished from the sensation itself. In short these subtle concomitant modes of experience arise, not only from our sensations and emotions, but also from our thinkings, desires, volitions, and actions. That is, they flow from, and attend, every mode of psychical activity. If, then, we distinguish the experiences of sense and thought, of motive feeling and of exertion, from their attendant pleasures and pains, we certainly should make a similar distinction with reference to emotion. No investiga- tion of psychology is more interesting than that which, commenc- ing with pleasures and pains, goes on to seek the general nature and causes of happiness and misery; and perhaps none as yet is so un{{eveloped. Some theories have been proposed to solve its questions; but no doctrine has secured general approbation. The distinction of pleasure and pain from other phenomena, and the recognition of them as having a nature and laws of their own, are plainly a necessary condition of progress in this im- portant philosophical inquiry. § 10. If the foregoing objections be well-founded, pro^o^sld. "^^^^^ *^^y call for a new enumeration of the fundamental powers of the soul. We propose the following six- fold division : firsts sensation or sense ; secondly^ thought or in- tellect; thirdly^ emotion or sensibility; fouHMy, desire or mo- tivity ; fifthly, exertion or conation ; and sixthly, the capability of pleasure and pain. Each of these powers has characteristics of its own. For example, sense is distinguished by its peculiar and inherent dependence upon material excitants and bodily organs. Intellect is the most prominent faculty of spirit, and is the condition of all psychical life, save that of sense only. Emotion is a psychical excitement produced by the perception or thought of some object, and has a correspondence to the na- ture of the object. Motivity is a more active principle than emotion, and is always a tendency towards some end. Exer- tion, or action, is an ability in the exercise of which the soul § 10. THE POWERS OF THE SOUL CLASSIFIED. 19 voluntarily uses the mental and physical powers at her com- mand. And the capability of pleasure and pain is manifested in that peculiar experience, or element of experience, which, under laws of its own, accompanies all the diiFerent forms of psychical activity. ' ^ ^., This capability, perhaps, can be called a power The words capafttt. , - ^ ,\ , ^ • ^ i ■ i i • l' l^ ^ x ity &ii^ capacity di&- ouly lu that Wide philosophic sense ot the term ^^^^' which includes every inward source of spiritual life. For the potency which yields pleasure and pain, though really existing, is seldom a prominent element of thought. Our attention is naturally directed to the nature and degree of these experiences and to their exciting causes, rather than to our power of having them. Consequently we speak of the capacity (or passive power, as it has been called) of pleasure and pain, leav- ing the element of active potency entirely out of view ; or of the capability of pleasure and pain, in which conception the idea of active potency combines, as a secondary element, with that of receptivity. The foregoing enumeration of the powers of the soul has been sought from a careful analysis of the testimony of con- sciousness; and it is believed to be complete. Scientifically, however, the accuracy of a classification is of much more im- portance than the completeness of it. The former is necessary to clear thought and philosophic progress ; the latter is only a desirable auxiliary. If our division be correct so far as it goes; if it gives only simple and ultimate powers, avoiding those which are either compound or of a specific character, our chief end has been attained. Here, perhaps, in order to avoid misconception, it ^rJToS n^oHnr may be well to remark that neither the foregoing, If^^^^'^^^^^^ nor any other division of psychical powers, con- flicts with the doctrine of the unity of the soul, or involves the idea that a spirit is composed of parts. Our acti^d- ties not only belong to the one ego^ or self; but they mingle and blend in the formation of one complex life. They neither exist nor operate separately; and it is only through philosophi- cal analysis that they can be separately thought of. As a glass- ful of water may have weight, fluidity, incompressibility, trans- parency, temperature and other qualities, without being thereby divided into parts, so the possession of diverse powers is con- sistent with the fact that the soul is a yet more perfect unit than any material body is, or can be. Beside those powers, now enumerated, which show SpowS^SS^e themselves directly in the individual acts of our ^SthJ^mS^! spiritual life, there are other powers whose exist- ence is inferred from a more or less extended ob- servation of our experiences. These potencies manifest them- selves in laws according to which the operation of our more conscious faculties is modified. Among these laws, those of habit and of growth may be mentioned ; those also which pertain 20 THE HUMAN MIND. § 11. to mental soundness or disease ; and those relating to the im- mediate, or to the gradual, effect of physical agencies upon the soul. Habit and growth are nearly alHed to each other ; the former may be regarded as a special development of the latter. The law of habit is that any definite exercise of spiritual power has tlie tioofold effect of increasing the ease with which that exercise may be repeated, and of creating a tendency towards its repe- tition. Growth includes every gradual increase of power, from whatever cause. The ascertainment of the conditions and limi- tations which regulate the operation of these, and other potencies such as have been mentioned, belongs to the more advanced work of the psychologist. CHAPTER V. THE INTELLECT DEFINED AND DIVIDED. § 11. The question, "Which of the human faculties fyfthe'mo^/'im: is of the highest dignity and value?" has some- Sfti^"* °^ ""^ ^^ times been raised ; probably it should be settled in favor of the moral and affectional powers. But, when we ask, " Which is the most philosophically important, the most necessary to discuss and understand?" there can be but one answer: it is the intellect. Which reply is supported by such reasons as the following. In \hQ first place, the study of the in- tellect prepares us for the confident and correct use of the great faculty of thought. It is through this faculty that we become consciously related to every part of the universe of existence, and especially to that world of life and intelligence, to which we ourselves belong, and by whose laws our destinies are de- termined. And, as man must conform himself to the laws of his existence, the ability to think correctly is the first con- dition of his prosperity, especially of his moral and spiritual prosperity. When that power of thought, whose ofiice is to guide the soul, becomes confused and misled, how pitiable man's state becomes! The light that is in him turns to darkness; and the darkness is great indeed. Let us remem- ber, too, that the evil of intellectual error, not only exists but is widely spread. Multitudes of men, in all ages, hav-t been oppressed and destroyed by it. For mistaken views, as- suming the forms of philosophy and religion, may be found not only in academic and theological halls, but in every walk and sphere of life. Nor does it matter much whether they be set forth in pretentious scientific terms, or be expressed in homely language ; they are always pernicious. Now a true philosophy is our defense and antidote against the false. It gives to man § 12. THE INTELLECT DEFINED AND DIVIDED. 21 a proper confidence in his natural convictions, delivers him from intellectual intricacies and errors, and guides him to a safe and satisfactory progress. Here we may allow that the study of our other psychical powers assists us in their proper guidance; but we must deny that it does so to the same extent that we are aided against intellectual imperfections by the science of mind. Error, when understood and exposed, is destroyed; deep-seated evil propensities need a stronger remedy. In the next place, we may remark that there is comparatively little need of study to understand the laws of our other faculties. The complexity and subtlety of intellectual phenomena render special care and attention necessary for the understanding of them. Audi, finally, it is to be observed that most of those diffi- culties which do occur in other departments of psychology arise, either out of the connection of the intellect with our other powers, or in respect to forms of thought which can be under- stood only through an analysis of intellectual operations. The philosophy of emotion and of motivity is largely a definition of those modes of conception and of cognition which result in these experiences ; that of volition discusses the nature and operation of final causes or psychical aims; and that of ethics is chiefly occupied with the origin, the essence, and the varieties, of our ideas of right and wrong. The science of intellect is the key to all the more abstruse questions of psychology; and therefore it possesses, not simply its own pre-eminent importance, but also shares largely in that of kindred studies. § 12. The intellect, like the other radical faculties ^e^inteuect de- ^^ |j^^ g^^j^ cannot be analytically defined. It is a psychical power characterized by a simple or in- complex peculiarity. But it may be defined by means of its re- lations. Should we say that the intellect is the power of thought, this might be regarded as merely a nominal definition in which the terms'intellect and thought signified the same thing; and it certainly would be so, were the term thought taken in its most comprehensive signification ; in this sense, it is the precise equivalent of intellect. But, should we mean lay thought only the power of mental apprehension, as distinguished from those of belief and other intellectual functions, the statement would not be tautological; it would be a definition of intellect from its relation to its principal activity. Again, the intellect, though continually exercised along with other powers, is easily distin- guished from them. Some philosophers have identified all the faculties of the soul with this power; but could any one save a philosopher confound thinking with sensation, emotion, desire, resolution, or exertion ? In the natural consciousness these are distinct powers. We notice, further, that, in the necessary or primary order of existence, the exercise of intellect comes after that of sense, but before our other experiences. Sense acts without the aid of thought, but thought is at first aroused, and afterwards in- 22 THE HUMAN MIND. § 13. terrupted, guided, and stimulated by sensation. And e very- other psychical movement, excepting only the pain and pleasure of sensation, seems to involve thought as an antecedent. The intellect is the quietest of our powers, but the most rapid in its operations and the most varied in its products. The results of intelligence, also, are to be seen in all of human life, but especially in the employments of men, in their language, and in their intercourse with one another. In conclusion we must mention the most striking characteristic of the power of thought, namely, that it is the agency which unites the soul, its possessor, with the universe. Intellect renders existence of every kind objective to man ; and this fact is the foundation of all the important experiences and achievements of the soul. Other powers, especially motivity and conation, have objects, but things become objects to them only as having been first the ob- jects of intellect. Hence it would be an excellent characteriza- tion of thought to say that it is the power through the exercise of which spiritual beings make the universe objective (or ob- jectual) to themselves; meaning by the universe all cognizable existences. Our conception of the mind or intellect might be fur- ther determined by an enumeration of the subordinate faculties included in it; but the foregoing descriptions may sufiice. § 13. Now, however, we'proceed to the fundamental ^e^inteuect di- ^ivisiou of the faculty of intellect, for the purpose of presenting distinctly such generic conceptions of the powers and modes of mental activity as have resulted from critical inquiry. Such a division is of prime importance in the science of mind; for the subtlety of intellectual phenomena is so great that, without special care, some of the radical differences between them, may be overlooked. The history of psychological investigation fully illustrates this point. By division, also, we prepare for systematization of thought, knowledge and inquiry, an end subordinate, and partly subservient, to that just men- tioned (of distinctness of conception), and very essential to scientific progress. Logical divisions are commonly based on some one principle, which is called the ^'' fundamentum divisionis,'' or principle of division. Thus mankind may be divided according to race, or language, or country, or degree of enlightenment, or religious creed, or sex, or age, or occupation. A new division arises ac- cording to every general aspect in which we may contemplate the members of the human family. Any principle of division becomes of philosophic value when it brings iniportant differ- ences to view ; that is, differences which operate largely in the diverse production and characterization of phenomena. The perception, statement, and explication of divisions based on such principles is an important part of scientific work. By means of these divisions, the leading truths and ideas of a science are enunciated according to their most important relations and in the most instructive way. § 13. THE INTELLECT DEFINED AND DIVIDED. 23 There are three divisions of intellect which should i^^Thi^prfmary t>e made the subjects of special study; each of them and the secondary being fouudcd OH an important principle. The first fe°cT.^^^ ° ^^ ^ of these is that into tlie 'primary and the secondary poiuers of mind; it finds its principle of division in the natural order of the operation of our intellectual powers. We say that thought and belief are the primary powers, because jn their exercise intellect accomplishes its ultimate work, that which alone gives importance to all the rest. And we call at- tention, acquisition, association, synthesis, analysis, abstraction, and generalization, secondary powers, because their working is simply to modify the operation of the primary powers, and has all its consequence from this fact. Thought, and belief, no less than thought, are concerned with things — objects ; whereas the other powers are essentially subjective in their operations, and cause certain modifications in our ideas and beliefs. The dis- tinction between conception and conviction, between thought and belief, is clearly marked in the speech and consciousness of men ; and is of the utmost importance in philosophy. For this reason it may seem strange that in most philosophical systems it has not been accorded any special prominence. In some sys- tems it has been entirely disregarded. A second division of intellect has reference to the BesonnteUect^*" i^^odc of the formation of mental states; and it seta forth the several phases of intellectual life resulting from diverse modes of formation. This division does not arise from so searching an analysis as that just mentioned. It recog- nizes the fact that certain complex manifestations of thought and of belief result from certain general causes ; and it leads to the study of the forms of intellectual activity thus produced. These phases are three in number, and may be styled the per- ceptive, or presentational, the reproductive, or re-presentational, and the discursive, or rational, phases of intellect. Both thought and belief are exercised under each of these modes of intellect; as are also, though in different degrees, the various secondary powers of mind. The perceptive phase of mental life originates in, and is characterized by, the immediate cognition of objects. It is subdivided into sense-perception, consciousness, and concomi- tant perception ; this last signifying that cognition of relations and the fundamenta of relations, which, without being included in sense-perception and consciousness, is exercised in connection with them. The reproductive phase arises from the repetition, or rep.''oduction, by the mind, of the ideas and beliefs of immediate cognition. Its principal forms are the memory, the phantasy, and the imagination. The law, according to which our thoughts are reproduced, in whole or in part, is called the law of the as- sociation of ideas. The essential and distinguishing mark of the rational phase of intellect is the exercise of a peculiar degree of penetration and of comprehension. This results from a higher degree of mental'power than is possessed by irrational creatures, 24 THE HUMAN MIND. § 13. and is manifested, first, in the clear abstractive perception of things, and especially of relations, and, secondly, in connected logical thinking, or, as it has been named, the discourse of mind. When considered with exclusive reference to its primary percep- tions and individual acts, reason is called intuitive; but when we refer also to the processes of thought to which these give rise, we speak of the discursive reason, or of the discursive faculty. (§187.) The faculties, whose manifestations have been now described, should not be conceived of as so distinct from each other that they can have nothing in common; but rather as three modes of intellect, each of which is strongly marked by characteristics especially its own. For the modes of operation special to each faculty enter, to some extent, into the operations of the other two. A third radical distinction in intellect finds its and^ir^STn- " fuudamcutum divisionis" in the diverse charac- tiTought"^^^*^ °^ *^^ ^^ °^^ convictions or beliefs, and of our ideas as connected with our beliefs. It is commonly indi- cated by the division of thought into its intuitional and experi- ential elements. For this analysis, though one of thought and not of belief, yet results from a distinction in our beliefs, and cannot be well understood save in connection with this distinc- tion. All of human convictions are necessary in the sense that belief is not a voluntary action, but the inevitable result of the exercise of certain faculties, that is, of perception and judgment. But there is a special sense in which some beliefs are said to be necessary, and others not. For some are beliefs of things necessary, that is, of things which are of absolute necessity and which could not at all be otherwise; while others are of things contingent, that is, of things which are not, as tliey are, by this absolute necessity. This latter kind of conviction may be called the contingent; and the former the necessitudinal. For exam- ple, in the exercise of my faculties, I believe, and must believe, that I am now writing with pen and ink, and also that this writ- ing does not take place without some power in me to do it. So also I am as fully convinced ,that I live in Hanover, as that I exist somewhere in the universe. Nevertheless my writing with a pen is perceived, not as a matter of necessity, but as a matter of fact; I might have written with a pencil, or not at all, while it is a matter of necessity that my writing, or any other opera- tion which I may perform, should result from some power. In like manner it is absolutely necessary that, being existent, I should exist somewhere in space; but it is not necessary — it does not belong to the nature of things — that I should live in Hanover, or that 1 should have come into life at all. Again, it is simply a matter of fact and of contingent knowledge, that Han- over College is six miles from the city of Madison; for it might have been located at some nearer or more distant point; but it is perceived as a matter of necessity that the distance mentioned, being six miles, is not five or seven, €>r any number whatever § 13. THE INTELLECT DEFINED AND DIVIDED. 25 other than six. For no multiple of any quantity can be equal to any other multiple of the same quantity. This distinction between necessitudinal and contingent perceptions and convic- tions occupies a prominent place in the history of philosophy. Questions respecting the distinctive nature of thought, the proper sphere of the exercise of reason, and the reliability of our faculties of knowledge in general, have been found inti- mately related to it. Some speculators have so explained our necessitudinal beliefs as to leave no radical distinction between them and our contin- gent beliefs. They deny that we perceive any necessity ex- ternal to the mind; they say that the only necessity in the case is a mental inability, resulting from habit, or association, or some other cause, to think concerning certain classes of facts differently from the way in which we have been accustomed to think. But the more satisfactory view seems to be that the external necessity really exists, and that we have the positive intellectual ability to perceive it; an ability which we cannot avoid exercising; and that there is a most important difference between contingent and necessitudinal perceptions or judgments, as there is also be- tween the classes of facts which they set forth. Those who hold the doctrine now stated constitute what is known as the intuitionalist school in philosophy; because they teach that our first cognitions of things necessarily ex- isting are intuitions, or immediate perceptions, of these exist- ences, and not mere unfounded inferences, or imagmations of the mind. As our cognition of things contingent is as imme- diate as our perception of things necessary, there may be a question as to the propriety of confining the term intuition to the latter ; but of late years eminent authors have used the word in this way (§ 225). The controversy as to the existence and nature of necessitudinal perceptions has led to an investigation of their matter or contents. It was found impossible to prove that we form intuitions concerning such objects as spaces, times, potencies, substances, and their mutual relations, without first considering carefully our conceptions of these objects. The pe- culiar character of our intuitive perceptions being of an objec- tive nature, and not that of an inward necessity, the proper way of distinguishing necessitudinal from merely contingent percep- tion must have reference to the ideas peculiar to the former, and also, through these ideas, to the objects corresponding to them. Moreover, investigation revealed that the conviction of necessity belonging to these judgments is not connected with the whole of their matter or thought, but only with one portion or ele- ment : and this led to the analysis of our thought for the pur- pose of eliminating all that is not essential to necessitudinal judgments as such, and of presenting, in clear and formal statement, that which is essential. The conceptions, thus dis- tinguished as essential by a natural metonymy, have received the same name as the perceptions in which they are found: that 26 THE HUMAN MIND. § 13. is, they have been called intuitions of the mind. Taken collec- tively, also, they have been styled the intuitional element of thought. The residual element, being that on which the necessitudinal character of a conviction does not depend, has been styled the experiential element of thought (§ 231). Ex- perience is a befitting name for that power of perception by which we cognize matters of fact simply as such; and, accord- ingly, by the experiential element of thought, as distinguished from the intuitional, we mean that which is produced exclusively by experience or the experiential power of thought, and which, also, is never the basis of the necessitudinal character of any judgment. This division of belief and of thought into the in- tuitional and the experiential is essential to a satisfactory un- derstanding of the working of the intellect. But it is difficult to apprehend and easily misunderstood. On this account, in discussions concerning the intuitions, we should be specially on our guard against confusion. The divisions now given direct our attention to ^iorprop^'oied.'''^^" t^^e three most important distinctions in the phe- nomena of intellect. They teach us, first of all, that some powers are primary and others secondary; in the next place, that thought assumes three diverse phases, according to the mode of its origination; and, thirdly^ that two distinguish- able elements are to be found under every phase of thought, the one of which is the condition upon which necessitudinal, and the other the condition upon which contingent, or mere mat- ter-of-fact, beliefs specially depend. Probably a course of philos- ophy could be constructed in which one of these divisions might be employed as the principal guide in the arrangement of topics, the others being used in subordination to it. But, it may better serve our purpose to take these divisions successively, and in the order in which they have been presented, and to make each a starting-point for discussion. With this view, we propose the following course. We shall begin with the power of sense, and questions relating thereto: for this power, though to be distinguished from intellect, is the primary cause or condition of mental activity, and also furnishes the objects of a most im- portant exercise of thought and belief After this, proceeding to our first division of intellect, we shall consider the general character and laws of thought and of belief and of thought as accompanied by belief After that we shall study the nature of those secondary faculties, which, in their several ways, modify the operations of the primary. This will prepare us for an examination of the specific manifestations of thought and of belief, which are presented to us in the three comprehensive phases of mental life. And, should we once understand these, we shall be ready to appreciate properly the character and bearings of the distinction between the intuitional and the experiential ele- ments of thought, and to discuss doctrines connected with this distinction. § 14 SENSE AND ITS RELATIONS. 27 The foregoing series of subjects will bring before ns for in- vestigation all the phenomena of intellect which directly mani- fest themselves in consciousness. Those powers and laws whose operation on our intellectual life is a matter of inference rather than of immediate observation may present incidental subjects for our consideration. CHAPTER VI. SENSE AND ITS RELATIONS. § 14 The word sense is the Latin equivalent of The word sense. the word feeling; and, like the latter term, it often includes not only pathematic experience — or feel- ing, properly so called — but also that exercise of perception which this feeling either produces or accompanies. Thus one may have a sense of comfort, or a feeling of uneasiness; and, also, a sense of the nearness of danger, or the feeling of being fully protected. In modern psychology, however, the term sense, when used alone, has generally been confined in its application to our bodily feelings, as distinguished from the perceptions formed in connection with them. Moreover, as the word sensa- tion indicates the exercise of these feelings, the name sense may very properly be restricted to our power of having them, sense a psychical ^^^®^ scusations are stylcd bodily feelings, the power, and suigren- exprcssiou refers to their source rather than to ^"' their nature ; for the power of sense belongs to the soul, and not to the body. As the soul uses the organs of loco- motion, but is different from them, so it is affected by the organs of sense, and is different from them. Sensation, if is true, belongs to the soul only as embodied; it is conditioned upon certain corporeal or nervous changes ; but it is to be distinguished from these changes. In itself it is purely psychical. This power, also, is not to be confounded with any other power of the exercise of which our spirits are conscious. Es- pecially we should observe that ^ense is not intellect. That sensation and thought are things radically unlike is a proposi- tion scarcely demanding proof Who cannot distinguish the pain of a cut finger or a burnt hand from the thought of these things ? or the satisfaction of a refreshing draught or a comfort- able meal from the mere conception of these objects as matters of unrealized desire? Therefore, separating sensation on the one hand from corporeal affections, we separate it, on the other, from all the higher activities of spirit. The relations of § ^^- Although scusc is radically diverse from in- sense to inteuect. tcllcct, it has Several intimate relations with the e exci an . jg^^j-^j, power. In the first place, sensation, or the exercise of sense, is a natural excitant and occasion of the exercise 28 THE HUMAN MIND. § 15. of intellect. As the power of ignition and illumination, which resides in the lucifer match, is called into exercise by that rough rubbing which is followed by the flash of light, so the soul, on the occasion of the coarse experience of sense, awakens to the higher experience of thought. The opinion, too, seems well founded that our first intellectual activity is excited by the first sensations of the infant spirit. These views were well expressed by Patricius (an old writer, quoted by Hamilton) when he called the senses the "exordium," or starting-point, of knowledge. " Cognitio omnis," he says, " a mente primam originem ; a sensi- bus exordium habet primum." But sensation is more than the excitant of thought ; 2d. The object. it is also, and at the same time, an important object^ of thought. For the mind, while perceiving its own sensations, is gifted, besides, with the power of perceiving cer- tain relations and correlates of these sensations ; and this is the origin of our knowledge of the external world. The intellect, acting upon, and in conjunction with, the experiences of sense, discerns the existence and the nature of material objects; and so, from small beginnings, ascends to the contemplation of the universe. The discussion of the relation of our knowledge of our own sensations to our knowledge of the material creation, forms an important chapter in the philosophy of mind. Finally, the power of sense is employed by the in- ment^^ ^^^*^^' tellcct as an instrument of inquiry and of guidance. We increase our knowledge of material existences through the intelligent use of the senses; and we direct our bodily actions by the information obtained through them. The highest of the physical sciences, such as geology and astronomy, are dependent on sensation for the ascertainment of their facts ; and the most exquisite of the arts, such as painting, music and sculpture, seek guidance for their delicate movements from the same source. By sense, also, we are qualified for the ennobling faculty of speech. Because of these several functions — as the excitant, as the object, and as the instrument, of intellectual ac- tivity — the power of sensation has always occupied a prominent place in discussions concerning thought. Sense is a simple power. That is, it is distinguished Sense defined. from our other psychical endowments by an in- complex peculiarity ; and therefore, also, like intel- lect, it does not admit of analytical definition. Yet every im- portant conception in philosophy, however simple it may be and incapable of description, can and should be determined circum- stantially, or by means of its more prominent relations. If a number of balls hung in air, each of which was precisely similar to the others in size and shape, but possessed of a shade of color peculiar and unlike any color to be found elsewhere, we could not describe these balls, severally, to one who had never seen them. But we might determine the bearings of each ball from various fixed points of observation; and in this way we could § 15. SENSE AND ITS RELATIONS. 29 indicate the place of its existence and make it the object of intel- ligent apprehension. So it is not sufficient to say that such or such an object, being simple, cannot be defined; we should en- deavor to show its prominent and distinguishing relations. This mode of defining, or, more strictly speaking, of determining, a conception, is equally satisfactory, and should be considered equally logical, with that which results from analysis. It may sufficiently define sense to say that it is a power the exercise of which is immediately consequent upon a corporeal afiection, and which, though not thought, is related to thought as has been already described. We might add that sensation, like our other activities, is accompanied by the experience of pleasure and of pain. Various particular senses, each of them well known, also might be mentioned, according to that mode of determination which follows the relation of the general to the specific, and which is .a special use of logical division. Commonly we hear of five senses, taste, smell, hear- sense divided. ing, toucli, and sight. Philosophical discrimina- tion adds to these at least two others — the organic and the muscular. The marked peculiarity of the five first-named is, that their bodily organs, being evidently constructed for their use, are easily perceived and distinguished. It should be noticed that, although only seven senses are enumerated, a countless variety of sensations are thus grouped into a few classes. What a vast number of odors there are ! What innumerable sounds and voices, colors and sights! How many are the modifications of touch, especially when the exercise of this sense is combined with muscular or organic sensations! We feel the smooth and the rough, the warm and the cold, the hard and the soft, the solid, the liquid and many others. Muscular feelings are those internally accompanying muscular movements. They are the least varied of all, but they admit of a delicate mental estimate of the quantity of sensation ; and this enables us to measure the amount of muscular power employed, or of physical force coun- teracted. The sensations experienced in one's opening his fingers or raising his hand, in lifting a weight or stopping a moving body, in resisting the flow of a stream of water or the violence of an excited animal, in exerting one's self in any physical labor, in short all sensations of corporeal effort and opposition, belong to this class. On the other hand, our organic sensations, which are those connected with our various bodily functions other than that of muscular movement, contain many specific classes. They, and indeed all our corporeal feelings, may be divided into the ordinary and the extraordinary, that is, those experienced during bodily soundness and health and those felt during bodily injury or disease. Some of them are more localized than others. Hun- ger, thirst, sleepiness, weariness, aches, pains, and the various feelings of sickness, together with the pleasant sensations ex- perienced when we are relieved of any suffering or distress, are forms of organic sensation. To these we may add the feelings 30 THE HUMAN MIND. § 16. of heat and cold, and that of pressure ; as when the hand lies on a table beneath a weight. As some of these experiences take place throughout the whole body, while no set of nerves are known to be specially devoted to their production, every part of the sensory system alike may be regarded as their organ ; but this is pre-eminently true of those feelings of exhilaration and of depression resulting from bodily vigor or debility. The famous orator, Charles James Fox, as he inhaled the morning air, and looked abroad on the freshness of nature, was wont to exclaim, " What a glorious thing it is to live ! " And these words seem to have been chiefly prompted by a sense of that exuberant vi- tality and vigor which pervaded the bodily organization of that great man. If the foregoing statements be correct, it is evident The "sensorium." that the powcr of sensc is diffused throughout the whole body. Some bodily growths, it is true — as the hair, the nails, the outer cuticle, and part of the bones — are void of sensation. But these are a small fraction of our physical person, and, through sensations of the adjacent and surrounding portions, they are brought practically within the sphere of sense. Every other part of the body is so minutely pervaded with mus- cular and organic sensations that the power of sense may be said to occupy our whole frame. The body, thus considered as the place throughout whose limits the soul is sentient, is called the "sensorium." This term, formed after the analogy of dormi- torium, oratorium, and such words, which mean the places of sleeping, of prayer and of other uses, signifies the place or local organ of sensation. More correctly speaking, that system of sensitive nerves, centering in the brain and minutely pervading the body, should be styled the sensorium. For we have no feeling save so far as some nerve may be touched or excited, and the destruction or paralysis of a nerve destroys also the pos- sibility of the sensation connected with it. § 16. This brings us to consider the cause or im- c^^seoTsTnsation! i^^cdiate Condition of the exercise of the power of sense. Long before the discoveries of anatomy, men knew that sensations resulted from affections of the body. The soul by an immediate perception attributes sensation to it- self; but it perceives also that every sensation is occasioned by something not itself When one's finger is burned, or even when one suffers toothache, he needs no proof that he himself feels the pain ; and he also is able to understand that the scorching fire or the decaying tooth is the cause of his experience. For, in all such cases, we find no occasion for the sensation in the preceding experience of the soul ; yet we know that it must have some cause. Looking for this elsewhere, and discerning the pe- culiar affections of each bodily part, we soon find in these the invariable and necessary antecedents, and therefore, also, regard them as the occasions or causes of our sensations. We are as- sisted, moreover, to this conclusion by a peculiar power of judg- § 16. SENSE AND ITS RELA TIONS. 31 ment whereby the mind discerns the place of its sensations as existing with reference to each other, in different parts of the body. For we naturally look for the cause where we may have found the effect. Hence we unhesitatingly place the experience and the occasion of the sensation of sight in the eye, those of the sensation of smell in the nostrils, those of hearing in the ear, and those of touch in the hands and in other parts of the sur- face of the body. We also confidently locate a headache or toothache or other internal pain, and ascribe it to some local corporeal affection. _ , ,. Anatomical researches have thrown much lisrht on The nature of ner- ^ . . • \ n vous action un- this suDjcct. ihcy siiow that a certain class oi ^°^^* nerves are the seat of those bodily affections which produce sensation. Moreover, inasmuch as all physical changes appear to inrolve motion, the opinion seems reasonable that mo- tion of some kind is produced in the nerves by the action of their appropriate excitants; and that this motion, in some way, is the occasion of sensation. But nothing has ever been determined as to the nature of this motion, nor indeed, as to any element of that physical change which must precede the psychical experi- ence. Those theories which speak of the movements of a subtle fluid, of the vibration of fibres or filaments, and of the action of molecules, must be regarded as merely scientific conjectures. The general and important fact, however, is beyond question that the cause of sensation is in the nerves. It is also clear that some physical body or agent ^critJ?^ °^ ^^ in^st directly or indirectly affect our nerves before sensation can 'take place. The senses of sight and hearing present no exception to this statement, although their less immediate, but more noticeable, objects may be at a distance. The vibrations of light affect the optic nerve, and those of a sonoriferous medium the auricular, before we hear or see. This truth, centuries ago and in the infancy of philosophy, was em- phasized by Democritus; at a time, too, when his statement must have appeared paradoxical. "All the senses," said he, " are but modifications of touch," a statement which cannot be accepted literally, yet is true in this modified sense, that some physical agent must actually affect some nerve before any sen- sation can be experienced. If there be any exception to the law thus announced, it is an exception which confirms the rule. The doctrine that sensation is the result of nervous cSiue?^"^® ^^' action may seem too simple and evident to have ever been the occasion of difficulty. Yet perhaps no questions have more perplexed philosophers than those re- lating to the causal connection between body and soul. " Has matter any power to affect mind ? " *' Has mind any power to affect matter ? " are inquiries over which able thinkers have been sorely tried. The principal obstacles which have prevented many from a perception of the truth have been two speculative convictions which have prevailed extensively. 32 THE HUMAN MIND. § 16. First, it has been held that material objects can come The first difficulty, into contoct Only ivith material objects. In the words of the ancient poet, "Tangere enim et tangi nisi corpus nulla potest res." We accept this utterance as probably true in the sense that matter cannot affect mind in the same way as it affects other matter. In this sense a spirit is intangible. The properties of mind, so far as we know them, are so different from those of body, so far as we know them, that it would be unreasonable to suppose that the latter could affect the former just as it would a substance of its own nature. If either can operate on the other we must expect the result to be quite different from any affection properly incident to the nature of the operating agent. For, when two objects are diverse in character, they are inca- pable, to the extent of , that diversity, of being acted upon in the same way. Therefore we hold that matter cannot come into collision with spirit as it can with other matter. We would as soon expect a collision between the atmosphere which surrounds our globe and the light of day which pervades the atmosphere. Spirit cannot be touched, as we touch material objects with our hands. At the same time it seems evident that mind can be placed to a considerable extent under the operation of a material body. The soul during the present life dwells within the body; wherever the latter may be conveyed or confined, there the former is carried and imprisoned likewise. If the body can thus inclose the spirit, and bear it wherever it may itself be borne, may it not also in other ways affect its inhabitant? And, indeed, has not the common sense of men good reason to affirm that it does ? The second conviction, from which speculative The second. difficulties havc resulted, refers, not to the general nature of spirit, but to a specific characteristic. It is held that the soul is unextendecl, and we are asked, " How can matter, the extended substance, have any causal connection with mind, a substance devoid of extension?" The argument runs thus: "Nothing can touch and be touched but what is extended; and, if the soul be unextended, it can have no con- nection by touch with the body: the physical influence, there- fore, is inconceivable and impossible." This reasoning, in which, however, the word touch signifies merely juxtaposition in space, implies the truth of two statements; first, that an unextended substance cannot affect, or be affected by, an extended substance ; and secondly, that the soul is an unextended substance. The first of these statements, we think, may be accepted as correct, if by an unextended substance we mean one which does not in any way pervade or occupy space. For a substance which ab- solutely does not occupy or pervade any portion of space is inconceivable. We may conceive of a substance pervading space in such a way as not to interfere with the occupancy § 17. SENSE AND ITS RELATIONS. 33 of the same space by other substances of a coarser nature; but no substance could exist without any room at all. Not even the most insignificant soul could exist within a mathematical point. If, therefore, by an unextended substance, we are to understand one which has no relations to space save those of position only, then we not merely admit that such an object could not be affected by material changes, but we deny that either the soul or anything else is a substance of this char- acter. In short we reject the view of Descartes and many other learned men, that spirits do not in any sense occupy space, and incline to the belief that the soul in some subtle way per- vades and possesses the sensory system. § J.7. While uttering this opinion, which we pre- '^Qho^?^^^^^ s^^^ rather as a probable conjecture than as an established doctrine, we would not be suj^posed to entertain the idea that the soul has shape and parts like those of the body. For we w^ould regard the soul not as a composite, but as a simple substance, endowed throughout with various powers. We also think that the soul, if not always present, is capable of being instantly present, either successively or simultaneously, at different points of the sensorium, as these may be affected by material agents; and we believe that it exercises in the part affected that mode of sensation which corresponds to the peculiar action of the nerves of that part. Possibly, however, in times of quiescence or of sleep the soul may be wholly in the brain. This view, of the pervading presence of the soul, S'Scnsstr*^^ was taught by Aristotle and his followers, who held that the soul was all, that is, with all its powers, in every part of the body. And, in the early days of Christianity, it appears to have been accepted by believers and unbelievers alike. The epistle to Diognetus, an eloquent letter, probably written by Justin Martyr, but certainly addressed by some eminent Christian to an equally eminent pagan in the first or second century of our era, contains a passage in which the people of God as dwelling in the world are compared to the soul as inhabiting the body; and, while the passage through- out is an interesting exhibition of philosophical views, its open- ing words give evidence of the general entertainment of the opinion that the soul pervades the body. "That," says the author, " which the soul is in the body, the same are Christians in the world. For the soul is diffused through all the members of the body; and Christians through all the states of the world. The soul dwells indeed in the body, but is not of the body; and Christians dwell in the world, but are not of the world." This natural judgment of both the learned and the unlearned was injured by the subtleties of theological disputation, and was finally dispossessed of a place in the estimation of scholars through the influence of a great thinker. Rene Descartes, while residing in Holland during the second quarter of the 34 THE HUMAN MIND. § 17. seventeenth century, discarded the too arbitrary and traditional dogmas of the Middle Ages, and boldly constructed for himself a new system of doctrine. For this reason, and because he sought earnestly for an ultimate and satisfactory ground of belief, he is justly honored as the originator of modern philos- ophy. Influenced, however, probably more than he supposed, by scholastic notions, he asserted that the essence of matter is extension, and that the essence of mind is thought — that matter is the extended unthinking substance, and that mind is the thinking unextended substance. This doctrine of Descartes was incorporated into the philosophy of Europe, and was firmly maintained as the proper opposite of materialism; though in reality it has no necessary relation to this latter form of opinion. The influence of it can be seen in the earlier teach- ings of the Scotch school. Dr. Reid, writing one hundred years after Descartes, in the eighth chapter of his second essay, ex- presses himself as follows: "A man says he feels pain in such a particular part of his body — in his toe, for instance. Now, reason assures us that pain, being a sensation, can only be in the sentient being as its subject, that is, in the mind. And though philosophers have disputed much about the place of the mind, yet none of them ever placed it in the toe When we consider the sensation of pain by itself, without any respect to its cause, we cannot say with propriety that the toe is either the place or the subject of it. But it ought to be re- membered that when we speak of pain in the toe, the sensation is combined in our thought with the cause of it, which really is in the toe. The cause and the efi'ect are combined in one complex notion, and the same name serves for both. It is the business of the philosopher to analyze this complex notion, and to give different names to its diflerent ingredients. • He gives the name of pain to the sensation only, and the name of dis- order to the unknown cause of it. Then it is evident that the disorder only is in the toe; and that it would be an error to think that the pain is in it." Prof Stewart perceived difficulties attending the Cartesian doc- trine, and cautiously avoided the discussion of it. In the intro- duction to his " Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind," he says, "Whether it (the soul) be extended or unextended; whether or not it has any relation to place; and, if it has, whether it re- sides in the brain, or be spread over the body, by diff'usion . . . are questions widely and obviously different from the view which I propose to take of the human mind in the following work." He also adds, in a statement which appears to us somcAvhat too strong, " that the metaphysical opinions which we may happen to have formed concerning the nature either of body or mind, and the eflScient causes by which their phenomena are produced, have no necessary connection with our inquiries concerning the laws according to which these phenomena take place." Yet, in the 16th note to the Ist vol. of the Elements, he evidently con- §17. SEA^SE AND ITS RELATIONS. demns the opinion that the soul may pervade the body. *'If, " he says, " I strike my hand against a hard object, I naturally say that I feel pain in my hand. Tiie philosophical truth is that I perceive the cause of the pain to be apphed to that part of my body. The sensation itself I cannot refer in point of place to the hand, without conceiving the soul to be spread over the body by diffusion." Descartes denied that body and soul can influence one another in the least, yet could not but assign the soul an abode in the body. He supposed that the human spirit resided in the pineal gland, a small gland in the center of the brain; and he accounted for the correspondence of mental with bodily states by a peculiar hypothesis which we shall notice hereafter. But subsequent philosophers, who were convinced that the soul was directly influenced by corporeal affections, sought to explain this matter in a reasonalDle w^ay. "The soul," said they, "may be compared to a spider seated in the center of its web. The mo- ment the least agitation is caused at the extremity of this web, the insect is advertised and put upon the watch. In like manner the mind, situated in the brain, has a point on which all the nerv- ous filaments converge; it is informed of what passes at the dif- ferent parts of the body ; and forthwith it takes its measures ac- cordingly. The body thus acts with a real efiiciency on the mind, and the mind acts with a real efficiency on the body." These various statements of Descartes and of subsequent philosophers have not been found satisfactory. The conception of an absolutely unextended substance contains within itself a contradiction and cannot be accepted. Reid's assertion that we do not really judge the sensation, but only the cause of the sen- sation, to be in the part affected, is not in accordance with fact. Stewart's exclusion of certain metaphysical questions from mental science, is incapable of being faithfully carried out; and was used by himself only so far as to avoid the discussion of princi- ples which he nevertheless assumed and asserted. And, finally, our perceptions of the place, size, distance, motion, and other space-attributes of material objects cannot well be accounted for on the supposition that the soul ig an unextended substance in- habiting only a point, or even on the theory confining spiritual activities to the region of the brain. Hence Sir Wm. Hamilton, though himself in perplexity, annotates on Reid thus: "Both in ancient and modern times the opinion has been held that mind has as much a local presence in the toe as in the head. The doctrine long generally maintained was that, in relation to the body, tlie soul is all in the ivhole and aU in every part On the question of the seat of the soul, which has been marvelously perplexed, I cannot enter. I shall only say in general that the first condition of the possibility of an immediate intuitive or real perception of external things, which our consciousness assures us that we possess, is the immedi£Lte connection of the cognitive principle with every part of the corporeal organism." Again he remarks, " That the pain is where it is felt, is the doctrine of 36 THE HUMAN MIND. § 17. common sense. We only feel inasmuch as we have a body and a soul ; we only feel pain in the toe inasmuch as we have such a member, and inasmuch as the mind, or sentient principle, per- vades it. We just as much feel in the toe, as we think in the head." These ideas are yet more fully presented in the "Meta- physics," (Lect. XXV.) President Porter also declares: "The mind is present in every part of the body so far as to act and be acted upon, and the real object of immediate perception is some part of the body as excited to a specific sensation." Elsewhere he says, our " several sensations, inasmuch as they are experi- enced by the soul in its connection with the extended sensorium, must be indefinitely but really separated from each other by distance and place." (Vide "Human Intellect," §§ 114, 193, 206.) It is an essential part of the view presented by ^wered-i^''*^°° ^' Hamilton and Porter that not merely the feeling but also the primary perception of it takes place where the bodily affection occurs. At the same time, as Presi- dent Porter observes, this cognition, though as local as the sen- sation, is, of itself, extremely indefinite. It may be ranked among the lowest possible forms of intellectual action. The completed and measured estimate of the distances and direc- tions of sensations from one another, and the exact determina- tion of the places of feelings w^ith reference to the parts of the body in which they are experienced, are judgments which follow upon the comparison or construing together of the pri- mary perceptions of our sensations; and the formation of such judgments requires time and experience. These observations enable us to account for a phenomenon which has been used in argument against the theory of the pervading presence of the soul. The fact is incontestable that, after the amputation of limbs, persons experience sensations very similar to those which they have felt in the limbs previously to the amputation; it has often been difiicult for one to realize at first that he has lost a hand or foot. From this some have drawn the inference that sensations really take place in the brain alone, and that they are only mentally referred to a cause in some other part of the body. But such facts are sufficiently explained by the statement that our primary perceptions of the places of our sensations are vague, though real and true, and that they become definite only through judgments resting upon the combined results of experience. The mind, while the body is yet whole, having used these sec- ondary judgments and found them trustworthy, adopts them as rules of conclusion in regard to all sensations of a similar char- acter which may take place in the same general region ; and the habit of conclusion thus formed is not easily laid aside. We have conversed with individuals who say that the tendency to erroneous judgment did not in their case remain very long; and that they soon came to perceive the sensation to be located in the part of the limb which they still possessed. We can easily § 18. THE EFFICIENCY PRODUCING SENSATION. 37 believe, however, that iu other instances this tendency may have lasted for years. It would seem that the immediate, though in- definite, apprehension of the sensation, which takes place at the point where the feeling occurs, is the condition not only of the subsequent constructive determination of the position of the sen- sation, but also of that very tendency to error which has been held to militate against the theory of a localized experience. CHAPTER VII. THE EFFICIENCY PRODUCING SENSATION. § 18. Sir Wm. Hamilton, in the sixteenth lecture of his meta- physical course, shows what difficulties have arisen in philosophy concerning the causal connection between soul and body; and confesses that he himself, having failed of a satisfactory solution, had resolved to rest in a " contented ignorance." Before further discussion in regard to this connection, it may be instructive to consider briefly the strange hypotheses which those were driven to adopt, who, for various reasons, believed that neither agent can directly act upon the other. A full account of these theories may be found in the " Lectures " of Hamilton, and in the " Le9ons de Philosophic " of Laromiguiere. Beside the ancient Aristote- lian doctrine of direct influence, which we regard as the correct view, three hypotheses have been devised. The first of these, in point of time, was the hy- i^e^piastic me- pothesis of the plastic medium. It is to be traced to Plato, who teaches " that the soul employs the body as its instrument; but that the energy or life and sense of the body, is the manifestation of a diflerent substance — of a sub- stance which holds a kind of intermediate existence between mind and matter." The Alexandrian Platonists specially elab- orated this idea; and, "in their psychology, the oxoi, or vehicle of the soul, the medium through which it is united to the body, is a prominent and distinctive principle." St. Augustine inclined to this view ; and it has been adopted by some eminent modern philosophers. The second hypothesis is that of occasional causes. Occasional causes. By an occasioHal cause is meant a cause which is only the occasion of some effect, and which does not contribute at all to the efficiency producing the effect. This theory is also named the hypothesis of divine assistance, because God is regarded as the real causal agent between mind and body. According to this view, " the brain does not act im- mediately and really upon the soul; the soul has no direct cog- nizance of any modification of the brain : this is impossible. God Himself, by a law which He has established, when movements 38 ' THE HUMAN- MIND. § 18. are determined in the brain, produces analogous modifications in the conscious mind. In like manner, in case the mind has a volition to move the arm, this volition of itself would be in- efficacious; but God, in virtue of the same law, causes the an- swering motion in the limb. The body, therefore, is not the real cause of the mental modifications; nor the mind the real cause of the bodily movements." This doctrine was first ad- vocated by Malebranche and other followers of Descartes; Dr. Reid inclined to it, and it was maintained by Prof Stewart. The third hypothesis, which is the most curious of £rmony.*^^^^^^ ^i ^^ ^^^^ ^^ predetermined harmony. It was originated by Leibnitz. According to it soul and body have no communication, no mutual influence. " The soul passes from one state to another by virtue of its own nature. The body executes the series of its movements without any par- ticipation or interference of the soul in these. The soul and body are like two clocks, accurately regulated, which point to the same hour and minute, although the spring which moves the one is not that which moves the other. This harmony was es- tablished before the creation of man, and hence is called the pre-established or predetermined harmony." We object to all these theories that they are mere hypotheses devised to meet a difficulty which originates in mistaken views, and that they are devoid of support save such as can be found from their fitness for that end. We can find no evidence of any medium of communication between soul and body, or of any divine interference to produce sensations and carry out volitions, or of that marvelous fore-ordained correspondence between cor- poreal changes and the life of the soul. On the contrary, both our natural convictions and our critical observations indicate that we actually are influenced by afiections of the body. The mind refers its sensations to antecedents immediately present, yet outside of itself; our very conceptions of the sensible quali- ties and changes of matter are essentially conceptions of the causes of various forms of sensation as related to these effects ; and we intuitively ascribe efficiency to these causes. Our sen- sations therefore are perceived as really resulting from the body and things affecting the body. When we handle a stone, its weight, hardness, roughness, and coldness, are real causes pro- ducing effects corresponding to them in us. All this we firmly believe, till we may have become confused by some philosophical subtlety. Let us remember that difficulties on this subject have resulted simply from an undue and excessive contrasting of mind and matter, of soul and body, as things different in nature; and we shall have no trouble in accepting the teachings of in- tuition. These two substances differ perhaps as far as substances can differ, but not so far as to be incapable of mutual influence. This whole subject brings before us one of those frequently re- curring cases in which the best philosophy is found to accord with the ordinary convictions of mankind. § 19. THE EFFICIENCY PRODUCING SENSATION. 39 § 19. Accepting the view that sensations are im- T^epossibietixe- mediately occasioned by corporeal affections, we have yet to choose between several theories re- specting the efficiency producing sensation. FirsU it has been taught that the power producing sensation is exercised wholly by the body and that the soul is ivhoUy pas- sive. When lightning tears open the roof of some building, or the electric spark pierces the paper subjected to its passage, the roof or the paper does not actively contribute to the result. A stone flung into the air does not originate any of the force by which it is propelled ; it is entirely recipient and devoid of exertion. So the soul might be considered wholly passive in sensation : it might be likened to a placid lifeless pool whose rippling motions are made by the breezes only. Again, it has been contended that the efficiency producing sen- sation resides whoUy in the soul, and does not rise at all from the affections of our sensory system. When a child becomes in- terested in some pretty toy and seeks it, the toy cannot be sup- posed to be the efficient cause of the excitement of the child's desires. These, indeed, without the view of the toy, could not have been formed and exercised; but the whole power in the case belongs to the infantile soul itself. As, therefore, the in- tellect and the motivities of man act with an efficiency inde- pendent of their objects, so, it is argued, the power of sense acts without any external stimulus and simply on the occasion of changes in the nerves. Finally, it may be conjectured that the efficiency producing sensation belongs partly to the body and partly to the mind. When a blow discharges a percussion cap the effect depends on the detonating powder quite as much as on the force of the blow. So, when a vessel of water at a low temperature and perfectly still, is shaken a little, it immediately turns to ice; and when certain solutions are mingled, they effervesce and form new compounds. In these cases the shaking and the mingling do not produce the effect so much as other causes which these bring into play. The question, therefore, suggests itself, whether our sensations, even though efficiently caused by bodily affections, are not also due partly to the active power of the soul, rn,. .ffl„,-.^+«o„=o Of these theories we prefer the last. We incline The efficient cause , ,-. • • j_i t /y. • /• • i of sensation is two- to the Opinion that the efficient cause of sensation does ^°^^* not belong exclusively either to the body or to the mind, but is a combination, partly physical, partly spiritual. The motion of the bow of the violin produces that of the string, yet only in part: the tightness and elasticity of the string contri- bute. So nervous changes affect the mind, while yet this affec- tion is not purely passive, but results also in part from a power of action belonging to the soul itself That sensation is truly caused by physical changes SdphyS^!^^*^ is implied in those natural judgments which men continually make. We say that the wind makes us cold, that the fire warms us, that sound affects our ears, 40 THE HUMAN MIND. § 19. scent our nostrils, light our eyes, and so forth. Thus we refer these feelings to various physical causes which act upon our bodily frame, and upon our souls as inhabiting the body. We also make an important distinction between what is merely an object of cognition, and what is a cause of sensation. In cog- nition the activity and its causation are regarded as wholly mental ; in sensation, the prominent efficiency presented in per- ceptive thought is physical. And these natural judgments ac- cord with critical inquiry. A scrutiny of the conditions of sen- sation easily produces instances in which no other antecedent can be found than some affection of the nervous system. More- over, the researches of anatomy and surgery show, to a demon- stration, on what branches and filaments of the sensory system our bodily feelings severally depend. In short, no fact of phys- ical science is more certain than this, which belongs to mental science also, that sensation results from an excitement of the nerves. At the same time some considerations support the belief that the soul is not wholly passive in sensation, but that it exercises an efficiency of its own. This is suggested by the analogy of our other psychiSh'''^^^ psychical operations. In thought, sensibility, de- ist Because of the sire and action, man is conscious of self-activity, er powers. He pcrccivcs that each of these modes of experi- ence has no causal antecedents other than psychical, and can be ascribed to no efficiency other than that belonging to the soul itself He therefore regards them as coming from a spring within. External objects may interrupt and modify the current of mental life, but they are not necessary to its con- tinuance. The soul, once aroused to action, lives on with an ac- tivity perpetual and inherent. Moreover, although during man's earthly existence his psychical experience has been made de- pendent on bodily conditions, there is no evidence that it origi- nates from them. On the contrary, easily distinguishing the spiritual activities, of which he is conscious, from all physical phenomena, man intuitively recognizes these activities and their powers as belonging not to his body, but to a substance other than his body, that is, to his true self, or spirit ; and so, as we have said, he regards the soul as self-active, because the greater and essential part of its experience, however dependent upon corporeal conditions, is perceived to originate, not from them, but from the soul itself But if every other psychical experience may be thus traced to the working of some inward power, may not sensation, likewise, be considered as resulting, in part at least, from the soul's own activity? «^ T> «*.v. To this conclusion we are led, also, by the follow- 2d. Because of the . • i .• ttti i j i pecuuarity of the ing Consideration. VVnen one substance acts on ®^®*''' another which is perfectly passive, the effect is of the same general character with the action by which it is caused. One stone, for example, striking another, transmits its own mo- § 19. THE EFFICIENCY PRODUCING SENSATION. 41 tion and nothing more. But when the effect is of a new and pe- culiar cha7'acter, tue find the cause partly also in the suhstance af- fected. The cause of the explosion of the percussion cap is found more in the detonating powder than in the blow; and the now compound from mixed fluids results more from chemical affini- ties than from the commingling. Now the nature of sensation, like that of our other psychical experiences, is revealed to us through consciousness, without which power we could not have the remotest conception of spiritual things; and we know that sensation is something extremely dissimilar to physical changes of any kind ; so much so that we can scarcely compare it with them in any way. What likeness does any material process bear to the pain of toothache or of rheumatism? And what chemical or mechanical operation can be compared to the satis- faction of hunger or the gratification of taste ? Sometimes we describe a sensation by mentioning the physical action by which it may be produced, — as for example, the sensation of being struck or cut or burned — but we easily distinguish the outward action and the inward experience as being very different. Some generic likeness, perhaps, can be found in sensations to other and higher feelings with which pain and pleasure are also specially connected, such as joy, sorrow, hope, fear, love, hatred ; but we can discover no resemblance in them to any physical phenomena. Such being the case, it seems reasonable to believe that sense is not merely a capacity, but a capability; and that the mind, the substance in which sense inheres, itself con- tributes to the efficiency producing sensation. 3d Because of Finally, the activity of the soul in sensation is sug- certain reactions gestcd by Certain rcactious of mental upon phys- min on o y. ^^^^ j-^.^^ wliicli rcsult in bodily feelings more or less defined. In certain exceptional cases, which can be easily dis- tinguished, sensations seem to originate from psychical efficiency, no external excitant being present. For example, purely intel- lectual feelings, that is, those emotions which result from thought and which are not the consequence of bodily changes, are some- times accompanied with sensations. Surprise causes a startling sensation; disappointment a sinking feeling in the breast; and fear produces chilliness. In short corporeal feelings generally attend any violent mental disturbance. Here it may be objected that in such cases sensation is not directly produced by psychical efficiency, but only indirectly and through an afiection of the nerves. Possibly this may be so ; though such instances certainly evince that the soul can act on the sensorium as well as the sensorium on the soul. It may be more to our purpose to re- mark that imaginative ideas in dreaming, and even in wakeful hours, sometimes cause sensations, as if some reality had taken place; and the sensations thus excited seem also to produce nerv- ous changes such as at other times produce them. The order of causation appears* to be reversed. Instead of nervous change, sensation, thought, we have thought, sensation, nervous change. 4^ THE HUMAN MIND. § 20. In dreams, especially, our sensations often appear to be more than mere imaginings; we experience, though in feeble measure, the pains and pleasures of real life. How often, too, we meet with those who assert that they have heard the voices or seen the faces, of absent friends, themselves creating what they hear or see ! Various experiments may illustrate this power of" the mind to originate its own sensations. For example, should a sharp needle be directed towards the middle of one's forehead, and advanced steadily, a singular feeling is experienced, at least by nervous people, at the place where the point of the needle is expected. This must result from the mind's own activity. More- over, the soul when specially interested appears to have the power of adding to the natural keenness of any sense. When we listen or gaze, or even touch, taste, or smell attentively, new delicacy is given to the organ. It is said to be innervated; and this innervation is probably an increase of that efficiency which the soul exercises in sensation and is similar to the increase which special interest and effort produce in the energy of any other spiritual power. Herbert Spencer (" Psych." part ii. chap. vii. ) testifies to the fact that thought does sometimes produce sensation, though of course he does not use it as we have done. He says, " Ideas do, in some cases, arouse sensations. Several instances occur in my own experience. I cannot think of seeing a slate rubbed with a dry sponge without there running through me the same cold thrill that actually seeing it produces." CHAPTER VIII. CEEEBBALISM OR MATEEIALISM. Traducianism not § '^^\ The doctriuc wliich makcs Spirit Only a refined necessaruy mate- spccics of matter, is Called materialism. It is natu- "^ ^^' rally, though not necessarily, connected with the idea of a material origin of the soul. Tertullian, the eminenf Christian father of the second century, taught that the soul is as much begotten as the body, and many of those who believe in the transmission of spiritual, as well as of corporeal, being from parents to children, and who are therefore called Traducianists, have expressed themselves in similar language. It matters not so much how we may consider the soul to have come into exist- ence, if we only are not thereby led into wrong coboeptions of its nature. We shall not deny that the Almighty, should He so determine, might make souls out of matter instead of creating them de nihilo: it is even conceivable that a decree of omnipo- tence might impart to infant bodies the power of producing a young spirit, and that this production might be the first work § 20. CEREBRALISM OR MATERIALISM. 43 of the completed bodily organization. We shall not question the abstract possibility of these things. But we hold also that this power of spirit-production would be of a totally different character from any known material potency, or combination of potencies, and that tlie analogy of nature icould he outraged, if such an energy luere lodged in sitch an agent The power in question would be so utterly diverse from ^ny force or tendency ever per- ceived to exist in matter that only the strongest evidence could enable us to believe in it. In the absence of such evidence, we incline to the belief that souls are immediately created by a supra-material and divine power, acting in connection with mat- ter, but according to laws of its own. We therefore do not ac- cept the view of Tertullian, but we do not condemn it as materi- alism. For this latter doctrine does not provide for any super- natural transmutation of matter into spirit; it makes spirit merely a refined species of matter. T«-ofn.,-oHorv,^. The essential point in materialism is that sensation, Materialism de- ■».. . ^^ ,.' fined. Cerebral, thought, and Spiritual experience generally, result sim- *^™' ply from the operation of physical agents as such — or as acting in obedience to their own proper laws. This idea has been expressed sometimes by comparing psychical operations to those phenomena of light, heat, and electricity which take place during chemical and vital processes. In other words, materialism teaches, not merely that spirit is extended and has other attributes in common with matter; not merely even that spirit has all the essential attributes of matter, although no one save a materialist would say this ; but also, and especially, that the life of spirit is purely a development of material forces. The modern adherents of this doctrine have frequently been styled Cerebralists, because they derive psychical phenomena from certain supposed qualities of the brain and nerves. Au- guste Comte, the chief principle of whose "Positive Philosophy" is to distrust and contemn all facts save the physical and tangi- ble, and to find in these an explanation of all phenomena, may be taken as a representative of this school. According to him, " The positive theory of the intellectual and afiectional functions is simply a prolongation of animal physiology, from which it differs far less than this last differs from simple organic or vegetable physiology" ("Phil. Pos." Lect. XLV.). Herbert Spencer and Alexander Bain are English psychologists, and Professors Tyndall and Huxley English scientific writers, who, with some modifications of thought and phraseology, have ideas essentially similar to those of Comte. We remark, further, that the question presented by materialism is not identical luith the question luhether the soul and the body are tivo distinct existences. If this were the case, it would be easily settled. In every act of sense-perception the ego, or self, or soul, intuitively distinguishes from itself the non-ego, or body, whose affections are the cause of our sensations. So alsu the ego immediately refers spiritual activities and powers to itself, 44 THE HUMAN MIND, § iiO. and sense-afFecting operations and powers to the non-ego. Thus soul and body are at once distinguished and characterized. But the statement of these facts, aUhough they have an important bearing on the argument, is not the proper opposite of the materiahstic theory. For one may allow the distinct existence of soul and of body, and yet argue that the soul is a product of some corporeal function. . Those who say that the brain produces mind just as the liver produces bile, might say that, as the bile is not the liver,' so the mind is not the brain. The question therefore remains. Is not the soul an offspring of the body ? For example, may it not be some subtle, active fluid secreted by the nervous system; and may not its experiences be the movements of this fluid ? We reject all such forms of belief, for the following mon*Sse!° ^°°^" reasous. In the first place, though often advocated earnestly by philosophical speculators, materialism has always been condemned by the common sense — that is, the practical, spontaneous reason — of mankind. Men in general do not inquire whether, or how far, mind and matter have a community of nature; or whether matter be the only extended substance or not; whether mind is capable of being inclosed in limits like the body; whether mobility and motion may be affirmed alike of both substances; and such questions. But they do hold that matter and spirit are radically, generically, different. So far as we can learn, no people, certainly no civilized people, have believed that the soul is simply a material product. This broad ■ distinction which men make between spirit and matter probably should not be considered so simple and immediate as that pri- mary distinction which they make between the soul and the body. It may be the product of considerable thought, and, in this respect, may be compared to that belief in the uniformity of nature which is now regarded as a conclusion naturally formed by the mind after the observation of many instances of actual uniformity. Nevertheless as mankind are constantly and in- timately concerned both with spiritual and with material ob- jects, and with each as these objects really exist, their judgment as to a radical diversity of nature is not to be esteemed lightly. Not d b th ^^ ^^® ^^"^^ place, the fact that psychical states, at depe^nd^ence of hast during mans present life, are immediately con- BkS^tetes!" ^^^" d'^l^oned on physical, does not prove that the former originate from the latter, or that they are of the same general nature with physical phenomena. A good bed and a suf- ficient degree of warmth are the conditions of restful sleep, yet we do not, on that account, identify the bed and its warmth with the sleeper and his repose. So, after men perceive the intimate connection of soul and body, and the dependence of spiritual activity on the use of cerebral organs, the distinction is soon made between the conscious agent, on the one hand, and the physical conditions of his activity, on the other. They see that the agent may have an origin and an existence independent § 20. CEREBRALISM OR MATERIALISM. 45 of the conditions to which his life is subjected; and they con- demn the identification of the psychical with the physical as an undue, and even as an unreasonable, assumption. For when, in any case, some needful antecedent of a phenomenon seems unfit or inadequate for its production, we naturally say that it is only a condition and not the essential cause of the phenomenon in question. How easily, on this principle, we distinguish be- tween any sensation and the affection of the sensorium on which it may depend; for example, between toothache and the irritation of the dental nerve ! In the same way we distinguish between the whole nervous system and {he soul dwelling within it. The belief in im- This judgment of common sense, which affirms the materiality an in- Unfitness of the physical to produce the psychical, uc vejudgmen. ^^ already intimated, seems really to be an induc- tive conclusion concerning the general character of material agents' and their operations. Setting aside points of philosophical dis- putation, we may say that the conception of matter, as com- monly and correctly entertained, includes those substances gen- erally, or that part of substantial being, whose nature and operations are made known to us in the exercise of sense-per- ception, and through inquiries essentially dependent on this power; while spirit is that part of substantial being whose char- acter and phenomena are perceived in the exercise of conscious- ness, and by means of investigations dependent thereupon. We believe, too, that any more complete and satisfactory definitions of these two substances must be worked out within the lines of thought indicated by these broad characterizations; which, how- ever, are sufficient for our present purpose. We should also add that while matter, not mind, is the immediate object of sense-cog- nitions, and while mind, not matter, is the immediate object of con- sciousness, experience enables us to use each of these powers of perception iii the service of inquiries dependent primarily on the other. Thus the sight of an improved country, through an ex- ercise of sense-perception, witnesses the industry and intelli- gence of the inhabitants; and, in like manner, a sense of exhilar- ation attested by consciousness may indicate a salubrious and invigorating atmosphere. Now, if our knowledge and conception of matter and its qualities be formed as we have stated, the materialistic contro- versy may be made to assume a definite shape. If matter be defined as the substance whose existence and attributes are known in the cognitions of sense, then the question for deter- mination is, " Can the production of spirit and its activities be accounted for by any powers of matter similar to those discov- ered by sense-perception and physical investigation ? " The question, thus stated, leads to a negative answer; for physical investigation — the examination of material properties and pow- ers — can discover no phenomenon in nature similar to that pro- duction of psychical life which has been supposed to take place in the brain. We find in matter strict, but blind, obedience to 46 . THE HUMAN MIND. % 20. the laws of its own constitution, and look in vain for any devel- opment of mental life. Moreover, acting on the rational presump- tion that such life, if it existed, would certainly manifest its'elf in some way, we take the absence of manifestation as a satisfac- tory proof of the non-existence of the psychical activity. If, then, no material combination is ever known to produce spiritual life or aught save physical changes, is it probable that the cere- brum, a body composed of common and well-known elements, should be thus endowed? The passage from the ordinary and physical operations of matter to this extraordinary and psychi- cal activity is a step which the mind refuses to take. It would be easier to accept the doctrine of the alchemists that base metals may be converted into gold, than to believe that any kind of matter is capable of the production of spirit and its phenom- ena. So far as can be seen, matter, acting upon matter, leaves it matter still. No psycMcai life ^<^^^» ^^ Itnow., osseH that the operations of organic in organized bod- life 1% Vegetable and animal structures indicate an ies as such. •' j. it • t j. • i i i ' • j.' intelligence resident m such structures or originating from them. To us organic growths exhibit only peculiar physi- cal and molecular powers with which the Creator has endowed various material combinations of His own formation. It is evi- dent that the works of nature in general could not have origi- nated the intelligence manifested in their constitution. To sup- pose that they did, would be to make them the source of that source from which they themselves have evidently been derived. Who can credit the assertion that this great universe, so filled with order and goodness and beauty, was not produced by a- pre-existing Intelligence? Who can believe that any one of God's wonderful works — for instance, the physical frame of man, with the complicated adaptations of its organs to each other and to the conditions surrounding our life — is the offspring of an acci- dental concourse of unintelligent atoms? No absurdity could be greater than this. Lord Bacon, on purely philosophical grounds, exclaimed, " I had rather believe all the fables in the Legend and the Talmud and the Alcoran, than that this uni- versal frame is without a Mind " ; and he justly adds, " A little philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism ; but depth of phi- losophy bringeth men's minds about to religion." While it is thus clear that material organisms are the work of a pre-existing Mind, it is equally evident that they do not exhibit any power of psychical activity as resulting from the constitution given them by their Creator. Every operation of organic life can be ex- plained as simply the unintelligent operation of physical forces. The genii of rivers and mountains, the souls of plants and trees, the angry spirits of the thunderbolt and the earthquake, are only ideas of the imagination. Moreover the tendrils, roots, and leaves of plants never exhibit more than a superficial resem- blance to the actions of a living agent. Their movements may be, and are, accounted for as simply the result of certain laws of § 20. CEREBRALTSM OR MATERIALISM. 47 molecular attraction and combination. The shrinkings of the sensitive shrub seem caused by a power which passes along its stems as heat passes along an iron rod. Insectivorous plants, of themselves, exhibit no more intelligence than a rat-trap. So far as can be discovered, all vegetable actions result from unthinking molecular forces; there is an utter absence of that freedom, va- riety, and adaptability which characterize the efforts of volun- The reflex action ^^^T agcuts. In this conucction wc may notice the of the nervous usc made by cerebralists of the discoveries of Sir system. Charlcs Bell and others respecting the action of afferent and efferent 'nerves. It has been ascertained that fre- quently a physical influence being borne to the brain, or to some nerve-center, by an afferent nerve, results, through the agency of the corresponding efferent nerve, in some bodily action. Sneez- ing and coughing are familiar examples of such actions. They oc- cur without any volition, sometimes without any consciousness, on our part, but evidently have always a useful end in view. The motion of the heart and of the muscles employed in breathing is maintained by a nervous influence, without any thought of ours; and such, also, seems somewhat the case with those bodily actions which may have become habitual. In all such move- ments, it is said, the work of mind is plainly performed by the nerves alone. But in the phenomena alluded to, we cannot find any evidence that the powers of the soul are identical with those of the sensory system, or even that they are of the same nature. On the contrary, as these nervous influences are not necessarily accompanied with any consciousness, we infer that they result from forces which are wholly physical, and to be distinguished from spiritual energies. So far from indicating a sameness be- tween mental and molecular activity they rather suggest that tlie sensory system is an organized kingdom of vital but un- conscious material agencies, made ready for the control and guidance of the intelligent soul. We should also add that no evidence has been discovered of any fluid in the nervous system possessing physical properties, icifh ivhich mind might he supposed to be identical. Physiologists incline to the opinion that the excitement of the nerves consists simply in the action of molecule upon molecule. „ .. - ,, To sum up what has been said, the chemical and bummation of tne i • i ■ i j i i i i inductive argu- mechanical, the vegetable and corporeal powers "^^^^ of the creation, all possess a common character. They exhibit blind obedience to the laios controlling masses and mole- cules, and nothing more. But the domain of spirit discloses a neio TWbture. Instead of composition and divisibility, there is an ab- solute and conscious unity, so that (were conjectures allowable on a point so removed from observation) we might suppose mind not to be composed of molecules, but to have perfect continuity of being; instead of a self-helplessness which acts only as acted upon, there is ceaseless self-activity; and, above all, instead of the powers of material objects variously to affect the senses, and 48 THE HUMAN MIND. § 21. to act upon each other, there are such spiritual potencies as thought, sensibility, desire, aflfection, and moral principle and purpose. To hold that one of these natures with its powers can produce the other nature with its powers, is a worse than gra- tuitous assumption ; it is the assignment of a phenomenon to an utterly inadequate cause. Perceiving in all inorganic and organic substances A false analogy. an Underlying sameness of nature, we are not sur- prised to see one department of the visible crea- tion furnishing material and support for another. Mechanical powers operate everywhere; while chemical, vegetable, and corporeal changes contribute more or less to one another. But, because of the radical diversity of character between the spiritual and the material, the relation of the soul to the body cannot properly be compared to that of corporeal to vegetable structures or to that of vegetable bodies to the inorganic. It is wholly unlike these; and is so regarded in the general opinion of mankind. § 21. Now it may seem strange that tlie leading Tyndaii quoted, cerebrdlists of OUT day admit the force of tlie foregoing reasonings. Let us take Prof. Tyndall as a rep- resentative man. He publishes the conviction that ''matter possesses the potency of every form and manifestation of life." He says," Were not man's origin implicated, we should accept > without a murmur the derivation of animal and vegetable life from what we call inorganic nature. The conclusion of pure reason points this way, and no other." In this statement we should notice that the expression " animal life " embraces, not merely corporeal vitality, but also all forms of psychical activity. Yet this same professor, speaking of the theory of " a natural evolution" of the universe from inorganic elements, uses the fol- lowing language. " What are the core and essence of this hy- pothesis ? Strip it naked and you stand face to face with the notion that not alone the more ignoble forms of animalcular or animal life, not alone the nobler forms of the horse and the lion, not alone the exquisite and wonderful mechanism of the human body, but that the human mind itself — emotion, intellect, will, and all their phenomena — were once latent in a fiery cloud. Surely the mere statement of such a notion is more than a refutation. I do not think that any holder of the evolution hy- pothesis would say that I overstate or overstrain it in any way. I merely strip it of all vagueness and bring before you, unclothed and unvarnished, the notions by which it must stand or fall. Surely these notions represent an absurdity too monstrous to be entertained by any sane mind." In 1868, before the British Association for the Promotion of Science, Tyndall said, " Were our minds and senses so expanded, strengthened and illumi- nated as to enable us to see and feel the very molecules of the brain; were we capable of following all their motions, all their groupings, all their electric discharges, if such there be; and § 21. CEREBRALISM OR MATERIALISM. 49 were we intimately connected with the corresponding states of thought and feeHng, we should probably be as far as ever from the solution of the problem, ' How are these physical processes connected with the facts of consciousness ? ' The chasm be- tween the two classes of phenomena would still remain intel- lectually impassable. Let the consciousness of love, for ex- ample, be associated with a right-handed spiral motion of the molecules of the brain, and the consciousness of hate with a left- handed spiral motion; we should then know when we love that the motion is in one direction, and when we hate that the mo- tion is in another direction ; but the why would still remain unan- swered." And in 1875 he reiterates the statement, "You can- not satisfy the human understanding in its demand for logical continuity between molecular processes and the phenomena oi the human mind." We are naturally astonished at such utterances from one who finds every potency in matter; and we ask for an explanation of them. This is to he found in a conception of matter, presented by Prof. Tyndall, lohicli differs from that entertained by men in general. Matter, as matter, i. e., as possessed of those qualities commonly ascribed to it, cannot produce ps^^chical life; but it is endowed with other and higher powers, and in the exercise of these it may and does produce the phenomena of mind. To show the reasonableness of this idea the professor dilates eloquently on material " potencies." " Think," he exclaims, " of the acorn, of the earth, and of the solar light and heat. Was ever such nec- romancy dreamt of as the production of that massive trunk, the swaying boughs, and whispering leaves, from the interaction of those three factors? In this interaction consists what we call life. ..... Consider foi; a moment this potency of matter. There is an experiment, first made by Wheatstone, where the music of a piano is transferred from its sound-board, through a thin wooden rod, across several silent rooms in succession, and poured out at a distance from the instrument. The strings of the piano vibrate, not singly but ten at a time. Every string subdivides, yielding not one note, but a dozen. All these vibra- tions and subvibrations are crowded together into a bit of deal not more than a quarter of a square inch in section. Yet no note is lost; each vibration asserts its rights; and all are at last shaken forth into the air by a second sound-board, against which ,the distant end of the rod presses. Thought ends in amaze- ment as it seeks to realize the motions of that rod as the music flows through it. I turn to my tree, and observe its roots, its trunks, its branches, and its leaves. As the rod conveys the music and yields it up to the distant air, so does the trunk con- vey the matter and the motion — the shocks and pulses and other vital actions — which eventually emerge in the umbrageous foliage of the tree." In short. Prof Tyndall holds that evolu- tion and materialistic notions are "absurd in relation to the ideas concerning matter which were drilled into us when young. 60 THE HUMAN MIND, § 21. Spirit and matter have ever been presented to ns in the rudest contrast; the one as all-noble, the other as all-vile." But if Ave should come to "regard them as equally Avorthy and equally Avon- derful, to consider them, in fact, as two opposite faces of the same great mystery," our difficulties Avould disappear. He confesses that his theory calls for a " total revolution of the notions noAV prevalent," yet derives encouragement from the fact that "in many profoundly thoughtful minds such a revolution has already occurred." In regard to these vicAvs of Prof Tyndall Ave have Sewfof ^ndau! ^hc folloAviug remarks to make. First, in Us ac- Jcnoivledging that matter as commonly conceived of cannot produce mind or psychical phenomena, he yields the essential point in controversy. If the production of spiritual phenomena result from powers different from those which matter is gener- ally known to have, then these are produced by matter, not as mat- ter, but as something of another nature; matter, in fact, becomes itself the creative or formative spirit of the universe. This doc- trine is not mat^ialism; it is a form of pantheism; and the adop- tion of it is the surrender of materialism, properly so called. In the next place, although Tyndall calls for a "total rev- olution " of our conceptions concerning matter, he/ails to furnish any distinct basis for this change of vieiu. As already said, his language sometimes suggests that there are powers in matter different from those v^hich Ave call material; yet, just as fre- quently, he makes these other poAvers only the ordinary poAvers of matter exalted and refined. After all his eloquent illustra- tions of the wonderful potencies of matter, we find it hard to tell Avhether his vieAvs be really materialistic or pantheistic. The powers Avhich he specifically describes are purely physiqai and unintelligent. The only "revolution" Avhich his language ef- fects is one which brings us back to our starting-point, in a some- what beAvildered condition as to the meaning of the professor. Finally, Ave say, that the pantheistic view, ivhich makes matter to he a kind of unconscious, yet thinking, agent, is a doctrine ivholly unsupported by evidence, and even more absurd than the extremest ma- terialism. Mankind justly regard matter as devoid of the distinc- tive characteristics of mind; for it ncA^er manifests these charac- teristics, and indeed seems unfit to possess them. Nor could any opinion be more irrational than that the intelligence of creation and providence, which has soh^ed problems of a complication and greatness far transcending the grasp of human faculties, is the attribute — the underived attribute — of an aggregate of material molecules; an aggregate, too, entirely unconscious of its own existence and its own activity. We have now considered materialism Avith special reference to those facts upon Avhich its advocates rely. We find that these, strictly interpreted, do not support this form of belief, but, on the contrary, indicate a radical diversity of nature between matter and spirit. The doctrine which we thus contrast Avith § 22. CEREBRALISM OR MATERIALISM, 51 materialism has sometimes been called dualism, because it asserts a duality of nature in those beings immediately perceived by us. It is opposed to materialism, on the one hand, and to idealism, on the other, which doctrines, and also pantheism, to which they severally lead, have been classed together under the title of mo- nism. For they all assert that we are cognizant of only one kind of substance. § 22. Before closing our argument, we must direct aod has no brain, attention to the foTce of that great faxi^ tvhich the pos- itive philosophy vainly endeavors to ignore, and which, whether it he accepted or not, we think should he patent to every candid student of creation and providence. To us, assuredly, those marvelous works of wisdom, power, and goodness, which alone ennoble the universe and make it glorious, manifest a Be- ing infinite and almighty, yet possessed of attributes essen- tially similar to those which characterize our own spirits. But where is the brain that gave birth to the omnipresent and all- creative mind? What material origin can be imagined for that cosmical Intelligence which first fashioned and etili sustains the system of which we form a part ? The fact has already been noticed that much nervous action takes place without any psy- chical activity. Is not the intelligent activity of the Creator a case in which the attributes of spirit are exercised without any connection with cerebral or other material organs? And, if this be so, may we not conclude that the existence and life of finite spirits are not necessarily dependent upon material causes, but that, with some wise design, they have been subjected for the present to earthly and corporeal conditions ? Here the question arises, " 3Iay not a material origin bSTtel.^^^^'^ °^ ^^c? nature he assigned at least to the spirits of the hrute creation ? " We think not. So far as brutes exhibit intelligence, afiection, and other psychical activities, they belong to the domain of spirit — not to that of matter. Our planet seems to be a theater, in which two diverse worlds of God's creation, the spiritual and the material, mingle their laws and forces, acting also upon one another. The substances com- posing one of these systems are so diverse in attributes from those composing the other, that neither world can be considered a derivative or modification of the other; nor can we by analogy infer the laws governing existence and activity in the one, from those governing existence and activity in the other. In the material world we find no absolute beginning or termination, in- crease or diminution, of substantial existence. This is no proof that the reverse may not be the case in the invisible and intan- gible realm of spiritual being. We find no difficulty in believ- ing that the power of creation and of annihilation, which does not — which perhaps cannot — reside in finite existences, may be- long to the Originator of all things. So far as we can discover and judge, all earthly spirits begin to exist at the commencement of the activity of their bodily organization. But, as the psychi- 52 THE HUMAN MIND. § 22. cal endowments of brutes are sufficient and suitable only for the direction and the enjoyment of their corporeal life, we should naturally expect their spiritual being to be extinguished at the end of their animal experience. Its proper purpose would then have been fulfilled. Man, on the contrary, has qualities which elevate him as far above the brute, as the brute is elevated above every form of senseless matter. He is capable, even now, of en- tering into the plans and thoughts of the Great Creator; and he has the capacity of endless development hereafter. For him the sages and philosophers of all ages have predicted immortality. The connection of ^^^^^^^ WO cousidcr the godlikc nature of the human soul and body ac- soul, 106 soTnetimes looudev that it should he burdened counted for. ^^^^j^ ^j^^ limitations of covporeal life. All the various ends to be subserved by this arrangement may not be discover- able, but that the arrangement exists seems an altogether rea- sonable conviction. The soul, in the body, may be likened to a man incased in that strange armor, which is used by divers. When one, thus clothed, is let down into the sea, his activity for the time is subjected to conditions very different from those wltich belong to the freedom of his home. His movements are restricted and determined by his harness. His sphere of effort is limited by the necessity of communication with his associates on the surface of the water. The signals, by which his conduct and that of his friends are guided, come and go through a part of his apparatus. His covering, also, is the medium through which he receives impressions of surrounding objects, and the immediate instrument through which his work of exploration and salvage are accomplished. Moreover, so soon as the appa- ratus may need repair or readjustment, his submarine exertions are, of necessity, suspended. In short, while the armor greatly limits and changes his mode of life and labor, it is also the con- dition under w^hich the ends of that mode of life and employ- ment must be pursued, and may be accomplished. In like man- ner, it is reasonable to suppose that the same Wisdom which has evidently made so many benevolent arrangements for man^s welfare, has, for good reasons, subjected our spirits, in this life, to the conditions and influences of a corporeal connection. Moreover, the principles of moral philosophy enable us to perceive some purposes which certainly^ or 'probably^ led to the investiture of the soul with its fleshly habitation and instrument. For example, it is evident that many of those restraints by which man is with- held from vice, and of those incitements which prompt him to virtue, originate in the circumstances of our present being. Physical life is the necessary condition of civil government, of all arts and industries, of those temporal cares and employments by which the soul is wholesomely occupied, and of those modes of mutual helpfulness in which the morality and benevolence of mankind find obtrusive claims and frequent exercise. The birth of man into a state of weakness, and the manifest character of his subsequent dependence upon powers and agencies other than § 23. SENSATIONALISM AND ASSOCIATIONALISM. 55 his own, prepare him to repose that faith in divine assistance without which spiritual prosperity is impossible for any created being. The limitation of the intercourse of spirits, resulting from their embodiment, is favorable to the growth of a proper moral independence ; which purpose, also, as to the successive genera- tions of men, is served by the brevity of human life. In short, our present state of being, in whatever light we look upon it, appears to be specially adapted and designed for our best moral development. The operation, for a time, of some such system as that under which we live, seems necessary for the highest good of the human spirit. CHAPTER IX. SENSATIONALISM AND ASSOCIATIONALISM. ,. S 23. Sensationcdism is that form of belief lohich ex- Sensationalism •» , . 77./. '' 7 7 • 7 j» and associationai- 'piains man s sptrituaC Life as composed excLvsiveiy oj Ism defined. tJiose feelings lohich are excited by corporeal affections, and of modes of action resulting directly and ivholly from these fed- ings. Associationalism teaches that the higher thinkings and actings of the soul result primarily from impressions and impidses of extermd origin, under the operation of that weU-knoion laiu whereby mental stales tend to recall one another after they have been experienced to- gether. In other words, it asserts that, not only some, but all, of our secondary psychical movements may be explained as simply associationai conjunctions and sequences. These riaii^. *° ™**^ ^^^ forms of doctrine are the chief reliance of the materialistic psychologist in his endeavor to account for the various manifestations of spiritual life: and naturally so. For, supposing the psychical identical with the physical, it is difficult to see what better can be done than first to define sen- sation as the action of nerve-cells, then to make all spiritual activities modes of sensation, and finally to regard every con- junction and sequence of inward states as the association of modified sensations, that is, of reproduced molecular changes, with one another. These three forms of opinion — sensationalism associationalism and materialism — are allied, also, by reason of that mode of thinking in which they originate. It is essentially one-sided, exhibiting a keen, but exclusive, appreciation of one class or kind of phenomena and its laws, and an endeavor to explain all other related facts as having the same nature and laws as those observed. Materialism, disregarding that cumula- tive evidence by which mankind are convinced of the radical duality of substantial existence, confounds the life of intelligent and self-conscious spiri^ with those material changes with which, in human experience, it is immediately connected. In like manner, sensationalism, neglecting those marked characteristics 54 THE HUMAN MIND. § 23. which prove our higher experiences to originate from peculiar and independent powers, makes them all, if not exactly material operations, yet mere modifications of impressions and impulses received from the outer world. And associationalism, fastening its eye on one easily observed law, and on the successiveness of spiritual phenomena, reduces all other laws to this one, ignoring or slurring over the radical peculiarities of various important mental operations. Condillac, who wrote in France during the middle Representative ^^f ^j^^ yU\i ceutury, wMle Kcid was lecturing in Scotland, may be considered the founder of sensa- tionalism. Eepresenting man as a statue to which capacities of sensation had been imparted, he held that a statue thus quali- fied, and without any further endowment, would gradually mani- fest all the phenomena of mind. According to him the modifi- cations of the soul from present objects are sensations; and these, when reproduced and refined by the memory, are ideas. Hartley, an English contemporary of Keid and Condillac, may be consid- ered the founder of associationalism. He, at least, more formally than any of his predecessors, made association the one funda- mental law of human thought and belief James, and John Stuart, Mill (father and son) did much, by their talented author- ship, to recommend Hartley's views. According to them, our most deep-seated convictions and principles are merely associa- tions of ideas rendered inseparable by habit. At the present time, Herbert Spencer, uniting in one system the essential views of Comte, Condillac and Hartley, is the exponent at once of materialism, sensationalism, and associationalism. Spencer also is the apostle of evolution, that is, of the theory of the spontane- ous self-development of the universe, from a condition of form- less and diff"ased " homogeneity " into a condition of orderly and harmonized "heterogeneity." This development, according to Spencer, results from a restless tendency of the ultimate atoms of matter to combine with each other, and from the " survival of the fittest " combinations (which for some reason are always the strong- est), while the worse and weaker disappear. He holds his other views in subordination to this main idea. Although Spencer as- serts that we can know nothing of the real nature of either mind or matter, he also maintains that, so far as we do know them, they are identical. His language throughout is that of the extremest mate- rialism; and, as the "conclusion" of his philosophy, he declares " that it is one and the same ultimate reality which is manifested to us subjectively and objectively." (" Psych." § 273.) Like Tyn- dall, he acknowledges that the development of the psychical from the physical is inconceivable, yet he considers that the intimate correspondence between mental and material phenomena should be accepted as a sufficient proof of it. Some extracts Spencer quoted, from Speucer may illustrate a style of psychology which, in some quarters, is strangely popular. Life ^ "Psych." § 131) "is the continuous adjustment of internal relations Oa f^f^t m 23. SENSATIONALISM AND ASSOCIATIONALISM. ^'1 i^r to external relations;" and psychical life is thus "differentiated," or developed, from physical. "Along with complexity of organ- ization, there goes an increase in the number, range, speciality, and complexity of the adjustment of inner relations to outer relations. And in tracing up the increase, we find ourselves passing without break from the phenomena of bodily to the phenomena of mental life." On hearing this statement, one can- not help exclaiming, " How great is the power of complexity ! " Thought, as originating in the association and " consolidation ' of sensations, is explained as follows (§§ 73-74) — "What is object- ively a wave of molecular change, propagated through a nerve center, is subjectively a unit of feeling, akin in nature to what we call a nervous shock When a rapid succession of such waves yield a rapid succession of such units of feeling, there results the continuous feeling known as a sensation Mind is constituted when each sensation is assimilated to the faint forms of antecedent like sensations. The consolidation of suc- cessive units of feeling to form a sensation is paralleled in a larger way by the consolidation of successive sensations to form what we call the knowledge of the sensation as such — to form the smallest separable portion of what we call thought, as dis- tinguished from mere confused sentiency." "The cardinal fact' as to the "composition of mind" is that "while each vivid feel- ing is joined to, but distinguished from, other vivid feelings simultaneous and successive, it is joined to, and identified with, faint feelings that have resulted from foregoing vivid feelings. Each particular color, each special sound, each sensation of touch, taste, or smell is at once known as unlike other sensations that limit it in space or time, and known as like the faint forms of certain sensations that have preceded it in time — unites itself with foregoing sensations from which it does not differ in quality but only in intensity. " On this law of composition depends the orderly structure of mind Because of this tendency of vivid feelings severally to cohere with the faint forms of all preceding feelings like them- selves, there arise what we call ideas." Simple notions are formed in this way; complex conceptions are " clusters of feelings joined with the faint forms of preceding like clusters. An idea of an object or act is composed of groups of similar and similarly- related feelings, that have formed a consolidated series, of which the members have partially or completely lost their individuali- ties." Then "complexity," with its wonderful power, produces the higher ideas of the soul. " Groups of groups coalesce with kindred groups of groups that preceded them ; and, in the higher types of mind, tracts of consciousness of an excessively composite character are produced after the same manner This method of composition remains the same throughout the entire fabric of mind, from the formation of its simplest feelings up to the formation of those immense and complex aggregates of feel- ings which characterize its highest developments." 66 THE HUMAN MIND. § 24 ThesimpUcityand § ^^' P^^'^^ps the Only Complete refutation of such plausibility of philosopliv as Spcncer's is to be found in tlie direct these theories. "^y /• 7* j'7 i • j- j.t j" j. jy observation ana impartial analysis oj the j acts oj rr).en- tal life. A course of true psychological study reveals the exceed- ing inadequacy of all those theories which are founded on a one- sided appreciation of facts, and which owe their existence chiefly to the ingenuity of their authors. Yet, having already discussed materialism, we shall add a few observations on those kindred schools of opinion which have now been mentioned. First, we re- mark, that the strength of sensationalism and associationalism lies, mainly, in the simplicity of their fundamental principles, and in their conformity to ordinary and objective thought. Our minds naturally look with favor upon simple theories. Knowing that the ultimate is always simple, we incline to accept the simple as the ultimate. Explanations of this character, moreover, are quickly comprehended and easily applied ; for which reason, if they can be supported by any argument, they are sure of some favor. The fact that sensation is closely related to our outwardly directed thinkings and often mingled with them, has led men to regard the sense-affection resulting from the influence of external objects as of the same nature with the perception and the mem- ory of these objects; and, from this beginning, they have gone on to explain even the highest spiritual activities as the inward re- production of sensations. Others, again, observing in the se- quences of inward life the constant operation of that principle of association which is the most apparent of the laws of mind, have attempted the complete explanation of mental activity by means of this law. In physical science what would we think of the philosopher who should profess to explain all phenomena by means of the law of gravitation? In this strange attempt, as often happens in such cases, they have succeeded so far as to satisfy both themselves and many of their readers. But, notwithstanding the simplicity and plausibility Suoiroftho?ght ^^ the doctrines under consideration, the objections to any intelligent acceptance of them are insupera- ble. One principal difiiculty is that these theories fail grievously as explanations of the phenomena of thought Let us suppose, for a moment, that some oi our ideas can be identified with bodily feel- ings and their modifications: it yet seems absurd to say that such conceptions as those of substances, spaces, times, powers, rela- tions, numbers, and such ideas as those of person, agent, right, duty, interest, are merely "impressions" produced by the impact of external objects. These things are not the objects of any sense. We may be directly cognizant of them, but not physically sensi- ble of them. Sensations cannot plausibly be identified with any notions save with those either of the sensations themselves or of the sense-affecting operations of matter, the agents, powers, places, times and other conditions involved being excluded. It IS inconceivable that our ideas of these conditions should be constituted out of any feelings or clusterings of feelings. The § 24. SENSATIONALISM AND ASSOCIATIONALISM. 57 associationalists perceive this difficulty; but, instead of recogniz- ing its insuperable cliaracter, they discard some of the radical con- ceptions of the human mind as the illusions of unphilosophic ignorance; and give very inadequate accounts of others. I^or example, the sys- tems of Mill and Spencer make no place for the notion of substance. Mill defines mind, not as a conscious and intelligent substance, but as a " series of states of consciousness "; and Spencer, not as a substance having feelings, but as a series ''^composed of feelings and of the relations beticeenfeeli'ngs" every such relation being it- self " a kind of feeling — the momentary feeling accompanying the transition from one conspicuous feeling to an adjacent con- spicuous feeling." According to Mill, matter is, not an actual existence, much less a substance, but only " the permanent pos- sibility of sensation "; while Spencer teaches that ^'forces standing in certain correlations " — that is, as externally opposing those forces which have taken the shape of mind — " form the whole content of our idea of matter." Spencer's account of our notions of relation, as feelings pro- duced by the transition from one sensation to another, is wholly inept. Kelations as such can produce no feelings. These come only from some actions or operations, in connection with which the relations are perceived. We hear two notes of music, but we do not hear their similarity, their simultaneousness, or their succes- siveness, or their equality or inequality in loudness, pitch, or length, or any other relation between them. Then what singular conceptions of space and time are given by associationalism ! " Each relation of co-existence is classed with other like relations of- co-existence and separated from rela- tions of co-existence that are unlike it; and a kindred classing goes on among relations of sequence. Finally, by a further se- gregation, are formed that consolidated abstract of relations of co-existence which we know as space, and that consolidated ab- stract of relations of sequence which we know as time." Does it require much thought to see that space and time are not of the nature of relations, and that the former is not co-existence, nor the latter sequence? Not only so; it is inconceivable that any feelings, or association of feelings, could constitute even those conceptions of existence, of co-existence, and of sequence out of which Spencer would construct our notions of space and time. Such is the weakness of that analysis of the phenomena of thought whicli is consequent upon the self-imposed restrictions of sensationalism and associationalism. The incompetency of these forms of philosophy SmviSgeandS ^^Y ^^ further illustrated from the account they uef, and especially q{yQ gf the hiotuledqe and belief of the soul While our fundamental *^ ^ •' . , i • . i 5 * , i 1 1 convictions. proTcssing to explain these phenomena they really explain them away. According to these systems, memory is merely "the revivability of feelings," while convic- tion is the association of ideal feelings so strongly that they can- not be dissociated by an act of the will. Clearly, the revival or 58 THE HUMAN MIND. § 24. repetition of ideas is not all, nor even the essential part, of mem- ory. In addition to this reproduction, there is the belief — not merely the thought, but the belief — that the ideas now present were formerly experienced as perceptions of realities; and this belief is something distinct in nature both from the ideas in con- nection with which it is exercised, and from their attraction for each other in the co-existences and sequences of thought. So also our convictions in general, though mostly involving the union of two conceptions, always imply more than this union, and sometimes are exercised in connection with one conception only. In every case belief in the existence or non-existence of something is the essential element. When we say, " Grant ex- ists," there is as much belief as in saying "Grant is President;" and in all simple affirmations of existence, we cannot properly be said to conjoin two objects of thought, but only to express our belief in the existence of one. Thoughts, too, may be inseparably associated which are not the statement of any belief The con- ceptions of an oft-repeated tale become as well linked together a& if they constituted a true story; although, at the same time, they may be known to be purely fictitious. In short, neither feelings nor associations of feelings account for the phenomenon of belief But the exceeding evil of a superficial philosophy Skeptical tenden- -g manifest, whcu, in consequence of its incompe- tency to explain the true origin and nature of thought and of belief, it justifies the rejection of some of the fun- damental convictions of the human mind. The logical thinker who starts with only the "impressions" of Hume, or the "feelings" of Spencer, is brought, at last, either to the skepticism of the one or to the nescience of the other. When ideas are defined as the repro- duction of internal changes correspondent to external changes, — noelementof existence being admitted save that of change, — there is left for us only the knowledge of appearances. What we perceive is no longer the phenomena, or varying phases of real things, but phenomena as distinguished and separated from realities. Whe- ther there are such things as substances in which these phenome- nal changes occur, or such a thing as power to produce them — in other words, whether beings and their attributes, properly so called, exist — are points about which we know and can know nothing. Such are the teachings of these systems. This taking away of the ideas of substantial being, of power, and attribute, and causation, eviscerates the body of human knowledge; it leaves no object of belief save a thin phantasmagoria of appear- ances, covering emptiness only. There are no powers, no beings in this showy shadowy universe; nor are there laws, save certain unexplained and inexplicable uniformities of co-existence and of sequence ! And, in regard to the recurrence of " phenomena," our only source of rational judgment is the tendency of frequently- repeated impressions to recall one another ! It is astonishing that able men should propose to enlighten the world with such doctrines as these. To an unsophisticated mind the absurdity § 25. SENSATIONALISM AND ASSOCIATIONALISM. 59 « of them is suflScient proof of the falsehood of the systems to which they belong. The fail as ex la- ^^ need Dot, in further antagonism to these sys- nations of emotion, tems, consider tlieiT inadequate explanation of the and motivity. emotions and motivities of the soul. Only strong attachment to preconceived theories can sustain the belief that our feelings — appreciative of the sublime and the beautiful, of the befitting and the ludicrous, of the right and the wrong, the joyful and the sad, the lovely and the hateful — are but modifications of impressions on the senses. And what associations of outwardly -excited, impressions or appetencies can be supposed to produce contempt, anger, pity, benevolence, the thirst for knowledge, the love of power, the earnest purposes of self-interest, and the high determinations of duty ? A satisfactory account of these experiences calls for factors which the mere contact of the soul with outer things cannot furnish. § 25. Having now set forth, sufficiently, as we sup- Bensatk)nl^^ weak posc, the philosophical inadequacy of sensationahsm sensations?^^ °^ ^^^ associationalism, we shall close this chapter with an inquiry related to that already discussed, but much less general in its scope. Allowing that the deeper and more rational elements of our thought are not modifications of those feelings which are produced in us by the impact of exter- nal things, it may yet be asked, " Are not tJie thoughts of our sen- sations, at least, of the same nature as these sensations themselves ? " It will be noticed that this question is not whether sensation constitutes all thought, but only wliether a certain part or element of our thought, may not be identified with bodily feelings. In reply to it, we shall not go so far as uy^mS^xisT^^" ^^ ^^J i positively, that there is no likeness betiueen a sensation and our subsequent perception or remem- hrance of it. We cannot conceive of any similarity between an external object and our idea corresponding to it; but, for aught we see, there might be some similarity between two mental states related to each other as those in question are. Let us imagine a mirror capable not only of reflecting the appearance of a present object, but of reproducing this appearance when the object should be absent. Might we not allow that in such a case, not merely a correspondence, but also a sort of similar- ity, would exist between the appearance in the mirror and the object represented ? So, if any one believes that there is a like- ness between a present or past feeling and our knowledge or remembrance of it, it would be difiicult to disprove such an opinion. Nevertheless an object and the reflection of it, though in a certain respect similar, being totally unlike in their most radical and important characteristics, it would be absurd to af- firm that they are things of the same nature; and, in like manner, even though some likeness, some similarity of formation, were supposed to exist between a sensation and our thought of it, this would not show them to be things of the same kind. 60 THE HUMAN MIND, § 25. But no proper That they are not — that there is no proper corn- community of munity of nature between sensation and even that ^*^^' thought immediately concerned with it — seems evident from their contrary characteristics. Sensations are ob- trusive and vivid experiences; when they enter into our con- sciousness, they occupy and control the mind ; our conceptions of them, like our other thoughts, are comparatively quiet and unaiFecting. Sensations are in great measure the passive effects of external causes ; our recollection of them arises wholly from the mind's own activity. Sensations are not subject to the guidance of the will ; our thoughts of them may be entertained or dismissed at pleasure. Sensations have all more or less defined places in the sensorium; our ideas of them are not fixed in these places ; and if they have any special habitation, it is with our other thinkings in the brain. In short, sensations obey laws of their own ; while our apprehension or remembrance of them is subjected to the laws of thought. Moreover, generally speaking, fhe distinction between S^SstlSon. °* Olir sensation and our idea of it is easily made by the mind. In most cases we can consciously discrim- inate between a bodily feeling and our present thought of it. When we are sick, hungry, or cold, we do not confound such feelings with our knowledge of them ; and who that ever had headache, toothache, or rheumatism, could not distinguish these experiences from the thinking of them? This difference be- tween thought and feeling is yet more evident when they take place separately from each other. We never incline to consider our remembrances of roughness and smoothness, of weight and pressure, of effort and resistance, of tastes and smells, as merely weak reproductions of the sensations. The compassionate man, without any present experience of suffering, may have a clear conception of the pain or sorrow of those to whom he ministers ; and imaginations of relief and of satisfactions not yet attained — perhaps unattainable, — occur frequently to the minds of the distressed and needy. Here, however, it is to be acknowledged that cer- S^and iSiring^ ^^^^ of our scnse-conccptions — that is, our concep- tions of things seen and heard — are not contrasted loith the sensations corresponding to tJiem so distinctly as ideas de- rived from our other senses are contrasted with their corresponding sensations. This is so much the case that, were all our sense- perceptions similar in delicacy to those of vision and of sound,, it might be difiicult to prove the difference in nature between a sensation and our idea of it. We believe that this difference really exists in the experiences of these senses as well as in those of our other senses; but that, in the case of sight and hearing, several causes conspire to obscure this distinction. The most noticeable of these are the comparative weakness of our auditory and visual sensations, and the complexity and activity of that perceptive thought which is exercised in con- § 25. SENSATIONALISM AND ASSOCIATIONALISM. 61 nection with them. Considering our senses attentively we see that some of them serve chiefly to produce feeling; while others are mainly instruments of observation. Organic sensations have the least intellectual employment; touch, taste, and smell occupy an intermediate position; while sight and hearing far surpass all our other senses in their delicate and varied indications. Moreover, this wise adjustment may be noticed that, just in proportion to the intellectual service of any sense, is the weak- ness of its sensations; an arrangement evidently designed to free the action of the thinking power from undue sensual dis- turbance. Thus it is that sight and bearing, having not sensa- tion, but perception, as the end of their existence, ordinarily have a minimum of feeling in their action. While they have a multitude of delicate modifications, these as sensations are weak, and are suitable rather to be noticed than to be felt. Sometimes, indeed, our sensations of light and sound are harsh, powerful, and even painful ; and then, according to the analogy of our grosser feelings, we easily distinguish between them and our thoughts of them. Ordinarily, the delicate movements of these senses are so little regarded, save as indicators of fact, and are so neglected because of the preponderant activity of thought connected with them, that they scarcely seem to have a distin- guishable character. To this we may add that very possibly, in the more vivid representations of past experiences, the intellect may react on the power of sense so as to produce a slight activity similar to the original feeling. We refer to those ex- treme cases in which imagination borders on hallucination, and recalls wonderfully scenes and faces, sounds, voices and melo- dies, of the distant and the past. The objection that the pleasure and pain accompany- 8wered!^°*^°^ *^" ^'^9 Tecollected or imaginary sensations seem^ to be of the same nature loith that originally experienced is not so serious a difficulty as that just considered. The fact may be admitted. The aged and blind Niebuhr, thinking of the deep bright heavens of the orient, doubtless had a repetition of his original delight. The deaf musician, reading the work of some great composer, has a rapture similar to that once re- ceived from hearing the actual performance of it. Such instances as these do not prove the real recurrence of the sensation. They may be accounted for by that marvelous power of the imagina- tion which causes the mere conceptions of things to affect us in a way similar to the reality. Reminiscence and anticipation give us pain and pleasure; from them, in part at least, arise grief and sorrow, delight and disgust, hope and fear. Yet mere remembrance and foreknowledge, as such and of themselves, do not affect us. The law seems to be that ideas once associated with feelings of pleasure or pain are afterwards accompanied by similar feelings to a greater or less degree. Hence the scenes, persons, actions and events of well-written history, and even the fictions of romance or tragedy, afiect us in the same 62 THE HUMAN MIND, § 26. way as perceived realities. May not also fictitious sensations — that is, remembered or imagined sensations — which are not sensations, but merely thoughts of them, affect us in like man- ner? We conclude, therefore, that even in the case of sight and hearing there is no sufficient reason to regard our sensations and our ideas of them as things of the same nature. CHAPTER X. THE ACTIVITY OF MIND. § 26. Having dwelt, at sufficient length, on the subject of sense, and questions connected with it, we proceed to the direct study of mind. We are to contemplate this power in its most general character first. Viewing its phenomena in this way, we find that they may be regarded either subjectively or ob- jectively; that is, either merely as modes of psychical life, or as being also related to their appropriate objects. From either aspect interesting discussions arise. For example, considering the intellect subjectively, two questions present themselves con- cerning its activity. One is, " Are xoe always consciously active ? " and the other is, ''''Are lue ever unconsciously active?'' Sir Wm. Hamilton answers both affirmatively. He thinks that the mind never ceases from conscious thought even in the deepest swoon or the soundest sleep ; and that, in addition to this conscious activity, there are V\.many mental movements of which we are unconscious. We incline to a negative answer in both cases; although we would allow that the questions belong to a class which calls for moderation in our opinions. Are we always con- ^^ aucicut times the doctriue of ceaseless conscious sciousiy active? activity was taught by the Platonists, because, by pinions quo . j^^^j^g ^f -^^ \hQj morc perfectly contrasted ethe- real spirit with senseless, inert matter. It was rejected by the Aristotelians, who made less use of assumptions and more of facts. Descartes held that the very essence of the soul con- sists in thought, or rather in conscious life; and therefore ex- plained our continued existence as consisting in our continued activity. Leibnitz taught the doctrine of monads, that the whole universe, both material and spiritual, is composed of ceaselessly active and energetic atoms: this determined his view of the soul. He supposed, however, that our spirits, though always active, are not always conscious. Dr. Porter maintains the view that the soul is constantly active, whether it be awake or asleep, and says that modern psychologists, ex- cepting materialists only, are nearly unanimous in this opinion. Locke, on the other hand, contends that some men never dream § 26. THE ACTIVITY OF MIND. 63 at all, and that none are conscious that they dream continuously; while Dr. Reid gives his own experience, as follows. Having mentioned how, in his early days, by a determined effort, he had freed himself from a habit of uneasy dreaming, he adds: " For at least forty years after, I dreamed none, to the best of my remembrance; and, finding, from the testimony of others, that this is somewhat uncommon, I have often, as soon as I awoke, endeavored to recollect, without being able to recollect, anything that passed in my sleep." Reid's philosophy of our activity during sleep may be understood from his further re- • i • i • i tween thought and eiicc, or lorm 01 existcncc, to which it corresponds, objects of thought. ^^ ^^ ^ peculiar nature, and should be distinguished from all other relations. It is not the relation of an effect to a cause ; for the object of thought is wholly inactive, and the exercise of intelligence is the work of the mind itself Neither is it that of the conditioned to the condition : existence is a condition of thought, in a certain sense ; but the correspondence in question is a relation other than this. A mirror cannot form a reflection without an object, but the correspondence between reflection and object is distinguishable from the dependence of the former upon the latter. Again, the relation of thought and object is not that of similarity. Things which are utterly unlike may yet correspond. One part of an invention may correspond to an- 76 THE HUMAN MIND. § 31. other, as a key to a lock ; an instrument may correspond to its use, as an oar to rowing; or a sign may correspond to the thing signified, as a printed to a spoken word. But this does not involve any similarity. The correspondence between thought and its objects is probably closer and more minute than any other correspondence; but, so far as we can judge, there is no likeness between them. What resemblance can there be be- tween hardness and the idea of hardness, sharpness and the idea of sharpness, weight and the idea of weight, solidity and the idea of solidity ? What similarity is there between the Koman people, with their history of war and empire, and our knowledge of that people ? Mind is so different from matter that we can- not suppose our conceptions of material things to be like the things themselves; and, as for psychical objects, we know that our ideas of 'actions, desires, emotions, virtues, vices, weaknesses and abilities, have no likeness to these things. The only thought in which we can discover any similarity to its object is ilie thought of a thought^ for in such a conception the original thought is repeated and incorporated. This likeness, however, is acci- dental. Moreover, it is insufficient to say that the relation between thought and its objects is one of correspondence. To say that food is useful to man does not express its peculiar mode of usefulness. So in this case the term correspondence does not express the full essence of the matter ; there is also a simple and indefinable peculiarity. At the same time the Mature of the relation m question is well-known and easily understood. When a merchant says he is thinking of some enterprise, we know what he means; Ave understand the nature of the relation between the enterprise and his thought. We see, too, how this relation arises out of, and belongs to, the very nature of thought, and how it contributes to make thought a moving and impelling power. The terms objec- ^^ S^^® ^hc name objectwity to that characteristic uvity and objcciu- of thought which wc regard as the most essential ^* and distinguishing, because we can find no other name more appropriate. It may, however, be said that the term is more properly applicable to that which is the object of thought than to thought itself To this we reply that thought itself as related to its object is in a certain sense connected with it, and therefore is sometimes styled objective. For example, speaking of some idea of the imagination, we may say that, although of subjective origin, it has in it, nevertheless, an objective reference. If authority be needed to justify our use of language, that of Sir AVm. Hamilton may suffice. In his "Logic" (Lect. XXVII.), distinguishing two inward experiences, knowledge and belief, he says, "The one is perspicuous and objective; the other is obscure and subjective;" and in Lect. XXVIII. he teaches that error often arises "from the commutation of what is subjective with what is objective in thought." In these statements the term objective corresponds exactly with our objectivity. Could another and better term be found, we would gladly use it. Belr § 32. THE OBJECTIVITY OF THOUGHT, 77 ativity has been thought of, but is too general to serve our pur- pose, and has already been employed by Hamilton and others in a special application. It would be advantageous, however, if we could distinguish between the character of thought as re- lated to its object, and the character of any object, or part or quality of an object, as related to our thought of it. When it should be desirable to indicate the latter character unequivocally, we would suggest the use of the word ohjeduality. We might then say that thought as such has objectivity, but not objectu- ality ; and that existences, as the objects of thought, have object- uality, but not objectivity. In saying that thought always has objectivity as a S^TstSld^^^" P^^'t ^f its essence, we do not mean to affirm, liter- ally, that thought always has objects. We often have thoughts without any true or real objects whatever ; and we sometimes have conceptions to which no reality ever has corresponded, or ever shall correspond. We mean only that the nature or form of thought has that peculiar correspondence al- ready mentioned with the nature or form of things ; and that, so far as we have thought, it corresponds in its forms with forms of exist- ence. This statement would hold though the universe were anni- hilated or had never been created. The conception of a universe yet to be, would correspond with the nature of that universe. An infinite mind might conceive of ten thousand systems, each ex- tremely different from the existing cosmos, and having marked pe- culiarities of its own, yet in every case, the conception would cor- respond in its formation with the formation of a system of things. Any psychical state which should have in it no reference to any form or mode of existence could not be a thought, but would be som^thing totally different. Objectivity belongs to the very essence of thought. § 32. The foregoing doctrine is so easily and imme- ^^Ind^^m'^Se diatcly inferred from an examination of our think- ofau^oSfdeS^"^ ^^S^ ^^^^ formal proof of it seems scarcely needed. Let any one make the trial ; he will find that he can- not think at all if he do not either think of something or as if of something. Yet this truth may be further illustrated, and may be maintained against objections, by one or two confirmatory state- ments. The objectivity of thought is involved in the fact that the elementary origin of all our ideas is to be found in our percep- tions of actual existence. Study shows that the constituent ele- ments of our most fanciful and our most abstract, no less than those of our more common and matter-of-fact conceptions, are all derived from our cognitions of the real and actual. Imagina- tion is a constructive faculty, and can work only with materials furnished by the powers of immediate knowledge. The most extravagant combinations of poetry and romance are formed from thoughts acquired in actual experience. In like manner our abstract notions and our general fundamental principles are all obtained from cognitive thought by certain mental operations. 78 THE HUMAN MIND. § 33. Sometimes conceptions are thus formed to which no real objects agree — whose correlatives, in one sense at least, would be more perfect than any real objects : but this is done by certain intel- lectual diminutions and additions whereby we lessen the degree of some attributes and add to the degree of others — not by the creation of new elements of thought. So also, by the well-known process of generalization, the mind forms its fundamental ideas and judgments from immediate and concrete cognitions. Such thoughts as space, power, time, change, substance, and our judg- ments setting forth the necessary relations of these things, are first entertained by the intellect, not as general notions or truths, but as elements in the perception of particular facts and objects. Modern philosophy has done a great service to John Locke. mankind in establishing the doctrine that general ideas and truths are, in all cases, derived from the actual and the particular. This was one immediate result of the investigations of a famous man, a junior contemporary of Des- cartes, and an equally independent thinker. John Locke, about the year 1660, abandoning the scholastic philosophy in which he had been educated at Oxford, sought for a more satisfactory theory of thought and knowledge. With strong native good sense he accepted as ultimate the reliability of our immediate perceptions and found the source of all knowledge in what he called " sensation and reflection," that is, in our external and our internal cognitions. In so doing, he struck the true line in which all satisfactory progress in modern metaphysics has been made. As to the special point under discussion Locke expresses himself as follows: "The dominion of man in this little world of his own understanding is much the same as in the great world of visible things; wherein his power, however managed by art and skill, reaches no further than to compound and divide the materials that are made to his hand, but can do nothing towards making the least particle of matter, or destroying one atom already in being. The same inability will any one find in himself to fash- ion in his understanding any simple idea not received by the powers which God has given him." § 33. Again, that forms of thought are correspon- ana^^sia ^of^ the dent with forms of existence is evidenced by the the^ii^agiSation?^ ^^^^ ^^^^*' ^^^ ^"^^1 every idea, but also every con- struction of ideas, so far as really and distinctly made, is of that which is possible to be. So far as elementary conceptions are concerned, this would follow from the fact just considered, that such conceptions are derived from cognitions of the actual. The actual is always possible. On the same ground it is clear that any combination of ideas must be made up of constituents corresponding to various simple modes of existence; and that all our ideas, therefore, at least so far as respects their materials, have objectivity. The question, however, remains, whether our complex conceptions as wlioles are always of things possible; and this inquiry is important. For, if only the possi- § 33. THE OBJECTIVITY OF THOUGHT. 79 ble is conceivable, then possible constructions of thought are limited to possible constructions of existence; and this would give an additional significance to the doctrine of objectivity. Nor is the proof of this point so difficult as might be supposed. In our cognitions of fact we perceive in actual operation the laws of the necessary and the possible; and, in this way, we become able to judge in any case whether things corresponding to our conceptions would conform to those laws or not. We hold that intellectual constructions, so far as they may be actually and dis- tinctly made, always represent possibilities. Complex concep- tions may, indeed, be formed whose parts may be more or less contradictory, and which could not therefore have any reality cor- responding to them. But we believe that in such cases the con- tradiction is left out- of the conception ; and the construction of thought, so far as it really takes place, is of the possible. By reason of certain laws of nature, a man could not live with mer- maids under water in the caves of the sea; but, should we leave those obstructive laws out of consideration, the conception pre- sents a certain kind or degree of possibility. On this the imagi- nation builds. It is the duty of a poet, first to avoid absurdities, but, if this cannot be, then to conceal them with all the art at his command. He can combine only ideas of things possible. That pure impossibilities are inconceivable may be shown by ex- periment. Try to conceive — that is, to think fully and distinctly — of two neighboring mountains without any valley between them ; of the co-existence in duration of the first and the last mo- ments of an hour, or days of a year, or years of a century; or of an equilateral quadrilateral, one of whose angles only is a right angle, the rest being either acute or obtuse. Endeavor to sup- pose that three dollars might be equal to five, or that they might be less or more than three; that a man might literally be another man, or might not be himself; that a traveler might go from one city to another, or an angel from one star to another, without passing through the intermediate space; that a statement can, at the same time and in the same particulars, be both true and false; or that a substance can be both existent and non-existent at once. Such trials as these will convince one that the concep- tion of the impossible is itself an impossibility, and that conse- quently conceptions of the possible are the only possible concep- tions. In other words, and more explicitly, we can think of things only so far as the existence of them would harmonize with the necessary laws of being. Dr. Reid, in the third chapter of his fourth essay, frover?ed^°'''°°' argues agaiust the doctrine that we can conceive only of the possible. His chief reliance is the fact that we can understand the statement of an impossibility when made in the form of a proposition. He would admit that we could not conceive distinctly of a triangle, two of whose sides taken together would be exactly equal to the third side. But he says, " I understand as distinctly the meaning of this prg- 80 THE HUMAN MIND. § 33. position, * Any two sides of a triangle are together equal to the third,' as of this, 'Any two sides of a triangle are together greater than the third.' " It must be allowed that many statements of things impossible are intelligible, and also that there is no radical dilference between understanding a proposition and conceiving it, or constructing its thoughts into one notion. Nevertheless we think that there are two different degrees or modes of understanding a statement: the one partial and super- ficial, the other thorough and complete. According to the former, we conceive that a thing is or may be so; according to the latter, not merely that it is so, but also how it is so. And we believe that propositions or conceptions involving im- possibilities are constructed by the mind only partially, and only so far as they may contain elements of possibility. We can say, " A man dwelt twenty years among the mermaids," or we can think of "A man dwelling twenty years among the mermaids," notwithstanding all the absurdity connected with the supposed existence of such creatures and the living of a man in their submarine abodes. But, in doing so, all that is impossible or incredible in the case is treated with neglect. In the same way, when constructing the proposition, " Any two sides of a triangle are together equal to the third," we do not think closely or fully of the sides and their relations. Regard- ing the two sides simply as two lines we find nothing absurd in the idea that, as two lines, they are equal to a third line ; and although we recognize all the lines as sides of a triangle, we for the time leave out of view the necessity as to their comparative length which results from the shape of the figure. That things impossible can be conceived of only as now de- scribed, is evident also from the fact that the difficulty of un- derstanding a proposition increases in proportion to its flagrant absurdity, and that a statement which has in it no element of possibility is utterly unintelligible and void of sense. The mind wholly refuses to construct the conception of three and two being six, even though two numbers often by addition make a third. In like manner the assertion that "the three sides of a triangle are equal to a pound of butter, a loaf of bread and a beefsteak," cannot be understood at all. Why? Because it has in it no element of possibility. It would be a dangerous rule to say that whatever can be imagined distinctly is possible, as some philosophers have taught ; but undoubtedly nothing can be conceived of which has not in it some element of possibility, whether it have also elements of impossibility or not : and it can be thought of only so far as it has elements of possibility, the impossibilities being left out of view. Since, therefore, all our ideas concern either the actual, in the percep- tion of which they originate, or the possible, or the impossible only so far as it may contain elements of possibility, it is clear that all thought has that peculiar correspondence with the forms of existence which we have called objectivity. § 34 THE ULTIMATE IN THOUGHT 81 CHAPTER XIII. THE ULTIMATE IN THOUGHT. § 34. Viewing thought in general as objective and without reference to any difference in faculties or in objects, the ques- tion arises, " Is it exercised in one mode only, or in several?" In other words, "What are the ultimate modes of thought?" We are of opinion that there are three such modes, that we can think of things^ fi^^sf, a^ existing^ secondly as non-existent, and thirdly, tinthout reference, either to their existence or their non- existence; and we regard this statement as a cardinal point in the philosophy of mind. ^. . , ^ The doctrine srenerally tausrht at the present day, Opinions quoted. . j.^p . r xi x" • J 11 1 Hamilton, Porter, IS dincrent irom the loregomg, and allows only Bowen,Reid. ^^^ ultimate mode of thought, namely, the think- ing of things as existent. For example. Sir Wm. Hamilton says ("Metaphysics," Lect. XXXIX.) — "No thought is possible except under the category of existence. All that we perceive or im- agine as different from us, we perceive or imagine as objectively existent. All that we are conscious of as an act or modifica- tion of self, we are conscious of only as subjectively existent. All thought, therefore, implies the thought of existence Thinking an object, I cannot but think it to exist; in other words I cannot annihilate it in thought. I may think away from it; I may turn to other things; and I can thus exclude it from my consciousness; but actually thinking it, I cannot think it as non-existent; for, as it is thought, so it is thought existent." President Porter, in the "preliminary" chapter of his "Human Intellect" (§§ 46-48), expresses similar views; and, in chapter iii., part iv., of the same great work, reiterates them. He even asserts (§ 542) that all thought, or "knowledge," as he terms it, involves the affirmation of existence. He says, " After every property or relation which we know of an object is set aside from any existing thought or thing, there remains the affirmation, it is. This cannot be thought away." Prof. Bowen of Harvard also ("Log." chap, iv.) writes, "There are but two kinds of being or existence, one of which is necessarily presupposed in thought, viz., real, and imaginary or potential. One or the other must enter into every concept, not as attributed to it, but as presupposed in forming it." Against these and other authorities, we can quote only an old paper of Keid's, recently published by Dr. McCosh in his " Scottish Philosophy," (p. 475). In order to illustrate a distinction in axiomatic prin- ciples, and without attaching any special importance to his illustrations, Reid says, "There are other first principles in which the predicate is not contained in the notion of the sub- 82 THE HUMAN MIND. § 35. ject, as where we affirm that a thing which begins to exist must have a cause. Here the beginning of existence and caus- ation are really different notions, nor does the first include the latter. Again, when I affirm that the body which I see and feel really exists, existence is not included in the notion of the body. I can have the notion of it as distinct when it is an- nihilated Existence is not included in the notion of anything." Some terms de- § ^^' ^^^^^^ proceeding further with this discus- fined, sion, it may contribute to clearness of statement Existence. should we define our use of several terms, each of which frequently occurs in metaphysical writings. And first, as to iliai existence ivhicJi tve have distinguished as attributive. Noth- ing can add to the simplicity of this idea or make it more intel- ligible than it is to every mind. But we may remark that, though called attributive, this abstract existence has not a common nature with those attributes which are said to exist in existing subjects. These attributes are entities, which existence is not; and, in pre- dicating them, we presuppose both their existence and that of their subjects. Nevertheless as existence, like an ordinary at- tribute, belongs to a subject and may be predicated of it, this fact may be properly indicated by the term attributive. There are not two kinds or modes of attributive existence, but, as we shall see more fully hereafter, only one, that is, real or actual existence. Imaginary existence is merely a figurative or sec- ondary expression which states that we have the thought of the existence of some object which does not exist. Potential exist- ence^ has nearly the same meaning, but implies also that the object, though non-existent, may or can exist. Another term to be defined is entity. The difference Entity. between abstract, or attributive, and concrete exist- ence has been already noticed. It is often desirable to express this difference by using two different names; and for this reason the term entity has been employed to signify con- crete existence; that is, not existence, but that which exists; while the term existence has been used exclusively to designate the being of any entity as predicable of it. The word entity signifies the same as the word thing in the widest application of the latter term, according to which we speak of all things or existences. This distinction between the terms entity and ex- istence is useful, and will be maintained in the remainder of our discussion. Again, the term non-existence ex- Non-existence, presses a notion of great philosophical importance. In our view this notion is as simple and underived as that of existence, and is expressed by the relative name nort- existence — signifying that which is not existence, or which is diverse from existence — because the whole importance of non- existence lies in the fact of this diversity ; while existence has importance per se. Were this not so, our method of naming these two things might be reversed. In thus speaking of ex- § 35. THE ULTIMATE IN THOUGHT. 83 istence and non-existence as if they were thvn^s, or entities, we simply yield to necessity; language affords no other mode of expression. All other objects of thought than these two have that in them which is not existence but which exists, and are, therefore, things or entities; these are sui generis. Hence we do not regard existence — much less non-existence — as an entity. Yet we cannot deny that they have a true objectuality and are therefore, in a sense, objects. For, in a case of existence, we can positively perceive and say that something is, and in a ca^e of non-existence we can perceive, just as positively, that some- thing is not, or that there is nothing. Here, in passing, we may notice the contradiction apparently involved in these last ex- pressions which seem to assert that an existence does not exist and that a non-existence does exist. This difficulty is avoided by the explicit utterances of those languages which employ a double method of negation and say " nothing is not," or " there is not nothing." In reality the absurdity is only apparent; in assertions of* non-existence in languages of the same usage with ours, the negation really covers the whole sentence and applies to both verb and subject, the negative particle being attached to either, sometimes indifferently, and sometimes according to a certain variable emphasis of thought. The expressions, "There is no bread," and "There is not any bread," differ very slightly. Existence and non-existence are related to each other somewhat as emptiness and fullness, or presence and absence, are related to each other. They are things mutually contradictory, yet have also a certain independence of each other. Form is another term of which we shall make use Form. in the present discussion. We shall signify by it anything viewed as to its constituent elements and characteristics, but without reference to its existence or non-ex- istence. The/or?7i, therefore, includes all that is included in any object, save its existence only. We cannot now inquire how far this use of a word famous in metaphysics may agree with any of the meanings in which it has heretofore been employed ; the discussion would be too extensive. But as, in ordinary speech, the structure of an object — for example, of a steam-engine — is some- times distinguished from its material, and is called its form, so it may be allowable, in philosophy, to distinguish the wliole con- stitution of an entity from its existence^ and call the former the form. Whether or not philosophic usage favor such an employ- ment of language, we greatly feel the need of it. Forms, as thus defined, may, with reference to the conception of the mind, be distinguished as either complete or partial; the complete form being the thing itself conceived of exactly and fully as it exists, and the partial being also the whole thing, but only as it may be known or thought of by us. A more explicit mode of designa- tion would be to speak of forms of complete and of partial con- ception. Thus, according to our present use of terms, the partial form no less than the complete includes all in anything, so far 84 THE HUMAN MIND. § 36. as it may be the object of our thought, save its existence only. Complete forms are the objects only of absolute and perfect knowledge; therefore human conceptions, even when most cor- rect, are chiefly, if not entirely, of the partial. Again, we con- ceive and speak both of singular forms, or those peculiar to individuals, and of general, or those which may be "common" to a number of entities; the former of these comprise both jcom- plete and partial forms, the latter partial* only. Thus, did we know of some object simply that it was a house or a horse, we would conceive it as corresponding to a certain general form. Further distinctions than the foregoing might be made, but we have defined form, at present, only to embody the doctrine that lue can think of things tvithout thinking of their existence. Forms, of course, exist and may be conceived to exist, but the thought of the existence is no part of the thought of the form. Those who hold that the notion of existence is an element in all thought, must deny that we can conceive of forms in the sense now described; we think that the mind frequently uses just such conceptions. § 36. We are now ready for a detailed presentation of the doctrine that there are three ultimate modes of thinking, and that the human mind uses its conceptions now in combination with the thought of existence, again in combination with the thought of non-existence, and yet again without the addition of either of these thoughts. First, then, it is not disputed that the majority of Positive concep. ^^^ conceptions do contain the idea of existence as a constituent element. This happens whenever we think of any of the contents of the actual universe as such; whether substances or powers, actions or changes, spaces or times, quantities or relations. These are thought of as having past, present, or future existence. So also, in positive conceptions unaccompanied by belief the thought of attribute existence, united to some formal idea, gives to us the conception of " an existing thing," when no such thing exists. As we can have the idea of the horse Pegasus when there is nothing to correspond to it, so we can have the idea of the existence of Pegasus although he never existed, and we can combine these in one conception. In this way, without any belief, we think of the heathen gods — Mercury, for instance — as beings or entities. Thoughts thus formed are said to be conceptions of ideal beings, or of beings in idea; by which language we signify that there is no true exist- ence in the case, but only the idea of existence. This thought of existence is also united, more or less loosely, to the conception of an object, when we may be in a doubt, or have only a probable conviction, of the reality of something. For example, when one may be digging a well, the idea of water, until a spring may be struck, is not a sure conviction, but only a hope, a belief, of greater or less probability, formed out of the conception of water as existing. Once more, we have § 36. THE ULTIMATE IN THOUGHT. 85 conceptions of things as existing whenever we regard them as possible or as necessary. Thus we may think of space as a neces- sary existence, and of death as an event possible at any time. The ideas of possibility and of necessity always involve that of existence; for that only is necessary or possible which is neces- sary or possible to be. The thought of existence, therefore, enters into our conceptions of the actually existing, of the sup- posed or imagined, of the probable or doubtful, and of the nec- essary or the possible. Here, however, we must remark that not even all these conceptions involve that " affirmaticni " of ex- istence which Pres. Porter teaches to be an element of all thought. This is only to be found in our knowledge of things as actual or actually necessary. . It is true that we cannot have any con- ception without knowing of the existence of the conception, but the idea of the existence of the conception is no part of the conception itself When we perceive some object, we have a conviction both as to the existence of it and as to the existence of our idea of it. But the thought of the existence of the object is a part of our conception of the object, while the thought of the existence of the conception of the object is no part of that conception. We cannot say that all thought involves the affirmation of existence because all thought is accompanied by the knowledge of its own existence. There is no affirmation of existence in the conception of the flying horse in the Arabian Nights, though one may be sure that he entertains this conception. In the next place, we have ideas in which the thotcght Negative concep- qJ' ^^Q^.^xisteiice, iusteod of that of existence^^ is combined ivith our conceptions of the forms of entity. Let us suppose that a lambent flame is floating in the center of the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. In this case, of course, no flame exists, and there is no belief or affirmation of its existence. There is simply the conception of the flame and its existence ; and this is connected with the thought of the cathedral. Let us now substitute for the foregoing another conception ; let us suppose that tJieix is no fame floating in the dome. What is the difi'erence between these two suppositions ? Simply this : in the positive conception the thought of existence is attached to that of the flame, while, in the negative conception, it is left out and re- placed by that of non-existence. In like manner, without any polytheistic belief, we might couple the idea of existence, and then that of non-existence, with the formal conception of a ban- quet of the immortal gods on the summit of Olympus; and we would do the one or the other according to the use that we might wish to make, in thought or fancy, of that celebrated mountain. But, in general, we may say that the use of negative, is parallel with that of positive, conceptions; so that the former, like the latter, may be met with in statements both of fact, and of sup- position, of probability, of necessity (that is, of impossibility) and of possibility. 86 THE HUMAN MIND. § 36. Here, however, we should remark that the idea of Sonum.^ ®°^^" non-existence, although having a nature of its own, is seldom or never used save icith some accompanying reference to its diversity from existence; just as emptiness, Avhen mentioned, suggests fullness. When one says that his purse is cfmpty, or that there is no money in it, his words naturally ex cite a reference to another and more desirable state of affairs. But it is still true that, in thinking of non-existing objects, we do not think of them as existing or as if existing, even though we may not think of them without some reference to an exist- ence which they have not, in fact, or in supposition. The refer- ence to existence, in such cases, is no part of our negative con- ceptions, but only an accompaniment. Neither does it conflict with the views now advocated, that negative conceptions are all necessarily derived from ^positive; in other words, that our ideas of things as non-existent are all formed from our ideas of things as existent. This is involved in the doc- trine already taught that all our thoughts originate in the percep- tion of things actual. The only difference between a positive and a negative conception is that, in the latter, the idea of non- existence takes the place of the idea 'of existence in the former. Thus only we distinguish between "a flame of fire," and "no flame of fire." Even our most general negative conceptions are formed in this way. "None" comes from "no one"; "nothing" from "no thing"; "nemo" from "ne homo"; "nuUus" from "ne ullus"; '^ ovSeH^^ from " ou sh^^; and so forth. What is common to both modes of conception is the formal thought, that is, the thought of the forms of things. For this thought, once secured, is retained and employed even when the forms themselves may have ceased to exist. It is further to be noticed that our minds, even while tcsing conceptions negatively, tend also to use them positively. Non-entities — that is cases of non-existence — of themselves never affect us. No man ever sought or avoided emptiness for its own sake. All power and life reside in entities; and non-entities, as such, interest us, not because they are non-entities, but because they are not entities. Only for this reason do they become objects of either aversion or desire. Hence the tendency of the mind, especially when dwelling directly on any conception, to construe it positively. This may be accepted as an ultimate law of spir- itual' life ; and it explains, not only why we so frequently think of things that are not as though they were, but why, even while thinking of non-existences as such, we tend also to think of them as things at least that may be. Such thought, however, IS distinguishable from the negative conceptions to which it is related. Finally, we seem in certain cases to think simply of Fomiai concep. tU forms of ohjects, that is, we think of objects, without thmking of them either as existent or as non-existent. This mode of thought, it is to be acknowledged, is, for several reasons, difficult of deliberate realization. The en- § 36. THE ULTIMATE IN THOUGHT. 87 deavor to think two thoughts — the thought of the object (or form) and that of its existence — apart, involves the necessity of thinking them both at once, so long as this endeavor may be in- tentionally continued. Such an attempt, however, may settle the question whether we can clearly distinguish the two thoughts ; and, if this be answered affirmatively, it is likely that we can think them separately. Then that strong inclination, already mentioned, towards the exercise of positive thought, militates against formal, even more than against negative conceptions, and causes the mind to strengthen the former with the idea of existence. The difficulty, thus produced, of deliberately think- ing a formal conception is similar to that experienced when we set ourselves to think of the general or the indefinite; the thought of existence unites itself to our other ideas, unless the necessity of the case enforces an analysis for the time. Hence our formal conceptions may be likened to those material ele- ments which are seldom to be found save in combination with others, and which can be brought to view in separate exist- ence only by special care. Language, also, increases our per- plexity, because we have to use the same words and expressions for forms and for their corresponding beings. Nevertheless, if we should recall and examine certain modifi- cations of thought in which conceptions merely formal are used, we may renew these conceptions, and may, perhaps, be able to distinguish them from those of entities and of non-entities, some- what in the same way that we distinguish the idea of man, viewed simply, from those of man as a citizen and as an alien, that is, as being, and as not being, a member of some state. These modi- fications especially occur in those comparisons of real or supposed entities, in which the nature (not the fact) of some difierence, is set forth ; in assertions which answer the question whether an object exists or not; in those statements which contrast the ex- istence of an entity with its constitution or characteristics ; and, in general, when we are exclusively interested to know, not that anythine; is, or is not, but simply what, or Avhat Formal concep- , ••^j ,. ?i . ' ., ,' t-i ^ ^ ^ \ ii itions are found in kmd 01 tmug, it may bc. tor example, should we 'ordiference^Sd Compare two apples, both of which equally exist in non-ei^ten^^ °' ^ their parts and qualities, and say that they dif- fer, the one being sweet and the other sour, v/e could scarcely be said to think of the existence of the sweetness or the sourness ; for the apples difi*er not at all as to the exist- ence, but only as to the form or nature, of their qualities. Again, in the majority of statements, the idea of existence, real or sup- posed, enters into our conception of the subject. When we say, "Caesar was the greatest of the Romans," and when we say, "Romeo loved Juliet," Caesar is a real, and Romeo, an imaginary, being. But lolien the previously unhioion existence of an object is asserted^ the logical subject seems to include the conception of the form only. Respecting a known entity we may interpret the expression, "This pen exists," as an analytical judgment; but 88 THE HUMAN MIND. § 36. when the existence is a matter of new information, and we say, "Eyeless fishes exist in the Mammoth Cave," the statement seems to be ampliative, adding to the subject an existence not previously recognized as belonging to it. A similar explanation would hold respecting the negative assertion that eyeless fishes do not exist in the Mammoth Cave. It may be said, however, that, in the formation of such state- ments, the subject is conceived of as existing, and that the asser- tion then states whether the existence is real or not. According to this, the thought, explicitly expressed, is, " Eyeless fishes, con- ceived of as existing, do (or do not) really exist." Such forms of thought probably occur and are similar in nature to the asser- tion respecting a proposition, tliat it is true, or not true. But they have in them a reflex turn which our more simple and common statements have not. We commonly think, believe and say, " The man walks," and 'not, " The man, conceived of as walking, does walk." This secondary construction of ideas would arise naturally only after some discussion during which the elements of thought had entered into combination. In the next place, we can distinguish the nature of an fions'^o^undTthe entity— tlv^t, for example, of a man or of man in distinction of na- general— /row the existence of the entity; and, in this — Ind^in^Sribu! casc, the Conception of the nature seems to be notions. ^^•'^^*^^^ purely formal. We might contrast the rationality of the human spirit with its immortality; and, al- though the rationality exists, this existence would not be any proper part of the object of our thought. In a similar way when we are taught that God is, and is the rewarder of those that seek Him, we are led to distinguish His being from His character, and to think of the nature, rather than of the existence, of the latter. Lastly, in propositions or words purely attributive or adjective, forms are conceived of as such. In propositions of identity, as when we say, " The man is a coward," the thought of existence may be discoverable in both subject and predicate; but when we say, " The man is cowardly," the predicate appears to indicate merely form or quality. This mode of conception is still more easily discerned when a word is used adjectively, as in the expression, " The cowardly man ; " for in such expres- sions the thought of existence attaches itself primarily to the substantive, being needed only there. The doctrine of three ultimate modes of thought, J^docwSf °^ which we have now presented, strikingly illustrates that wonderful power of analysis exercised by the human mind, by means of which things absolutely inseparable in fact are frequently separated in thought. It also prepares for an understanding of the true nature of predication, a subject on which some misconception exists. As we shall see hereafter, predication always consists in the setting forth of something as existing or as not existing; that is, it is a uniting of the thought of existence or that of nen-existence to some formal conception. More- § 36. THE ULTIMATE IN THOUGHT. 89 over, in learning that not even the idea, much less the affirma- tion, of existence, is a necessary constituent of our conceptions, we obtain an excellent counteractive to the natural tendency of our minds towards those idealistic errors which have played a part so extensive and so pernicious in the speculations of man- kind. At present, however, we shall use the doctrine of the ultimate modes of thought simply to supplement the statement already given of the doctrine of the objectivity of thought. This statement was that all thought corresponds in its forms with the forms of existence; and its exact significance can now be fully appreciated. The word existence^ of course, here stands for existence in the concrete sense, that is, for entity, as we use this latter term. By the expression, ybrr/is of existence^ in which form is distinguished from entity as such, it is taught that we often think of things without thinking of their existence. Thus the intelligible assertion, made in common language, that thought corresponds, not always with things, but always with the form, or the constitution, or the nature, of things, justifies our philoso- phic definition and use of the word form, and the doctrine underlying that definition. Hence, too, when it is said that one cannot think save as he thinks of something, or as if of some- thing, it is not meant that we cannot think save of, or as if of, something as existent; but merely that we can think only so far as we think of, or as if of, the/o7'm of something. Moreover, in saying that we always think of, or as if of, the form of some- thing, we mean that we always think either of an existent form or as we would think if we were thinking of an existing form. In the looseness of common language we might say, simply, that we cannot think save as we think of the forms of things; a double thought, however, would then be expressed by the word form; since this term would then cover both real and "imagi- nary" forms. The peculiar though frequent use of language involved in this last expression will be considered in a subse- quent discussion on the subject of "Ideal Existences." The doc- trine of the objectivity of thought, therefore, if stated in the strictest and most literal way, might be given as follows: we always, save when thinking merely of existence or non-existence in the abstract, think either, first, of, or as if of, the forms of entity 'per se (that is of them when they exist, and as if of them when they do not exist); or, secondly, of, or as if of, the forms of entity as existent (that is, of them when they exist and as if of them when they do not exist) ; or, finally, of, or as if of, the forms of entity in connection with the idea or the perception, as the case may be, of non-existence, (that is, of them when the forms exist but are supposed not to exist, and as if of them when they really do not exist). This statement, it will be seen, allows for the fact which should never be disregarded, that we really perceive and think of non-existence as well as existence. Its details, however, savor of metaphysical refinement, and they are not necessary except for the purpose of meeting certain meta- 90 THE HUMAN MIND. § 37. physical difficulties. A more simple expression of the truth may be preferred. Perhaps it would be. enough to say that all thought corresponds, or has a possibility of correspondence, with the forms of entity and their existence or non-existgnce. Or even, should we adhere to the simple original statement that all thought corresponds with existence and its forms, this declara- tion might be justified as sufficiently correct to express the main doctrine. We call our world the eartli^ though a considerable portion of it is not earth, but water; for the water, though really a part of the planet, is of no interest and importance save as being related to the islands and continents. We describe our country — our land — as including lakes, harbors, and rivers: the latter are covered by a name not belonging to them, because they have all their importance from the solid ground surround- ing them. Also, in speaking of the human body, we generally comprehend under that term certain cavities of the mouth, nos- trils, ears, brain, chest, and so forth, as if these were literally parts of the body. The Greeks called the abdomen "%oz;iz'a," or the hollow place. Such an employment of language is at once useful and unavoidable. Just in this way, in certain general statements, we may include cases of non-existence under the head of cases of existence, because the latter occupy the greater part of our thought, and supply all our forms of conception ; and because the former, when thought of, derive all their interest from their relation to existence or to the possibility of existence. (With this Chap, compare Chap. XXI. § 69.) CHAPTER XIV. IDEAL EXISTENCES. § 37. The doctrine of the objectivity of thought has sometimes been stated too strongly. It has been said that thought is the reflex or the correlative of being, and that every thought there- fore has a being, or entity, as its object. In opposition to such teaching we hold that we have many thoughts which have no objects whatever to correspond to them. There never were races of beings such as the dwarfish Lilliputians and the gigantic in- habitants of Brobdingnag. The wonderful stories of the " Ara- bian Nights " are mere conceptions to which no actualities ever corresponded. Novels, poems, dramas, are combinations which either refer but remotely to historical facts, or have no such ref- erence at all. Even in daily life, the golden prospects of youth- ful fancy and the more sedate anticipations of mature days, are always of that which never has been, and very frequently of that which never comes to pass. It is clear that thought does not need the existence of an object apart from itself for its own ex- § 37. IDEAL EXISTENCES. 91 istence, and that it often actually takes place without the pre- sentation of any object whatever. The doctrine of objectivity implies only that thought in all cases might correspond with en- tity, not that it always does. At the same time it is to be noticed that human ^g^^^^^*y ^ P^- language seems to imply that often, when there ^ are no objects of thought, thought provides objects ot" its own. We speak of ideal existences, imaginary beings, ficti- tious scenes, supposed objects; and, in connection with the ideas thus expressed, w^e employ the same names and make the same statements, that we would regarding true and literal existences. We say that Falstaff w^as an old cc^urtier, fat, witty and unprin- cipled; that Othello, the Moor, was a dangerous, passionate man; that Hamlet had a very discreet madness; that Lear was a sad wreck of royalty. We express ourselves in this way while know- ing that no Falstaff, Othello, Hamlet or Lear, such as we think of, ever existed. Such language, at first, seems capable of easy explanation; it is quite common, and the thought conveyed by it is easily understood. Yet philosophers, when asked to define exactly an imaginary object, or an ideal entity — that is, to state, in literal language, what we mean in speaking of Hamlet, the Prince, or Lear, the King — have found themselves at a loss. It is certain that these objects and beings have no existence apart from the ideas of the mind, and also that, if they exist in connec- tion with our ideas, they must be those ideas themselves. We cannot recognize any other entities, that is, true and literal en- tities, in the case, save our own thoughts or thinkings. The question, then, arises, " Are these ideal existences to be identified with our ideas of them ? " This solution has authority in its favor ; but there are difficulties in the way of accepting it. We believe that nothing exists, in the case of an imaginary entity, save the mental state or operation; yet we find it impossible to regard the ideal object and the mental state as the same. When one tries to believe — not that the thought of Hamlet, but — that Hamlet himself is or was an idea, the mind refuses to act. We say, " Hamlet had a discreet madness." Did an idea have the discreet madness? Could an idea be fat and unprincipled? Could it be a revengeful Moor, or a crazed old king? It may be said that the ideal beings had such characteristics only in imagination. But this does not help the matter. Ideas cannot have such characteristics even in imagination. The difficulty here is deep-seated. It lies in the very nature of our modes of thought. When we think of Hamlet as an ideal being, we do, indeed, have the idea of his existence as a man and a prince. This idea, unaccompanied by any belief, is a part of our conception of Hamlet. But, in thus thinking of Hamlet, lue have no thought of the conception of Hamlet and of its existence. This thought may accompany or follow the other, but is distinct from it. Moreover, the thought of the conception is always attended with belief; for the conception really exists; but the conception 92 THE HUMAN MIND, § 37. itself, of Hamlet, is not attended with belief Those, therefore, who say that Hamlet, as an ideal existence, is the idea of Hamlet, or the idea " Hamlet," attempt to unite two incongruous concep- tions. They try to identify that in connection with which we have the thought of existence (the belief being excluded) with that in connection with which we have the belief of its existence Such an endeavor must terminate in failure. We can, indeed, say that Hamlet is a conception of Shake- speare ; but, in such a sentence, Hamlet does not signify the ideal existence, the prince of Denmark. The word is used in a second- ary sense ; as, when we say, " Theft is a bad idea," we mean that the idea of theft — not theft itself — is a bad idea. In short, we hold that any philosophical definition of an ideal existence is an impossibility. When we ask what an ideal object is, we mean, " With what can it be literally identified ? " This takes for granted that an ideal object can be, and is, an existing object. Hence the absurdity of the question, and the impossibility of an answer. , Speaking soberly and philosophi- cally, there are no such things as ideal objects and existences; they cannot be identified with anything; and it is vain to in- quire what they are. At the same time, when we speak and think of ideal things and beings — of the heroes and events of poetry and romance — our expressions and our ideas are actualities; and philosophy may properly be called to explain this peculiar use of thoughts and words, and the perplexity which we experience in its criti- cal consideration. Imagination is the power — the marvelous power — of the mind to think thoughts as if there were entities to correspond to them, even when there are no such entities. Though imagi- native, or suppositive, thought differs from knowledge, or cogni- tive thought, as to pliability and permanency and motive force, and, in the full normal working of the soul, is especially distin- guished by its want of any concomitant belief, yet, after all, as thought, it is essentially of the same character with other thought. Suppositive is accompanied with cognitive thought when we are conscious of imagining; but this consciousness is not an element of the act of imagining. In suppositive thought we think an idea — say Hamlet — but we do not think of it at all. Imagina- tion makes no subjective reference, but simply entertains thought so far as it might possibly correspond with objects. It endeavors to construct conceptions as nearly like those of cognition as pos- sible, and succeeds admirably. These acts of the imagination affect us more or less in a way similar to that in which cogni- tions or remembrances affect us. The life-like experiences of Kobinson Crusoe, and even the incredible adventures of Baron Munchausen, move us in the same way, though not to the same degree, as if we knew them to be realities. Some explain this power of the imagination as the result of a momentary belief in the existence of objects corresponding to our thoughts — a belief § 37. IDEAL EXISTENCES. 93 which Prof. Stewart maintains always to occur and to be cor- rected only by our more sober judgment. ("Phil." chap, iii.) Probably the imagination itself, without the belief, has power to affect us. But however it is to be accounted for, the fact that we are affected, is beyond dispute. Now when, without any pres- entation of fact to our minds, we think the same thoughts and are moved in the same way as when we perceive or remember existing things, and then seek to express and communicate our tlioughts, we naturally, spontaneously, use precisely the same language as that in which we utter cognitive ideas. But the thought and the language thus employed are not the statement of facts and do not concern existences ; they are simply the exer- cise and the expression of the imagination. We think and speak in the same way as if we were thinking and speaking of things, and therefore seem to be thinking and speaking of things. Whole stories are formed and told after this manner. Yet, in sober truth, we are not thinking or speaking of things at all. Strictly and in fact, we are not thinking of anything; for no object exists: we are only thinking. If the foregoing account be correct, it is plain that our diffi- culties concerning hypothetical existences, ideal things, or imag- inary beings, arise chieHy from our taking thought and language according to its primary use, when it should have been taken according to a secondary use; in other words, from assuming, without reason, that things exist corresponding to imaginative thought and speech. We employ ideas and terms properly per- taining to real entities — as when we speak of the little men and women in the land of the fairies — while there are no entities of a kind corresponding to our thought. We have the names and the conceptions, Macbeth, Hamlet, Lear, while there are no such beings. Hence the expression that we think of ideal objects is not literally true. It is a metaphor founded on the similarity of suppositive to cognitive thought. The fact, literally stated, is that we think in the same tvay as if we were thinking of ob- jects. To say, " I think of Hamlet,' means only, " I think as I would think if there were a Hamlet." This leads to the remark that imaginative thought and its expression are rendered doubly perplexing and delusive from the fact that we unite them intimately with cognitive thought and its expression. For example, should one say that he has been thinking of Hamlet and of Shakespeare, there would be a double meaning, not very easy to detect, in the expression "thinking of." A similar conjunction of suppositive and of cognitive thought takes place when we say that such and such objects — the fairies, for instance, — exist in imagination, but not in fact. The word exist here has a double sense, or rather a double meaning. It is taken suppositively in the affirmative, and cognitively in the negative, part of the sentence. This difference in use is in- dicated by the phrases in imagination and in fact The full import of the sentence is that the statement, " the fairies exist," 94 THE HUMAN MIND. § 38. is one of suppositive thought, and not of fact, or of cognitive thought. But this meaning is given by the use of suppositive tliought itself in the affirmative clause, accompanied by an indica- tion of its true character, and of cognitive thought in the negative clause, similarly accompanied. The expression in fact, which shows the cognitive or assertive use of thought, is an emphatic repetition of the idea of existence, whereby we signify that it is used literally. To say that a thing does not exist in fact, is simply to say that, speaking literally and truly, it does not exist. Again, it seems plain language to say, " Hamlet is an ideal existence," or "Hamlet is one of Shakespeare's heroes." Yet these statements are compounded partly of suppositive and partly of actualistic thought. We say, " Hamlet is an existence," "Hamlet is a hero," suppositively ; and then, in the first we add actualistically the thought "ideal," to indicate, not the nature of any object, but the suppositive character of our thinking, and, in the second, we use Shakespeare's name in the same way, to show both the suppositive character and the authorship of our conception of Hamlet. Such is the only rational account of these and similar statements ; to interpret them throughout as the language of fact, or of belief, involves absurdities. Eecapituiation. § ^^' ^^ have now discusscd the question of ideal Pres. Porter objccts or existeuces. Kespecting this subject, quoted. Prcs. Portcr says, "Scarcely any single topic has been more vexed in ancient or mediaeval philosophy," adding that the controversy concerning it either includes or trenches upon almost every possible question in metaphysics. ("The Hu- man Intellect," § 224) Many notable and fundamental errors have originated in connection with this topic, and can be fully under- stood and met only through a satisfactory understanding of it. The question, completely stated, may be presented as a dilemma. '■^Do ideal objects exist? If they do, what are they ? If they do not, why do ive call them existences and speah of them as such ? " We assert that they do not exist, and that we call them existences, and speak of them as such, while knowing that they do not exist; or, expressing ourselves more accurately, we use the same thought and the same language that we employ respecting existing things, ivhih we Jcnow that there are no existing things to correspond with our thought and language. We, therefore, free ourselves from the question, "What are they?" But when asked, "How do we come to think and speak as if there were entities ? " we answer that the human soul has a native power and tendency to exercise itself in such thought and language. This imaginative, or better, imaginational, use of thought seems sometimes wholly to occupy the attention of the mind, but sometimes it is sensibly accompanied, and sometimes it is mingled and united, with actualistic thought. It can always, however, be distinguished from the latter. Three principal causes have co-operated to mislead critical inquiry as to the prior question, " Do ideal objects exist ? " and § 38. IDEAL EXISTENCES. 95 thus error and confusion have resulted, through an affirmative answer. First, the difference between imaginative and cognitive thought, and especially our 'power to conceive of existence and of existing things or entities, loithout any attendant belief in their exist- ence, have not been fully recognized. Secondly, our imagina- tions often, if not always, are accompanied tvith a delusive belief] or rather tendency to belief in the existence of such objects as would correspond to them. This tendency works unobstructed in dream- ing. And, thirdly, suppositive ideas and expressions are fre- quently so conjoined with those of hioicledge or fact that, finding our- selves thinkiiuj and speaking continuously, ive lose sight of the diversity in our thought. But the truth always is that the language of the imagination, whatever it may seem to say or to imply, does not express knowledge or assertion, but suppositive thought only. Such is to us a satisfactory account of the whole matter. This explanation may be further illustrated and tested, should we compare it with all others 'that are possible; and such a comparison may properly conclude this discussion. If ideal objects exist, then they must do so in some one of three con- ceivable ways. First, they may be some kind of images, or appearances, which are not thoughts but the immediate objects of thought, that is, ideas or sptedes such as loere described in ancient philosophy; or, secondly, they may be said to be, if not exist- ences or entities in the full sense of the term, yet existing pos- sibilities; or, finally, they may be identified, as they are very often, with the more fixed conceptions of imaginative thought itself No hypothesis other than one of these seems conceivable. As to the first, we remark that the doctrine of sensible and intelligible species or ideas, as they were called, was developed, not by Aristotle, but by his followers. It would probably have been rejected by the master himself, as it accords only with his more unsettled utterances. It was founded on two assumptions. First, it was held that the objects of sense, and particularly of sight and hearing, being at a distance from tcs, must affect our minds by throwing off filmy shapes or forms, lohich enter by the avenues of sense and are then immediately perceived and thought of Sec- ondly, it was taught that we aie able to think correctly of objects because of a resemblance existing between these images, ideas, or species, and the objects themselves. In this way the fact was accounted for that a distant object, when we come to handle it, is found to be such as we had seen it to be. In like manner, memory and imagination were explained as resulting from a retention of species in the mind. This ancient doctrine was exploded by Descartes. He, however, held the view that there can be no direct communication of influence between matter and spirit, and that, in thinking, we consider, not objects, im- mediately, but ideas, which are neither obtained from, nor similar to, objects, but which correspond to them. He did not teach that ideas are not themselves objects, but simply the states of the mind itself in thinking. Locke followed, deriving 96 THE HUMAN MIND. § 38. ideas partly from sensation, and partly from reflection, but still carelessly speaking of them as if they were the immediate objects of thought. Berkeley and Hume, with unanswerable argument, showed that, if ideas are the immediate objects of perception, then we have no evidence of the existence of anything else than the ideas. The powerful pantheistic thinkers of Germany un- consciously completed the proof of the falsity of idealism, by sys- tems at once strictly logical and stupendously absurd. Finall3\ the sturdy common sense of Keid and the keener analysis of more methodical philosophers, have established for ever the true theory of the cognition of external objects. The doctrine of ideas or species, as the media of perception and the objects of imagination and memory, belongs now to the history of speculative thought. As to the second hypothesis, we remark that we need not now discuss the nature of possibility — whether the true idea of it be. essentially a positive or a negative conception, and how far our cognition of possibility may involve, and be qualified by, suppositive thinking. We also allow that there is, at least in a certain sense or to a certain extent, the possibility of an ex- istence corresponding to every exercise of imaginative thought. But at the same time we maintain that, in imaginative though^ ive do not think of this possibility at alt As we can perceive real objects and their existence without thinking of their possibility, so we can conceive imaginary objects without thinking of their possibility. We do not think of the possibility of sUch beings as Hamlet and Lear — that is, when we form conceptions of them — but we think the same thoughts (though without belief) as if Hamlet and Lear had really existed. We may, indeed, think of the possibility of such beings, but in doing so we would ex- ercise cognitive, or rather assertive, thought. In imaginative thought, we think of the beings themselves, that is, we form con- ceptions Avhich would correspond to such beings if they existed ; and, plainly, such thinking is not concerning any possibility which does exist, but about the objects themselves, ichich do not exist at all, that is, as if about such objects. Here it may be said, by way of stating the matter more correctly, that we think not of a possibility or possibilities of existence, but of a possible existence or possible existences. Strictly speaking, however, there is no such thing as a possible existence, no such thing as an entity, not real, but merely possible. This combination of thought and language is of a nature similar to those already discussed — "ideal existence," "supposed entities," "imaginary beings." The word possible conveys assertive, the word existence suppositive, thought. In this phrase we first employ a conception to which some object might correspond, and then add the as- sertion of the possibility of such an object. But, in this very conjunction of ideas, we easily distinguish the conception of the object from the thought of its possibility. The latter is an added thought. § 39. IDEAL EXISTENCES. 97 The o inions of § ^^' '^^® "^^^ remaining hypothesis is that which Eeid, Hamuton, identifies ideal objects with the thoughts or ideas and Porter. ^£ ^j^^ mind in thinking of them. This view is maintained by Sir Wm. Hamilton, President Porter, and other eminent men ; and, although it has now been discussed at length, it may be well, in a few words, to quote their reasonings in sup- port of it. To appreciate Hamilton's argument, we must first understand the views of Reid. The latter, in his first " Essay," referring to ideal objects, says, "We can give names to such creatures of the imagination, conceive them distinctly, and rea- son consequently concerning them, though they never had an ex- istence. They were conceived by their creators and they may be conceived by others; but they never existed.'' In the same essay he speaks of the geometrical conception of a circle. " What," he says, " is the idea of a circle ? I answer, it is the conception of a circle. What is the immediate object of this conception ? The immediate and only object of it is a cirde. But where is this circle ? It is noivliere.'' Again he. says, " When we conceive anything, there is a real act or operation of the mind; of this we are conscious and can have no doubt of its existence. But every such act must have an object; for he that conceives must conceive something. Suppose he conceives a centaur; he may have a distinct conception of this object, though no centaur ever existed.'' These statements show a keen sense, rather than a clear per- ception, of the truth : for they suggest the inquiry, " If every act of conception must have an object, hoiv is it that ive can conceive luhen there is no object?" Reid simply ignored this difficulty. There- fore Hamilton, in his "Supplementary Dissertations," (Note B, § 2) reasoned conclusively on the erroneous premise which the great master had carelessly conceded. He argues thus, "Take an im- aginary object, and Reid's own instance, a centaur. Here he says ' The sole object of conception is an animal tvhich I believe never existed.' It ^ never existed' ; that is, never really, never in nature, never externally existed. But it is 'an object of imagination.' It is not, therefore, a mere non-existence; for if it had no kind of existence, it could not possibly be the positive object of any kind of thought. For were it an absolute nothing, it could have no qualities (non-entis nulla sunt attributa); but the object we are conscious of as a centaur has qualities — qualities which consti- tute it a determinate something and distinguish it from every other entity whatsoever. We must therefore perforce allow it some sort of imaginary, ideal, representative, or (in the older meaning of the word) objective existence in the mind. Now this existence can only be one or other of two sorts; for such object in the mind either is or is not, a mode of mind. Of these alter- natives the latter cannot be supposed; for this would be an affirmation of the crudest kind of non- egoistical representations — the very hypothesis against which Reid strenuously contends. The former alternative remains — that it is a mode of the imagining mind; that it is, in fact, the plastic act of imagination considered ^ THE HUMAN MIND. § 39. as representing to itself a certain possible form, — a centaur. But then Reid's assertion that there is always an object distinct from the operation of the mind conversant about it, the act being one thing, the object of the act another, must be surrendered. For the object and the act are here only one and the same thing in tioo several relaticMs." In order to understand the statements of Dr. Porter, it is quite requisite that we should bear in mind his terminology. Defining th<^ intellect as the power to know, he styles every ex- ercise of thought, whether of cognition or of imagination, an act of hnoiuledge. ("Human Intellect," § 46.) Such being his use of language, the following extract, from the forty-eighth section of his work, fairly illustrates the theory whicli pervades the vol- ume. "Knowledge and being are correlative to one anofher. There must be being in order that there may be knowledge We must distinguish different kinds of objects and different kinds of reality. Objects may be psychical or material. They may be formed by the -mind and exist for the mind that forms them; or they may exist in fact and in space for all minds; and yet, in each case, tliey are equally objects. Their reality may be mental and internal, or material and external, but in each case it is equally a reality It is true, one kind of existence is not as important to us as is the other; we dignify the one as real and call the other unreal We call some of these objects realities and others shadows and unreal. But, philoso- phically speaking, and so far as the act of knowledge is con- cerned, they are alike real and alike known to be We often err in making one kind of reality indicate another. We think an air-drawn dagger will pierce us to the heart. We be- lieve that the spirit which our distracted phantasy conjures into being has veritable flesh and bones. But mistakes like these, so far from proving that what we know has no existence, dem- onstrate precisely the opposite. For hoiv could 2ue mistake one ob- ject for anofher if the first object did not exist and ivere not knoion to be?'' In the foregoing extracts (if our views be correct), but especially in such sentences as that last quoted, we see how acute thinkers have erred in their interpretation of suppositive, while united with assertive, language. Clearly the dreamer, however he may express himself, does not mistake one dagger for another, an imaginary' object for an actual one. We cannot mistake an ideal for a real entity, because no ideal entity ever existed. Properl}-, strictly speaking, the mistake lies in taking suppositive for cognitive thought; in other words, in exercising be- lief, without sufficient reason, in connection with an act of the imagination. § 40. BELIEF DEFINED, 99 CHAPTER XV. BELIEF DEFINED. § 40. We name thought and belief the 'primary powers of intellect chiefly because the importance of those powers which we call secondary is that they modify the workings and results of thought and belief, while that of thought and belief lies in the very working and results of these powers themselves. The analysis and synthesis of ideas and of facts, the association of fancies and memories, the abstraction and generalization of no- tions and of truths, the formation from a transitory process of a reproducible product of conception or conviction, are all opera- tions subsidiary to the main work of the intellect. The exercise of thought and belief is itself this work. Of these two, however, we may add that thought has a priority over belief: for it is pos- sible to exercise the former without the latter, but belief takes place only in connection with thought. ^ ^., ^. , It may be asked, "Which of these forms of mental The philosophical ..n • "^ n.^ , O" T U'l U importance of be- lite IS 01 tlic greater conscquence : In pnilosophy, ^®*" thought is, perhaps, the more important; because safe and satisfactory progress in every department of scientific investigation is attained chiefly through an understanding of the nature and modes of thought. On the other hand, practical benefits proceed more abundantly from belief; all the strength, nobility, success and happiness attainable by man, depend on his realization of fact and truth. Even philosophically, also, belief is of importance. Many questions relating to the trustworthi- ness of our faculties, the origin of our knowledge, and the pro- cesses of reason, necessarily concern belief On this account we wonder that various distinguished authors make no formal place for belief in their systems, and speak of it as if it were merely a modification of thought. Some even — as Sir Wm. Hamilton, Prof. Bowen and Dr. Thomson — define Logic as the science of the laws of thought, though evidently this science is occupied, essen- tially, with the laws of rational conviction, and with thought only so far as instrumental to conviction. This want of distinct- ness in conception and statement has arisen probably from the concreteness and the ambiguity with which common language ex- presses the phenomena of mind. Since belief is exercised only along with thought, the same word often covers the combined ex- ercise of the two powers; such terms, for example, as perception, judgment, inference, always signify such a combined exercise; while other terms, such as belief and conviction, apprehension and thought, which specially belong to the one power or the other, through metonymical extensions or transitions, become posi- tively ambiguous. The ensuing discussion will illustrate these 100 THE HUMAN MIND. § 41. remarks. Yet we believe that the common intellect of men does not at all confound these powers; it simply does not emphasize the distinction between them. Thought and he- ^^ distinguishing thought and belief, as primary, ueftobecarefuuy froDi each othcr and from the secondary or subsidi- distmguished. ^^^ powers of intellect, and in pointing out the dependence of belief on thought, we somewhat determine our conception of both these powers. In other words, we partly de- fine each through an enumeration of characterizing relations; which is the only way in which any simple mental power can be defined. We now repeat that the belief, of which we speak, is something different in nature from thought, as it also is less com- plex in its manifestations than the latter power, and admits of a more noticeable variety of degrees. This difference should be noted, because, as we have said, the terms helief and believing stand often for a combination of thought and belief, and not for belief simply. We sometimes even use the noun belief, to indi- cate, not belief itself, but the form of thought which it may ac- company. For example, we speak of tlie religious beliefs of mankind, and we say that such a religious belief is entertained by such a person. This use of language exhibits the complete transition of a term from one conception to another nearly re- lated. More frequently, words indicating belief have merely an expansion of significance, so that they cover the united exer- cise of both the primary powers of the intellect. As, when one says he thinks that such is the case, he intends to say that he both thinks and believes that such is the case, so we can scarcely deny that the statement, " I believe that such is the case," may mean that one both thinks and believes as stated. In like manner, the assertion, " Lincoln cherished belief — or a belief — in the doctrine of Divine Providence," may easily mean that he cherished both a conception of the doctrine and a reliance in its truth. Similar variations of signification might be observed in other words which express credence; such as faith, confidence, trust. Never- theless we hold that thought and belief are different things, and we would maintain this to be true even if they were never distin- guished and opposed in ordinary speech, and were separated only in philosophical analysis. They are, however, often contrasted in the statements of common life. For instance, were a man ac- cused of theft without any evidence, men would allow that they had the thought of that evil action without any accompanying belief; and, if proper proof were presented, they would agree that they not only understood the charge but believed it. In this way the two things would be presented as clearly distinguishable. § 41. Belief, as thus distinguished, might be ?nef ^in^cTud^e; Called belief-pvoper. It is that belief which is every degree of somctimcs described as " the receiving, taking, conviction. . , i t .7. . » j.i a. • xif accepting or holding a thing as trice : that is, the action of the power of belief is thus styled; for in this, as in other similar cases, the power and its action go by the same name. § 41. BELIEF DEFINED. 101 In the above statement the word tiling does not signify the facU which may be the object of thought, but only the conception of the fact; for, not the fact, but only our conception of it, can be taken or accepted as true. This is said to be received and held by the mind, because, in exercising belief, we think the thought of the object with an increase of attention and interest and pur- pose. And yet, even this grasping of a conception does not ap- pear to be the essence of believing, but rather a characteristic result or accompaniment. The statement that the mind in cre- dence rests or reposes on a thing as true is analogical also, and marks the intellectual act by that cessation from doubt and in- quiry, which follows the acceptance of a proposition as true. No figurative expression, however, can indicate exactly the conception of behef, or even convey this conception, to any one who may not be already possessed of it. It is a peculiar and simple thought. Again, we remark, that belief , in the generic sense now con- templated, includes every degree of conviction from the feeblest to the strongest. The merest presumption and tile most absolute cer- tainty are alike manifestations of this power. This is to be no- ticed, because when the degree, and not simply the nature, of intellectual confidence is prominent in our thought, the word belief frequently becomes limited in its application and indicates a conviction not so strong as certainty, yet stronger than sus- picion or presumption. Men say in regard to some statement that they believe it, perhaps firmly believe it, and yet are not perfectly certain of it; or, on the other hand, that they have a mere surmise or conjecture, and not a positive belief, concern- ing it. The various degrees of credence are indicated by such words as presuming^ conjecturing^ guessing, supposing, trusting^ thinking, believing, apprehending, seeing, knowing and the like ; most of which terms, however, evidently cover more than mere intellectual confidence. Yet, while the term belief expresses this moderate degree of conviction, it is also used for conviction in general; and these uses can easily be distinguished. The word conviction has nearly the same meaning as belief; but strictly it signifies belief regarded, not simply per se, but as pro- duced by the contemplation of evidence ; for which reason it is seldom used in cases in which the evidence may be very slight. At this point it may illustrate our subject and clear ?dge^va?fous^c^i away some perplexities, to consider three several trasted. distinctions which have been expressed by the op- tinction. positiou of tlic term belief to other terms, and prin- cipally to the term knowledge. The first has just been suggested. According to it, knoiuledge is the most jperfed form of conviction, being both absolute and wellfounded; while be- lief is a less assured confidence. Knowledge of" this description — • such, for example, as that of one's own existence or of the exist- ence of Queen Victoria — is closely allied to certainty; for, when one is fully certain of a thing, no evidence can add to the strength of his conviction. We may, however, be certain on in- 1Q2 THE HUMAN MIND. § 41. sufficient evidence, and then we do not know, but only think we know. We may be certain of what is not the fact; and such certainty is not knowledge. But, when we have certainty, that is, full and absolute belief, and this certainty rests on good and sufficient evidence, then we have knowledge. Knowledge is dimply ivell-founded certainty; and belief, as contrasted with this 'cnowledge, is conviction of some degree falling short of cer- tainty. Plainly, these two things are of the same radical nature; both are modes of belief in the generic sense. This is taught in the saying that " to see is to believe " ; for to see is also to know. According to the second distinction, no less than according to the first, knowledge and belief divide between them the sphere of conviction, or of belief in general. Indeed the second dis- tinction seems to have originated from the first. For, because we are certain of things immediately perceived, while generally our belief is less confident respecting things learned through testimony or rational proof, the conviction of immediate cognition, or that nearly immediate, has been called knowledge, luhile that based on testimony or on evidence not immediate or obtrusive is called belief. This distinction is important and clearly different from the one already mentioned. It is that which the Bible makes between faith and sight. It may be roughly expressed by saying that knowledge is immediate, and belief mediate, conviction. But it is to be noticed that the faith or belief of this second distinction may — through sufficient and well-considered evidence — become the knowledge of the first distinction; in other words, perfect and well-grounded assurance. For, if the evidence of a distant and unseen fact — as, for example, of the existence of Queen Vic- toria — be faultless, there is no reason why we should not be abso- lutely certain of it; and this is knowledge. In the exercise of such faith, the man of God can say, " I know that my Kedeemer, liveth." Beside the foregoing distinctions, in which belief is contrasted with knowledge, there is another, in tvMch it is opposed to both thought and knowledge, and indeed to every accepted mode of mental activity. It is a distinction advocated by those who follow the teachings of Kant concerning the limitations of the thinkable and the knowable. Hamilton, Mansel, and others, hold that the human mind cannot even conceive of things infinite, and, consequently, that we can have no knowledge or belief, such as we have already considered, and such as we commonly ex- ercise, concerning God. To make room for the possibility of religion, they assert that there is a feeling or faith or belief, dift'erent from knowledge and independent of all thought, by which, in some way, man apprehends or lays hold upon the Infinite. This conception of faith, or belief, is little more than a device for the purpose of escaping from the consequences of an erroneous doctrine. It is not true that we cannot have correct ideas concerning God, and even concerning His Infinity. The § 42. BELIEF DEFINED, 103 thought of an infinite or unlimited entity is by no means an impossibility. We can conceive of some object admitting of quantity — space or time, for example — as hounded; and after that we can conceive of it as not-hounded, replacing the posi- tive by a negative characteristic. Ideas, thus formed, of things infinite, especially occur in mathematics; and they are neither futile attempts at thought, nor yet mere negative conceptions, but positive conceptions with negative characteristics. It is true, we cannot conceive of any infinite entity as being finite in those respects in which it is infinite ; and, therefore, we can- not think of it as having various boundaries such as must always enter into our conceptions of finite objects. To attempt this may be natural for us, as it is in the line of our ordinary modes of thought, but it is a waste of eftbrt. Endeavoring to imagine infinite space as a vast hollow sphere, or firmament, bounded by a surface, we inevitably fail. But this is not a failure to form a conception of the infinite. We, therefore, reject this so-called belief or faith, as a useless, — and worse than useless — fiction. The adoption of it, without evidence, in order to escape difficulties which originate in error, can afford no lasting refuge from perplexity. Like that huge fish on which Sindbad the sailor built a fire, supposing himself on solid land, and which soon left him to buffet with the waves, this faith can only afford a temporary resting-place for distressed philosophers. T>»T <^„„ i + ,«»• § 42. We now recur to that radical conception of Belief an intransi- ^ •>• n ■,•■,•■, -, • • r \ tive action. Yet beliei wliicli includes conviction 01 whatever de- o jec s. gree and of whatever origin. This power is not only secondary to thought in the manner already described, but is also related to thought in a peculiar way, so much so that an understanding of this relation determines our conception of belief, as fully as an understanding of the relation of objectivity determines our conception of thought. There is a sense in which hdief may he said to have ohjecfs. There are things which we believe, and whatever we believe may be called the objects of our belief. At the same time, credence, like conception, is a purely intransitive action ; it does not directly affect its object. When a boy perceives an apple, he both forms an idea respecting it and exercises belief as to its existence; but in neither case does his action afiect the apple or its existence, as when he afterwards plucks and eats it. In like manner, when we be- lieve something, we only believe in relation to it. This is in- dicated in the ordinary phrase that we believe in a thing, which presents the action as intransitive. The transitive construction, however, calls for explanation, Jirst as to its use after verbs denoting perception and the knowledge or absolute conviction consequent upon perception, and, secondly, as to its use with verbs denoting belief generally. Why do we say that loe see and know tilings and fads ? The reason probably is that percep- tion, or cognition, though not affecting its object directly, yet brings it into the sphere of practical relations to the percipient 104 THE HUMAN MIND, § 42. person. An entity perceived, or a fact known, is thereby sub- jected to our use so far as we may have power to use it. In ail sucli cases the object of the thought is a real entity, and that of the belief is the real existence of this entity. But we also say that loe hdieve some statement (for example, that the man is honest), or that we hold some doctrine (for ex- ample, the Copernican conception of the solar system). Such language may have an origin similar to that of the expressions just considered; for we must believe things believable before we can apply them to any practical service ; but, more likely, it is chiefly due to the fact, already noticed, that helief and such terms very commonly indicate a combination of conception and cre- dence, so that to believe a statement means to think it believingly. Such an action is properly transitive in the same way that think- ing a thought is. The other construction, however, — "believing in, or as to, something" — exhibits the true intransitive character of that radical belief of which we principally speak. We remark, further, that, while the objects of u?L °propositionl" thought, whcu it has any, and of knowledge, are entities and their existence or non-existence, the proper object of belief is that • thought luhich sets forth objects as existing or as non-existent — in other ivords, propositional thought Even the belief, or credence, exercised in knowledge (or know- ing) is primarily related to thought as its object ; but, since this belief is exercised through cognitive thought towards external realities, we neglect the former relation and speak only of the latter, which is both more prominent and more important. Common language implies that the objects of cognition are facts, and not the propositions in which the facts may be enun- ciated. Belief in general, however, not being always or cer- tainly exercised towards real external entities, but only upon the more or less probable conceptions of such entities, its objects in general are not things or facts, but thoughts or statements; and are so presented in discourse. We may sometimes say, "I believe that fact,'' or "in that fact;" this is an improper mode of speech. In strict correctness we say that we know — not that we believe — a fact. The common expression that one believes in a person or thing, meaning that he trusts in him or in it, is a secondary use of language. It indicates, not belief, but practical reliance resulting from belief in some conception of the person or thing. Thus faith, or practical reliance, in God, results from belief in the teaching that He is holy and merciful and good. The true belief, in all such cases, is exercised upon or about propositional thought. Beuef inthe exist- ^^ ^^7 persou of good sense were to say, "I believe ence of a tMng I shall be living one year from now," and we were explained. ^^ ^^^^ j^.^ whether the object of his belief were a fact about to be, or simply the proposition in which the event is foretold as probable, certainly, unless he should claim absolute foreknowledge, he would reply that he be- § 43. BELIEF DEFINED. 105 lieved in the statement. This would be the answer of com- mon sense. At the same time it is to be allowed that, when we believe and assert a statement of thought, our iise of thought is pre-eminently objective, that is, we think very little of the prop- osition as a mental act, but rather think the proposition itself in its use as representative of things. But, should any one insist that both our thought and our language often seem to state that we believe in the existence of things — not in the idea or proposition rhat they exist — and that thus existence itself is the object of belief, we reply that such a construction of ideas and words is not, and cannot be, literal. Belief, as such, cannot have any certain external object; if it had, it would not be belief, but knowledge. The construction in question is simply that union of assertive with enunciative thought which always occurs in formal statements of belief, and which is somewhat similar to that union of assertion with supposition already explained (§ 37). We assert that we believe, and then enunciatively add the thought in which we believe. This mode of thought carelessly employed, gives the appearance of our thinking and saying that we be- lieve in the object as existing, while yet, it may be, no object exists. Allowing, therefore, that we sometimes mean to say that we believe in the existence of things — and not in the state- ment of their existence — some such explanation must be adopted. . But the point important for us to remember in this connection is that the only proper and literal object of belief — and the proximate object of knowledge — is always a mental statement or proposition. This leads to the remark that it is one thing for a uonfdo^s^nofd^el proposition to he an object of belief, and anptlier thing Eigof^Siem*^"^" f^^ ^'^ ^^ ^^ ^^ object of thought; and that the former is not dependent on the latter. In other words, our belief of a proposition does not depend on that proposition being thought o/", but only on its being thought, or enter- tained by the mind. For example, should one expect the death of a friend, the belief involved in this expectation would be conditioned on the thought of the death, but would not be de- pendent on any consciousness of that thought. Such conscious- ness would exist more or less distinctly, and might lead one to say, not simply that his friend would die, but also that he believed and thought so. This addition, however, regarding himself as thinking and believing, is no part of his expectation concerning his friend. A statement, therefore, or prepositional thought, needs simply to be thought, and not to be thought of, in order to be the object of belief § 43. We now come to a very essential point in ije^^ essential ^.j^^ relation of credence to thought. Although belief never exists save in connection with thought, and always has thought for its object, it primarily attaches itself either to the one or the other of tivo thoughts, and to other ideas only as they may have one of these thoughts contained in, or conjoined loith 106 THE HUMAN MIND. § 43. ikem. These two cardinal notions are those of existence and of non-existence. Every statement of belief may be reduced to one of the formulas, " such a thing is," and " such a thing is not;" and all cases of doubt, or of inability to affirm or deny an understood proposition, arise from want of conviction as to the existence or the non-existence of something. We do not iden- tify belief in the existence or non-existence of a thing with the thought of its existence or non-existence. When we conceive of a thing as existing or as non-existing, and emphasize the notion of existence or of non-existence, the form of thought thus produced is a proposition, and may always be expressed by " Hoc est," or " Hoc non est." This prepositional thought, fer se, is merely enunciative ; it is not in any sense belief, but only the condition or preparation for belief In the exercise of it we treat truth and falsehood very much alike. "The man is guilty," and " the man is not guilty," are equally complete propositions, though we may believe the one and disbelieve the other, or may have no conviction about either. But when, in the exercise of perception or judgment, we confide in, and rest upon, a prep- ositional thought in its use as representative of things, this is the exercise of belief Such a proposition then receives a new character; it is no longer a mere enunciation; it is an assertion; and this power of inwardly asserting a proposition — of mentally accepting, holding and presenting it, as a statement of reality — is the main characteristic of belief It might be called the Assertivity of Belief It will be noticed that thought merely enunciative is expressed in precisely the same forms of language as assertive thought, just as an ima,a:inary story is told in the same language as a real history. This, of course, gives no ground to dispute the distinction between enunciation and assertion. But it may sometimes be necessary to inquire whether one be making an an assertion or merely stating a proposition. BeUef in things ^^ ^^ ^^^ *^ ^® noticcd that, although we often means belief in spcak of believing ill tilings^ — that is, in entities — ^™ tiie^Sought this is only a short way of saying that we believe t. «., in of th isting. of them as ex- jj^ their existence; and this again, as we have seen, is only an incomplete way of expressing our belief in the thought of their existence. For instance, in a dispute respecting the reputed wealth of some one, we might say that we believe in his wealth or do not believe in it, and we might express ourselves in the same way as to the asserted guilt of a prisoner, or the alleged meaning of a law, or the claimed excel- lence of some mode of trial, or anything else in which one might be said to believe. Such language signifies our belief in the existence of the wealth or guilt or meaning or excellence speci- fied; and this belief is only belief in the proposition that such wealth or other entity exists. Thus it might be shown that no entity — that is, no conception of an entity — is ever an object of belief save only as it enters into a proposition or statement, and § 43. BELIEF DEFINED. that propositions, statements, histories, and doctrines, are objects of belief only because they continually set forth or enunciate the existence or the non-existence of things. T>T*- .1, * +1, Here, however, it may be asked, "Do we not as Belief m the trutli ' -1 j. i t \^ • ^ \ ,. or falsity of a ircqueutly Say that we believe a thing to be true **^^' or false as that we believe a thing to be or not to be, and, if so, is not lelief in the truth or falsity of a thing just as radical a form of intellectual action as belief in its existence or non- e.xistence?" For simplicity, let us chiefly consider belief in the existence of something, as belief in the non-existence of anything is, in itself, of precisely the same nature. Let us also take belief in the truth of any statement, positive or negative, to illustrate be- lief in its falsity. For the latter, which is often called disbelief, is simply belief in the contradictory opposite of a statement. In regard, then, to the foregoing questions, we remark that our belief that a thing is true differs materially from our belief that a thing exists. The "thing" of the first belief is a propositional ^Aow., i- 7 , 7 to a conclusion. jore, aLoue needs to 6e submitted in order to produce conviction. Thus we might say, "The only evidence of fire in that house is that smoke issues from the chimney." In short, the word evidence^ having a practical reference, commonly stands only for those facts or truths necessary to be employed for conviction. But if, in addition to the foregoing, we felt called upon to submit the general truth that smoke necessarily and in all cases com£S from Jire, this also would be styled evidence. In order to show a jury ignorant of the nature of strychnine, that a man was poisoned by this drug, the evidence would be needed, first, that strychnine is a poison, and secondly, that this poison was in some way partaken of by the man. In the search- ing and comprehensive inquiries of philosophy we ask for all the conditions of conviction; therefore we must now include under evidence all the facts or truths necessary to some conclusion, whether in practical life they all need to be mentioned or not. "Grounds of be- When wc spcak of the ground or grounds of a belief lief " defined. — the plural word indicating either more proofs than one, or the existence of parts in one proof — we mean very nearly the same as the evidence productive of the belief. 146 THE HUMAN MIND. § 58. The difference between the terms seems to be that evidence is confined to the conditions of actualistic belief; we speak of the grounds, but not of the evidence, of a purely hypothetical con- viction. The suppositions which constitute the ground of a hy- pothetical belief, though merely thoughts without objects (Chap. XIII.) exactly correspond to the facts which are the evidence of a similar actualistic conviction. The proof of a truth or prop- osition is simply the evidence which makes it apparent, or the ground for our belief in it, considered as intentionally used to effect its proper end. We have already, seen that, in cases of presenta- is useTbo^tii ^! tion, the thing itself, as in immediate relation to iectiveiy *^^ ^^^ *^^ pcrccptivc powcr, is generally mentioned as being self-evident, in other words, as its own evi- dence. But it is to be noted that we also speak of the evidence of consciousness, of sense, of sight, of hearing, and so on; and this way of speaking brings to view the real productive cause of conviction. So, likewise, in inference, we sometimes mean by evidence tlie fads which, as vieived by the mind, sustain some con- viction, and, at other times, the propositional truths which set forth the facts. Thus the term is applied both objectively and sub- jectively. Each sense implies the other; neither can be con- demned as incorrect. In actualistic inference the facts them- selves, as distinguished from the propositions setting them forth, may literally be spoken of as evidence. This, of course, is not the case in that inference which is based merely on supposition. In all cases, however, the mind in some sense thinks of things (Chap. XIV.), and infers by reference to the nature of things; nor can the laws of inference be formulated save in terms ex- pressive of objectual relations. In short, propositional evidence is such only because of its actual or supposable correspondence with fact. Therefore, if we study the facts as evidence we shall understand the propositions also. And this, too, will reveal the nature of the grounds of hypothetical conviction, as these are simply supposed faxits. The relation of presentative to illative evidence, and inates'^^cSnstoufl ^^lat also of presentational to inferential perception, and\h^- *^^^^' ^^^ bccu givcu in characterizing the one as origina- iint conviction. tivc of thought and as the primordial source of convic- tion; while the other is merely ratiocinative and deduc- tive. In saying that there is no origination of thought in inference, w^e mean that no neio dement is added to the material of thoughty and not that no new construction of thought takes place. Let one weigh a bagful of feathers in a scale, and, after taking them away, let him balance the scale again by supplying lead instead of feathers. We now know the double fact that the feathers are of a given weight, and that the lead, also, is of that weight. From this we conclude that the feathers and lead are equal to each other in weight. In general terms we say, "A and B are each equal to C, and therefore they are equal to one § 59. ILLATIVE EVIDENCE. . -14f another." Now this equality of A to B — of. the feather weight to the lead weight, may have been thought of for the first time in connection with the inference, and may differ from any con- struction of thought ever presentationally received. Neverthe- less, as we believe, the various component ideas — of feathers, lead, weight, equality, co-existence, necessity — which constitute the new construction of thought, have been previously enter- tained and were originally presentations. Indeed, without this power of forming new constructions, neither imagination nor reasoning would be possible; and all mental action, after our first perceptions, would be restricted to memory and its modifi- cations. Moreover, in calling presentational perception pinmor- dicd, we mean, not that itfurnisJies the force of tJie conviction attend- ing inference, but only that it is the necessary antecedent and condition of inferential conviction. Presentational cognition is the foundation and support of all knowledge, and in this way the beginning of all certainty. Yet the conviction, consequent upon, illative evidence, like the new construction of thought which it accompanies, is something new and is not derived from the force of the presentative evidence. As a bridge resting on piers has a strength of its own not derived from the piers, so an inferential conviction while resting on facts has a strength of its own not derived from the facts. This, indeed, is the sole strength belonging to hypothetical knowledge; which may therefore be compared to a movable bridge, not in actual service, but ready to rest on piers so soon as they may be found in the proper place. But, as the strength of the bridge when resting on its piers is the medium through which the strength of these sup- ports is felt, and completely unites its action with theirs, so the force of logical evidence completely unites itself with that of primordial evidence whenever an inference is fairly founded on perceived facts. § 59. We are now prepared for a question, concern- ^iiieJence.^^ °^ ^^S whicli there has been much discussion and much diversity of view; viz., what is the radical mode or law of thought belonging to all inference ? or, more specifically, what is the generic form of that construction of thought in luhich the mind makes use of illative evidence ? If the nature of belief and judgment, and the distinction between presentational and in- ferential perception (Chaps. XV., XVL, and XVIII.) be as already described, then the form of inference always is, " This exists; therefore that exists.'* We think of one entity or complex of entities, called the reason or antecedent, as existing; and of another entity or complex of entities, called the consequent, as existing also ; and of a necessity attached to the existence of the antecedent for the existence of the consequent. This necessity is expressed by therefore, and other words of similar meaning. Such is the construction of thought in all inference; the confi- dence of belief or knowledge, which takes place in connection with this form of thought, follows upon the belief exercised in 148 THE HUMAN MIND. S 59. connection with the conception of the antecedent, and attaches itself to the thought of the necessity of co-existence and to that of the consequent as necessarily co-existent. The name of the '^^^ ^^^ — ^^ fixcd modc — of mental action, which law. the mind obeys in constructing the foregoing form p?e^?/^ction^^nd of thought and accompanying it with new belief, knowiedge^^^^^ °^ ^^® been styled the 'principle or law of reason and consequent Of these expressions, the term law is less ambiguous than principle, to indicate the essential and uni- versal mode of mental action in all inference. The term prin- ciple might signify a general truth known to the mind and applied by it in its reasonings ; but we now speak of a form of mental action in which, or according to which, — not from which, — the mind reasons. The law of reason and consequent is the universal principle of inference somewhat in the same way that the law of gravitation may be said to be a principle — that is, a radical mode — of the action of matter. It is the fundamental law according to which the power of reasoning acts. It is true that every principle — or law — of action may yield a principle of knowledge. That which, in itself, is merely a law of action, when apprehended by the mind, becomes a general truth from which we may reason variously as to the operation of the law. From the law of gravitation as mentally apprehended, we can reason that any particular piece of matter will gravitate: so from the law of reason and consequent we can infer that any particular case of inference is from a reason to a consequent— from the existence of a determining condition to that of the entity conditioned. But the law as apprehended — or the con- ception of the law — is to he distinguished from the laio itself. The former may be a ground of deduction ; but not the latter. The law of reason and consequent is the mode of the mind's action in forming an inference; but in itself it is not the ground of any inference — not even of such inferences as follow from our knowledge of it. This law, as mentally apprehended, — as a general truth setting forth the radical nature oi reasoning, — so far from being an uni- versal ground of inference, is a ground of inference only when we may be reasoning about reasoning, and not when tve may be reas- oning about other things. In such cases, our ratiocinative use of it only exemplifies the operation of one or other of those specific principles which govern reasoning from general truths. We may reason thus : ''All inference is from an antecedent to a consequent; from smoke tve infer fire; therefore, here is an antecedent and a con- sequent'''' In this case, the law of reason and consequent, as a general truth, forms part — only part — of the reason which the two premises compose: the principle or law underlying the ar- gument is, " What belongs to anything in the general, must belong^ to it in any individual instance." But this law itself is only a specific example of the generic law of reason and consequent. 5 59. ILLATIVE EVIDENCE. 149 It is true that, in every inference, we not only fi?r^™l't^nf i^^ think — but think consdoicsly, of one entity, or com- ference does not plex 01 entities, as cxistiug, and 01 another as frJm^the^^aw^^o^ necessai'ily co-existent with it, and so deduce the s^u^ent^*^ ^°^- existence of the latter from that of the former. In other words, while inferring, we more or less dis- tinctly understand what we are doing. But we can give no reason why the one entity is a reason and the other a consequent, or why we should thus form an inference. So that we do not reason from one thing to another because we perceive them to be reason and consequent, but we perceive things to be reason and consequent because we can reason from the one to the other. In short, the law of reason and consequent as a pri7ic{ple of knoiuledge — the statement that " every inference has an ante- cedent and a necessary consequent" helps to test what professes to be an inference, and to analyze what is known to be such ; but it never reveals whether or not a case of consequence may exist, or what consequent, in any case, should follow a given antecedent. On the other hand, the law of reason and conse- quent in itself is the radical mode of action experienced in every operation of the reasoning power. The fact— whatever it may be — which constitutes the antecedent, suggests the fact related to it as consequent, and thereupon we infer, not from the law of reason and consequent^ hut from a reason to a conseqttent^ and according to the laiu of reason and consequent Ever true reason ^^ Speaking of rcasou aiid consequent, it is to be iB a sufficient or undcrstood that cvcry reason is specially fitted by adequate reason. ^^^ nature to be a rcasou for its consequent, and, conversely, that every consequent is similarly fitted to be a consequent of its reason. It would be absurd to say that any reason may serve for any consequent. To suppose this — that we could infer anything from anything — would be to destroy our conception of reasoning. Hence the law of inference has been characterized, sometimes, as the '• laio of sufficient reason."" Possibly it might be better named the " laiv of adequate reason" meaning a reason fitted by its nature to involve the existence of the consequent in its own existence. As already suggested, this is really part of our conception of a reason; for every true reason is an adequate one. But the expression brings the fact to view that the law contains two elements ; j^rs^, that the ex- istence of the consequent is necessarily connected with that of the antecedent, and secondly^ that this necessary connection arises out of the special natures and natural relations of antecedent and consequent. Thus the reason, "James is the father of William, who is the father of John," has the consequent, " James is the grandfather of John." Why? Because the double ante- cedent-fact and the single consequent-fact are of such a nature, and are so related by reason of their nature, that the former cannot exist without the latter. 150 THE HUMAN MIND. % 60. The law of reason ^^ ^^^' ^°^ *^® ^^^ ^^" simplicity of statement, we and consequent have spoken of the law of inference as if it always more fuUy stated. pj.Qceeded from one existing entity to another en- tity necessarily co-existent. But it is to be noticed that infer- ential, no less than presentative judgment and belief, consider the non-existent as well as the existent, and that ice infer, not ooily from the existent to the existent, hut also from the existent to the non-existent, and from the non-existent to the existent and to the nxm-existent. By the non-existent, of course, we mean non-exist- ence in a case where something might be supposed to exist- In short, there are both positive and negative mferences; and either may follow from either positive or negative facts. "There is no fuel, and therefore no smoke." — "There is no food in the land; therefore there is disease and death," are examples of inference from non-existence. " The rock formation is granite, and does not contain coal," is an inference from existence to non-existence. The explanation of these forms of inference lies in the fact that there may be negative, as well as positive, conditions of a ne- cessity, and negative, as well as positive, consequents of a neces- sity. Such being the case, a complete statement of the law of inference should refer to more cases than that in which both antecedent and consequent are positive. The whole truth might be expressed in the proposition that inference ahvays proceeds from a given fact, positive or negative, to another fact, positive or negative, necessarily conrwcted ivith the given fact K A-^ ^, 1 4- A ^ 60. A satisfactory understandins: of the doctrine A difficulty stated. ^ -. . ,. ^^ r i.} ^■ • r i.u 'a. The conversion of 01 inicrence calls lor the discussion oi another point, inferences. rn^^^^ pertains to a difficulty connected with the log- ical rule, " A firm the reason, and you affirm the consequent; deny the consequent, and you deny the reason: hut affirm the consequent, and you do not affirm the reason; or deny the reason, and you do not deny the consequent." This rule, as it stands, applies only to such in- ferences as have positive antecedents and consequents, for we cannot properly be said to affirm a negative statement. Strictly speaking, it would be more correct to say, " Assert the reason, and you assert the consequent; deny (or contradict) the conse- quent, and you deny (or contradict^ the reason: but assert the C(msequent, and you do not assert tne reason, and deny the rea- son and you do not contradict the consequent." This rule may be illustrated from the example, "There is no fuel, and therefore no smoke." Plainly, if we assert that there is no fuel, we may assert that there is no smoke, and if we deny that there is no smoke (saying there is smoke), we may deny that there is no fuel (saying there is fuel). But, if we assert that there is no smoke, we cannot assert that there is no fuel; for there may be fuel which is not smoking; and, for this same reason also, if we deny that there is no fuel (saying there is fuel), we cannot deny that there is no smoke (saying there is smoke). In either case there may be fuel which does not produce smoke. In this example, antece- dent and consequent are both negative ; an inference with posi- § 60. ILLATIVE EVIDENCE. 151 tive parts, such as "Cams is a man; therefore he is mortal," would furnish less complex illustrations. The perplexity, however, to which we have referred, pertains, not to the form, but to the origin and ground, of the rule which has now been stated. As regards the first half of the rule, the clause, " assert the reason^ and assert the consequent " is simply the immediate practical application of the law of reason and conse- quent. We also easily approve the direction, ^^deny the consequent^ and deny the reason,^^ for the necessitating condition of anything cannot exist if the thing necessitated do not exist. To suppose the contrary, would be to suppose a contradiction, namely, a necessity for the existence of an entity which does not exist. The difficulty, therefore, is confined to the two clauses which make up the latter half of the rule; for, since the reason is the necessitating antecedent of the consequent, it may be asked, " How can the consequent exist, if the reason do not?" and also, " How can the reason be non-existent, if the consequent be a fact ? " Can the thing conditioned exist while the conditions are (or have been) without existence ? Or can the conditions be non-existent, while the thing conditioned may exist ? Be- yond question any entity and any condition necessitating its existence are so related that they must both exist together or must both together be non-existent ; so that the existence or non- existence of either determines the existence or non-existence of the other. The difficulty ex- '^^^^ ^^ *^® difiiculty. The explanation is to be plained. fouud iu a distinction between tJie true and exact logical Separable and in- ■]•,• / j , • » \ /• jt • j /• separable antece- conctitions (ov determinants J oj the existence oj an en- conStions. ^^^V ^'^ thosc Conditions under some envelopment. A logical condition is any fact considered exactly or precisely so far forth as it necessitates (or determines) the reahty of another fact, and no farther. Such a condition and its ccmse- quent are inseparably connected ivith each other; so that if either ex- ist, the other must exist, and, if either be non-existent, the other must be non-existent. For example, among plane figures bound- ed by straight lines, we may reason thus as to a parallelogram, that, if any figure has four sides and the opposite sides equal to each other, it must be a parallelogram, and, conversely, if it be a parallelogram, it must have four sides and the opposite sides equal to' each other. So, also, if any figure does not have four sides and the opposite sides equal, it cannot be a parallelogram, and if it be not a parallelogram, it cannot have four sides, and so forth. Or, to take another case, if a plane figure have four sides, and the opposite angles equal to each other, it is a par- allelogram ; and, if it be a parallelogram, it must have four sides and the opposite angles equal to each other. Also, if the figure do not have four sides and the opposite angles equal, it cannot be a parallelogram, and if it be not a parallelogram, it cannot have four sides and the opposite angles equal. From these illustra- tions it is evident that the same fact may be a logical condition 152 ; "''^"?-X THE HUMAN MIND, S 60. ■5^ of severabfacts, and also that several facts may be logical condi- tions of the same one fact. For the, existence of a "parallelogram has been given as the condition first of one consequent and then of another, and each of these consequents^ in its turn, was used as the logical condition of the existence of a parallelogram. It may also be noticed, in this connection, that there are conditions which are not logical, but causal, or constitutive, or concomitant. Straight sides are a constitutive condition of an ordinary par- allelogram, and so is the equality of the opposite sides, and the number of the sides, four; but all of these together are needed to compose a logical condition. For a figure either might have straight sides, or it might have the opposite sides equal to each other, or even both these things might be, and yet the figure need not be a parallelogram, but might be something else, say a regular hexagon. A logical condition always is a fact which of itself necessitates or determines another fact. Noiv lohen an antecedent consists exclusively of a logical condition^ or of more logical conditions than one, the inference is thoroughly con- vertible — that is, either reason or consequent being asserted or con- tradicted, the other likewise may be asserted or contradicted. We can not only say (according to the common rule), "It is day, and therefore the sun has risen," and " The sun has not risen, and therefore it is not day," but also, " It is not day, and there- fore the sun has not risen," and " The sun has risen, and there- fore it is day." Because, in this case, the risen sun is an exact and inseparable antecedent of day, and day, also, speaking logic- ally, is an exact and inseparable antecedent of the risen sun. Generally, however, a reason is not composed exclusively of a logical condition, or of logical conditions, but consists of these in coniMnation with other elements. Hence there may be as many reasons or antecedents for a fact as there may be combinations of logical conditions with elements that are not such conditions. Hence, tt)o, though one or more reasons for a consequent may not exist, other reasons may, and logical conditions in them; and, such being the case, it is plain that a consequent may exist, though some particular antecedent do not; and, conversely, that a particular antecedent may be non-existent, while yet the con- sequent which would accompany it is a fact. We therefore distinguish between an exact and inseparable antecedent and a full or separable antecedent, the former being identical with a logical condition, or aggregate of conditions, but the latter including more. Let us take the inference, "The man has inherited the farm; therefore it is legally his." The antecedent here contains more than a logical condition ; for, although it is a logical condition of ownership that one should have received a title in some way, it is not necessary that this should be by inheritance. It might be by purchase or gift. But should we say, " The man has ob- tained a good title, and therefore he is owner of the land," we would employ that exact antecedent which, with an accidental § 61. ILLATIVE EVIDENCE, or non-essential envelopment, constitutes the fuller^ heritance." Commonly, antecedents are full and separable, but sometimes they are not. § 61. The topic now discussed itsdf affords a good SJs^i^SJted.^*" illustration of an inseparable antecedent For we can Mathematical in- ^Q^h say, " Whenever there is (or there is not) an exact and inseparable reason, there is (or there is not) a thoroughly convertible inference ; " and, conversely, " Wherever there is (or there is not) a thoroughly convertible inference, there is (or there is not) an exact and inseparable antecedent." Statements similarly convertible occur in every science, but most frequently in mathematics. Relations of quantity and those of space and time, are so different from those of causation, that they can easily be abstracted from them ; and they are less involved with, or superinduced upon, each other in a fixed union. Hence we not only perceive mathematical antecedents with a peculiar distinctness, but we also more fre- quently meet among them those exact antecedents which give thoroughly convertible inferences. In arithmetic, which is the science of pure quantity, that necessary connection of two equivalent but different or opposite processes, by which calcula- tions are often proved, is perceived by such an inference. For example, we not only can say that, "Since 11 x 12 = 132, there- fore 132-^12=11," but also,- "Since 132-4-12 = 11, therefore 11x12 = 132." And each of these positive inferences may have a corresponding negative one; thus, "Since 11x12 does not equal 133, therefore 133-T-12 does not equal 11"; and the converse. Hence we prove either multiplication by division, or division by multiplication, and deal in the same way with other processes similarly related. Many, though not all, of the propositions of geometry are* thoroughly convertible, or may be made so. We can say, " Ir the triangle be right-angled, the sum of the squares of the side** is equal to the square of the hypothenuse," and " If the sun» of the squares of the sides equal the square of the hypothenuse the triangle is right-angled." The corresponding negative in- ferences are also true, beginning with, " If the triangle be noi right-angled," and "If the sum of the squares of the sides be not equal." So we can assert the positive propositions, "Two equal chords are equally distant from the center of the circle,* and " Two chords equally distant from the center are equal," to gether with the negative propositions, "Two unequal chords are unequally distant from the center," and " Two chords unequally distant from the center are unequal." Propositions which at first are not convertible may be made so by adding to the consequent such and so many elements as may be needed to make it a consequent of the antecedent as an exact logical condition. Sometimes this is easily done; at other times with difficulty. The proposition, "The line which bisects the vertical angle of a triangle divides the base into segments 154 THE HUMAN MIND. § 62. proportional to the adjacent sides," which is not thoroughly con- vertible, becomes so if we say, "The line which bisects the ver- tical angle of a triangle unites the vertex of the triangle luith a point in the hose, and divides the base into segments proportional to the adjacent sides." For with this addition we can say, con- versely, " The line which unites the vertex of a triangle with a point in the base, and divides the base into segments propor- tional," and so forth. The proposition, "A cylinder has a solidity equal to the product of its base and altitude," is also inconvertible; for we cannot say that " any figure whose solidity is equal to the pro- duct of its base and altitude is a cylinder." Prisms have this property, and other figures may be so constructed as to have it. Some ingenuity is needful to make such additions to the consequent of this proposition, that its antecedent may become exact. But this might be done in some such statement as the following, "A cylinder is a solid whose surface is described by the revolution of a rectangle around one of its sides, and which has a solidity equal to the product of its base and its altitude." In this statement antecedent and consequent may change places; each is an exact logical condition of the other. Any solid so bounded and so measured as that described must be a cylinder; and if its contents were either greater or less than the product described, it would not be a cylinder. These examples exhibit the difference between exact or in- separable, and full or separable, antecedents. The distinction is one naturally made by the mind, and is always given in answer to the question, " Is there any element in the antecedent which is not either a logical condition or a part of some such condi- tion?" When this may be answered affirmatively, the ante- cedent is separable ; and when negatively, it is inseparable. CHAPTER XX. LOGICAL NECESSITY. § 62. That necessary co-existence of one thing with another which is the external basis or condition of inference, has been referred to and assumed in discussing the law of reason and consequent ; but it has had only a secondary place in our analy- sis of the mental process. More light may be thrown on the na- ture of ratiocination, should we now consider necessity, in general, directly and fully. For it is this necessity which, as the exter- nal basis or condition of inference, is properly called logical. Every mode or form of thought can be thoroughly understood only through an understanding of the objects with which it is § 62. LOGICAL NECESSITY. 155 conversant: and, since every inference is the thought that some- thing is because there is something else with which it is neces- sarily connected, we ask, "What is this necessity? And what are its more important relations ? " Necessity in general, like every other object of an Necessity defined, abstract nature, should be defined from an analy- sis and comparison of the various modes in which it is manifested. Upon the accuracy of such a process the ac« curacy of our conception must depend. Merely referring in this way to the origin of the definition, we say that luheriever any fad is a fad and no power can make it not to he a fad, it is neces- sary; and its necessity consists in its being a fact thus related to power. As a fact is always the existence or non-existence of something, every necessity pertains either to the existence or to the non-existence of something, and is positive or negative ac- cording to the character of the fact to which it belongs. When a thing exists, and no power can make it not to be, it is neces- sarily existent; and, when a thing does not exist, and no power can make it to be, it is necessarily non-existent. In each case the necessity lies in this, that the fact, being a fact, cannot be made not to be a fact. We think, and incline to think, of things existent rected.^**^* '^^' ^^^^ than of thosc non-existent, and therefore think oftener of positive than of negative necessi- ties. Hence, it is a natural mistake to say that necessity belongs only to things existent, and is the property of that which, being existent, cannot be made not to exist; and, along with this, to define impossibility as the character of that, which, being non- existent, cannot be made to exist. But these conceptions are incorrect ; an impossibility is never a fact, either positive or nega- tive, but always the reverse of fact. Aristotle rightly says that existence and non-existence {eivai and mv siycci) are the proper subjects respecting which necessity is affirmed or denied, and that some things are necessary to be and others necessary not to be. ("De Inter." ch. xni.) To illustrate negative neces- sity, we might say that there is a necessity, arising from the na- ture of God, that He should not be partial in His judgments, and this statement should be distinguished from the other, in- (lissolubly connected with it, that it is impossible for God to be partial in His judgments. Positive and negative necessity difier only in the ti?e nlce^fty!^^ Opposite character of the facts to which they be- long, and are similar in their own nature and origin. That the sum of the three angles of a triangle should be equal to two right angles, and that it should not be greater or less, are things necessary in the same way. In each case — the triangle existing — there is a fact which no power can destroy; and, in each case, the necessity arises from, or exists in connection with, the relations of quantity between angles formed by straight lines of difierent du'ections in the same plane. Since, there- 156 THE HUMAN MIND. § 63 fore, a negative necessity is of the same nature, and exists in the same way, as a positive necessity, we need only discuss the latter in order to understand both; and this singleness of dis- cussion is desirable for the sake of simplicity, provided only we bear in mind that what is true of the necessity of existence, as necessity, is also true of the necessity of non-existence. The origin of ne- § ^^- Til©, Origin of necessity— by which we mean cessity. the principal condition of its existence — is a re- ogica re a ons. i^f^^^j^gg of fad to fact. When one thing exists and must exist, because some other thing exists, this evidently is so because the consequent fact has a peculiar relationship to the antecedent fact. More specifically, we may say that the neces- sity of any fact accompanies and depends upon some certain natural relation in which it exists to the necessitating fact — that is, some certain relation which connects the facts as having given natures. Hence it is that, knowing the antecedent fact, we forthwith conceive of, and believe in, the consequent fact as existing in such a connection. The various relations which the mind refers to, and uses, in this way, when viewed with reference to our mental employ- ment of them, may be styled the logical relations of fact, or of things as existing. The statement that the necessity of a fact originates from^ or is caused or produced by, its relation to an- other fact, is not literal. It would be more correct to say that it originates luith, depends upon, and accompanies, the relatedness. The equality of three angles to two right angles is so related to their being the angles of the same triangle, that the former fact necessarily exists in connection with the latter; but this relation does not, properly speaking, produce, or originate, the necessity. In like manner, the necessity that there should be fire where there is smoke, accompanies the relation of fire to smoke as the cause of smoke, but this relation does not originate the necessity (which yet depends on it) of the existence of the fire. Nevertheless, as the necessity depends on the relatedness and accompanies it, so that the necessity is perceived in connec- tion with the relation, we sometimes express this by saying that the former arises from the latter, or is produced by it. This language need not be condemned, provided it signify no more than we have now indicated. In the statement that the con- sequent is so related to the antecedent that no power can make it not to be a fact, the words " so that " do, indeed, indicate de- pendence and sequence ; but the dependence is not that of efiect upon cause, but simply of a thing conditioned on its condition ; and the sequence is merely that of belief and not of causation. A similar caution pertains to the significance of the logical terms consequence and consequent; objectively speaking, the conse- quent is not that which follows from the antecedent, but that which in some way is necessarily connected with it. This is an example of those cases which frequently occur, in which a.refer- euce to our rational use of facts affects our language respecting § 63. LOGICAL NECESSITY. 157 them, and tends to obscnre our perception of them and their relations as they exist ^er se. . relations ^^ have now further to say that the logical relations are themselves ne- of a fact Tiot oYily do Tiot pvoduce its Tiecessity^ but are cessary relations. fj^Qyuselves iududed in the same necessity luith the fact. In other words, it is not simply the fact alone, and because of its relationship, but it is the fact as related^ or loith its relations^ that is necessary. In an equilateral triangle the mutual equal- ity of the angles is not only a necessary fact, but it exists also as necessarily related to the equality of the sides. The geome- trical relation of the consequent to the antecedent fact cannot but exist if the antecedent exist, and therefore it is a necessary or logical relation. So, also, an effect is logically related to its cause; there is a nexus which cannot be destroyed. The conse- quent fact that " A is part of C," is united to the antecedent fact that " A is a part of a part of C " by a necessary relation of quan tity; for the part of a part must be a part of the whole. So, also, the consequent fact that a cause, being similar to another, will produce similar effects, is related necessarily to the ante- cedent that such or such a cause has produced such an effect, by reason of the nature of power. In each case there is an opera- tion of power; and it belongs to the nature of power to act similarly under similar conditions. The relations thus existing between a consequent and an antecedent are very diverse, but the relation always exists necessarily if the antecedent exist. Considered by themselves these relations may be called the neces- sary relations of fact; with reference to their f undamenf a — that is, the objects between which they exist — they may be styled relations of connection. But by this connection we are to under- stand only that necessary co-existence, or correality, of fact with fact, which accompanies the existence of the relation. While necessity originates in, or depends upon, the relatedness of fact to fact, these necessitating relations may be divided into two classes. First, they may be those which belong to entity in general, and which characterize facts simply as facts ; and this class of relations, though very limited in number, furnishes the most universal laws of existence and principles of thought. These principles are those of identity, of contradiction, and of excluded middle. According to the first of these, whatever is fact is fact, and whatever is not fact is not fact; according to the second, if anything be existent, it cannot at the same time be non-ex- istent, and, if it be non-existent, it cannot at the same time be existent ; according to the third, a thing must either be existent or non-existent. Such inferences apply equally to all things and regulate all thought (§ 210). But, should we speak of some event and say, that, being an event, it must take place some- where in space and in time, this inference would arise from the necessary relations of an event as such. We therefore say, secondly, that logical relations also belong to existences as having specific natures; and it is our apprehension of relations of this 158 THE HUMAN MIND. § 64. class which furnishes those principles of reasoning upon which specific inferences rest. But these logical relations, which belong to entities as hav- ing specific natures, may, again, be subdivided into two gen- eral classes. For the consequent fact may be the existence of the tedTirtwo wafs^*" sam£ ohject lohich is presented in the antecedent faxi; Je^-eSstence.^ °^ ^^ (wliich is commouly the case) it may be the existence of some other ohject than that given in the an- tecedent. The first of these cases occurs only with regard to those entities which exist independently of all causation ; namely, Space, Time, and God, or the First Cause. After we know of the existence of these objects, and reflect upon their nature, we per- ceive that they are not, and cannot be, the objects of either creative or annihilating power. They exist, but have not been made to be, and cannot be made not to be. Power can act in space and in time, but not upon space or time: and that sub- stance which is the primal residence of potency and the origin of all finite things must itself be uncaused and indestructible. Thus, from the proper nature or character of each of these enti- ties, and not from their relation to other entities, we infer their self-existence and their necessity. For space and time are self- existent, and cannot be made not to exist, simply as being space and time, and God, as being the First Cause. This necessity of existence may be said to depend upon the relation of the fact of the existence of these entities to the fact of their being what they are. But evidently it is a peculiar necessity, inas- much as it is not dependent upon the relation of one entity to another. § 64. But the necessity of which we ordinarily toter-?eTafef^ex- ^hiuk is uot that of self-cxistence, and which be- istence. lon2:s to cach of its entities simply as having a Ordinary logical . ^ . ,. ... ■^. f , i • i u necessity. givcu specmc nature, nor is it that wnicn be- longs to entities simply as such, but it is that of inter-related existences^ and belongs to an object as being naturally related to some other object thai exists. For whenever any entity A, has such a relatedness to another entity B, that A cannot but exist so long as B may exist, A is said to exist necessarily. If the three sides of a triangle be equal to each other, the three angles also must be equal to each other; and this necessity for the equality of the angles accompanies the fact of the equality of the sides. So, also, if the double fact exist that A is a part of B, and B a part of C, the single fact is necessary that A should be a part of C. Such is ordinary logical necessity. As distinguished from the necessity of self-existence, it involves the existence of conditions external to the nature of the thing necessary, and consequently the existence of other entities in addition to the necessary one ; whereas the necessity of self-exist- ence involves no such conditions. At the same time, the latter necessity arises from, or is dependent upon, the nature of the J 64. LOGICAL NECESSITY. 159 self-existent entity; and therefore all necessity may be said to be conditioned. As necessity is a relatedness of fact to power, and ^TrSSiyT^^"^^^ as power exists in various forms, and has diverse spheres of operation more or less extensive, it follows that a fact may he necessary luith j^e/erence to all power, or only loith reference to some special form of poicer. Accordingly we distin- guish between absolute and relative necessity. That is absolutely necessary which no power whatever can cause not to be. It is ab- solutely necessary that an isosceles triangle should have the angles at the base equal to one another, and that a parallelogram should have its opposite sides equal ; also that a murderer, or a blasphem- er, should be subject to the penalty of moral law. No power could make these things otherwise. Again, the execution of any Di- vine purpose is absolutely necessary, because it is conditioned on infinite power, wisdom and skill ; and these cannot be defeated. On the other hand, a debt of one thousand dollars is a necessary burden to a man who has no means and no friends; not because such a debt is incapable of satisfaction, but because one of the conditions of the case is that the man is without the means of pay- ment. In like manner, a poor man must of necessity sometimes go coarsely clad, because he has not the means of obtaining fine clothing; whereas this necessity does not exist as to the rich man. It is often useful, and sometimes indispensable, when the question is whether something be necessarily so or not, to ask whether the necessity be absolute or relative, and, if relative, to determine what the power may be whose sphere of exercise is limited by the necessity. A fact may be relatively, yet not absolutely, necessary; and what is necessary in relation to one power may not be necessary in relation to another. Moreover, every case of relative necessity involves not only that a given power cannot alter the fact, but also that no power adequate to alter it is exercised. For example, the debt would no longer \>q a necessary burden to the poor man if his rich neighbor paid it for him. This, therefore, though often understood rather than expressly noted, is always a condition of a relative necessity. It is sometimes important to distinguish hypofheti- f^tec^^j.^^ col from real necessity. The former is not a kind of necessity differing from the real ; it is an ideal object which does not exist at all, but is conceived of as ex- isting with the same nature as if it were real. When the an- • tecedent of a necessity is real, the necessity is real, but, if the antecedent be merely imaginary, the necessity is so too; and, in that case, with a reference to the supposition of its condition, it is called hypothetical. This language signifies that no ne- cessity really exists, while yet the mind has conceptions corre- sponding to what the necessity and its conditions would be if they did exist. Such being the case, it is clear that, to under- g stand hypothetical necessity, we have only to understand that which is real. 160 THE HUMAN MIND. § 65. The term candz«on § ^^' ^^I ^^^^ wliich, being real, another fact is defined. necessarily related to it, and necessarily exists as ^eTsary!*^^ *"*^ °^' tlius related, is a logical antecedent of the other. Svef concoTtant ^^ ^'^^^ ^^^° (Chap. XIX.) that antecedents are Logical condil either full and separable or exact and inseparable; ^^^^' the latter including only such elements as are necessary conditions of the consequent fact, while the former contains elements additional to these. We defined a logical condition to be a fact considered precisely so far forth as it may support the necessity of another fact, and no farther; and showed how every antecedent contains at least one such condition, while every exact antecedent ex(;ludes everything that is not a nec- essary condition and is always itself a logical condition. For any antecedent, which, in addition to a logical condition, should contain only such elements as are necessary conditions of its consequent, would therein be a logical condition. As the word ccmdition is of constant occurrence in philosophy, and as an important truth is expressed in the phrase " logical condition," it may be advisable for us to dwell on the meaning of these terms. The term condition, being derived from the Latin condere, to join, applies to what exists in intimate connection with something — i. e., to any of its circumstances. This connection, so far as the nature of the thing conditioned is concerned, may be either accidental or necessary. For example, a man's con- dition in life — that is, his "circumstances" — is accidental in the sense that the man might exist under other circumstances. So, also, the condition of a farm of land, that is, its state of fertility, is accidental, because the farm might exist in a different condi- tion. And, in a contract, the thing to be done is connected with the condition of its being done in a manner accidental so far as regards its own nature. But light is a necessary condition of vision, good food of health, a plane surface of a square, a square side of a cube, and so on: for these conditions are not only connected, but necessarily connected, ivith the thing conditioned, so that they must exist if it exist. Generally, in philosophy, when ive speak of a condition, simply, we mean a condition of this sort — a necessary condition. But there are various kinds of such con- ditions. For example, causal conditions are those elements which enter into and constitute the cause of any effect; for, evidently, if the effect exist, each of these elements must exist. Constitutive conditions are those which enter into a thing itself, as its parts or elements; thus lines and angles are necessary parts of a triangle. Concomitant conditions are such as neces- sarily accompany the existence of something without being causal or constitutive. For instance, it is a condition of the existence of a right-angled triangle that the square of the hypothenuse should be equal to the sum of the squares of the two sides. So also the production of water is a concomitant condition of the melting of ice; for it is a necessary effect of that cause, and there is a sense in which an effect accompanies its cause. § 65. LOGICAL NECESSITY. 161 Now a logical condition differs from those that are merely causal or constitutive or concomitant, in that any one of these may exist while yet the thing conditioned may not exist, some other element being needed to necessitate its reality; but a logical condition not only exists necessarily, or is given, with the fact it conditions, but also necessitates the fact. It is a condition as being given with the fact; a logical condition as having tlie fact also given with it. The logical is the necessitating, or determining, condition, and as such it might be named the logical necessitant, or determinant, of that which it conditions. In discussions like the present it behooves us to note the different applications of the word condition^ because it is often used in philosophy without any qualifying adjective; and we should especially distinguish logical conditions, on the one hand, from full and separable antecedents, and, on the other, from such conditions as are merely necessary and not also necessitant. An instance of great obscurity of Hamilton quoted, expression, if not also of confusion of thought, arising from a neglect of the distinctions now emphasized, occurs in the XVllIth Lecture of the "Logic" of Sir Wm. Hamilton. He says: "A reason, or antecedent, means the condition, that is, the complement, of all without which sometliing else would not be; and the consequent means the conditioned, that is, the complement of all that is determined to be by the existence of something else The reason is conceived as that which conditions, in other words, that which contains the necessity of the existence of the consequent. A reason is only a reason if it be a sufficient reason, that is, if it comprise all the conditions, that is, all that necessitates the existence of the consequent; for, if all the conditions of anything are present, that thing must necessarily exist, since, if it do not exist, then some condition of its existence must have been wanting." In this passage the word condition some- times signifies a logical condition, though as such it is wrongly identified with a reason or antecedent; and sometimes it in- dicates conditions that are causal or constitutive, and necessary, but not necessitating. And these again are treated as if they were the only necessary conditions, that is, as if all conditions were causal or constitutive ; which adds to the confusion, xm,^ ^o o« «.^o.f The fact that every exact antecedent — every ne- Why IS an exact -, , n . -"^ ^ • i i • "^ antecedent made ccssitaut lact precisely Considered — IS a necessary up of conditions ? j • x • x* • J" j. 7 . 7 /• 7 Because only con- coudition 01 its consequcut, aud may therefore he gtions necessi- distinguished as a logical condition^ results from the fact that only necessary conditions necessitate. Generally, indeed, one condition does not of itself necessitate; but every necessitating fact, so far forth as it is necessitating, is composed of such conditions. If there be any element in an antecedent which is not a necessary condition of the consequent, that element may be stricken from existence, or replaced by an- other, and the consequent will remain as necessary as before; 162 THE HUMAN MIND. § 65. the necessity, therefore, depends on the existence of the condi- tions. The reason of this is that every necessary condition of a fact, even though not of itself necessitant, is what we may call necessitative ; that is, it is of such a nature that it may help to support the necessity of a consequent. Every simple condition may always be found to be either a part of tlie cause of a con- sequent, or a part of its constitution or essence, or a part of a necessary effect, or of some other inseparable concomitant — in short, part of an antecedent. Light is a condition of vision, but it is also part of that total cause, which existing, vision necessa- rily takes place. The optic nerve is a condition without which the eye could not exist, but it is also part of that constitution, which being existent, there is an eye. And perception is a con- dition of healthful sight, for we cannot see without perceiving something; but it is also a part of that peculiar mental result which inseparably accompanies sight. Thus any condition may combine with others so as to form a logical condition, or necessi- tant; and no necessitant can be formed in any other way. These observations may enable us to form a more Son defined.^"^*^^" cxact conccption than we have hitherto enter- ference*^°^ *° ^°' taiucd of a logical condition or an exact antece- dent. This was defined to be a necessitating fact so far forth as it is necessitating. The truth would be more perfectly expressed by saying that "it is a necessitating fact so far forth as this is composed of necessary conditions of the consequent." For an antecedent may include more such conditions than are needful to render it necessitating, and yet be exact. Should Ave say, " Every quadrilateral having equal and parallel sides and its angles right angles is a square," the antecedent would be exact and a logical condition, but it would contain a needless number of conditions, for it would be enough to say that '' every quadrilateral with equal sides and equal angles is a square." Yet every element of the large antecedent is a condition and has a necessitative character, and the antecedent as a whole is an exact necessitant. Moreover, since only logical conditions are necessitating, this explains how every antecedent contains such a condition ; and since only conditions, including logical conditions, can be conse- quents, this explains how every thoroughly convertible infer- ence must have a logical condition as its antecedent. Still, we may ask, " Why is every exact antecedent bSng!^^*^ ^"^ °^ composed of necessary conditions^ and itself such a condition? Why is it a consequent of its own con- sequent ? Or, in yet different language, Why is every logical necessitant necessitated by that which it necessitates, so that if either exist, the other must exist, and if either be non-existent, the other must be non-existent too ? " This query is allied to another of less scope, viz., "Why is the precise philosophical cause of any effect so connected with the effect that w^e can al- ways infer cause from effect as well as effect from cause ? " Per- haps neither question admits of any answer, save that which is § 66. LOGICAL NECESSITY. 163 simply an analysis of the truth presented for explanation. In regard to the necessary and mutual co-existence of cause and effect, we may say that power acts only under conditions, and that svjch is the nature of /power ^ and of entity in general, that the same results and the same conditions of the operation of power, are mutually inseparable. Here, of course, by "same" we mean the precisely similar, and among the conditions of the operation of power, we include the special nature of any potency itself All the elements of the fgregoing answer seem included in our very concep- tions of a cause, of an effect, and of the mutual connection between them. As to the more general truth of the necessary and mutual co-existence of the logical condition (or necessitant fact) and its consequent (or the fact necessitated), we may say, in like man- ner, that the limitations, as well as the results, of the operation of power, depend upon conditions, and that the same limitation and the same conditions of limitation are inseparably connected. Therefore, the same limitation of power so that it cannot make a fact non-existent (in being related to which limitation the fact is necessary), and the same set of conditions limiting the power (and necessitating the fact), are mutually inseparable. Here, again, we only present certain elements involved in the truth submitted to our inquiry. The truth is explained; but it is not Qjocounted for by reference to any principle other than itself That the logically necessitating, as such, is also the logically necessi- tated, seems to be an ultimate law of being — a part of the very structure of existence. •caj co-exist- ^ ^^' ^^ ^^® been frequently stated in the present ence and necessi- discussion that logical necessity involves the co-ex- '*^'°°' istence or correality of antecedent and consequent. We need scarcely remark that tlie co-existence here spoken of is of the most general character and is not contemporaneous existence. Ante- cedents with reference to their consequents are sometimes past, sometimes present, and sometimes future; and the converse is true as to consequents. So, also, when we say that the antecedent or reason necessitates the consequent, we do not mean at all to say that the antecedent contains the cause of the consequent and makes it to be, but only that the antecedent contains the logical condition of the consequent; in other words, that, if the antecedent exist, the con- sequent also, as existing in some necessary relation to it, cannot be made not to exist. - , X 4 ^ For the most fruitful source of misconception on Causal contrasted . . . /•• /•t't't with logical ne- this suDjcct IS the confusiou of Logicol With causal ne- cessity, cessity, ivhen the latter includes more than tJie former, and should be regarded as a prominent and peculiar species of it. In every necessity there is a necessitating antecedent and a ne- cessitated consequent; and our use of language, together with a subjective reference to the sequence of thought, favors the idea that there is always power in the antecedent to produce the con- sequent. But such is not the case. The exercise of power be- longs to those antecedents only by which something is literally 164 tub: human mind. § ea caused to be or not to be. In all others there is no power — that is, no exercise of power as operative or as related to its effect- but only what may limit the operation of power. The fact thdt two quantities are each equal to a third, contains no efficiency making them equal to one another, but it is a fact of such a na- ture that the mutual equality exists with it, and cannot be made not to exist. The fact that Paris is in France and that France is in Europe, is not the efficient cause of Paris being in Europe, but it is a fact with which the other fact necessarily co-exists. Causal necessity, on the contrary, takes place and exists, when- ever any beginning or change of existence is produced or pre- vented ; and the exercise of power is its principal condition. For when power sufficient for some result is exercised, and there is no adequate power of opposition, the result must follow. In- deed, when speaking of an event as necessary, we naturally and commonly think of it as causally necessary, i. e., as being made to exist by some sufficient efficiency, and not simply as existing in circumstances in ivhicJi no power can make it not to exist. Thus the thing as necessary is seen to have these two relations to power; but, considered simply as logically necessary, the latter alone belongs to it. In this way, the words necessity and necessary have an ambiguity. The difference between causal, and merely logical, necessity, may be understood from this, that the former pertains to things only as they result from the exercise of power, and includes their relatedness to the efficiency producing them, but the latter be- longs to things in various other relations beside that of an effect to its cause, and excludes, from its own proper nature, the pe- culiarity of this relationship. A cause in its relation to an effect is as logically necessary as an effect in its relation to its cause ; yet the effect has no efficiency to produce the cause. Therefore the logical necessity of the effect does not include the fact that power causes it to be, hut arises because of the fact that power causes it to he. For, there being an adequate cause, the effect exists, and this cannot be otherwise. This difference between causal and logical neces- fnd ra^rSS^* sity is the ground of the distinction between the ratio cognoscendi, or order of perception, and the ratio essendij or order of existence. The order of perception is the same as that of logical necessity, in which the consequent is said to follow the antecedent — this meaning that its existence is connected with, and inferable from, that of the antecedent; but the order of existence is that of causal necessity, in which an effect literally follows its cause. The one order sometimes co- incides with the other, but more frequently it does not. We cannot too firmly fix it in our minds that logical necessity — not causal — is the necessity referred to in every act of reasoning, and that, when we say that a consequent exists because an an- tecedent exists, we do not mean to say that it is caused hy the antecedent, but only that it necessarily exists as related to the § 6Q. LOGICAL NECESSITY. 165 antecedent. Inference depends upon conditions, not upon causes — ^upon causes only so far as they are conditions. .. .p ^ A peculiar metonymical use of the term necessity Bity.^' "^ " is to be met with, and is likely to confuse the Butler .iaoced. -Quvvary. Wc somctimes hear of a thing taking place hy a natural necessity, and some have taught the doctrine that all things originate and exist — not merely necessarily — but by necessity. This language might express logical necessity, but not ill a strict literality, which is the case now to be considered. Bishop Butler, in the sixth chapter of the first part of his "Analogy," shows that the word thus employed signifies, not necessity as commonly understood, but a power or agent acting necessarily. He says: "Necessity alone and of itself is in no sort an account of the constitution of nature, and how things came to be and to continue as they are, but only an account of this circumstance relating to their origin and continuance, that tJwy could not have been otlieriuise than they are and have been.'' Only power can produce anything, and power must reside in some agent: therefore, as Butler says, the assertion " that everything is by necessity, must mean by an agent acting necessarily.'' Clearly, necessity, as a causal agent, can only be a power acting neces- sarily — a power such that it cannot but exist, and cannot but act so as to produce certain results and no others. This use of language is a natural metonymy and cannot easily be avoided; but it should be noted and understood. Were a name desired for this necessity, it might be termed causative, as being power necessarily causative, and as contrasted with that causal neces- sity, already described, which depends on the exercise of power, and is the necessariness of an efi'ect. Certain /amiZi'ar applications of the idea of necessity SSSers^bS.'the may illustrate the radical and philosophical concep- ed^" nlc^es^^ ''^'^' *^^^- '^^® inevitable is called the necessary, for what cannot be avoided must be met; it is about to exist, and no power of ours can make it not to be. Death is a necessity for us all. The indispensable is necessary, for it is the condition without which some important end cannot exist, and, on the supposition of the realization of the end, the condition exists, and cannot be made not to exist. It is necessary to, or for, the end. Food, clothing, shelter, are things necessary to all; medicine and care are necessary to the sick for their recov- ery. Compulsion involves a necessity ; it makes a certain course of conduct necessary to the avoidance of some pain or loss, and this avoidance becomes the logical condition of that conduct. In general, things inevitable, indispensable, or enforced, are necessary in relation only to som-e particular being or set of beings, and suppose cases in which the power of other beings does not in any way conflict with the condition of the necessity, but frequently supplies it. In short, they present cases of rela- tive necessity; 166 THE HUMAN MIND. § 67 We have now discussed logical necessity as the icai ^necessiiy To external basis of inference. For, in reasoning, we u^ence exactly perccivc a fact, not immediately, but because of its necessary co-existence with some known fact. The question, however, may now be asked, Wlietlier ice do not, in the first place, simply perceive the fact as connected ivith the other fact, and then, as confirmation of this cognition, perceive the necessity of the co-existence — that the fact could not be otherivise ? Such, we believe, is the case. That is, the perception of the concomitant fact does not depend on the perception of its necessity, but rather the reverse is true. For the necessity originates from the nature and relations of the fact, and, therefore, presupposes the fact. But a belief thus formed, if in any way questioned, is instantly confirmed by a perception of the necessity of the fact as related to the given fact; and such inferential belief is formed only in cases wJiere this necessity exists. Evidently the mind has a wonderful power of suggestion whereby, independently of any considera- tion of necessity, it sees things unseen as co-existent with, and related to, things seen. But the unseen, while thus perceived, is always necessarily co-existent and related, and may be viewed also in this light. Logical relations are always necessary re- lations. We infer only such things as have some necessity of existence, either absolute or relative. If one should classify the necessary relations of fact, he would classify also the various modes of inference. The doctrine of necessity, and of things as necessarily related, cannot be separated from the doctrine of reasoning. CHAPTER XXI. THE UNCONDITIONED, THE MOKALLY NECESSARY, AND THE IMPOSSIBLE. § 67. Some questions related to the doctrine of necessity, yet not directly connected with that of inference, may be the topics of a supplementary discussion. Sir Wm. Hamilton and Dean Mansel, in their " Phi- and AbsoiS^be losophy of the Conditioned" teach that man can know S^'^'^u^ T^yro^.oi only ivhat exists in relation. In this they are mani- Hamiltou, Mansel. (,^, , .i-i ^i iii lestly correct; everything known must be reiatea at least to our cognitive faculties as their object ; and this can take place only through its being related to our experience as part of it or as connected with it. Moreover, what is perceived, not immediately, but inferentially, must be necessarily related to some known antecedent as containing a logical condition, and so it must be not only related but conditioned, and the subject of logical necessity. In other words, its existence must logically necessitate the existence of other thin2:s, and must also § 67. THE UNCONDITIONED, 167 itself be logically necessitated by their existence. And since there is nothing that we know immediately which may not also some- how be perceived inferentially, we may admit that all possible objects of knowledge are logically conditioned. Thus far, the philosophy of the conditioned is reasonable. But Hamilton fur- ther teaches that whatever is related or conditioned is thereby limited — that " to conceive a thing in relation to, is, ipso facf-o, to conceive it as finite" — and hence that all knowledge of the infinite is impossible. Likewise, that whatever is conditioned cannot be absolute ; for the absolute is independent of, or uncon- ditioned by, all things else; and therefore the absolute is un- knowable: it is "incognizable and inconceivable." In short, all that we can know of God, the infinite and self-existent One, is that we know, and can know, nothing of Him whatever. Thin s infinite ^^ regard to the first part of this reasoning it may may and do exist be allowcd that anything related to another thing in relation. cannot be that other thing, and must be finite if nothing infinite can he distinguished from other entities infinite and finite. But this we deny. Infinite space can be distinguished from infinite duration, and the infinite power of God from His infinite wisdom, and all these things from the finite universe. Things infinite may co-exist and be diff'erent from each other and from things finite, without any loss to their infinity. Myr- iads of endless lines might exist in space; countless atoms might be conceived of as having each an eternal being. Two infinites of the same kind added together may even constitute a third infinite; thus God's past eternity added to His future eternity makes up the duration of His entire life. Moreover, in all such cases, the infinite is no less an infinite, because other things exist and are related to it; as, for example, the wisdom, power, and greatness of God are none the less because man exists as a limited and dependent creature. These remarks are simply the application of well-known algebraic principles respecting the ad- dition and subtraction, multiplication and division, of infinites. But it may be asked whether, if all things infinite and finite were added together, there luould not he something greater than any of its parts and specially ivorthy of the name infinite ? This ma}- te. Nevertheless, should we add space, time, God, and the uni- verse together, this total would not be the infinite of which we commonly speak and think ; nor is there any necessity that we should consider God such a total, — that we should believe in pantheism, — because God is infinite. Moreover, such an infinite could not be the object of religious homage ; no one could ration- ally adore space, time, and the universe; only that infinite part of the infinite total — that personal part, which we call God — would be worthy of worship. At the same time, so far as we can see, even such an infinite total can be conceived of and believed in, not, indeed, as related to something else, hut as related to its ovm parts. In fine, the doctrine that the infinite is inconceivable and unknowable, because we can only conceive things as re- 168 THE HUMAN MIND, § 67. lated, should be rejected, firsts because we can conceive and know of an infinite total — not as related to other things — but as related to its own parts; and, secondly, because a thing may be infinite without including everything else, and may be known by its relations to other things. It is in this way that we nat- urally know and think of God, the infinite personal substance. The argument of Sir William simply shows that an untenable conception of the Divine infinitude should be dismissed and re- placed by one that will harmonize with fact and reason. . The second part of Hamilton's statement — namely, but not logicauy that God is wiknoivoble because He is uncondi- diSonid.^'^ '^'^°^' ironed or absolute, and because we know only things conditioned— is fallacious by reason of an ambiguity in the tvord condition. In one sense, God is not conditioned, while in another He is. God is free from the conditions of causal necessity. He is unproduced and self-existent; He is absolutely independent of all other beings, and even of His own creative power, for His existence and His attributes. The thought tha.t God was ever made to be, is inconsistent with any conception that we can rationally form of Him. But God, no less than afuy of His creatures, is the subject of logical necessity, and exists under its conditions, so far as they are not causal. In partic- ular God is a necessary Being, not only per se, as being what He is, but also as the Creator of the universe ; and, in the latter case, the existence of the universe is the logical antecedent of the ex- istence of God, its Maker.. Moreover, logical necessity, so far as it may be absolute, limits even the power of God; which, there- fore, is not infinite in the sense that it is not limited by absolute necessity, but only in the sense that He can do, and that to any extent, whatever in the nature of things is possible to be done. For no power, however great, can accomplish a mathematical or metaphysical or moral impossibility. No power could make a plane triangle the sum of whose angles should be greater or less than two right angles, or diminish the immensity of space, or stop the course of time, or destroy the diff"erence between moral good and moral evil. To say that God is thus subject to the conditions of logical necessity, and that His power is limited by them, does not conflict with the doctrine of His infinitude and absoluteness, but only shows how reason requires these doctrines to be understood. He is infinite and absolute in that way and in those respects, of which the nature of things admits; to say more than this is to speak absurdly. An infinite which com- prises all things and yet has no relation to its parts, and even is without parts ; and an absolute which is independent of the necessary nature of entity — or, what is the same thing, an un- conditioned which is free from logical necessity — are things which never existed, and never can exist. And belief in such objects is not an act of consistent intelligence; it is the product of a kind of philosophic jugglery in which the performers, no less than the spectators, are deceived. § 68. THE MORALLY NECESSARY. 169 § 68. A distinction, between natural, and moral ne- SSStTwr^spS cessity, which ethical writers make, has occupied a Sifar^^^^ ^^ prominent place in the discussions of modern phi- losophy ; for which reason, and because of its own importance, it should not be neglected by those who would be well informed. No one, so far as we are aware, controverts the doctrine that the volitions and voluntary conduct of moral be- ings are subject to various modes of logical, as distinguished from causal, necessity. For example, they can often, as causes, be inferred as necessarily existing, or as having existed, in cases where their effects are seen. Again, past actions with reference to their past existence, and present with reference to their pres- ent existence, are necessary; for no power can make the one not to have been or the other not now to be. So also actions cer- tainly future — really about to exist — are necessary with refer- ence to their future existence. In other words, as certainly future, they have a logical necessity; for, as that which is exist- ent cannot at the sai](i« time be non-existent, but must exist, that also wliich is about to exist, cannot be, at the same time, about not to exist, but must be about to be. But this necessity that a thing should exist because it exists — that whatever is must be — is merely logical, and is clearly different from causal necessity, according to which a thing must exist because it has been, or is about to be, made to exist. Aristotle distinguishes these necessi- ties in the ninth chapter of his book "De Interpretatione." He says, " The existent, of necessity, is when it is, and the non-ex- istent is not when it is not. But the existent does not always necessarily exist, and the non-existent is not always necessarily non-existent. For it is not the same thing that every existence should exist from necessity, when it is, and that it should simply exist from necessity." Thus Aristotle distinguishes two modes of necessity, the latter only being causal. Now the distinction which we began to mention, between natural and moral necessity, is primarily related, not to the ne- cessity which we have illustrated, and which is merely logical, but to that which is causal. It is the assertion of a difference between two modes of causal necessity, so far as this necessity may be considered to affect the actions and lives of moral beings. For, while all causal necessity is conditioned upon and arises from the exercise of power or efiSciency, natural necessity arises from the action of physical, and moral necessity from that of psychical, powers. Or, to speak more exactly, since the distinc- tion views necessity simply in its relation to voluntary life and agency, moral necessity is that tvhich arises from the action of psy- chical powers so far as this results in volitions and voluntary actions, and which attaches itself primarily and properly, to our volitions, and through them to our conduct; while natural necessity pertains to such events as result from any other exercise of power, luhether spiritual or material. Instead, therefore, of natural and moral, they might appropriately be called volitional^ and non-volitional^ necessity. 170 THE HUMAN MIND. § 68. The distinction between these necessities is set ESl^^cf'ed: foi^th by Pres.^ Edwards at the beginning of his famous " Inquiry " concerning the freedom of the will (part i. sect. iv.). Having mentioned several senses in which the expression "moral necessity" is used, he proceeds: "Sometimes it means that necessity of connection and conse- quence which arises from such moral causes as the strength of inclination or motives, and the connection which there is, in many cases, between them and such certain volitions and actions. And it is in this sense that I use the phrase ' moral necessity ' in the following discourse. By '•natural necessity,' as applied to men, I mean such necessity as men are under through the force of natural causes, as distinguished from what are called moral causes, such as the habits and dispositions of the heart, and moral motives and inducements. Thus men, placed in certain circumstances, are the subjects of certain sensations by necessity; they feel pain when their bodies are wounded; they see the objects presented before them in a clear light, when their eyes are opened; so they assent to the truth of certain propositions as soon as the terms are understood; so, by a natural necessity, men's bodies move downward when there is nothing to support them." (The expression " by necessity " in the fore- going extract, must, of course, mean " by a necessitating poiver.'') Pres. Edwards remarks that moral necessity is different from the necessity of which we ordinarily think and speak. For the necessary commonly signifies that to which our desires, volitions, and efforts may be opposed, but which such opposition cannot prevent or avoid ; in other words, by necessity men mean natural necessity. But moral necessity characterizes any volition or determination as being the result of the action of our total mo- tive nature, so far as this may act in any case ; and, clearly, this action and the volition resulting from it cannot be opposed to them- selves. At the same time Pres. Edwards says, " Moral necessity may be as absolute as natural necessity''; that is, volitions may be as perfectly connected with moral causes as natural effects are with natural causes; and, supposing this to be the case, it is evident that moral necessity is as truly a necessity — and as truly a causal necessity — as natural. In each case, alike, we have a causal potency as the logical condition of an effect, so that, the potency acting, the effect must take place. In each case, more- over, the necessity exists in relation to the powers of the agent, but in a different way: in natural necessity the agent cannot make the necessary thing to be otherwise than it is or is about to be, because, though his powers may be opposed to it, their opposition is insufficient or ineffectual; but in moral necessity the agent cannot make the thing to be otherwise, because his powers, being all engaged in the production and service of the volition, cannot, at the same time, be exercised in opposition to these things. Before one arrives at a resolution or volition or determination there may be a conflict between various motivi- § 68. THE MORALLY NECESSARY. 171 ties; especially the tendencies of appetite or propension or afi'ec- tion may be opposed by those which are rational and moral. Nay, this opposition may continue and accompany the volition. But, when one side prevails, the opposition of the other is of necessity ineffectual; and the volition, as the resultant of the joint action of all our motivities, cannot be opposed by this joint action, or by man's motive nature as a whole, or, which is the same thing, by man himself as a voluntary agent. The drunk- ard, so long as a love for the stimulus of alcohol is his ruling passion, cannot, as a voluntar}^ agent — that is, in the actual and total exercise of his nature as a voluntary agent — oppose the volitions induced by this passion, but carries them out in prac- tice; at the same time his rational and moral motivities may make a partial and ineffectual opposition. This, though an extreme case, fairly illustrates the universal rule of spiritual life, namely, that we cannot, in any case, but follow the decision and determination of our motive nature as a w^hole. This impossi- bihty is an absolute one ; even God is subject to it. It is not the inability to do what one might do if he had sufficient power; it is the impossibility of a motive nature as a whole acting in opposite directions at once. This absolute impossibility Pres. Edwards calls moral inability^ but it should be distinguished carefully from that moral or spir- itual inability which is a want* of power to change or modify — not a present volition — hut ones character and future life; aiid which may, or may not^ he absolute. " For," says Edwards, " though it is impossible there should be any true, sincere desires and en- deavors against a present volition or choice, yet there may be against volitions of that kind when viewed at a distance. A person may desire and use means to prevent future exercises of a certain inclination ; and, in order to do it, may wish the habit to be removed; but his desires and efforts may be ineffectual " (" Inquiry," part iii. section iv.). Clearly a voluntary agent may experience an inability in his ineffectual resolves and efforts to reform himself and his life; but this is not that "inability" which Pres. Edwards describes as invariably accompanying moral necessity, and which is really an absolute impossibility of making any oprposition at all. Libertarianism ^"ch is the Ncccssitarian doctrine as set forth by Reid, Fitzgerald, the great Neccssitariau divine. It is rejected by °" °^* many who believe it inconsistent with that liberty Avhich is essential to moral agency, and who, as the defenders of this liberty, style themselves Libertarians. Both classes of thinkers agree, for the most part, on several points. Both hold that fixed powers and abiding tendencies exist in the spiritual as well as in the material world; and that a spirit may have a settled intellectual and motive character subject to variation only according to permanent laws affecting its growth and development. Both teach that causes produce effects in the spiritual as well as in the material world, and this according to 172 THE HUMAN MIND. § 68. a radical law; that not only changes result from the exercise of power, but also that similar causal conditions are followed by similar effects. Both believe that causal necessity, according to both its modes — namely that no change is without causal con ditions, and that the same effects and the same causes "are insepa rably connected — reigns, and that absolutely, in the material world, and, to a great extent, in the spiritual. But, when we reach the region of voluntary life, Libertarians admit only a qualified necessity — if they admit any necessity at all, — and say that, while thoughts and perceptions, desires and motivities generally exert an influence, and sometimes a great influence, on volition, yet the soul, in addition to its motivities, has a fower of self-determination^ ivliich acts independently of the influence of ends and motivities^ and luliich truly determines our volitions with- out being itself in any loay determined. Thus volition is made an exception to the ordinary law of cause and effect; for, though the power of self-determination may not act save under condi- tions, yet, so far as it acts in any given way, its action is unde- termined by any condition; there is no assignable ground or reason why it acts in the one way rather than in another; and, having once acted in one way, it may, on a precisely similar occasion, and under precisely similar influences, act in the op- posite way. Thus Libertarians claim an exception to the law that the same power under the 'same conditions acts in the same way. The preponderance of philosophical opinion, from Aristotle to Hamilton, has been on the side of this doctrine; though many eminent thinkers have been Necessitarians. That we have truly presented the Libertarian view may be seen from one or two quotations. Keid, in the ninth chapter of his fourth essay on the ''Active Powers," says, "When it is proved that through all nature the same consequences invariably result from the same circumstances, the doctrine of liberty must be given up." In this sentence the word circumstance is evidently used in the sense of condition. To the same efiect is a note of Prof Fitz- gerald in his edition of the "Analogy" (parti, chap. vi.). "The doctrine of necessity takes this expression, that moral acts of the will are determined by their motives — meaning by motives all that is the result of temper, organization, education, and out- ward circumstances — as certainly as physical consequences are by their antecedents." Hamilton — also a pronounced Liberta- rian — writes thus in his "Philosophy of the Conditioned," chap, ii., " Some of those who make the doctrine of causality a positive dictate of intelligence, find themselves compelled, in order to escape the consequences of their doctrine, to deny that this dictate, though universal in its deliverance, should be allowed to be universally true; and accordingly they would exempt from it the facts of volition." Hamilton's solution is that the doctrine of causality is not a positive judgment, but only an expression of our impotence to conceive of an effect save as the re-appear fc § 68. ^ THE MORALLY NECESSARY. 173 ing, in a diiFerent form, of the elements of the cause: he de- clares that this " inability to conceive " is no reason for believ- ing an event without a cause, that is, volition^ to be impossible. But this explanation fails to satisfy; it is false; and, even were it true, it would not vindicate that liberty of the will which is necessary to moral life. Hamilton allows this, perhaps some- what unconsciously; for he adds, " How the will can possibly be free must remain to us, under the present limitation of our fac- ulties, wholly incomprehensible. We are unable to conceive an absolute commencement; we cannot, therefore, conceive a free volition. A determination by motives cannot, to our under- standing, escape from necessitation. Nay; were we to admit as true, what we cannot think as possible, still the doctrine of a mo- tiveless volition would he only casualism; and the free acts of an in- different, are^ morally and rationally, as luorthless as tJie pre-ordered passions of a determined, vAll. How, therefore, I repeat, moral liberty is possible in man or God, we are utterly unable specu- latively to understand." Thus, having vindicated liberty by asserting that volition may be free in that it may take place without antecedent conditions, Hamilton confesses that the liberty of a moral being is not, and cannot be, this very freedom of which he maintains the possibility ! In this case was not the logician Sir William too much for Sir William the philosopher ? In regard to these opposing schools of thought we marS!'^*''^ ''^' "^^y remark as follows: First, it seems clear that one of these views must he true and the other false. The essence of necessitarianism is to assert that the phenomena of voluntary life, no less than any others, take place according to the law of cause and effect, while Libertarianism is simply the denial of this. Between such views there can be no middle ground. In the second place, the laiv of cause and effect is a radi- cal and positive laiv of hoth thought and existence. The constitution of our minds, acting in our necessary perceptions, compels us to believe that powers exist — that changes or events take place only by the operation of power — that power acts only on condi- tions — and that like operations and results follow like conditions. Even with God power does not act wildly, but according to law ; and, in particular, the action of creative and providential power is conditioned on the exercise of infinite wisdom, knowledge, and love. In short, reason teaches that every new state of affairs, with the powers operating in it, has been causatively determined by that other state of affairs immediately preceding it, and is de- terminative of that which immediately follows. Such being the case, necessitarianism is merely the assertion that the law of cause and effect, as the universal law of changes or events, per- vades the realm of spiritual, as well as that of material, exist- ence. This, considered by itself, we find not only possible to be- lieve, but impossible not to believe. In the third place, should we suppose necessitarianism false, and hold that volition is self caused and not the necessary consequent of antecedent psy 174 THE HUMAN MIND. § 68. chical states and activities, this would not relieve us of difficulty ; the liberty of'indifFerence thus attributed to the will, and consisting in its not being determined according to motives and from motivi- ties either natural or moral, cannot he the liberty of moral agency. Because a volition is moral only as it aims at good or bad ends and as it proceeds from good or bad motivities. Since, then, the liberty which supposes self-caused volitions, and which consists in their being undetermined by antecedent conditions, is not that involved in moral agency, may not this conception of liberty be a mistake ? And may there not be a true moral liberty con- sistent with the existence and operation of the causal law? Finally^ we remark that the necessitarian doctrine, properly understood, seems to make room for the only conception of liberty that is possible or natural in the case. The freedom of outward moral actions consists in their being free from the constraint of physical necessity while yet they are voluntary^ that is, the result and expression of voluntary life; and the freedom of voluntary life itself is of the same nature, but more -absolute; for this life, of which volition is the ultimate development, as it takes place wholly within the soul and arises from the operation of psy- chical motivities, is, by its very nature, free from physical necessity. Hence those are not far wrong who say that moral freedom lies in the very possession and exercise of a motive and volitional nature; for it is the necessary property of such a nature. But, if this be so, if the liberty of moral agency be merely that freedom from physical necessitation which pertains to the motive nature of a rational being, it is entirely consistent with moral necessity and with the operation of those psychical causes which result in volition. Moreover, whether we regard the efficiency producing volition to belong exclusively to the will as a sim- ple power, the motivities merely supplying conditions determi- native of its action, or whether we attrilbute the efficiency to the motivities, and consider the will a compound faculty and a resultant of intelligence and motivity, the logical result is the same; in either case there is moral necessity and moral freedom. Necessitarianism, as now explained^ differs from Fatalism. fatalism, in that the former teaches that man's life and destiny proceed from himself, that is, are de- termined by the operation of his own motive and moral nature, while the latter subjects man wholly to outward conditions. The former acknowledges the freedom, the personal agency, and the accountability, which attend moral life; the latter denies,' or at least ignores, all. Hamilton distinguishes rightly when he says, "There are two schemes of necessity — the necessitation by efficient, the necessitation by final, causes : the former is brute or blind fate; the latter rational determinism." But his lan- guage would have been more correct, had he contrasted the causes as natural and moral — as those which produce volition and those which do not. There is no efficiency, and consequently no causal necessitation, in final causes; these are merely the ends § 69. THE IMPOSSIBLE. 175 pursued by that motive efficiency which belongs to the soul alone. Such is a brief sketch of the necessitarian controversy; any full discussion of it would require a volume. § 69. The doctrine of logical necessity cannot be SpossibSty^ ^^ ^^"^1 illustrated and confirmed, if we do not^ con- Necessity and im- sider somewhat the nature of impossibility. Neces- possjiiity com- ^^^^ ^^^ bccu defined as that characteristic which SeSSS *^^ a fact has when it is a fact and* cannot be made not to be a fact. Now, wherever there is a fact, positive or negative, the opposite of it, or that which is not fact, is conceivable; and impossibility is the characteristic of that ivhich is not fact and which cannot be made to be a fact. As both facts and things conceivable are positive and negative, so we have positive and negative necessities and positive and negative impossibilities. As necessity and impossibility each involve a limitation of power, the one in respect to reaUties and the other in respect to non-realities, they may be said to partake of a common nature. Moreover, every reality involves the non-reality of its contradict- ory, and every non-reality the reality of its contradictory: thus, if it is a fact that there is money, it is not a fact that there is no money; and, if it is a fact that there is no money, it is not a fact that there is money. This is that "law of contradic- tion," of which metaphysicians and logicians speak as a most radical principle of existence and of thought. Such being the case, it is clear that every necessity is accompanied by a cor- responding impossibility, and every impossibility by a corre- sponding necessity. More explicitly, when it is necessary that any thing should be, it is impossible that it should not be, and, when it is necessary that anything should not be, it is impossi- ble that it should be; and conversely as to impossibility. In this way necessity and impossibility are logical conditions of each other (§ 65). Although necessity and impossibility partake of a common nature, neither can be resolved into the other, inasmuch as the one involves a relation to fact, and the other a relation to what is not fact; but, of the two, impossibility may be regarded as the more radical. For impossibility of change, or of the preven- tion of change, is the essential basis of the necessity of any fact or event; and this same impossibility is also implied in any other impossibility. The necessity of God's existence, or of God's jus- tice, involves the impossibility of a change whereby God should cease to exist, or to exist as He is; while the impossibility that God should not exist, or should be unjust, also involves the im- possibility of Him ceasing to be, or to be what He is. This dependence of necessity on impossibility is indicated by the negative character of the word necessity. For, whether we take ^^necesse'' or " necessum, " to have originally signified " What does not cease" or, " What does not yield,'' in either case, there is the sugges- tion, of that which continues to be and ivhich it is impossible to change. But necessity, while thus involving this radical form of ira- 176 THE HUMAN MIND. § 70. possibility, always, as we have said, includes more, namely, tlit realiUj of its subject Both necessity and impossibility are limita- tions of the efficiency of power; each supposes that which power cannot do — an effect which, because of a limitation of efficiency, cannot exist. At the same time, the limitation of power may be thought of with reference to the non-reality of the supposed effect, and then we call it impossibility; or — since the opposite or contradictory of the supposed effect must be real — it may be thought of as related to and characterizing this reality, and then we call it necessity. § 70. Some difficulties, which arise from the scan- Sfd!^^^^^ consid- |.^jjggt5 Q^j^^ inadequacy of language, attach themselves eSK'b^rlaL^^ Specially to the doctrine of impossibility, and may, perhaps, be best stated and discussed in connection with the two principal meanings of this word. For sometimes we speak of the impossibility of some supposed fact or thing, and sometimes we call the impossible thing or fact itself an im- possibility; and, in this way, using both significations together, we might speak of the impossibility of an impossibility. Now, as to the first-named impossibility, there is a sense in which it may he said to exist; for, in every case of impossibility, the non-exist- ence of an efficiency adequate to the supposed effect is a reality. At the same time, it is not a positive but a negative fact, and the question arises. What do we mean in speaking of the exist- ence of negative facts ? To which we reply, that, using language strictly — that is, according to its more ordinary meaning — no facts, whether positive or negative, can be said to be or to exist. For a fact is itself the existence or the non-existence of some- thing (§ 51), and it is not correct to say that the existence of something exists, or that the non-existence of something exists. Only things or entities exist, or do not exist, according to the ordinary sense of this word. Nevertheless existence and non- existence, though not objects or things, have yet an ohjectuality^ according to which, when a thing exists, its existence may be truly seen and believed in, and, when it does not exist, its non- existence may be as truly perceived and known. When, there- fore, a fact is said to exist, we mean, and can mean, only, that it has its own proper objectuality or reality. This explains the apparent contradiction of our language when we say that a neg- ative fact exists; for that is to say that non-existence exists. Clearly we mean only that non-existence, as well as existence, has an objectuality (§ 35). This is our way of speaking when we say that the impossi- bility of anything exists, impossibility being a negative fact. -TV 4 » 4Ki«. W^e now turn to impossibihty, accordine^ to the sec- The Impossible . ,. , i " . "^i • i • -n j. x i la never the real, oud meaning 01 the term, whicn signines, not tne mlaiSng^given to impossibility of any thing, but tlie thing itself as S^daSrr*^^ ^'"^ ^^^^^9 ^'^W^ssihle. This might be called concrete, and the other attributive impossibility, though this would be a secondary use of language and not strictly literal. It is § 70. THE IMPOSSIBLE. 177 plain that while the impossibility of a thing may exist as a nega- tive fact, the thing as an impossibility has no existence whatever. The essence of impossibility is that a thing cannot exist; it would be absurd to say that a thing impossible exists. But what especially calls for attention in the statement that a thing impos- sible does not exists is that both the word thing and the icord exist are used in a very luide application. Since a thing may be impos- sible to be, or impossible not to be, — that is, may be impossible as to its existence or as to its non-existence — the word thing^ in an universal statement concerning impossibility, must cover cases of non-existence as well as of existence, or supposed non-entities as well as supposed entities. In short, there is an extension of the meaning of the word thing by which it corresponds in exten- sion with the word exist. And this leads to the remark that we have here a more notable case than that already noticed of the enlargement, or generalization, of the idea of existence so as to include under it the negative as well as the positive mode of reality. For what we mean to say is that a thing impossible is not fact either positive or negative — that it is not objec- , tual at all. The term objectual, as here used, characterizes, not what is opposed to the subjective (or subjectual), but that which may be knoivn to be fad, and so that ichich in any luay is real. Now, if it be not sufficiently self-evident that the impossible is never ob- jectual, this may be argued from the fact noticed by Aristotle that Eivai and i^rj eiyai — or the existence and the non-existence of things — are the proper subjects of necessity and impossibility. For this shows that there are only tv/o modes of impossibility, according to one of which the existence of a thing is impossible and according to the other of which the non-existence of a thing is impossible. But these statements can mean only that, in either mode of impossibility, there cannot be fact corresponding to our thought — that, in the one case, the existence cannot exist or be real, and that, in the other, the non-existence cannot exist or be real. Moreorer, although, in connection with the first case, there is a corresponding non-existence which is real, and, in the second, a corresponding existence which is real, yet these are not the existence and the non-existence which we think of as the subjects of impossibility; they are the non-existence and the existence which are the subjects of necessity. And, even allow- ing what seems to be true, that we never think of an impossi- bility save with reference to, and for the sake of, the necessity which accompanies it, this would not prove that the two are ever identical. Objectless thought "^H*' ^^}^^ statement, that things impossible do not —A second compu- exist, is truc iu the sense that they have no reality caiono meaning. gj|.j^gj. positive or negative, — if, in truth, they are neither existent nor non-existent — it may properly be asked, '' What kind of things are they ? " To this we reply that they are not things at aU, and tliat, in literal strictness, we do not, in cases 178 THE HUMAN MIND. § 71. of impossibility, think and speak of things, but only as if of things. We use objectless thought, and express this in the same language as if there were objectualities to correspond to it. Impossible things, together Avith their supposed existence and attributes, and — yet more evidently — impossible non-entities with their non-existence, are not real, but the reverse of real. Moreover, the impossibility of a thing, though this impossibility may be a fact, is not really an attribute of the impossible (non- entis nulla sunt attributa); it is styled an attribute only accord- ing to that same mode of thought whereby its subject, even as impossible, is a thing. In speaking of the impossible our em- ployment of the power of conception is of the same nature with that exhibited when we speak of ideal objects ; but it is of wider range. In cases of impossibility we may have the thought of impossible non-existence as well as that of impossible existence; but ideal objects are supposed existences. Thus the word thing — together, we may add, with other words related to it in use — has a double complication of meaning when we speak of things impossible. First, it is so extended as to cover in thought cases of non-existence as well as those of existence, or negative, as well as positive, facts, or (which is the same thing with a different emphasis of thought) things non-existent, as well as things existent. Secondly, in this mean- ing it expresses only objectless thought, that is, conceptions of the existence or of the non-existence of things, or of things as existent or as non-existent, which conceptions have nothing in fact or reality to correspond with them. § 71. One may ask, how does the statement, that A difficulty. a thing impossible cannot be either existent or non- existent, consist with the law of excluded middle, which is that a thing must either be or not be ? We answer that the doctrine of impossibility would conflict with the law of excluded middle, if the same thing at the same time could be impossible to be and not to be. But there is no confiiction when one thing is impossible to be and another is impossible not to be. It is to be noticed, therefore, that when we say the impossible is neither existent nor non-existent, we do not say that the same impossible thing is neither existent nor non- existent, but only that a thing impossible is either an impossible entity or an impossible non-entity, and that an impossible entity cannot exist, and an impossible non-entity cannot be non-ex- istent. This consists with the law of excluded middle. But it should be further observed that this law does not apply either to the impossible or to the necessary as such. The necessary is always fact, and it would be inept to say that fact must be either fact or not fact; while the impossible is always not fact, and it would be inept to say that what is not fact must be either fact or not fact; as if there were two possible supposi- tions and the case were not already determined. In one sense, the principle of excluded middle applies to all things, but it § 71. THE IMPOSSIBLE, 179 applies to things considered merely formdJIy^ and not to things conceived of positively or negatively. (See Chap. XIII.) Since (a) the impossible to he is always the necessary piained.^*"^ ®^' not to be, and (b) the impossible not to be is always the necessary to be, it may be asked, " Is not the impos- sible, after all, a mode of the necessary; or, rather, is not each a mode of the other?" Common sense rejects this argument and asserts that necessity and impossibility are never the same ; but the fallacy of it may not be perceived at once. In regard to this we remark, Jirst, the statement that a thing impossible to be is necessary not to be, does not necessarily involve that the impossibility of the existence of a thing and the neces- sity of its non-existence are identical: and a similar remark applies to the other statement. It is asserted only that a thing, which is impossible to be, is also necessary not to be. The statement may be likened to this, /'Every rational being is a moral being;" in which we are not taught that rationality and moral character are the same, but only that they necessarily belong to the same subject. But, further, one may ask. How can it be shown that this explanation is true? May not the lirst statement naturally imply that the impossible to be, in the very fact of this impossibility, is the necessary not to be, and the second, similarly, that the impossible not to be, is, in the same way, identical with the necessary to be? We reply that the words miglit bear these meanings, but not the matter. Let us consider the second statement first, concerning the impossible not to be. A thing impossible not to be is not an impossible entity, but an impossible non-entity; whereas a thing necessary to be is a necessary entity — not a necessary non-entity; and it would be absurd to say that a non-entity and an entity a^ such are the same. But the former is impossible as a non- entity and not otherwise, and the latter is necessary as an en- tity and not otherwise. Since, then, the impossibility under consideration attaches itself to the non-entity, as such, and the necessity to the entity, as such, it is clear that impossibility of non-existence and necessity of existence are not the same; and that the impossible not to be is not, in the fact of its impos- sibility, the necessary to be, but is diverse from the latter. The question then arises, ^' hi what sense or way are the two identical, if not as to their necessity and impossibility?" We reply, as to their form, (§ 35). Yet even this identity is not literal; it is that only which may subsist between a thing as existent and as non-existent, and according to which we might say that the same thing — for example, a hope — which existed yesterday does not exist to-day. For the impossible not to be — the impossibly non-existent — has no form; because the non- existent is formless; our thought of it is an objectless conception; and even the thought of its non-existence has no objectuality to correspond to it. The literal truth in the case is that the formal conception, uniting with the thought of non-existence and of 180 THE HUMAN MIND, % 72. impossibility of non-existence, is always the same formal con- ception which combines with the thought of existence and of necessity of existence. In the latter combination it sets forth a reality ; but in the former it is not so used. In like manner as to the first statement. A thing impossible to he is an impossible entity, and a thing necessary not to he is a necessary non-entity ; and these can be identical only as to form. In this case there is yet greater departure from literal language. The only objectuality or reality mentioned — apart from the at- tributive impossibility and necessity — is the non-existence of the thing necessary not to be. The form thought of as existent and as impossible to be, and that thought of as non-existent and necessary not to be, are, infact^ both alike non-existent, the "ob- jects " of objectless thought. The literal truth in the case is that these forms loould be the same if they both really existed ; and that the formal conception, which, in a case of the impossible to be, we combine with the idea of existence, is the same conception which, in the concomitant case of necessity, we combine with the idea of non-existence. These explanations may be illustrated by reference to any necessary reality; for example, a divine attribute. We say that the justice of God is a thing impossible not to be and necessary to be: and that it is the one — not in being the other — but only as being the other, or because it is the other. The subject of both these predicates is the justice of God as formally conceived of. This conception, uniting in the first predication, first with the thought of non-existence, and then with that of impossibility, and, in the second, first with that of existence, and then with that of necessity, presents two different propositions for our be- lief: first that the justice of God, as non-existent, is a thing im- possible and without reality, and, secondly, that the justice of God, 05 existent, is a thing necessary and real. Again, we say, " Wickedness in God is a thing impossible to be, and necessary not to be." In this the formal conception of wickedness in God, uniting, in the first predication, first with the thought of exist- ence, and then with that of impossibility, and, in the second, first with the thought of non-existence, and then with that of necessity, presents two different propositions, in the one of which the impossibility of an existence, and in the other of which the necessity of a non-existence, is set forth. But it is clear that the impossibility and the necessity in this case, as in the other, are not the same, though they are inseparably connected, and may both be predicated of the same formal subject. § 72. Finally, this is to be observed, that, whether The concephon^of ^^ think and speak of the necessary or of the im- Bubsidiary to that possible, what the mind desires to know is fact or of the necessary. a ' , .•,.,.. ,7 7 reality; therefore impossibility is mentaUy used, not for its ovm sake, but for the sahe of its accompanying necessity. Such being the case, the query arises, " Why employ the im- possible at all ? " The answer is twofold. First, the conception § 73. LOGICAL POSSIBILITY. 18t of a non-real thing, which is impossible to be, is used to suggest or indicate the real non-existence which is necessary not to be, because of that preference (§ 35) which the mind has for positive conceptions. It is more natural for us to conceive of a thing as being and then to judge it not to be, and so deny its being, than immediately to conceive and affirm its non-existence. Hence, ordinarily, we think and speak of the impossible to be rather than simply and directly of the necessary not to be. In the second place, having thus chosen these two leading forms of thought, viz., the impossible to be and the necessary to be, in each of which the central conception is positive, we employ the other, and more negative, forms as secondary to these respec- tively, and often find them useful in the antithesis of illustra- tion or argument. For the necessary to be and the impossible not to be, though diftering as mental conceptions, are equivalent as expressions of fact, the former being a direct and the latter an indirect expression; and, in the same manner, the impossible to be and the necessary not to be are objectively equivalent. CHAPTER XXII. LOGICAL POSSIBILITY. § 73. In studying objectively the nature of necessity and im- possibility, we have been discovering the radical nature of those modes of thought employed in inferential perception, no less than the radical nature of those modes of fact upon which such per- ception is based. In every inference of fact our mode of thought is simply an apprehension of the mode of the fact as necessary. In like manner, also, the doctrines of possibility and of proba- bility will throw light on methods of thought employed in rea- soning; indeed, it will be seen that these doctrines, yet more decidedly than those of necessity and impossibility, involve a reference to modes of mental action. All inference ^^}^ inference of a negative fact from the impossi- views things as bility of its coutradictory, is no exception to the Th^ \iference of principle that ciR reasoning as to fact is based on tJie S'p°o?sU)mty iTas perception of necessity, or of things as necessarily re- reference to con- latcd. The impossitlc to bc and the necessary not to be, though different, differ only as to our modes of conception, and not as to the fact in each case ; objectually they are the same. The impossible is the necessary not to be thought of in a peculiar way (§§ 71-72), and is inferred from an antecedent in the same manner as the necessary to be. We therefore say, either, " If the man is moneyless, it is impossible for him to pay his debts," or " If the man is moneyless, he must necessarily leave his debts unpaid." But we conceive of, and reason about, things, not only as 182 THE HUMAN MIND. § 73. necessary and as impossible, but also as possible, inferring them to be possible, and arguing from them as possible. Hence the questions arise, " How are the inferences of possibilit}^ related to those of necessity?" "Do they proceed or not on the same fundamental laws of being and modes of conception ? " and, " What is the special value and use of such inferences ? " In- vestigation, we believe, will show that the same radical prin- ciple of conviction, namely, the recognition of things as conditioned, is employed in these, as in all other, inferences, though it is em- ployed in a peculiar manner; it will also be found that reason- ings regarding things as possible are specially subservient, or ministerial, to the inference of fact. Writers on mental phi- losophy and logic have not given these questions much atten- tion; yet they have a place, and an important one, in any complete account of the phenomena of belief The first point to be determined concerning these peculiar inferences relates to the nature of possibility. This is difficult of apprehension, unless we allow that several distinguishable, yet closely related, conceptions are used when we speak of a thing as possible — in other words, that the term 'possibility has several different meanings. Three principal ^^ thcse, three may be noticed as the most impor- senses of possi- taut. Fivst, the possiblc may be defined as that ^^^' ivhich is non-existent, yet lohich power can make to exist; this might be called the primary use of the word. Sec- ondly, the possible denotes that lohich, lohetlier existent or non-ex- istent, is, or is thought of, as the effect of adequate power; this might be called the secondary use of the word. And, thirdly, the possible often signifies that which, whether existent or non- existent, is compatible with other things according to the relations of necessity, in other words, that lohicli may co-exist with other things; and this may be called the tertiary use of the term. The first and second of these meanings agree with reference to their principal part, namely, the relatedness of an effect to power as adequate; but they differ as to the mode of their applicability, the first being applicable only to things non- existent, while the second is applicable to tilings existent as well as to things non-existent. The second and third agree as to the manner of their applicability, but differ in their essential thought. The first and third differ in both respects. The first, by impli- cation, includes, as a part of our conception of the possible, the present non-existence of the thing possible — that is, its non- existence during the time of its possibility, though there is no implication as to its future existence or non-existence. But, from the second and third, we cannot infer either past, present, or future existence or non-existence. Thus, although possi- bility in every mode is related to existence, no mode of pos- sibility involves existence or fact. The first two significations, being identical as to their prin cipal part, may be considered together, under the head of Causal § 74 LOGICAL POSSIBILITY. ^V.o/ ISB'^'J^ f.4. Possibility, the first of the two being distinguished as impro'per^ and the second as proper^ causal possibility. For the notion of non-existence, though naturally attaching itself to our primary use of the conception of possibility, is really something extra- neous to this conception. The third style of possibility may be named logical, as it is that to which we refer in reasoning. Or causal possibility might be simply named possibility, as having an original and proper right to this term, while logical possi- bility — to use an old word employed by Chillingworth and re- vived by Hamilton, — might be named compossibility, as it pertains more simply and directly to the co-existence of a thing with other things. The necessity for these distinctions becomes evident when we consider various uses of language. Sometimes we contrast the possible and the actual ; for example, we speak of all things actual and all things possible; and in this we are thinking of primary possibility. Again, we sometimes say that a thing is not only possible but actual, or that it is possible because it is actual. The transmission of thought through the depths of the ocean is possible, because it is a thing actually done. This is that causal possibility which does not exclude reality. Then, too, we often speak of a possibility which has no direct reference to power and causation. A man ignorant of the details of Jap- anese geography might say, "Yokohama and Yeddo may be twenty, or they may be one hundred miles, apart, for all that I know." Because either of these supposed things would be compatible with the fact that both cities are in Japan; and so either supposition would have a possibility. It would be corn- possible with facts so far as known to, or considered by, the speaker. This may illustrate tertiary, or logical, possibility. § 74. Our most frequent use of possibility and kin- bmt^*'^ ^^^^' dred terms sets forth what we have styled primary possibility. The idea of possibility which first finds necessity of expression, and which remains the most com- mon, is that given in the question, "What can be done?" Jt refers, not simply to the proper effect of the exercise of some power, but to ivhat poiver may, or may not, he about to effect ; that is, to something which is, as yet, non-existent. And, ordinarily, the question, " What has power been able to effect?" is secondary and subsidiary to the more directly practical inquiry, "What can power do in the future?" When we say that a thing is possible, we generailly mean that a thing not yet effected can be effected; and, when we apply the conception to actualities, and say that such a thing is possible, for it has been done, this view of the past or present as possible has its use in helping to determine a possibility for the future. For what any power has been ade- quate to do, it will, under the same circumstances, be able to do again. Thus the thought of primary possibility naturally leads to the formation and use of the more general thought of pure causal possibility. 184 THE HUMAN MIND, § 75. In this latter we think of an object simply as pro- p?opS. ^®^^^*^ ducible — as a proper result of the exercise of power — without decision of the question whether or not it has been or will be produced. The fact as to its existence, whether positive or negative, may. be known along with the possibility, but is no part of it. Philosophically, this pure or proper causal possibility is more important than the primary; an understanding of it immediately explains the primary, and prepares for a comprehension of that yet more general and abstract style of possibility, which is the basis of a certain mode of reasoning, and which we have named logical. Such being the case, the more particular consideration of primary possibility may be omitted, and, by causal possibility, we may understand that proper causal possibility which is applicable to things either as existent or as non-existent. Relations of possi- ^irst of all, then, we remark that causal possibility biiity to neces- is closely related to causal necessity. Both arise in "'^' connection with the relatedness of an object as an effect to its causal conditions, the principal of these conditions being the existence of an adequate power. When all the con- ditions exist, the effect is necessary ; when all are supposed to exist, it is hypothetically necessary. Primary possibility is im- mediately related to the latter necessity; the possibility of mat- ters of fact to the former; and general, or proper, causal possi- bility to both. Everything actually caused is possible as being the result of the exercise of adequate power — or of some suffi- cient cause, but it is possible simply as being the result of such efficiency, whereas it is necessary because, as resulting from a 'cause, it cannot be otherwise than it is. So also hypothetical necessity involves primary possibility, because this necessity- belongs to that which does not exist, but which is hypotheti- cally inferred as the result of a supposed exercise of adequate power. Thus causal necessity always involves causal possibility. § 75. But, while this is so, the possibility of a thing ty°^v^v?s nlces- ^^0^8 uot iuvolvc its ncccssity. A thing may be ?j^y-. , , ree-arded as possible with reference to all its causal Partial and per- ^ ■,-,• ^ .,, v j i i. fected possibility. coiiQitions or With reiereuce to some only; we must, therefore, distinguish between what we may call a partial, and a perfected, possibility. The latter does involve a necessity real or supposed (according as the possibility may be real or hypothetical), but the former may consist with an impossibility. For example, if a person had, or might be sup- posed to have, ability, opportunity, and sufficient inducement to make a speech — in short all the conditions of this effect — the speech would be both causally possible and causally necessary. For, if all the conditions of a speech were real, it would be really necessary; and, if they were only supposable, then, on the sup- position of them, the speech would be hypothetically necessary. But, if only one or two conditions existed, or were such as might exist, in the case, then the speech would be possible so far as 1^ § 76. LOGICAL POSSIBILITY, 185 concerned that condition, or those conditions; yet, on the whole, it would be impossible. All things which exist — save space, time, God, and pMiSf ^^*^ ^^' ^^^® internal and the mutual relations of these objects — are the subjects of proper causal possibility in its application to realities; and all things which do not, yet may, exist, are the subjects of improper, or primary, causal pos- sibility: because anything non-existent, if it become existent, can do so only as the effect of adequate power, and must, there- fore, be a thing possible. Therefore, all things' possible are necessary ; the existent-possible is really necessary, as the result of real causes; the non-existent-possible is hypothetically nec- essary, as the result of supposed causes. This reasoning may seem to conflict with the statement that possibility does not involve necessity. But it really does not. For when we speak, as above, of dJl things ichich do or may exist as all things possible^ we mean all things which are wholly possible — which are the subjects of perfected possibility. This does involve necessity, but partial possibility does not. § 76. The conditions of a thing as possible are the Se^SSbie!''" °^ same as those which have been already described as the necessary conditions of the existence of a thing (§ 65). A thing is possible with reference to any one causal condition when that condition either exists or may exist; for, if any necessary condition of an effect does not exist, and is incompossible with the nature of the case, in other words, is such as the given conditions — or circumstances — of the case do not admit of, the thing is impossible. It is impossible for a child by his unaided strength to lift a ton weight, because one condition of the lifting would be a certain amount of strength; this could not belong to the child — it is incompossible with that childhood which is a given circumstance. But the lift- ing would be possible for a man with a proper lever ; for then the conditions of strength and m cans would exist, or might be supposed to exist. So it would be impossible for a common Chinaman to speak English immediately on his arrival in San Francisco. Why? Because he would need to possess a faculty incompatible with the fact of his being an ordinary uneducated Chinaman. But an Eng- lishman who came from Hong Kong could make himself under- stood at once ; for the faculty would exist. A power adequate to the production of a thing is the most prominent and important condition of its possibility. An ade- quate power is one the mode and the degree of whose operation are suitable and sufficient for some certain result. For powers differ in nature and in degree, some beings or substances being capable of more and of greater things than others, The power of the ear is different from that of the eye, and, of two ears or two eyes, one may hear or see better than another. When we find an adequate power to exist, we say the thing is possible 80 far as the power to produce it is concerned. Then we in- 186 THE HUMAN- MIND. § 76. quire concerning other conditions, and, from their existence or non-existence, determine the question as to the remaining ele- ments of a complete possibility (§ 75). If there were a tailor we would know that a coat was possible so far as regards productive skill. We might then ask, '* Is it possible as regards material ? Where are the cloth, lining, thread, buttons, and so forth ? " Next, " Is it possible as to instruments ? Has the man a workshop, needles, scissors, and other implements? " Finally, " Is it possible as to sufi&cient inducement? Have you the money to pay the tailor for the coat ? " Thus one might successively con- sider the different causal conditions of a coat, so far as there was any question concerning each, and would probably, though not necessarily, do so in the order of their importance. Real and hypo- ^® ^°^ comc to a radical distinction between theticai possi- modcs of causal possibility. A thing either may rfstinguisiied be really, or it may be only JiypotJietically, possible. hSitj ^^^ ^°^^'" I* ^^ ^^^ former when the conditions to which the possibility relates are fact; it is the latter when they are not fact, but merely supposable, as being compatible with the given facts, or circumstances, of the case. It is hypothetically possible for any man to purchase a farm ; for it tvould be possible for him if he had the money, and this is a thing supposable: but it is really possible only for one who actually has the money. A condition, with respect to which a thing is only hypothetically possible, does not exist, and is such as cannot exist; in other words, it is incompatible with the necessary modes of existence which affect the case as given. A thing may be really possible as to one of its conditions, and hypothetically possible as to another; and thus these two modes of possibility may unite. Real possibility does not involve the existence of the thing possible, but only the existence of some causal condition, and is especially asserted when the power to produce a thing exists; for power is the principal condition. The reality indicated by the term real is not that of the tiling possible, but that of the condition. With respect to material, a coat would be really possible if the cloth existed; it would be hypothetically possible on the supposition of the skill neces- sary to make it, which skill, however, is not procurable; and, it would be really impossible because there is no way of having it made (§ 150). Here, however, it should be remarked that the existence of the condition in real, and its non-existence in hypothetical, pos- sibility, are things extrinsic to simple or pure possibility; in which respects they resemble the non-existence of the subject of primary possibility (§ 74). Simple, or pure, causal possibility involves only the compatibility of a thing and its conditions with given circumstances, and does not assert either the actual ex- istence or the actual non-existence of the thing or its conditions. Every conception of a thing as possible does, indeed, involve a supposition, or hypothesis, of the existence of its conditions; § 77. LOGICAL POSSIBILITY. 187 therefore, in a sense, all possibility is hypothetical. But no im- plication of the real existence or non-existence of the conditions accompanies tlie conception ol simple or pure possibility; the thing supposed as possible and its conditions severally, may, or may not, be real : whereas there is such an implication both in real possibility and in that hypothetical possibility which is con- trasted with it. The terras real and hypothetical may be objected to as de- scriptive of these mixed modes of possibility; but no other terms more suitable have presented themselves. Another distinction of some importance between ati??pSsibmty.^^" Diodes of causal possibility is that between absolute and relative possibility. A thing is relatively possi- ble when it can be brought about by some particular power, real or supposed; and we say it is possible /or that power. It is abso- lutely possible when it is possible for power in general, so that, if not possible for one power, it yet is possible for some other. All things possible for any power Avould be possible for an infinite power; therefore, in respect to such a power, the absolutely and the relatively possible would be the same. Moreover, if such a power really exists, then all things abso- lutely possible are really possible, for that power; but, if such a power exist only in supposition, then some things absolutely possible are not really possible for any power, but merely hypo- thetically possible for the supposed infinite power. poSiftJ^ '^^'^^^ Finally, we may distinguish between natural and moral possibility. Each of these is a kind of par- tial possibility (§ 75), and both relate to the actions of free agents. A thing is naturally possible when the agent has the intellectual and executive ability, together with the proper means and opportunity, for its accomplishment. It is morally possible when the powers of his motive nature are adequate to adopt the action as an end, or as a means. For example, it is nat- urally possible for a miser to give all his money to the poor; but this would be morally impossible for hfm under any ordinary cir- cumstances. It is naturally possible, but morally impossible, for a perfectly virtuous being to do that which is wrong and sinful. A rational agent cannot be morally responsible for the perform- ance of an action, or the accomplishment of an end, which is naturally impossible for him ; but, if the action or end be only morally impossible, he may be responsible with respect to it. For moral impossibility, like moral necessity (§ 68), consists with moral freedom. § 77. Having, at some length, discussed causal, we deSed.^°'''^^^ Do^v pass to'the consideration of logical, possibility. This may be defined as the existential compatibil- ity of a thing, real or supposed, with given circumstances. These circumstances are other things which exist, and to which the thing possible is conceived of as related in some specific way. The compatibility is a peculiar and simple relatedness of the 188 THE HUMAN MIND. § 77. thing to the circumstances. We call it compatibility, or agree- ment, or conformity, because it is somewhat similar to the rela- tions thus named; but it is really sui generis^ and incapable of analysis. We say existential compatibility, because the relation thus named relates to the existence, in the given circumstances, of the thing possible ; this is the fundamentum relationis. The relation of ruler and subject refers to government; that of debtor and creditor to the use of another's property; that of husband and wife to the marriage contract; that of compatibil- ity of temper to harmonious intercourse; and existential com- patibility, or logical possibility, relates to the existence of one thing as in specific relation with others. Ordinarily the corre- late of the possible — that with which it is compatible — is not prominently thought of; our attention and interest are given to the thing possible, and not to the circumstances. Yet these are always referred to, and this reference becomes explicit when we say that one thing is compossible with another, or that it is pos- sible in such or such a case. The word may is that by which possi- bility is ordinarily predicated of any subject; as in the state- ments, "That may be," or, "That may be in such or such circumstances." The compatibility of a thing with given cir- cumstances involves also the compatibility of its necessary con- ditions with those circumstances. When a thing is 'possible in its constitutive, causal, and concomitant conditions (§ 65), it is possible in every respect; and we determine the possibility of a thing by de- termining the possibility of its conditions. This radical and self- evident principle is perhaps the most important in the philoso- phy of the possible. Logical compared -^^ causal possibility corresponds to causal neces- with causal possi- sity, and is connected with causal conditions, so ^' logical possibility corresponds with logical necessi- ty, -and is connected with necessary conditions, whether they be causal or not. And as causal necessity may be regarded as a species of logical necessity, so causal possibility may be regarded as a species of logical possibility (§§ 64-66). Causal possibility is the logical possibility of a thing considered simply as an effect; that is, as a result of causal conditions; and our inquiry, in a ques- tion of causal possibility, concerns the admissibility of causal conditions only. In logical possibility a thing is conceived of as existing in any necessary relations Avhatever, and our inquiry concerns the admissibility of any condition, or conditions, to which, if the thing exist, it must stand related. If a condition exist or be admissible, the thing is logically possible as regards that con- dition; but if the condition do not, and may not, exist, the thing is logically impossible, that is, it is incompossible, or existen- tially incompatible, with what is given as fact. If we knew that a thief did, or could, enter one's barn at a certain time, we might say, "Possibly the horse has been stolen;" in which reasoning we would use that species of logical possibility which we have named causal. But if, without such knowledge, we should find § 77. LOGICAL POSSIBILITY. 189 the horse gone some morning, we would say, " Possibly a thief has been here;" in this we would use logical, but not causal, possibility. For the absence of the horse, though a logical, would not be a causal, condition, of the act of robbery and of the coming of the thief Only effects — not causes, as such — are caus- ally possible. Again, supposing a triangle to exist, we say that it may be either equilateral, scalene, or isosceles; any one of these things is compossible with the existence of a triangle. Yet the existence of a triangle would not be a causal, but a concom- itant, condition of its having some one of the three shapes. For any triangle and its special shape would come into existence to- gether. So, if a man own ten dollars, he may own a gold eagle ; but the existence of the ten dollars, as owned, would not contrib- ute in any way to the making of the coin. It would be a nec- essary, yet not a causal, condition. For one could not own an eagle if he did not own ten dollars. . , The use of the term possibility, to sisrnify the exist- A metonymy and . J^ PI o •/ j r x extension of the eutial cougruity or Compatibility oi a supposed tact term possibility. ^^ entity with given circumstances, may easily be traced to the more primary employment of the term, in which is set forth the compatibility of the causal conditions of a thing with given circumstances. For this latter relation, which is that chiefly used in our search after things unseen or unrealized, assists our inquiry after fact, not because of its specific and caus- ational character, but because of its general nature whereby an eifect exists only as conditioned by, or necessarily related to, an appropriate cause ; in other words, jiist as any other possible conse- quent exists as related to an antecedent. Hence, in cases of causal possibility, when we are not making the practical inquiry, "What can we do?" but simply ask, for information, "What may the result be ? " the effect is regarded chiefly as the logical correlative — or consequent — of the cause, and causal conditions are looked upon rather as providing for a fact than as contribut- ing to an eifect. After this we find that things exist in necessary relation to other than causal conditions, and may be conceived of and reasoned about as thus related; whereupon we apply the term 'possibility to every mode of the compatibility of one thing and its conditions with other things as co-existing with them. What renders this extension of the term extremely nat- ural is the fact that nothing can be causally possible ivhich does not conform to other modes of possibility. For example, it would not be possible to make three boxes whose united capacity would be equal to that only of one of the three boxes, and this because the result proposed would involve the logical impossibility of a part being equal to a whole. A whole equal to the sum of its parts is logically, and therefore causally, the only possible whole. Other modes of possibility being thus necessarily involved with the causal mode, the same name was extended to all. Finally, the metonymy under consideration is further favored by the fact that possibility of mental conception is confined to the 190 THE HUMAN MIND. § 78. thought of things logically possible. Forms can be conceived — that is clearly and distinctly conceived (§ 33) — only so far as they possess logical consistency; and so we call the conceivable the possible. Logical possibility has thus been described in Sitio?discussed! scholastic language: '' Possihilitas est consensio inter se seu non-repugrwintia partium vel attrihiitorum quihus res seu ens constituatury The harmony of parts or attributes men- tioned here, is simply the com possibility of each part and its conditions, or necessary relata, with the other parts and their necessary relata. But it should be added that not only a possible object and its parts — and the parts as mutually connected — har- monize with each other, but they also harmonize with other objects to which it and they may be related. An animal is a thing internally possible, because its parts are not such that they cannot co-exist, but it is a thing externally possible only where there is food ; because food is an external condition of animal existence. A conception, however, may be so enlarged as to include any relation ordinarily regarded as external: we can think, for example, of "an animal where there is food," or of "a house built on a rock," or of " a man in a prison," as one possible object; with this understanding, the scholastic definition is ex- actly correct. For, in this case, one of the parts, or attributes, of the thing or object is its relatedness to the other object. § 78. The distinctions already made in causal pos- modrs^*^o?^ poss^- sibility between partial and perfected, and between biiity having ref- real and hypothetical, possibility, apply to logical erence to condi- -i -t, '^ i r- ^ l^ ■ r '^ ^ i ^ tions. possibility in general; tor they arise irom the gou- pure orsSnple?*^' sidcratiou of causal conditions, not as causal, but as necessary. The distinctions, however, ' between absolute and relative, and between moral and natural, possibility, do not apply to possibility in general; for they relate to power as such, and as being a condition having its own degrees and modes. Real possibility has been defined as that which arises when some condition of a thing actually exists; hypothetical, as that which we assert when some condition does not, yet may exist. If the dinner is on the table, there is a real possibility of eating; if it is only supposably there, the possibility is hypothetical. Or if two persons are sitting at the table, there is a real possibility that one of them is a man and the other a woman; but if they are merely supposed to be there, the possibility of their being male and female is hypothetical. But, let us remark again, that logical possibility, pure and simple, is also, in a sense, hypotheti- cal; it involves the supposed existence of conditions. The hy- pothesis, however, upon which our judgment or perception of the purely possible is based does not exclude reality; it is simply hypothesis unaccompanied by negation, and leaves the question un- determined whether the supposed conditions exist or not. Real possibility resembles primary possibility — the causal possibility § 78. LOGICAL POSSIBILITY. 191 of the non-existent — as having an admixture of fact, and also as furnishing a form of thought frequently employed by the mind. But the reality of the condition, like the real non-exist- ence of the thing causally possible, is something adventitious to the possibility. Pure logical possibility is that correlation of the parts of an entity or of different entities with each other, ac- cording to which they, together with their necessary relations and relata^ may co-exist with each other. It involves the possi- bility of any condition if the thing conditioned is possible ; but it does not require the real existence of any thing or any con- dition. When, therefore, a condition exists, this is something additional to the pure possibility. Yet, since what really exists in any case may exist in that case, we say that a thing is possi- ble as to any condition which either exists or may exist, mean- ing which may exists whether it really exist or not. Thus we employ real to support pure possibility, when the question is merely as to the possibility of a thing. But real possibility, as we shall see, has also an importance and use of its own. Similar remarks might be made as to the relations of pure and hypo- thetical possibility. We have already (§ 77) noticed that a thing may Sbmty^^ prefup- ©xist if its couditious may exist; in other words, a poses an immedi- thiuo; is possiblo SO far as its conditions are possi- ate perception of , , & ™ -t^ .i • i. - . l j'cc possibility. blc. io somc tuis Statement may suggest a dim- Post^uMes of pos- ^^j^^^ j^- ^^^ posslblc iuvolvc possible conditions, will not these involve yet other possible conditions, and these still others, and so will not an infinite regression be needed to establish any possibility? We reply that it would be needed if, in our regression, we did not come to conditions the possibility of which is self-evident. But an immediate per- ception of possibility takes place in several ivays. In the first place, as already said, whatever actually exists in any given circum- stances, exists under every one of its necessary conditions, and is possible in every respect. Hence, in the case of real possibil- ity, which is that most frequently considered, there is no need of inquiry as to the abstract possibility of the condition. In the second place, whatever has existed may, in similar circum- stances, exist again ; and this principle enables us to determine the possibility of a condition which, though not known to be fact, is known to resemble fact. For possibility pertains to forms conceived of as existing, but not to real things, as such ; and we may at once, and once for all, perceive a form to be possible. Fi- nally^ in other cases there is no infinite regression, because the rad- ical or ontological elements and conditions of things — such as spaces, times, powers, substances, actions and changes — in the various relations according to lohich these condition one another^ are immedi- ately recognized by tlie. mind as possible. Thus many radical con ceptions of things possible are formed. By means of these con- ceptions, in which th'e possibility of a thing as to its ontological character and conditions is set forth, other and less apparent pos- 192 THE HUMAN MIND. § 79. sibilities are determined. "We say it is possible for a bushel measure to contain a peck of potatoes, because this is simply an application of the principle that what can contain the greater can contain the less. But this radical law of the possible in spacial measures, together with the possibility of its conditions — such as space, substance, quantity and the mutual relations of these things according to the terms of the law — is imme- diately perceived by the mind. Such radical conceptions or judgments may be styled tlie first principles or postulates of possibility. Like our conceptions of radical necessities, they may first be formed by the mind during its perception of facts; yet the perception of tact in any case must be distinguished from the recognition of the possibility or necessity which attends the fact. The foregoing remarks show how the statement is to be taken that the possibility of a thing must be inferred from that of its conditions. This rule applies only to cases wherein the possibility is not self-evident, and must be perceived inferen- tially, if at all. In short, the possibility of a thing must be in- ferred from the possibility of its necessary conditions, just as the existence of a thing must be inferred from the existence of its necessitant conditions (§ 65). It should be noted, how- ever, that the possibility of conditions, as being mostly mixed with fact, as in general easily ascertained, and as secondary to that of the object which they condition, receives compara- tively little attention, in our ordinary thinkings. At this point of our discussion, for the sake of J?s^sibSitrdlstin' clearness, we must distinguish between tJie infer- guished from that ^jice of tliinos possible from their necessary connection of the possibly ne- 'n ^n > -n i ^7 • 7 • ^ ^ cessary. wit/i tilings posstote, and the simple inference of possi- bility. In the former — which might be styled the inference of the possibly necessary — we proceed on the principle that what is necessarily connected with a possible antecedent is itself a possible consequent. This is a special application of the principle of antecedent and consequent. It is the inference of a thing as hypothetically necessary. But the simple inference of possibility — or of a thing as possible — proceeds on the prin- ciple that a thing is possible if its conditions are possible, and does not, in any sense, assert the necessity of the thing inferred. Possibiutyandne- § '^^- '^^^ distinction has already been noticed be- cessity related as twccu real and hypothetical necessity (§ 64). Com- ditiSTed.^ *^^ ^°^' paring the really possible with the really necessary, t?rminate'"^*^'^^' ^"^ *^® liypothetically possible with the hypotheti- cally necessary, we might say that the possible and the necessary are related to each other as two different modes of the conditioned. A thing is possible really when one or more of its necessary conditions exist in given circumstances, and hypothetically when one or more of its conditions are sup- posed to exist; and a thing is really necessary when one or more necessitant conditions exist in given circumstances, and hypo- thetically when one or more such conditions are supposed to § 80. LOGICAL POSSIBILITY. 193 exist. The necessary — whether the necessary to be or the necessary not to be — is conceived of as existing, and is asserted to be real ; but the possible — whether the possible to be or the possible not to be — is conceived of without conviction as to its reality, and is neither asserted nor denied to exist, while the mind may inquire whether, in its belief, to unite the idea of existence, or that of non-existence, with the formal conception ^of the thing (§ 36). For, although we regard things existing and also things non-existent as possible, and must do so when the question concerns \\\<^\x fitness to exists their possibility does not, of itself, involve either existence or non-existence. This being the case, the necessary and the possible, as modes of the conditioned, may be contrasted as the determinate, and the inde- terminate, conditioned. For, while both have conditions, we con- ceive the existence of the necessary, but not that of the possible, to be determined by its conditions. In partial possibility we do not consider enoug^i conditions to settle the question of reality, while in the case of perfected possibility, although the conditions constitute a logical antecedent, ice disregard that cir- cumstance: for, so soon as we notice this, we speak no longer of possibility, but of necessity (§ 75). The possible is that which agrees — or would agree — with its circumstances because they contain, or, at the least, agree with, its conditions; the neces- sary not only agrees with, but is required by, its circumstances. Knowing that three straight lines have been made on a black- board, we say, " Possibly there is a triangle on the board;" be- cause three straight lines are so many necessar}^ conditions of a triangle. But, if we learn that the three inclose a space, we say that there is and must be a triangle ; for three straight lines inclosing an area are not merely a condition, but a logical con- dition, of that geometrical figure. § 80. We are now prepared to understand Jioiv the Sty^^rsublervi- '^^^ind, in its pursuit of the hioivledge of fact, forms ^t**in'^?eTe?ai ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ Conceptions of things as possible. We are ways. often unable directly to determine, from our knowl- edge of the circumstances of a case, what the truth may be respecting some point of inquiry. That is, we are unable to discover any real antecedent which, as involving a logical condition (§ 65), necessitates the reality of some ob- ject conceived of Such antecedents may exist, but we know not where to seek for them, or at least, have not been able to find any. In these circumstances, abandoning the direct search for proof, we permit the inquiry, "Is the thing supposed possible?" to take the place of the question, " Is it necessary ? " This in- quiry as to possibility is twofold. First, if need be, we ask as to the pure or abstract possibility of the thing, that is, its possi- bility considered without reference to the question of the reality or non-reality of its conditions. The aim of this inquiry is to determine only the compossibility of the conditions, internal and external, of the object, with each other and with the given cir- 194 THE HUMAN MIND. § 80. cumstances of the case: we do not directly inquire respecting the reality of any condition. If any of the conditions be found incompossible with the given circumstances, there is no need of further inquiry: no matter what existing circumstances may be, the thing is impossible and does not exist. But, if there be no inherent absurdity and impossibility, we ask, furtlier^ " Is the thing really possible ? " In other words, " Do its conditions really exist?" For anything is really possible as to any condition when that condition really exists (§ 78). An attentive scrutiny of the thing supposed naturally brings to view its necessary parts and other conditions, and directs this inquiry as to its possi- bility. Suppose, now, we find that some condition, or condi- tions, of the thing, do not exist. This being the case, the thing is really impossible ; for a thing cannot exist so long as any one of its conditions is non-existent. Thus, again, our inquiry con- cerning fact is satisfied; we can say that the thing conceived of does not exist ; the possible has been our guide to the real ; it has discovered the really non-existent. Suppose, again, we find that every condition concerning which we can inquire is found a reality. We now say that, so far as we can see, the thing is really possible, and cannot he denied to exist. We can inferentially deny only the impossible. In such a case reasoning in possi- bility enables one to reject any unfounded disbelief — that is, any unfounded belief in the non-existence of the object — and pre- pares the mind for the proper consideration of evidence. More- over, logical being composed of necessary conditions (§ 65), inquiry after the latter puts us better in the way of meeting with the former ; and thus, searching within and over the field of necessary conditions^ ice are in a position to find conclusive antece- dents, if such are discoverable. Finally, therefore, suppose that certain conditions are found to be real which, taken together, can belong to but one object, and that the object whose reality is in question. When this happens, the inference of possibility is replaced by the inference of fact; our inquiry terminates in the positive assertion of reality. In these several ways, reason- ing in possibility subserves reasoning in necessity. This latter mode of inference has mostly, if not exclusively, engaged the attention of philosophers. It is confessedly more important than the former, and is also more easily noticed; yet it is no more natural to the mind, nor better entitled to recognition in a system of psychology. To illustrate the foregoing teachings, let the question be, whether or not a certain box contain $100,000 in gold. If it does, many necessary conditions are involved, and these must be abstractly possible. For example, it must be supposable that box and money both exist, that the box is of size and strength suitable to receive the money and keep it safely, that the owner of the money has desired, and been able, to put it in that Particular box, that he has deposited the money in the box and as not withdrawn it, and that he has the box carefully locked § ol. LOGICAL POSSIBILITY, 195 and guarded. These and similar conditions must be supposable ; if any of them is impossible, we need not inquire as to the facts of the case; the story of the deposit is, on its face, absurd and false. But, if the conditions are all supposable, we ask further, "How many of them really exist?" If any one condition is found not to exist really, we say that there cannot be, and is not, any such deposit. But, finding some conditions to exist, the others being undetermined, we say that the thing is possible — that is, really possible ; for necessary conditions exist, yet not, so far as we can see, in such relation to each other, and to the thing supposed, as to form a necessitating or logical condition. Ascer- taining, for instance, that a certain man had the money, and that the box was a suitable safe, and accessible to him, we say that the deposit is possible, but has neither been proved as necessary to be nor disproved as necessary not to be. But, finally, finding, not only that the man had the money and that the safe was suita- ble and accessible, but that he was seen to place the treasure within the safe, has guarded it securely, and has not withdrawn it, we say that the deposit must be a fact. Thus the recognition of real possibility terminates in the perception of real necessity. § 81. The explanations now given of reasoning in S?sib?enoUo?e! possibility apply fully only to the inference of that which we ordinarily mean by the possible. This term mostly signifies the possible to he, just as ordinarily the im- possible signifies the impossible to be. Sometimes, however, we speak of the possible not to be, of that whose non-existence is, or would be, compatible with given circumstances ; and our reason- ing, concerning this possible, difiers somewhat in mode from that already described. A thing is inferred as possible to be when its conditions, so far as considered, exist or are possible; but it is inferred as possible not to be when its conditions, so far as considered and found existent or possible, do not constitute a logical condition. Thus a thing is possible to be when it is not necessary not to be, and it is possible not to be when it is not n£cessary to be. Such being the case, it will be seen that reasoning in possi- bility (whether positive or negative possibility) is closely related to reasoning in necessity (whether positive or negative). Both modes of inference may be said to be based upon the same radi- cal principle, viz., that things exist as conditioned. Both arise from the consideration of things as conditioned. Comparing the one mode of reasoning with the other, we perceive that the nec- essary (or impossible not to be) is inferred from the existence of a logical condition ; and the impossible (or necessary not to be) is inferred from the non-existence of a necessary condition — this non-existence being its logical condition ; while the possible to be is inferred from the existence, real or possible, of necessary conditions, and the possible not to be from the non-existence, real or possible, of logical conditions. Thus, too, we see how the proof of the possible to be tends towards, and prepares for, 196 THE HUMAN MIND, § 82. that of the necessary, and how the proof of the possible not to be tends towards, and prepares for, that of the impossible. The impossible is related to the possible not to be, just as the neces- sary is related to the possible to be ; and as the necessary is al- ways possible to be, so the impossible is always possible not to be. The radical nature §^2- ^^^ discussion of logical possibility throws of logical neces- light on the doctrine of logical impossibility and ^^ ^* logical necessity, or, more simply, on the doctrine of necessity, since impossibility is the necessity of non-existence. The essence of possibility, as we have seen, is the existential com- patibility of a thing with given circumstances ; which compati- bility is shown when the circumstances do not exclude any nec- essary condition (in the case of the possible to be), and when they do not include any necessitating condition (in the case of the possible not to be). Such* being possibility, impossibility might be defined as the incompatibility of the existence of a thing, and necessity as the incompatibility of the non-existence of the thing, with given circumstances. These definitions differ from those already given (§ 62) of necessity and impossibility as the characters of that which being existent cannot be made not to exist, and of that which being non-existent cannot be made to exist: yet they are in effect the same. For it is because the non- existence of a thing is incompatible with the circumstances of a thing necessary, that we can always say that it exists and can- not be made not to exist (the circumstances remaining the same); and it is because the existence of a thing is incompati- ble with the circumstances of its impossibility, that we can al- ways say that the thing does not exist and cannot be made to exist. But, of the two pairs of definitions, those mentioning ex- istential incompatibility more nearly present the essential nature of necessity and impossibility, while the other statements set forth the most general and striking properties of these things. Ordinarily, we ^eem to think of the necessary and the impossi- ble — or, more explicitly and literally, of the necessary to be and the necessary not to be — with reference to an inability or limita- tion of power to eff"ect a change; at the same time this inability, we believe, is chiefly thought of as suggesting that out of ivMch it arises, namely, the incompatibility of the non-existence of the necessary, and of the existence of the impossible, with given circumstances. Such being the case, this last definition given, of necessity in both its modes, may be considered the more radical and scientifically exact, while, for most purposes, the less philosophi- cal definition may be preferred as more easily apprehended and applied. But whether even the definition presented as more philosophical be itself an analytical definition or merely the description ah extra of a thing incapable of analysis, we shall not now discuss; it is certainly a correct and defining statement. (Thomson's "Laws of Thought," §§ 70, 71.) § 83. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY, 197 CHAPTER XXIII. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. § 83. The contingent is closely related to the pos- fiJe^^T'^'Ipedai siblc. It is that which happens or may happen, Emty °^ P°^^^- or — more generally — which exists or may exist, and which also does not exist or take place nec- essarily. In this statement the essential word is may\ for, as a thing which exists is possible, not because existence is possi- bility, but because existence implies possibility, so a thing which happens or exists is contingent, not because happening or exist- ing is contingency, but because these, so far as they do not take place necessarily, imply contingency. Ordinarily, the possible means the possible to be, and so the contingent, ordinarily, is that which may exist. But, as we speak of the possible not to be, so a thing as non-existent may be re- garded as contingent. In other words, the contingent in the widest sense, includes, not only what may be, but also what may not be. And, indeed, whenever a tiling is positively con- tingent, it is also negatively contingent; and, conversely, when- ever it is negatively, it is also positively, contingent. This brings us to remark that contingency is a special mode or form of possibility distinguished from possibility in general by several characteristics, the principal of which has just been mentioned. As we have seen (§ 75) the possible to be includes the necessary, and the possible not to be includes the impossible (or the necessary not to be) ; but the contingent lies between the necessary and the impossible. It is what we might style the intermediate jpossihle. It is that which is possible either to be or not to be. Either as to its existence or as to its non-exist- ence, it is compatible with given circumstances. The possibility of contingency is not that primary possibility (§ 74), the subject of which is non-existent, but that more gen- eral possibility (§ 76), the subject of which may be either ex- istent or non-existent. Actual events or existences, as well as those merely supposed, may be styled contingent. Moreover, contingency, like possibility, is primarily conceived of as char- acterizing events or effects, and therefore ordinarily signifies causal possibility, but, like possibility, it comes to be employed in a wider sense. The logically contingent, like the logically possible, is that which is compatible with given circumstances, whether with reference to causal, or with reference to any other necessary, conditions (§ 77). Thus it is causally contingent in the making of a triangle that one of its angles should be made a right-angle, or that it should not be so made. But, should we consider the triangle, not as a thin^ in the process of mak- 198 THE HUMAN MIND. § 84. ing, but simply as existing, it would still be logically contingent that one of its angles should, or should not, be a right-angle. The only respect in which the contingent noticeably differs from that possible which lies between the necessary and the im- possible — and which, therefore, is possible to be or not to be — is that in possibility the emphasis of thought is on the existence of the thing, while in contingency it is on its co-existence with some other thing or things, with which it may be related. In both cases there is the fitness of a thing to co-exist in relation with other things; but possibility contemplates this fitness principally with reference to the existence of the thing itself, while contin- gency contemplates it with reference to its co-existence with other things. It sets forth prominently what possibility implies. It may also be added, as a less prominent difierence, that the terms contingent and contingency are used to express intermediate possibility only in cases where the possibility may be employed as the basis of a judgment of probability. This point will be more evident hereafter (§ 85). Thus it appears that the contingent is very nearly defined when it is styled the iiiter- mediate possible. ... . S 84. The relation of contine^ency and necessity The relation of ? i • , ^ • ^ °i i i • i »• contingency and IS a subjcct upou which we should avoid coniu- necessity. ^-^^^^ Tlicse two things being opposed to one an- other, it is natural for us to form the opinion that a thing cannot be contingent and necessary at the same time. It is true that contingency and necessity cannot co-exist with respect to the same relation of a thing to some other entity; yet a thing may, at the same time, be necessary in one relation and contingent in an- other. It might be a contingent event for a horse to pass along a certain road so far as relates to the road. The animal either might, or might not, pass that way. But, should there be tracks on the road such as that horse only could have produced, we would say that he must have passed that way — that, in view of such tracks, his passing is logically necessary. Again, the two angles at the base of a triangle might, or might not, be equal to one another, so far as the fact of the triangularity of the figure is concerned, or in their relation to the triangle simply as* such. But these same angles would be necessarily equal as related to the sides opposite them, provided these sides were equal. The distinction between the contingent and the tw£n*^^d^stinc^ nccessitudiual elements of entity, to which also tions. that between the experiential and the intuitional reaicontofgency. elements of thought corrcsponds (§§ 13-231), is one of great importance in philosophy. But the necessary and the contingent of that distinction are not the nec- essary and the contingent of which we now speak. The former distinction calls that only necessary which is necessary to any system of being whatever — which must exist in any universe — and that contingent which is possible to either exist or not exist .in any system of being or in any universe. In other words, the § 85. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 199 necessary is that which must exist if things exist at all, and everything else is non-necessary or contingent. In short, on- tological necessity and contingency are to be distinguished from logical necessity and contingency in general. The latter belongs to every form or modification of entity so far as it may be in any way necessarily related; so that the same form, or modifica- tion, which may in some way be logically necessitated, may also, as standing in some other and non-necessary relation, be contingent. Thus, as we have seen, the passage of a certain ani- mal along a certain road might, at the same time, though in difierent relations, be both necessary and contingent. But the ontologically necessary and contingent are never interchange- able; each has a fixed character of its own. Space, time, sub- stance, power, change, and various general relations of these and other elements of entity, are permanently necessary to any sys- tem of being; while the specific degrees and forms — or, more briefly, the specific modifications — of the radical elements and modes of entity, are ontologically contingent; for they need not exist in any universe. The distinction already made (§§ 64-76) with respect to real and hypothetical necessity, and real and hypothetical possibil- ity, may also be applied to contingency. A thing is really con- tingent when the conditions on which its contingency depends are literal fact; hypothetically contingent when they are only supposed to be. The same distinction may also be made with respect to probability and the probable. But as, in all cases, the hypothetical refers to the real and is explained by it, we need not dwell on this distinction, but may discuss contingency and probability as real only. § 85. The doctrine, already taue-ht (§ 83), that con- The antecedent of ?• • • x t j. -i -t^" u contingency dis- tingcucy IS mtcrmcdiate possibility, may be ex- SaT^f possibmS^ pressed more simply should we say, that the con- tingent is the possible. For, by possibility, we ordinarily mean intermediate possibility. But contingency has also been distinguished from intermediate possibility in general, as being such possibility as may be used as the basis of a judg- ment of probability. By this we do not mean that a thing con- tingent is therefore also probable, but only that it is possible in such a mode that we may reasonably inquire whether it be not also probable, or real. Weiie a beautiful poem published anony- mously, search would not be made among men in general for its author, but only among a certain class of men ; and, although, in an extreme and abstract sense, one might say that it is con- tingent to a man to write poetry, yet, for the purposes of inquiry, we would limit this contingency to poets. In this way two forms of possibility may be distinguished, both of which might be termed contingency, but the latter of which is so named by way of pre-eminence. The ground of this distinction is to be found in the diverse character of the conditions on which the possibilities depend. 200 THE HUMAN MIND. § 85. We have already seen that a thing is possible with reference to any necessary condition of its existence when that condition exists (§ 76). Therefore, such a condition, as existing, may be termed an antecedent of possibility. But of such antecedents there are two kinds, one weak and the other strong. These arise, respectively, according as the antecedent of possibility does, or does not, approximate to an antecedent of necessity, or rather to that logical condition which every antecedent of ne- cessity contains (§ 60). We have already seen that every logicar condition is composed of necessary conditions (§ 65) ; it is also clear that any conditicm ivliich is complex is also composed of such conditions: for any condition, in all its parts, is necessary to that which it conditions. Now a condition, which, though fall- ing short of a logical -condition, so resembles some such condi- tion already known to us, as immediately to suggest it to our minds, may be called a strong condition, because, in the absence of any definite information, it suggests the thought, " The whole logical condition may exist, and the consequent, therefore, may be a fact." But a condition which does not thus resemble a logical condition may be called weak, for it suggests no ne- cessitating condition, and affords no basis or starting-point for search. If a criminal escaped from justice, it would not excite inquiry, on the part of the proper officers, to be told that there was a man in such or such a place ; although this would be a necessary con- dition of the location of any criminal, the possibility resting on it would not suggest any logical necessitant. But, if they should learn that a person resembling the criminal had made his appearance in a certain city just after the time of the escape, they would say, " Possibly he is the man." In this case, there would be something more than abstract theoretical possibility ; there would be a strong practical possibility — a contingency — attaching itself to the man thus described, that he may be the criminal in question. The mere existence of a man somewhere is the antecedent of possibility; that of the man resembling the criminal in appearance and conduct, is the antecedent of contin- gency. The latter is such that the addition of only a few par- ticulars may make it a logical necessitant, which particulars are immediately suggested to the mind. At .the same time it is to be remarked that the antecedent of contingency does not, of it- self, establish a probability, but only a strong or suggestive pos- sibility — a mere indeterminate chance. The question whether the chances for the supposition be one in ten, or one in ten thou- sand, or whether they can be found to have any definite ratio to the chances against the supposition, is to be determined by further considerations. The judgment of contingency is one of entire uncertainty; and the proposition expressive of it is what Aristotle calls "the dialectic." "For," he says, "a demonstra- tive proposition differs from a dialectic in this, that the former is an assumption of one part of a contradiction, for a demon stra* § 86. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 201 tor does not interrogate, but assume ; but the dialectic is an in- terrogation of contradiction" ("Prior Analytics," bk. i. chap. i.). § 86. We are now prepared to discuss the na- piSjib^.^'^* °^ ture and grounds of the judgment of probability; A wide sense of which (§ 83) involvcs, and is conditioned on, the judgment of contingency. To do this properly wo must, sometimes at least, use the terms probable and probability in a very wide sense. Ordinarily, when we say that a thing is probable, we mean that the chances are considerably in favor of the supposition of its existence. But philosophy needs a term to designate that respecting which we have any expectation or belief at all, whether weak or strong, which may fall short of knowledge ; and no other term seems so suitable as the probable. In this use of language the probable includes the improbable. The latter is not that which has no chances whatever in its favor, but that only which has more chances against than for it. Had it no chances in its favor, it would not be the improbable, but the certain, that is, the certain not to be. There is a sense in which we may caJJ anything probable which has any chances at all in its favor. In speaking of a probable events or of any entity as w^atare"pro6a63e probable, our modc of speech somewhat resembles ^e^probabie de- ^j^^t employed whcu wc speak of ideal objects. The adjective does not indicate any quality in the thing spoken of, nor is there any positive assertion of the exist- ence of the thing : indeed it is understood that the ideal object does not exist, and that the probable entity may not exist. In each case we depart from strict literality. We speak as if there were an existing object which could be externally affected or related ; and then characterize it by reference to the state of the mind in viewing it. We may speak literally of a statement be- ing probable, but not of any thing or object being so; for the latter may not exist at all, and ^^non-entis mdla sunt attributa." In speaking of probable events, therefore, we do not use the lan- guage of fact or strict literality. But, whichever form of language is employed, the statement^ or the tiling^ is said to be probable^ ivhen facts afford sufficient reason for some confidence as to its alleged truth or reality: and the degree of probability is pre- cisely the same as that degree of confidence which a mind, act- ing rationally and soundly, can exercise on the grounds given. The judgment of probability may be considered to hold an intermediate place between that of pure contingency, which is wholly indeterminate as respects belief in reality, and that of absolute certitude, which, is perfectly assured. That the judg- ments of contingency and of probability are related, is evident from the fact that we often express a probability by saying that the thing may 6e, or is possible, especially in cases where our expec- tation is but slight. In speaking thus we add something to the simple conception of possibility or contingency. We mean, not merely that the thing conceived of is possible, but also that the 202 THE HUMAN MIND. § 86. chances in its favor, as compared with those against it, are an appreciable quantity. In judgments of pure contingency we express no expectation whatever. Probabiuty pre- '^^^ judgment of probabiUty presupposes,^ not only supposes a combi- Contingency, but also ihe, 'perceived cowMnation of Sty°^d^ cSntS- contingency and necessity — necessity as to an inden- gency. ^1^6 statement, and continsrency as to the definite Simple and com- i /« • t • t i i i pound judgments modc 01 its application, it takcs place when the of probability. neccssity is rccoguized that one or other of several possible, but mutually contradictory, consequents of some antece- dent of contingency must exist; and it consists in a determina- tion of the degree of confidence with which any consequent, or the consequents severally, may be expected, or believed in. When the exercise of judgment is directed to several such conse- quents, we may be said to form a compound judgment of jproha- hility^ in which the confidence of the mind is distributed, in just proportion, among the consequents. More frequently we seek to estimate the probability of one consequent only, and this may be called the simple judgment of probalnlity. At this point, to avoid confusion, two remarks Menct may^bJ^a sccm ucccssary. First, let us note that cases of ^uen?^^ ^^^^' ''^on-existence, as well as those of existence, may be included among possible consequents. Let us suppose that a box contains three apples, and that we give some friend the liberty to take out of the box either one, or two, or all, or none of them, and this to be done somewhere beyond our ob- servation. Having acted according to his pleasure, the friend may return and ask, "How many apples are now in the box?" Plainly, the box, as thus placed before us, presents an antecedent of contingency with four, and only four, possible consequents ; for it must now contain either three apples, or two, or one, or none; but this last would be a case of non-existence. In like manner, every lottery blank shows that no prize exists for the person drawing it. In the second place, we remark that even the simple judgment of probability, already mentioned, in which we determine the likelihood of but one consequent, must be regarded not as absolutely simple, but as double or tivofold. For, let the consequent be positive, or let it be negative, we judge not only of it, but also necessarily concerning its im- mediate contradictory, or simple existential opposite. That is, if we judge the existence of anything to be fact, we at the same time judge the non-existence of it not to be fact; and, conversely, if we judge the non-existence of anything to be fact, we must judge the existence of it not to be fact. For a thing cannot both be and not be at the same time and in the same sense. If it is true that a man is guilty, it is not true that he is not guilty; and, if it is true that he is not guilty, it is not true that he is guilty. Moreover, it is evident that the more confidence of belief the mind has in anything, tlie more confidence also it has against the opposite of that thing. If we are sure the man is § 87. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 203 guilty, we have no hope at all that he is not guilty; and if we are sure that he is not guilty, we have no fear at all that he is. But if we are not wholly certain of his guilt, we have some hope of his innocence ; and, conversely, if we are confident, though not cer- tain, of his innocence, we have some fear of his guilt. So, also, if we are in utter doubt concerning his guilt, we are equally in doubt about his innocence. In short, every simple judgment of prob- ability considers two possible consequents of an antecedent of contingency, which consequents are the immediate logical con- tradictories of each other. The question whether either one of these consequents be true and the other false, depends on the question whether those elements exist or not, which are needed in order to change the antecedent of contingency into an antecedent of necessity for that consequent, and of impos- sibility for the other. Sometimes two propositions not so closely related as those of the existence and the non-existence of the same object, may, like these, be contradictory of one another; in that case the same law holds with them as with any statement and its simple contradiction. The probability (that is the positive probability) of the one, and the improbability (that is, the negative prob- ability) of the other, are of the same degree. If there were two, and only two, roads, one of which a stray horse must have taken, and, from some reason, it were likely that he took the one, it would be equally unlikely that he took the other. But judgments like these are really compound, each consequent having its own immediate contradictory; they should, therefore, be distinguished from simple judgments of probability. The simple judg- § ^^* ^^ sliall uow dircct our attention particu- ment of probabiii- larly to tliis last mentioned mode of judgment; an Two^^different Understanding of its nature will disclose that also Senrth^'^practt ^^ ^^^ compouud judgment; which, indeed, is lit- cai aiid the phi- tie clsc than an affffrefi-ation of those which are loBophlcaL -1 oo o Judgments of probability differ from those which merely assert necessity or contingency, in that tliey are clmracterized by various degrees of confidence. To illustrate this essential and general attribute, and the subordinate varieties of judgment which relate to it, we may, with some advantage, employ the symbol of a straight line of given length somewhat minutely divided into equal parts. Let one end of the line — say that at the left hand — represent the point of absolute disbelief in that one of two contradictory statements to which our interest is immediately given, and which, therefore, by way of pre-eminence, may be called the statement. Then the other end of the line may stand for the point of absolute or certain belief in this statement. The first of these points, of course, will also be that of absolute belief in the contradictory of the statement, and the other that of absolute disbelief in this contradictory. For the sake of exact illustration, let us suppose the line to be divided into one hun- 204 THE HUMAN MIND. % 87. dred equal parts. Should we now believe that there was just one chance in one hundred for the truth of the statement, and ninety-nine against it, the point indicating our degree of con- fidence would be one grade from the left hand or negative end of the line ; but, if there were ninety-nine chances for the truth of the statement, and only one against it, the point would be within one grade of the right hand, or positive, end. The central point of the line would indicate that degree of belief or confidence entertained when the chances in favor of the state- ment are fifty out of one hundred — that is, when the chances are fifty for, and fifty against, the statement. This is the point of absolute doubt or certainty. A difficulty here calls for explanation. If confidence com- mences when there is one chance in one hundred, and increases regularly till there are one hundred chances, it follows that doubt, or absolute uncertainty, being at the middle point, has half the confidence of certainty; whereas, when one is utterly in doubt, we generally say that he has no confidence or belief at all. This is an apparent contradiction : it results from that twofold use of language already described. In the wide, or phi- losophical sense, we say a thing is probable so far as it has any chances at oE in its favor, and improbable so far as it has any chances at all against it. According to this, everything probable has some degree of improbability, and everything improbable some degree of probability. In the ordinary language of life the terms probable and improbable have a more restricted application. That only is probable which has a majority of the chances in its favor, and that only improbable which has a, majority of the chances against it. According to this, the probable is never the improbable, nor the improbable the probable. In the wide, or philosophical sense, absolute doubt has just half the confidence of certainty; our expectation is equally divided betiveen tioo conse- quents^ one or other of which must certainly exist; but, according to the more common meaning of terms, doubt is the starting- point from which a belief, whether positive or negative, com- mences a progress to a certainty which is correspondingly posi- tive or negative. Philosophically, twenty-five chances in one hundred give one fourth the confidence of certainty, fifty chances one half, and seventy-five 'three fourths ; and these fractions symbolize these degrees of belief. But, in common language, twenty-five chances in one hundred give half the confidence of negative certainty or utter disbelief, and seventy-five chances half that of positive certainty; while the fractions one fourth and three fourths would symbolize, in the terms of chance, a disbelief and a belief, each of which had half the confidence of certainty. Philosophically, the addition of one chance in the hundred would add one one-hundredth part of the confidence of certainty to the strength of our belief; according to the ordi- nary mode of conception, that addition would, as the case might be, either detract one fiftieth part of the confidence of certainty k § 88. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 205 from the strength of disbelief, or add one fiftieth part of that confidence to the strength of belief Hence, while we accept the doctrine that a chance is the unit whereby we measure the degree of our confidence or belief, it is plain that this measure is differently applied and used accordingly as the line to be measured is graded only from one end to the other, or from the middle towards both ends. In the latter case (supposing, as before, that one hundred represents certainty in the philo- sophical conception of it) there are two scales, of fifty units each; in the former only one, of one hundred. Our ordinary conception of probability is more complex than that which we have termed philosophical, but it is necessitated by the practical question, which continually presents itself, as to whether or not some statement has the majority of chances in its favor. Our conduct is greatly determined and shaped by the answers given to this inquiry. But the most difficult part of the philosophy of probable judg- ments is not that illustrating its various degrees of confidence and our modes of expressing them; it is that which explains the law according to which the mind forms judgments thus varying in confidence. This, too, is the most essential part. It is not peculiar to judgments of probability to consider cases of non-existence as well as those of existence — to estimate the truth of a contradictory at the same time with that of a direct state- ment — or even to unite the contemplation of necessity with that of contingency. While these things necessarily occur in con- nection with probable judgments and are brought by them into peculiar prominence, the essential part of every such judgment is tlie rational determination of the degree of a belief that is, of course, in those cases where belief admits of degrees. The rad- ical question, therefore, is, "How is this determination efiected?" We reply, through the perception and estimation of chances. Chances defined § ^^' ^^ance is a term used in various senses, and uiustrated. When, for cxamplc, an event results from causes ^s?gSTesl*^i^e whose Operation cannot be foreseen by us, we say sfbiu^r^'^'^^ ^°^ that it takes place by chance, thus 'giving this name to those causes collectively which are of un- certain operation. But the term assumes a different meaning in discussions and calculations respecting things probable. In this connection a chance may be defined as a consequent of an antecedent of con- tingency (§ 85), and is related to this antecedent somewhat in the same way that a fact is related to an antecedent of necessity. It is what would be fact if the antecedent of contingency were filled out so as to constitute a necessitating antecedent. As this may always happen in more ways than one, it follows that the antecedent of contingency may have more consequents than one; in which respect it differs from an antecedent of necessity. These chances, or possible consequents, are ideal, not real, and have to be conceived of by the mind. 206 THE HUMAN MIND, § 89. Chances may be divided into tlie general and the individual^ each of the former including under it a number of the latter. For the distinction between the general and the individual may be applied to ideal as well as to real objects. The individual chance is such because it is a possible consequent of a possible individual antecedent of necessity. The general chance is the consequent of a general antecedent. For example, I am going to Madison next Tuesday and hope to meet Mr. Orr at two o'clock in his counting-room. We will suppose that Mr. Orr goes to his room every business day at that hour, save three days in every ten, when he is called elsewhere. We may now speak of two chances in the case, that of finding him, and that of not finding him. But these are two general chances, in the former of which seven, and in the latter of which three, individual chances are included. The antecedent of contingency in this case is our going to Mr. Orr's counting-room at two o'clock. But, since next Tuesday may be any one of the seven days on which Mr. Orr is there, or of the three on which he is absent (we know not which), we say that the antecedent may be fol- lowed by any one of the ten possible individual consequents, seven of these being favorable chances and three unfavorable. And thus we judge that there is a probability of seven to three. Those chances, in any case, which are mutually similar, must be, and are, conceived of indefinitely. In the foregoing instance the seven favorable chances are distinguished from each other only as having numerical difi*erence, and so with the three un- favorable. But they have this difference, and are individuals. It is to be noted that when we speak of the number of chances for or against a supposition, it is not the general, but the indi- vidual^ chance which is referred to in our thought. § 89. Such being the case, we hold that every j^d^enwoiiows judgment of probability takes place under one or ^chanlS'!^ ^^ ^^ other, or both, of the two following conditions. Firsts we may perceive some antecedent of con- tingency which admits of a fixed number of individual consequents^ of that number only; these we call the chances in the case. Suppose a bag containing one hundred ivory balls of the same size, fifty being white, forty red, and ten black, and each ball with an ordinal number of its own. Let them be well shaken together. The bag now, with reference to the question, "Which of the one hundred balls will be the first drawn out?" constitutes an antecedent of contingency with one hundred, and only one hun- dred, possible individual consequents, or chances. As there are one hundred balls, there are one hundred possible suppositions as to which ball will come first, or, for that matter, as to which will come at the second, or third, or any other, drawing. But, if we had no knowledge of the number of balls in the bag, whether there were ten, or one hundred, or one thousand, and so could not determine the total number of chances, we might form a judgment of contingency as to any particular ball, but § 89. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY, 207 not a judgment of probability. Of course one's estimation of the number of chances — that is, of the total number of the conflict- ing individual possibilities in the case — may be either mathe- matically exact or merely a loose approximation. The number is, however, in some way, fixed and limited. Or, secondly^ ivliether we can determine the total number of chances or not, we may perceive that a. fixed proportion of the total number support some specific result or consequent. In the illustration of the one hundred balls, there is one individual possibility or chance, out of one hundred, for the drawing of any particular ball first; but there are three general possibilities or contingen- cies corresponding to the three classes of balls, fifty out of the hundred chances favor one of these contingencies, as being in- cluded in it, forty another, and ten the third. Such being the case, and employing the philosophical method of computation and expression, we say that a white ball is expected with fifty hundredths, or one half of the confidence of certainty, a red one with forty hundredths, or two fifths, and a black one with ten hundredths, or one tenth. Our confidence is not distributed equally among the general possibilities, but is divided among them according to that proportion of the chances which may support each. Were the balls made up of two equal classes, fifty being white and fifty red, there would be one chance in two for either a white or a red ball ; yet this would not be merely because there were only two classes, but because there was an equal number of balls in each of two classes. Were seventy white and thirty red, the chances would not be one in two for a ball of either color, but seven out of ten for a white ball, and three out of ten for a red one. From all that has now been said, we see that, if our inquiry concerns a, supposition which only one chance supports, and we know the total number of chances, we can immediately say there is one chance out of the total number for that consequent. In the case of the balls there are one hundred chances in all, and one out of the hundred for the drawing of any individual ball the first. But, if the inquiry concern a supposition which several chances support, we need not know the total number of chances provided only we know the ratio between the total number and the number ivhich support the supposition. In the instance given, the total number of balls may be either large or small, if there be only fixed ratios between that total and the numbers of the white, the red, and the black. There might be one thousand, or ten thousand, instead of one hundred, balls; but if fifty out of every hundred were white, forty red, and ten black, the proba- bilities as to drawing a ball of a given color would be the same as before. Comparing these two methods of probable judgment, it is easy to see that the latter is of a more radical and general nature than the former. We may say that all probability what- ever is determined according to tJie proportion of chances favoring 208 THE HUMAN MIND. § 89. any consequent; and it is really an accidental matter ivhetJier we know the entire numher of chances or not. Where only one chance supports a supposition — as, in the illustration, only one chance supports the expectation for any one particular ball — it is, in- deed, needful to know the total number of chances, yet not because it is the total number, but because it is the wanting term of a ratio. Were there one thousand balls instead of one hundred, and ten of the thousand white, the rest being of other colors, there would be one thousand chances in all, but a white ball would have one chance in a hundred — i. e., the same chance which any particular ball would have in the other case. The degree of probability, therefore, is determined always according to the ratio of the chances; and this may be considered the funda- mental laio of all probable judgments. That we must know the ratio of the chances in order to de- termine the probability of a supposition, becomes very evident if we consider cases in which such knowledge does not exist. If we were utterly unable to say how many balls were in the bag, whether one hundred, or one thousand, or one million, or any other number, we could say there was a chance to draw out first the ball numbered owe, but we could not say what chance ; and so, though we might make a blind guess, we would form no judgment save one of pure contingency (§§ 85-86). In the same way, if we knew only the number of general possibilities of which the case admits, and not the proportion of individual possibilities, or chances, falling under each, no judgment of prob- ability would be possible. Were it known that three, and only three, descriptions of balls were in the bag, but not what pro- portion the possibilities of drawing a ball of any one color bore to the total number of possibilities, we might, indeed, say that, sc far as our hnoiuledge went, there was an equal change for each color; but this would not he a complete and satisfactory judg- ment of probability so long as we did not know the number of individual possibilities, or at least the ratio existing between these. For, among all the balls, there might be one only of a given color or description, or all the balls save two might be of that color; under these conditions we could say that there was one possibility, at least, for a ball of one color, and that in no case the possibilities against it could be less than two ; but we could tell nothing of the value of these chances. If, how- ever, the total number of possibilities were known, this value would be known, and we could determine the limits of the probabilities in the case. For example, we could say that the chances for the appearance of a white ball could not be less than one, nor more than ninety-eight, out of one hun- dred. Yet even this would not show how many — or what proportion — of chances there were for any given consequent; which is the result ordinarily and properly expected from a judgment of probability. § 90. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 209 § 90. From all the foregoing discussion it is evi- J^n'c'^r^Ssfrted ^ent that it is not the general hut the individual pos- wid iuustrated. siMlity — the CHANCE — wMck IS the unit of our calcula' fortune,^ ^^ tions. This chance is a fractional unit, and obtains its value from the division of the confidence of certainty, which is regarded as a fixed integral quantity, by the- number of the chances in any case, each chance receiving its share out of this division. We are thus brought to consider another point, which hitherto has been implied rather than asserted ; namely, that every chance is equal to every other chance in the set to luhich it belongs. That is, it has equal probability. This is implied when we say that the likelihood of any supposition increases or decreases, regularly, accordingly as the number of chances in its favor may increase or decrease. The reason for this equality has been already hinted at: it arises because the mind knows that one of the chances must prove a reality while it has no reason to believe in any one chance rather than in any other. A chance of itself, and apart from its being one of a total number, is a mere possibility or contingency without any expectation of reality due to it whatever. Hence, when some one of a limited number of chances must be true, we survey all as having severally the same claim on our confidence. If the total number be indefinitely conceived or known, our ex- pectation for any chance, though equal to that for any other, is also indefinite and unsettled; if the total be definitely known, our expectation for each becomes definite also, and may be rep- resented by some fraction having unity for numerator, and some whole number, not less than two, for its denominator. The chances in a case may be compared to a set of beggars who, so far as we know, are equally necessitous and equally deserving, and among whom, therefore, we distribute our bread in equal portions. To illustrate this point, let us suppose a " wheel of fortune," such as may be seen at county fairs, only with its rim divided into one hundred equal parts, each having its own number. The wheel being truly balanced and made to revolve freely, any one of these numbered parts may come to rest opposite an index finger; and there is, accordingly, one chance in one hundred for every num- ber. In this case, with reference to the stoppage of any given number — -just as in the case of the bag with reference to the drawing of any particular ball — the mind conceives of one hun- dred possible events as the total number possible, one of these being that No. 27, we will say, will stop opposite the finger, and ninety-nine of them being that it will stop elsewhere. Expec- tation is distributed equally among these one hundred possible events; so that the chance of No. 27 being successful is one in one hundred. But were the question whether any number from 1 to 25, inclusive, would succeed, the chances would be one in four. Or were the question whether some one of the first fifty, or whether some one of the second fifty, or whether an odd number, or whether an even number, would succeed, the chances 210 THE HUMAN MIND, § 90. would be fifty to fifty, or even, for and against, the supposition. Or were the question whether some one of seventy-five numbers selected at random would succeed, there would be seventy-five chances out of the hundred. Tlius it is plain, that, however we vary this illustration, — which is essentially the same with that of the bag with balls — the mind conceives rationally of one hun- dred possible events, and divides the expectation of reality equal- ly among them. Here we may note, in passing, that these supposi- ii?^?idedT^^' tions or possible events do not require us to know or take for granted that each number is successful once in every one hundred movements of the wheels and so that any particular number at each movement has one chance in its favor and ninety-nine against it. Such an antecedent would, indeed, give such chances; but it is not the antecedent under our im- mediate consideration; nor are the two necessarily co-existent. The events supposed are conceived of with reference to one movement of tlw wheel, in connection with which they are, not jointly, but severally, possible; and they are, that No. 27, for example, should be so many times successful (that is, once only) and so many times unsuccessful; or, in case we think of a class of numbers, that some one of the class chosen — say of the first fifty — should be so many times successful and so many times un- successful. In which statements, the word times merely indicates enumeration or counting, and not succession in time; and the one hundred, chances, which are apportioned differently according to the conditions given in the different questions, are evidently con- ceived of as individuals, and as equal. The equauty of ^^^ ^^ ^^7 ^^ ^^^^' ''This equality of chances, though the chances fur- apparent lu such cascs as have been adduced, is not ther illustrated. '7 7 • 7 • 7 • ^7, easily discerned m our more ordinary cases oj prob- able judgment^ This we allow, yet we believe this principle always enters into our conceptions of things as probable, and may be perceived by attention and analysis. For example, the expectation, already discussed, of our finding Mr. Orr at his counting-room at two o'clock, is based on our knowledge of his being there seven days out of the ten, at that hour, and of his being absent three days out of the ten. As we shall see hereafter, it matters not how this knowledge may have been obtained, whether it be an inference from Mr. Orr's general habits and which might be applied to every successive period of ten busi- ness days, or whether it be information pertaining only to the ten days concerned in our inquiry. In some way we have be- come possessed of the fact; and this antecedent justifies ten equally probable suppositions, because it compels us to conceive of and believe in, as possible, ten events with any one of which, indifferently, the event really to occur may agree, or be identical That is, the fact of to-day may be any one of seven meetings or of three failures to meet; and these ten cases of possible identifi- cation are all equally probable. Now, if we did not know that § 90. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 211 Mr. Orr is to be at his room seven days in the ten and absent from it three, but only that he is present about twice as often as he is absent, or (if you please) somewhat more than that, our judgment could not be so exact as it w^ould be with definite knowledge, yet it would still consist in a determination of the ratio of the chances. We would say that the chances were more than two to one, and expect accordingly. Whereas, if we could tell nothing at all concerning the proportion of days on which Mr. Orr would be present, there would be no ground for any judgment of probability. And it is clear that in settling tJie ratio we rest equally on each of the ten chances, and this simply because we have no ground to trust one more than another. In- deed the very reason on account of ivJiich the mind seeks to apprehend and to number correctly the individual' possibilities in a case, is be- cause that, as individual, they appeal equaily to its confidence. Thus, only, a measure of probabihty is obtained. To illustrate further from ordinary thought, let the question be whether it will freeze on next New Year's — Jan. Ist, 1879 ? Here again let it be as- sumed that we know — say, from long experience — that, in this latitude, certain causes operate in the long run to produce frost seven t^^-five times out of one hundred, or three times out of four, on the 1st of January. We now conceive of four antecedents of necessity as the total number of the possible individual modifica- tions of the antecedent of contingency, and of four possible cor- responding consequents or chances. According to three of these it will be frosty, according to one it will be mild. The chances for frost are three to one. In this manner every probable judg- ment may be analyzed. The theory that we can judge without conceiving S^rS!^^^ ^^' of a number of individual possibilities is favored chiefly by the circumstance that we seldom think, directly and deliberately, of things so subtle and unreal in their nature, and so subordinate in their use, as chances, and hence tend to confound them with other objects. For the proposition, or thing, whose probability is determined according to the num- ber of chances in its favor, is one, and is conceived of as one ; the confidence or doubt with which it is held or regarded is a single state of mind ; and even the quota of probabilities which support it, may be viewed collectively as a bundle of similar units. But, for all this, the chances in a case are thought of as plural and as equal ; and, although mathematical exactness is not to be looked for in ordinary thought, nor even definite conceptions of things as numbered, probability is always determined according to the ratio of the chances, and cannot be determined in any other way. It may free this doctrine of the equality of chances from some confusion to note that, in cases of causal contingency, a thing is probable or improbable in given circumstances (that is, with a given antecedent) not because they contain a strong or because they contain a weak cause for its existence, but because they con- tain a cause which, whether strong or weak, has been found to 212 THE HUMAN MIND. § 91. be frequently, or to be infrequently, effectual. A strong ten- dency, if some necessary condition were wanting, would never produce an effect, while a weak tendency, under favorable con ditions, might produce it often. Yet every time, however pro duced, the event would be as truly a fact — and the fact inquired after — as every other time. When, therefore, on the recurrence of the same causal conditions, an event is known to take place more frequently than to fail to take place, we say that it is probable; but, with a cause seldom effectual, it is improbable. Why? Because — though the chances in any case are contempo- i-aneous, the possibility of each arising directly from the existence of the antecedent of contingency, while the several actual opera- tions and failures to which they refer are successive — the mind conceives of chances, favorable and unfavorable, corresponding in number and character with the facts considered. Moreover, as the facts, however produced, are equally believed, so the several chances, as related to, and in a sense representing, the facts sev- erally, are to be viewed with equal expectation. Similar remarks apply to cases where the antecedent of contingency is merely logical and not causal. No circumstance, however prominent and imposing, should affect our judgment, unless we see that it increases the chances in favor of some supposition. When the suitor of Portia, in the " Merchant of Venice," was told that his success depended on his choosing the right one of three caskets — one of gold, one of silver, and one of lead — no reason being given to guide his choice, the case presented an antecedent of contingency with three equally possible consequents. The like- ness of the lady might be either in this chest, or in that one, or in the other; and the equality of these chances was unaffected by the size or beauty or costliness of the different urns. So, were we asked to guess which of three unknown men — Smith, Brown, or Jones — was the tallest, it would help us nothing to be told that one of them, say Smith, was the best looking. nv,or,.«.o o,.^ § 91. Beside the equality of the chances, in everv Chances are con- •' iii'i -i iii* flictive possibu- casc 01 probablc judgment, another point should be noted, as involved in our very conception of them ; that is, iliey conflict with OTie another. While they are all possible, only one can be realized. Each of the one hundred balls has a chance of being drawn first, and each of the one hundred num- bers on the wheel has a chance of being successful; in each case one hundred chances co-exist as possibilities; yet of these only one can be realized. With reference to actuality, the one hun- dred are mutually conflicting or incompatible. But when one chance favors a supposition and the rest are against it, or when several are favorable and several unfavorable, it may be asked, " Are the chances which thus together support one conclusion incompatible with one another? Are the ninety-nine chances against the drawing of any single ball, or the fifty in favor of a white ball, contiictive with each other ? " They certainly are. Each is an individual possibility which could not be realized § 91. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 213 if any other of its fellows were realizea. If any one of the ninety-nine chances against No. 27, on the wheel, were real- ized, this would result from the success of some other number, say 28, and from the failure of oR the rest; or, if another of the ninety-nine were realized, ^his Avould involve the success of some other number, say 29, and the failure of No. 28 and all the rest. These chances are individually different, and could not exist together; but they agree in excluding the suc- cess of No. 27. Then, as to the fifty out of the one hundred chances which favor an even number, these each involve the success of some one even number, and the failure of all the rest both odd and even. They agree, not in being real together — that they cannot be, — but in having a certain common character, so that, if any one of them happens, we can say that a thing of that general description has taken place. A chance thou h Here, howcver, for the sake of clearness, a dis- Bingie may have a tiuctiou sliould be made betwecu the singleness, manitoid result. ^^ individuality, of the chance and that of the result whose probability the chance supports : the latter may be either single or of a duplex or threefold or multiple character. If there were ninety-nine divisions of the wheel instead of one hundred, but still one hundred numbers, one division being marked with two numbers, say 10 and 12, and the rest with one apiece, there would be one chance in ninety-nine that both the numbers 10 and 12 should be successful, and one in ninety-nine for every other number. We might be inclined to call this a double chance ; but really it would be a single chance toith a double result If a person, being allowed to choose two numbers, should select 10 and 12, there would be but one chance in ninety-nine for his being right as to either number or as to both, and ninety-eight against his being right. But if he chose any other pair of numbers, say 2 and 3, there would be one chance in ninety-nine as to his being right as to one of them and ninety- eight against it. In the latter case, there would be only ninety- seven chances against his being right with respect to either 2 or 3, but, in the former case, ninety-eight against his being right with respect to either 10 or 12. So, also, if a double or triple prize in a lottery were affixed to some given number, the chance for that prize would be individual, and, as it regards its own nature, equal to every other chance; though, as com- prising a larger result, it might be more desirable than any other. It is clear that several results of one chance, but not several chances, may be realized at once. Such, then, are chances; they are conflicting individual possibilities. Antecedent and Should it bc dcsircd to apply the terms antecedent consequent of and consequcnt to probable reasons and conclusions, ^^° * ^* and to define them in this application, we might say that an antecedent of probability is an antecedent of contin- gency (§ 85) as subject to some given number of possible indi- vidual necessitant modifications, of which one, and only one, 214 THE HUMAN MIND. § 92. must be realized; and the consequent of 'probability is a conse- quent of contingency which one or more of the chances, that is, of the individual possible consequents of the above-mentioned modifications, may support. § 92. A question of some importance in the doc- ?urc''ioT&e''abu! trine of probable judgments concerns the extent ity to form pjoba^ to which wc are dependent on experience for the even^Se only ability to form them. Mr. John Stuart J\Iill, and SiTTfews*ofT.'s. the Association alists generally (§ 23), teach that Place ^^^ °^ ^^ experience is the only ground on which any esti- Two senses of the matcs of probability can be based, and indeed the Locke ^qSeT^* solc Origin of our power to make them. In his "Logic" (book iii. chap, xviii.) he controverts the doctrine taught by La Place in his "Essai Philosophique sur les Probabilities " ; which doctrine is essentially coincident with that already given. He says, " In the cast of a die the prob- ability of ace is one sixth; not, as La Place would say, be- cause there are six possible throws, of which ace is one, and because we do not know any reason why one should turn up rather than another; but because we do know that, in a hundred, or a million of throws, ace will be thrown about one sixth of that number, or once in six times." After this he controverts the positions of La Place that " it is necessary that we should know how many possibilities there are," and " that we should have no more reason for expecting one of them than another," so that they are " equally possible." As to the latter of these doctrines, Mr. Mill is evidently confused by reason of his failure to perceive, what we have already explained, that the possi- bilities, referred to by La Place as chances^ are individual pos- sibilities, and that these in any case are all equally probable. As to the former doctrine, La Place would probably have met the objections of Mr. Mill by a more perfect explanation of his theory. We have already seen (§ 89) that the total number of the possibilities need not be inquired after, provided only we know the ratio of the chances. Yet, as this ratio must origi- nally be determined by comparing some definite total with some definite aliquot part of it — so that the knowledge of the ratio in any case without that of the total is only derived and second- ary — there is a sense in which we may hold with La Place that the whole number of chances must be known. No ratio can be determined without knowledge of a partial and of a total num- ber, although often this ratio, when once determined, may prop- erly be applied after these original data have been forgotten. To ascertain the proportions of oxygen and hydrogen in water, we must first find the proportional quantities in some given amount of water — say three oz. ; after that we know the ratio for any amount. And so, where some law of probability pre- vails, this law must be first ascertained by determining definitely the number of chances in some particular case which may serve as an instance of the law. Mill further criticises La Place by § 92. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY, 215 saying, " When experience is to be had, he takes that experience as the measure of the probability : his error is only in imagining that there can be a measure of probability where there is no experience." In short. Mill presents, as his own doctrine, that knowledge obtained by experience is "the only requisite" to a probable judgment. He says, "Conclusions respecting the Erobability of an event rest upon knowledge, obtained y experience, of the proportion between the cases in which the fact occurs, and those in which it does not occur. Every codcu- lation of chances is grounded on an induction; and to render the calculation legitimate, the induction must be a valid one." To us these views of Mr. Mill are entirely unsatisfactory. In the first place^ experience, of itself, can give us the knowledge only of what has been, and not that of what shall be, or what must be, or what may be. When we say that we know from experi- ence that such or such a thing, belonging to the future or the dis- tant or the unseen, must or may be so, there is an ellipsis of a fac- tor less prominent than experience, but no less important. This factor is a power of judgment whereby we conceive of and be- lieve-in — in other words perceive — certain modes of existence as necessary or as possible under given modes of antecedence, and so assert such modes to be necessary or possible whenever the proper antecedents occur. No experience can account for these judg- ments in any way. In them we do not assert that we cannot, by reason of habit or association, think of certain things otherwise than as we do; we assert that the things in themselves, and by reason of their own nature and relations, are necessary, or are possible. Now the principle of the ratio of the chances, as a law of thought, simply combines a perception of things as nec- essary with that of them as possible. We perceive a total num- ber of individual possibilities, and that one, and only one, of these must be realized. Hence we say that, in employing this law of thought, the mind does not use merely the associations of past experience, but, yet more, a power of judgment or insight, which, though constantly exercised in connection with experience — that is, with the immediate perception of fact — is easily distinguished from the latter. This power is explained away by the Associationalist school. In the second place we remark, that experience not only does not furnish the principle of probable judgments ; it is not even the exclusive source of that peculiar knowledge of fact on ivhich such judgments proceed. This statement, however, must be made with an explanation. There are two senses in which experience may be considered a source of knowledge. In the first place, it may signify, as above, on^s immediate personal cognition of fact. This experience cannot include any perception of the distant or the future, or of the hypothetical or the universal, but only of the actual, past and present, so far as this has been submitted to our observation. Locke uses the term in this sense when he teaches that experience furnishes all the matter of thought and 216 THE HUMAN MIND, § 92. knowledge. " Whence," says he, " hath the mind all the mate- rials of reason and knowledge ? To this I answer in one word, from experience: in that all our knowledge is founded, and from that ultimately derives itself Our observation, employed either about external sensible objects, or about the internal operations of our minds, perceived and reflected on by ourselves, is that which supplies our* understanding with all the materials of think- ing." Now when experience, as is frequently the case, has this signification of our immediate perception of fact, it must be al- lowed to be the original source of that knowledge on which prob- able judgments are based. For, as Locke says, it is the funda- mental condition, or original source, of all knowledge. When, through the penetrating power of judgment and reasoning, we perceive things beyond our experience, this is only because ex- perience furnishes "materials" out of which the mind, using intuitional principles, may correctly conceive the unexperienced. Mr. Mill, however, does not use the term in the sense to which Ave have now referred. If he did, his statements might be explained and defended. He employs the word in a mean- ing which it often has, but according to which his teachings are incorrect. Very frequently, experience signifies, not simply our immediate perceptions of fact, but that whole inductive process {^ 5) of ivhich the observation of fact is the primary and most notice- able part. The distinction between these two meanings is noted, and is somewhat obscurely expressed, by Archbishop Whately when he says that we may know from experience that water has frozen at a certain temperature, and by experience that water will freeze again at that temperature (" Logic," appen- dix i.). That Mill employs this secondary, metonyniical, and extended sense, is evident: the knowledge of which he speaks as being obtained by experience is " of the proportion between the cases in which the fact occurs, and those in which it does not occur;" that is, as the present tense indicates, of the propor- tion, not as an observed fact merely, but as a general law. And then he continues, yet more explicitly, "Every calculation of chances is grounded on an induction." In our inquiries respecting things, the question SSS^the groSS^i sometimes is, whether or not in the course of of some probable nature such an event probably did or will take judgments, but . ■ ^ , ^ I.^ . - -xu not of all. place under given circumstances — that is, with a S*nece8sJy!''and givcu antecedent of contingency. For example, cases in whicb it ^q ^.^j ^gk as to the probability of frost in Han- is not necessary. J tr ^ a - ,i j.\ over on any 1st oi January respecting the weather of which we have no knowledge. And clearly a kind of induc- tion from experience is necessary for the determination of such a probability. When the observation of many years has shown that frost has occurred on that day of winter on three fourths of all the cases noted, yet in all other respects with no percep- tible regularity, or approach to regularity, in its coming or m its failure to come, we perceive that there is in nature some per- 92. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. manent cause — or rather some permanently recurring causal ten- dency — the regular efficiency of which is thwarted by other causes which conflict with it occasionally and, on the whole, to the extent named. Hence we say that frost on New Year's is a law of nature, not an absolute or fundamental law, but one limited by a certain proportion of exceptions; we express this law by saying that the 1st of January is and will be frosty in three Iburths of all the winters. By an immediate inference we per- ceive that the probability of the operation of this law at any or every New Year's is as three to one; and then, by deduc- tion, we say that there is this probability for the 1st of January next. A precisely similar instance would be presented should we ask as to the probability of the death of an adult attacked by the yellow fever. We will suppose that this disease has destroyed life in one fourth of all recorded cases, and that this is our only obtainable basis of judgment. By induction we say that three out of four yellow fever patients recover or will recover; by im- mediate inference from this that, for one sick with yellow fever, the chances for life are as three to one; and finally, by deduc- tion, that these are the chances in the present case. That mode of induction, which thus is often the basis of probable judgments, is a less searching process than that which ascertains the exact and invariable laws of nature. It is, how- ever, as frequently employed and is no less useful. It may be styled the iridudion of approximation or of probability. For the modes which it discovers only approximate universality, and they are often set forth in general statements as laivs of probable application; as when we said above, " Frost on New Year's is a law of nature." We shall not now inquire why the mind expects nature to act universally with the same regularity, or the same approach to regularity, which may have been already observed in connection with a large number of similar antecedents; this would lead us into the philosophy of inductive reasoning. It is beyond question that we constantly use and follow this rule of judgment. But, while asserting and allowing this, we nevertheless main- tain that many questions of probability do not refer to the repetition of tJie operation of natural causes under the repetition of a given ante- cedent, and therefore do not depend on induction for their settlement: To illustrate, we may take an example given by Mr. Mill himself in the passage from which we have just quoted. " If," he says, *' we know that half of the trees in a particular forest are oaks, the chance that a tree indiscriminately selected will be an oak is an even chance, or, in mathematical language,- one half" The knowledge here adduced as the basis of judgment, viz., that " half the trees of the forest are oaks," could not be " grounded on an induction." Who can say that one half the trees in every forest are oaks? or that such a statement has been proved by experience ? Plainly the information here supposed is derived, not from induction, but from the mere observation and enumera- 218 THE HUMAN MIND. ' § 93 tion of the trees of that particular forest. Again, let us throw fifteen marbles into a bag, ten of them white and five blue ; and let a boy be asked to guess the color of the one first to be drawn. He will say " white "; and why ? Will it be because past expe- rience has shown that in all such cases the greater number in- sures the greater likelihood? By no means. He does not know how such things have happened in the past. If he were told that the experiment had been tried a miUion of times and that the white marbles on the whole came out twice as often as the blue, this might influence his conclusion; but he judges very well without any such record. He immediately finds in the bag of marbles an antecedent of contingency with fifteen, and only fifteen possible consequents, and that ten out o^ the fifteen favor the white color. The truth is that probable judgments are spe- cially based on induction only in cases where, in order to find the ratio of the chances, we have to refer to some law of nature the operation of which is not universel. No past experience is needed when the facts determining the ratio may be immediately known. Probable judgments, therefore, are not essentially dependent on experience for their data. They simply require the knowledge of such facts as may constitute an antecedent of probability; this may be obtained by experience, or in some other way. § 93. A clear understanding of the doctrine of fwe^n^i'udgmente probabihty calls for a distinction between two ofprobabiuty. modcs of probablc I'udsrment. Althousrh we are Single and repeti- , ^ ,, ,^ ,P , . , i. u • i. tious probabmty. always equally and utterly ignorant as to wnicn one of all the chances may prove to be a reality, WQ can sometimes secure ourselves against a repetition of this ignor- ance under like circumstances, and sometimes we cannot. This dif- ference does not in any wise affect the essential nature of the judgment of probability; it simply leaves opportunity for the repetition of similar judgments in the one case, and takes away occasion for such repetition in the other. If three men of un- equal stature were called James, John, and Wilham, and we knew not which was tallest, there would be a probability of one third that John was he; but after we had learned that William was the tallest, there would no longer be any question admitting of a probable answer. Or, if one totally unacquainted with the appearance of wild animals were shown pictures of a lion, a tiger, and a bear, and asked to guess which was the lion, he would be equally undecided as to each; but having once obtained the correct conception of a lion, there would no longer be any room for an estimation of chances. Examples of the other mode of judgment may be found in our expectations regarding the probable recurrence of various natural events on the recurrence of certain antecedents, and also in those expectations which are excited by games of chance. These, indeed, could not be played, did they not present some means of repeatedly renewing an uncertainty. In the fifty- two cards in a pack, twelve are pictured, twenty-six are red, § 93. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 219 and twenty-six are black. There are twenty-six chances ont ot fifty-two that a red card will be drawn out ot" the pack at ran- dom, twelve out of fifty-two that a pictured card will be drawn, and one in fifty-two that the queen of hearts or of spades, or any other particular card, will be drawn. All these chances pre- sent themsdves afresh with every shuffling of the cards. So the even chance that head or that tails will fall uppermost is repeated with every twirling toss given to a penny. With the bag of balls and with the wheel of fortune, already mentioned, the chances are recalled with every new experiment. The reason, throughout, is, that our initial ignorance is renewed in every case. The foregoing distinction is useful in counteracting pUes^a^wiety^Sf ^^ crror iuto whicli we naturally fall, and which is possibilities, but involvcd in the theory of Mr. IMill. This is to sup- f«:t8* to^cdrres- posc that all matters which are proper subjects of suSutSs"'*^^^''" probable judgment, do, objectually, or in fact, ex- hibit the same fickleness and changeableness of consequence which are to be observed in ^ames of chance, and in certain classes of natural events. We often make probable judgments in cases in which the sequence of facts is found to be always and necessarily the same and so to admit the substi- tution of a necessitudinal, instead of the probable, judgment. Hence we cannot infer that, because the chances for some con- sequent of probability are three out of four, this consequent will certainly accompany the antecedent three times out of every four that the latter may occur. It may be certain to accompany it always, or never to accompany it at all, or to accompany it according to some other ratio than that of three to one. Be- cause there is only one chance for John being tallest of three, and one for William — who is the tallest — we cannot say that in some way or other John is tallest one time in three, and William only once in three times. Because there is one chance in three that any one of three animals of diiferent descriptions is a lion, we cannot say that an animal of one description is once a lion, then once a bear, then once a tiger, and that similar statements may be made as to each of the other animals. We can only say that, every time a similar case of doubt is preseiited, the chances will be one in three till the doubt is removed. Each case admits a variety of possibilities, but does not imply a variety of facts. These remarks lead to the more important statement that, even in cases of repetitious probability, the ratio of the chances is not so related to that of the facts in ivhich our expectations seek to fnd realization, that the latter may be inferred from the former as iden- tical with it. To suppose that these ratios are necessarily the same is an error similar to that just noticed. A moment's re- flection shows that the perception of chances and their ratios is not in any way the perception of facts. The chances in a case are merely a set of possible ideal objects, one of which must prove real; their ratio is merely an ideal relation of number be- tween two classes of these objects. Conceiving of these things, 220 THE HUMAN MIND. § 94. we are not enabled to perceive the future or the distant, but only to rely, with greater or less confidence, on the suppositions which the chances support. This is all that the consideration of chances can effect: it can never produce the certainty of sight or of demonstration. If the ratio of the facts were necessarily the same with that of the chances, then, always, after a consid- erable number of unsuccessful trials, the probabilities in favor of a supposition would improve, the adverse chances being partially spent along with the occurrence of the adverse facts. This is not true with reference to any case of pure repetitious probabil- ity. After fifty throws of a die, none of which has turned up ace, the chance for ace on the next throw is no better than at first. It remains one in six. Let us suppose that twenty-five successive drawings from a bag containing fifty white and fifty black balls have produced white balls only — the ball, of course, having been replaced after each drawing, and the conditions of the case exactly renewed. Are the chances for a black ball any better than at first ? ' Not at all. They remain as fifty to fifty. But they ivould be improved if the ratio of the chances and that of the facts were necessarily the same. Because, whatever now may be the proportion of the positive to the negative events in that future wherein each chance seeks for realization, this pro- portion must be greater now than it was at the beginning of our experiments. - Again, it is clear that a number of trials equal in number to the number of the chances may take place without some one or more of the chances being realized. It is highly improbable that in six throws every face of a die should be turned up. But what has once happened is possible again under the same circumstances, and that endlessly. Hence, in a case of pure repetitious probability, it is possible that certain chances may never occur at all. If this be true, it is evident — not simply that a chance need not be realized once in every set of trials equal in number to the Ifumber of the chances — but that it need not be realized even as often as the total number of trials, how- ever great, may, as a multiple, contain the total number of chances. Because it may never be realized at all. Yet the as- sumption is frequently met with that every event which has some chances in its favor, must, absolutely, " in the long run,'' take place, or — which is the same thing in its extreme form — that every one of a total number of possibilities correctly con- ceived of by the mind must be realized, and that too, as often, in the course of many trials, as any other. To reason in this way is to convert chance into necessity and likelihood into fact (§ 106). Pure and affected § ^^- ^^^% however, we Hiust allow that, m many repetitious proba- coses of Tepetitious probability, the ratio of the facts ^^^^' and that of the chances do agree, and thai by a kind of necessity, so that they are always, at least substantially, the same. For an illustration of such cases we might say that, in a climate wherein the peach crop is known to fail five years out § 94 CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 221 of six, the chance for a crop in any summer selected at random is one in six. In regard to this agreement of ratios we remark as follows. In the first place, the identity of ratios cannot be inferred from the fact that we have made a correct or rational judgment of probability. As already shown (§ 93), we may form such judgments in cases where the trials subsequent to the first admit no variety of fact in their results, and in which a judg- ment of necessity soon takes the place of that of probability. In the second place, as we have just seen, the ratio of the facts cannot, in cases of pure repetitious probability, be inferred from that of the chances, as identical with the latter. There is no ground of such inference; these ratios in such cases may always be different. And thirdly^ although, in a large class of cases, the ratio of the chances and that of the facts are approxi- mately the same, and that necessarily, this is to be accounted for, not because the ratio of the facts is ever dependent upon, or discoverable by, the ratio of the chances, but because the ratio of the chances is often dependent upon, and determined by, the ratio of the facts. To illustrate this statement, we must make a distinction between what — in the absence of better terms — we shall call pure repetitious probability, and affected repetitious probability. The former is such as we meet with in games of chance; to deter- mine it ive conceive of every individual event possible in the case — that is, possibly consequent upon the antecedent of contingency — and we ask how many of these chances will support, severally, the various suppositions under debate: how many may favor the drawing of a white ball, or the drawing of a ball not white. The other mode of probability is such as attaches to the ex- pected happening of natural events. To determine it we assume as certain that a given proportion of the events folloiving the repeti- tion of some antecedent of contingency luill be positive, and the re- maining proportion negative; and thus, having fixed the ratio of the facts, we determine the probability of any one of the facts being positive, and also the probability of its being negative. The fact thus related to our inquiry may be any one of that series of events which follow the repetition of the antecedent of contingency. It may be the next event to occur, or the last which has occurred, or some one before the last or after the next. Now it will be seen that these modes of probability differ strikingly in this respect. In the latter, the chances respect the identity of the event under inquiry with one or other of that cycle of events, positive and negative, which are assumed as certain ; which are known as having been, or as about to be ; and each chance sets forth tlie possible identity of the event with one or other of these facts. But, in the former, we do not thus set out with a number of facts, nor with any ratio of facts: we simply compute for ourselves all the possible events, positive and negative, in the case, and then, from the ratio between these conceived-of events, we determine the probable character of the event which is about to happen, or which may have happened 222 THE HUMAN MIND. § 94 beyond our observation. In the one case we judge of an event certain to occur, but of indeterminate character, with reference to a number of other events certain to occur; in the other we judge of an event certain to occur, but of indeterminate character, with reference to a number of events simply conceived of as pos- sible. In the one case the chancef are possible cases of iden- tity; they pre-suppose facts and their ratio; in the other the chances are possible events, and they pre-suppose, or require, no fact as certain to occur, save the event of indeterminate char- acter, which is the subject of inquiry. We call one of these modes of probability jji^re, because it is determined wholly and directly from the consideration of the possible necessitant va- riations of the antecedent of contingency; it is not founded on any reference to actual consequents. The other we style af- fected, because it is ever determined by, and conformed to, tte ascertained ratio of the facts. The most perfect form of affected probability arises when the ratio of the facts is surely and exactly known. Were it certain that a field contained one hundred trees, seventy-five being oak? and twenty-five maples, and that these would all be cut down successively, one each day, there would be exactly seventy-five chances in the hundred that the tree cut down to-day is an oak, and as many that it is not a maple. A less perfect but more frequent mode of affected probability is that of the judgment in lohich we determine the likelihood of a natural event taking pla^e on the recurrence of given conditions. This judgment, as based on data obtained from experience, may be named the experiential judgment of probability. By extensive observation we become acquainted with certain laws of nature, the operation of which, under the recurrence of their conditions, is qualified by a cer- tain proportion of exceptions or failures. This proportion is fixed, not exactly, but approximately, and is ascertained by computing from time to time, during a long series of observa- tions, the ratio of the positive to the negative events observed. When this ratio, no matter how long our observation and com- putation be continued, is found to vary but little, perhaps fluctu- ating between near extremes so as to present a steady average, the law is considered proved and established. For this shows that there are permanent causes at work which, in any two considerable series of events, produce the same, or nearly the same, number of positive, together with the same, or nearly the same, number of negative, results. The ratio for judgment, ob- tained in this way, can be relied on only as a more or less close approximation to the ratio of the facts, not as an exact ratio; it generally varies somewhat after every new computation. On this account we style this experiential judgment less perfect^ though we believe it is more useful, than the other which has been described. With these judgments in affected probability Mr. Mill and his disciples would classify such judgments as they think may he § 94. CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY. 223 gained through many experiments in games of chance, or, more generally, b}^ the observation of results in cases of pure repeti- tious probability. We question whether such judgments are ever either legitimate or possible. To support this dissent we must distinguish pure repetitious probability into that which is truly and perfectly pure and that which is only apparently and imperfectly so; which latter, as being supplantable by affected probability may also be characterized as affectible. Pure proba- bility, in general, agrees with aifected probability in this, that both refer to cases in which there are a given number of chances, positive and negative, one, and only one, of which can and must be realized. In both, also, we are ignorant as to which of the chances will be realized. At this point the resemblance ends. In pure repetitious probability, while we know that one or other of a number of possible necessitating antecedents must exist, and are totally in the dark as to which, this unqualified ignorance renewedly accompanies every trial. The first — or absolutely pure — form of this probability arises when the antecedents necessita- ting the events of the successive trials do not occur according to any laiv. Nothing happens without a cause, and, with every throw of a die or shuffling of cards, there is an individual cause, or an individual set of causes, by reason of which one particular face of the die, or card of the pack, is found uppermost. But the series of necessitating antecedents in such cases follows no method; it is purely accidental. Hence the unqualified igno- rance, already mentioned, necessarily repeats itself before every trial. In that mode of pure repetitious probability which we have termed imperfect and affectible, the necessitating antecedents do occur according io a law; which, however, is as yet unknown to exist, and is assumed not to afi'ect the probability. Hence it is not true that, in either mode of pure repetitious probability, we know that there are ca^uses at work which favor each chance equally, or one not more than another. In cases of afi"ectible probability we assume, though without sufficient reason, that the causes which produce now this event and now that, are ruled by no law determining the ratio of the facts; while, in absolutely pure probability, we have sufficient reason to assume that there is no law governing that ratio. Hence, too, a judg- ment in aifectible probability, must give way to a judgment in affected probability so soon as any ratio of facts is found which can properly be applied as a law of the necessitating antecedents and their results. To illustrate what perhaps seldom occurs, by an imaginary case, let us suppose six rats of equal size and strength to be caught and placed in a box from which there is free exit for one and only one at a time. We say that the chances are one in six that rat No. 1, or rat No. 2, or any other of the six, will come out first. Let No. 3 appear. Allowing all to come out, we return them to the box, and await another exodus with simi- lar expectations. No. 5 presents himself; and so several sue- 224 THE HUMAN MIND. § 94. cessive experiments give ns no reason to expect one more than another. But let us imagine our course of trials to have been greatly prolonged — to have been continued, we will say, for one hundred days in succession. And let us suppose that it has been found approximately true for every day that No. 2 comes out first twice as often as No. 1, No. 3 twice as often as No. 2, No. 4 twice as often as No. 3, and so on with No. 5 and No. 6. We now no longer maintain our original judgment of proba- bility. It is destroyed by our induction from observed events, and is replaced by a new judgment recognizing 63 chances in all, and distributing these among the rats in the proportions of 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, and 32. In affected repetitious probability, the chances presuppose the known existence of the facts with their necessitating ante- cedents and their ratio, this last having in most cases been inductively determined. The chances consist of the various possible cases of identity between the event about to occur and the several known facts. Therefore, although, at the first trial, we may be utterly ignorant as to which chance shall be realized, yet, because the ratio of the facts is not merely knowable but known, this ignorance may be more or less modified at every subsequent trial. Here is a notable difference between pure and affected repetitious probability. If there were ten events, seven positive and three negative, the chances would be as seven to three on the first trial. But, if the first result were negative, the chances on the second trial would be seven to two : and, if the next two results were also negative, we should at last have seven chances out of seven, or certainty. This would be an extreme case; no such limitation of chances immediately appear in most cases of affected probability. Yet, in every case, a number of continuously similar results affect the ratio of the chances for the succeeding trial. This would be as true as in the case just considered, were the events ten thousand instead of ten, seven thousand being positive and three thousand negative. For the necessitating causes, in such cases, are known to conform to ? law according to which, in certain cycles or series of events, on? chance is realized as often, or nearly so, as any other. Hence in this form of prohaUlity the causes may be said to favor eacli chance equally. To determine that ratio of the facts, the knowledge of which is necessary to any judgment in affected repetitious probability, demands, at least in the case of natural events, the observation of several successive series of events. For, if we should obtain the ratio of results in only one series, we could not tell whether this was permanent and a reliable rule of judgment, unless we found it to exist in other and similar series. But if several successive serifiS gave the same, or nearly the same, ratio, we would allow that a law had been ascertained. The proportion of the deaths to the survivals of men forty years of age, as obtained from the statistics of one year, would not be a reliable rule of judgmeni § 94 CONTINGENCY AND PROBABILITY, 225 till we could show that this year was a fair example of all. Therefore we compute the ratios belonging to a succession of years; and, finding the result to vary but little, we accept it as a law. Of course we take the average ratio as that from which there is least variation. For the recurrence of a given ratio, exactly or approximately, indicates the operation of permanently recurring causes. But, should the ratios of events, in successive series, be decidedly different from one another, we would say that we could find no law determining the ratio; and, further, if the con- tinued comparison of different extended series of events should disclose no approach to an uniformity of ratio, we should say that no such law existed. In either case, there being no steady death- rate, any definite judgment as to the chances of a man surviving his forty-first year would be impossible. We are now prepared to estimate the opinions of those who, like Mr. John Stuart Mill, recognize no difference in modes of repetitious probability, and hold that the ratio of the chances in cases of pure probability is determined in the same way as in cases of affected probability, that is, by a continued observation of results. "In playing at cross and pile," says Mr. Mill ("Log." chap, xviii.), "the probability of cross is one half because it is found that, if we throw often enough, cross is thrown about once in every two throws; and because this induction is made under circumstances justifying the belief that the proportion will be the same in other cases as in the cases examined. In the cast of a die, the probability of ace is one sixth; not, as La Place would say, because there are six possible throws, of which ace is one, and because we do not know any reason why one should turn up rather than another; but because we do know that, in a hun- dred, or in a million of throws, ace will be thrown about one sixth of that number, or once in six times." These teachings are precisely the reverse of truth. ]\Ir. Mill confounds two modes of probability which not only are different from each other, but which cannot co-exist in the same case. As we have seen, if repetitious probability be perfectly pure, the results do not occur according to any law determining their ratio, whereas, in affected repetitious probability, they always do. Hence, too, as we have seen, if such a law can be shown to exist in any case of appar- ently pure probability, our first judgment may be supplanted by another in which a different ratio is used, and may always be modified by any considerable " run of luck." The untenable character of Mr. Mill's explanation of pure repetitious probability may be further shown by an application of his own principles. If the ratio of the chances in such prob- ability is to be determined in the same way as the likelihood of natural events, this must be done by successive series of ex- periments. If there be some law which, in a long course of trials, requires a tossed penny to show as many heads as tails, such a law can be established only by the observed recurrence of this ratio — of equality — in many series of experiments. But 226 THE HUMAN MIND. § 94 it will be found that no such recurring ratio can be obtained. Let one toss a penny ten times in succession, noting liow many times head appears; and let him repeat this course of procedure ten or twenty times. He will find the ratios differing greatly as he proceeds. Nay, even if they should somewhat approxi- mate he would still feel a hesitancy to infer a law. Because the forces known to act in the tossing of a penny, cannot, like the more important agencies of nature, be considered to be in any degree regular in their operation. When w^e pass from this simplest of cases to any one more complicated, the task of ob- servation and computation is not only as useless as in the case of the tossed penny, but speedily escapes beyond the bounds of ordinary thinking. For instance, to be satisfied, on Mill's principle, that the probability of throwing the ace of a die is v)ne sixth, we must be sure that, in one series of experiments after another, the ace has appeared after one sixth of the throws; and indeed, not only this, but also that, in each of the series of experiments, every other side as well as ace has also appeared one sixth of the times: for the events must favor each side equally. Who ever ascertained this by experiment? Who ever determined inductively what number of trials would give every face of the die as often as every other? Who ever really regarded the judg- ment that, in a long course of trials, the sides will turn up each an equal number of times, as something settled by observation, and not rather as merely the best forecast of which the case admits — a forecast which either may, or may not, be real- ized? (§ 106.) We must add further that the observation of ratios, even where it may set aside an erroneous judgment in pure prob- ability, does not establish an aff'e*cted probability so long and so far as the events cannot be found to be regulated by law. If one side of a die is thrown much more frequently than any other, we perceive that the die is loaded. Yet this surplus of frequency may be found of very irregular proportions in suc- cessive series of experiments. Such being the case, no steady ratio of events, as a law regulating the turning up of the differ- ent sides, can be obtained, and therefore no judgment in affected {)robability can take place. On the contrary, a new, though some- w hat indefinite, judgment in pure probability arises from the per- ception of the concealed but permanent cause as acting frequently and irregularly; a judgment in which a plurality of the chances favor the loaded side. In this particular case it appears that pure probability may find a basis for judgment in the observa- tion of results. For, in this case, a kind of induction indicates — not a law — but the absence, of a law, determining the ratio of the facts. The suV)ject of repetitious probability, considered in itself, is not, perhaps, one of great importance. But the discussion which it necessitates throws light on the theory of probability in gen- eral. Tlie philosophy of the probable judgment, though suffi- § 95. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. 227 ciently simple and intelligible, is prolific of opportunities for intellectual confusion. This arises from the character of those objects which chiefly occupy the mind while studying the nature of probability. Chances are most subtle and evanescent ideali- ties: they continually escape from our attention and lose them- selves in vacancy, or else assume the appearance of realities and claim for themselves rights which do not belong to them. We should remember that chances are the individual possibilities consequent upon some antecedent of contingency, that they are iuimediately inferred by the mind on its perceiving the total number of the possible necessitant variations of that antece- dent; and that the probability of any statement is determined by the ratio of the chances which are in its favor to those which are against it. CHAPTER XXIV. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. § 95. One may have a good understanding of the general na- ture of probable judgments and of the mode of their formation, and yet be unable correctly to conceive the chances and their ratio in particular cases. Indeed often, when the elements of judgment are many or involved, the aid of arithmetical princi- ples is found necessary. Hence an interesting department of mathematical science has arisen, which is known as the calcula' tion of chances. We shall refer to some of the more fundamental conceptions and simpler operations of this calculus, partly to il- lustrate methods of thought used in determining the ratio of the chances, and partly to show what care and acumen are needed to ascertain this ratio exactly in any case that may be even mod- erately complicated. Explanatory re- ^eforc proceeding with this discussion, some quali- marks as to— fying remarks seem requisite in order to guard the probabiuty^ to^ab- general thcory of probability against misconception. S^The'nSS-f of ^^i^st, then, the common statement (§ 87) that the de- morai certainty, grcc of coufidence acGompauyiug a chance has that probable ^^judg- fractional part of the strength of absolute certainty (df iTie c o n c e p. ^^^^^'^^ corrcsponds to the fraction designating the chance, tion of the chances appears to hc somcwhat erroneous. This same view many case. -^ cxprcsscd whcu wc Say that the confidence of certainty is divided equally among the chances. According to this, when the chances are even, as in the tossing of the penny, our expectation for either result has exactly one half the strength of certainty. But the truth, precisely apprehended, seems to be that the distribution of our confidence has a weakening and less- ening effect on the parts distributed, so that, in their separation, they are no longer equal to the whole. Hence any high proba- 228 THE HUMAN MIND. § 95. bility, produced by the addition of separate chances, as, for ex- ample, Avhen the chances are nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine out of ten thousand, differs, in strength, from the certainty of sight or demonstration, remarkably, and more than is indicated by the fractional remainder, which, in the case just adduced, is one ten-thousandth. Experience testifies that the sensible difference between that certainty which excludes all pos sibility of the opposite and any high probability which allows some chance, however small, of the opposite, is greater than that between this degree of probability and the next lower. When we leave absolute certainty, and admit some possibility of the contrary, a new element — doubt — begins to enter the mind; and we greatly feel the difference between no doubt at all and any doubt at all. The fact is that the expectation characterizing probable judgments, and the certainty belonging to absolute knowledge, differ so strikingly in their origin, or mode of forma- tion, that they may be regarded as modes of confidence which dif- fer in character as well as in degree. For, in every case of proba- bility, there is a distribution of confidence among all the chances wpon no other ground than that there is no known reason to trust in onje more thxm in another^ this distribution being followed by a greater or less concentration of confidence on the various sup- positions which the chances support. This way of distributing and concentrating confidence is a thing very peculiar, and is not used at all in cases of absolute cognition : hence the peculiar character of our confidence as distributed and as variously con- centrated. When, therefore, the chances for two contradictory suppositions are seven for one and three for the other, it is scarcely proper to assert that the confidence of certainty is thus divided and distributed. It would be more exact to say that a new mode of belief is instituted and is exercised, in the propor- tions specified. And, because of the essentially weak character of this new style of belief, the aggregate strength of these ex- pectations, as to the two suppositions separately, is not equal to that of absolute certainty. While it is true that the chances for and against the event exist in the proportions of seven and three, and the probabilities for and against the supposition may be symbolized by the fractions seven tenths and three tenths, the sum of our confidence in these two suppositions is, nevertheless, not equal to the strength of absolute certainty, this latter being something greater and stronger than the unit to which the frac- tions of fortuity or probability may be referred. The relative strength of probabilities may be determined according to the proportion of chances supporting each, but this rule fails when we compare any probability with absolute certainty. In conse- quence of this sensible difference between the judgments of chance and of certainty, any sound mind, we believe, would rather have a half dollar, cash down, than the even chance of getting or not getting a whole dollar, or the certainty of a guinea than the chance of one in six of receiving six guineas. § 95. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. 229 Or, to state the matter more perfectly, he would rather have a dollar ill hand than two even cliances of winning a dollar, and he would rather have six guineas in his pocket than six chances of one in six of winning that amount of money. The foregoing thoughts lead to a second statement closely related to the first; viz., that a notable difference exists between ab- solute certainty and that high degree of conjfidence which is sometimes called moral certainty: When the chances in favor of an event are innumerably great as compared with those against it, we sometimes say that we are as certain of its occurrence as if it liad already transpired, or were taking place before our eyes. Tbis mode of speech is not exactly correct. For immediate practical purposes such events may be held perfectly certain ; as, Hideed, it is often wise to disregard adverse chances, even when they sensibly present themselves. But the difference between moral and absolute certainty appears when we come to consider the possibility of the opposite. In a case of absolute certainty — which is the certainty of sight or demonstration — we cannot entertain any question as to the truth of the thing known ; we reject a denial of it as absurd and unreasonable. In a case of moral certainty, we allow that the opposite of what we may ex- pect or believe is, at the least, possible. We say that it is cer- tain that such or such a man will die sometime, because the chances are incalculably in favor of that event. Out of the thousands of millions of men who have inhabited the earth, only two or three have escaped the universal doom. Yet there is no absolute certainty that a man shall die; he may be trans- lated, like Enoch or Elijah; and the mind recognizes this as a possibility. One chance out of an innumerable multitude is al- lowed against the supposition of death. There is a moral cer- tainty of the sun rising on the morrow; yet there is nothing absurd or impossible in the conception that it may not rise. We cannot deny that there may have been a time when the sun began his daily journeys, and that a time may come when his journeys shall cease. Our belief in events which are only mor- ally certain, and our disbelief in their opposites as in the highest degree improbable, are stable — very stable — yet by no means im- movable, modes of confidence. The mind raises no question about such events, yet it admits question, and is even able to form new and opposite convictions, if these be supported by suf- ficient evidence. The disciples of our Saviour who witnessed his wonderful works, and the leper, the paralytic, the blind, the lame, who personally experienced his healing power, found it easy to believe in miracles, even though such events are out of the course of nature, and opposed to the general experience of mankind. Our next remark is in qualification of the statement that every judgment of probability is based on the certainty that one i r other of a given number of chances loiU prove real. This certainty is generally assumed in the Theory of Probable Judgment and 230 THE HUMAN MIND. § 96. in the Calculation of Chances. But evidently, if the data ac- cording to which we enumerate and classify the chances in a case, admit of doubt, this same doubt will affect the reliability of our conception and comparison of the chances. If we did not know exactly the total number, and the proportionate numbers, of the balls in a bag, but only that the total is about one hun- dred and that about fifty of these are white and about fifty red, we could not say certainly that the probability of drawing a white ball is that of one in, two. Yet we could, and would, make an indeterminate judgment of this kind. In like manner, were our knowledge respecting the weather on January 1st only that frost has happened about two times out of three, and that this is about the average rate of its occurrencje on the annual i^eturn of that day, we woi^ld say that the chances for frost next New Year's are two in three; yet this judgment would be weak in pro- portion to the weakness and uncertainty of its premises. Clearly a probable judgment can be made upon uncertain data, and, when certainty is assumed in calculations, nothing more is meant than that such certainty is needful to any exact judgment, and that in every case data must be assumed as fixed before we can give a definite, even though it be but an approximate, expres- sion, to any probability. Another remark, closely allied to the foregoing, may check a te^adency to error. In the great majority of our judgments^ the pro- portions of the chances for and against an event being somewhat in- definitely conceived, the ratio of the chances is determined roughly and without arithmetical computation. Commonly we neither can nor do estimate probabiHties with exactness; the mind ordinarily is not conscious of numerical calculation in its spontaneous judg- ments. Yet the best — perhaps the only — way to illustrate our less definite modes of mental action, is to study those explicit processes with which they essentially agree. The operation of the radical laws which govern both methods can be seen much more distinctly in connection with the explicit process. § 96. We now proceed to consider the more funda- presse^d by^unityi mental principles of the Calculation of Chances. S^niS+vlLn^ * And first, we recur to the self-evident truth that proper traction. 777 7 • the total number of chances m any case may always be expressed by a fraction whose numerator and denorninator are equal. In this respect it is like any other total consisting of equal parts. If there were twenty men in a crowd, the whole crowd would consist of twenty twentieths. But, since such a frac- tion is always equal to one, or unity, and since an event is certain when all the chances are in its favor, we may take one or unity as the expression of certainty. More strictly speaking, unity is the expression of that positive certainty which results from an ex- clusion of all chances contrary to a supposition ; while nought, or a cipher, is the index of that negative certainty which results from an exclusion of all chances in favor of a supposition. Again, since a probable event has only some, not all, of the § 9b. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. 231 chances in its favor, and its probability varies witb tbe num- ber of the favorable chances, it is clear that every prohability must correspond to, and may he expressed by, a proper fraction. Such being the case, probabilities vary among themselves as the frac- tions expressing them do ; although the subjective unit of confi- dence to which they refer may be held to differ somewhat in degree and character from the confidence of absolute cer- tainty (§ 95). Further, since the chances for, and those against, an event constitute the total number of chances in the case, it follows that the expression for the improbability of an event may be obtained by subtracting from unity the fraction expressing its probability. Although the aggregate strength of our expectations for and against a probable event may not equal the strength of absolute certainty, yet the sum of the fractional expressions of these two de- grees of expectation is always and necessarily equal to unity. Let the chances for an event be a in number, and those against \ib; the total number will be a-f-&- The expression of the mathematical or philosophical probability of the event will be —^ ; that of its improbability -^^; and these fractions added together give -^^, or unity. More simply, should we represent the likelihood of an event by p, the likelihood of its non-occurrence, or of its con- tradictory opposite, is 1 — p; and these expressions, also, when added, produce one or unity. The fraction expressing a probability may itself, ^du?i^ ^osiSS: ^'or the sake of brevity, be called a probability. General and s eci ^^^^® ^^ "^^7 spcak of tlie addition and subtrac- flc probabuities. tion of probabilities, and even of the multiplication, or division, of one probability by another. Language of this kind is used in the calculation of chances. But we should remember that, in all such cases, the term probability signifies simply that ratio of the chances by which the degree of the probability of an event is determined. Generally by a chance we mean an individual possibility, that is, a possibility which does not admit of logical division. Every consequence of an antecedent of contingency which may be conceived of as result- ing from a complete or full combination of the elements of judg- ment or calculation in any possible mode of combination, is sucli an individual. The mind accepts every chance as equally probable with every other; and the ratio of the chances is con- ceived and computed as existing between these individual pos- sibilities. But we think, also, of general chances as including several individuals; and every probable supposition may be regarded as the conception of a general chance including, and supported by, a number of individual chances (§ 88). Moreover, while some general chances include individual chances and receive their united probability, other chances, yet more general, may include these first-named general chances and receive their united probability. Let one hundred balls be in a bag, forty white, thirty blue, 232 THE HUMAN MIND. § 97. twenty red, and ten yellow. The probability of drawing a white ball is T^^; this is a general chance supported by forty individual chances. The probabilities of -^^^, -j?^, and -^^ for a blue, a red, and a yellow ball, respectively, are similarly related. But the probability of drawing a colored ball — that is a ball, not white, but either red, or blue, or yellow — is evidently more general than any of those already mentioned, and is found by adding together the three probabilities respecting the colored balls. It is -f-^. In more general terms, let six conceived events be the only suppo- sitions possible in some case ; let their probabilities be — , — , — , — , ^, -^ ; let the first three agree in character, so that they may be conceived of under one notion, and so that, if any one of them takes place, we may say that the event ^occurs; let the next two also agree, so that, if either of them happens, we may say the event E' takes place ; the last event remaining singular. The probability of the event E is ""^^^^ , that of £'' is ^; and that of the remaining supposition, which we may call E'\ continues to be ^ . The total of these probabilities, '^■^^■^'^^^'^^f ^ jg unity, since the sum of the numerators is the total of the chances in the case, which is represented by m. § 97. /?z every judgment of 'probability^ we consider pie^S^d kf apjuci ^'^^ *^<^^i chances as are dependent on one antecedent tion to the addition qf Contingency. As we shall see, this antecedent Difficulties mX^' may be either simple or compound, the latter being formed by the conjunction of two or more simple antecedents; so also the probability depending upon it may be either simple or compound. At present we call attention to the fact that every probable judgment contemplates one antece- dent only. For this reason it is no part of any such judgment to compute the aggregate amount of confidence due to several probable suppositions or events which are possible consequents of several antecedents of contingency. If such an estimate were made, it would not be a judgment of probability. This judgment always seeks to determine the ratio of the chances, and this ratio belongs only to the chances consequent upon one antecedent. Hence, in calculation, we never add together probabilities belong- ing to cases radically different. No judgment of probability would arise fmni the addition of ^, \, and -jij, the probabilities attached to the suppositions, respectively, that head will be thrown on the toss of the penny, that ace will appear on the cast of the die, and that a pictured card will be uppermost after the shuffling of the pack. Neither, were a die to be cast a num- ber of times, would it answer any purpose to multiply the prob- ability, which accompanies each throw, for the appearance of any given side, by the number of trials. For every trial would pre- sent a new antecedent of contingency. These remarks apply to every instance of that probability which attends repeated trials. Hence, too, whenever, in the calculation of chances, we add prob- § 97. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES, 233 abilities, the resulting sum can never be greater than unitj. For this sum cannot exceed all the chances in the case. In estimating the probable result of several trials in a case of repetitious probability, one might suppose that the probabili- ties attending the several trials should be added so as to obtain the probability of the result. But to do this would be to use a method of thought not properly applicable. Should we ask for the chances of "head once at least" in two throws of a penny, one might sa,y the chance for head on the first toss is \, and, on the second toss, \ also; therefore, in tAvo throws, the probability is \-\-\\ that is, unity or certainty, a result manifestly WTong. The mistake lies in adding the probabilities of two in- dependent cases, in each of which there is one toss of the penny, instead of computing the probability of one compound case in which there are two tosses. In this latter case there are four individual chances; head, first toss only; head, second toss only; head, both tosses; head, neither toss. Three of these favor the supposition, or general chance, "head once at least"; for which, therefore, the probability is three fourths. Sometimes, in the solution of questions, the addition of prob- abilities takes place in a way* that seems to conflict either with the principle that we add only probabilities belonging to one case — that is, to one antecedent — or with the principle that all the chances in a case are equal. In calculating the probability of "ace once or oftener in two throws of a die," we say that the chance in one throw is one sixth, and that, if it does not appear the first throw, there is the further likelihood of f . -^, or -g^g-, for ace on the second throw. Adding these, we find the probability of ace once or oftener in two throws to be -y-. One may object to this calculation that it adds chances arising under one case of probability to chances arising under another, or that, if this be not so, then two classes of chances of unequal value present themselves in the same case, that is, the chance of one in six connected with the first throw, and the chances of five in thirty- six connected with a second throw after an unsuccessful first. Neither of these points is well made. In the first place, though the probabilities in question might be regarded as belonging to cases with difierent antecedents, in the present and similar instances they are seen to belong also to probable events con- nected with one antecedent. For the supposition that ace will be cast, on the first throw, and the supposition that ace will be cast iwt on the first, hut on the second, are two specific suppositions, both included under the more general idea that ace will be cast once at hast upon two throws. Moreover, these suppositions divide between them all the favorable possibilities of the case. If ace appear the first throw, the event is determined; ace has been thrown "once at least," and we make no further trial. But, if ace does not appear, we try again. We therefore rightly add the probabilities of the suppositions. For, whenever an event may happen in one or other of several ways independent of each 234 THE HUMAN MIND. § 98. other, its probability is the sum of the probabilities of its hap- pening in these ways severally. In the second place, we re- mark that although we unite the probability of \ to that of ■^, in this we do not add chances lohich have unequal values, but probabilities of unequal strength. This is a secondary mode of procedure less radical than that addition of chances which it dis- places, and it is dependent for its reliability upon the correctness of the specific probabilities as each of these may have been de- termined according to a computation of chances. For whenever, in any case, the ratio of the chances may have been ascertained, the direct consideration of their number is no longer necessary (§ 89). The nature, as well as the legitimacy, of this direct addition of probabilities may be further shown from the fact that, in every case of such addition, the probabilities may be expressed by fractions having a common denominator which indicates the total number of chances dependent on the antece- dent, and having numerators indicating the proportion of chances which support the suppositions severally. In the case discussed, inspection shows that there are eleven individual possibilities, or possible events, in each of which ace will be thrown in two casts of a die. There is one chance that this point may appear after both the first and the second throw; there are five chances that the first throw may give ace and the second one or other of the other five sides; and there are also five chances that the second throw may give ace while the first gives some one of the other five sides. Thus there are exactly eleven chances of ace appearing once or oftener. But there are, also, thirty-six possible events in all — that is, thirty-six compound events conse- quent on two throws. The first throw may give any one of the six sides, and each of the six may be followed on the second throw by any one of the six; that is, the possible combinations in two throws are thirty-six in all. Therefore the chances for ace, or for any given side, once at least — or, which is the same thing, once or oftener — in two throws, are eleven in thirty-six. This result is the same as that already obtained by the direct addition of probabilities. Similar cases may be analytically determined in the same way. § 98. Two or more antecedents of contingency may be p^ndprobabmS' ^^^*^^<^ ^0 OS to form ouc antecedent, and probable events depending on them may be united so as to form one probable event; and the probability of this combination of events may be inferred from the probabilities of the several events. Thus three casts of a die may be considered one antecedent, and three prob- able events respectively connected with each throw; for exam- ple, three appearances of ace, may be considered, in their possible conjunction, as one event; and the probability of this event may be inferred from the separate probabilities of the three events. In order to determine this compound probability, it is needful only that we should know the chance-ratios belonging to the several events on the supposition of the existence, that is, the § 98. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. 235 certain existence or occurrence, of their antecedents. There is no need that we should conceive exactly what these antecedents are, or know the total number of chances consequent on each. The attention, therefore, is mainly directed to the events and their ratios. Yet a clear understanding of the doctrine of com- pounded probabilities also involves some consideration of the antecedents as these are related to the compound event. The simplest case of compound probability arises from the possible conjunction of two similar events. We ask, for example, " What is the probability of ace twice in two throws of a die ? " Now, if the first throw does not give ace, the event cannot be com- pleted by ace on the second throw, whereas, if the first does give ace, the event miay be completed by ace on the second throw. In other words, the, chance, of there being any chance of completing the event is the same as the chance of ace on the first throw, or one sixth. Hence we have just a chance of one sixth of having a chance of one sixth of ace on the second throw as a comple- tion of the event. But, as this likelihood of ace on the second throw to complete the event is only hypothetical, and rests on the assumption that we will succeed in throwing ace the first time and will have opportunity to try to complete the event, and as this first success is not certain but has only the one sixth of certainty, it is clear that the true and real probability of ace on the second throw as a completion of the event, is only one sixth as great as its hypothetical probability of one sixth : that is, it is one thirty-sixth. The same thought may be expressed by say- ing that the chance of one sixth belonging to the first throw gives rise to six smaller chances in connection with a possible second throw, each of which has the value of one thirty-sixth and only one of which favors " ace on the second throw also." As the likelihood of any event is the same with that of its completion^ the probability of two aces in two throws of a die, is, of course, one in thirty-six. In this case, the antecedents of the simple events are the two throws; with regard to them, it is plain that the probability of the compound event is calculated on the assumption that the first throw certainly takes place, and that the second throw ivill cer- tairdy take place, provided the first should be successful in producing its part of the supposed event. Both are assumed in determining the probability, but the second only hypothetically and in connec- tion with the result of the first throw. Should we now consider the compound event of " ace on the first throw, and some other side than ace on the second throw," the probability of this event would be determined in precisely the same way as that of "ace twice in two throws." For we should now have one chance in six of having the five chances in six belonging to the event of any other side than ace on the second throw. The probability, therefore, for the completion of the event on the second throw, is one sixth of five sixths, or five thirty-sixths, each of the five chances being hypothetically one sixth, but really one thirty- 236 THE HUMAN MIND. § 98. sixth. Nor would the mode of calculation be different if the simple events had dissimilar antecedents. The probability of the combined event of head on the toss of a penny and ace on the throw of a die, is obtained by multiplying one half by one sixth, and is one twelfth. Here, again, notice that the second antecedent is hypothetically assumed; that is, is regarded as certain to take place in case the first antecedent should prove to be followed by its part of the compound result. The probability of an event compounded of two simple prob- able events having been obtained, we can determine the proba- bility of an event composed of three, or more, such events. For we may compound the likelihood of the joint occurrence of the two first events with that of the occurrence of a third, and then the likelihood of the joint occurrence of the three first events with that of the occurrence of a fourth, and so on to the end of the series. Thus, knowing that there is a chance of one thirty- sixth for ace twice in two throws, we see that the chance for ace again on the third throw — or for ace three times in three given throws — is one sixth of one thirty-sixth, or one two-hun- dred-and-sixteenth. For there is just a chance of one thirty- sixth, that there may be a chance of one sixth to complete the event on the third throw. This illustration may sufiice; others will readily suggest themselves. In order, therefore, to ascertain the probability of any number of probohle events succeeding each other (each event, if it take place, being certainly followed by the antecedent of contingency belonging to the next event), we have simply to multiply all the probabilities together. The events consti- ^^ ^^^ ^^ havc spokcu of the compouud cvcut as tutinga compound Constituted by a succession of probable events. mayb^litiieJco^* We remark, further, that compound probability Sessivr''^ °^ belongs also, and equally, to the combination of such probable events as may be contemporaneous; and that the same method of calculation serves in this case as in the other. Instead of one box with one die, let us use two boxes with two dice, shaking the boxes at once and overturning them together. Now, the dice remaining covered, we ask, " What are the chances that both of them have ace uppermost ? " Let us, as a guide to our thought, distinguish either die, it matters not which, as No. 1 ; then the other will be No. 2. The question now may take the form, What are the chances that die No. 2 will give ace as well as die No. 1 ? Considering No. 1 by itself, the chance of its having ace uppermost is one sixth ; and, since any one of the six sides of No. 2 may be upj^ermost together with ace of No. 1, it is clear that the chance for ace of No. 2 would be one sixth if there were a certainty for ace of No. 1 ; but, as there is only a chance of one sixth for ace of No. 1, the chance for ace of No. 2, as a completion of the event, is only one sixth of one sixth, or one thirty-sixth. The same thing is expressed when we say that any one of the sides of No. 1 might turn up, and might be accompanied by any one of the sides of No. 2, § 99. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. 237 MO that every one of the six chances in connection with No. 1 might be united with every one of the six chances connected with No. 2, making, in all, thirty-six combinations, or possible compound events, only one of which would be the combination of ace with ace. The probability of throwing two aces at once having thus been obtained, that of throwing three at once may be determined by compounding the former with the probability belonging to ace in connection with the cast of a third die. In this manner we may ascertain the probability of the simulta- neous occurrence of head on the toss of a penny, ace on the cast of a die, and a pictured card on the shuffling of a pack — each antecedent taking place, and being followed by, some one of its consequents, simultaneously with the other antecedents. In short, it is evident that the probability of a compound event is found by multiplying together the probabilities of the com- ponent events, and is the same whether these, and their ante- cedents, be conceived of as successive or as contemporaneous. V § 99. Such beins: the case, we may now consider A compound prob- •>. ,.,.0 i-i t able event is an a poiut wiiich IS assumcd 111 the compouiiding 01 whole. ^^ ^^^^^ probabilities, but the exact nature of which cannot Scon^su^cSou °^ ^® apprehended without some care. It is easy to see that several probable events may be, and often are, so united as to form one probable event, ivhile yet it is not so easy to say in ivhat the bond of tlieir union consists. Perhaps we cannot better express the truth than by saying that every compound probable event is an ideal collective whole (§ 121), formed from simple probable events as united by the relation of mere co-existeiice — that is, of supposed correality, without reference to time. This whole is constructed by the mind as it may choose, but under the following limitations. In the first place, the materials used must be events considered as probable, that is, hypothetically probable, events which would be probable in case their antecedents of proba- bility (§ 91) were realized. Secondly, these events must have a logical order, whether they have a temporal order or not, and must be, or have been made, so related to each other in this log- ical order, that the probability of each event follows certainly upon the occurrence of its immediate predecessor. This last thought may be otherwise expressed by saying that no com- pound probability can exist, or be computed, unless the antece- dent of probability of each simple event after the first, may be certainly assumed on the supposition that the events preceding it in order have taken place, the probability of the first event only being real (§ 78). This rule applies universally, but is most apparently applicable when the events compounded are conceived of as successive in time. From the foregoing we may also infer, further, that SedeS^Sr^rob^ euer?/ compound antecedent of probability is composed *^*iti*n of^its of a niimber of simple antecedents considered as co-ex- existence. isient, wMlc yet this co-existenoe has no reference to time, and also does not necessarily involve the actuality of all the antecedents. It requires only the actual existence of one 238 THE HUMAN MIND. § 99. and the hypothetical existence of the rest. Let a, 6, c, and c?, be four probable events, each having a specific or peculiar ante- cedent of its own, and, to strengthen the illustration, let them be causally independent of each other, so that they may either be contemporaneous or may follow one another in any order. The probabihty of their joint occurrence is found by multiplying their probabilities together. But of this we must first be sure, that the probability of the event first considered is based on an actually existing antecedent; for, if the antecedent were want- ing, the chances based on it would be wanting, and there would be no reason to expect the consequent, and none, therefore, to expect the compound event of which the simple event is an es- sential part. But, now, if the antecedent of the event first con- sidered really occur, or has occurred, while the event does not follow, then it makes no difference whether or not the remain- ing antecedents may actually occur or have occurred. The judgment of probability is correct, provided only the second an- tecedent would be certain to occur, or to have occurred, in case the first should contribute its share of the compound consequent, and provided that a third antecedent would certainly follow upon the success of the second, and so on throughout all. In short, the events, with their antecedents, must admit at least one order of consequence in which the first antecedent is real, and each of the rest certain provided its predecessor contribute its possible share to the compound event. In the case immediately consid- ered, the events being causally independent, the antecedents may follow any order in which we can arbitrarily connect them ; but, if the events causally condition one another, they have a necessary natural order which we cannot change. The events consti- ^^^ ^^^^ conucction we may consider the language tuting a compound of somc eminent authorities ivlio say that the events ther^may^OT^Lay whose 'probabilities combine to determine that of the drtion^oJ^eSotiTe?' ^"^^ut compoundcd from them, must be independent of one another. Sec. Galloway, in the " Encyclopae- dia Britannica" (Art. "Probability"), says: "When an event is compounded of two or more simple events independent of each other, the probability of the compound event is equal to the prod- uct of the probabilities of the several simple events of which it is compounded." Such statements, if taken in their natural meaning, are misleading, because, as a matter of fact, the consti- tutive events either may, or may not, be independent. In other words, they may, or they may not, causally condition one another. The two events which make up the double event of ace twice in two throws of a die, are mutually independent; neither conditions the other. So are the events which compose the double event of ace on one cast of a die and head on one toss of a penny. But often one probable event causally conditions another, and we often compute the probability of a compound event composed of events thus related; in such cases the constitutive events are not independent. We might calculate the probability of a crim- § 99. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. inal being caught, convicted, and sentenced to one years im- prisonment, and determine this from the three probabihties; /jrs^, of his being caught, second, of his being convicted, in case he is caught, and third, of his receiving that sentence in case of his capture and conviction. In this way a long series of probable events might condition one another. What is true is, that tue cannot calculate a compound prohahility unless the special probability of each simple event has been determined independently of the probability of any other event., and, on the assump- tion of the certainty of its antecedent. To determine the probability of the probable consequent of some probable event by the chances belonging to this antecedent in connection with those belonging to the consequent as such, would be to find the compound prob- ability of the two events as united, which might, wholly or in part, be the result aimed at, but would not be the simple proba- bility of either event, and could not be employed in calculation as if it w^ere. Clearly, the special chance-ratio, or probability, of each event, must be determined independently of the ratio of every other event; in this sense — this only — the probability, and each event as to its probability, is independent. These remarks apply to simple probabilities in their use as determinative of un- known compound probabilities. In this relation each probable event, whether dependent on another probable event or not, must have its probability determined without reference to the proba- bility of its antecedent. But, should the probability of the compound event be known, and be used in any way to determine the probability of any of its parts, then — in this relation — the probability of the simple event would not be independent of the other probability. The real probability of each part as such, would be the same as that of every other part — being the probability of tlie collective whole; while any event might also be given a special hypothetical prob- ability of the same value as if it had been originally and inde- pendently known. For, the probability of the collection and that of every member save one being given, it is plain that the prob- ability of the whole, divided .by the product of the probabilities of all the parts save one, will give the separate probability of the remaining part. Sometimes, in calculating the probability of a succession of events which causally condition one another, one event may pre- sent itself which follows its immediate predecessor, not probably, but necessarily and certainly. In this case, the ratio of the chances specially belonging to that event is unity, and has no effect in modifying the ultimate result. When we multiply by unity, the product is the same as the multiplicand. In such instances the two simple events necessarily connected might as well be regarded as one event, having the probability belonging to the event causative of the other. 240 THE HUMAN MIND. § 100.. The formula for § ^^^ ^^*®^ *^® foregoing discussion concerning calculating the compouiid probability, the simple formula for cal- Jvent^coSpounT culatiiig the likclihood of a collection of probable event^s^ Probable evcnts conccived of in some given logical order needs merely to be mentioned. Let the probabili- ties of the events in their order, be represented by j:), ^,' p," p,'" etc. ; then the probability of the compound event is the product 'jfypjp'p etc. This formula applies whether the events are simultaneous or successive, in time, and whether they causally condition one' another or are mutually independent. But it as- sumes that there is an order of inference, or of logical depend- ence, which also in a sense is an order of existence, and that, in this order, each event, if it take place, is certain to be suc- ceeded by the antecedent of the next event. The compounding ^"^ ^^^ "^^c of the forcgoiug formula, care will be ot events varying fouiid ucccssary for its propcr application. For mpro a y. instance, it is sometimes needful to inquire whether the probability of an event remains the same after every trial, or tvhether it varies according to soyne law. In throwing the die, the chances are exactly repeated; therefore the same multiplying fraction is used for every supposed recurrence of the event. The probability of ace three times in three throws is the product i • i • i == (i)^ ; that of ace, first throw ; failure of ace, second throw; and ace, third throw; is -^-f-l^ 2T^- ^^^ "^' ^o"^- ever, suppose a difierent case: a bag containing three white and three black balls, from which one ball is to be drawn at a time and is not to be replaced. The probability for a white ball at the first drawing is f ; but, if the ball first 'drawn should be white, the probability for a white ball on the second trial is f; and, if another such ball appears, the probability for a white ball on the third trial is \ ; finally, if this event take place, there is no chance at all of obtaining a white ball on any subsequent trial. So the probability of getting a white ball three times in succession, is not 6 • f • f = i^ but f • f • i = ^V In like manner, the probability of the event which would comprise first a black ball, then a white ball, and then a black ball, would be f -f -1=^5 *^^* ^^ ^^^ black balls followed by a white one, would be f-f-f =-^V» ^l^*^- In short, the computation becomes more complicated when the same element enters into a compound event, not merely re- peatedly, but also with varying probability. If Mr. Orr were at his counting-room seven days out of every ten, the likelihood of my finding him there three days in succession, would be com- pounded of the varied probabilities -^^ f, and f; and a similar modification of ratios would be necessary in every case of af- fected repetitious probability in which the occurrence of an ante- cedent, with some one of its possible events, sensibly affected the chances of subsequent events. The foregoing point may be further illustrated by a problem presented by a young gentleman, a member of the class of 1880. Were a pack ol cards dealt equally among four persons, so that § 101. THE CALCULATION- OF CHANCES. 241 each should have thirteen, what is the probability that the first five cards taken from any one set shall all be red? Here the chances for obtaining five red cards in succession from any one set, are the same as for obtaining them from the entire collec- tion. For, place the four sets one on another in any order so as to re-raake the pack, and we shall have the same expectation, no matter which set is uppermost. Nor does it make any differ- ence whether we take five contiguous cards or any five cards at random. Now the likelihood of drawing a red card first is ff, after which event, if it take place, there will remain only 51 cards, 25 of which will be red. Consequently, the probability for two red cards in succession is f f • ff , and that of five red cards • 26 . 25 . 24 . 23 . 22 253 ^ ,^ , in succession is 52.51.50 . 49. 48 "^9996^ 01' le^^s t^i^^ ^• Another college problem may illustrate both the foregoing Eoint, and also the compounding of compounded probabilities. ,et two young men at a boarding-house, be irregularly absent from dinner, respectively, three and four days in every week. What is the likelihood that they will both be absent at any given dinner and both be present at the next? The chances of Mr. A. being absent any given day, are three in seven ; and those of his being present on any remaining day after that absence is known, are four in six. Hence the probability of his being present one day and absent the next is f .|-r=|-. In like manner the prob- ability of Mr. B. being absent any given day and present the next, is ^.^=^. Combining these resultants, we have the like- lihood that the young men will both be absent on a given day and present the next. It is -f- • ^=-^-^, or nearly 1 in 12. § 101. A second observation in regard to the^ ^nSS^events^o^ formula for the compounding of probabilities is baSut^^'^^^ ^^^ equally important with that which we have now enforced. It is that the probability immediately obtained by the use of the formula is aliuays that of a single or individual^ and not that of a general or generic^ comhinaiion of events. To explain this doctrine, we must ask attention to the statement that, in some cases of compounded probability, the order of the simple events may be changed^ ivhile that of the antecedents remains the same; for, whenever this occurs, there may be several com- pound events, each of which will have the same antecedent and the same degree of probability, as each of the others. Let A be an antecedent of probability with a consequent a which has the probability p; and let B be another antecedent with a conse- quent h which has the probability p. Let these antecedents be such that the event a, with its probability p, may follow B as well as A, while the event &, with its probability p^ may follow A as well as B. Then the occurrence of the double antecedent, Afolloioed by B, niay be followed by either of two probable con- sequents, one of which is afolloioed by &, and the other of which is b follotved by a ; and the probability of each of these conse- quents is the same, viz., pp. Should we now conceive of the general probable event of a occurring once and b once, this event 242 THE HUMAN MIND. § 102. evidently would take place lohichever of the above consequents should happen: consequently, the probability of the general com- bination would be the sura of the two individual combinations; that is, it would be 2^9 p. In like manner, were there three antecedents A, B, and (7, each of which might be followed by each of the consequents a, b, and c, with the probabilities respectively of;?, p\ and^", the general event in which a, b, and c, should occur in some order, no matter what, would have the probability Qpp'p". For there are six possible arrangements of three things taken three at a time. In general, to determine the probability of any combina- tion of events on the supposition that they may follow their an- tecedents in any one of several orders, the order of the antecedents remaining constant, we must add the probabilities of the combi- nations which may take place severally in connection with the several orders. These latter combinations we style individual., be- cause in them every element of possibility is definitely deter- mined, and therefore they do not admit of logical division; while the first-mentioned combination is a general possible event, because it contains an element thought of indeterminately, if at all, and therefore generically includes those combinations in each of which this element is conceived of as in one determinate mode. For illustration of the point now in hand, let us consider the probability of throwing both ace and deuce in two throws of a die — or, if you please, in the cast of two dice. Of course, the separate probability of ace on one throw of one die, is \\ and that of deuce, \ also. Can we, then, say that the likelihood of the compound event of both ace and deuce in two throwings of one die — or in one throwing of two dice — is -^V^ ^7 ^^ means. For this event, as a possibility, is general, and includes two individual events. These are, when one die is used, that ace should be thrown first and deuce second, and that deuce should be thrown first and ace second; and, when two dice are used, that ace should be thrown with die No. 1, and deuce with die No. 2 ; and that deuce should be thrown with die No. 1, and ace with die No. 2. Taking either pair of these double events, we see that the probability of each double event is ■^, Hence the chance-ratio of the general event, whicli includes them both, is ■/^, or -jig-, the answer required. Whenever, there- fore, a question in probability concerns some general compound event, it is necessary first to determine the probability of the event as individualized. Then the probability of the general combination, being the sum of the probabilities of the individual combinations included under it, can be found by multiplying one of these probabilities by the number of the individual combinations. § 102. We are now prepared for an interesting F^^X^'^ap^ued theorem, the knowledge of which enables one to SpJobabSs"'''' determine the probability of any one of a series of compound events, every member of the series being a possible consequent of one compound antecedent This § 102. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. 243 theorem may be entitled, Tlie application of the Binomial Formula to the calculation of probabilities. Its use, exactly expressed, is to determine the probabilities of the various combinations pos- sibly consequent, either upon the occurrence of any given number of simple antecedents, each of which has the same following of possible events, or (which is really the same thing) upon the recurrence of one simple antecedent, with the same following of possibilities, any given number of times. To explain and prove this theorem, let us imagine an urn containing both white balls, and other balls not white, but black or colored. Then the likelihood of drawing a white ball, may represent the probability of any event which has a given number of chances in its favor, and the probability of drawing a ball not white, may represent the likelihood of the failure of the event. Let the number of white balls be a, and that of the residue 5 The probability of drawing a white ball is ^^; that of drawing a black ball is ^^; and, provided the ball drawn be replaced in the urn after every trial, these probabilities may be renewed any number of times. But, should we wish the trials to be contem- poraneous instead of successive, this would be effected by hav- ing a number of urns equal to the number of trials desired, and each supplied with balls in the same way as the single urn ; for then the same probabilities as before would attach to each draw- ing from an urn. Let us now designate ~-^, that is, the probability of drawing a white ball on any trial, by p, and ^— ^, that is, the probability of the failure of this event, by q. What, now, are the probabil- ities of the different compound events possibly consequent upon two trials? If we indicate the drawing of a lohite ball by E, and that of a black ball by F, and lorite these letters in the various orders in which the events may occur, it is plain that there can be four, and only four, possible events, represented thus, EF, EF, FE, and FF. Clearly, also (§ 100), The probability of EE is pp=p'^. *' EF is pq=pq. " " " FE is qp=pq. " FF is qq=q\ Considering, now, the events EF, and FE, we see that their probabilities are equal, and also that they may be regarded as varieties of the same general event, viz., that there should be one failure and one success in tioo trials. The events EF and FE can- not both follow a single occurrence of their common antecedent; that is, cannot both result from two drawings; but if either of them take place, then that general event happens of which they are varieties. The probability, therefore, of this general event is 2»g'; and the expression p^^2pq-\-q'^ gives the sum of all the probabilities in the case, and also, in its several parts, gives the several probabilities of all the different possible consequents, or compound events. This calculation applies equally whether 244 THE HUMAN MIND. § 102. we think of two drawings, one after the other, from one urn ; or of two drawings made at once from two urns. In the latter case, as in the first, there are two possible individual compound events with the probability pg, viz., that of drawing a white ball from urn No. 1, and a black ball from urn No. 2, and that of drawing a black ball from No. 1 and a white ball from No. 2. Let us next suppose the number of trials to be three. The different individual combinations, or compound events, will now be eight in number; and may be presented, together with their respective probabilities, in the following statement. EEE vf\\\ have the probability ppp=p\ EEF " " . ppq^fq. EFE " " 'pq'p^fq. FEE " " qm^f^i- EFF " " M^=M'- FEE " " qpq=pq\ FEE '' " qq'p='pq\ FFF " *' qqq=q\ Here we find two sets of compound events, viz., EEF, EFE, FEE, and EFF, FEE, FEE, each of which is marked throughout by a common character. For, whichever of the first three may happen, we succeed twice and fail once, and, whichever of the second three may happen, we fail twice and succeed once. We can, therefore, in each case, speak of one general, instead of three individual, events; and, with this understanding, we may say, that the total number of events are four instead of eight. Then, too, the formula p^ -{■?>p^q -\-?>pq^ -{-q^ will, in its several terms, give the probabilities belonging severally to the four possible events. In like manner, we might show that the prob- abilities of the various compound events possibly consequent on four trials are represented by the terms of the expression, p^ -\-^p^q-\-Mq^ -\-4z'pq^ -\- q^. In all of the foregoing formulas let us note as lollows. Firsts p is the probability, and q the im- probability, of an event on any single trial. Secondly, the sum of the terms is equal to unity. This is evident, metaphysically, because the terms present all the possible consequents, one or other of which consequents must necessarily take place; and mathematically, because the value* of the expression p+q is unity, of which any power whatever is also unity. Thirdly, the number of terms is the number of possible compound con- sequents as conceived of without fixing the order of the events constituting any consequent. Fourthly, each term whose co- eflScient is greater than unity, gives the probability of a general compound event; and its co-efficient indicates the number of in- dividual combinations which the general combination includes. The literal part of the term expresses the probability of any one of the individual combinations. And fifthly, the exponent of p in the first term, and that of q in the last, as also the sum of the exponents of these letters in any one term, indicates the number of trials in connection with which the probabilities 103. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES, 245 originate. As the principles employed in obtaining the fore- going formulas apply equally, whatever be the number of trials, we may say, in general, that, if 'p be the probability, and g the improbability, of an event whose chances are repeated with the repetition of its antecedent, and if n be the number of antecedents or trials, then the development of the expression (29+g)" will give the probabilities of all the events possible in the case. But, according to that demonstration in Algebra, known as the "Binomial Theorem," the general formula for this development is (p+g)"rzrj9"+7ij9'-^g+^^xfi%°"V+ "^V.'2!V' ^ ».n-3^3 1 n(»-l) (n-2)(n-3) (n-n + 2) „_! , ^ V ^ ' 1.2. .3. 4 (n — 1) r^ ' ^ • § 103. In this formula the law of the co-efficients, ^ciSts° aid^ ^e Only, demands special attention. The co-efficient SgTexpSd.^ of the first term is unity; after that the co-effici- ents, in order, are the numbers of the possible com- binations of 71 things taken 1 at a time, 2 at a time, 3 at a time, and so on up to the number of combinations of n things taken w at a time, or all together; this last result being always unity, so that the co-efficient of the last term is always the same as that of the first. Or, since the combination of n elements in sets of 1 are equal in number to the combinations of n elements in sets of n — 1 ; while those of n elements in sets of 2 are equal to those of n elements in sets of n — 2 ; those of n elements in sets of 3, to those of n elements in sets of n — 3; and, in general, those of n elements in sets of r, to those of n elements in sets of n — r (/• being any whole number less than ?i), the law may be expressed in another way. We may say that the co-efficient of the first term equals the number of combinations of n things taken n at a time; that of the second, the number of combinations of n things taken n — 1 at a time; that of the third, the number of combina- tions of n things taken n — 2 at a time, and so on till the co-effi- cient of the term next to the last is equal to the number of combi- nations of n things taken 1 at a time. Thus the co-efficients in order present two series of numbers precisely correspondent with one another, one of which series includes all the co-efficients save that of the first term, and the other all the co-efficients save that of the last term. Yet, while the development of the co-efficients follows the foregoing law for combinations, it is to be noticed that, in a sense, it does so accidentally. The co-efficients, in their order, really arise, iiot from the combination of n elements taken together in sets of varying size, hut from the permutation of n things taken aU at a time. Here, by combination, we mean what we have already (§ 101) termed a general combination, that is, a collection of things conceived of without reference to their order; while, by a permutation, we mean an individual combination, that is, an ar- rangement of things in a given order. Thus the letters a, 6, and c, taken all at a time, admit of one combination only, but of six permutations. Such being the case, we have to say that the true reason for the employment of the formula for combinations 246 THE HUMAN MIND, § 104. in the Binomial Theorem, is that an algebraic formula which ap- plies to a particular mode of permutation is identical in value with the formula for combinations, and may be easily made identical in form. This may be shown as follows. Let r and s be two variable numbers which, taken together, equal n^ a fixed number; and let a set of things, r in number — say EE. . . . E — be specifically indistinguishable, and likewise another set, s in number — say FFF. . . . F. Then will the distinguishable arrangements, or permutations, of the n, or r-\-s, things, taken all together, equal in number the combinations of n things taken either r at a time or s at a time. For the formula which immediately gives the number of distinguishable per- mutations of n things composed of two kinds of similar things, one kind being r and the other s, in number, is the following: ^^= \ 'l'.^. '.'.'/. r>ri72^! r.T!^'' ? ^^ which expression, evidently, we may cancel either the first or the second series of factors in the denominator, provided we cancel an equivalent portion of the series in the numerator. Doing either, we obtain a formula ex- actly the same as that for the number of combinations of n things in sets of r, or in sets of s. Thus, cancelling the second series in the denominator, and remembering that s=n — 7% the expression becomes, ^""'\'!r.7::!V.'.'.'.V.^r'^ " ' ^^^^ ^^''^ '^ *^« general formula for the number of combinations of n things taken r at a time. In the same manner, cancelling the first series in the denominator, we obtain a similar expression for the number of combinations of n elements taken 5 at a time — an ex- pression numerically equivalent to the other. The full explana- tion of these matters belongs to Algebra ; yet any one moderately versed in that science may see Itdw the above formula for per- mutations immediately gives the co-efiicient of any term in the development of (pH-g)", whose literal part is p^'q'; and how this formula and that for the combination of n things in sets of r or of s, are identical in result. Either formula, therefore, in- differently, may be used. Having thus a rule to determine the co-efficient of any term in the development of {p + qY, there is no need that we should expand this expression in order to complete the term. We can construct the term at once, and then, finding its numerical value, we have the probability of the general compound event to which the term refers. § 104. The use of the foregoing formulas may be easily illus- trated. Let us, for instance, determine the general form for the probability that an event E, whose chance-ratio is exactly recur- rent, will happen six times, and fail to happen four times, in ten trials. Here, q standing for 1 — p, the literal part of the term is j^Y; while n=lO, r=Q and 5=4. Substituting these n^imerical values for n, r and s in the permutation formula i]2.3. ..rxi.2.^..t the whole term becomes i.'alail.'s.'e.'i.^is.' 4% y or 210 p'q\ the answer required. If now we make j)=h and q=h i^ this ex- § 104 THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. 247 pression, it becomes 210 (iy(|-y=3,boiit ^^: this is the chance of obtaining ace with a die six times in ten throws. Should we now, under the same general question, ask for the probability that either ace or deuce will appear in six out of ten trials, some care will be needed to determine the values of p and q. But in- spection will show that the simple event presented, whose prob- ability recurs at every trial, is a general one and includes two individuals; for it will happen at any throw if ace appear or if deuce appear. Accordingly its probability is the sum of the prob- abilities of its kinds or modes: that is, 'p^\-\-\=^, and g'=f. Substituting these values in the expression 210 p^g^ we obtain the answer. It is tV^o-? ^^ between -^^ ^^^ t^- Besides such cases as these just computed, the Binomial For- mula enables us to determine the probability of an event occur- ring not less than a given number of times, or not more than a given number of times, in a given number of trials; as also the prob- ability of its happening not less than one certain number of times, and not more than aiwther. The probability of an event happen- iAg not less than seven times in ten trials, its simple probability being known, is found by determining the respective probabili- ties of its occurring seven times, eight times, nine times, and ten times, in ten trials, and then adding all these probabilities together. For, if any one of these compound events occur, the simple event will occur not less than seven times. The probabil- ity of the event occurring not more than three times in the ten trials is, in like manner, the sum of the probabilities of its occur- ring three times only, twice only, and once only: while the probability of its happening not less than three times nor more than seven, in the course of ten trials, is the sum of the proba- bilities of the possible compound events, in which, respectively, the simple event occurs three, four, five, six, and seven times, only. To illustrate, let us determine the likelihood of obtaining ace once at least — that is, once or oftener — in four throws of a die. Here p=^, ^=h n=4:; and the sum of the probabihties of all the possible events is p'*+4p'5' + 6p^g^+4pg'+5'\ Of these probabilities all, except the last, support the general event of ace once at least. Hence (;^)'+4(iy(A) + 6a)Xfy+4(i.)(fy, or ^^A, is the probability required. As this fraction is somewhat greater than i the "odds' are in favor of the event. Precisely the same result might have been obtained by subtracting from unity g* or y^^^, that is, the probability of ace not appearing on any of the throws; since, in every other possible case than that having this probability, ace appears once at least. Should we now seek the probability of ace once and deuce once in four throws of a die, the solution of the question will be quite different from the above. It will be necessary first to com- pute two independent compound probabilities, and after that to compound them. The probability of one event and three fail- ures in four trials, is \[l[l[l pq^=^pq^' Now, whether we refer to ace or to deuce, p=^, and g=|-. Substituting these values, 248 THE HUMAN MIND. § 10b. the probability of ace once in four throws, and that likewise of deuce once in four throws, is -^-||^ or -y^, or about -j^. Squaring this, we have the answer, -j?^, which is rather more than \. § 105. Thus many interesting questions, involving p?obabie°'^*com^ ^^^^ probability of compound events constituted by ^uitSf TroJ? the ^^ repetition of a simple event of constant proba- repeStionTf an bility a givcu number of times together with the tSir^ OT* more occurrcnce of a failure, or the contradictory event, a ^'u^nSIf coSsS S^^'^^ number of times, may be solved by the help probability. of the Binomial Theorem ; though often care and in- trospection may be necessary in order to perceive the specific nature of the question submitted, and the exact mode of its solution. But, should three or more events^ mutually conflidive., he the only possible consequents of one antecedent^ the probability attaching to any combination of them possibly con- sequent upon the repetition of the antecedent any given number of times, may be determined by the algebraic formula for the devel- opment of a polynomial to any given power. In this case the bi- nomial formula is insufficient. The multinomial, which results from the involution of any polynomial to the nth. power, is con- structed according to the following law: viz., the sum of the ex- ponents of any term is always equal to n^ while the co-efficient may be found by the formula for the distinguishable permutations of a collection of letters ?iin number, in which one or more letters may occur more than once. More expressly, the permutation formula enables us to find the co-efficient of any term in the expansion of any power of a binomial or polynomial, the literal part of the term being given. In every case the co-efficient is equal to the number of per- mutations of n things made up of as many sets of indistinguish- ables as the term contains letters, the exponents of the letters sev- erally giving the number of the elements in each of the several sets. Let a^'lfc^ be the literal part in a triliteral term in the development of the nth power of the quadrinomial a-{-h + c-\-d, the sum of the exponents r, s, and t being of course equal to 71; then the co-efficient of the term is )- '^ '^ 't 1.2 rXl.2 . . .sXl.2. . .«• We easily apply these rules to the calculation of probabili- ties. Let A^ B, C and I) be conflicting events depending on the same antecedent, and let the sum of their recurrent probabili- ties a, 6, c and d, be equal to unity. Then the completed term 1 .v.! '. lxi'2.\ '. '.sxi. 2 ! .'. V ''^'^^* indicates the probability of a com- pound event consequent on n trials, and in which the event A occurs r times, the event B, s times, the event (7, t times, and the event Z), not at all. The probability of a combination in which only two of the simple events should be found would be expressed by a term of two letters, while that of a combination in which all four of the simple events should occur, would be indicated by a term of four letters. In the above n=r-\-s-{-tj three variables; let n=r-{-s+t-{-u, four variables. Then the expression 1 . 2 . 3V. ' "rxi '2'. '. .' /xi .2 '. .' .\xi\ 2.3.... u ^^^'^^^" presents § 105. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES, 249 the probability that A will occur r times, J5, s times, (7, t times, and i>, ^ times, in n trials. In short, the successive terms of the multinomial resulting from the expansion of the i^th poiver of the poly- nomial A+B-fc+D+ete., present the prohabilities of all the combina- tions of the events A, B, C, Z), and soforth^ which are possibly conse- quent upon N trials. This may be made more evident uy the following considerations. First, the terms of the multinomial present all the possible combinations of the letters a, &, c, d, etc., in sets containing not more than n letters. For example, in the 5th power of the quadrinomial a-\-b-\-c-\-d, no combination of letters in sets of five is possible, but combinations, severally in- cluding four letters, three letters, two letters, and one letter are possible ; and every possible combination is found. Such being the case, as the small letters a, 6, c, c?, etc., correspond to the large letters A, B, C, D, etc., which represent the various kinds of events possibly consequent on one trial, it is plain that the letter combinations in the different terms of the multinomial represent every combination of kinds that is a possible conse- qilent of n trials. Uniliteral terms, such as a^ or h^ in the ex- pansion of the fifth power of the polynomial, fairly represent those, compound events which contain only one kind of event; biliteral terms such as a^b\ a^U, h^c\ b'^c^, represent combina- tions in which two events occur, that is, which are composed of such events only as A and B, or of such only as B and C; and, in like manner, triliteral terms represent combinations of three kinds, quadriliteral of four kinds, and so on. In this way the letters of the successive terms, considered toithout reference to their exponents, represent, in their combinations, every combina- tion of the kinds of events which is a possible consequent of the compound antecedent. Secondly, regarding the letters of each term of the multi- nomial with reference to their exponents, we perceive not only, that the number of literal factors is always the same, but also that the various terms lohich have the same letters combine their lit- eral factors in every possible proportion. For example, in the ex- pansion of the 5th power of the polynomial a + fe+c+cZ-f etc., those biliteral term.s which have the letters a and b are a^6^ a^b^, a% and ab\ and they exhibit the only possible propor- tions in which five things can be combined when the kinds of things are two. In like manner, those triliteral terms, which contain the letters a, b and c, are a^bc, ab\ ab&, o^b^c, a^b&^ ab^&; these show the only possible proportions in which five things can be combined when the kinds of things are three. So the quadriliteral terms which contain the letters a, b, c, and d, viz., d^'bcd, a¥cd, abc^d, abcd^, present every possible combina- tion of five things when the kinds of things are four. Hence it appears that the successive terms of the multinomial, not only by their letters indicate how many kinds of events en- ter into every combination of events possibly consequent on n trials, but also, by the exponents of their letters, indicate what num- 250 THE HUMAN MIND. § 105. her of events of each Icind enter into the combination represented any particular term. In other words, every combination o events possibly consequent on n trials, both as to the number of kinds of events composing it and as to the number of events of each kind, is represented by the literal part of one of the terms of the multinomial. Thirdly, the literal factors in every term being taken from the probabilities a, 6, c, d, etc., of the events A^ B^ C, D, etc., and having numerical values accordingly, the product of these factors in any term is the probability that the events represented in the term will occur as according to some one arrangement, or as in an individual as distinguished from a general combina- tion (§ 100); in other words, it is the probability of them as occur- ring in one particular order. In this significance the terms of the oith power of a polynomial do not differ from those of the nth power of a binomial. FourtHy, and finally, the co-efficient of each term of the multinomial shows how many distinguishable arrangements, or permutations, can be made of n things composed of sets of in- distinguishables equal in number respectively to the exponents of the letters of the term. This has already been considered in connection both with the involution of a binomial, and with that of a polynomial (§ 103). The co-efficient thus shoics the num- ber of those possible arrangements, or individual combinations, of events which have the probability expressed by the literal part of the term — each arrangement, no matter in what order, having the same probability as every other. Hence it follows that the numerical value of the ivhole term expresses the probability of that general combination ivhich is supported by the probabilities of all the possible arrangements. Thus, in the multinomial, every possible event has a term to correspond to it; and every term gives the probability of the event to which it corresponds. In illustration of these prin- ciples, let us consider the following case. A bag contains one white ball, two red balls, and three black ones: what are the chances that in six drawings, after each of which the ball is replaced, a Avhite ball shall be drawn twice, a red ball three times, and a black ball once? Here the combination submitted contains three kinds of events which are conceived to occur, respectively, twice, thrice, and once. The literal part of the term correspondent to it is a'^b^c, in which a=^, b=^, G=h- The CO- efficient is i ' 2 i 2 3 -^> and the whole term, therefore, is \:l:l\t:l:l {i)Xmh)=Th^'' That is, the chances are 5 in 162, or nearly 1 in 32. To determine the probability of the combi- nation in which the white ball should be drawn three times, a black ball three times, and a red ball not even once, in the six drawings, the formula would be 1 '. 2 . 3 ! 1 . 2 ! 3 ^'^^ giving the answer -^fg-, or nearly 1 in 86. 106. THE CALCULATION OF CHANCES. 251 An endless re eti- § ^^^- ^ Critical discussioii of the formulas which tion of trials pro- apply to the Compounding of recurrent probabil- SSty ™tha? ti!e itics, and especially of the binomial formula, cor- once*atTeMt°'^'^^ roborates certain natural judgments regarding such events as depend on a repetition of trials. For ex- ample, let us take any series resulting from the development of (p-j-g')°- The first term, ^°, is the probability that the event E will follow every trial, or occurrence, of the antecedent; and the last term, ^°, is the probabihty of that event failing to occur after every trial. Then also the sum of the series, less 5% is the sum of the probabilities of those compound events in each of which ^occurs once at least; while, in like manner, the sum of the series, less p°, is the probability of that general compound event in every mode of which F — that is the failure of E — occurs once at least. Now, whatever be the values of ^ and q^ it is plain that the values of p° and 5° grow less, and that rapidly, as the number of trials is increased; for the progression is geometrical. Hence, in any very large number of trials, the probability of E occurring once at least — as, also, that of its failing once at least to occur — approaches so nearly to the entire sum of the series that it may be practically regarded as unity or certainty. In other words, the multiplication of trials, in a case of pure repetitious probability, can produce a likelihood difi'ering from certainty by as small a fraction as we may desire, both that the event will occur once at least, and that it will fail to occur once at least. Such a case would yield the most perfect moral certainty. Yet we should notice that, however infinitesimal the fraction .may be, thus separating moral from demonstrative certainty, it never can be made so small as to exclude the possibility of the opposite. Let us again consider the development of (j9 + Q')", bie^compound'ev^ but loitli speclal reference to the comparative values ^y'^^Sbefo^ ^ ^^^ '^^^ /er77Z5. the literal part of any or every trials is that iu term may be represented by the 2:eneral expression •which the ratio of^s* I'l, J 'il i.'l- i events is the same p q% m which r and s are variable quantities whose uVof th?lhSJcer ^^"^ ^^ equal to 71, the number at once of the trials and of the events compounded. We would natu- rally expect the greatest term in the series to be that in which the proportion r : s : : p : q, or r : r-^s : : p : jo + g (in which of course r-\-s=n, and p-\-q = l) is realized either exactly, or more nearly than in any other term. In seven throws of a die we would expect the most probable event to be that of ace once, and other faces six times: in fourteen throws we would expect the most probable event to be that of ace twice and other faces twelve times; and so on with every multiple of seven throws. Or, were the throws only six, or were they fifteen, we would give the greatest probability to ace once and other faces five times, and to ace twice and other faces thirteen times; because, in these cases, the ratios of one to five, and of two to thirteen, more nearly approach that of one to six than any other of the possible ratios do. Mathematical reasoning shows the correctness of this judg- 252 THE HUMAN MIND. § 106. ment. A general demonstration of the theorem may be found in the eighth section of Sec. Galloway's article in the '' Encyclo- pedia Britannica." But it should be noticed that the probability of the most probable event in a series may, absolutely speaking, be very small, and that this probability is less the greater be the number of the trials in which the series originates and, conse- quently, the number of terms in the series. A special exempli- fication of these principles will take place if we assume p=q^ and allow different values successively to n. Let 71=2. Then (^+gy=i-ui+i In these developments, plainly, when n is an even number, the greatest probability is given by the middle term of the series, but, when n is odd, two probabilities, greater than the rest and equal to each other, occupy the middle place. It is evident also that, when n is even, the greatest probability arises when the exponents of ^ and q are equal, that is, when the term refers to that compound event which is composed of the simple events ^and i^in equal proportions; while, in the other case, the two probabilities greater than the rest and equal to each other, arise when the exponent of p exceeds the exponent of q by unity and when the exponent of q exceeds the exponent of p by un- ity, the terms with such exponents being those in which the ratio of equality, as between the exponents, is most nearly approached. Note, also, that the greatest probability in each series is less than in the series immediately preceding it. When p and q are not equal to each other, the greatest probability will not be found in the middle, but towards one end, of the series; which state- ment may be easily verified by trial. Another theorem to the demonstration of which OTem?"^^'" ^^ ^^^ Binomial Formula contributes, may be stated as follows. If the prohahility of an event on one trial he p, and that of its contradictory q, then in an infinite number of trials the ratio of the positive to the negative events iviU certainty he tJw ratio ofptoci. More exactly, the theorem is this, that if the number of trials be indefinitely increased, a probability will re- sult, difi*ering from certainty by less than any assigned fraction, that the total number of the occurrences of the simple event will be to the total number of its failures to occur, as the probability of the event in connection with one trial is to the probability of its failure in connection with one trial. Thus, if a die should be thrown a very great number of times, we might be morally certain that ace would turn up one sixth, and only one sixth, of the times. This same judgment might also be made regarding deuce, and in regard to every one of the six faces of the die. The abstract proof of this reasonable and simple doctrine is difii- cult. It engaged the mind of James Bernoulli, an eminent § 107. ATTENTION AND ACQUISITION. 253 mathematician of the seventeenth century, for twenty years. His demonstration is given in that section of the article of Sec. Galloway, to which we have already referred. In the foregoing discussion, a few of the simpler principles and methods of the calculation of chances have been presented. Any attempt to explain the more complicated problems and the interesting and important applications of this calculus, has been quite beyond our purpose. Enough has been said to exhibit the peculiar action of the mind in conceiving and estimating chances, and to illustrate the more general theme of probable judgment. Here, too, we close our fundamental analysis of thought and belief, as the primary powers of the human intellect. We did propose to discuss the nature of error after the radical laws of correct perception and conviction had been set forth. But that subject may, perhaps, be deferred with advantage for the present. CHAPTER XXV. ATTENTION AND ACQUISITION. The division of our mental powers into the primary and the sec- ondary is the most serviceable when we would investigate the radical nature of those powers themselves. That division which sets forth the three phases of mental life — the perceptive, the re- productive, and the elaborative — is the best when we would con- sider analytically the concrete facts of our intellectual experi- ence. And that division which, in every phase of intellect, dis- tinguishes the experiential and contingent from the intidtional and necessitudinal elements of thought and belief, is the most important in discussions respecting the ultimate principles and laws of truth and of being. Having considered the leading topics concerning thought and belief, the primary powers of mind, we turn to contemplate those secondary powers whose operation modifies the workings of the primary (§ 13). They may be enumerated as Attention, Acquisition, Association, Syn- thesis, Analysis, Abstraction, and Generalization. Such, at least, are the powers whose modifying influence calls for special study. Psycucai energy. § }^^ ' ^7® begin with Attention, that is, the power t. c, mental force of attention. For, apparently without exception, our faculties receive names which yet more pro- perly designate the exercise of these faculties. Every human spirit has a certain amount of psychical energy, or force, which is constantly more or less exercised in the activities of the soul's life, and especially in the activity of thought. This energy can be distinguished from the faculties or powers into which it enters. As general muscular strength can be distinguished from that 254 THE HUMAN MIND. § 107. power of involuntary motion possessed by the heart and other organs — from capabilities such as are shown in speaking, walk- ing, running, handling, and so forth — from that acquired ability exhibited by experts in various arts and accomplishments — and from the power of performing, without thought, actions which, through habit, have become automatic; so we distinguish psy- chical energy in general from the specific powers in which it is manifested. The reason of this is that the constitution of the soul gives a peculiarity of operation or function to every special power. We therefore distinguish from the faculty of thought that psychical energy necessarily belonging to it. Yet this dis- tinction does not of itself justify the conception of a faculty differ- ent from thought. It only brings into prominence the fact that a certain force is employed in all thinking. This energy varies in different persons, and in the same person at different times. The ideas of some men are fresh and vigorous; those of others slow and obscure: while the same person sometimes apprehends with ease, at other times with difficulty. All this does not indicate any specific faculty : it is simply a result of constitutional conditions and of general laws under which intellectual life is experienced. There is, however, an exertion of energy in con- A^lpS and^de: ncction with thought, which indicates what we terminate exertion mav proDcrlv stvlc a facultv ; for it is a determinate of the power of *^i "^ / r- i •/ t i • i thought. employment ot power, and it accomphshes a special SdetentiJn?'^'^^'' fuuctiou. By what seems a simple, ultimate law of spiritual activity, the soul can address itself with peculiar energy to the observation of any object, or the con- sideration of any subject, which it may desire more fully to comprehend. The power thus exercised is called attenticm. Hamilton defines attention as " the concentration of conscious- ness on a smaller number of objects than constitute its widest compass of simultaneous knowledge " (" Met." Lect XIII.). This description may be accepted with the addition that the effort of attention seems to increase, as well as to concentrate, the amount of mental force exercised at any one time. By ^^ con- sciousness^'' in the above extract, we are to understand the gen- eral power of thought, and, by " hnoivledge,'' thought in general. For we can concentrate and stimulate the power of thought when there may be no real objects whatever. This special exertion of the power of thought in connection with some object, or idea, or set of objects or ideas, is the essential constituent of attention. A sentinel, keenly vigilant for every indication of danger, might be said to exercise attention in the most general way possible ; as his watchfulness would include all objects within the reach of his senses. The concentration of thought, though existing to some extent, would not be a prominent feature in such a case. But, ordinarily, the elements or objects to which our attention is directed, are of a limited number, so that the special exercise of energy in connection with them has the effect of positively abstracting the force of § 108. ATTENTION AND ACQUISITION. \/^MyP^^^^' thought from other objects. For every human spirit has only a limited amount of energy. The question whether the mind can attend to more things than one at one time is much the same as the question, already discussed (§ 29), whether we can think of more things than one at once; attention being simply the exercise of a special energy in connection with thought. The successive consideration of objects, however vigorous it may be, cannot properly be called attention; it is simply en- ergetic thought. In attention mental action is directed con- tinuously to the same object or objects. The earnest considera- tion of subjects successively includes successive acts of attention. This faculty involves, as a subsidiary and constituent part of itself, a certain power of mental detention by which the same act of observing or thinking is repeated, or prolonged. Is attention a vol- § ^^^' ^^^^ most important point in the doctrine untary act? Is it of Attention is, that the operation of this faculty ?^fa?Si^r^^^^ is, to a considerable extent, subject to the determi- articled. '^™*^^ ''^^i^ons of the will, that power of choice which is natural to the soul. According to Dr. Keid, " At- tention is a voluntary act; it requires active exertion to begin and continue it; and it may be continued as long as we will." Prof Stewart coincides in these statements; Hamilton contro- verts them. He says that there are three degrees of attention, "the first a mere vital and irresistible act; the second an act • determined by desire, which, though involuntary, may be re- sisted by our will; the third an act determined by a deliberate volition." To us a doctrine intermediate between the views of these eminent men seems reasonable. We agree with Ham- ilton that there is a vital and irresistible exercise of energy in connection with all thought and perception, but do not think that this should be called attention. On the other hand, choice, properly so called, is not always necessary to the act of atten- tion ; this is sometimes controlled by desires, or motive habits, which prevail against our formal volitions. How often people say that they cannot help thinking of such and such objects! How often we find ourselves earnestly considering some topic simply because we have become interested in it, without any deliberate determination ! Such facts indicate that attention is exercised in accordance with that motivity which may be the prevailing one at the moment, whether it be mere unformu- lated desire or whether it have the more complex character of will or purpose. In this connection we may consider a question which has been sometimes raised, viz., whether attention, a power the exercise of which confessedly originates in the motive part of man's na- ture, is properly an intellectual faculty at all ? If, by the men- tal faculties, we are to understand those only which are the im- mediate fountains of thought and belief, then neither attention uor any other of the secondary powers, can be enumerated in 256 THE HUMAN MIND. § 108. this class. But, if that is an intellectual faculty whose proper function is immediately to afiect and modify the main work of the mind, then certainly all the secondary powers may be thus named. This, however, must be allowed, that attention has two principal functions, and, in this respect, is unlike the other sub- sidiary powers, which have each but one. In addition to the modification of thinking and to contributing in this way to intel- lectual results,, attention performs a practical part in connection with the consideration of motives, and is thus ilie principal in- strument in the self-control and self-determination of spirit. What- ever government the will exercises over psychical life in general is exerted through this power, just as its dominion over, physical life depends upon muscular energy. Attention, therefore, has a twofold character; in one use it is an intellectual faculty; in another it is part of the practical faculty — the faculty of action, as distinguished from that of thought. Attention is a mental faculty only so far as it modifies the working, and affects the re- sults, of the primary powers of mind. But we should notice that it retains this character, more or less, even while helping to constitute the faculty of action. Reid makes the remark, which Stewart and Hamilton approve, that " Attention to things external is properly called observation^ and attention to the subjects of consciousness, reflection'' So far as ordinary language goes, we think that we might speak of our reflection upon any subjects of past experience and knowl- edge, whether they belong to the outer or to the inner world; and of internal, as well as of external, observation. In old phi- losophical usage, however, reflection does signify an attentive exercise of self-consciousness; and it is true that our observa- tion mostly regards the external. The great importance of attention, in the system S'e^Sty^ofa^ of our mental faculties, is evident from its very na- cSltivrtiJn"^ °lnd "^^^^^ It is a power whose use is at once most gen- empioyment. eral and most indispensable. All those facts, whether of the material or the spiritual world, which constitute the original basis of thought and knowledge, are definitely seized and ascertained only through attentive ob- servation and reflection. Moreover, those faculties of recollection, reason and imagination, which elaborate the materials possessed by the mind, demand the continual exercise of attention. When- ever this power intermits its action, mental progress ceases. At- tention is the action of the frame which holds in place the warp of that cloth which the subtle machinery of mind is weaving. When this frame performs its part imperfectly, confusion imme- diately ensues. Attention also has an important relation to memory, though less di-rectly than to the intentional operations of mind. The permanent acquisition of thought depends greatly, if not entirely, on the vigor with which it may be first enter- tained; which vigor is controlled by attention. Should we de- sire to impress some beautiful scene upon the mind, or to com § 109. ATTENTION AND ACQUISITION. 257 mit some valuable fact or truth to memory, we must regard it earnestly. Such being the case, it is plain that this power should be as- siduously cultivated by those who would hope for any worthy in- tellectual attainments. And in this we should be encouraged by the consideration that no faculty admits of growth and de- velopment more than attention. Every faithful scholar can tes- tify of that wonderful increase in the ability for mental appli- cation which results from a thorough course of study. The opinion of some, that "Genius is nothing but a continued atten- tion," — " a prolonged patience," is an extreme one. But, beyond question, this faculty is an essential part of all true genius; and it is that element of mental greatness most within the reach of honest endeavor. It is also that of which great men have been most fully conscious. Sir Isaac Newton, when compli- mented on his marvelous achievements, replied that, if he had made any discoveries, it was owing more to patient attention than to any other talent. Dickens ascribed his success to a very painstaking study of the characters and details of his stories. Sometimes, with eminent men, the abstraction of mind resulting from intense application to favorite subjects, has ren- dered them well-nigh insensible to passing events. Archimedes was not aware of the storming of Syracuse, till he received his death- wound from soldiers whom he forbade to disturb his cir- cles. Cardan, the illustrious mathematician, when on a journey, forgot his way and his object. The driver, asking whither he should proceed,, received no answer; and, at nightfall, the car- riage came to a stand, directly under a gallows. On the day of his wedding Budseus forgot everything, and was wakened to the life of the external world by an embassy from the marriage party, who found him absorbed in the composition of his "Com- mentarii" (Hamilton, "Met." Lect. XIY.). The great power of attention to modify the inclinations and purposes of the soul, and ultimately the whole motive character, is a topic worthy of consideration. The direction of thought to right rules and reasons for one's conduct in life, the contempla- tion of virtuous examples, the cherishing of honorable and duti- ful plans and conceptions, and the rejection of ideas which solicit to evil, are the immediate causes of pure and elevated expe- rience; the admission of sinful thoughts, the indulgence of vile fancies and degrading memories, and the study of wicked schemes, are the sure means of spiritual ruin. " I would as soon," said Dr. Thomas E. Thomas, the eloquent president of Hanover Col- lege, " I would as soon think of putting a bottle of hell-fire into the hands of my children, as a copy of the works of Lord Byron." But, rightly, the discussion of this topic belongs to moral philosophy. § 109. Having discussed the faculty of Attention, it ^^sition de^ed?" secms proper that we should next consider the fac- ulty of Acquisition ; for, while the former of these is the condition of the present use of the materials of thought, the 258 THE HUMAN MIND. § 109. latter is tlie condition of our subsequent use of them. Thus the development of mental life is equally conditioned on the exercise of these two powers. Moreover, to a great extent, acquisition is itself dependent on attention ; for the greater the energy with which any object may be contemplated, the longer will the ability to think of it again remain among the possessions of the niind. Bat here a difference is to be noticed between material and mental acquirements. The former are substances of various kinds, such as gold, silver, lands, cattle, houses, goods, and so forth, or, if not such things, at least a share or a right in them ; the latter are accessions of ability, whereby we are enabled to repeat acts of thought, belief, or knowledge, which we have once experienced. When we speak of the mind committing ideas to memory — or receiving and storing up useful knowledge — or exercising the power of acquisition, our language is figura- tive; it means simply that the mind is qualifying itself for the future reproduction of its present intellectual activities. This power operates more or less in connection with all thought, or mental action; but, being greatly dependent on attention and thus subject to the direction of the will, it is often employed on purpose, and on this account may be styled a faculty. Speaking of the power of acquisition, we merely express the idea of a men- tal energy ; speaking of the faculty of acquisition, we signify that the energy is, or may be, that of intentional doing (§ 9). Every studious and inquiring person continually exercises this faculty, and thereby satisfies his desire to know, and informs himself for the right conduct of his affairs. We have included the power of detention in the faculty of attention as a subordinate yet essential part. In doing so we followed a rule, which naturally and ordinarily controls the for- mation of our conceptions, viz., not to conceive and speak sepa- rately of an entity invariably accompanying some other more prominent object, when there is no need for a separate concep- tion. In such cases the mind simply enlarges its notion of the more prominent object, so as to include within it that of the ac- companiment. When this rule can be observed without injury to philosophic progress, the neglect of it savors of undue refine- ment. Hence, also, within the faculty of acquisition we place a power without which this faculty would be useless, and whose function is to carry on the work which acquisition begins. The potency to which w^e refer operates in passive resistance, rather than in any positive action, and may be named the Conservative, or Ketentive, Power of the Intellect. It manifests itself in pre- serving, against detractive influences, the tendency of an ac- quired and latent idea to reproduce itself on proper occasion. This function of mind is easily distinguished from that whereby an idea or belief is first received among the possessions of the soul; yet this distinction does not justify the conception of two faculties. We prefer to think of acquisition and conservation as together constituting a compound secondary power by which our § 110. ATTENTION AND ACQUISITION. 259 thinkings are rendered ready for future reproduction. This fac- ulty might be named either acquisition or conservation, accord- ing to the element more prominent in one's thought; but, ordi- narily, one name should suffice for both powers, the functions of both being naturally conceived of as one. Sir Wm. Hamilton ("Met." Lect. XXX.), treating of memory, distinguishes four elementary powers, (a) Acquisition, (&) Ke- tention, or Conservation, (c) Kesuscitation, or Reproduction, and {d) Re-presentation. He names each of these powers a faculty. For reasons such as have been just considered, his language does not seem sufficiently authorized, even on the supposition of the existence of four powers. But, in addition to this, while the distinction between acquisition and conservation is well taken, and while each of these powers is different from reproduction, the distinction which Hamilton makes between reproduction and re-presentation, is not tenable. On the contrary, these names set forth, not two powers, but the same power in two different lights or relations. Each alike operates in the resuscitation of a past thought: when we speak of reproduction, the reference is to the thought previously had, and when we speak of re-presenta- tion, the reference is to the object previously thought of The distinction is somewhat similar to that between love and affec- tion, as these terms are commonly used; the latter of which directs attention more to the person in whom the feeling exists, the former to the person towards whom it is exercised. We cannot agree with Sir William when he says, "These two processes sup- pose each other, they are relative and correlative, but not more identical than hill and valley." On the contrary, they are one and the same process; they form, not a compound, but an absolute, unity. The laws controlling reproduction as a sec- ondary power of the intellect, will be discussed under the head of the Association or Suggestion of Ideas. While closely related to those which govern the first acquisition of thought, they have a character and operation of their own. No general agreement has been reached by philosophers in regard to the mode in which the acquisitive and conservative power produces its results, but the fact of its action must be accepted as a radical truth. The putting away of ideas in a storehouse — the writing down of thoughts upon the tablet of memory — the reception of flying appearances, species, or images, which collect in the thinking soul — these, and such, expressions record and illustrate the fact, but do not explain it. Theories explain- § l^^' ^he majority of Writers do not attempt any ing acquisition accouut of this matter. Those who do may be di- Latent^^ energies! vided iuto three classcs. Firsts there are those Locke^^^^ ^^^ whom two famous philosophers of the seventeenth century, Locke and Gassendi, may represent. These hold the doctrine of latent energies; they teach that tendencies are produced in the mind which remain inactive till proper encourage- ment for their action may occur. Gassendi compares the mind to 260 THE HUMAN MIND. § HO. a sheet of paper capable of receiving one series of folds after an- other, and of being smoothed out so that the folds become invis- ible, and on which, if any fold be renewed, the others connected with it also reappean The chief thought suggested by this il- lustration is that every fold retains a tendency to renew itself; so that the pressure of a moving finger or point, on the line of any fold, may encourage this tendency and cause the fold to reappear; and a pressure near the place where two or more folds have crossed each other, will act in a similar way as to several folds, though more successfully in regard to some than to others. This pressure may typify the influence of attentive thinking, as operating upon the cognate, but unconscious, reproductive ten- dencies acquired in previous thinkings. Another figure setting forth the revivability of ideas once entertained, is that in which past thoughts are compared to sentences written with an ink which, when dry, loses its visibility, but recovers this again whenever the writing may be subjected to a certain degree of heat. Locke, in expressing his views, speaks of the memory as the storehouse of our ideas. " But," he says, " our ideas being nothing but actual perceptions in the mind, which cease to be anything when there is no perception of them, this laying up of our ideas in the repository of the memory, signifies no more but this, that the mind has a power in many cases to revive perceptions which it has once had, with this additional percep- tion annexed to them, that it had them before. And in this sense it is, that our ideas are said to be in our memories, when, indeed, they are actually nowhere, but only there is an ability in the mind when it will to revive them again, and, as it were, to paint them anew on itself, though some with more, others with less, difficulty; some more lively and others more obscurely." The principal point in thie view of Locke and Gassendi is this, that mental phenomena occur and then wholly disappear, while yet. they leave in the mind a tendency, which very frequently, upon the occurrence of certain conditions, reproduces them ; this doctrine is reasonable, and conformable to facts. Accepting it, a further thought is suggested as possibly true, viz., that, after a thought has been experienced, some degree at least of the peculiar form of energy exercised in it hecomes and remains latent in the mind, and ready to he re-called into activity. In other words, some of the mental energy exercised in connection with a given thought is converted into a tendency to reproduce that thought. This tendency remains inactive, or latent, so long as nothing occurs to occasion its exercise; we may be said to have the thought potentially, but not actually. The tendency as a condition of the existence of the thought, really exists, while the thought itself, literally or actually, does not (§76). On the sup- position of such a latent potency, we need not consider it the only power employed in reproduction ; we should rather regard it as a formative tendency which shapes and directs the action of that more sreneral energy continually operating in the mind (§ 107). § 110. ATTENTION AND ACQUISITION. 261 The origin, thus conjectured for this determinant potency of re- production, receives some analogical support from that conserva- tion of physical force, noticed by men of science, whereby some part at least of a natural energy may pass from one state of ac- tivity into a state of latency, and out of this again into another state of activity, quite similar, it may be, to the first. Thus the power of the heat of the sun, stored up in mines of coal, re- appears in the use of coal as fuel. Let the latent energy of reproduction be accounted for as it may, it evidently exists; and it begins to exist when any thought first occupies the mind's attention. A second class of thinkers, who hold that the mind Unconscious ac- ii--. jx-i.- i^-i, tivity. never ceases irom any dennite mode oi action wmcn scimud,Hamuton. -^ ^^^ oncc bcguu, explain the reproduction of thought by the theory, which Leibnitz originated, of unconscious psychical activity. The German metaphysician, Schmid, followed by Hamilton and others, thus applies that theory. " The prob- lem," he says, "is not how a mental activity endures, but how it ever vanishes The solution is to be sought for in the theory of obscure or latent modifications. The disappearance of internal energies from the view of internal perception," does not warrant the conclusion that they no longer exist Only the more vivid changes sufficiently afiect our conscious- ness to become objects of its apprehension ; we consequently are conscious only of the more prominent series of changes; the others remain for the most part latent." Every new cognition draws to itself a chief part of the general energy or force of the intellect. "This force in the same proportion is with- drawn from the other earlier cognitions; and it is they, conse- quently, which must undergo the fate of obscuration" (Hamil- ton, "Met." XXX.). These latent, or, to speak more properly, insensible, cognitions, become sensible again upon a stimulus received from some kindred exercise of energy. This theory of acquisition, like that of unconscious mental activity (§ 27), ou which it is founded, is unsupported by any basis of fact. Theo- ries which have their chief strength in their consistency with other theories, similarly situated in this respect, can claim our regard only as improbable hypotheses of more or less ingenuity. Materiaustic hy- ^i^^^lji materialistic philosophers, such as Auguste potheses. Comtc, and Herbert Spencer, as also those men of m , pencer. gdencc who acccpt their leadership, regard the ac- quisition, retention, and reproduction of thought, as being noth- ing more than closely related modes of nervous action. Accord- ing to Comte, "The positive theory of the intellectual and affective functions consists in the study, rational and experi- mental, of the various phenomena of internal sensibility which are proper to the cerebral ganglia It, therefore, is only a simple prolongation of animal physiology, properly so called." According to Spencer, all mental phenomena are feelings, and "the degree of the revivability of a feeling depends on the ex- THE HUMAN MIND. % 111 tent to which the nervous center concerned was capable of un- dergoing much molecular change and evolving much of the concomitant feeling when the original excitation was received. .... Other things equal, a given past feeling may be brought into consciousness vividly, faintly, or not at all, according as the nervous center concerned is, or is not, well repaired and well sup- plied with blood, at the moment the remembrance is suggested " (" Psych." §§ 100, 101). Thus reproduction is all accounted for by the excitation, to renewed molecular action, of faint tenden- cies collected in the nervous system. In perusing the writings of our modern materialists, one marvels at the boldness with which the secret workings of nature are portrayed, as if these had been accurately observed and analyzed. The ascertained facts of physiology are, indeed, ingeniously used, but, along with this, there is a liberal intermixture of conjecture. And yet the insurmountable objection to materialistic theories, is not the scantiness of the facts on which they are based. The difficulty is one which no supply of facts can be expected to remove. It is the impossibility of accepting any form of materialism, even though all the physiological conjectures with which it may be accofnpanied, should be admitted. However in the present life certain changes and states of body may condition and affect the changes and states of spirit, we can never conceive the latter to be identical with the former. When we endeavor to think of thoughts, emotions, and other psychical experiences, as simply forms of the action of molecular forces, the mind refuses to act, or rather, it acts in the way of absolute denial. We cannot even conceive of spiritual phenomena as wholly caused by such forces ; for they reveal powers whose -operation, however modified by physical influences, is wholly sui generis. Noticing the effects of severe study, of weighty care, of strong emotion, and of va- rious modes of mental occupation, upon one's bodily state, as also our direct use and control of muscular power, we perceive that the soul acts upon the body as truly as the body acts upon the soul. Let nervous action be explained as it may, we must hold to the distinct existence of spirit and its faculties. _,, , , 5 111. Atthesame timeitisplainthat «s^c7iica??i/ez5 The dependence J . .^ ^ t,- i ±i ± of acquisition and experienced oy US under physical conditions, and that an the^acSon°o?^he important, though obscure, department of science con- ESraordinary in- ^^^^* ^^^ Operation of tJicsc Conditions. In particular Btances. it is to be obscrvcd that none of our mental powers Somnambulism, g^hibit morc dependence upon the state of the body than do those of acquisition, conservation, and reproduc- tion. Every one knows how difficult the study of what is new, and the recollection of what is old, becomes when one is either weak or exhausted ; these things are easy when, as Spencer says, the nerves are in good repair and well supplied with blood. The effect of anaesthetics, such as chloroform, of narcotics, such as morphine, and of stimulants, such as alcohol, is very immediate upon the nervous system, and through that upon psychical ac § 111. ATTENTION AND ACQUISITION. 263 tion, which, in this way, may be increased or decreased, or made irregular and irrational, or even suppressed entirely. Every medical practitioner is familiar with the power of bodily diseases and injuries to affect the intellect. Fevers often produce tem- porary delirium; paralysis weakens the memory; apoplexy, and even old age, sometimes destroy it. A blow on the head pro- duces insensibility ; a disease of the brain mental incompetency, or, it may be, absolute lunacy or mania. Such truths as these are not to be overlooked ; they show how greatly — doubtless for wise ends — the present life of the human spirit has been sub- jected to corporeal conditions. Various extraordinary instances of the effect of disease upon the faculties of acquisition and reproduction have been noticed in philosophical writings. Coleridge, in his " Biographia Liter- aria," tells of a maid-servant in Germany, who took ill of nervous fever. During her delirium she recited passages from the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages, acting as if she were inspired by some good, or some evil, spirit. Her sentences, being carefully taken down, were found to be extracts from classical and rab- binical writers. After much inquiry it was ascertained that she had once lived in the service of an old and learned pastor who had been in the habit of repeating aloud passages from his favorite authors, as he walked in the hall of his house. The sound of the words, without their meaning, had lodged in the girl's memory, and had been recalled through the excitement of the fever. Dr. Abercrombie tells of a boy who, when four years old, received an injury on the head. During the operation of trepanning, he was apparently unconscious, and, after the opera- tion, he remembered nothing of the attendant circumstances. But, after the lapse of eight years, and in the delirium of a fever, he accurately recounted the particulars of the transaction, telling who were present, how they were dressed, and what parts they severally performed. In like manner, the Rev. Timothy Flint records of himself that, during a malarial fever, he repeated long passages from Homer and Virgil, which he had never formally committed to memory, and of which, before and after the fever, he could not recite any considerable portion. Such cases justify a conjecture that the nervous excitement of certain diseases exerts a repressive^ or overivhdming, influence tipon those tendencies to repro- ductive thought which are stronger because more recent, but acts as a proper stimulus upon older and iveaker tendencies. This same idea IS suggested by a phenomenon frequently noticed, viz., the recov- ery of a disused language, while one of later use is lost. Dr. Rush, in his " Medical Inquiries," says that he attended an Ital- ian who died of yellow fever, who at first spoke English, after that, French, and, towards his end, Italian only. He records, also, the statement of a Lutheran clergyman, that old German immigrants, on their death-beds, often prayed in their native tongue, though some of them certainly had not spoken it for many years. Pres. Porter relates that a favorite pupil of his. 264 THE HUMAN MIND. § 111. the son of a missionary in Syria, but who had spent much of his life in the United States, spoke Arabic, an almost forgotten lan- guage, during his last hours. His disease was yellow fever. Another class of observations favor a conjecture that the brain or its molecules may he made to assume a state so related to another state replaced by it, and by which in turn it may itself be replaced, that the reproductive tendencies connected with either state are wholly, or in part, disabled from operating during the continuance of the other state. With reference to each other, these states might be styled allotropic. The case of the Eev. Wm. Tennent, a distin- guished Presbyterian clergyman of New Jersey, is one in point. After severe sickness he was for a time supposed to be dead. He recovered ; and was then found to have lost all his previous acquisitions, even to the memory of the alphabet. On a sudden he experienced a violent pain in his head, and instantly regained his former intelligence and information. The case of a lady, mentioned by Pres. Porter, differs from the foregoing in that her lost knowledge never returned. This lady fell into a severe illness by reason of protracted mental and bodily sufferings experienced during a storm at sea and a ship- wreck; after which, although she was apparently restored to perfect health, it was found that the greater part of her acquired knowledge was gone. , An analogous case is mentioned in Tupper's " Inquiry into Gall's system of Phrenology." " A man was brought into St. Thomas's Hospital, who had received a considerable injury on the head; from which he ultimately re- covered. When he became convalescent, he spoke a language which no one about him could comprehend. However, a Welsh milkwoman came one day into the ward and immediately un- derstood what he said. It appeared that the poor fellow was a Welshman, and had been from his native country about thirty years. In the course of that period he had entirely forgotten his native tongue and acquired the English language. But, when he recovered from his'accident, he forgot the language he had been so recently in the habit of speaking, and acquired the knowledge of that which he had originally acquired and lost." A more remarkable instance than any already mentioned is detailed in a report of Dr. Dewar, read before the Edinburgh " Royal Society," in Feb., 1822. It was that of a girl sixteen years of age, who, during a period of more than three months, was frequently the subject of a somnambulistic affection. Dur- ing the continuance of each attack of this affection, she per- formed and witnessed many things, of which, upon returning to her more normal state, she retained no recollection. Dr. Dewar gives the point of chief interest in her case, as follows, " The circumstances which occurred aurin^ tJw paroxysm were completely forgotten when the paroxysm wa^ over, but luere perfectly remem- bered during subsequent paroxysms."" The report sustains this statement by a number of facts. " One Sunday she was taken to church by her mistress while the paroxysm was on her. She § 111. ATTENTION AND ACQUISITION, 265 shed tears during the sermon, particularly during the account given of the execution of three young men at Edinburgh, who had described in their dying declarations the dangerous steps with which their career took its commencement. When she re- turned home, she recovered in a quarter of an hour, was amazed at the questions put to her about the sermon, and denied that she had been at church. But, the next night, on being taken ill, she mentioned that she had been at church, repeated the words of the text, and, in the hearing of Dr. Dyce, her physician, gave an accurate account of the tragical narrative of the three young men." This girl complained of confusion and oppression in her head at the coming on of each paroxysm. Combe, in his " Phrenology," tells how a Dr. Abel informed him of an Irish porter who forgot, when sober, what he had done when drunk; but, being drunk again, recollected the transac- tions of his former state of intoxication. " On one occasion, being drunk, he lost a parcel of some value, of which in his sober moments he could give no account. But, when next in- toxicated, he recollected that he had left the parcel at a certain house ; and, there beiiig no address on it, it had remained there safely, and was got on his calling for it." Phenomena similar to the above take place in connection with that somnambulism pro- duced by what is called animal magnetism; the person magne- tized thinks and acts with very little, if any, reference to the life and thoughts of his normal state. We shall conclude our illustrations with an account presented by Dr. Mitchell to the Eev. Dr. Nott, and published in the "Medical Repository" of Jan., 1816, and which concerned a case still in progress at the date of that publication. Major Ellicott, then professor of mathematics at West Point, had a relative in Western Pennsylvania, named Miss R., who had arrived at adult age with a good bodily constitution and ex- cellent health. She was a well-educated lady, and had a capa- cious and well-stored memory. "Unexpectedly, and without any forewarning, she fell into a profound sleep ; which continued several hours beyond the ordinary term. On waking, she was discovered to have lost every trait of acquired knowledge. Her memory was tabula rasa; all vestiges, both of words and things, were obliterated. It was found necessary for her to learn everything again. She acquired, by new efforts, the arts of spelling, reading, writing, and calculating, and gradually be- came acquainted with the persons and objects around, like a being for the first time brought into the world. In these ex- ercises she made considerable proficiency. But, after a few months, another fit of somnolency invaded her. On rousing from it, she found herself restored to the state she was in before the first paroxysm; but was wholly ignorant of every event and occurrence that had befallen her afterwards. The former condition of her existence she now calls the *old state,' and the latter the 'new state;' and she is as unconscious of her 266 THE HUMAN MIND. § 112. double character as two distinct persons are of their respective natures. In her old state she possesses all her original knowl- edge; in her new state, only what she has acquired since. If a gentleman or lady be introduced to her in the old state, and vice versa (and so of all other matters), to know them satisfac- torily, she must learn them in both states. In the old state she possesses fine powers of penmanship, while, in the new, she writes a poor awkward hand, not having had time to become expert. During four years and upwards, she has undergone periodical transitions from one of these states to the other. The alterations are always consequent upon a long and sound sleep. Both the lady and her family are now capable of con- ducting the aJSair without embarrassment. By simply knowing whether she is in the old or in the new state, they regulate the intercourse, and govern themselves accordingly." With respect to this whole subject of the dependence of mental upon bodily states, two points are noteworthy. Firsts there is abundant evidence that mental action, during the pres- ent life, is dependent upon, and influenced by, the condi- tion of the brain. By various affections of this organ the action of thought is either stimulated, or retarded, or limited, or deranged, or even altogether suspended. In what way these results are produced is entirely unknown; their reality is be- yond question. Secondly^ there is no proof that those pecu- liar modes of action, which we style mental^ are, in any proper sense, the product of brain forces. On the contrary, they differ so utterly from physical or molecular modes of action, that we necessarily .ascribe them to an agent whose character and powers are suitable for their production, that is, to an immaterial and spiritual agent; which agent is revealed to us in consciousness. And, so far as we can see, the powers of mind, while greatly subject to corporeal conditions, have also, to a yet greater extent, an independent operation of their own. Acting within the limits of their bodily conditions, they immediately, and of them- selves, produce an endless variety of life and experience. At least such an opinion, though not necessary to the doctrine of the distinct existence of spirit and its powers, seems more prob- able than that every individual thought has a cerebral state or change specifically corresponding to it, either as cause or as effect. For it is reasonable to suppose that the principal factor in mental life, is mind. CHAPTER XXVI. ASSOCIATION OR SUGGESTION. § 112. The operation of the secondary powers must be distin- guished from that of the primary powers only by a somewhat subtle analysis. This necessity was to be expected ; for the sec- § 112. ASSOCIATION OR SUGGESTION. 267 ondary powers have no separate function, but only the office of modifying the workings of the primary. On the other hand, one must guard against a tendency to think of any secondary power as if it had independent existence and operation; such a tendency arises whenever we make the indissoluble parts or elements of some whole the objects of analytic thought and speech. The secondary powers are simply modifications of the general faculty of intellect, by reason of which it has various peculiarities of action. Yet these peculiarities and their causes are worthy of separate consideration. Having discussed Attention and Acquisition, we ^uggeSfon";' II turn to Reproduction. This power (§ 109) does not fin^d and iUus- differ csscntially from the re-presentative potency, Its Lportance. the two being really the same thing as viewed in different relations. A choice of terms being thus possible, we favor reproduction as generally, if not always, pre- ferable to re-presentation. Not only is the latter term, ambiguous, its philosophical differing from its ordinary signification, but it is also, in its philosophical meaning, suggestive of the mistaken theory that the object of a thought is always, in some sense, lit- erally presented again when the thought is reproduced. But here we have to remark that even the term reproduction has not occupied so large a place in mental philosophy as the term assch ciation; and this for a good reason. For, when we consider the reproductive power with reference to the fundamental conditions or laws which regulate its action, we do not call it reproduction, but association, or suggestion; and most of the questions con- cerning this power pertain to it under this light. We' have considered the fact that the mind has a reproductive potency, and have discussed certain theories connected with that fact. We shall now endeavor to determine those laws of association, or suggestion, which govern reproductive thought. That such laws exist and operate, cannot be denied. How quickly the name of Christopher Columbus suggests the dis- covery of America, and that of Martin Luther the Reformation of the sixteenth century, and that of Alexander the Great the conquest of Asia by the Greeks ! How many delightful mem- ories cluster around the home of one's childhood! What solemn thoughts inhabit the church of God ! How naturally patriotic reflections arise, when the Declaration of Independence is read in our hearing ! And what searching questions present them- selves as we give heed to the commands of the Decalogue, or to our Saviour's "Sermon on the Mount"! Nothing can be more evident than that a thought, consciously experienced, tends in some way to suggest and recall other thoughts. Moreover, this function of the suggestive potency, though a subordinate one, is equal in practical importance to that of the primary powers of intellect. If the reproductive tendency did not exist, or even were it not qualified by a tendency causing our thoughts to ob- serve some natural connection, the discoveries of reminiscence, THE HUMAN MIND. § 113. the constructions of imagination, and the investigations of reason, would all be things impossible. But, immediately after the first awakening of the infant mind in sense-perception, and the new cognition of things visible and invisible, the associative power begins to act, and thenceforward works incessantly. And, when the mind, of itself, thus reproduces its ideas, and that in some sort of connection, only patience and care are requisite in order to the efiective use of the powers .of thought. For, as Prof Stewart observes, "When we dwell long on the same idea, we obtain all the others to which it is in any way related, and thus are furnished with materials on which our powers of judgment and reasoning may be employed." To some authors suggestion seems a more befitting SiJand^^^sS term than association to express the action of the feciStT^^' ^°' * power under consideration ; and not without cause. When we say that one thought suggests another, we mean th^^t the idea of one object excites, and introduces to the attention, the idea of another object; this is a more essen- ,tially important result than that association, or union, which takes place when two or more thoughts are first experienced together. Suggestion is conditioned upon association ; both may be considered operations of the same power, as they are elements of the same general function. But it is in suggestion that the office of the power is accomplished. We more naturally speak of the power, than of the faculty, of as- sociation or suggestion, because this potency, considered in itself, is a factor which works without the guidance of the will. Fre- quently, indeed, it is controlled and employed so as to contribute to some specific and intentional intellectual undertaking; but it is then regarded as a subordinate element of some larger faculty, rather than as an independent power. Of itself, it is not a com- plete instrument. § 113. When the working of this power first en- o^!iioSf^^ °^ gag^d tb® attention of modern philosophers, the The schooim^. succcssiou of our thoughts could not be seen to toue. ' " observe any law. Some of the Schoolmen say that the " resuscitation of ideas," the " excitation of the species," is "the very greatest mystery of all philosophy." The younger Scaliger — the learned son of a most learned father — said, " My father declared that of the causes of three things in particular he was wholly ignorant: of the interval of fevers, of the ebb .and flow of the sea, and of reminiscence." He thus expressed the ignorance, not only of himself and of his father, but also of the age in which they lived. Nor have these mys- teries even yet been wholly solved. For a long time after the revival of letters the ancient doctrine of ideas and of species continued to exercise great influence. Our conceptions were given a kind of existence independent alike of the mind and of the objects to which they correspond. Most errors which exhibit lasting vitality, derive their strength from § vll3. ASSOCIA TION OR SUGGESTION. 269 some natural and permanent, but fallacious, ground of belief, rather than from any historical origin or advocacy. The false theory which we have just stated was favored in modern, no less than in ancient times, by the structure of language, in which our conceptions are given an apparent independence of existence and operation, and by our natural tendency to regard things separately conceived of as being, also, separate and substantial entities. It was not till after the time of Locke, that ideas were clearly shown and seen to be but exercises of the intellectual power, and not at all things endowed in themselves with attrac- tion or with any other potency. Such being the cas^, the causes of mental association and suggestion were first sought for in our ideas themselves as the representative appearances of objects, and were ascribed to them as having that character. Moreover, as the succession of ideas is the phenomenal expression of the operation of the suggestive power, and exhibits certain uniformities^ in consequence of the orderly working of the power, it was to be expected that obser- vation, sooner or later, would detect these uniformities, and enun- ciate them as laws.. This task was undertaken by a famous Scottish philosopher./ David Hume, in the early part of the eighteenth century, by his clear and elegant writings, showed to what an extreme a logical skepticism might be carried by one who based his reasonings on the doctrines of a defective philoso- phy. Rejecting, as untrustworthy, the conceptions of substance and power and force, he made all phenomena to consist only in impressions and ideas. His writings incited many thought- ful minds to investigate the ultimate grounds of human belief. Hume, like his English contemporary. Hartley, accounted for every mental process by the succession of ideas under the laws of association. These laws he reduced to three ; the first referring to Contiguity in Time or Space; the second to Similarity; and the third to the relation of Cause and Effect, which, however, Hume explains to be simply uniformity of succession. That such laws are constantly exemplified, no one can deny. Things which have been thought of as closely related in time or in space, or as united by the bond of cause and effect, or which are similar, often suggest one another. How naturally, when some great man, such as Caesar, is mentioned, we recall the principal actors and events of his time; or, when some noted place is named, such as the Roman Forum, we think of the magnificent monu- ments with which it was adorned and of the important trans- actions which transpired within it! Or, contemplating Caesar and the Forum, we are led to consider the causes which de- stroyed Roman liberty, and which put an end to Roman elo- quence. The thought of Caesar, again, through the principle of similarity, suggests other instances of successful usurpation; as the Forum brings to mind other spheres for the exercise of pop- ular ability. Hume claimed to be the first who enunciated these laws of association, and probably was the first by whom they 270 THE HUMAN MIND, § 114. had been discussed at length. Aristotle, however, in his treatise concerning Reminiscence, teaches that " We search for a next thought by thinking from the present or some other (time), and from the similar, or the contrary, or the proximate," — "vor/davre^ ccTto Tov vvv Tj ocWov Tivoif Hai dcp ojLioiov, 7J kvavrioVf tf rov evrerrvi." Thus* he gives the relations of nearness in time, of similarity, of contrariety, and of vicinity, as the fundamental con- ditions, at least of intentional reco'J 3ction. § 114. Comparing Hume with Aristotle, we hn 1 A^comparison of ^^^^^ ^j^^ modcm philosopher mentions the relation The relations of of causc and cffect, whxch is not named by ti;,- cause and effect ., t -i a • l ii • n ,♦, and of contrariety ancicnt ouc ; wuile Aristotlc speciiies contrariefff, c^sed.^^^^ ^^" which is not in Hume's enumeration. In eacii case, a reason can be given for the omission. Oii the behalf of Aristotle it may be denied that the relation of cause and effect could, of itself, form a suggestional law, if the objects connected by it had not been previously considered as exisiingjogether, or in immediate_succession. No causal object could suggest any resultant object which had not previously been seen as closely related to it in time and space; and so, conversely, as to the resultant object. This denial, however, admits of the reply that, although a cause and its effect must always be first seen under the contiguities of time and space, yet the particulars of these contiguities, and even the contigu- ities themselves, may be entirely Ipst sight of or neglected, while yet the association of thought remains. When we hear a voice, we expect to find a person, and this without the slightest refer- ence to any time or place where the connection between speech and speaker may have been perceived by us. This reply would be satisfactory to us, though we are not sure that Hume could consistently use it. Again, on Hume's behalf, a strong reason may be given for the omission of contrariety from the list of suggestive relations. It is that no objects are contrasted with one another save those which have a common nature, or general resemblance, on which nature, as a background, their differences become prominently noticeable. An elephant is contrasted with a mouse, not with a pebble, because the two objects first mentioned are both quad- rupeds. A giant is contrasted, not with a shrub, but with a dwarf or a child, because the latter also are human beings. White is contrasted with red and hot with cold, because these things have an underlying sameness; we do not oppose white to hot, or cold to red. Coesar, passing through an Alpine vil- lage, remarked that he would rather be the first man there than the second in Rome ; such a thought would not have occurred to him had not both the petty village and the world's great capital been alike the dwelling-places of men. The antithesis of objects is founded on their likeness no less than on their dissimilarity. Such being the case, it must be allowed that, without simi- larity, contraries could not suggest one another, and, indeed, § 115. ASSOCIATION OR SUGGESTION. 271 that contraries suggest one another by reason of their radical likeness rather than of their opposite qualities. This is evident, because things which are so different from each other as to have no noticeable' sameness, do not suggest each other at all. Yet, while likeness, not difference, is the bond of association in cases of contrast, it is also clear that contrariety strengthens this bond, and intensifies the suggestive tendency. We more readily think of an opposite than of an object which, without contrast, may partake of a generic resemblance. This seems to result from the desires of the mind: for, if we are seeking rational knowledge, contrast contributes to th^' clearness of our analysis, and is nat- urally sought on this account; while, if we have practical ends in view, we naturally aim to know what may disappoint, as well as what may gratify, our wishes. Contrariety, therefore, may be considered a ground of suggestion, yet only in a secondary way, and because of certain motivities which operate in connec- tion with the law of resemblance, and qualify its workings. Con- sidering, then, contrariety as a peculiar and important mode of the law of similarity, and, on this account, omitting it from a gen- eric enumeration, there remain the laws of contiguity, of im- mediate consecution, of cause and effect, and of resemblance. § 115. Contemplating these again, carefully, two t^eif71^d^o?S- thoughts arise. First, it is apparent that any one ^^J' , . .r. of the three laws first mentioned, operates only Both explained by , i • i i i i i / • the law of redin- wJien objccts iiave Dcen already, at some previous nSuton, Porter, time, pcrccivcd, or imagined, to co-exist in the re- lation to which the law refers; that is, when the thoughts of the objects must have been previously associated in the mind : but tliis is not the case with respect to tJie law of similar- ity. For how frequently, in meeting people whom we have never seen before, Ave are reminded of those whom we have seen, faces suggesting faces with which they have never previously been consociated in thought! But no place, no date, no event, how- ever noted, can, while viewed simply in itself, suggest any ob- ject not heretofore connected with it in our knowledge or con- ception. Thus the law of resemblance, including that also of contrariety, is separated by a radical distinction from the other suggestional relations. Secondly, since the laws of contiguity, of consecution, and of cause and effect, operate only after the previous co-existence of conceptions in thought, we are led to conjecture that this co-existence may be, or may indicate, the es- sential source of the efficacy of all these laws. This conjecture is confirmed by the fact that cases occur which cannot easily be explained by any of the laws under consideration, yet which, nevertheless, fall under the general law of simultaneity of concep- tion. The hearing, or the remembrance, of a name, instantly suggests the idea of the object to which it belongs, although the object and its name may have no other relation in thought than that of the sign and the thing signified. Cassar and Cicero may suggest one another because tbey were contemporaries, 272 THE HUMAN- MIND. § 115, fellow-citizens of Eome, and actors in the same historical events; but the names of Caesar and Cicero, respectively, suggest the thought of their owners without reference to the relations of time or place or efficiency. Another illustration of this point is found in the tendency of any part of any object to suggest the other parts. One precept of the art of war or of government may suggest another, simply because both are members of the same whole. Indeed, as Prof Stewart says, " There is no possi- ble relation among the objects of our knowledge which may not serve to connect them together in the mind." In order to such a connection or association, it is needful only that the objects, as related to each other in some way, should appear together before the mind's attention. This generic law Hamilton styles the law of simultaneity; that founded on the resemblance of objects, he calls the law of affinity. Thus all the laws of suggestion are re- duced to two. The further question now arises whether these two laws may not be reduced to one, inasmuch as their operation is the same? Is there not some principle, more fundamental than either, lying at the basis of both ? Hamilton, answering this question in the affirmative, announces the law of redintegration; and Porter, yet more clearly than Hamilton, explains the principle of this law. We have seen that ideas, as such, do not attract each other, and that their association must result from some power or ten- dency resident in the substance of the mind. Now a tendency in the mind to redintegrate, or render again complete, any complex state formerly experienced and now renewed in part, accounts satisfactorily for all the phenomena of suggestion. Of course, in one sense, no mental state or action can be the same as one previously experienced; a past activity is gone, and cannot literally be recalled. Yet we style things the same when they are precisely similar ; and this especially applies to our suc- cessive conceptions of the same object. In this way we speak of several persons having the same idea at the same time, and of one person having the same idea at successive times ; nor can the thought be readily expressed in any other way. The redin- tegration, therefore, or complete repetition, of a mental state, is, strictly speaking, the completion of a state exactly similar to one previously entertained. A tendency to such redintegration explains alike the law of simultaneity and that of affinity. With respect to the former, we know that the mind, while perceiving or considering objects, can entertain several conceptions at the same time (§ 29). This is true even when the objects may be presented, not at once, but in succession. In driving rapidly through the country, we remember what we have just seen, even while noticing new objects; and, in listening to an interesting speech, the leading thoughts of it are borne in mind as the ora- tor progresses. Thus the mind, by a power of collection, adds to the natural multiplicity of present objects. Such being the case, we may hold that a number of conceptions are being con- § 115. ASSOCIATION OR SUGGESTION. 273 stantly conjoined in the same exercise of energy. If any one of these be renewed, the redintegrating tendency, under the action of favorable conditions, will recall the rest, or at least some of them. This same tendency explains the law of affinity, though not so obviously as the law of simultaneity. When things have any community of nature, or are alike in any respect, our con- ceptions of them necessarily possess a certain common part or element. Hence, in thinking of any object, we partially re-form the conception of any other similar object which we have pre- viously seen. The redintegrating power lays hold on the part of the conception thus renewed, and, by means of it, recalls the whole idea. The portrait of Sir Philip Sydney brings to one's mind that of Queen Elizabeth, for no other reason than that Sir Philip wore ruffles. His ruffles suggest those of the queen ; these again, through the law of simultaneity, suggest her countenance and entire appearance. We accept redintegration as the radi- cal regulative principle of reproductive thought. At the same time, difficulty may often be expected in the application of this principle to the explanation of particular instances. Frequently intermediate thoughts are unnoticed, or unexpressed; in such cases, the missing links of the association can be supplied only from conjecture. Hobbes — the great phil- osophical supporter of absolute monarchy — gives an illustration of the natural succession of our ideas, not more remarkable than may be constantly met with in the experience of daily life, yet remarkable for this, that the inaccurate explanation of it by that distinguished man, has been quoted with approval in all the leading works of mental philosophy since his time. Some one, he says, in a conversation regarding that civil war which ended in the decapitation of Charles the First, asked abruptly, " What was the value of a Roman denarius ? " Hobbes's explanation is that of a true absolutist. He supposes that the circumstances of treachery and wrong attending the death of the king sug- gested those attending the death of our Saviour; that these again suggested the thirty pieces of silver for which our Lord was be- trayed ; and that then the thought of Roman money in general suggested the denarius. Is it not more likely that the interro- gation had reference to that incident in our Saviour's life, when he said, "Show me a penny," that is, a denarius; and when he enjoined obedience to lawful rulers ? If this be so, the state of the man's mind may have been that of inquiry as to the right- eousness of the king's condemnation, and not the deep disap- proval which Hobbes supposes. But, whichever explanation be adopted, either will illustrate and confirm the law already given, the radical law of suggestion, viz., that the mind tends to redin- tegrate any complex state which it may have already experi- enced and which it may have partially renewed. This radical law of association brings to view the intimate connection subsisting between the powers of attention, acquisi- tion, and suggestion. These powers are so united in operation 274 THE HUMAN MIND. § 116. that no modes of sequence are possible in the suggestion of ideas, which have not been preceded by corresponding modes of co- existence while the ideas have been contemplated and acquired. The principle of redintegration is simply the specific statement that the tendency resulting from the exercise of energy in acqui- sition and attention, is a tendency, not simply to the renewal of an activity at some future time, but to the renewal of a complex activity in its several parts. It is, however, to be noted, that the entire redintegration of a past mental state seldom, perhaps never, takes place. Some of the more prominent conceptions belonging to such a state may be revived, and may, before they depart, be the means of recalling others; the greater portion of our thoughts pass from us into utter oblivion. Often even circumstances or particulars which have been of special interest, are not brought to mind in connection with the thought of an object or event. Conflicting suggestive tendencies are continually striving, with varying suc- cess, for the control and use of our mental energy ; in addition to which the current of reproductive thought is constantly checked, interrupted, or turned into some new channel, by the stronger activity of immediate cognition. Thus the actual operation of the redintegrative tendency is simply to reproduce, from past thought, selections which find, in our present thinkings, the opportunity to renew old companionships. § 116. The character of the trains of thought, sup- SSo^r °preS?: plied under the foregoing conditions, difi"ers greatly ence orthesecon- in different pcrsous, and in the same person at dif- ges[ion!^^-° ^"^' fcrcut timcs; let us consider the causes of this dif- SS)ndar^£wl^*^ fcrencc. These may be indicated by saying, that redintegration, the primary law of suggestion, is constantly modified by secondary laws, which may be called the laws of associational 'preference. We shall state and discuss the more important of these. First, then, we say that the tendency to redintegration is greater or less according to the amount of intellectual energy with tvhich any conjunction of ideas may have been previously entertained. This law, like the one which it qualifies, operates from our prior thinkings, and may be directly inferred, as a corollary, from the law of redintegration. For, if the original energy of a mental state provides a tendency to its complete restoration, on the oc- casion of any allied thinking, it is easy to see that this tendency will be greater or less in proportion to the amount of energy originally exercised. That some such principle operates is evi- dent from certain classes of phenomena which have been care- fully noted by philosophers. For example, objects are more likely to be recalled which have occupied the mind for a con- siderable length of time. The traveler who beholds the won- derful cataract of Niagara, and who fears that he may never see it again, gazes long on the majestic spectacle, that he may keep a picture of it in his mind. Again, it is a trite remark that at- I 116. ASSOCIATION OR SUGGESTION. 275 tention adds to the retentiveness of memory, and, in most per- sons, is necessary to any considerable acquisition. In vain we read the noblest authors, and hear the ablest speakers, if we hear and read without attention. Interest in any object or event fixes it in our remembrance, because, in this way, our regards have been centered upon it. So, also, repetition of a thought commits it to the memory. Few have that marvelous faculty which receives and retains, without an effort, long discourses, and even long lists of unconnected names and dates. Most of us use the aid of repetition, as school boys do when they learn rules and verses. These and similar statements set forth cases in which a considerable amount of energy is exercised, either at once or in successive efforts, upon some given combination of thoughts. Moreover, it is evident that only the more promi- nent thoughts in a combination recall one another, the reason being that the energy of attention has been given to them and their mutual relations. The remaining thoughts, having been neglected, are forgotten. It is to be noticed, also, that circum- stances which detract from the energy of attention, lessen our ability to recall. Nervous excitement or mental agitation weak- ens both our first perception of objects and our subsequent rec- ollection of them. And things which have been seen only among other interesting sights, are not readily remembered, the energy of attention having been divided and diminished. Another law, subordinate to the radical principle of redinte- gration, may be thus announced: the suggestive power acts more or less readily according to the degree of the coincidence of the repro- ditcible thought luith ones permanent intellectual tendencies, luhether natural or acquired. No fact is more patent than that men, from their very birth, differ in their mental endowments and inclina- tions ; this difference, too, increases during their subsequent lives. Not only some men are born poets, but others, just as truly, are born artisans, men of business, orators, philosophers, statesmen. These differences pertain, not merely to the tastes and motive dispositions of men, but to the very cast of their intellectual faculties. One essential qualification for successful business is the ability to remember every necessary item just when it ought to be remembered. How unfitted for such a task is the poet, whose mind rejects the real and practical, and continually pur- sues the creations of his fantasy! The philosopher, who seeks to know causes, effects, laws, principles and systems, in the gen- eral, thinks of instances only as related to principles, and allows the special facts and practical details, with which the statesman deals, to slip his mind. Occasionally some intellect combines such contrasted characteristics as are generally separated ; then we see the man of varied and versatile talent. Ordinarily every mind has a peculiar bent of its own. These remarks may be abundantly illustrated from the more successful works of dra- matic authors ; for a certain uniformity of character may be seen to pervade the thoughts, no less than the deeds, of the several 276 THE HUMAN- MIND. § 116. persons in the play. When a permanent general tendency, whether constitutional or acquired, unites its power with that of a specific reproductive tendency, a special readiness is mani- fested for some particular line of thought. Such is the operation of this law. A third subordinate law of suggestion is, that la^pse of time tends to iveaTcen the association of our ideas. We may question whether any power diminishes and is lost through the mere cir- cumstance of its being unexercised. An ounce of gunpowder, perfectly dry, hermetically sealed, and inclosed in an impervious case, would probably display precisely the same amount of ex- plosive and expansive force at the end of one thousand years as on the day of its being put away. But, in the great majority of instances, an unexercised power grows weak, probably through the abstraction of its energy in the exercise of other related poivers which operate in other ways. Thus the quality of wood as fuel becomes totally lost through that gradual process of decay which reduces it to vegetable mold. Something like this may occur in the mind. There is no doubt that numes, faces, facts, and particulars, casually noticed, are remembered but for a short time. After a week or a month or a year, they are lost and for- gotten. For a season they recur occasionally, and are easily re- called; but one by one they disappear and become to us as if they had never been. This may be accounted for, in part at least, by a kind of absorption of energy from the reproductive tendencies, through the use of it in the action of allied potencies, and by the comparatively low place, in the rank of recollectible ideas, to which tendencies thus weakened are reduced. They may not become wholly extinguished; a faint capability of re- vival may remain; but they are excluded from consciousness through the activity of more powerful competitors. Whether any acquisition of the mind can be so utterly lost as not to be reproducible in another state of being, and under specially favor- able and stimulating conditions, is a question upon which we shall not now enter. We must, however, notice an exception to the law tion t??il law^E *'b^^ reproductive tendencies grow weak through pMned by the lapse of time. Aged 'persons generally remember the of oSfeM.°^^^ °^ events and scenes of their early days more vividly than those of their subsequent life, or those even of their latest experience. The explanation of this phenomenon depends on the principle that one law of suggestion may be counteracted by another. We have already seen how earnestness of attention, frequency of repetition, and depth of interest, by increasing the amount of intellectual energy originally exercised, create a strong reproductive tendency. The operation of these causes in early life is beautifully delineated by President Porter. He says, "The objects and events of childhood were contemplated by the mind at first with an almost exclusive and absorbing attention. The few persons that stand out in so bold relief from the background § 116. ASSOCIATION OR SUGGESTION. 277 of life when life is reviewed, filled its entire foreground when life was all in the future ; for they were the only persons with whom the child was brought in contact. The memorable occurrences of childhood were the absorbing subjects of thought for days before they occurred. They were often reviewed with fond re- flection after they were past. The learning to count ten, or one hundred, the wearing a certain dress; the beginning of school- life; the long-anticipated, the often-reviewed and recited, visit to some relative, the first considerable journey, the first party, the first composition — were most important occurrences in their time, and spread themselves over a large portion of the horizon of the infant life." Such is a true picture of the activity of the intellect in the freshness of its youth. The causes productive of this activity are wanting in later life, and particularly in old age. Even in business, men often give just so much considera- tion to transactions as may be necessary, and then immediately dismiss them, that other afiairs may likewise receive attention. It is not to be wondered at, that earlier impressions maintain a pre-eminence amid others which, though recent, are inherently so weak. Besides, here, as in most cases of ascendency, the more potent energies renew and prolong their reign. While past events themselves may be long separated from us, those thoughts by which we recall them, may have been entertained frequently throughout life: so that the strength of a present recollection may be in part derived from an experience not very distant. This cause of prolonged memory operates, not only in regard to the events of childhood and youth, but also in regard to any events which may deeply interest us, and which we may afterwards recall. The aged soldier, who has participated in hard-fought battles, easily recounts the incidents which he has described so often: "He shoulders Ms crutcli, and shows how fields were won." The retired lawyer gives the details of some great contest in which, years ago, he conquered a proud place in his profession. The statesman sets forth accurately that political situation in which he first rose to eminence, or in which, in some signal way, he was enabled to serve his country. We have now mentioned three general laws modifying the exercise of the associative power. They operate, respectively, from previous energy of thought, from permanent intellectiwl habits, and from the gradual abstraction of energy through the operation of tendencies allied to those thus weakened. Other modifying laws beside these might be named. For example, it is evident that suggestion, in common with our other mental powers, exhibits various degrees of vigor or of debility, as a result of health or sickness, rest or fatigue, and other physical conditions, which afiect the life of the human spirit. There may, in fact, be as many subordinate laws as there 278 THE HUMAN MIND. § 117. are general causes to modify the operation of the fundamental law. But the principal laws are those which we have discussed. The law of habit § ^^"^ ' When wc remember that the associative in its relation to principle rcsults from a prior exercise of energy thoujhir^^^" ° and is a tendency to the repetition of a prior act, KeMan^d^st'^ewart^ ^^ ^^ evident that the law of redintegration is in- timately related to the law of habit. . Some differ- ence has existed in regard to the precise nature of this relation. Keid remarks, "I believe that the original principles of the mind, of which we can give no account but that such is our constitution, are more in number than is commonly thought. But we ought not to multiply them without necessity. That trains of thinking, which, by frequent repetition, have become familiar, should spontaneously offer themselves to our fancy, seems to require no other original quality but the power of habit." On the other hand, Stewart, having quoted these words, says, "With this observation I cannot agree, because I think it more philosophical to resolve the power of habit into the association of ideas, than to resolve the association of ideas into habit" ("Elements," chap. v.). This opinion of Stewart is un- tenable. Even allowing, what appears likely, that every habit contains an intellectual element, and that this originates from the repetition of conceptions through the action of the sugges- tive power, it is clear that all habits save those which regulate thought only, include additional elements which cannot be ac- counted for by the association of ideas. Take habits of anger or of calmness, or those of decision, or of irresolution, of per- severance, or of endurance. While these involve certain recur- ring modes of thought, do they not consist yet more in certain activities of spirit which, through exercise, have grown into strong motivities? As to Keid's statement, we allow that the spontaneous return of "trains of thought, which, by frequent repetition, have be- come familiar," may be regarded as the manifestation of a habit formed by the intellect. Yet we would rather say that habit and the suggestion of ideas originate in the same general prin- ciple of psychical life, than that this suggestion is simply one mode of habit. The common principle at the basis of both is that every spiritual exercise leaves in the soul a tendency to its repetition. This tendency is produced, as we especially perceive in many associations of thought, even when tne exercise may have been only once experienced. But we do not call such a tendency a habit, unless it both result from many similar ex- periences and is causative of frequent repetitions. Suggestion cannot be resolved into habit, nor habit into suggestion; but they are closely related through a common origin. Let us dwell, for a moment, on the term hahit^ The term hawtde. ^\^{qY^^ bccause of its various meanings, may be the ground of some confusion. This word is the exact Latin equivalent of the Greek e^ii, which signifies a hold- I 118. ASSOCIATION OR SUGGESTION, 279 ing, or a holding of one's self, that is, the, condition of anything as to its internal state, or constitution. In this sense we yet speak of nervous, phlegmatic, healthful, and diseased, habits of the body. Ordinarily, however, the term signifies a tendency ac- quired by repetition, and causative of the frequent performance of some action. We spealj: of habits of study, of industry, of thought, of virtue. This is the meaning in which we have used the word while inquiring whether every suggestive potency is a habit. Finally, we apply the term, not to the tendency, but to the action, or mode of action, resulting from it, considered as thus resultant. We say it was his habit to study earnestly, to take snufi", to speak loudly. To express this meaning the word custom i& oitQn employed; and, in this signification, a habit or custom differs but little from a practice ; the distinction being that the latter does not suggest the existence of a corresponding tendency. The notion of facility naturally connects itself with that of habit, and is sometimes suggested by it, but is not in- cluded in it. We cannot agree with Prof Stewart, who defines habit as an acquired facility, and who says that " the dexterity of the workman, the fluency of the orator, the rapidity of the accountant," are habits; they are rather results accompanying habits. " — y Differences of view exist as to the extent of the office of the suggestive power. The Associationalists make this power the source of all our ideas save those which may be regarded as im- pressions from without; and they account for belief and memory, judgment and reasoning, by the unioA of associated conceptions. The formation of such doctrines arises from a superficial analysis of the facts of intellectual life, from an undue desire for simpli- city, and from a disposition to interpret the laws of spirit by a reference to those of matter. No views, however, could be more repugnant either to the common judgment of men or to severe philosophical inquiry. At the same time, we should mark the pervading influence of the suggestive power. While association) does not, of itself, form new conceptions or convictions, nor even^ analyze and combine those already in possession, it is the agency through which past thinkings are made present, and from which our higher faculties receive the greater part of the materials which they elaborate. Without this power of suggestion, mem- ory and recollection, fantasy and imagination, and the pro- cesses of reason, could never be experienced. § 118. Some writers confine the operations of the umiTed to weas'^of associativc powcr to thoughts which have only an ^^cWentai connec- accidental councction with each other, referring to Kant, Bruckner, some other faculty suggestions which pertain to the necessary connection of things. Kant limits the "law of association" to "empirical ideas"; Bruckner, the earnest disciple of Leibnitz, defines association as "non qusevis natu- ralis et necessaria idearum conjunctio, sed qu8B fortuita est, aut per consuetudinem vel affectum producitur, qua ideae, quae nullum 280 THE HUMAN MIND, % 119. naturalerri habent inter se nexum, ita copulantur, ut, recurrente una, tota earura catena se conspiciendam intellectui praebeat." The question might be regarded as one of terms, though it may also be used in support of the theory that a certain class of our ideas suggest each other aside from any previous association. To us such a doctrine seems, not absurd, yet unnecessary. Con- ceptions whose connection, as setting forth a true necessity, has a necessitudinal reference, when once conjoined in the mind, may thereafter suggest each other in precisely the same way as those which have merely an accidental connection. There is no good reason to question that they may, and do, suggest each other under the Jaw of redintegration. This is a sufficient ac- count of those associations whereby \^e are enabled to reason from cause to effect and conversely, by applying that knowledge of laws which we have obtained from experience (§ 92). Seeing the outside of a book, the printing on its pages is suggested; whereupon judgment adopts this conception and asserts its truth. Even our notions of those things which are connected by abso- lute or ontological, as distinguished from empirical, necessity, suggest each other according to the ordinary law of association, and need no other law to explain their conjunction. This prin- ciple does not account for their first union, nor for the first pro- duction of any intuitional conceptions and convictions. This must be sought for in the immediate perception of the mind. Afterwards, however, redintegration may reproduce them to- gether in memory, and in imagination. Thus, in noticing any action, we at once perceive it, not simply as an action, but as the action of some power residing in some substance : after which, even in dreaming, action, power, and substance, are mutually suggestive. But, should any think that one of these ideas would suggest another without such previous perception — that it would do so by reason of the very constitution of the mind — this may be allowed as probable, or, at the least, credible; to this ex- tent, only, Kant's doctrine of the intuitions might be accepted (§§ 57-84). CHAPTER XXVII. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS. Defined and iuus- § ^^^' Analysis and Synthesis are two modes of trated. mental activity which are to be distinguished from aS^to ^Snc^I thought, but which constantly take place in con- ^X' """^ *° °^" section with thought, and with belief. They affect equally the working of these primary powers; be- cause belief is experienced only as an attachment of thought. The terms analysis and synthesis are the Greek equivalents of the Latin resolutio and compositio; they literally signify a taking apart and a putting together. So far as the intrinsic meaning of the § 119. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS, 281 words is concerned, analysis and synthesis might express any kind of separation and of union. In chemistry analysis is the actual separation, for scientific purposes, of any compound sub- stance into its material elements; and, for aught we see, any actual uniting of elements so as to form a compound, might be called a synthesis. Ordinarily, however, in philosophy, these expressions refer to a kind of sundering and joining in thought ofthz dements or constitutive parts of things. In other words, analysis is the separating of the conception of an object into the concep- tions of its several parts; while synthesis is the uniting of the conceptions of the several parts into that of the one object. Our conception of an ordinary triangle might be analyzed into those of a plane surface — of three straight sides — of three angles — and of certain special relations in which these things may be, and often are, conjoined. Our conception of a pin might be resolved into those of a short stiff wire — of a head — of a point — of the mutual relations of these parts — and of the fitness of the little instrument for a certain use. Our conception of an apple may be decomposed into those of fruit — of a general size and shape — of certain contents of seeds and an eatable body, inclosed within the smooth peel — of a peculiar taste and juiciness — and of the mutual relatedness of these elements. A synthesis would take place when, from any of the foregoing descriptions, the notion of a triangle, or a pin, or an apple, should be formed. Such a synthesis gives a more perfect conception of the object than we can have without the preparatory analysis; the expression of it in language is what we mean by logical definition. Ideas often admit of analysis when the objects of them cannot be literally taken to pieces. The sides of a triangle coul(3*-never be removed from the plane surface so as to leave the latter by itself; nor could the angles be removed from the sides. In de- fining a sphere we think of a solid body of a certain shape ; this shape could not exist in separation from the body. A vow is a promise made,to God; but, in analyzing a vow, though we can think separately of the promise and of its direction, we cannot literally take them apart. The separation of parts or elements, where it is possible, may assist analysis, but it is far from being the counterpart of the operation in the mind. If the constitu- ents of a tree were so separated, that one could see the roots in one place, the trunk in another, the branches and twigs in an- other, and the leaves in another, the ideas thus obtained would not give the analytic conception of a tree. There would be need to see, or to construct in imagination, a tree with all its parts in their proper relations to one another. Even chemical analysis is so called by reference to an inward perception of elements, not as they may be in actual separation, but as they are in com- bination. It aims at that mental analysis which would ascer tain and separately consider the elements as they exist in their relatione to each other in the compound. In short, by analysis, we think separately of the parts or elements of an object, but do not 282 THE HUMAN MIND. § 119. think of them as separated. On the contrary, we think of them as related and united to each other; and this last conception — that of the mutual relation of the constituents — is often the most important result of our intellectual work. Let it be borne in mind that analysis and synthesis are operations which affect our ideas; they are not operations which affect the objects of the ideas. Sometimes we speak of the analysis of this or that ob- ject, the analysis of some battle, or some crime, or some paint- ing, or some geographical territory. But this means only a detailed description, in other words, an analytic setting forth, of our conception of .the object. Again, in analytic, as well as in synthetic, thought we think of all the elements of an object, including the relations of the parts to each other, at tJie same time. The difference is that, in analytic thinking, we also regard each element successively with a special exercise of attention, while in synthetic thought we do not do so. In analysis we give separate, but not exclusive, attention to each element. Modern psychology teaches that the mind can think of more than one object at once. In synthetic conception we think of but one object, composed of several parts; in analytic conception we not only think of the whole object, but also, and with a special exercise of energy, consider succes- sively each several part as related to the rest; we may even bo said to think of two objects, the first being the analyzed whole, and the second each part as it is specially considered. In an- alysis our attention is more or less drawn off the whole to each part in its turn ; in synthesis it is more equally distributed. Yet we do not in analysis give exclusive thought to any element, forgetftil of its place in the whole ; when such exclusion takes place, analysis has passed into abstraction. For this reason, and in strict accordance with the Greek derivation of the word, an- alysis might be defined a loosening up, rather than an entire sep- aration, of the elements of a compound notion. We cannot deny, however, that the conception of analysis may be so enlarged as to include not only the first separation of the constituent thoughts from one another, but also their entire abstraction into indepen- dent notions. The word is employed sometimes in this secondary sense. Having analyzed the idea of ordinary milk into those of a fluid, white, sweet, nourishing, secreted by the cow, and a common article of food, we might say that the notions fluid, whiteness, sweetness, nourishment, secretion, food, were obtained by analysis from the conception milk ; and this would be true, though, in addition to analysis proper, abstraction was needed. From the nature of the case the analytic conception is not so instantaneous as the synthetic, because, in addition to the thought of the whole, it includes a successive attention to every part. When, after careful analysis, we reunite the parts of a notion, our thought is more perfect than it was at first. Our conception is freed from any obscurity or indistinctness. Nevertheless it is again properly styled synthetic. § 120. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS. 283 Anal sis distin- § ^^^- Again, let US note that analysis is not the guished from the divisioii, that IS, the logicol division^ of notions, and SlIsi8°\om ^toe SYNTHESIS is not the generalization of notions. _ Logical fd^aT*^**^""' °^ division takes place when, by the successive addi- Hamiiton criti- tiou of differences to some generic idea, we form *^^^^^' various specific conceptions. Certain differences being added to the notion tree, we have the conceptions oak, beech, fir, elm, maple, walnut, apple, pear, cherry, and so forth. Strictly speaking, this is a division, not of the notion, but of the class of things to which the notion is applicable. So far from the idea tree being divided into parts, it is used intact, and a new part is added to form each specific conception. This is a synthetic, not an analytic, process. Many ancient logicians, however, used the word analysis to indicate this division of a genus into its species, and not the separation of a notion into its elements. This circumstance caused a confusion, from which the terminology of later times has been free. In like manner it is clear that synthesis and generalization are not of the same nature. The latter process is the formation of the idea applica- ble to a class from the conceptions of species or individuals in- cluded in the class; it is the formation of a general notion from specific or from singular notions. Such a process, had we no respect for a fixed usage, might be called a synthesis of the subordinate objects and ideas; because, in providing for the classification of difi'erent species and individuals, it figuratively unites the former under a genus, and the latter under a species. The formation of the notion tree, from the conceptions oak, beech, fir, elm, and so forth, might be named a synthesis of these subordinate objects or ideas ; for it puts them in one class. Yet the formation of a general notion does not involve any literal synthesis, or composition, either of the objects or ideas. On the contrary, generalization involves the analysis of singular and specific conceptions, so that their differences or peculiarities may be rejected, and their common part abstracted and retained. To style generalization or classification synthesis, is to apply the term in a sense not only different from that in which it is ordinarily and properly employed, but essentially the reverse of it. Such a use of language should be carefully avoided; it would intro- duce confusion. For this reason it is surprising that Sir Wm. Hamilton should regard induction — that is, the generalization of a law from specific instances of its operation — as a synthetic act, especially as he guards against the parallel misuse of language in reference to the term analysis. While discussing " the method of philosophy " ("Met." chap, vi.), he says, "Having discovered by observation and comparison that certain objects agree in certain respects, we generalize the qualities in which they coincide, that is, from a certain number of individual instances we infer a general law ; we perform what is called an act of induction. This induc- tion is erroneously viewed as analytic ; it is purely a synthetic process." Doubtless consideration would have led Sir William to 284 THE HUMAN MIND. § 121. reverse this last statement. If analysis be the separation of a conception into those elements which constitute its logical con- tent or comprehension, and if synthesis be the formation of this same content or comprehension by the uniting, or reuniting, of those elements, then the processes of generalization and in- duction are no more synthetic than that of logical division is analytic. A unit defined § ^^^- Gr^'^^^^^^ cleamess of thought on this topic A whole, a coml may bc obtained, if we consider the nature of that ciassls'^of "wiioTS^ unity which analysis separates into a plurality of me?hod?°S co^ parts, and which is the foundation of the synthetic ceiving of parts character of every complex notion. It is the one- w o es. j^^gg ^£ what philosophers call tlie meta'pliysicol whole. An object is one, or a unit, when it is a definitely distinguishable quantum of entity. Any entity absolutely indivisible, and which is without a plurality of parts or elements, can be thought of only as a unit. Almost all objects, however, are composite, and can be considered both as units and as pluralities. A composite unit — using the term composite in the widest sense — is properly called a whole. The question now arises, " Under what condi- tions does a plurality of entities constitute a whole, so that we can think and speak of it as one ? " The answer is that a plu- rality of things becomes one, or a whole, as being commonly and mutually related; and they are thought of as one, as a distinguish- able quantum of entity, when, by reference to such relatedness, tliG mind can grasp them in one conception. In philosophy the main points of difference between wholes do not concern the nature of the parts composing them, nor even the nature of the relations which unite the parts, though this last must be considered, but our mode of conceiving of the parts as related. The question whether or not, and in what sense, a whole is properly the subject of analysis and synthesis, depends on a knowledge of the different ways in which the mind con- ceives of parts in their relation to one another, and so may com- pose or decompose its conception of a whole. With respect to this conception of parts, four wholes Sl^g^erS^JL*?8^ — o^ classes of wholes — claim our attention, two of Not those consid- which are composed of parts indefinitely conceived, MLd synthe^s^s.^^^ and two of parts conceived definitely. Of the two first mentioned, that one which is composed yet more indefinitely than the other, may be styled the collective, or aggregate, whole. This emerges when things, however dissimi- lar and otherwise wanting in any noticeable direct relatedness, have a common relatedness to some entity, through which, of course, they are also related to each other. Things may be to- gether in place, or in possession, or time, or as objects of thought, or as subjects of discourse, as conjoint causes or causal condi- tions, or as conjoint effects, or in any other mode of assemblage. A city, an inheritance, a generation, a history, a policy, an ad- ministration, a variety, a plurality, considered as collections of § 122. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS. 285 objects which have a common relation, are aggregate wholes. Such wholes admit of the utmost diversity among the parts; for these need only have a common relatedness. The other indefi- nitely composed whole is the generic or logical. It arises when many individuals have a similarity of nature; every individual in such a class resembles every other in the class; and thus all are commonlj^ and mutually related. This whole, being founded on community of nature, embraces every individual that may have the common nature, and excludes all others. As a collec- tion might consist of similar things, the logical might be con- sidered a peculiar species of the collective whole ; but it is better to distinguish them by confining the term collective to wholes whose composition is not conceived of as based exclusively on the relation of similarity. A collection of things, as distinguished from a class, is never based simply on similarity of nature. The generic or logical whole is seen whenever we think of any genus or species of things as comprising individuals, or subordinate classes. Mankind, the horse, civil government, thought, words, blows, and every conceivable kind of a thing, are logical wholes. Our idea either of a generic or of a collective whole, is not obtained by a synthesis of our conceptions of its parts; and our ideas of the parts severally, are not obtained from an analysis of our conception of the whole. On the contrary, in conceiving of these wholes, the parts are referred to indefinitely, as things subject to the constitutive relations; which reference may be regarded as the result of an analysis, or abstraction. And our specific, or singular, ideas of the parts of any such whole, are not included in the conception of the whole as such. They are either given at first together with the conception of the whole, or, if subsequently formed, are obtained by a synthesis which successively distinguishes the different parts by the addition of differences, or accidents^ to the common character. Such being the case, it is plain that the separation of a whole into its parts by analysis, and the uniting of parts into a whole by synthesis, do not take place in relation to collective and generic wholes, but that these processes must pertain to wholes of another nature. § 122. Let us consider those wholes which consist or'^'mSmaS! o^ definitely conceived of parts. By this we do and the elemental not mean that their parts are conceived of without or metaphysical, ., •,•/ -i whole. any mdetermination (such exactitude seldom or position^^'^distS- never occurs in thought), but only that they are anaiys^s^and^'s^ couccived of with a dcfinitcness which does not thesis. belong to mere collections or classes of things. In common language, when a whole is contrasted with a total, we distinguish the definitely from the indefinitely com- posed whole ; but, aside from this contrast, the term whole is not restricted in this way; nor is the contrast found in ancient usage. Definite wholes are of two kinds and may be distinguished as the compositional or mathematical, and the elemental or meta- 286 THE HUMAN MIND. § 122. physical, whole. They differ from those already considered in this, that the ideas of the parts enter into the conception of the whole with more or less definiteness as to the number and spe- cific character of the parts. This is not the case with collections and kinds of things. They agree with these wholes in this, that the parts of every whole are commonly related. A tree consid- ered as composed of roots, trunk, branches, and leaves, is a whole of definite conception ; and these parts are united as par- ticipating in a common nature, as being together in space, and as forming a system of growth and reproduction. The common rela- tedness connecting the parts may not be so prominent and notice- able as other relations which belong to parts specially ; yet it is al- ways sensibly present and maybe discovered by careful inspection. Every part of animal is related to an individual life ; every part of a chair to sitting; all the parts of a stone to the size, hardness, and coherency of the body formed by them ; every detail of a plan or business undertaking is subordinate to a common end or result; every part of a geometrical figure is united to every other through a contiguity within definite spatial limits, as also by a community of nature; every moment in an hour, and every year in a century, is connected, through contiguity of time, with every other part. Moreover, the parts of definite wholes, generally, though not necessarily, exist in a fixed or systematic union, that is, in such relations that they could not change places without destroying the constitution of the whole. Hence the peculiar relations of each part often enter prominently into our conception of the in- tegral entity. . Considering a tree as a whole composed of roots, trunk, branches, and leaves, the peculiar relations of each part to the rest enter into our very conception of the tree. This is never the case with the indefinite wholes. The compositional, or mathematical, whole consists of parts which can exist — and therefore can he conceived to exist — apart from one another^ in space or in time. A human body, as composed of head, arms, trunk, and legs — a man, as made up of soul and body — a ton-weight, as containing twenty hundreds — a sentence, as embracing a number of words — a square, as formed by^he exact juxtaposition of two equilateral right-angled triangles — are examples of this whole. We call it compositional, because it may be conceived of as formed by the composition, or putting together, of suitable parts, according to their appropriate rela- tions ; it has been called mathematical, not because its parts al- ways admit of quantitative determination, but because it is the only kind of whole about which and the parts of which, mathe- matical reasonings are ever employed. Some, in defining this whole, say that " every part of it lies out of every other part " (Hamilton's "Log." Lect. XL); it is more exactly to the pur- Eose to say that the parts are such as may exist separately, hould we describe two equal circles with centers connected by a semi-diameter, the resulting figure would be a mathematical § 122. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS. 287 whole composed of two circumferences, though these would not lie out of each other. In like manner, a nest of boxes, in which one smaller box after another is placed in the box next larger than itself, is a whole in which the parts do not lie out of one another. When things are separable in space or in time, they are easily considered and conceived of separately ; this is a characteristic of the parts of the compositional whole. The different notes of a musical chord take place together, but they may be produced separately, and are therefore easy of separate conception. A walk, a speech, a fight, are easily decomposed as being wholes whose parts occur in succession. The process of thinking separately of the parts of a mathe- matical whole is often called analysis, while that of forming a conception of such a whole may, with some propriety, be styled synthesis. But, when precision is desirable, it would be better to term these processes the partition and the composition of con- ceptions, reserving the terms analysis and synthesis for modes of action m which a more searching and penetrating kind of thought is employed. This brings us to mention the metaphysical or elemental whole, as that with which — speaking strictly and precisely — analysis and synthesis are concerned. The human mind, in its natural judgments and thinkings, often distinguishes things from each other, which can have no separate existence in space or in time, and which yet are recognized as truly different in nature. Action cannot exist separately from power, nor change from action, nor quantity from entity, nor substance from quality, nor relations from their relata; yet these things can be separately thought of A tvhoh considered as composed in any measure of such inseparable parts is what we call a metaphysical or elemental whole. It is metaphysical, because those elements and relations specially perceived in its analysis form the data of that science which seeks the ultimate in thought and in being; it is ele- mental, because elements, as distinguished from parts (§ 124), are brought to view in its analysis. A satisfactory knowledge of any subject commonly demands that it should be considered as a metaphysical whole. Only in this way can we determine the ultimate elements of a thing and their relations. Elemental analysis, also, is necessary to that defined and perfected concep- tion of a thing in which our conceptions of its parts are properly co-ordinated and combined (§ 141). The various wholes which have now been mentioned, are not so opposed to each other that they could not exist in, or be com- posed out of, the feame unchanged set of materials. On the contrary, the same set of objects, as, for example, the human race, might constitute a collective, a generic, a mathematical, and a metaphysical, whole. But these wholes differ as to the nature of the relations according to which they exist or are constructed, and as to our conceptions of them derived from a diverse contemplation of constitutive relations. They are ex- 288 THE HUMAN MIND. % 122. elusive of each other as the conditions of diiferent modes of mental action; and it is also to be noticed that the same set of objects are not often conceived of as composing both an in- definite and a definite whole. The descriptions, given above, particularly of the metaphysical whole, differ somewhat from those to be found elsewhere. They are, however, what the philosophy of mental action demands; in which philosophy we find the principal, if not the only, use for such descriptions. Our chief purpose, in treating of this general sub- mSr^nfustratS j^ct, has been to distinguish and define the meta- from a considera- phvsical wholc. The conccption of this whole is tion of the meta- f i "^ t c n ,- »• i i • physical whole. the Ordinary lorm ot our conception ot anything as a unit, and is the basis of all our ordinary con- ceptions of things. Moreover, it is from the analysis of an object as being a whole of this sort, that a thorough understand- ing of the nature of the object is to be obtained. The partition of the mathematical whole being restricted^to the conceptions of separable parts and the relations of these as such parts, is far less searching than the analysis of the metaphysical whole. Not merely all philosophy, but also all clear and satisfactory thinking, involves elemental or metaphysical analysis, together with the synthesis which is conditioned thereupon. Some wholes, regarded metaphysically, that is, without limit- ing our analytic view of them to separable parts, are more loosely constructed than others. Their prominent internal rela- tions assimilate them to the mathematical, or even to the collec- tive, whole. A sentence, a speech, the philosophy of Aristotle, the history of Athens, would be examples, if by these words we would mean the whole contents of each object as dwell- ing in one's mind who had heard the sentence or speech, or read the history or philosophy. The analysis of such ob- jects differs from mere partition, because it includes a further analysis of the several parts; and the synthetic conception of them differs from mere composition, in that it is based on a co-ordination of parts according to the analysis (§ 141). The formation and use of the metaphysical whole will be more fully illustrated hereafter. Now, let us remark that sometimes, by an extension theufm'SSes^! ^f tcrms, a mental process is called a synthesis, although itas not a perfect instantaneous grasping of all the parts of a constituted whole; and that, too, with some propriety. Often the parts of a whole, or system, are so many that they cannot be conceived of absolutely at once, while yet, by an effort of mind, they may be brought under one brief process of review. Every step of this process is accompanied by a reference, more or less general and indeterminate, to those parts of the whole not under special consideration ; and so the difi'erent parts, though not viewed instantaneously at once, are seen continuously and in their proper relations to each other, and, in a sense, are considered at one time. § 123. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS. 289 These observations show how synthesis is said to ^a?^Sn.^ ^^ t^^® place in the formation of any scientific system. Attention to facts is the primary source of theoretic knowledge. Through the analysis of facts the mind perceives some certain mode of sequence common to many instances. Re- jecting other circumstances, and thinking of this mode only, we exercise the power of abstraction. Further, rejecting the thought of the individual and singular, we exercise the power of gen- eralization. Recognizing the conception thus obtained as ex- pressing a law universally valid, we form an induction — we obtain a scientific principle. All this involves analysis, not synthesis. When, however, a number of laws respecting the same class of objects have been obtained, these laws are found to be mutually related in various ways. They may be like and unlike, so as to be capable of classification; they may co-operate 'together; they may modify or limit or neutralize one another. The arranging and exhibiting of the laws of any science, so as to give a connected view of them and their relations, is called systematization; and it has a synthetic character. § 123. In this connection we may consider two oppo- Sf s^ttfetfc me^ ^^^^ mctJiods employed in philosophy, each of which thods in phi- has its proper use. The one has been styled the The^te^ms regres- Analytic or Rcgressivc, the other the Synthetic or expiSned'^"^'^^''''' Progrcssive. In the former we first consider in- dividual facts or instances, and then ascend from these Ut general principles and conceptions. In the latter we begin with the statement and explication of general principles and notions, and then descend from these to the specific and the individual. To state the matter in another way: in the an- alytic method we proceed from the complex to the simple, while, in the synthetic, we proceed from the simple to the complex. For what is general is simple, while the specific and the singular are complex. The terms regirif^ve and progressive, as applied to the analytic and the synthetic methods, may suggest that progress in phil- osophical knowledge is to be made by the latter method chiefly, the former being useful principally for the examination and at- testation of results. Such views have been entertained; but they are erroneous in the extreme. The true point of departure for scientific progress is found, not in the simple and general, but in the complex and singular. Regress and progress, as applied above to philosophical methods, properly refer only to certain logical orders of thought whereby we often naturally proceed from the general to the specific, or from the specific to the gen- eral ; they do not apply to the order of original scientific inves- tigation and construction. According to this latter order, the analytic might properly enough be styled a progressive, and the synthetic a regressive, mode of thinking. The analytic is the necessary method for all true progress in philosophy. It is the only means of correctly ascertaining the 290 THE HUMAN MIND. § 123. laws of any department of existence. Yet we are not to sup- pose that the only process employed in it is analysis. This is the radical source of its efficiency and value. But, from time to time, synthesis, marking relations between the principles se- cured by analysis, gradually builds them into a system ; which, nevertheless, is to be regarded as the product of the analytic, and not of the synthetic, method. Frequently, also, in the course of our investigation, conjectures or hypotheses, essentially syn- thetic acts, assist our progress. The synthetic method is the reverse of the analytic. Setting out with general conceptions and principles, it combines them into otbfers more complex. Such a method can have no value save so far as its general notions may be correct. Therefore, it is not a proper method in cases in which principles are doubt- ful, or but partially ascertained. Many systems of philosophy constructed on the synthetic method, have secured wide accept- ance through their wonderful ingenuity and consistency, yet are now regarded simply as remarkable phenomena in the history of the human mind. Two uses of the Tliem avc^ howcvcr, two applications of tJie syn- syntiietic me- tlietic method in loliicJi it may he employed to advan- 1. TcTcorrect and tage. First, it may, and should, be used in the more zation* IffThus Perfect systematization of any science whose prin- to serve didactic ciplcs havc bccu analytically determined. That 2!^To construct syntlicsis, which necessarily attends any process of caf pMos°ophy^*^" iiivcstigation, is insufficient for the clearest and most exact apprehension of a number of related doc- trines. This end calls for a careful review of results with refer- ence to their mutual relations, and an orderly arrangement of them with reference to these relations. In the synthesis of in- vestigation we successively unite together special parts of a system, without being able to show definitely their relation to larger parts, or to the whole. We proceed like the first excava- tors of Pompeii, who uncovered the several apartments of one house before proceeding to those of another, and who localized their labors now at a temple, now at a theater, now at a market- place. But, in the synthesis of ultimate systematization, we clear the streets and openings between the buildings, and we gradually behold residences, temples, theaters, market-places, gardens, walls and fortifications, in their proper proportions and relations. In connection with this synthesis of ascertained principles, important questions often present themselves; and many subordinate particulars also are determined. This s^^s- tematizing synthesis, whereby the analytically ascertained prin- ciples of a subject are combined in outline, and less essential ideas, combinations, and discussions are introduced afterwards, contributes greatly to render one's thought and knowledge exact and complete. Generally, also, it presents a better order for the communication of knowledge. Occasionally, it may be better to present a new system in that order in which its parts have been § 123. ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS. 291 constructed during analytic investigation. This order is always possible, and it is advisable when the investigator would exhibit to others his conformity to philosophic methods. But the ordi- nary aims of instruction call for the synthetic order of thought; which, therefore, is sometimes called the didactic. It is in this use that synthesis notably assumes a progressive character. For the learner receives first the leading principles of a system and their relations to each other, and, after that, less important and more numerous details are presented under each head in suc- cession. In this way he progresses rapidly and easily. According to the first application of the synthetic method it is employed merely for the co-ordination and presentation of principles which have been acquired by the method of analysis; it is merely an attachment and completion of the latter method. According to the second application^ we act independently of the analytic method, and directly construct a body of philosophy. This use can have place only when a considerable number of principles are well known, and admit of being combined and applied in various relations. This is the case with the mathe- matical sciences, such as algebra and geometry, and wath va- rious practical philosophies which constantly refer to the ac- quisitions of experience and common sense. Systems of ethics, of polite manners, of civil law, of political wisdom, of aesthetics, and of rhetoric, have been constructed in this way. Cicero's excellent treatise, " De Officiis," is an example in point. Hor- ace's "Ars Poetica" is another, but less perfect, illustration. Such systems serve a good purpose, though necessarily wanting in profundity. It is to be noticed that analysis is often used in the construction of them, not for the ascertainment of princi- ples, but with the object of more exact definition and apprehen- sion: and thus analysis plays a secondary part, just as synthesis does in the analytic method. From w^hat has now been said, it will be seen that, as regards progress in philosophy, analytic work alone secures new princi- ples, and is the more important. Synthesis has a subordinate office. The analytic and synthetic methods are to be distinguished from the analytic and synthetic modes of thinking; by the pre- dominance of one or the other of Avhich they are respectively characterized. The chief object of the present discussion has been to explain the nature of these modes of thinking. This explanation has been found, first, in a power of the intellect to conceive of a plurality of objects at once and to think of them as one when they may be united by some system of relations; and, secondly, in the further power to think successively of each part or element of the plurality, while thinking also, though with less energy, of all the rest. From this it is plain that analysis is naturally consequent upon a special direction of the atten- tion ; while synthesis naturally takes place when all the parts of a whole, together with their mutual relations, may be re garded with the same degree of mental energy. 292 THE HUMAN MIND. § 124 Analysis is the condition of abstraction and of gen- thea^^eiercfseYin ©ralization, and consequently of induction ; whilst the perceptive, the the oDDosite processcs of loffical divisiou and speci- reproductive, and (> ,-^ i* n , i , • ■'• the discursive iication are essentially synthetic, ghases of mental ^j^^g^ operations Continually modify all thought. Probably our first perceptions and ideas are syn- thetic, but lacking greatly in clearness and distinctness. The analysis of them, and their subsequent reconstruction under the exercise of the attention, render them available parts of human knowledge. Through a spontaneous analysis and synthesis, also, the various objects of immediate perception are perceived both as units and in their several parts. The separations and combinations of reproduction and imagination, depend entirely on the synthetic and analytic powers; while the discursive fac- ulty is supplied with its abstract notions and principles from analysis, and employs synthesis in its systematizations and de ductions. In short, every phase of mental life manifests the working of these powers. CHAPTER XXVIII. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. {Substance and Attribute.) Ai.ct.o-,«^^ +>,<.„! ? 124. Abstraction is the immediate ulterior result Abstraction the ul- 3 . i r. i i • f i terior result of an- 01 aualysis. Wc may spcak 01 the analysis oi the Related to the mathematical whole (§ 122), and so of the abstrac- SeStliwhoie?'^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^7 ^^ ^^^ parts. Wherever analysis may take place, abstraction, likewise, is possible. But synthesis and analysis proper belong to the metaphysical whole as such, not to the mathematical, the synthesis and analysis of the latter being better distinguished as composition and parti- tion. In like manner, abstraction proper belongs to the meta- physical whole only. The abstraction of the part of a mathe- matical whole need not be distinguished by any special name, other than mathematical abstraction; it is not of philosophi- cal importance. The reason on account of which the analysis and abstraction of the mind are directed to the parts of the met- aphysical whole as such, lies in the fact that the mental division of an object into its mathematical, or separable, parts, is not suf- ficient even for the ends of ordinary thought. We cannot, from such a division, adequately understand and express the nature of things. This purpose requires that we should consider and designate inseparable parts, such as powers, shapes, magnitudes, and attributes generally. The distinction, therefore, between mathematical and metaphysical wholes, as also other distincitions to be made in connection with this one, though abstruse, are § 124. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION 293 needful to a clear understanding of the workings of the intellect. For it is to be noted that the most subtle discriminations of phi- losophy are little else than the recognition and naming of dis- tinctions which the mind naturally makes in its daily thinkings : and their importance arises from this fact. The word dement is a term which frequently occurs toed^^^"^^^* ^^ ^^ philosophy. It signifies any of those parts of an object into which it is, or may he, separated by analy- sis; and which, therefore, may be separately considered by ab- straction. The parts of the mathematical whole are improperly, while those of the metaphysical whole are properly, elements. When the term element is distinguished from, and contrasted with, the term part, the latter refers to the mathematical, and the former to the metaphysical, whole. As analysis may take place in different ways, and may be more or less searching, till a re- sult is reached beyond which no further analysis is possible, so the elements of an object may be differently conceived of and enumerated. But, in every case, the elements are those parts which analysis has made the objects of distinct consideration. They may, or they may not, admit of further analysis. In connection with the process of abstraction, that of fi^Sr^S iuusl conception, also, as tJie act of tJw mind informing a com- Jated. pound or complex idea, maybe considered. A notion fined. " ofa thing may be formed by the composition of mathe- matical parts, and such a composition in its relation to the object might be spoken of as mathematical conception. Ordi- narily, however, conception signifies the construction of a thought by means of the synthesis of the parts of a metaphysical whole. This may take place without preceding analysis, various constitu- ent perceptions immediately uniting themselves so as to form one idea ; but our more perfect notions follow upon a careful analysis of the ideas first entertained by us; and this is the only way in which clear and satisfactory ideas can be formed. That conception is the synthesis of a metaphysical whole, is evident in the case of objects not naturally thought of as composed of separable parts. The idea of an ivory ball is formed from the elementary thoughts, a ball, white, hard, smooth, made from the tusk of an elephant, and fitted for use in certain games. A person having obtained these thoughts, either by his own observation or from the de- scrif)tion of others, would unite them by a more or less rapid syn- thesis ; it is plain that they are the parts of a metaphysical whole. But, even in the case of objects easily viewed as mathematical wholes, our notions are ordinarily formed by synthesis and not by composition. A tree may be considered as composed of roots, trunk, branches, twigs, leaves, and fruit, as separable parts; but our idea of a tree is not formed by the mental composition of these parts as in certain relations to each other. After one had seen the separable parts of a tree, he would, indeed, think of them as included within the object ; but his conception would also em- brace various elements characterizing the tree as a whole. lie 294 THE HUMAN MIND, § 125. would regard it as a material body, as a vegetable growth of a certain size and height, and as capable of reproducing its kind by a certain process. These thoughts would enter into his con- ception, as metaphysical parts. Therefore the tree, as a whole, would be viewed as a metaphysical, and not as a mathematical, whole. For the former exists when any of the parts conceived of, in the analysis and synthesis, are incapable of separate existence, whether any of the remaining parts are such or not (§ 122). From such instances it will appear that conception may be defined as tliai ad or process of synthesis whereby ideas or notions of greater or less permanence are formed. In other words, conception is a mode or species of synthesis. And abstraction is an act of analysis, differing, however, from mere analysis, in that we entirely dismiss from our attention, and often from our thought, every part or element save that which has specially engaged our regard. § 125. A peculiar difference is noticeable in the mind's guShed from nat- method of concciving and of abstracting, according Sd conclSion.°" as this may be more natural and accidental, or more methodical and logical. We therefore make a distinction between what we may call natural, and lohat may be styled logical, abstraction and conception. In logical conception and ab- straction an object is viewed as being substance and attribute, in other words, as being a thing with its qualities or characteristics. These modes of thought depend on the ability of the mind to distinguish a thing as a substance from the attributes by which it IS constituted and characterized. But that style of abstracting and conceiving which we have termed natural, and which is less refined and rationalized than the other, dispenses either wholly or in part with the distinction of substance and attribute, and deals with objects as immediately constituted by some other and less general relations. Logical abstraction may be considered as the extreme result of the exercise of the analytic power of the mind in its ordinary workings; while logical conception is that synthesis which reunites the parts separated in logical abstraction. The logical and the natural processes may be contrasted in this respect, that the distinction of substance and attribute, which enters into the former as their radical and formative part, applies equally to every entity or thing, whatever be its specific nature ; whereas no such radical distinction is used as a guide in nat- ural conception and abstraction ; but the parts or elements of an object are immediately thought of as things having their own proper characteristics. In the logical processes, the parts are considered only so far as their nature lends character to the objects as a whole. The whole doc ^^ ©Very important question respecting abstraction trine of abstrac- and Conception is directly involved in ^Ae doctrine tion ISvoived'^^S of substancc and attribute, which doctrine presents ^*a?tobute?^'^ to us the forms of the most refined mental action in conceiving of things; and as confusion has often been experienced in the attempt to explain the nature and mu- § 125. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 295 tual relations of substance and of attribute, our notions of these things may profitably be made a subject of discussion. . ,.^ ,. Before enterins: upon this, let us premise that, how- A scientific dis- ,.^ i, <• ^ i i- i i ^ j. j- ix, j- tinction, but not evcr difficult oi analytical understanding the dis- of scientific origin, ^ij^gtion between substance and attribute maybe it is not one for which the science of metaphysics is originally responsible. It is a natural product of the mind. When a mac. thinks of a guinea, and speaks of its shape, size, color, value, usefulness, and so forth, and distinguishes these things from the guinea as having them, he is distinguishing a substance and its attributes from each other. All that the metaphysician does is to name, and to explain, the distinction. ^ ^ ^ , ^ The bearina: of this distinction upon the doctrine We form abstract /• i , . ^ i , • ^ i j. j • notions of things 01 abstraction and Qonception may be presented m weu^i^^^^ftt^ the following statements, first, that the logical con- v^atefy ^MccSh ccpf^ou of GTi object is formed ivhen ice unite to the 5. s. Mill, Hanuil idea of a substance^ or thing^ those of the attributes n, quo e which properly belong to it; and, secondly, that tve form an abstract idea whenever we either abstract the notion of an attribute from that of ah object, or the notion of an object from thax of any one or more of its attributes. No one will dispute the first of these statements ; but, in regard to the second, it may be ob- jected that ive generally speak of the abstraction, not of substances, or things, but of attributes only. The fact alleged in this objection must be admitted. At the same time the expression of philosophical truth calls for a use of the term abstraction, according to which it may be applied to the ideas of substances as well as to those of attributes; for it can be shown that an act of precisely the same nature may take place in regard to the thing as in regard to its qualities. We cannot deny that eminent writers, speaking of abstraction, confine it to attributes only. Archbishop Whately says, " When we draw off*, and contemplate separately, any part of an object presented to the mind, disregarding the rest of it, we are said to abstract that part. Thus a person might, when a rose was before his eyes or mind, make the scent a distinct object of attention, laying aside all thought of the color, form, et cetera." President McCosh, in his " Intuitions," defines ab- straction, as " that operation of mind in which we contemplate the quality of an object separately from the object." And, in Mill's " Logic," we read, " An abstract name is a name which stands for an attribute of a thing." The explanation of such statements, and the truth on this subject, is, that the power of abstraction is much more noticeably exercised about attributes than about the objects to which they belong, while yet it is em- ployed about the latter also. Men often contemplate an object in some special light, or from some special point of view, reject- ing from their thought other aspects and the attributes which they would bring before us. Regarding some book simply as ornamental, we say that it is a handsomely bound and finished volume ; looking on it only as a collection of reading matter, we '296 THE HUMAN MIND. § 126. say that it is an octavo printed clearly, correctly, and on good paper; considering its contents, ,we say that it is an able and interesting work. In each of these cases we abstract, not an attribute simply, but tlie object^ as having certain attributes, from other attributes which also belong to it. And, so far as the nature of the act itself is concerned, the abstraction of the object from one or more attributes, differs not at all from the abstraction of one or more attributes from the object. When we consider some man as a citizen, as a son, as a husband, as a neighbor, or as a friend, we as much abstract him from characteristics foreign to the view we take of him, as we do his characteristics from him when we say that he is honest, or intelligent, or neighborly, or dutiful, or even when we say that he exhibits honesty, intelli- gence, neighborliness, or dutiful ness. Hence, in ordinary speech, conceptions of high generalization, such as are employed in wide scientific statements, are often styled abstractions, or abstract thoughts; and this equally whether they refer to things or to attributes. Moreover, the abstraction of substances, as well as of attributes, is involved in the doctrine, which all admit and teach, that abstraction is needed to form any common or general notion. Whately says, "Generalization implies abstraction"; McCosh, "Generalization is dependent on abstraction"; Hamilton (" Met." Lect. XXXV.), " Generalization is dependent on abstrac- tion, which it supposes; but abstraction does not involve gener- alization." If this be so, what is the abstraction involved in forming such general notions as those used above, — man, citizen, son, husband, neighbor, and others of similar character? Is it that of attributes only ? Or is it the abstract consideration of objects as possessing certain attributes ? Clearly the latter. If the foregoing observations be correct, the term Ind *c™re?&^*'*^'^ ahstract cannot be strictly confined to attributal stoSS *^^ *"' iiotions; nor the term concrete, which is the oppo- site of abstract, to substantial notions. This em- ployment of these terms has arisen from an exclusive considera- tion of the more noticeable action both of abstractive and of synthetic thought, and is not based on any inherent difference in the applicability of the terms. So far as the nature of ab- straction and of conception is concerned, we might, in thinking of some system of attributes, have a concrete attributal notion, while, should we think of the object simply as having some attribute or attributes, and to the exclusion of the rest, we would have an abstract substantial notion. The attributal conception to which we have now referred, — that is, the conception of attri- butes as such, — will receive our more particular attention (§ 131). Logical substance § ^^G. But here wc must remark, in explanation defined. New both of what has bccn said and of what we have rm propose . ^^^ ^^ ^^^.^ ihoX the word substance in logical dis- cussions, and when opposed to the word attribute, has a meaning quite different from what belongs to it elsewhere. Often this term signifies a material entity as occupying space. We speak § 126. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 297 of water aud clay as substances. In a wider sense it is applied to spirit and matter as the only known kinds of entity in which powers or active qualities reside. But tlie substance, of wlxich we rvow speaks is anything loliatever to ivhich an attribute may he said to hdong. In saying, "The length of the cable is immense," "The color of the rose is pleasing," "The skill of the orator is mar- velous," the terms length, color, and skill, stand for substances no less than the terms cable, rose, and oi^ator. For each of them admits of attributes. Indeed, since everything whatever that can exist has attributes, and can be thought of as having them, everything may be regarded as a substance. There is an an- alogy between this and the less extended uses of the term. As an ordinary substance, and as any spiritual or material entity, is characterized by the powers belonging to it, so anything what- ever is characterized by the attributes which may be predicated of it. But the wider meaning is plainly different from the more limited ones. Sometimes the phrase, logical substance, is used to distinguish the forni^r. We think it would be well if some other word than substance could be employed in discussions like the present, and, for this reason, we may sometimes, instead of sub- stance and attributes, use the terms '' substantum'' and ^^ attributa.'' Even barbarous language is not to be utterly rejected, if it may contribute to clearness of thought. We may be aided to an exact understanding of the notions expressed by these terms, if we consider some other terms and notions which, as being closely allied to those under discussion, may, with them, be regarded as tlie products and instruments of logical abstraction and conception. By entity we mean that which does or may exist m^S, deSi'edT*^ '^'^® essential nature of entity is simple and un- analyzable; in saying entity is that which exists, we define it from its property, not from its essential nature, just as we define air by saying that it is that which animals breathe. Existence is a mark for entity, though it is not a mark for any- thing less general than entity. Whatever exists is an entity. Whatever is supposed to exist is an hypothetical entity (§ 49) Whatever may exist is a possible entity (§ 74). Entity might also be defined, by its relation to our thought, as that of ivhich, or as if of ivJiich, we can conceive in any luay; or it might be illustrated and determined by enumerating its principal genera; of which more presently. The word entity means the same as the word thing in its widest use. We may think of things, or objects, or entities, without think- ing of them as existing. We may do this with respect to any par- ticular entity, and also with respect to entity in general. We have styled entity, as thought of without reference to its ex- istence, form, and our conception of it formed thought (§ 34). In the present discussion the word/or?7i will be used in a somewhat different sense from the foregoing; and our remarks will apply to entity whether conceived of as existing or without reference to 298 THE HUMAN MIND, § 126. its existence. Entity, or that wliicli exists, in general, or any entity, may be considered in two ways. First, ice may regard it luithout thought of the distinctions betiveen the particidar or specific entities included in it; in which case we may name it simple entity, or entity per se, or matter^ or materia prima. Secondly, toe may conceive of it as being, or as consisting of distinguishable entities; then, and so far as it is thus considered, we may call it form, OT formal entity. An object, every element of which is distinctly conceived of, is thought of wholly as form ; but generally we con- ceive distinctly of an object only in part ; so that the object is to VLspai't matter, Siud part form. Thus entity in general, or any entity, as conceived of in one way, may be all matter, and, as conceived of in another way, may be all form ; but generally it is both matter and form. Neither the conception of entity as matter, nor the concep- tion of it as form, of itself includes the idea of existence. But, inasmuch as the question, " Is there anything?" which refers to matter, naturally precedes the question, "What is it?" which re- fers to form, the notion of existence tends to unite itself with that of matter, and to separate itself from that of form. Hence, some- times, by the formal conception of a thing we may mean a thing viewed luith reference to its form only and without reference to its existence or non-existence, or even simply a conception of a thing as vieived luithout reference to its existence or non-existence (§ 35). This, though a natural metonymy, is a secondary use of language. Formal entity has been variously divided into Tne summa genera '> ^ . r> n of entity. They summa gcncra. We propose the lollowing enu- San(?enume?lted mcratiou without entering here upon any discus- TheT^radicai and ®^^^^ ^^ ^^^ merits, our prcscut employment of it the quantitative being Only incidental — Space, Time, Substance, enumeration. Power, Actiou, Change, Quantity, and Eelation- ship. In this list each category is to be construed as exclusive of every other. Space and time must be thought of to the ex- clusion of their quantity, though quantity resides in each of them. Substance and power must be distinctly considered, though all power dwells either in mind or in matter, the only two kinds of substances known to us. Action is to be consid- ered to the exclusion of the change which it produces, or tends to produce. And relation, or, as we would prefer to say, related- ness or relationship, which has no independent existence, must yet be independently regarded. Each of the foregoing ele- ments, as distinctly conceived of, is a formal entity; thought of simply as entity and without reference to its distinctive charac- ter, it might be called a material entity. When, thinking of them successively, we say, " This is space, this is time, that is power, that is action," we identify each as a formal with itself as a material entity. Thus we define these entities to ourselves, or rather exercise determinate ideas about them. The foregoing enumeration supposes an analysis of all objects into their ultimate elemental entities, and is the product of § 127. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 299 purely metaphysical thought. It presents seven fundamenta and the relations arising out of them and existing among them. Another logical division of entity, with another list of the ele- ments of existence, results from an analysis of things not so searching as that out of which the enumeration just given origi- nates. This second division is conditioned on the peculiar close- ness with which quantity inheres in each of the other categories, so that it is difficult for us to think of them deliberately without thinking of them as having quantity — as being quanta. The enu- meration, of which we now speak, omits quantity as a separate element, but considers each of the remaining members of the first enumeration as having quantity united with it. We have, therefore, as the quantitative elements of entity, space, time, substance, power, action, change, and relation. For relations ad- mit of addition and subtraction, and of the more and the less, as well as the other forms of entity. Elements being quanta — or quantities — the relations of quantity exist between them, as do also other relations which arise among them by reason of their own proper natures. § 127. Comparing the quantitative elements of i^fe7^i)rima and gj^^ity as to the rcspects wherein they agree, we find them alike in being conceivable as matter (§ 126) and as having quantity; but, aside from quantity, they difi"er totally as to form. Now, since entity, as characterized only by quantity, resembles entity as mere matter in being a constant factor in thought, and in being variously characteriza- ble by the possession of form (for matter possesses form, though matter as such is not conceived of as possessing it), this com- munity of nature, or character, may be indicated by calling en- tity merely as matter ^'materia 'prima,'' and entity merely as having quantity ^''materia secunda.'^ In the same manner, we might speak of a ^' forma prima,'' and a ^'•foiina stcunda," the one of these consisting of elements as determined by the absolutely ultimate analysis of being, and the other of elements as pre- sented by the quantitative analysis. At present we call atten- tion to the fact that the idea of quantity has a special tendency to unite with our more indefinite conceptions; hence the use of such words as something, anything, any one, and hence the deriva- tion of the indefinite article from the numeral one; and we re- mark further, that, for the analysis of ordinary thought, ^'materia secunda," alone, may be regarded as matter. The logical conception of substance — that is, of a substantum, or of the subject of attributes — difiers but little from that of '"''m/xteria secunda," of matter as having quantity. But entity, as substance, though regarded without any specific conception of form, is conceived of with a decided reference to its having some form ; as is indicated by the construction of the word substance. This is not the case with the notion of entity as matter. Sub- stance, also, is generally conceived of as afiected by numerical difference; for we speak more frequently of a substance, or of 300 THE HUMAN MIND. § 127. substances, than we do of substance simply. Matter, on the other hand, is more commonly spoken of in the general than as individual. Yet we may, in metaphysics as well as elsewhere, speak of a matter or of matters; and a thing — using this term in its widest and most indefinite sense — may be defined as a matter or a material entity. From the nature of the case, form cannot be sep- fnce?"chara^t5is- aratcd from substance except in thought; by SdeXdS^d.^ thought also it is united— that is, regarded as one — with substance. This union, as we shall see, is mainly identification — the identification of a thing, as thought of in one way, with itself as thought of in another. Form, con- sidered as thus united to substance, is called attribute. Re- garded as the basis of the diversity of entities, it is named dif- ference. As marking entity, so that objects are seen as having natures of their own, it is character or characteristic. Simply as revealing the nature of an entity, it is denominated quality ; this is its most radical and important aspect. And sometimes it is styled accident, this term being then employed in a wide meta- physical sense to signify that which in thought falls into union with matter. It is evident that the several quantitative elements of any en- tity may be regarded as substanta. Each is a distinguishable quantum, and each has form and attributes of its own. Gener- ally, however, when we conceive of a thing as a substantum — that is, as a something^ distinguished from the qualities belong- ing to it — we are thinking, not of a single element, but of a com- bination of elements. The question then arises, " Under what conditions is ,an assemblage of elements regarded as constituting a substantum, and as having the form or the attributes which we ascribe to it as such ? " We answer that this takes place whenever that assemblage, as constituting a metaphysical whole, is subjected to certain modes of conception and of abstraction, which we are now prepared easily to understand. A metaphysical whole (§ 122) exists whenever a teibutTdt^^'edS number of' the elements of entity, coi:iceived either JJeir reMion to absolutely or quantitatively, are united in some sys- whoie and^ its tcm of relations. As constructed out of elements S conception of absolutely ultimate (§ 126), such a whole may be them dependent regarded both as beins: matter and as beins: form, on ultimate meta- , i v» , • i j- ^ l- t. r -i. i physical analysis, this latter including quantity as one oi its ele- ments; or, if the object should be regarded only with that thoroughly differentiating thought in which every element is distinctly conceived — and not also with that thought which regards entity aside from difi'erences — it would be a whole of form only. With either of these wholes, whose elements are absolutely ultimate, ordinary logical processes are not directly concerned. They have to do rather with that metaphysical whole which is constructed out of quantitative elements, and not out of the absolutely ultimate elements of being, ahd which, § 127. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 301 therefore, may be conceived of as composed of a number of sub- stanta, each element being a substantum. Such a whole may be regarded as constituted out of three general parts; for it con- tains, ^^rs^, the several elemental substanta, or quanta, by whose union it is made to be a whole, secondly^ the forms, or differences, belonging to these substanta severally, and, thirdly^ the various relations whereby the substanta with their attributes are bound together into a system. Directing our attention specially to these relations, we see that they themselves may be regarded as substanta, that is, as being quanta and as having form or difference (§ 126). Adding them in thought, so far as they are quanta, to the quanta be- tween which they exist, and rejecting all thought of internal difference among parts or elements, we are enabled to think of the whole object as one distinguishable quanhim of entity — as a sub- stantum; while our formal conceptions of the several elemental parts, including the relations and excluding quantity, also unite themselves together and become the formal or attributal concep- tion of the' whole. According to the first of these modes of thought we regard the object — say, a ball — as a certain soine- thing; according to the latter we think of all its properties, its roundness, hardness, size, weight, color, in short, of its entire character. Such seems to be a satisfactory account of the formation and nature of the ideas of substance and attribute. At the same time, that general act of conception, whereby the, several quanti- tative parts are conceived of as constituting only one quantum or substantum, need not, we suppose, be preceded by specific and distinct conceptions of those parts severally. We may concede to the mind the power of perceiving a complex whole, as such, immediately. But probably that abstraction by which the non- quantitative parts or elements are separated from the substan- tum, and thereupon, and in their relation to it, regarded as qualities or attributes, is conditioned upon quantitative concep- tions of the parts. Be this as it may, it is clear that to conceive of a substantum or thing, is to conceive of a metaphysical ivhole^ as such, bid loith neglect of any distinction of parts; while to con- ceive of attributes is to conceive of elemental parts in their rela- tion to the ivhole, but ivith neglect of that element of quantity ivhich is cx)nsidered once for all in the substantum. Thus, both conceptions — that of substance and that of attribute — involve that extreme exercise of the analytic power of the mind whereby quantity, which is so intimately united with all other forms of entity, is yet distinguished from them. The analysis of an object, whether more or less lo^cS Mia^sis*^^ ^V^ly? either into its ultimate or into its quantita- ^ tive elements, may be styled metaphysical analysis. By means of it the mind conceives more clearly of the nature of things, and advances in scientific knowledge (§ 5). The other analysis, into substance (or subject, or thing, or substan- 302 THE HUMAN MIND. § 128. turn) and into form (or character, attribute, or quality), we call logical. It is employed to facilitate the comparisons and rea- sonings of the mind. The first analysis refers solely to the nature of things ; it is objective. The second regards things in their relation to two opposite modes of thought, according to one of which an entity is form, or difference, while, according to the other, it is matter or substantum. Both analyses pertain to the metaphysical or elemental whole. Quantity and reia- § 128. When the different elements of being are tion as attributes, cousidcred in their use as attributes, two solicit at- Q^nStyrquautyi tcutiou bccausc of difficulty likely to arise in re- Sntr'Jsted.'' '^^^'^ ^P®^* ^^ them. These are quantity and relation. As already explained, quantity is attributed to an ob- ject somewhat differently from the other elements. Each of these, ordinarily, is added in thought to the quantity which a substantum is already conceived of as having. But quantity itself must either be attributed to entity as materia prima, the most indefinite it of language, or, if asserted of a substantum or thing, as ordinarily conceived, must be predicated analytically and not synthetically. As, when we say, " Man is an animal," we add nothing to man, but only indicate a part of his nature; so, in saying, " A thing is a quantum," or " Everything is some- thing," or " Everything has quantity," we do not enlarge, but explicate, bur thought. But it is to be noticed that when defi- nite conceptions of quantity are applied to a substantum, such attri- bution is not that of quantity simply, but that of certain relations or rdationships hetiueen objects, groiving out of their character as quanta. In saying, "The mountain is high," "I'he horse is strong," "The man is rich," the adjectives express, not so much quantity, as quantitative relations — relations of degree — determined by the comparison of objects as containing height, or strength, or the possession of means. Such a predication of relations is a true mental addition to a substantum as simply having quantity. Relations differ strikingly from every other class of elemental entities. They excel all other elements in the variety and deli- cacy of their forms ; and they have a peculiar dependence on the other elements for their own existence. The most radical rela- tion of all is that of otherness, or numerical difference; for it is the condition of all others. Identity is not properly a relation, but simply the absence, or non-existence, of otherness, as char- acterizing an entity. We often say that relations exist between two or more objects, and relations have been styled interme- diate entities (see Hamilton's " Met." p. 688). But this expres- sion is not literally true. Strictly speaking, nothing exists be- tween objects as related, but every relation consists of parts, one of which resides in each of the objects. For this reason the term relationship is preferable to relation as a name for the ultimate element of entity — relation being composed of inseparable rela- tionships. A cause has a relationship to the effect, and the ef- fect has a relationship to the cause ; and these two relationships § 128. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 303 together make up the relation of cause and effect. They arise, immediately, from the nature of action and from that of change; action and change are the fundamenta of the relation. The peculiarity of relationship as an attribute^ however, does not spring directly from any of the foregoing considerations, but from its use in connection with the metaphysical lohole. Every such whole consists, in part, of relations ; so far as this is the case, re- lations, whether they be between and among the parts, or be exter- nally directed, are attributes just in the same way that the other elements are, and are so used by the mind. But when a whole is regarded as complete in itself, and as existing, besides, in a re- lation to some other whole, — for example, a dollar as in one's pocket-book, — in this case, relation is not a quality or attribute, but a predicate-object; and ivhat lue commonly mean ivhen lue speak of a relation. Thus relationship performs a double office in re- spect to substanta and may be viewed in two lights, in one of which it may be a part, or attribute, or quality, of the object; and in the other of which it may be distinguished from the object as being no part of it. No other element of entity has this double office in the same subtle way that relationship has; for none is a predicate-object save as it may be united by some relation to a whole, which it thereby qualifies. To illustrate : the being a biped — or bipedality — is an attribute of man, though it involves the relation of legs to the rest of the body, and the relation of number expressed by the word two, which is a particular in- stance of the relations of quantity — that, namely, between two quanta of the same kind and one taken as a unit of measure. So rich indicates attribute, though it is essentially the relation- ship of a man to a large property of which he is owner. On the other hand, when we say, " The king is in the carriage," the re- lation expressed by in the carriage^ is no part of the king, but only something predicated of him. Thus relation, though some- times an attribute or quality, may often be contrasted with at- tribute, and generally is so contrasted, save wdien a whole is con- sidered analytically: then relation and attribute are often found to be identical. Objectively speaking, the predication of it as an attribute, is identiticative ; it identifies relation as form with part of the matter of the substantum; but the predication of it as a relation — that is, a relation outside of the whole — is additive. Relationship, as part of a whole, is so united in our conception with other more prominent parts, that its proper character is easily overlooked or misconstrued. It generally enters our thought only as a part of some attribute or quality. But it receives its proper name when considered by itself, which espe- cially happens when it is expressed by a preposition. Thus the notion of neighbor includes a relation as an attribute, or as part of a complex attribute ; while the expression, "He dwells — oris a dweller — near me," more distinctly sets forth the relation aa such. The foregoing remarks indicate how quantity, quality, and 304 THE HUMAN MIND. • § 129. relation are contrasted in our minds, in their use as things pred- icable, and how, at the same time, there are cases in which both quantity and relation must be regarded as qualities, or attributes. They show also how the distinction, or contrast, with which we ordinarily view these predicables, refers not so much to their own nature as to the mode of our thinkings. § 129. In connection with substance and attribute, mw attributai^and ^^ ^^^^ notice somc similar logical conceptions form, ^he s^bsis- and the terms applied to them. For very delicate positum. distinctions are sometimes used by the mind while no specific expression is given to them in ordinary language. The whole system of qualities belonging to any sub- stantum, as attributed to, but distinguished from, the substantum, has often been called the form of the object. More fully, it is the ^^attribiital/orm" or what we commonly term the nature. The substantum or substance as united with an attributal form — that is, a thing definitely conceived of as possessing a given nature — is the ^^ substantial,'' or, as we would prefer to say, the suhstantal, form. These senses of the word form difi'er some- what from that already mentioned (§ 126); for in the notion of the attributal form there is a reference to the substantum, and in that of the substantial form the substantum is included as an essential part. Forms of whatever description may be individual or universal, singular or general. The general or universal form is that found in every member of a class; the singular is that peculiar to an individual. The individual, as distinguished from the singular, form, differs from the universal form only by having individuality. Thus, any particular man, considered simply as a man, would be an individual substantal form. Frequently, when form is spoken of, the context shows that it is the general, not the singular, form, that is meant. A substantial form — such as a man, or a month, or money — considered as partly constituting some particular individual (for example, Pres. Hayes; this month of September, 1879; that crooked sixpence) and so as supporting singular characteristics, has been styled a '^ subsistence'' \ which therefore may be regarded as closely allied to the substantum. A subsistence is simply a substantial form viewed in a special relation. A subsistence as combined with a singular nature has been called a suppositum, or hypostasis. The relation between suppositum and subsistence is analogous to that between substantial form and substance. The same thing, according to the light in which we view it, may be substance, substantial form, subsistence, or suppositum. These terms were pf more importance in connection with certain exploded metaphysical theories than they are now. They are so allied in meaning that the one term substance has been often used for each of the others, and as a general term. Except in certain abstruse reasonings, in which the distinctions they pre- sent are necessary to avoid difiiculty, there is little need for them. Ordinarily such words as thing or object serve, according § 129. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 305 to the connection, to express the specific ideas of the four terms last considered. For example, when we said above (§ 125), " The logical conception of an object is formed when we unite to the idea of a thing those of the attributes belonging to it," the word ohject might be replaced by either substantial form, or subsistence, as a more exact expression, — and the word ihing by substantum. Again, in saying, "We may either abstract the notion of an attribute from that of an object, or the notion of an object from that of an attribute," the word object ^ would be expressively replaced by either substantum or subsistence, or substance in the wide meaning given above. If the foregoing doctrines be correct, they may be S^siSd. '^^^^ contrasted with some perversions of truth which ^^^ti®8 ex- occasionally present themselves. Some have been led to believe substance a thing {nconceivahle and un- knowahle. " We can perceive qualities and changes," they say, " but the thing to which they belong is hidden and unseen." This doctrine has been taught both in regard to the logical substance and in regard to that other and less general substance which is distinguished as real. Closely connected, also, with this teach- ing is the doctrine, of Kantian origin, that the substance or thing has no true and objectual existence, but is simply a mental form ichereby a number of qualities are conveniently bomvd together. Such explanations of our conceptions are very unsatisfactory. In the preceding paragraphs the ordinary idea of a substance (or sub- stantum) has been analyzed into those of entity, quantity, indi- viduality, and relatedness to non-quantitative elemental parts. Although this idea is very general and indeterminate, it can be distinctly conceived, and can, and does, express what actually exists. It is neither an inconceivability nor a mental figment. Sometimes, again, the distinction of substance and attribute has been condemned as a delusion of the mind. It has been said that the whole being of a thing consists of its attributes, and that, if these be taken away one after another till all are gone, nothing will be left. Qualities have been compared to the en- veloping layers of an onion ; the question has been asked, " What remains of the onion after the last layer has been removed ? " We allow that a thing is wholly made up of its attributes (that is, of course, including quantity), but we deny that the intellect — the .general common intellect — of men, makes any mistake in its fundamental distinctions. The truth is that an object may be viewed as both substance and attribute in much the same way that it may be viewed both as form and as matter (§ 126); in each case we contrast a thing as viewed in one way with itself as viewed in another. No one can deny that we can distinguish between the same man as a father and as a son, or between Socrates the Athenian and Socrates the philosopher, the same Socrates being both. It may be said, however, that a thing viewed as matter and as form is precisely the same thing in aU respects; whereas Socrates as 306 THE HUMAN MIND, § 130. Athenian and Socrates as philosopher are not precisely the same object, but two wholes whose principal part is common, but which also have each a peculiar element. This point, in a certain sense, is well taken. Were we to regard things only in their objectual relations, we must allow that the names matter and/orm would present a distinction without a difference. But let us remember that the definition of these terms involves a subjective reference, that they stand for an object as in its relations to two diverse modes of thought, and that therefore they properly distinguish the object as in one relation from itself as in another. These remarks respecting matter and form immediately apply to the distinction of substance and attribute in case we take a logical substance to signify, as it sometimes does, simply matter {materia prima) as individualized and as related to that form with which it is wholly identical. But if we employ the ordinary conception of substance, which adds quantity, as well as individuality, to mat- ter, we have an objective^ as well as a subjective, reason for the distinction under consideration. For now quantity, as belong- ing to the substantum, is distinguishable from the non-quantitative attributes which constitute the atiributal form; so that, to some ex- tent, the attribution of the form to the substantum mentally unites things of different natures. If, proceeding a step farther, we employ substance to signify a substantial form^ %or a subsist- ence, in its relation to additional attributes luhich may be assigned to it, we find a yet stronger reason, objectively, for distinguishing the substance from any such added attributes. In forming the idea, "An elegant speech," by attaching the attribute elegant to the substance a speech, we add this attribute to other attributes al- ready conceived of as in the object, and, as clearly, distinguish the attribute elegant from the substance speech. Thus the dis- tinction between substance and attribute is, in several ways, fully justified. § 130. Light will be thrown on the substantum and i^ngua^anaiy^zed^ its attributa, as Well as on kindred forms of thought, and^tiSir°uXl^(^ ^^ ^^ study the structural parts of human speech, and counted for. Two their probablc or necessary origin. The analysis vSopnient*of Ian- of thought and of objects, which language indicates, iSotie quoted ^^ ^^^ metaphysically ultimate. It differs both from the non-quantitative and from the quantitative analysis of which we have spoken (§ 126). It is related to that mode of thinking which we have just considered, and which recognizes three categories or general classes of objects, viz., substances, attributes, and relations. It agrees with this last in having reference to the character of our mental action as well as to the nature of objects, and differs from it in being not so searching as to the separate conception of relations. Often, in ordinary thinking, a relation is so combined with that which it introduces as related, that the two form but one conceptum — or object of conception. The radical categories of thought, and of existence, on which the structure of language is based, are four § 130. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 307 in number, namely, the substance, the attribute, the relation, and the adjunct. For facility of explanation, the formation of speech may be regarded as having had two stages, the one primary and imma- ture, the other mature or secondary. In the former of these the mind may be supposed to have framed for itself five classes of conceptions. First of all, red, substances, as they have been called, that is, persons and tangible material objects, were per- ceived and thought of For the world of fact and of observation presents these things, and, indeed, all things, not as one, but as many wholes. In the next place, these substances, being compared with one another, the differences, attributes, or qualities, of real things were distinctly noted. Thirdly, the actions and changes of these substances were thought of — not, like the substances themselves, as things to be considered independently or in a changing variety of relations, nor yet, like attributes, as parts of wholes, — but as adjuncts related to the substances, and also as things of a transitory character. We may suppose that the first formal predications of language referred to this class of objects and presented them as taking place in their relation to the sub- stances to which they were seen to belong — the latter being the subjects of the predication, and their existence being assumed as fixed and known. Fourthly, relations — that is, relations other than those between substances, on the one hand, and their quali- ties or their actions and changes, on the other, — were perceived as existing variously between substances, attributes, actions, and changes. And, fifthly, the attributes, the actions and changes, and the relations, of things, were seen to admit of qualities and adjuncts in somewhat the same way as the substances to which they belong. Thus originated the noun, or substantive as it is sometimes called; the adjective, which primarily is the attributive word; the verb, in its use as predicating action, or change; the preposition, by which relations are expressly denoted; and the adverb, by which modifying words and expressions are them- selves modified. When we say, " The white horses prance gayly on the road," the adverb gayly qualifies^ra?ice just as the adjective tvhite qualifies horses, while the preposition on shows the relation between the prancing and the road. Thus the adverb, as will be understood more fully hereafter, is a kind of adjective of peculiar use and application. The whole phrase, on the road, may be re- garded as an adverbial expression, and is similar in meaning to such words as here, there, noio, and then. But in construction with a noun it would be an adjective expression. For the thought of some relation is included in that of every attribute or adjunct. In addition to the foregoing parts of speech, conjunctions were devised to express the relations of connection, sequence, and opposition, between successive thoughts and statements. This is evident from the fact that every simple conjunction — for some conjunctions have an adverbial force also — may be replaced, though somewhat awkwardly, by a preposition and a pronoun. •?^ 308 THE HUMAN MIND. § 130. And means, " in addition to this " ; hui^ " notwithstanding this " ; therefore^ "because of this"; and so on. When we say, "James and John spoke," we mean "James spoke; in addition to this, John spoke." If we remember that a pronoun is really a noun, expressing, by reference, the meaning of the noun for which it stands, and that interjections simply utter feelings with the in- definite thoughts or beliefs which give rise to them, we shall have defined the noun, the pronoun, the adjective, the adverb, the verb, the preposition, the conjunction, and the interjection — in short, all the structural parts of language, in its primary oi immature stage. The secondary, or maturer, stage differs from the primary in extending the applicability of most of these parts of speech; in thi8 Avay it greatly enlarges the capabilities of language as the vehicle and instrument of thought. The noun is no longer confined to substances in the narrow sense, but is applied to every entity whatever which the mind may make the object of its more direct consideration. For anything whatever may be regarded as a substantum. Hence the use of infinitives and abstract words as nouns. The sphere of the adjective is enlarged, not only because attributes are multiplied along with the multiplication of sub- stanta, but also because adjectives are employed to denote ivhat- ever is capable of hein^ the attribute of a substantum — that is, of being included in or with a metaphysical whole as part of it — luhether it be considered as an attribute or merely as an adjunct. Hence some ac^'ectives generally indicate what are conceived of as adjuncts or as relations — things which may be contrasted with attributes. Take, for example, such words as cheap, dear, pres- ent, future, possible, true, third, fourth, together with the articles and the demonstrative pronouns; for these also are adjectives. Other adjectives more naturally denote attributes; most adjec- tives may be used by the mind either way. The varying appli- cation of adjectives may be especially seen in some partici- ples. " A running horse " may signify either a racer, or a horse that is running. In the latter case we have an adjunct ; in the former an attribute." And any adjective is only adjunctive when intended to express a temporary condition. For illustration, take the sentence of Cicero, ''''Nemo saltat sobriusy In the maturer stage of language, the verb, also, and its forms, are no longer restricted to actions and changes, but are applied to whatever in thought may follow substanta and may be predicated of them, as actions and changes follow substances and are predicated of them. Hence the principal office of the verb is, now, to denote whatever may be a temporary adjunct of a substantum, and to assert the existence of it in this re- lation, defining also the time of its existence. This widened applicability of the verb may be seen in such words as occupy, last, exceed, amount to, resemble, relate to, and many others which express relatedness. By a further extension of the use of this part of speech, all predications whatever come to be expressed § 130. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 309 by it or by the aid of it. That large and more primary class of predications which refer to time, have determined the form of all. Universal statements — for example, "Grapes grow on vines," " Our canary sings sweetly," — are commonly made in the present tense, but without reference to time. Aristotle ap- pears to be partly wrong when he says, " A verb is that which, besides something else, signifies time;" for the indication of time is something accidental to the verb, is not its essential and im- portant office, and is sometimes wholly laid aside; but he is right in adding, " It is always indicative of those things which are asserted of something else " ("De Inter." chap. iii.). The spheres of the adverb, the preposition, and the conjunction, are greatly enlarged with the development of language; but they can scarcely be said to have found new spheres of employment in the same way that the noun, the adjective, and the verb, have done. We may add, however, that the main primary use of the adverb seems to have been to express adjuncts, as that of the adjective was to express attributes. In the preceding sketch two stages have been assumed to indicate tlie frobable order logically followed by tJie mind in its development of the use of tJie different 'parts of speech. We would not be understood to assert that such stages were ever really experienced. Certainly the first stage, if it ever occurred, must have been of short duration. We shall study the forms of language further in S^tio^n^^'^^lxSb" connection with predication. Our present analysis ited in the forma- sUggCStS the followiug IcSSOUS. language. First^ a substaucc or substantum, of which the bSte*^Snct**^' noun is the expression, is conceived of as being the quantitative metaphysical whole, without ad- ditions. Nothing is a part of the substantum which is conceived of as in external relation to the whole. The substantum may be considered independently of its relations, as when we say, "The road," or "The fire"; or we may think of it in some relation, as when we say, "On the road," "The fire smokes." In the latter case there is something prefixed or affixed to our concep- tion of the substantum. In the next place, adjectives do not always express attributal parts ; they may denote relationships external to the whole. There- fore, they are sometimes identificative or attributal; — and this either analytically or synthetically, according as our attribution develops or enlarges our conception of the object ; — but, at other times, they are adjunctive or relational. The notion of the sub- stantum — that is, of the suhstantal form — can be so modified as to include that of the adjective adjunct; but, as a matter of fact, this unification does not always or necessarily take place. As the adjective primarily expresses permanent attributes, so the verb, that is, the proper or finite verb, primarily expresses tern- porary adjuncts. Its inflexions subserve the design ofindicating the present, past, or future existence of such an adjunct. When the verb is used to express what belongs to a thing permanently 310 THE HUMAN MIND. § 131. or essentially, its full proper expressiveness is abated. The predi- cational force of the verb arises from the fact that the ideas of existence and of non-existence, which predication asserts (§ 47), naturally connect themselves with the transitory, and with dis- tinctions of time. For, in one sense, the present is the existent; while the past and the future are the non-existent; and, in an- other, what has existed in the past, or shall exist in the future, does not exist now. In other words, the existence of temporary things has a close logical connection with the time of their existence. The employment of the verb to he as copula, and its force as Buch, are a special and peculiar result of the general employment of the verb in predication ; and will be considered in its proper place (§ 204). The adverb differs little in force from the adjective^ as is seen in those languages which, like the German, do not ordinarily dis- tinguish these parts of speech. It is related to other modifiers as secondary branches are to the larger ones on which they grow. Prepositions and conjunctions differ from other parts of speech in that the ideas they express are always doubly related, as themselves indicating relation. They agree with adjectives, verbs, and adverbs, in never denoting the object of independent or of direct conception. Moreover, they properly indicate, not parts, but adjuncts. Finally^ to repeat what we said at first, the principal lesson taught by a survey of the structure and use of language, is the following, viz., that the categories of ordinary conception embrace not only the substance, the attribute, and the relation, but also the adjunct, or, if we regard relation as a kind of inchoate or in- complete adjunct (which it always is), we shall have three cate- gories of conception, the substance, the attribute, and the adjunct. The first of these is expressed by the noun only ; but the oblique cases of the noun present the substantum, not as such, but as intro- duced by a relation, and therefore as the object of indirect con- ception, and as constituting, with the help of the relation, an adjunct, or, it may be, sometimes, an attribute. The adjective chiefly expresses attributes; the adverb, adjuncts; but each may express either. The verb generally, the preposition and the con- junction always, indicate adjuncts. The adjunct may be distin- guished from the attribute, in that the former is conceived of as exterTWil to the ivhole which it affects; both may be distinguished from the substantum, because they are always conceived of as in relation to what they modify, and their proper character is lost if they be conceived of independently. .^ S 131. Inasmuch as the substantum, being a whole "Res per se consid- ^ . ,. , ^ -,.,. , -i n • i erata." "Ens per without additions, cau DO conceived 01 indepen- AttobSlrJsub- dently— that is, without thought of any relation stances. "Ab- extcmal to itsclf — while attributes and adjuncts fitX&Ct C0IlC6p- - 1 ' 1 ij J tions. cannot, some have explained a substance to mean Spinoza. ^ thing considered in itself — "res per se considerata.'* This is not true if we should mean by it that a thing as a sub § 131. ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION. 311 stantum cannot be, and never is, conceived of as in relations ex- ternal to itself. The contrary constantly takes place. Hence the cases of nouns, and those adjunct expressions in which nouns are governed by prepositions ; even the nominative case as the sub- ject of a sentence sets forth the substantum as in relation. But the statement may mean that a thing is a substantum as being itself, and without respect to any additions, that is, only so far as it is a metaphysical whole ; and this would be true. The con- sideration of the thing by itself, or without thought of its ex- ternal relations, enables us to form the conception of the sub- stance, but is not itself any part of that conception. Others again, following some statements of Aristotle, have defined a substance as ^' ens per se subsistens" In this the word subsist has a meaning only remotely connected with that subsistence of which we have already spoken (§ 129). It signifies to exist by reason of some cause, which, figuratively speaking, supports the existence. The expression "^r se subsistens" is equivalent to self-exisf.ent. According to this, a substance is that which exists independently, or of itself This famous definition was the main pillar of Spinoza's pantheism ; it made God, as alone self-exist- ent, to be the one only substance. We shall not dwell upon its falsity. Plainly the only independence necessarily connected with the substantum is a kind of independence of conception. Before concluding the present discussion we must consider a cIojSS of conceptions in which the ideas of substance and attribute form a peculiar combination. Sometimes the notion of substance is ap- plied — not to the whole to which some attribute belongs — but to the attribute itself; hence arise what are called abstract nouns, such as whiteness, gayety, length, breadth, goodness, gladness, greatness, etc. This class of ideas are secondary formations; they may be distinguished from the conceptions from which they are derived as being attributal, not attributive. That is, they do not, by their own force, attribute anything as a quality to a substance, but they set it forth as having been attributed, or as attributable. Moreover, it is plain that the mind forms these notions by considering things which are attributes independently; that is, without thought of any relations save those which are involved in our very conception of the attribute. In other words, they arise from our considering the thing, or whole, per se, and no farther. Moreover, the object thus thought of may be, and often is, characterized by attributes and affected by adjuncts. In short, what was at first an attribute is now thought of as a substantum, even while a general reference to its natural func- tion as an attribute is a part of our conception of it. But, it may be asked, " Is this substantum, which can be independently conceived and which admits of attributes and adjuncts, char- acterized by quantity also ? " We think it is : we believe that the quantitative mode of thought is naturally assumed, when the quality is thought of directly and independently and not in im- mediate contrast with the substantum to which it belongs. Even 312 THE HUMAN MIND, § 132. if this could not be shown to take place very sensibly, we would still regard the quality, when abstractly considered, as a kind of secondary substantum. It would partake of the principal char- acteristics of the substantum, even while this might not reach its full or normal development. Similar remarks are applicable to the significations of those nouns which represent actions, changes, states, relations, and other adjuncts. Such words as war^ peace, motion^ rest, transaction, result, walking, speaking, nearness, distance, contrariety, agreement, and others like them, are properly styled substantives. We have now described certain modes of thought to which the action of the mind is more or less constantly con- formed; of course, modifications of these modes may be looked for whenever such modification may be demanded by the nature of the case. This subject of conception illustrates that won- derful unconscious skill with which the soul adapts its forms of thought and of expression to the numberless modes of being which the universe presents. The reflections of a perfect mirror are not to be compared with the thinkings of the human mind for amazing and subtle adaptability. CHAPTER XXIX. GENEBALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION. § 132. Generalization is a process allied to ab Sted' to^'tbSiiS straction, and might be considered a species of it. tion. Generalization includes what we ordinarily mean detoed. ^°^°^^ by abstraction, together with a further process radically of the same nature. Each of these con- stituent processes involves the retention of part of a thought and the rejection of the rest. But the part specially rejected when we generaHze is quite different in its signification, or objective force, from that rejected when we merely abstract, and the re- jection of it is attended with peculiar results. For these rea- sons it is well to consider abstraction and generalization as distinct processes. Of all the secondary powers of mind, generalization has the most immediate bearing upon the philosophy of the ascertain- ment of truth and the construction of science. An understand- ing of the doctrine of the general notion is the key which unlocks the principal mysteries of logic ; and it is the explanation of the leading laws and forms of scientific thought. General ideas are those which can be applied to any one of a class of similar objects simply on account of their similarity. The notions horse, man, strong, wise, walk, think, certainly, quicUy, homeliness, heauiy, fear, force, and the immense majority of con ceptions expressed by single words, are general. We have § 132. GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION. 313 general notions, not only of logical substances — or suhstarda — but also of attributes, and of adjuncts, and of abstract substanta. Combinations of thought and statements of truth may also be general; as when we say, "The strength of the horse," "The value of money"; or, "The wise man speaks wisely," "The rose is the most beautiful of flowers." Every mode of concep- tion and every construction of ideas setting forth the nature of things, may assume the form of generality. But, as the char- acter of attributes, adjuncts, and predications, is determined by that of the substanta to which they are attached, our discussion must mainly concern the generalization of substanta! notions. Ideas which correspond to one object only, and can- tiSn difiSS!'' ^°" ^^^ be applied to different similar objects, are styled Singulars distin- singular^ as having that in their signification which Imduis. ^^ ^' is wholly singular or peculiar. When some singu- lar object is thought of simply as a singular object of a certain kind, we call it an individual ; and our conception of it may be styled an individualized conception. If, instead of speaking of man in general, we should mention some one per- son as "^/le man' with whom we had some transaction, or as "a man'' of whom we heard once, the expressions "the man" and " a man " would stand for individualized notions. Such notions result ordinarily from applying a general notion to an individual object; in other words, from thinking of the object by means of a general notion which corresponds to it. All singular objects are called individuals, because they cannot be divided into mem- bers in the same way that classes of similars can. When, how ever, the singular is contrasted with the individual, the latter signifies a singular object considered with reference to some general character, while the former sets forth the singular object with reference to its own peculiar characteristics. Caesar, sim- ply as a man, is an individual object; Caesar, as Ccesar, is a singu- lar object. In this way individual, or, more properly, individual- ized, notions are contrasted with singular. But, without this contrast, expressed or understood, the singular comprehends both the singular and the individual. General notions are expressed by the common noun used without addition, as " horse "; indi- vidualized notions, by this noun accompanied or affected by an individualizing adjunct; for example, "a horse," "horses," "this horse," "these horses"; singular notions, either by proper names or by the common noun with some singularizing adjunct, as "The king" (that is, the definitely known king), or Alexander, or Alexander's horse, or Bucephalus. The terms universal and general are opposed to the terms indi- vidnal and singular. Either of the former may be opposed to either of the latter. But the term universal is more frequently used when the contrast is with singular or individual objects, and the term general when the contrast is with singular or indi- vidual conceptions. " Man " stands for an " universal " object, and expresses a general notion. The word general, being derived from 314 THE HUMAN MIND. § 133. the Latin genus {re'voi, a kind), signifies what belongs to every one of a given kind of objects. This, its original and philosophic meaning, is to be distinguished from that signification in common use, according to which whatever is true for the most part of some class of things, is called general; as when we say, "Sav- ages generally — that is, for the most part — are treacherous." § 133. A general notion may either be conceived i!Jg^^gen^er3''^ni' Simply, OY it may be conceived as contrasted ivith Pro ^er and im ^^^^^ general notions, and as definitely distinguishing proper. some given kind of thing. The proper expression of it when conceived in the former way, is the common noun without the definite article or other addition. Man, gold, virtice, heat, malleability, are words each of which of itself expresses a general idea in its purest or simplest form. The expression for a general notion, conceived as having a dis- tinguishing power, is the common noun with the definite article prefixed. Such designations as "The horse," "The dance," "The church," "The state," "The pulpit," "The press," "The theater," and many like them, may serve as illustrations. The signifi- cance of the article, to which we now refer, is quite difi*erent from its force in pointing out an individual either as definitely known or as definitely related. While it attaches itself to general ideas, it does not form any part of them. It is espe- cially employed when the mind opposes some one kind of thing to others of the same generic nature. When we speak, in the general, of " the pulpit," we mean that agency of public impres- sion as contrasted with the press, the theater, and other agencies. "The dance'' is thought of as an amusement and in contrast with other amusements. As every general notion may be con- ceived either per se or as distinct from other notions, a choice becomes possible between the defined and the undefined modes of thought and of expression. Some languages, as the French and the Greek, prefer the defined; others, as the Latin and the English, the undefined. German occupies a middle ground. These differences arise from peculiarities in the mental habits of each people. Beside the two proper modes of expressing general notions, several secondary, or improper, modes, are of frequent use. The tendency of the mind is to avoid the general and abstract, be- cause removed from a view of things as actually existent, and to employ modes of thought in which the general conception is presented rather by implication than expressly. For example, individualized notions are employed instead of general ideas; and this sometimes in the singular number, and sometimes in the plural. We say indifferently, " Man must die," " A man must die," and "Men must die"; or, "The horse is a noble animal," "A horse is a noble animal," and " Horses are noble animals." In each case we utter, and intend to utter, a general truth. But, when using the indefinite terms a man, and men, we do not present the truth in its naked generality; we give an immediate § 133. GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION. 315 inference from the general trutli, from which inference, also, that truth itself may be immediately inferred. Hence such state- ments themselves are often styled general. When the indefinite article occurs in them, it differs from the singular number of the adjective any^ only in being a less emphatic expression of indi- vidual indetiniteness ; the plural of nouns signifies that what is said applies to any number, or to all, of the things of the kind named. What is necessarily true of any kind of thing, is true of any individual or of any number of individuals of the kind; and what is necessarily true of any individual, or any number of individuals, of a given kind, simply as being of that kind, must be true of that kind of thing in general. Another secondary and inferential mode of expression is found in universal statements respecting the members of the logical class. All the objects to which the same general notion is applicable, may be considered as constituting one class. Whatever is true of that general thing, or that kind of thing, which the notion represents, must be true of every member of the class, and of all the members individually; and whatever is true of every mem- ber of a logical class, or of all the members indiviilually, simply as being things of a certain kind, must be true of that kind of thing in general. Hence we have such statements as, " Every law-breaker should be punished," "All judges should be just;" in which class-con- ceptions take the place of the general notion. Sometimes a statement in one of the forms of uni- ^^temlntrot*^ versality which we have now considered, evidently is not literally true. Should we say, " The horse is a useful animal," it might be objected that some horses are utterly vicious, wild, and unusable. The fact is that such state- ments are made with an understandijig which limits their ap- plication ; they express, therefore, what is universally true within a given sphere. Horses are useful always under the circumstances in which the speaker conceives of them — that is, as ordinarily to be met with and observed. These statements of lin^ited uni- versality may always take this form, " Things to be supposed being supposed, such and such is universally the case." We say, "The grape is a luscious fruit," that is, of course, always when it is in ripe and good condition. Because such expressions when interpreted without an interpreter, when considered as un- qualified, though they need qualification, are not strictly univer- sal, the term general came to signify that which happens for the most part. Here, also, we must allow, what shall be seen more clearly hereafter, that the general notion, that is, the notion ex- pressed by the common noun, does not always or necessarily in- volve the universality of the predication of which it may be the subject. This really results from the necessitudinal character which ordinarily belongs to such predications. The distinction between general and individual, or singular, ideas, even when the latter are used, in indefinite or universal 316 I THE HUMAN MIND. § 134. expressions, as equivalent to the former, is essential to an un- derstanding of the nature of the general notion. This distinc- tion is recognized in the forms of language ; but the nature of it will become more apparent if we consider that process, called generalization^ by which the mind forms its general thoughts or notions. § 134. This process, as it ordinarily takes place, is eraUzaTion^del ofteu, and corrcctly, described as follows. Firsts toid!*^ ^^ ^^' ^ number of objects are perceived to be similar to each other in one or more respects. Ten, fifteen, twenty, or any number of cherries, are seen to be alike in their form, size, color, taste, contents, origin, and use. That act of the mind whereby its thought is intentionally exercised re- garding objects, in order to discern their points of likeness and of unlikeness, is called comparison. Secondly^ the percep- tion of similarity, obtained by comparison, is immediately and naturally followed by an act of abstraction, whereby the objects compared are thought of only as to those characteristics or parts in which they are alike, all other characteristics being rejected from consideration. We have now still as many ideas as there are objects, but every idea is precisely similar to every other. Our conceptions, at this stage, of fifteen or twenty cherries, are very similar to what our perceptions of the same number of cher- ries would be, were the cherries arranged in a row at such a distance from us that no difierence in size, or appearance, or any other particular, could be noticed between any two of them. Thirdly^ some one individual object, selected at random, is thought of in the special or abstract view taken of it; or all the individuals are thus thought of at once, under one plural con- ception. That is, we think of one particular cherry as this or that cherry simply, or of all the cherries collectively, as those cherries. For a plural conception, in which we think at once of many things as many, is not composed of many unital con- ceptions, though it may be derived from them ; but is the same as a unital (that is, a grammatically singular) conception, save only that the element of plurality has displaced that of unity. FourtMy, the mind, taking either of these last-described concep- tions, rejects from it the element of individuality. Thereupon, we think, not of any individual cherry, nor of any number of individual cherries, but simply of cherry or of the cherry. The first two of the foregoing steps, and likewise S'^enlr'SSn; the last two, may, if we please, be naturally re- the Bpecific differ- guarded as ouc. Generalization, therefore, may be ence of this pro- ^ -ii ••• i • i cess. described as containing two successive parts or stages; in the first of which tve consider a number of similar objects abstractly and only so far as they are similar; and in the second of which we discard the element of individuality from the conception either of one object, or of several. This second step is the essential part — the specific difierence — of the process of generalization; it may be illustrated by a mental ex- § 134 GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION. 317 periment. Let us suppose ourselves to inspect successively a number of ships at a sea-port town, so as to have a correct and distinct idea of each. Let us imagine, also, the whole fleet to have set out to sea and to have attained a distance at which each ship can be seen plainly, yet not with sufficient distinctness to be recognized by means of its own peculiarities. Our percep- tion of the vessels is now quite undefined as compared with the riews obtained in the harbor, yet it is still a perception of indi- viduals; we see this ship, that ship, and the other, sailing be- fore us. Now, shutting our eyes, let us take the thought of any one ship, or of several, and let us eliminate from this conception all reference to individual difference — all thought of the fact that individual peculiarities must and do exist. There remains the general notion, ship, or ilie ship. In order to an understanding of the process of ^^a^^not in- generalization certain points are worthy of special S^notSn^^ sen- consideration. In the first place, let us notice that the thought of the similarity found to exist between the objects compared, does not enter into the general conception as a component part of it. The general notion includes the re- spects wherein the objects are alike, but not their likeness. Simi- larity furnishes a rule to be observed by the mind in the process of abstraction, but is not itself one of the elements abstracted. After the completion of the generalization, all thought of the comparison may be dismissed, just as a scaffolding no longer needed may be taken away. GeneraUzation '^^^^ iutroduccs the remark, that generalization possible without may take place without any comparison at all, comparison. ^^^ from the Consideration of only one object. It is only necessary that we should conceive, more or less fully, of the object, and then reject from our conception the thought of individual difference or peculiarity. For, in this way, we can obtain a notion applicable to any other object which may be similar to the one considered so far as it is considered — that is, a general notion. A geologist, finding a specimen of rock such as he has never seen before, may truly say that he has discovered a new kind of stone. Commonly, however, the comparison of individuals is requisite for the exact establishment and defini- tion of any existing kind of thing. We do not think ^^"^^ writers, referring to the exclusion of all the similar as the thought of individual difference, have said that, w'toeonl^^"'^^ i^ generalization, we think tke similar as the same and the many as the one. Such language is not strictly true ; and is calculated to perplex. There is a sense in which it may be accepted ; but, taken literally, it suggests either that a number of different things can be condensed together, so as to form one of their own number, or that, against reason and fact, we can think of them as if they could. The truth is that the mind, in generalization, does not judge and accept the many and different to be one and the same, but rather rejects 318 THE HUMAN MIND. § 135. all thought of their number and difference, and no longer thinks of them, or of any one individual object, but thinks that one thought which remains: and which, in a certain pecu- liar and secondary sense, may be said to have an object— one object — of its own. « In the next place, to say that all thought of in- S^de'fiSed^^^^" dividual difference is rejected in generalization, The rejection of it though truc, is uot the full and perfect expres- the final step m . => „ , ' , i i i i fl j. K^ . generalization. siou 01 the truth. It would be better to say that the final and essential step in generalization is to reject all thought of numerical difference^ that is, all thought of that difference which is necessarily involved in the formation and use of the conceptions of number. For it is evident that we generalize, not only from individuals, but also from species, and that the last step in this latter case, no less than in the former, is to eliminate, from our conception of the subject, or subjects, of our generalization, the thought of number, whether it be of one or of more than one. We may think of the horse, the dog, the cat, the fox, the lion, the tiger, and other animals as so many similar kinds of things; and, from consid-eration of them, we may form a generic notion — the quadruped. In such a generalization individual difference is not rejected; all such difference has been dismissed already in the primary general- izations. But we may be said to discard numerical differ- ence. For the various species of animals mentioned can be conceived of, without conceiving of their specific character- istics, simply as so many similar kinds; we can speak of this or that kind, of the first, second, third, or fourth kind, or of one, two, three, or four kinds, and so on. But the gen- eric idea, "Quadruped," or "The Quadruped," contains no such numerical distinctions. The nature of nu- § ^^'^' That difference between species, which is mericai difference thus rejected, and which is extremely analogous expiaaned. ^^ ^^^ individual difference already mentioned, es- caped the notice of the older metaphysicians and logicians. The only numerical difference they give is that which is individual. We ascribe this omission, not to any lack of acuteness in medi- aeval thinkers, but partly to the comparative unimportance in logic of the numerical difference of species, and yet more to that false objectualization of the Aristotelian metaphysics, which made the distinction of form and matter much greater than it- really is. This resulted in a tendency to confine matter to the individual and to make the universal^ whether species or genus, all form and form only. When, in the case either of individuals or of kinds, we analyze numerical difference, we find it to be the same with ordinary specific or singular difference, conceived of^ hoivever, as matter and not as form. That is, it is simple difference, without distinction of the parts or elements of the difference. We may say, then, that there are two modes of numerical difference, one § 165. GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION 319 of which belongs to individual objects as having individual dif- ferentiol matter^ and the other of which belongs to general ob- jects as having specific differential matter. Or, shonld genera be numbered under a higher genus, we might speak of generic differential matter., as constituting their numerical difference. The rejection of either of these modes of difference is the final step in generalization. Sin lar and indi- '^^® singular has already been distinguished from viduai difference the individual as being identical with the latter, distmguasiied. ^^^^ ^^^y that its peculiarities are more fully con- ceived. In the same way we may contrast singular and individ- ual difference ; with reference to this contrast individual differ- ence would mean the same as the numerical difference of individuals or of singulars. In connection with the foregoing point, we may fndfvfduSn *de^ cousidcr Specification and individuation (or indi- ISfshe^'^ ^^' vidualization) as mental acts. By the former of these a specific conception is formed from a generic one by the addition of specific difference; thus "horse " may be formed from "quadruped." By the latter an individual concep- tion is formed upon a general one; thus "Bucephalus" is formed either upon "horse" or "quadruped." These processes are closely allied; there is, however, a twofold distinction between them. First of all, in specification, the difference may be added either as definitely conceived, that is, di^ form., or as indefinitely conceived, that is, as matter. We can therefore distinguish be- tween material and formal specification, the former merely enumerating kinds, or distinguishing them externally, the lat- ter giving also the nature of each kind. But in individuation only Omniscience can add in thought every attribute of the object; therefore, of necessity, we add first what we may know and then, by a further addition, make allowance for what we do not know. In short, our individuation always adds matter; or — taking advantage of the contrast of terms — our singularization always partakes more or less of the character of individualization. Secondly^ the mental addition of matter, in numerical specifi- cation, is never so complete as to render the object thought of incapable of receiving further differential matter. If we think of quadruped as a kind of animal, we can again think of dog or horse as a kind of quadruped, and still further of the dog Nero or the horse Bucephalus as an individual, each new conception involving a new addition of difference. But when, finally, we add singular or individual difference, there is no possibility of adding more. We then conceive of an object as having every characteristic or distinction — in other words, all the difference — that it can have. Individual difference, therefore, differs from specific in that it has a certain fulness, or completeness, which the latter lacks. 320 THE HUMAN MIND. § 136. These remarks enable us to appreciate the teach- STuns'^^Sus^ ings of two famous doctors of the thirteenth cen- Son^"^^^"^^^*^" tury. Thomas Aquinas "made the principle of Their ' dqctrine individuation to He in the matter by virtue of which substantially cor- ^-^^^ ^^^-^^^ ^^ ^j^^ form— that is, the universal— fSitm ^^ ^^^^ individual came to be what it is"; Duns Scotus taught that the individual thing is consti- tuted by the union of its Jicecceitas, or tliisness, with its quidditas or whatness (" The Human Intellect," § 399). These views are essentially the same ; the quidditas is the specific form as it is re- lated to the generic, and the licecceitas is individual differential matter considered as a ground of distinction. But Scotus as- serted that his hcecceity had something in it additional to the matter of which Aquinas spoke; which assertion agrees with the view already given, that individual difference has the peculiarity of a certain fulness or completeness, which specific difference lacks. Hcecceity is an excellent term ; it is nearly the equivalent of numerical difference, each expression presenting the same thing in a special light. Like numerical difference, al-so, it nat- urally applies to specific as well as to individual differential mat- ter; yet it may usefully be confined to the latter, according to the intention of its inventor. The doctrine to be gathered from the teachings of the Scholastics, is that an individualized concep- tion results from a combination of matter with form ; and this may be accepted provided it be understood that/orm as loell as matter may be singular. That is, we may, and constantly do, perceive characteristics in individuals such as no other individ- uals have or can have. What other body could be the center of the solar system in the same sense in which our sun is ? And it is evident that individuation — or, more exactly speaking, sin- gularization — often involves the addition of this singular form, as well as that of individual differential matter, to the general form, or universal. Specification and individuation are processes closely allied to one another; on which account, in common speech, the same term — specification — expresses either. § 136. Having considered general notions, and the ^t, oT^nSeTBai. ^odo of their formation. We proceed to inquire con- is constantly men- cerning qeneral objects, or universals as they have TQ&\ ' ^e^xistence! been stylcd by philosophers. The true doctrine id^ai'ob?ect.*'' *^^ concerning universals is not only interesting in it- "Z^esF'^n^^Ve ®®^^'' ^^^ ^^^^ coutributcs greatly to an understand- 2{ which we speak as if they really existed and acted and were related variously, when, in truth, they do not exist at all. Of these contradictory views, the second, alone, in whatever light the matter may be regarded, is worthy of acceptance. For, first of all, to suppose the reality of universals impo^If^ntity! would lead to great absurdities. Take any general object, as " animal." We ask, " Where, when, and how long, has it existed ? Who ever saw it ? What is its posi- tion as a part of the universe of actual being ? " Clearly no place or period can be assigned to it, unless we say that it exists every- where and always. For whatever exists at any particular place or for any given time, is, and must be, an individual object. But what absurdity to think of an eternal and omnipresent animal ! Nor does it helD the matter to say that the general animal exists in every individual animal. For, in the first place, we can con- ceive of animals that have no existence, such as unicorns, winged horses, great sea-serpents ; yet such animals would include the universal. And, in the second place, although every animal has that in it which corresponds to the general object, and may be conceived of by the application of a general notion, still, properly speaking, it does not include the universal, but only that which corresponds to it. Every part of the nature of any individual animal is individual, not universal; and the general notion, when applied to any individual, or to any number of individuals, re- ceives an addition whereby it ceases to be a general, and becomes an individualized notion. Moreover, the general object "ani- mal," if it exist, is but one object; but, if it exist in many differ- ent animals, it must do so as the many and the dif event. And so a case arises in which many and different objects are, without any change of meaning, one and the same object. This is an im- possibility. Hence those authors who say that, in generalization, w^e think of the many as the one — of the similars as the same — swerve somewhat from Hterahty ("The Human Intellect," § 384). Their language resembles that employed when we speak of cer- tain things, which have similar natures, as having one common nature; just as if a nature were like a piece of land, or other property, which several persons may own in common. The only literal truth in the case, is that the objects, by rea- son of their similarity, are related to one and the same notion, so 322 THE HUMAN MIND. § 136. that it may be applied to each of them, and is, therefore, a com- mon or general notion. The true character ^" *^^ nQ'^t place, the geiiesis aud essential nature of universais of the general notion, and the manner of its em- genSs, ^°^ture! ployment by the mind, show how it comes to be e^notion*^^^^^' f"^^i"i^6d and used without having any object of its own. General notions are a secondary mode of thought, and are derived by a process of abstraction from indi- vidual or singular conceptions. This derivation — as that also of generic from specific conceptions — can often be actually traced; and always satisfactorily accounts for the origin of the notion. Many, both in ancient and in modern times, have taught that some of our abstract ideas, and particularly those of a moral na- ture, are innate, and born with the soul; and they have given the mind a power of perceiving certain kinds of general truth by "the immediate intuition of the reason." It is sufficient to say that such doctrines have almost entirely disappeared, as the progress of philosophic investigation has shown them to be un- necessary and unfounded (see McCosh on "The Intuitions"). The power, first of perceiving individual facts and objects, and then of forming, from these perceptions, general truths and no- tions, is, we believe, inborn ; but the development and exercise of this power does not involve the perception or the inference of the actuality of any general object. Moreover, general notions are not only formed ^aracte?°ofThl wholly from perceptions and conceptions of indi- generai notion and vidual obiccts ; thev also are used exclusively with its essential na- „ '^ , ' t ■ -t -i .i • ^ ^ i*^ i ture. reference to individuals; their whole value and force lies in their applicability. It is by means of these notions that we learn from others the nature of individ- ual things. The general conception being applied to one or more objects, we understand what it or they may be; we can say, "It is an animal," or "They are animals." Then the gen- eral notion enables us to form judgments regarding individuals; because whatever is true of the universal, by reason of some necessity which attaches to it, must be true of every correspond- ing individual. The truth, that "animal life is supported by food," is valuable, because we may infer from it immediately that this or that animal, these or those, some, or any, or all, ani- mals, live by means of food. The general — or generalized — judg-, ment is simply an instrumental and intermediate state of mind which frequently intervenes between the perception of necessity in some individual case, or cases, and the assertion of necessity in some other similar individual case, or cases. Finally, the general notion is used in indeterminate thought, and in this, es- pecially, its character, as wholly subordinate to the individual conception, is strikingly manifest. For the universal is often made the subject of statements which cannot be regarded even as propositions of limited or conditioned generality (§ 133). We can say, "The trotting horse has now attained the speed of a § 137. GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION. 323 mile in less than two minutes and a quarter," or, to use a nobler illustration, "Man measures the weight of the sun, and the distance of star from star." In such statements as these, it is equally evident that the subject is an universal, and that it is not conceived of as having a separate existence of its own. The facts presented concern only certain individuals of a class; it would be absurd to assert them of any separate and universal entity. Predications like the foregoing, which are not uncom- mon, throw much light on the true nature and significance ol" the general notion. They show that it is an abstract and in- determinate mode of thought which the mind always refers or applies to individuals, more or less immediately; and which always has universal applicability, ijei is not always used as having it For not every trotter attains the speed mentioned, nor is every man an astronomer. From all of which we gather that the character and name of universal, or general, are derived rather from the chief property and principal employment of the notion, than from its essential nature. When we say, "Man calculates eclipses," the term man expresses what we commonly mean by a general idea; yet, in this statement, the idea is not general or universal, but only abstract and indeterminate. Of itself it does not include reference to the many or to the few; it simply presents its own contents. We are told that human beings calculate eclipses; whether many or few of them do so, or even only one, is no necessary implication of the general notion. In view, therefore, of the origin, use, and radical na- ture of general conceptions, we conclude that there are no general objects to correspond with them, — that universals, as such, are un- real entities, — and that, in thinking as if of them, we do not think of realities at all, but only in a way similar to, and correspondent with, our conception of real objects (see §§ 36 and 70). In accordance with this we find that men, in ordinary speech, never make independent mention of general objects, or uni- versals, as if they were a distinct class of entities, but only use terms setting forth indeterminate notions which may be applied to individual objects. § 137. The discussion of the general notion would ^hiions^S)?cem- ^^^ ^6 Complete without some reference to the mg universals. histovy of opinions Concerning universals. This ex- tes, Plato, 'Aristo- Iiibits a gradual advancement in the apprehension phyry^^^°' '^°^' ^f truth, together with some movements of a mis- taken, or retrograde, character. The school which Pythagoras founded, five hundred j^ears before Christ, was prob- ably the first to give formal expression to the error of attributing reality to universals ; but the earliest extant teaching of this doc- trine, is to be seen in those writings which Plato composed about one hundred years after the death of Pythagoras. Socrates, the master of Plato, had insisted upon the necessity of our attaining correct conceptions of the permanent and the important by elim- inating, from individual perceptions, what may be essential to 324 THE HUMAN MIND. § 137. any given kind of thing; this teaching was developed and en- forced by Plato in his doctrine of ideas. But the terra idea^ as employed by Plato, meant something wholly different from what we now understand by it. He contrasted the idea {fi idea, rd sidoi) with the vorji^ioc, or conception ; and meant by it the oVjeci of the conception. The genius and aims of this delightful writer are moral rather than metaphysical; yet his statements imply that ideas have an existence of their own, separate from the mind and from individuals; that ideas alone are true, incorrupt- ible, and imperishable, entities; and that the passing objects and phenomena of the world derive the laws of their existence from these ethereal ideas. Aristotle, rejecting Plato's doctrine, denied that ideas, or uni- versals, exist separately from the individual; yet he was far from refusing them a reality. He did not see that the distinc- tion between matter and form, which we naturally make and use in our ordinary thinkings (§ 126), represents no external, or objectual, difference of things, or parts, or elements, but only sets forth the very same things in their relations to two different modes of thought. He accounts for the generation — or the be- coming — of things, by the rtnion of matter and form, as two ele- ments externally distinguishable. But he asserts that form never exists save in union and co-operation with matter, and that matter never exists save in similar union with form. Moreover, what is general or universal is formal and never exists sepa- rately, but always is uniting variously with matter so as to pro- duce the individual. The inextricable confusion of the Aristotelian metaphysics is to be traced chiefly to the misapprehension of the true nature of such distinctions as that between matter and form ; and if, to this cause, we add the influence of ambiguous terms, it will be entirely accounted for. As an instance of the latter, the word ov6ia, which may mean either a substance in the narrow sense, or a logical substance, or the essence of a thing, or an entity, or a real existence, or any one of these in the general, constantly operates, in the writings of Aristotle, as a philosophic stumbling- block. The obscurity of ancient metaphysical teachings, with their imperfect distinctions and yet more imperfect terminology, can be appreciated by those only who may endeavor to compre- hend them. It is said, without much evidence, that Zeno and the Stoics denied the reality of universals. Be this as it may, the question descended from the more ancient philosophers as a legacy to their successors. In the third century of our era, Porphyry, a Neo-Platonist, who taught philosophy at Rome, mentions cer- tain inquiries concerning universals as too profound for his dis- cussion. These were, " Whether genera and species subsist in the nature of things or in mere conceptions only; and whether, if existent, they are corporeal or incorporeal ; and whether they exist separately from sensible objects or not" (see Porphyry's § 137. GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION. 325 sidayGoyri, or Introduction, to the "Categories" of Aristotle). In Neo-Platonism, at Rome, Athens, and Alexandria, the philoso- phy of the ancients exerted its last independent activity. The Bchoiastics- '^^^ Scholastics — that is, the great Christian teachers KosceiunusT Abe- of the Middle Ages — earnestly discussed the nature Magnus, Thom^ of uuivcrsals ; with them this subject was closely Aquinas, William connected with the doctrine of divine creation and government. According as they asserted or de- nied the reality of the universal, they were classed as Realists and as Nominalists. In the eleventh century, Roscellinus main- tained nominalism, but his eloquent disciple, Peter Abelard, advocated a kind of moderate realism ; and, from that time till towards the close of Scholasticism, the doctrine of Abelard gen- erally prevailed. It is, however, simple justice to say that the teaching of the mediaeval thinkers was different from that either of Plato or Aristotle, and vastly to be preferred. Albertus •Magnus held that universals exist ante rem in the divine intel- lect, in re in the individual object, and post rem in the human intellect by reason of the power of mental abstraction. His great contemporary, Thomas Aquinas, taught that "forms which exist in matter have come from immaterial and separately ex- isting forms, which, however, subsist, not in themselves, as Plato says, but in the divine mind, and derive their causing power from Heaven." Finally, in the fourteenth centuiy, Wil- liam of Occam revived the nominalist doctrine, and asserted that singulars alone exist, and that such things as universals, even as mental conceptions, are wholly without reality. His views were favored at the universities, but caused great commotion in church and state. The Emperor Lewis, of Bavaria, protected the followers of Occam, while Louis the Eleventh of France sided with the Pope, and persecuted them. In later times nominalism found a powerful advo- Tsfs^-Horb^t ^^*^ ^^ Thomas Hobbes, the contemporary and BtTwS^cai^'iSS friend of Lord Bacon. "If," says Hobbes, "one Hamilton. should dcsirc the painter to make him the picture of a man (which is as much as to say of a man in general); he meaneth no more but that the painter should chuse what man he pleaseth to draw, which must needs be some of them that are, or have been, or may be; none of which are uni- versal. But when he would have him to draw the picture of the king, or any particular person, he limiteth the painter to that one person he chuseth. It is plain, therefore, that there is nothing universal but names; which are therefore called indefi- nite, because we limit them not to ourselves, but leave them to ])e apphed by the hearer" ("Tripos," chap. v.). To us this illus- tration seems an unfortunate one for its purpose. A painter might make an outline image, which, without being the like- ness of any particular man, would serve to call to mind some one of our race; and, if this be so, may not the human mind have the power of forming an indeterminate notion, which is 326 THE HUMAN MIND. § 137. not the conception of any individual man, but yet is applic- able to any? About one hundred years after Hobbes, nominalism was elegantly set forth in the writings of Berkeley and Hume. In the present century it has been defended by Stewart, Campbell, and Hamilton. But these last named authors, as well as others of an older date, really modify their teaching so as to concede to the mind a power of general thinking. The inevitable diffi- culty of strict nominalism is that it sets aside, instead of ex- plaining, a well-known mental phenomenon. Those who insti- tute inquiry by a scrutiny of consciousness, must see, more or less clearly, that we have general notions. Hence every argu- ment for nominalism may be turned against itself Berkeley says, " The idea of a man that I frame to myself, must be either of a white, or a black, or a tawny, a straight or a crooked, a tall, or a low, or a middle-sized man"; which language can only mean that our idea of a man must be ilie idea either of a white, or a black, or a tawny man, and so forth. But the simple fact is that we constantly do think even of an individual man, — much more, therefore, of man in general — without thinking of the determinations of singularity. Things cannot exist without determinations, but they can be conceived of without them. At the present day nominalistic views are held only by certain associationalists, sensationalists, and materialists, whose sys- tems produce an incapacity for understanding the more delicate phenomena of psychical life. Modern realism. ^^^^^® *^® inauguration of modern philosophy, in Spinoza, scheuingi the Seventeenth century, by Descartes, the influ- Thriast expiring cucc of rcalism has been notably manifest in the £*mftaphysi^csi pautheism of Spinoza, and yet more in that of Schelling and of Hegel. Spinoza's radical conception, the unity of substance, was im- mediately based on the Scholastic definition, " Ens 'per ,se suh- sisteois,^' but was wonderfully supported by a philosophic error that can be traced to a very early day. For Aristotle himself identified existence with unity, and taught that the science of entity is the same as the science of unity, and that in some sense the existent, as such, is also the one. This obscure doc- trine, which sounds absurd in modern ears, originated from the ambiguity of an idiom in Greek. Often in that language gen- eral attributal notions are expressed by the neuter singular of adjectives accompanied by the definite article. To dyaBdv and TO naXov signify excellence and beauty. In the same way, ro 6v and rd ev are employed throughout the metaphysics of Aris- totle to signify existence and unity ("Met." bks. iii. and ix.). These meanings were perfectly allowable ; and it is evident that they do not present realities, but simply abstracta or universals. But the expressions r6 6v and rd ev may also be taken in an actualistic sense, and as having the individualizing, instead of the merely distinguishing, force, of the article; in that case, rd ov § 137. GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION. 327 would mean the only existing being, and roev the only one being the only one unit. But these must be identical. There- fore, simply allowing that these expressions set forth realities, we must admit their teaching that there is one being only. Aristotle was too sensible a thinker to carry out this doctrine fully ; but Spinoza found no difficulty. Giving objectual reality to the general abstract ideas of ilie unit and the existent, as if each were one individual object, and the only one of its kind, he thereupon identifies these things. For, if the unit is the only (me, there can be no existent beside it*; and, if the existent is the only being, there can be no unit beside it. Hence the identity of TO 6v, to ev, and ro Ttdv, hence the impersonal pantheistic substance. The continued attribution of reality to universals, even after they were no longer granted an existence apart from intellectual activity, left the way open and ready for the heresy of Schelling and Hegel. They declared, and maintained ably, that object and subject, the real and the ideal, thoughts and things, nature and spirit, are identical. Hegei treated hei'Mj — that is, general attributal existence — as a real object, and found in it the power of evolving out of itself, and as parts of itself, all other things and combinations of things. Thus modern genius unconsciously produced a gigantic system of delusion out of the ancient meta- physics. The philosophic pantheism which prevailed in Ger- many at the beginning of the present century, is a notable, in- stance of the fact that the doctrine of realism, whenever logic- ally followed out, leads into a labyrinth of error. Some, however, have called themselves realists, and some yet do so, who scarcely deserve the name. To hold that classes of similars, corresponding to general notions, actually exist, and are not mere creations of the intellect; to teach that many things in their individual natures have a power of producing their like^ and of perpetuating their kind ; to believe that general conceptions dwelt in the divine spirit prior to the existence of organized beings; and to hope that, by the study of the universe, we ourselves may seize and think the thoughts of God — these are things entirely consistent with the doctrine of the non-reality of universals. conce tuaHsm Joh^ Lockc — who was eighteen years old when Locke, Reid, etc., Descartcs died, who was born in 1632, the same ^^°* year with Spinoza, and who died in 1704, twenty years before the birth of Kant, and seventy before that of Schel- ling — was probably the first of modern philosophers to state clearly the true doctrine concerning general ideas. Before his time Conceptualism, as it has been called, had found advocates, but had not attained any established position, in the world of letters. "General and universal," says Locke, "belong not to the real existence of things; but are the inventions and creatures (5f the understanding, made by it for its own use, and concern only signs, whether words or ideas. Words are general when 328 THE HUMAN MIND. § 138. used for signs of general ideas and so are applicable indiffer ently to many particular things; and ideas are general when they are set up as the representatives of many particular things but universality belongs not to things themselves, which are all of them particular in their existence ; even those words and ideas which in their signification are general" ("Essay," bk. iii. chap. iii.). Had Locke, in addition to the foregoing, clearly seen and taught that ideas, whether general or singular, are simply the states or actions of the soul in thinking, and that an idea is never, in any true or literal sense, the object of itself, the philosophy of the eighteenth century might have been saved from much useless and extravagant speculation. As it was, Locke's doctrine has prevailed. Adopted and improved by Eeid, it was defended by him against Berkeley and Hume; and, at the pres- ent time, Conceptualism is upheld by the general assent of philosophers; though, even yet, some scarcely comprehend how we can think as if of objects, when no objects corresponding to our thought exist. § 138. At the risk of exposing ourselves to the menrstated^S chargc of laboring to slay the slain, we shall dis- Beid quoted ^^^^ ^^® othcr argument for the reality of uni- versals. For the fact that general notions occur both as the subjects and as the predicates of assertive propositions, is one calling for explanation. We say, " The tea-plant grows in China," "The gorilla lives in the woods of Africa," "Man has built many structures of stone," " The ocean cable has proved a success,'" "Spirit and matter exist," "Caesar was brave and mag- nanimous," " Mary Queen of Scots, was beautiful and unfortu- nate," "The rain falls softly," "There is justice for the oppressed." In all such statements, general notions furnish either subject, or predicate, or both. But it is the specific difierence — that is, the essential characteristic — of predication proper, when afl^rmative, to assert the existence of the predicate-object, that of the sub- ject being taken for granted; and it is the essential characteris- tic of improper predication to assert the existence of the subject, no predicate-object being mentioned (§ 47). Such statements, therefore, seem to assert, either directly or indirectly, the exist- ence of general objects. Yet that this use of thought and Ian guage does not really assert the existence of universals, will become evident, if we consider successively the various modes according to which general notions may occur in predication. First, there are the predications, already noticed (§ 136), in which the general notion, as subject, cannot have an universal force or a general applicability. In these, of course, it cannot present any universal or general object as existing. Secondly, there are those in which the general notion is attributive or adjunct; as when, above, "lives in Africa," "brave," "beautiful," and "falls softly," are predicated. Statements of this class evidently do not assert the independent existence of these predicate-objects', but, on the contrary, their dependent and inherent existence as § 138. GENERALIZATION AND ^INDIVIDUATION. 329 connected with the subject of the predication. Moreover, when the subject is singular, it is clear that the whole force of such statements lies in the fact that they become individualized, or, at least, may easily do so. Thirdly, this last statement holds good as well when the predicate is a noun as when it is an ad- jective or verb. In " Ccesar erat homo,'' homo becomes individu- alized in the very act of predication ; we mean, not that Caesar was man, in general, but that he was a man. The modern lan- guage expresses this individualization by using the indefinite article, while the ancient does not. But in plural propositions the Latin, also, gives number and individuality to the predicate- object, saying, "• Romani erant homines.'" Therefore, fourthly, seeing that the force of the predicate is determined by the character of the subject, let us turn to that aspect of predication according to which the existence of the subject is asserted or implied; and, in this connection, let us remember that all predi- cation, according to the intention of the mind in using it, is either actualistic or hypothetical. Actualistic general assertions are those which set forth matters of fact; as when we said above, " The gorilla ranges the woods of Africa," " Spirit and matter exist," "There is justice for the oppressed." When we examine the state of our minds in making such predications it becomes evident that we have no intention to assert that any general ob- ject, as " the tea-plant," " the gorilla," " matter," " spirit," or even "justice," has an existence by itself, in China, or in Africa, or anywhere else. We simply mean that tea-plants, gorillas, ma- terial and spiritual objects, and just retributions and rectifica- tions, each in its own individuality, do, or shall, exist. The general notion in such statements, though not individualized, is employed with a reference to its capability of individualization, in other words, as having applicability. The truthfulness of these actualistic general statements consists solely in this, that they are the secondary, partial, indeterminate expression of lit- eral, determinate, individual facts. This is what Dr. Reid really meant in saying, "The existence of universals is nothing but predicability " ("Essay," v. chap. vi.). For these words can signify only that general objects are spoken of as if they had an existence, simply because general ideas may be applied to exist- ing individuals. Finally, let us notice hypothetical, or suppo- sitional, predications with general subjects. These vary in form accordingly as the hypothesis is expressed or implied. We may say, either, " If theft take place, it is a crime," or simply, and as usually, "Theft is a crime"; and, "If there is a tri- angle, its area is as the product of its base by its altitude," or " The area of the triangle is as the product of its base by its al- titude"; also, "If there be a beginning, or change, of existence it must be caused," or, " Every beginning, or change, of existence is caused"; and, once more, "If there be angel and demon, they are moral beings," or "The angel and the demon are moral be- ings." Now hypothetical statements (§ 49), so far as the construe- 330 THE HUMAN MIND. § 139. tion and use of thought is concerned, follow the same rules which govern the actualistic. As, therefore, literally and strictly, general actualistic predications do not assert or assume the ac- tual existence of universals, so hypothetical general predications do not assert or assume even their supposed existence. Indeed it is doubly and emphatically true that the whole force of these predications lies in their applicability. For those very individu- alized, but indefinite, statements which they immediately imply, into which they easily transform themselves, and by means of which also they are very commonly expressed (§ 133), are them- selves merely hypothetical, and concern only supposed or ideal objects; so that the truth of these indefinite statements also, lies in their applicability. For, while the general notion may be ap- plied to any actual object because of the membership of the lat- ter in a class of similars, the individualized indefinite notion is applicable to an actual object, not simply because it is a mem- ber of a class (§ 132), but also because of that individuality which every actual object possesses, no matter to what class or classes it may or may not belong. We conclude, therefore, that the employment of general notions- in predication is no proof of the reality of universals. Most general statements are intended as necessi- ence dSned.^^^ tudiual aud hypothetical predications. This is often a^dLireliJbjS^ ^^^ ^^^^ cvcu whcu they include also an actualistic reference or implication. So far as general state- ments are hypothetical they are said to express laws, that is, either the laws of entity in general, or of some kind or depart- ment of existence. It follows, therefore, that, in strict truth, the laws of being, in all its departments, are not real but gen- eral things, — or universals. They are not even ideal individ- ualities. A law of existence is a general case of antecedent and consequent; and the truth of the statement expressing it lies in this, that a real and individual fact corresponding to the gen- eral consequent necessarily exists whenever there is a real and individual fact corresponding to the antecedent. Hence we say that general scientific statements express laws and not facts. Similar remarks apply to moral and governmental law as a general mode of conduct prescribed for us by some authority or necessity. It has no more reality than those general forms or modes of existence, which are necessitated by general ante- cedents. Hence the legal profession distinguish between fact and law. But sometimes by a law we mean the mental or verbal statement of some mode of conduct prescribed by authority or duty; and in that sense a law may be individual and real. c^ i„ ,• -,••-, 1 \ 139. From the truth that universals do not exist, Only indiYiauals ^ ,, ^ . i-iti exist. we turn to the correlative doctrine wnich Locke "^^^*' asserts, viz., that "all things that exist are partic- ulars," that is, individuals ("Essay," bk. iii. chap. iii.). This doctrine might be inferred from the former. For the universal is simply that which has not individual difi'erence, and the iu- § 139. GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION, 331 dividual is that which has; if the former of these cannot exist, then only the latter can; and so every actuality is an individu- ality. But the same conclusion may be formed more directly from certain intuitions which accompany our perceptions of fact. We never perceive anything save as existing definitely in space and time, and as having parts and relations which belong to it alone. Even God, and the universe as a whole, are inferentially perceived as thus existing. And every perception of simple fact is accompanied with the necessitudinal judgment that each indi- vidual object perceived, considered simply as an actual entity, must exist in its own place, in its own time (or rather with its own relations to space and time), and with its own parts, and its own relations to other objects. But this is the same as to say that every actual entity is an individual. From this, again, we immediately infer that whatever has no parts and no rela- tions of its own, in other words, whatever is not an individual, cannot exist, and is a non-entity. Truths so simple and radical as these do not admit, and ordinarily do not need, direct proof; yet the absurdity of denying them may be shown. Let us sup- pose that two entities — two trees, or two men — occupy precisely the same space, exist during precisely the same time, and have, in strict literality, the same parts and the same relations. , Is it not evident that such a suppos-ition destroys itself, and that the two things cannot be two, and must be one only ? But while Locke's doctrine, that all actual objects l^livS^ta^ton- ^^® individual, is undoubtedly correct, we cannot is" discussed. acccpt another doctrine which he teaches else- sensTs. ^^^^ where, viz., that the individuality of objects de- pends simply on their actuality. We believe that individuality depends on something that belongs to existing ob- jects, and not simply on their existence. The passage, in which Locke teaches that the individuality of things is essentially de- rived from their existence, occurs in his discussion of identity and diversity ("Essay," bk. ii. chap, xxvii.). He writes, "From what has been said, it is easy to discover, what is so much in- quired after, the principiwn individuationis; and that, it is plain, is existence itself, Avhich determines a being of any sort to a particular time and place incommunicable to two beings of the same kind." The term pi^mcipium — or principle, — as it occurs in this passage, is only remotely connected with that sense according to which a principle is a proposition, which, being accepted as true, becomes a ground or source of inferential con- viction. By principium individuationis we are to understand simply the source or origin of individuation. This latter word signifies the making or causing of something to be individual; and, according to a very wide use of such terms as making, or causing, or originating, the whole phrase, principle of individua- tion, may have any one of three meanings. First, it may sig- nify that ivhicJi produces individuality — the efiScient cause of it. This clearly is not existence ; existence produces nothing. The 332 THE HUMAN MIND. § 139. producing cause of individuality and of every other attribute of a thing must be that cause, whatever it may be, which produces the thing. The strength and skill of a carpenter produce a table, or, more correctly, the form or structure of a table; the materials exist previously. And they produce the individuality of the form, for this is a part of it. True, the carpenter may make one form and not another, while he has- no choice regard- ing individuality; by reason of which circumstance, the produc- tion of the individuality is never mentioned, but is something assumed or understood. Yet it seems clear that whatever pro- duces a thing must produce its individuality with it. Secondly, the principle, or cause, or source, of individuation, may refer, not to a power producing individuality, but to a controUing or determining condition^ under which the power must act, if it act at all (§ 50). The cause of fishes living in the water, and of birds living in the air, is that neither could live in any other element than their own. In the same manner, we may say that the cause of anything being an individual is that whatever exists, or is made to be, must be an individual. In other words, individuality is a necessary attribute — not of existence — but of that which exists, of entity. It belongs to "the nature of things," to the universal and necessary nature of things. Here is the cause of the uncaused individuality of God. According to this view a law of ontological necessity is the principium in- dividuationis ; and this opinion seems really to have been that of Mr. Locke, though he imperfectly expressed it. Finally, the 'principium individuationis may mean that which constitutes the individuality of a thing; for constitutive, as well as productive or determinative, conditions, are styled causes; and are said to make a thing to be — or to be what it is. This is the most important signification of the phrase, because it leads to the question, " What is an individual ? " A constituting cause is either the whole nature of a thing, or it is that which, being added to some given nature, completes the nature of the thing in question. Now, although existence logically necessitates the individuality — -just as it does the time and place (or the tem- porality and locality) of a thing, — it is clear that it does not constitute individuality. What then does? Is it not the pos- session of a nature affected throughout and in every part by such diff'erence as distinguishes every existing object from all other existences, that is, by individual or singular diff'erence? Is it not that body of characteristics which belong exclusively to every actual thing, and which give it that full hcecceitas of which Scotus speaks ? This is the doctrine of the Nominalists, which Leibnitz supported — " Omne individuum sua tota entitate individuatur " — and it seems to be correct. The phrase principium individuationis, though admitting sev- eral lawful meanings, is a relic of the false objectualisra of the Aristotelian metaphysics. It smacks of the time when univer- sals were allowed a real existence, and when active substantial § 140. GENERALIZATION AND INDIVIDUATION. essences individualized themselves in combinations with pas- sive matter. Locke rightly employs the phrase as referring to things rather than to thoughts, and endeavors to neutralize its suggestion of error by giving it a proper explanation. We must add a few words as to ilie individuation The indMduation ^^ iJiQuqht This is a ficenuine causative process ot thought. J J i^ip i-i.'i. such as we commonly speak ot; and it consists, not in giving individuality to our thoughts themselves, for they are already always individuals; but in changing the force of general conceptions so as to apply them to individual things. We individualize a conception Avhen we add to it the thought of that difference of which we have already spoken. In connection w^ith the doctrine that existence is no h^vl?ni7 imigiS part of individuality one or two points are noticeable, ary existence Ind x^rst, it is 2:enerally, and we believe correctlv, taught that imaginary objects are individual. We do not, however, argue from this that, literally speaking, not all indi- vidual objects are actual. For neither imaginary objects, nor their individuality, really exist at all (§ 38). Nor, on the other hand, in allowing that imaginary objects are individual, do Ave assent to the theory of the reality of such objects. We simply use objectless thought and language, the meaning of which is that, in imaginative conceptions, we think as if of individual objects; in other words, that our imaginations are all singular or individualized conceptions. This last is the teaching of Pres. Porter when he says, " A concept is general ; an image is indi- vidual " (" Human Tntellect," § 424 and § 64). Existence may be Again, although. Ordinarily, the idea of existence is used as a specific not an csscutial element in a general notion, we can, difference. ^^^ somctimcs do, generalize the thought of a hind of things as existing. Thus we speak of " the existing elephant," in contrast to extinct species; or of "the existing fashion," as op- posed to what has been or might be ; or of " the existing mam- mals and birds," in each case making the notion of reality an es- sential part of the general conception. This does not individualize the notion, though it renders it more specific; nor does it imply the existence of a general object, but simply indicates that one's thought is applicable only to an existing class of individuals. Formal and nega- Finally, that independence of conception which we tive individuaiiza- havc found between existence and individuality makes possible conceptions of individuals either as non-existent, or without reference to their existence; in other words, negative and formal individual conceptions. The ques- tion, "Is there a loaf in the cupboard?" and the answer, "There is none," may furnish examples of such thought (§ 36). § 140. In the present and previous discussions Ave tim io^^tiZ^'^ have used the term conception as a general word Mccosh^*^^*'^*' applicable to either the power, the process, or the product, of the mind in the formation of its ideas, whether singular or general. On the other hand, the term notim \ 334 THE HUMAN MIND. § 140. nas been for the most part restricted to general ideas, though it naturally applies, also, to those indefinite individualized con- ceptions which are so closely allied to the general (§ 133). In this use of language we have been governed partly by necessity and partly by propriety. Of late years, especially since the days of Hamilton, many have applied the term conce'ption only to general thinkings. This is a departure from earlier usage and from that still employed in common speech, and, without any sufficient reason, deprives philosophy of a most useful word. Conception^ being derived from concipere, to grasp, properly de- notes any thought, but especially any synthetic thought, in which the grasping, or comprehending, power of the mind is exerted. Both Reid and Stewart employ the term correctly, though neither defines it well, and neither apprehends fully its comprehensive- ness of meaning. Reid first identifies " conceiving, imagining, apprehending, understanding, having a notion of, and having an idea of," a thing; but afterwards allows a distinction between conception and imagination, saying that " we can conceive uni- versals, but cannot imagine them." Stewart, in distinguishing these powers, says that the province of conception is to present us with an exact transcript of what we have formerly felt and perceived." This definition probably resulted from his nominal- istic views; elsewhere in speaking of the opinions of others, he mentions "general conceptions" (Reid's "Essays," iv. 1, vi. 6, and Stewart's "Elements," chaps, vii. and iv.). The true compre- hensiveness of the term is well given by Dr. McCosh when he says that a conception may be either " a phantasm or a notion," meaning by the former a mental image, and by the latter a gen- eral idea (" Intuitions," p. 344). We believe that this gives the historical use of the word. In connection with the doctrine of generalization, ^d sjS\mbi^ w® should noticc an ambiguity in the terms species uous in theii phi- QiTid ocmis. Tliesc someUmes siqnifv that qeneral ob- losophical use. .,*' . 7, 7*7 ^ ' -r»iij 7 i • time. continuance. By the term phase., here, we mean sim- ply the total collection of those activities, which, arising from common conditions, accomplish, or tend to accom- plish, a common end or work, and are, therefore, naturally re- garded by us in one general view. We do not mean the total of our mental experience at any one time. Activities belonging to different phases may co-exist, and a constant influence may be exerted from one phase upon another. Thus an object seen may give a new turn to some train of thought, or may furnish a link in some chain of reasoning; the observations of sense may be directed by the recollections of memory or the principles of science ; and the playful w^ork of fancy often interrupts, and some- times is interrupted by, the earnest inquiries of philosophy. Yet the activities of the different phases may be distinguished even while mingling with, and affecting, each other. For the opera- tions of the reproductive intellect are always subsequent in nature to those of perception, and presuppose them ; while the operations of the discursive faculty are subsequent in nature to both the rest. Thirdly, one may be doubtful, sometimes, as to uon^J^beioSg'^to which ouc of the three grand phases of intellect on^ P^*^®^ ** some complex activity, or series of activities, should be assigned ; it is even conceivable that an operation may be of such a double character as to belong to tico 'phases at once. An argumentative history or a philosophical poem might be claimed either for the reproductive or for the rational phase. For the one would combine memory, the other imagination, with reasoning. Ordinarily, the character of any intellectual state or work may be determined by considering simply the principal end immediately subserved by it. Imafgination involves skill and judgment in the analysis and synthesis of ideas, and might, therefore, be assigned to the discursive intellect. Yet this faculty, § 142. PERCEPTION OR COGNITION. 339 in its ordinary development and nse, is properly classed as one mode of reproduction. For it aims simply at the contemplation of its oivn creations, and not at all at the attainment of truth and understanding. But there is an exercise of intellect very nearly akin to imagination, which, taking reason for its guide, and act- ing in the service of the knowledge of fact, forms conjectures, hypotheses, ideals, and illustrations; and this mode of thought, which has been called the Philosophical Imagination ("The Hu- man Intellect," § 362), is a subordinate part of the discursive faculty, its proper aim and efiect being to discover and compre- hend the truth. Finally, we must be careful not to limit our con- wefard'edS ccptiou of any one of the grand phases of thought eluding whatever gQ ^s to excludc from it auv element of activity belongs to It at any , • , • i • l i j -i-U* '4. T^U time. which IS evcr properly included within it. Ine ?o1veT^infe°renS; pcrccptive phasc may be styled the presentative, ?g^^ reason intu- bccausc in it alouc we find immediate or presenta- tional cognitions, and because no perception takes place without at least having such a cognition as its most essen- tial part. Yet it would be a mistake to suppose that perception — that is, the perceptive phase of thought — is confined to cogni- tions which, in the strict or absolute sense, are immediate. Every secondary, or acquired, sense-perception involves an inference; and it is evident that the immense majority of our external per- ceptions are of this kind. The very word perception, though now appHcable to cognitions which are immediate, probably signified originally a learning through the use of means. In like manner, the reproductive phase of thought includes more than the mere reproduction of thought. In all the higher employments of the fantasy the reproductive power simply furnishes materials; which then are ' elaborated by poetical skill and judgment. Sir Wm. Hamilton, in his ' Metaphysics " (Lects. XXI.-XXIX.), treats of perception as including only presentative thought; but after- wards speaks of the reproductive faculty as being practically identical with the imagination. He should either have enlarged the sphere of perception, or limited that of reproduction. Presi- dent Porter gives a \Vider scope for the exercise of both faculties; and avoids that cause of confusion by which the discussion of Sir William is aifected. The discursive phase, also, may be the subject of inadequate conception. The " Discourse of Keason," as it is called, is only the more prominent method, or manifesta- tion, of- that faculty whereby man seeks to perfect and extend his knowledge of things.- There is also what has been called "The Intuition of Reason," from which the discourse of reason originates, and which may be conceived to take place without the latter. This intuition is simply that clear analytical perception of elements and relations of which brutes are incapable, unless in a very low degree ; and the development of which gives to the human understanding its pecuHar and penetrating power. It is with reference to these two modes of rational activity that the 340 THE HUMAN- MIND. § 143. division of reason into intuitive and discursive may be best main tain'ed. The penetrating analytical apprehension of the nature or composition of objects, is a condition of the discursive processes of reason, and is the chief and the ultimate source of the distinc- tive character of the rational faculty; but this apprehension is mostly to be found and seen only in connection with those dis- cursive processes — such as formal generalization, analysis, syn- thesis, and inference — which are discussed in the philosophy of logic. Moreover, language expresses the operations of reason only as they are discursive. With reference, therefore, to its notable manifestation we may rightly style reason the discursive faculty; remembering at the same time that the ^^discursus mentis''' is not the whole work of reason, but only its full and principal development. The same extension of meaning takes place when, in English, "the understanding" is used as equiva- lent to " the reason," and when, in Greek, "7 dtdvoia'' is used as equivalent to " o rov?." For "7;5iaVoza," the discursive faculty, and the understanding, are all interchangeable terms. With the foregoing explanations such definitions omo^ughfdSned! as the following of the three grand phases of mental activity may prove sufiicient. The percep- tive phase is composed of perceptions which are either immediate (§ 52), or ivhich closely and invariably follow u]oon those ivhich are immediate. It exists whenever there is immediacy of perception ; and there is a sense according to which it includes immediate perceptions only. It excludes all formal inference, or such as deserves the name of reasoning. The reproductive phase com- prises every form of the reprodiiction and elaboration of acquired %noivledge and thought^ which the purposes of contemplation^ as dis- tinguished from those of understanding and conviction, may call for. The discursive phase includes aU those operations in tvhichy for the ends of understanding and conviction^ we use that power of intellectual penetration and comprehension^ ivhich is called reason, and which especially manifests itself in the discursive or logical processes of mind. The prominent feature of the first phase is the immediate cognition of things; of the second, the reproduc- tion of ideas; of the third, that elaboration of knowledge in the practice of which we form clear and distinct conceptions of things and reason consecutively concerning them. § 143. Let us now concentrate our attention upon Sase origSi^I tlie perceptive intellect. The most important doc- of all thought and triuc to be taught concerning this faculty, is that conviction.*^ it fumishcs man the materials out of ivhich all his thoughts are composed, and lays the foundations on which all his knowledge and convictions rest More particularly, we BRj, first, that perception originates the conceptions of things per- ceived; while all other conceptions and constructions of thought are obtained by the analysis of presentational conceptions and the synthesis of their elements; and, secondly, we say that per- ception originates its own convictions, while other convictions § 143. PERCEPTION OR COGNITION. 341 are either actualistic inferences, which rest their truth entirely upon perceptions as their actuaHstic basis, or hypothetical in- ferences, whose whole value lies in the possibility of their at- taining actualistic force by becoming connected with perceived fact (§ 49). For here we exclude, or rather include, inferences of possibility and of probability, as these accompany or rest upon iiecessitudinal inferences, and are related in the same general way, though less directly, to presentational knowledge (§ 80-86). The originative and primordial character of perception, is, therefore, twofold, and is related, ^Vs^, to the ideas, and, secondly^ to the beliefs or convictions, of the mind. With regard to ideas it is not denied that we have many thoughts other than percep- tions, and many, too, differing greatly in their style and struct- ure from the conceptions obtained by cognition : it is only held that no element of conception can be found which has not first appeared as an element in perception; and that the presentative faculty furnishes all the materials of tJwught, the work of other fac- ulties, so far as thought is concerned, being confined to repro- duction and elaboration. The first philosopher who fully perceived the truth ^mmendeS^*^^ and importance of this doctrine was John Locke; for this reason Locke may justly divide with Des- cartes the honor of inaugurating modern metaphysical progress, and may even claim the greater share. For, while Descartes was first to break loose from the false scholastic methods of inter- preting thought and belief, Locke was the first to indicate and adopt the true method. The first book of the " Essay Concern- ing Human Understanding," directly combats the doctrine of innate ideas; the second opens by giving the "original" whence all our ideas are derived. " Let us," says Locke, " suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper, void of all characters, with- out any ideas; how comes it to be furnished ? Whence comes it by that vast store which the busy and boundless fancy of man has painted on it, with an almost endless variety ? Whence has it all the materials of reason and knowledge ? To this I answer, in one word, from experience. In that all our knowledge is founded and from that it ultimately derives itself Our observation, em- ployed either about external sensible objects, or about the in- ternal operations of our minds, perceived and reflected on by ourselves, is that which suppHes the understanding with the materials of thinking These two, I say, viz., external material things, as the objects of sensation, and the operations of our own minds, as the objects of reflection, are to me the only originals whence all our ideas take their beginning The understanding seems to me not to have the least glimmering of any ideas which it doth not receive from one of these two." Thus Locke taught that sensation and reflection, or what we now call sense-perception and consciousness, as the modes of immediate perception, furnish all the materials of thought. In the subsequent books of the " Essay " the development of this 342 THE HUMAN MIND. § 144. doctrine is attended with considerable obscurity; this arises, we think, partly from an imperfect recognition and analysis of the operation of the secondary powers of mind, but chiefly from that unnatural enlargement of the conceptions of sense-pei'ception and consciousness whereby they are made to include all of our pre- sentative cognitions. This enlargement, in violating certain common combinations of thought and speech, renders the per- plexity of the reader almost a matter of necessity. For men al- low another class of perceptions, additional to the two which Locke mentions, though inseparably concomitant of them. Or- dinary language .permits us to say that material bodies, with their qualities and operations, are perceived in the cognitions of sense, and that the soul, its powers, and its activities, are the objects of consciousness. But we cannot properly speak of feel- ing, seeing, or hearing such things as spaces, times, or relations, nor are we properly conscious of our mental states as being causes or effects, or as having number, or difference, or similarity, or succession. Such language, if used, is secondary and improper. Therefore, while accepting Locke's doctrine, we think that clear- ness of thought and statement calls for a threefold division of the perceptive phase of intellect. The fact that concomitant per- ception (§ 56) acts only in connection with the other two modes of presentational thought, does, indeed, excuse Locke's division and its general adoption by subsequent writers; yet, in meta- physical philosophy, it is often advantageous, and even neces- sary, to distinguish, and to consider separately, things which are inseparably united. § 144. The convictions of perception, in their relation tiiTo?*gin of ?ur to all our othcr convictions, are primordial (§ 52). convictions in the In other words, they are the first beginnings of which it is the ori- all knowledge and belief This relation has not fStions.^'" ^^^' ^t all been so thoroughly considered as that of the thoughts, or ideas, of presentation, to our other thoughts, or ideas. We trace this neglect to the fact that the difference between thought and belief (§ 40) has been greatly overlooked, and unconsciously belittled, by philosophers ; so much so that many, if not most, have treated belief as if it were merely either a clearer exercise of thought or a specific combination of ideas. Were either of these opinions correct, we would natu- rally suppose the convictions of perception to be related to our other convictions simply in the same way that the conceptions of perception are related to our other conceptions. In other , words, we would hold that all other than presentational con- victions are formed from these latter merely by analysis and composition ; a doctrine which would not be true. The want of any tangible distinction between thought and belief, in Locke's writings, is another cause which affected them with ambiguity and left them open to serious misunderstanding. Such ambiguity is especially apparent when he says, that ex- perience is "^Ae original (or origin) of all knowledge." For knowl- § 144 PERCEPTION OR COGNITION. 343 edge is thought considered, not simply in itself, but as accompanied hy certain and icell-founded conviction (§ 41) ; and, while it is true that experience furnishes all the ideal, or conceptual, elements of knowledge, it is not true that it furnishes all the convictional elements of it. The very nature of inferential knowledge is to project itself beyond the range of presentational cognition. Yet Locke certainly intended to teach that experience — that is, pre- sentative cognition — is the origin of all belief as well as of all thought; and he taught this doctrine without apprehending its duplex nature, and without perceiving that a true account of the origin of our convictions must differ materially from a true account of the origin of our conceptions. His teaching, how ever, as to the origin of our convictions is obscure rather than incorrect. In a very important sense, presentation is the origin of all knowledge and belief Locke does not say that subse- quent convictions are merely the reproduction and elaboration of those which are presentational ; but only that " perception is the first step and degree towards knowledge, and the inlet of all the materials of it." ^ ^.„ , We cannot, therefore, a2:ree with the ffreat German The difference be- ' i ® ^ n t i />< j^lv • i tween Locke and coutcmporary and Opponent 01 Locke — (jrottiried piS:lse° '*»iii ^se Wilhclm Lcibnitz, — when he says, "In Locke there cSsS!"*" ^^ ^^'® some particulars not ill expounded, but upon the whole he has wandered far from the gate, and has not understood the nature of the intellect.' On the con- trary, the same cause of obscurity which affected Locke's doc- trine, equally affects the refutation of it attempted by Leibnitz, in his "Nouveaux Essais." In these he teaches that many " ideas and truths are innate " to the mind. By this, he says, we are to understand, not that they have been in conscious posses- sion from birth, nor yet that they have no need of experience as an occasion for their apprehension, but that perception is not at all the origin or source of them, and that they are produced by another and higher power. This teaching of Leibnitz has been accepted by later philosophers, especially by many who claim for man a power of " intuition " or " common sense." But it is no necessary part of modern "Intuitionalism" ; and, so far as it sets forth a source of ideas other than presentative perception, we believe it to be positively wrong. Locke's "Essay" is only negatively wrong in not distinctly recognizing, in certain phases of conviction, an element which is not derived from presenta- tion. A good view of this whole subject may be obtained from a consideration of that pithy statement in which Leibnitz ex- presses his dissent from Locke. In modification of the Aris- totelian aphoiism, '•''Nihil in intellectu quod non prius in sensu,'' Leibnitz adds, ''nisi ipse intellectus" (Ueberweg's "History Phil." §117). Here, in justice to both parties, the term sense must signify, not sensation, nor even sense-perception, but presenta- tive cognition in general. This use of terms is similar to that according to which consciousness, as a perception connected 344 THE HUMAN MIND, § 144. with feeling, has been called man's internal or spiritual sense. Indeed Locke speaks expressly of " external and internal sensa- tion" (bk. ii. chap. xi.). The term intellect^ also, must here sig- nify the mind in its higher, or rational, phase of activity. And, as this intellect can contain only two kinds of things, concep- tions and convictions, the statement that there is nothing in intellect which has not been previously in perception, means that every constituent element of conception and of conviction is furnished by the presentative faculty. In opposition to which doctrine, and in the phrase, "Except intellect itself," we are taught that mind has a power of generating thought and con- viction altogether different from the power of immediate cogni- tion. Such, at any rate, is a fair statement of the view of Leib- nitz as opposed to that of Locke. • So far as the origin of our thoughts or ideas are concerned, we prefer Locke to Leibnitz. At the same time the opinions of these illustrious men might be harmonized, and that, too, with out any violent change in either opinion, if the following state- ments should be accepted as true. Firsts it seems clear that powers of thinking and believing are born with, and innate to, the human soul. Secondly, the faculties of reproduction, analy- sis, and composition, exist in addition to the perceptive faculty. Thirdly, presentation furnishes the elements of all thought or conception, considered merely as thought and aside from any accompaniment of belief The sameness of the reproduced ele- ments, however, is not literal, but only such as we ascribe to a repeated activity. Fourthly, the convictions, as well as the con- ceptions, of the presentational intellect, may be recalled, ana- lyzed, and combined. Fifthly, we can, and do, immediately perceive that necessitudinal connection whereby individual facts may be related to each other as antecedent and consequent, which perception is not inference (both facts being presenta- tively perceived), yet forms that same construction of thought which inference afterwards employs. Sixthly, this inference, or reasoning, as a power and mode of belief, is something wholly additional to presentational conviction, and is not a derivative or secondary form of the same thing. But, at the same time, and seventhly, presentation not only furnishes the necessitudinal modes of thought which inference employs, but also is the only tdtimate ground of real conviction. For an antecedent must, in some way, have presentational evidence for its existence, before any consequent of it can be really known to be. No one of the principles now enumerated can be neglected, or de- nied, or confounded with another, without leading to a con- fused or one-sided statement of the truth. The importance and the correctness of them cannot be farther shown at present, but will become apparent in connection with future discussions. I 145. PERCEPTION OR COGNITION. 345 Theobiectsof er- § ^^^' Leaving the subjective for the objective re- cepUonTre— ^^'" lations of the perceptive faculty, a threefold doc- (S S&iduaL trine presents itself for consideration. In the first (c) Complex. placc, the object of perception is real: in the sec- Descartes quoted x' ' . -.-J . , ^ ^ -x • r\ ^i • j -j. • 7 and discussed. oud, it IS individual; and, m the tmrd, it is complex. *'Coguo, ergosum." rj.^^ statement that the objects of our presentational cognitions are real, is the equivalent of another statement more frequently discussed, viz., that our immediate perceptions are re- liable, or trustworthy. It is plain that presentational thought, in its very nature, asserts the existence of its objects, and that this existence can be gainsaid only by denying the truth or soundness of this assertion. Very few speculators have at- tempted that extreme of skepticism which questions the testi- mony of consciousness; and those who, like David Hume, have done so, have not been able to produce any real doubt, even in themselves, as to the fact of one's own life and being;" yet they have succeeded to some extent in confusing, first themselves and then others, as to the method by which this fact may be philosophically proved. But many have theo- retically questioned, and even denied, the testimony of the senses. This form of skepticism found support in the doctrine of Plato that truth is to be gained only by contemplating the abstract and the universal, and in that scholastic mode of philosophizing which employed deduction from general principles as the all- sufficient method of advancement in knowledge. Besides, the well-known facts, that mistakes occasionally occur in connection with sense-cognition, and that dreams and hallucinations are at- tended with false belief, were naturally cited against the relia- bility of external perception. When Kene Descartes felt him- self forced to discard old doctrines and methods, his difficulties with regard to the cognitions of sense led him to seek the foun- dations of certain knowledge in the perception of spiritual things. Confessing that he greatly doubted almost all things, he yet was sure that he doubted, and that he himself, the doubter, existed. In the first of his " Meditation es de Prima Philosophia," he shows, to his own satisfaction, that all things may be doubted save that we doubt, or rather that we think and have spiritual experience in general. In his second meditation, he claims to have found the Ttdv 6t(3 of Archimedes — the fixed point on which to rest the lever of philosophic reasoning for the displacement of all false doctrines, and for the elevation of true conceptions into their rightful places. This was the cer- tainty of the fact that he himself really doubted and thought. His words are, " Nonne ego ipse sum, qui jam dubito fere de omnibus, qui nonnihil tamen intelligo, qui hoc unum verum esse affirmo, nego caetera, cupio plura nosse, nolo decipi, multa vel invitus imaginor, multa etiam tamquam a sensibus venientia animadverto ? " and he expresses this irresistible conviction of his own existence as a thinking being, in the famous sentence, *' Cogito, ergo sum." By this formula we are to understand — not 346 THE HUMAN- MIND. § 145. that one's existence is either a part or a consequence of one's thought — but only that the certain knowledge of one's thinking involves the knowledge of the existence both of the thought and of the thinker. Descartes expressly says, " Neque etiam qui dicit ' ego cogito, ergo sura sive existo,' existentiain ex cog- itatione per syllogismum deducit, sed tanquam rem per se notam simplici mentis intuitu agnoscit." In other words, Descartes assumed, or posited, certain knowledge of our own inward life and being. From this circumstance some have supposed that he held consciousness to be the primordial source of conviction. Such, however, is not a fair presentation of his doctrine. For he found the source of the reliability of our internal perceptions, not in the power of the simple and direct cognition of that to which the active life of the soul may be immediately related, but in that clearness and distinctness which he found particu- larly to characterize certain modes of thought. He does not say, " Conscius sum cogitandi, ergo sum " ; but only, " Cogito^ ergo sum." Thus Descartes came very near hitting the truth, yet missed it altogether, and went off, like a comet, into the abyss of hypothetical speculation. " In this first knowledge which I have acquired," says he, "nothing but the clear and dis- tinct perception of that which I assert, assured me of its truth; and this could not have so assured me, if it were possible that anything which I should conceive with the same clearness and distinctness should be false. Hence it seems to me that I may adopt the general rule that all things that I conceive very clearly and distinctly are true." For the word percipio, in the sen- tence, " Videor pro regula generali posse statuere, illud omne esse verum, quod valde dare et distinde percipio,'' means any kind of clear apprehension. Descartes, like Locke and Leibnitz after him, did not see the essential difference between thought and belief, and so was led to mistake clear and distinct conception for that irresistible and irrefragable conviction which is the spe- cial characteristic of knowledge. We may have clear and dis- tinct conception of that which is false. This error of Descartes showed itself in the next step of his philosophy. In this he asserted the existence of God simply on the ground that the idea of God is natural to the soul. " Tota vis argumenti," he sa3\s, " in eo est, quod agnoscam fieri non posse ut existam talis naturas qualis sum, iiempe, ideam Dei in me habens, nisi re vera Deus etiam existeret" (Ueberweg's "Hist." § 114). This reasoning, and much more of the same kind by the same author, is not satisfactory. At the present day Cartesianism has little value, save as an illustration of the truth by way of contrast. We must not leave Descartes without mentioning S?''tSng^*h£ liis argument justifying reliance upon the percep- senses. The true tious of scnsc. It is this : from the innate knowl- Eeid quoted.' edge of the Creator, which the soul possesses and develops, we know that God loves truth and abhors deceit ; therefore he cannot have given us a nature whose opera- § 145. PERCEPTION OR COGNITION: 347 tion would be a continual deception. This reasoning seems good, provided the existence of God and His moral attributes can be shown without any dependence on knowledge gained by the senses. This may be disputed; and, for another reason, also, the argument is unsatisfactory. Even granting it to be well-founded, it is a proving of that which needs no proof, and which is plain- est when presented alone, and in the light of its own self-evi- • lence. The weakness of the human intellect is such, that, in I he course of abstract speculations, it may be enticed to forsake that solid ground of conviction presented in perception, and to seek for evidence in all sorts of argumentation; and then, for a time, even visible and tangible facts— or, at least, our remem- brance of them— may be surrounded by the clouds of doubt and of confusion. A more satisfactory way of defending the primary convictions of the mind is to exhibit them in their own self- evidence: and this is to be done by clearness of statement and of illustration. It may be shown, also, that any denial of the self-evident involves absurdity; which mode of proof, however, is often only a variation of that just mentioned, the absurdity being inherent in the very contradiction of the truth, and not arising from the conflict of this with some other truth, of a dif- ferent nature (§ 159V And, finally, the unsoundness of objec- tions, or difficulties, may be shown, according to the best of one's ability (Reid's " Essays," vi. chap. iv.). Self-evident truths are mostly presented in forms of thought which are general and secondary, and in which the full force of original conviction is somewhat abated. Strictly speak- ing, only those intuitions are self-evident in which truth and fact are first perceived by the mind; and general, forms of thought are styled intuitive and self-evident, only because they may immediately represent or symbolize our primary convic- tions. On this account the truth of such generalized intu- itions must be evinced by the employment of instances. In the case of presentational perceptions this is easily done. Let any one for a few minutes attend to his own experience; he will see that his belief in the reality of his inward life and of his immediate surroundings is something over which he has no con- trol — something absolutely irresistible. Should he attempt for f. time to reject the evidence of his consciousness and his senses, and to believe something contrary to it — for example, that he is a motionless and insensible block of stone or ice — he will immedi- ately be convinced of the impossibility and absurdity of such a task. The objections to the truthfulness of our presentational knowl- edge can be shown to be simply ingenious fallacies, and, for the most part, founded on exploded theories. But were they ever so subtle and unanswerable, they are such as never, for one mo- ment, affect our real belief in the existence of an external and of an internal world. As Reid says, " The statesman continues to plod, the soldier to fight, and the merchant to export and import, without being in the least moved by the demonstrations 348 THE HUMAN MIND. § 146. that have been offered of the non-existence of those things about which they are so seriously employed. And a man may as soon, by reasoning, pull the moon out of her orbit, as destroy the belief of the objects of sense." The individuauty "^^^ doc trine of the individuality of things perceived of the objects of docs not Call for extended consideration ; it follows perceptionproved. ^:^^^^^^^ ^^,^^ ^^i^ ^^^^ general truth that all real things are individuals (§ 139). But we should notice that it is a double doctrine, and involves both a statement of simple fact and a statement of necessity. It is true both that all things . perceived, that is, all that have been perceived, are individuals, and that all things perceived, including those yet to he perceived, must be individuals. Whichever phase of the doctrine we take, we can trace the origin of it to presentational thought. The first phase is simply a generalization from our immediate per- ceptions; while the second arises because, when we perceive ob- jects to be individuals, we perceive also that this is necessary in the case of those objects, and that, too, simply by reason of their nature as real entities. Thereupon, because whatever is true of the particular by reason of its generic character is true also of the general, or universal, we infer and affirm that all real entities tvhatever must likewise be individuals. The question of 5 ^^^' ^® sliall uow coiisider whether the objects the complexity of of prcseutativc tliouglit are complex or not. Sir sSSS^ b^^^Hamul Wm. Hamilton states this question clearly, though The^^qutSr^of ^^^^^ spccial regard to external cognition, in the the "Primum Cog- followins: Ian2:ua2:e : "Whether, in perception, do nitMW" fourfold. n i. ■[ . ■ ^ 11 \ l r l^i we first obtain a general knowledge oi the com- plex wholes presented to us by sense, and then, by analysis and limited attention, obtain a special knowledge of the several parts; or do we not first obtain a particular knowledge of the smallest parts to which sense is competent, and then, by synthesis, collect them into greater and greater wholes ? " The subject thus pre- sented may be treated as one branch of a wide inquiry formerly prosecuted under the head of " The Frimum Cognitum,'' or, as we might say, of ^^ First Cognitions.'' Cognitions may be first either in that capacity which is the most important distinction of all perceptions and with which we are now more immediately concerned, that is, as tlie origin of all true knowledge; or they may be first as belonging to the commencement of human life; or as con- nected loith tJie first formation of language; or as entei^tained by the mind at its entrance upon some methodical investigation. We hold that knowledge which is first in any one of these modes is always more or less complex, and that the distinct cognition, either of elements or of minute parts, is gained afterwards by attention and analysis. No one now contends that the inseparable meta- cvxrii or sentient and percipient soul, and the Noviy or thinking mind, and therefore, by implication, between the aidBrfrov, or object, of sense-perception, and the eiSos, or form, which is the object of true knowledge. The latter is contained in the former and is invariable; but the former, so far as it does not contain the latter, is a joint product of the sensation of the soul and of the sense-affecting motions of the external object. In short, the Stagirite did not recognize that the intellectual character of sense-perception is radically the same with that of the rational § 154 SENSE-PERCEPTION. 375 faculty— nay, that its revelations are not less, but more, reliable, than those of the elaborative intellect. The truth is that neither sense-affecting objects, nor the sensations which they produce. which receives the sensible forms of things without the matter, as the wax receives the likeness of the signet-ring without its iron or gold" (rd dBKtiKov T(Sy ai6BrfT^y eidcSv avev rrji t^A^s) ; in which statement sensible forms seem to signify impressions cor^respond' ing to the ivhole individual natures of things, but which yet are of a radically different character from the things themselves ("De Anima,"ii. 3). § 154. The Schoolmen gave the name species to the 'iSiMnaH^" ^ images of Plato and the sensible forms of Aristotle; SsenS. DescSl and, bccausc they considered these mental represen- ts. Pere Male- tatious to rcsult from the effort or intention of the A^na^iid! Berke^ soul in the direction of the objects of sense, they ley. Hume, Beid. called them " 5^60265 iTife/i^^mZe^."^ With them these species were of three kinds, species sensihiles, of which each sense furnished its own in respect to any observed object, species sen- satce, which were treasured up and employed by memory and fantasy, and species intelligihiles, which are the general notions of the intellect applicable to things perceived. The species of the fantasy were derived from those of sense ; but different opinions prevailed as to the origin of intelligible species. Some derived them from the species of the fantasy; others held them to be innate to the mind, which brought them into use as occasion required. Moreover, while most made sensible species the in- ternal products of a mental power, some gave them an existence external to the mind, and even a capability of flying, in a con- tinuous and rapid succession, through space. Most mediaeval thinkers, also, assumed some sort of resemblance between the species and the object perceived — a doctrine which very natu- rally finds a place in every theory of representative perception. But William of Occam, the great Nominalist, who rejected the universals of rational thought, rejected also species of every kind. He held that no such media are necessary for the perception of things. In this he was followed by two great men of a succeed- ing age, Gassendi and Descartes, both of whom denied the pos- sibility of any resemblance between thought and things known, but who, nevertheless, left the nature of sense-perception very ill-defined. Descartes did an essential service to philosophy in asserting the intellectual character of sense-perception more strongly than had ever been done before; and his employment of the word idea, to signify the immediate object of the mind in any mode of perceiving or thinking, has resulted in the modern use of the term to denote a thought of any kind whatever. Pre- viously to his day, ideas meant what Plato understood by them, that is, eternal patterns of things in the Divine Mind. After 376 THE HUMAN MIND. § 154. Descartes the doctrine of perception by means of species under- went various fortunes, being incased and protected by the ter- minology of philosophy, yet weakened by every new advance in psychological analysis. The learned Pere JMalebranche, whose doctrine of "occasional causes" (§ 18) made perception immedi- ately dependent on Divine interposition, was a noted defender of sensible species; while Antony Arnauld, the distinguished Jansenist, discarded species, and identified the idea of the ob- ject with our perception of it. Even Arnauld, however, held that the idea of the object was representative of it, and the immediate object of perception: and this seems to have been the view of Locke also. Locke expressly says that " Idea is the object of thinking," teaching, however, at the same time, that "the ideas of sensation are in the mind no more the likeness of something existing without us than the names that stand for them are the likeness of our ideas" ("Essay," bk. ii. chap. viii.). Berkeley and Hume so developed this doctrine of Locke as to leave no objects of thought save ideas only. At last Thomas Eeid, the stalwart apostle of common sense, arose, and thoroughly destroyed the theory of representative perception in all its forms. No one can study the writings of Reid without being mightily convinced that, in perception, we deal with the object itself, and not with any species, or idea, or representation of it, in the mind. We perceive the object itself, and not a vicarious substitute. The position of Eeid may be illustrated by citing part of his " first reflection on the common theory of ideas." This theory, he says, "Is directly contrary to the universal sense of men who have not been instructed in philosophy. When we see the sun and the moon we have no doubt that the very objects which we immediately see are very far distant from us and from one an- other. We have not the least doubt that this is the sun and the moon which God created some thousands of years ago, and which have continued to perform their revolutions in the hea- vens ever since. But how are we astonished when the philoso- pher informs us that we are mistaken in all this; that the sun and moon which we see, are not, as we imagine, many miles distant from us and from each other, but that they are in our own mind ; that they had no existence before we saw them, and will have none when we cease to perceive and think of them ; because the objects we perceive are only ideas in our own minds, which can have no existence a moment longer than we think of them 1 If a plain man, uninstructed in philosophy, has faith to receive these mysteries, how great must be his astonishment! He is brought into a new world, where everything he sees, tastes, or touches is an idea — a fleeting kind of being, which he can conjure into existence, or can annihilate, in the twinkling of an eye. After his mind is somewhat composed, it will be natural for him to ask his philosophical instructor, ' Pray, sir, are there, then, no substantial and permanent beings, called the sun and moon, which continue to exist, whether we think of them or ^ 154. SENSE-PERCEPTION. 377 not?' Here the philosophers differ. Mr. Locke, and those that were before him, will answer that it is very true there are substantial and permanent beings called the sun and moon ; but they never appear to us in their own person, but by their repre- sentatives, the ideas in our own minds; and we know nothing of them but what we can gather from those ideas. Bishop Berk- eley and Mr. Hume would give a different answer to the ques- tion proposed. They would assure the querist that it is a vulgar error that there are any permanent and substantial beings called the sun and moon; that the heavenly bodies, our own bodies, and all bodies whatever, are nothing but ideas in our minds; and that there can be nothing like the ideas of one mind but the ideas of another mind. There is nothing in nature but minds and ideas, says the Bishop; — nay, says Mr. Hume, there is nothing in nature but ideas only ; for what we call a mind is nothing but a train of ideas connected by certain relations between themselves " (" Essay," ii. chap. xiv.). The treatise from which the foregoing is quoted is an irresistible demonstration of the falsity of the representational view of sense-perception, and a strong vindication of the truthfulness of the dictates of common sense. In particular, ideas or species, as intermediate objects, are shown to be things merely hypothetical, assumed, without any evidence of their existence, in order to explain facts which they really tend to explain away. Eeid's doctrine ^^ *^^® Same tuiie it is to be confessed that Eeid criticised. succeeded better in refuting: erroneous views than Clarke, Porterfield. --i n- ijrj- j.i c y • m developmg and deiending a theory oi his own His doctrine is defective both in regard to our acquired 'percep- tions^ to which class all our more noticeable sense-cognitions belong, and in regard to those original perceptions on which the acquired are founded. He certainly made a mistake in denying the fact relied upon by the advocates of representa- tional perception, that, in some sense at least, the immediate cognition of the distant is a thing impossible. This denial is discernible in the language cited above; it is more distinctly expressed in his formal discussion of the question. He first quotes Dr. Clarke, and Dr. Porterfield, and acknowledges their views to be the same as those of Pere Malebranche, and Sir Isaac Newton. The words of Clarke are, "The soul, without being E resent to the images of the tilings perceived, could not possi- ly perceive them. A living substance can only there perceive, where it is present, either to the things themselves (as the om- nipresent God is to the whole universe), or to the images of things, as the soul is in its proper sensorium." Porterfield, treating of vision, says, " How body acts upon mind, or mind upon body, I know not ; but this I am very certain of, that nothing can act, or be acted upon, where it is not; and, therefore, our mind can never perceive anything but its own proper modifications, and the various states of the sensorium, to which it is present: so that it is not the external sun and moon which are in the hea- 378 THE HUMAN MIND. % 154 vens, which our mind perceives, but only their image or repre- sentation impressed upon the sensorium." It does seem self-evident that nothing can be immediately perceived which is not immediately present to the soul in space and time. -What Porterfield says of the heavenly bodies is the simple truth. We do not immediately perceive them, but only ths image of them, not in the mind, but on the retina; and then, in a way to be explained hereafter, we infer their existence and character from the existence and character of the image. Reid should have allowed the truth of Clarke's assertion, and should then have shown that distant objects — that is, objects from which the soul is separated in space and time — may be perceived me- diately and inferentially, yet without the vicarious perception of any species or idea. Instead of this, he denies that immediate presence is necessary to immediate perception. He acknowledges that " nothing can act immediately where it is not," yet claims an exemption from the condition of an immediate presence, be- cause, in sense-cognitions, neither the object acts on the mind nor the mind on the object. " I perceive," he says, " the walls of the room where I sit, but they are perfectly inactive," and "to say that I act upon the wall by looking at it is an abuse of lan- guage and has no meaning." "Therefore," he adds, "Dr. Clarke's argument against our perceiving external objects immediately, falls to the ground." This reply is not satisfactory. We admit that perception is not a transitive, but an immanent, act, which cannot in any way ajffect its object; we allow that the object does not act upon the mind so as to have any proper share in the cognition of itself; and yet we hold that immediate percep- tion involves immediate presence. We regard this as a nec- essary and intuitive conviction. Moreover, it seems conform- able to experience. Although the essential force of perception is wholly from within, it is not true that distant material objects can be perceived if they do not, in some way, affect the mind. The sense-cognition of them takes place only when they radiate or reflect light, emit sounds or odors, move or resist the motion of things instrumentally connected with the body — in short, only when, by some means, they produce some sensible impres- sion upon us. Certainly, with our present constitution, an object must act on the mind to be perceived; such being the case, it is rational to suppose that only those objects are imme-. diately perceived which act immediately, and that other objects, which act through them, are perceived inferentially, although, it may be, by a simple, easy, and instantaneous inference. But, even were we to suppose disembodied spirits to have a power of external cognition in no way conditioned on impressions from without, it is impossible to believe that they could exercise that power if entirely separated from the object and from all means of communication with it. We reject Reid's doctrine of the im- mediate perception of the distant as being contrary both to fact and reason. § 154. SENSE-PERCEPTION. ^ 379 ^ . . , ^ The teachine: of this philosopher respecting origi- Original and ac- '-> . . *■ i*i.-ii i.i i. quiied perception nal sense-perceptioH IS not so objectionabLe as tnat by Redd!" ^i^iSf- which we have just considered, and which pertains portant distino- ^q acquired perception only. His account of origi- nal perception is defective rather in the mode of its conception and expression, than in the principal matter pre- sented. Believing every act of cognition to be of a purely in- ternal origin, and not, like sensation, the eiBfect of external causes, he was led to say that perception is a kind of suggestion, ur inference, made by the mmd on the occasion of its sensations. Nevertheless, he held this to be an act of immediate cognition, because it is entirely independent of any past knowledge or per- ception of things, and itself originates both our conception of objects and our belief in their existence. Therefore, also, it is radically different from that suggestional, or inferential, cogni- tion, which it is the province of the reasoning faculty to supply. This view of sense-perception is analogous to Reid's teaching concerning consciousness. Just as he speaks of " the existence of a mind and its powers and faculties" as an "inference," such as logic can give no account of, from our conscious activity, so he declares, that " our belief that what we perceive or feel does now exist" is "a natural and original suggestion," produced by sen- sation (" Inquiry," chap. ii. 7). But his doctrine of the imme- diateness of both original and acquired perception may be best gathered from a passage in his second essay. " In perception," he says, " whether original or acquired, there is something which may be called the sign, and something which is signified to us, or brought to our knowledge, by that sign. In original percep- tion the signs are the various sensations which are produced by the impressions made upon our organs. The things signified are the objects perceived in consequence of those sensations, by the original constitution of our nature. Thus, when I grasp an ivory ball in my hand, I have a certain sensation of touch. Although this sensation be in the mind and have no similitude to anything material, yet by the laws of my constitution, it is immediately followed by the conception and i3elief that there is in my hand a hard smooth body of a spherical figure, and about an inch and a half in diameter. This belief is grounded nei- ther upon reasoning, nor upon experience; it is the immediate effect of my constitution ; and this I call original perception. " In acquired perception the sign may be either a sensation, or something originally perceived. The thing signified is some- thing which, by experience, has been found connected with that sign. Thus, when the ivory ball is placed before my eye, I perceive by sight what I before perceived by touch, that the ball is smooth, spherical, and of such a diameter and at such a dis- tance from the eye; and to this is added the perception of its color. All these things I perceive by sight, distinctly and with certainty. Yet it is certain, from principles of philosophy, that, if I had not been accustomed to compare the informations of 380 THE HUMAN MIND. • § 155. sight with those of touch, I should not have perceived these things by sight. I should have perceived a circular object, having its color gradually more faint towards the shaded side. But I should not have perceived it to have three dimensions, to be spherical, to be of such linear magnitude, and at such a dis- tance from the eye. That these last mentioned are not original perceptions of sight, but acquired by experience, is sufficiently evident from the principles of optics, and from the art of paint- ers, in painting objects of three dimensions upon a plane which has only two. And it has been put beyond all doubt by obser- vations recorded of several persons, who having, by cataracts in their eyes, been deprived of sight from their infancy, have been couched and made to see after they came to years of understanding. "Those who have had their eyesight from infancy acquire such perceptions so early that they cannot recollect the time when they had them not, and therefore make no distinction be- tween them and their original perceptions ; nor can they be eas- ily persuaded that there is any just foundation for such a dis- tinction. In all languages men speak with equal assurance of their seeing objects to be spherical or cubical, as of their feel- ing them to be so ; nor do they ever dream that these percep- tions of sight were not as early and original as the perceptions they have of the same objects by touch. This power, which we acquire, of perceiving things by our senses which originally we should not have perceived, is not the effect of any reasoning on our part; it is the result of our constitution and of the situations in which we happen to be placed" ("Essay," ii. chap. xxi.). In the foregoing the word sign^ as applied to a sensation, is used in a peculiar sense; it indicates that the sensation, when expe- rienced, is the occasion of a knowledge which yet results imme- diately from the constitution of the soul, and which, therefore, is not at all an inference from past knowledge. It is also to be noticed that an original perception, or the sensation appropriate to it, becomes the sign for an acquired perception in precisely the same manner that a sensation is the sign for the original percep- 1 tion itself. Although the power of acquired perception is ob- tained in the course of one's experience, this perception is not of the nature of reasoning; it is not an inference, properly so called, but the direct result of our constitution as modified dur- , ing the past experience. In the passage immediately subsequent! to that just quoted, Reid goes on to argue this point at length. § 155. The doctrine of acquired perception, thus"' Se^^^twqSS presented, has not been accepted as a final and perception. Satisfactory statement. Before the time of Reid, quoted. Bishop Berkeley, in his " New Theory of Vision," had skillfully analyzed our sight-perceptions of the distance and size of objects, and had shown them to be judg- ments in which ascertained standards of measurement are easily and unconsciously employed. Possibly, the reasonings of Berkeley suggested to Reid the necessity of distinguishing § 155. SENSE-PERCEPTION. 381 our original from our acquired perceptions; they certainly indi- cated and determined the direction in which later philosophy has advanced. During the present century the action of the reasoning power has been shown to be much more pervading than was formerly supposed; and, at the time of our writing, there is a general agreement that acquired perception is an in- ference — nay, that it is an inference founded on induction. In illustration of this we shall cite only the following characteris- tically judicious remarks of President Porter: "It may surprise many," he says, "to learn that the processes employed in the acquired perceptions are processes of induction. Induction is usually conceived and described as a process wdiich is appro- priated to philosophical discovery, which requires wide generali- zation and profound reflection, and issues only in comprehensive principles and laws. A little reflection will satisfy any one, however, that the act of mind is the same with that performed in every one of the acquired perceptions. The difference be- tween the two kinds of induction, is not in the process, but in the materials upon and with which the mind performs them. But the acts, the fundamental assumptions, and the liability to error in both, are essentially the same" ("Human Intellect," § 148). Were we to add anything to these words, it would be simply to emphasize the statement that the circumstances of the origin and development of our inferential perceptions cause them to differ greatly from the formal operations of the reason- ing power. In particular, the processes involved in them are really so simple, and become so habitual, and take place so easily and quickly, that they escape from all ordinary analysis. To understand them requires special methods of observation and comparison. This distinction, between our ordinary and articu- late reasoning and the instantaneous conclusions of perception, ehould be fully recognized. We now turn to Keid's doctrine of original percep- Sginar^Tercep- ^lon, which we accept as substantially expressing tion perfected by the trutli. Reiectinfir both representative ideas, and Sir Wm. Hamilton. . ., ^ i • i -j^ • i^^ i .i x • • Hamilton quoted, reasoning 01 any kind, it is truly a theory oi imme- diate cognition. This immediateness is somewhat marred when perception is made the interpretation of a sign, or the belief suggested by an experienced sensation. Even while the interpretation or suggestion introduces a cognition which is original and independent of past knowledge, this cognition is represented as subsequent in time to the sensation upon which it depends, and seems to be separated by the sensation from the object perceived. There is reason for saying that the object is perceived through^ or by means of, the perception of the sensa- tion, and not simply along with, this latter perception. Such a mode of statement is an invitation easily accepted by a thinker of Kantian proclivities to question the authority of the "sugges- tions " of the mind, in regard to objects external to the soul ; it also gives one who supposes the " interpretation " mentioned to 382 THE HUMAN MIND. § 155 be an ordinary logical inference, the opportunity of showing that there is no ground for any such inference — nay, that an original inferential perception is an absurdity. The latter objection is un- just, being grounded on misapprehension ; and the former may be met by saying that what is ultimate and irresistibly self-evi- dent should be received as its own proof; yet both naturally pre- sent themselves. The discussion of difficulties like these led to the inquiry whether the doctrine of the Glasgow professor was not capable of improvement. In particular, it was asked, " Have we not ground to believe in a perception yet more immediate than that which Reid describes?" and, "May not the phenom- ena of such perception be set forth in terms more exactly expres- sive of its nature than any which have yet been used ? " The answer to these questions was wrought out by Sir Wm. Hamil- ton; and is the principal a.ddition which his learned and labori- ous criticism has made to the philosophy of Scotland. His im- provement of the doctrine of perception pertains to two points. In i\\Q first place, he rejected the statement of Reid and his im- mediate successors, who said that "perception follows sensation," or that " sensation is the antecedent of perception." This view was the logical concomitant of another commonly held at the close of the last century, viz., that a collection of things can be Eerceived only by the successive cognition of its parts or mem- ers. For, this being granted, sensation, which determines the perceptive power to action, must itself be the object first per- ceived. Moreover, as the inference of a cause follows the obser- vation of an effect, it was natural to say that the perception 'of body and its changes follows the consciousness of the feelings which they produce. In opposition to these views Hamilton forcibly maintained that the activity of immediate cognition is complex, and that both the sensation and the sense-affecting ob- ject, together with the proper characteristics and relations of the latter, are perceived directly and at once, and in the same intellectual movement. In the second place, Hamilton rejected all such terms as interpretation and suggestion^ and spoke of the "intuitions and presentations" of perception. "• External percep- tion, or perception^ simply," says he, " is the faculty presentative^ or intuitive, of the phenomena of the non-ego, or matter — if there be any intuitive apprehension of the non-ego at all. Internal per- ception, or self-consciousness, is the faculty presentative or intuitive of the phenomena of the ego, or mind " (Note B, § 1). , By these simple changes, in which Reid himself would have heartily acquiesced, Hamilton freed the doctrine of perception from a liability to be misapprehended, and rendered it in every way conformable to the common judgment and experience of mankind. Such is a brief history of the philosophy of sense- Recapituiation. perception. We have omitted from it, as not call- ing for present mention, those doctrines of modern; materialism which identify perception with sensation, and sen»| § 156. SENSE-PERCEPTION. 383 sation ^dth nervous action — crudities, wbicli do not deserve the name of doctrines. The foregoing sketch indicates how slowly, and with what difficulty, a satisfactory theory of perception has been reached by speculators. The earliest philosophers regarded the soul as a material essence, and its perceptions and thinkings as molecular motions resulting from the impact or attraction of external things. The membranous simulacra of Empedocles, constantly flying off from objects and entering tlirough the avenues of sense, betoken a more thoughtful theorizer. Next we notice the obscure and half-developed views of Plato and Aristotle; the former of whom scarcely recognized any connec- tion between thought and sense, and the latter of whom made perception the result of the combined action of the semi-corporeal sensitive soul and the immaterial rational mind. The sensible species of the Schoolmen, produced by the percipient spirit, yet distinct from it, and the direct objects of cognition, may be taken as showing progress in the recognition of the intellectual character of perception. This progress is more apparent in the "ideas" of Occam, Descartes, Leibnitz, Arnauld, and Locke; which were identical with perceptions, yet the immediate objects of perception. These introduced the logical but self-destructive philosophies of Berkeley and Hume. Reid followed, denying that we perceive by representations, and teaching, though im- perfectly, the doctrine of immediate perception. Finally, Sir Wm. Hamilton expressed the truth by saying that our cogni- tion of things immediately present is absolutely free from any process, and that, therefore, it should be called presentative or intuitive perception. The reliability of § ^^^- ^^^ qucstion as to the reliability, or truth- sense - cognition, fuluess, of the scnscs, pertains chiefly to our oriqinal The question per- • i- , •»• ivr* j i • • ■% tains to original or immediate cognitions. JNlistakes occur m acquired insT^f "" AugSl 01' inferential perception; but our original percep- tine, and Aristotle tious are ucvcr incoiTCct. The so-called deceptions ^^^^ ' ^ of sense are merely wrong conclusions from facts immediately perceived. This is the position of Reid, in his chapter on " The Fallacy of the Senses." In speaking of "the errors to which we are liable in our acquired perceptions," he even denies that such perceptions are those of sense at all. "Acquired perception," he says, "is not properly the testimony of those senses which God hath given us, but a conclusion drawn from what the senses testify." And, in this chapter, although he does not retract the teaching that acquired perception "is not the effect of reasoning and does not arise from intuitive evidence in the thing believed, but is the immediate effect of our consti- tion," he no longer asserts this doctrine positively, but declares it to be unconnected with the point in hand. " Whether," he says, "this acquired perception is to be resolved into some pro- cess of reasoning of which we have lost the remembrance, as some philosophers think, or whether it results from some part of our constitution distinct from reason, as I rather believe, does 384 THE HUMAN MIND. § 156. not concern the present subject. But, whether the one or the other be true, it must be observed that the errors of acquired perception are not properly fallacies of our senses." Thus Reid supposed a kind of natural judgment distinct from both sense- perception and the reasoning faculty, which judgment he re- garded as capable of error, and subject to the correction of rea- son. Long previously to Reid, philosophers had recognized the reliability of immediate perception, and had ascribed fallibility only to the accompanying judgment. Anselm of Canterbury wrote, "Falsitas, non in sensibus, sed in opinione." St. Augus- tine, referring to the oar half dipped in water, says, " Si quis remum frangi in aqua opinatur, et, quum inde aufertur, integrari, non malum habet internuntium, sed mains est judex." And Aristotle taught that sense perceives its own things correctly, or with the least possible error, but may be mistaken in things accidental to it. We cannot be wrong in saying that we see something white, but we may be mistaken in saying that the white thing is this, or that; if, for example, we should say that it is, or that it is not, the man, Cleon ("De Anima," iii. 6). But, although a certain recognition of the difference between original and acquired perception may be traced in ancient philosophy, this difi'erence has been satisfactorily explained only in modern times. In considering the reliability of sense, we should bear in mind the fact remarked by Reid, that hyfar the greater part of our per- ceptions are acquired. This will enable us to see that, in one part of every ordinary perception, there is no possibility of error, and that there is another part in which one may find himself deceived. We may be mistaken in asserting some object to be yellow ; for the apparent color may not truly reside in the surface of the object, but may result from the reflection of a yellow flame, or from our looking through stained glass, or from a jaundiced condition of the eye. But we may be certain that the soul sees something diff'erent from itself, and which may be distinguished from other things as the cause of a peculiar sensation of color. In other words, there can be no doubt that we see something yellow. After this manner all our ordinary perceptions may be analyzed. The question of the veracity of the senses is the ?%Lx^n^^, principal branch of a more fundamental inquiry, which concerns with which it mav be resrarded as practically iden- human knowledge , . , A^ a • • ^ • ^ j.i in general. Me- tical ; wc mcau that uiquiry whicn concerns the proposed. ^'''^'^^^ reliability of presentational thought in general. soS^thi^Tm^* t S^^^® presentation is the ultimate source of all beTeif-e^TddenT"^ knowledge (§§ 52, 138), the bearing of our present investigation is very broad. We are really to dis- cuss the question, whether or not human knowledge in general has any good foundation. Let us start out with the principle that something must be self-evident, if any things at all are true and can be known to § 156. SENSE-PERCEPTION-. 385 be. This truth, which may be deduced immediately from the nature of inference, is one of the oldest doctrines of philosophy. Aristotle taught that nothing can be more unreasonable than to ask a reason for everything, and that some things must be evident of themselves (" Met." iii. 6). The most perfect logical inference is valueless if it do not rest ultimately on truths which are not logically inferred. Nothing can be supported imless there be that which needs no support; nothing dependent and derived without that which is independent and un derived. We cannot go so far as some philosophers who say that things self- evident and originally true, do not admit of logical proof. Some- times our confidence in one original conviction may be confirmed by our confidence in another. A knowledge of places and things, gained in past perception and treasured in the memory, may be corroborated by the present evidence of our senses; and the conclusion, based on self-evident principles, that a cubic foot contains one thousand seven hundred and twenty-eight cubic inches, may be proved correct by the actual adjustment of blocks accurately made. We recognize that wonderful network of conditions by which facts, presentationally perceived, are logically bound together. This does not conflict with the doctrine that all belief and conviction presuppose the self-evident, and that if there be not things self-evident, nothing can be known to be. It is the office of philosophy — perhaps its most important office — to consider self-evident truths simply so far as they are ^elf- evident, and to determine what may be the marks of their self- evidence. In other words, while making no attempt to prove the self-evident, we should seek to prove that it is self-evident and does not stand in need of extraneous support. There is only one way in which this can be done; ice must consider attentively undoubted individual causes of intuitive conviction^ so as to see in ivhat resj)ects they differ from other beliefs lohich are not intuitive. Some, while admitting the possibility of this process, may say that it is useless — that one might as well be called to prove the visibil- ity of the sun as the self-evidence of a thing self-evident — that, in short, there can be no question as to the truth of things pre- sentationally known. This is true in regard to one aspect or relation of our immediate perceptions; but it is not true in regard to their philosophical relations. In practical matters, and in the primary and proper exercise of intuition, one never doubts the self-evident, or hesitates to act on his perception of it. But in speculation, when we deal not directly with sensible realities, but with mental reproductions and elaborations, it has been found possible both to deny that some things, which are self- evident, are so, and to assert that other things are self-evident which are not. The intuitional character ascribed to abstrac- tions and generalizations, is secondary and derivative, and is that only of the individual perceptions which they represent. And as, in commerce, gold is never rejected, while this may happen to notes "as good as gold," so general and abstract "intuitions," 386 THE HUMAN MIND. § 156. together with conclusions derived from them, are questioned, while actual individual perceptions never are. The most as- tounding errors have arisen from this theoretical rejection of our immediate cognitions. To counteract such speculative evils, certain tests o?in?T^^ioS^^ *^^*^ ^^ marks — certain rules of judgment, both positive and negative, may be employed, by means of which we may estimate the value of alleged intuitions. If such cri- teria can be found, not only the "ipse dixit'' of philosophers, but also our own uninformed opinions, may properly be subjected to their authority. The negative rules of judgment are based on those negative characteristics which belong to every true presentation. For example, no belief is intuitive ivhicJi inquires logical proof before we can accept it. That the Kohinoor diamond exists, and that it is a crystal of carbon, may be assured convictions with per- sons who never saw the gem ; but they are not intuitions. In like manner, no remembrance is an intuition; even the most per- fect memory is only the reproduction of past thought, accom- panied with the judgment that this thought was, at the first, presentationally obtained. Again, no general truth is intuitional. Every general conception or proposition is formed by a process of abstraction; its truthfulness depends on the correctness of that process. Many general convictions are styled intuitions; nor do we find fault with this; but such language signifies only that they are immediately formed from intuitions. The general truths, that matter and its qualities exist, and that spirit and its powers exist, are intuitions or presentations only in a secondary sense. In the next place, no merely probable conviction is in- tuitive in the sense of which we now speak. Every judgment of probabiKty is of the nature of an inference ; it is the selection by the mind, from several possible consequents, of that conse- quent which is supported by the greatest number of chances (§ 86). Probable judgment may also be distinguished from this intuition, because the latter is always the perception of an object, while, in the former, we deal not with things, but only with conceptions which may, or may not, be found to agree with reality. Once more, tio doubtful belief is intuitive. We distin- guish a judgment of doubt from a judgment of probability, be- cause in the former our minds are not determined to any degree of confidence, but remain unfixed and wavering. By means of these rules, which refer to the negative characteristics of our orig- inal perceptions, we can reject from the list of these intuitions any beliefs whose characteristics are such as have been described. Let us now consider some rules which refer to itive^iespiesupl positivc characteristics, and wliich are much more poses that of the determinative than the negative tests. The con- negative. . /. 1 • • 1 1 sideration oi these positive rules shows, at once, that absolute confidence with which we may rest on presenta tional cognition, and the method by which we may satisfy our I § 157. SENSE-PERCEPTION. 387 selves whether any particular belief be intuitional or not. The use of these rules is based on the supposition that a certain number of our beliefs will stand the tests already considered. Let a conviction be neither a mere deductive conclusion — nor the memory of a past perception — nor an abstract and general proposition — nor a probable judgment — nor a doubtful belief — but, so far as we can see, the presentational perception of either contingent or necessary fact. We have now what might be called a '' prima fcude'' case of intuition; and are in a position to apply further, and more conclusive, rules of philosophical criticism. § 157. These have been variously enumerated by m^rsofiiSSitiin^ eminent writers, but they may all, we think, be Son!%'niyeTs^ rcduccd to three. In the first place, our intuitions, acceptance. Log- qj. -presentative perceptions, are marked by that ical consistency. , S , n • • ,'n • /• i - i xu Hamiitou,McCosii, cibsolute and trresistwle coiiviction, which tney pro- Hume, duce; in the second place, the intuitions of each individual mind are marked by an agreement with those of all other minds, of which fact the common possession by our race of a large body of assured beliefs is a sufficient proof; and, in the third place, the intuitions of the mind are marked by a perfect logical consistency and coherency ivith each other. These tests, when faithfully employed, leave no ground for speculative skepticism, and render our analytic acceptance of intuitional truth as unconditional as our practical acceptance of it always is. The first rule is the most fundamental; the other two furnish secondary proofs, whereby the perfect self-evidence of intuition may be more clearly seen and more fully acknowledged. For, if our immediate perceptions were not absolute and irresistible convictions, it would matter little whether they were experienced by all men alike, or whether they were logically consistent with one another. This fundamental mark — immediate absoluteness of convic- tion — is that to which Hamilton refers when he speaks of con- sciousness as " the only revelation, the only unerring criterion, of philosophy;" it is that also which President McCosh points out when he mentions ''^ self -evidence,'' as the primary test of in- tuition. There is, however, an apparent solecism in the state- ment that "consciousness" — by which we are to understand immediate and absolute knowledge — is the proof of immediate and absolute knowledge, and likewise in the statement that the self-evidence of a thing is the proof of that self-evidence. The objection suggests itself that the premise, in such argumentation, is identical with the conclusion. This is not really the case. The irresistible conviction, mentioned as the mark of an intui- tion, is not the simple certainty which ordinarily attends im- mediate perception. It is the conviction which accompanies experiments made for the purposes of philosophy, and which, in this way, falls under the scrutinizing observation of the 388 THE HUMAN MIND. § 157. investigator. We appeal to that special and speculative exer- cise of self-conscionsness which has sometimes been distinguished as reflection (§ 147). This appeal is legitimate, and, when prop- erly made, has always but one result. Most philosophical schools, indeed, claim that consciousness, in some way, favors their theories; just as most theologians are able to find all their doctrines in the Bible. «*Hic liber est in quo qnserit sua dogmata qnisque, J Invenit et pariter dogmata quisque sua." « But the difficulty with many is that they cite consciousness rather in support of their own opinions than as a simple relator of truth. Many, also, expect an instantaneous decision of gen- eral questions, when they should look simply for the immediate presentation of the facts of spiritual life. Consciousness testifies only that our immediate and individual perceptions have an absolute and irresistible certainty. If the testimony of this witness be accepted, and be rightly taken, many things will be put beyond dispute. If one doubt w^hether there be such a thing as thirst, let him eat salt victuals for a week without drinking water or any other fluid; his doubt will be removed. In like manner, let one gaze upon some prospect, or listen to some strain of music, endeavoring, at the same time, to believe that there is nothing external to himself^ — that he is deluded in sup- posing that he hears or sees anything. He will find the task an impossibility ; that the presented facts admit of no denial. The most extreme skeptics alloAv that this testimony of con- sciousness would be perfectly conclusive save only for certain speculative objections; and they confess that, even as it is, their philosophy is powerless to affect their own immediate convictions. *' Nature," says that prince of doubters, David Hume, "is always too strong for principle; and, though a Pyrrhonian may throw himself or others into a momentary amazement and confusion, by his profound reasonings, the first and most trivial event in life will put to flight all his doubts and scruples, and leave him the same, in every point of action and speculation, with the phi- losophers of every other sect, or with those who never concerned themselves in any philosophical researches. When he awakes from his dream, he will be the first to join in the laugh against himself, and to confess that all his objections are mere amuse- ment, and can have no other tendency than to show the whim- sical condition of mankind, who must act, and reason, and believe, though they are not able, by their most diligent inquiry, to sat- isfy themselves concerning the foundation of the operations, or to remove the objections which may be raised against them" (Hume's " Inquiry," part ii. § 12). Let us note Hume's only reason for skepticism. It is, that he cannot remove philosophical ob- jections to the validity of our cognitions. Let us remember that these objections applied only to an old and imperfect theory J 158. SENSE-PERCEPTION. 389 of perception, and that they have been rendered void by the progress of philosophy. We think that even Hume himself, if he were living, would acknowledge, without qualification, the reliability of our immediate cognitions. § 158. The essential strength of the argument in Sm "c?SSr^n favor of the reliability of our immediate cognitions sense" discussed. Hes in the irresistible self-cvideuce of the cognitions .Beid?Hime.'''^''°* themsclvcs, as attested by the reflective conscious- ness. But, as a strong tower, resting on a solid rock, may be rendered more immovable by buttresses, so our faith in the intuitions of which we are conscious, may be cor- roborated by a comparison of our convictions with those of our fellow-men, and by an attentive consideration of the consistency and coherency of the intuitions with one another. It is true that the strength of an immediate perception is in no way af- fected by any sense that we may have that the convictions of others agree or disagree with our own. When a man has the toothache, he is absolutely sure that he has it, and that he can have it, and cannot help having it; and will hold these convictions in spite of any assertions, on the part of others who have never had such a feeling, that they do not believe it to be a possible experience. In like manner, a laboring man who handles a pick or a spade, is absolutely certain that these tools have weight and solidity, shape and size; and could not be shaken in this belief though the whole world should combine against him. But we must remember that the present discussion concerns the foun- dations of philosophical faith, and that this faith does not rest im- mediately in our presentative cognitions, but in general and ab- stract conceptions of them. This mode of conviction may be weakened, and it may be strengthened, by argument. The principal reason, on account of which any of our opinions become corroborated when they are found to agree with those of others, is that this agreement is taken as a proof that we have committed no mistake in the formation of our opinions. We con- sider that others, who have similar powers and grounds of judg- ment with ourselves, could not, naturally, in cases separately submitted to them and to us, come to the same conclusion with ourselves, unless the facts of the case warranted the" conclusion. This reasoning assumes that other beings exist, whose oppor- tunities and abilities for judgment are similar to our own and with whom we can communicate — a greater assumption than is involved in the argument from the revelations of conscious- ness. Nevertheless, it is an assumption which few think of deny- ing, and the proof of which is very convincing. All opinions and beliefs whatever, whether they be deduced from things im- mediately perceived, by a train of reasoning, or be merely the generalizations of immediate perceptions themselves, as these may be remembered by us, are capable of corroboration in the method now explained. The absolute unanimity of our race in regard to matters pre- 390 THE HUMAN MIND. § 158. sentationally known, and to such other matters as are fully sub- ject to the knowledge and understanding of all, has been styled the "communis sensus," or "common sense," of mankind; and this is an arbiter of opinion whose authority on fundamental questions is so great that many have taken it as the chief start- ing point of all their reasonings; while even the most erratic pay it some respect. The universal belief of men was a corner-stone in the philosophy of Aristotle. He declares, " What all believe, that we affirm, and whoever rejects this will find nothing more worthy of confidence " (" Ethics," book x. chap. ii.). Cicero con- sidered the natural judgment of all men unquestionably correct. "De quo omnium natura consentit, id verum esse, necesse est," are his words. Keid's constant appeal is to "the universal consent of mankind, not of philosophers only, but of the rude and unlearned vulgar." Kant's "practical reason" is but a sub- limated misconception of common sense. Even Hume, who, be- yond any other, rejected the control of this monitor, formulates for us an excellent rule, the violation of which is magnificently illustrated in his own writings. " A philosopher," he says, "avIio Eroposes only to represent the common sense of mankind in more eautiful and more engaging colors, if, by accident, he commits a mistake, goes no farther, but, renewing his appeal to common sense, and the natural sentiments of the mind, returns into the right path, and secures himself from any dangerous delusion " (" Essay's," vol i. p. 5). As already remarked, the agreement of mankind in any be- lief has its principal philosophical value in that it proves the conviction to have been correctly constructed. Without add- ing to the native force of intuition it gives assurance that this force has been rightly used and formulated; which assurance is produced alike whether the beliefs which are found to agree be those of particular perceptions or those of general convictions. Wherever one goes, all over the world, he finds that other men perceive the same things — for example, the same objects in some rural scene — in the same way that he does himself; and, also, that the general views of men, formed from their particular per- ceptions, are similar to his owm. In this way many fundamental convictions concerning the existence and the nature of entities, and the laws of their being, have become the common property of mankind. The parts of the physical universe, the operation of natural causes, the relations of time and space and quantity, the daily life and experience of men, and the inward workings of the human mind and heart, are all the objects of the concord- ant particular perceptions, and of the uniform general convic- tions, of the whole family of Adam. Evidently this unanimity involves a sameness in the original data of our belief, as well as in our deductions from them. In short, our natural judgments, being made honestly, and without any other aim than the as- certainment of the truth, our agreement in them may be com- pared to that of a number of mathematicians, whose independent I X58. SENSE-PERCEPTION. 391 solutions of the same problem prove their work to be correct. Only it is to be noticed that, in complicated questions, we often accept opinions on the authority of others, while our appeal to that common sense of which philosophy speaks, simply confirms convictions which we have already found ourselves competent to form. Another reason, on account of which our faith in in- the^^^mentfrom tuitiou is Corroborated by the consent of mankind, common sense. _^^ rather another form of the same reason— is founded on the fact that no conflict ever occurs between the intui- tions of one man and those of another. If it could be shown that different and discordant natural beliefs were experienced by different men or classes of men, and that no reason could be given why one set of such convictions should be received, and another rejected, this would indicate a radical inability on the part of the human family to perceive the truth. The* authority of common sense cannot be impeached on the ground of any such discord. It is true that the judgments of in- sane persons, even as to things extremely evident, diff'er from those of other men. This difference, however, can be plainly traced to the substitution of unreal fancies for actual cognitions, and is always connected with manifest absurdities; for which reasons no weight of authority attaches to it. On the other hand, if a Bedlamite were able to consider his own case ration- ally, the difference between himself and the rest of the world, as to his being made of glass or iron, or being a millionaire or an emperor, would furnish him sufficient ground for investigating into the origin of his views, to see whether they were anything more than wild imaginings. But lunatics, like many great phi- losophers, are distinguished by a mental independence which elevates them above the authority of common sense. Such is the argument from the universal agreement Eecapituiation. of men. The scope of it is not to show that things self-evident are to be believed because all men be- lieve them, but to show that certain truths must be self-evident or necessarily connected with the self-evident, because all men believe them. And this argument assumes two forms. First, the consent of men enables us to determine more accurately what intuition teaches ; which teaching is then to be believed simply for its own truth : just as many witnesses might testify that some honest man made a given statement, which statement we would then believe, not because of the testimony of the witnesses, but because of the honesty of the man. And, secondly, the absence of conflict between the immediate cognitions of different rational beings, shows that no flaw can be found either in their account of their intuitions or in the intuitions themselves. No dis- agreements can be detected in the statements of the honest man, as learnt from many witnesses; we therefore accept with confidence that understanding of his words which is common to all. The argument from common sense presupposes that all 392 THE HUMAN MIND. § 159. men have a faculty of perceiving truth, and then shows that the experience of the race agrees fully with that supposition. The consistency § 159 Our concludiug argument in favor of the and coherency of reliability of our immediate cognitions, is derived HMiiiitonr^iieid, from the consideration that the acceptance of these quoted^*^^°^^' ^^"^©^ iuvolvcs any absurdity, while the rejection of them always does. This reasoning is allied to the secondary form of that just considered, and has even been identified with the argument from common sense. Hamilton, in his "Discussions," says, "The argument from common sense pos- tulates, and founds on the assumption — that our original beliefs BE NOT PROVED SELF-CONTRADICTORY." In this Statement, however, we suppose that* Hamilton lays no emphasis on the word com- rnon. What we are taught is, that the self-evidence of our im- mediate cognitions, no matter whether they may be considered as convictions of the individual or as convictions of the race, becomes especially clear when we observe their perfect logical consistency. But — to complete the strength of this argument — ^we may add that the truth of intuitions is illustrated, also, by their logical coherency. In other words, our speculative faith in our cognitions is corroborated, not only by the consideration that they do not conflict with each other, but also by the considera- tion that they support one another. This latter fact has been somewhat overlooked by philosophers; it is neither so noticeable nor so important as that with which we have connected it. Some even deny that an intuition admits of any proof save that which comes from its own light. Reid asserts that " first principles are in- capable of direct proof" ("Essay," vi. chap. iv.). McCosh teaches that "induitive truths do not admit of probation " ("Intuitions," p. 41). These statements are true only in the sense that no ul- timate generalization of intuitional truth can be deduced from some other truth by means of logical specification. When we say, "Men are mortal; Hindoos are men; therefore Hindoos are mortal," the result is obtained by the analysis of Hindoo and the perception of its radical identity with man; so that what is said of man may be said of Hindoo. By this process the less general may be derived from the more general truth, and many complex truths which may be intuitionally known may be deduced from ultimate generalizations. We can say, "Action presupposes a power of action. Thought is a kind of action ; therefore thought proves a power of thinking." "All substance occupies space ; the human body is a substance, therefore it occupies space." These conclusions are presentationally known; but they may be in- ferred from the general truths. But, that substance occupies space, and that action involves power, are first principles which cannot be derived from any truths more general than themselves. While this is admitted, it seems also true that presentational convictions, whether in their individual or in their generalized forms, often condition one another logically, and may be said to § 159. SENSE-PERCEPTION, 393 Btand to one another in the relation of reason and consequent (§ 59). In perceiving the substance of one's own body or soul, we perceive that it must occupy space, and in perceiving our own activities, we perceive that they must come from some pow- ers or potencies ; therefore, the existence of the space may be in- ferred from that of the substance, and the existence of the power from that of the activity. A little consideration will make it evident that all things of which we can have presentational knowledge, whether immediately connected with each other or not, are so bound together by a network of conditions that they may be also inferentially known. Such being the case, — since every confirmatory inference goes back to an immediate cogni- tion, — it seems clear that every immediate cognition may be proved from an immediate cognition. The perception of a pole- cat by smell may be confirmed by the simultaneous sight of the animal, or, to use a more pleasant illustration, the hearing of a vo'ice or footstep may be confirmed by the entrance of a friend, or the remembered cognition of some scene may be corroborated by a second survey of it. Thus the absurdity of rejecting any form of presentational truth results in part from its inseparable connection with other similarly self-evident truths. The denial of space is absurd be- cause involving the denial of body and of motion, and, indeed, of all objects and events; for nothing can exist, or take place, save as in space. And the extreme absurdity of disbelieving one's senses arises from the fact that we cannot do so without rejecting many connected intuitions. "I resolve not to believe my senses," says Reid. " I break my nose against a post that comes in my way; I step into a dirty kennel; and, after twenty such wise and rational actions, I am taken up and clapped into a mad-house." The folly of such conduct — and of such theory ■ — as is here described, is complex, and made up of correlated parts: it is thorough-going. The logical con- This logical conucction of our presentational per- nection of intui- ccptious is worthy of study, because it is the first ^^attention logical councction of things of which the mind is more than ceived. than it has re- coguizaut; and that in which the radical principles of all reasoning are first found. Hitherto, it has been overlooked; chiefly, we think, because, as a philosophical doctrine, it is less important than either the logical independ- ence or the logical consistency, of our immediate cognitions. The independence, or self-evidence, of the intuitions, and their consistency, or freedom from mutual contradiction, are more essentially necessary than their logical connectedness or coher- ency, to any true doctrine of knowledge. Because, as inference is valid only as it rests on cognition, it is plain that argument against cognition is impotent unless one cognition can, in some way, be cited against another. When it is seen that no incon- sistency can be found between our first perceptions, or our deductions from them, then these "judgments of nature " .speak 394 THE HUMAN MIND. § 159. with an authority as unquestioned as it is absolute. On the other hand, if inconsistency could really be shown, we could no longer show how human knowledge rests on any good foundation. Different ingenious systems of philosophical skep- S'^neSnfJ^'^Sf ticism havc been advocated in different ages of the H^mo?^*' ^^ world; and even correct argument has been used Hamiiton'quoted. to sliow the falsity — that is, the unreliability — of our perceptions. In every case, however, in which the reasoning has been correct, the premises have been doctrines in no way derivable from presentative cognition, and the con- troversy over the system has resulted in the detection of the initial error. The heresies of Hume and Kant, each of whom, though in a very different spirit from the other, undermined man's faith in the perception of truth, illustrate this point. The skepticisni of Hume, like the idealism of Berkeley, was strictly deduced from the old theory of mediate perception. Its logical character is well described by Sir Wm. Hamilton. "Hume," says Hamilton, " could not assail the foundations of knowledge in themselves. His reasoning is from their subsequent contra- diction to their original falsehood ; and his premises, not estab- lished by himself, are accepted only as principles universally conceded in the previous schools of philosophy. On the assump- tion that what was unanimously admitted by philosophers must be admitted of philosophy itself, his argument against the cer- tainty of knowledge was triumphant. Philosophers agreed in r<^'ecting certain primitive beliefs of consciousness as false, and in usurping others as true. If consciousness, however, were confessed to yield a lying evidence in one particular, it could not be adduced as a credible witness at all. '- Falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus.^ But, as the reality of our knowledge neces- sarily rests on the assumed veracity of consciousness, it thus rests on an assumption implicitly admitted by all systems of phi- losophy to be illegitimate." In this quotation, consciousness, according to its Hamiltonian sense, signifies immediate percep- tion in general. Kant's theory of perception was an attempt to provide a system which should not be open to skeptical objec- tions. So far from accomplishing this end, it originated the most subtle form of disbelief which has ever received philosophi- cal expression. The radical assumption of Kantianism is that we perceive only .phenomena, that is, the observable states and changes of things; the things themselves, and the conditions of their existence, are not perceived. Substance, together with space, time, power, and theu?» relations, are not cognized as real objects, but are forms of thought imposed by the mind on the phenomena which it perceives (§ 57). This assumption of a phenomenal, as distinguished from a real, perception, affects the thinking of Hume no less than that of Kant; it was, in fact, a tradition which both received from the old philosophy, and which even yet retains some vitality. Kant, however, recognizes the I J 159. SENSE-PERCEPTION. 395 objectuality or externality of the phenomena, and, to this extent, accepts a teaching of common sense, which the Scotch philoso- pher rejected. The doctrine of Kant is to be commended, also, as involving that mind alone is the origin of thought, and that all cognition is the exercise of a spiritual power. On the whole, however, and even because of its evident deference to common sense, Kantianism is a more dangerous delusion than the idealism which it strove to supplant. In making the greater part of our perception to be merely the imposition of forms of thought, and not the intuition of real things, it, also, is guilty of "reject- ing certain primitive beliefs of consciousness as false, and in usurping others as true." Kant himself never fully understood the skeptical tendency of his theory; but this tendency {mirahile didul) was developed, and accepted as true philosophy, by Sir Wm. Hamilton, in his doctrine of the "Relativity" of human knowledge. This doc- trine is little else than a new version of the German heresy; and is in no sense to be preferred to the original. Acknowledging realities, it asserts that these, being known only as related to our faculties of knowledge, cannot be conceived of as they really are. " Our whole knowledge of mind and matter," says Hamil- ton, in his " Discussions," " is relative — conditioned — relatively conditioned. Of things absolutely, or in themselves, be they ex- ternal, be they internal, we know nothing, or know them only as incognizable; and we become aware of their incomprehensi- ble existence, only as this is indirectly and accidentally revealed to us, through certain qualities related to our faculties of knowl- edge, and which qualities, again, we cannot think as uncondi- tioned, irrelative, existent in and of themselves. All that we know, therefore, is phenomenal, — phenomenal of the unknown. The philosopher, speculating the worlds of matter and of mind, is thus, in a certain sort, only an ignorant admirer. In his con- templation of the universe, the philosopher, indeed, resembles ^neas contemplating the adumbrations on his shield; as it may equally be said of the sage and of the hero — " * Miratur; rerumque ignarus imagine gaudet.' " What a position for the expounder of the doctrine of presenta- tive cognition ! In this piece of splendid and impressive absurdity, the weakness of a powerful mind reveals itself The opinions of Hamilton resulted rather from an eclectic criticism of the doc- trines of preceding philosophers, than from the patient and in- dependent analysis of mental phenomena. The doctrine of rela- tivity teaches truly that nothing is perceived save as in relation to the soul, that is, save as an experience of the soul itself, or as, in some way, a cause or condition of that experience (§ 150). External objects, especially, are perceived only as their quali- ties and operations affect the soul. This doctrine of relativity, also, is supported by the traditional dogma that we liave imme- 396 THE HUMAN MIND, § 160. diate knowledge of sensible qualities only. But it is directly contradicted by the common sense of men. This asks, " Why should we reject that perception of things which every human being claims for himself? May not our cognition of things that are truly related to us, be also a true cognition ? Why should we say that things seen in relation are not seen as they really are ? For they are in relation. And may we not, after we have thus perceived realities, think of them without reference to the original relatedness, save so far as such reference may be indi- cative of their permanent nature ? " As a matter of fact, we do thus perceive and think of things every day. The doctrine of relativity — like that, also, of the conditioned^ with which Hamil- ton has connected it (§ 67), — confirms the truth by exhibiting the weakness of error. CHAPTER XXXni. THE OBJECTS OF DIRECT PEECEPTION. § 160. The great majority of man's perceptions are acquired or mediate, and are inferences based on his original or imme- diate cognitions. Therefore, an understanding of original per- ception precedes that of acquired perception. The latter mode of cognition is dependent on the former, not only for its concep- tions, and for the data of its inferences, but also, in a sense, for the principles on which its inferences proceed; if this be so, the doctrine of original perception is very completely the basis of the philosophy of perception in general. rxv.- .+ ^f ^ We have discussed the nature of immediate per- Objects of percep- -i- ^ ^^^i r '. tion, direct and ccptiou, and havc sccu the rehabinty oi it as a indirect. sourcc of knowledge. Let us now consider the ob- jects of our immediate cognition, and endeavor to conceive clearly, and define, the generic nature of the objects which become known to us in the exercise of this power. These may be regarded as either direct or indirect — the former being the proper objects of sense-perception and consciousness, the latter being more prop- erly the objects of concomitant perception (§ 143). The direct objects of consciousness are our spirits, together with their pow- ers and operations; those of sense-perception are the matter of our bodies, and its powers and operations. Let us consider, first, these direct objects of our perception, and then (Chap. XXXIV.), those the cognition of which, though no less immediate, are less direct. Substance. FoTcmost among the objects of direct perception, toe Reid and'stewart find substance — that is, what we have already men- ^^° ^ ' tioned, under its generic forms, as matter and spirit. The leading philosophers of the last century taught that we are not directly cognizant of substance, but only of its powers § 160. THE OBJECTS OF DIRECT PERCEPTION. 397 or qualities, and of its operations and changes. Reid declares, "The objects of perception are the qualities of bodies" ("Essay," ii. cliap. xvii.); Stewart says, "Our own existence is not a direct or immediate object of consciousness, in the strict and logical meaning of that term. We are conscious of sensation, thought, desire, volition, but we are not conscious of the existence of the mind itself The very first exercise of my consciousness necessarily implies a belief, not only of the present existence of what is felt, but of the present existence of that which feels and thinks The latter is made known to us by a sugges- tion of the understanding consequent on the sensation, but so in- timately connected with it that it is not surprising that our belief of both should be generally referred to the same origin." These modes of statement may be traced to Locke, who con fines the action of consciousness to " what passes within one's own mind " ; and who makes external perception to be of ideas only, and ideas to be of qualities only (bk. ii. chap. viii.). There is no good ground for asserting that matter SSSsubstlnce: ^nd spirit are perceived by the suggestion of the mind, and not in the same manner as their quali- ties and operations; but the adoption of this doctrine by philos- ophers may be accounted for by various reasons. The fact that substances are seen only as in operation, and that the interest of the mind is specially determined to the operations and the qualities manifested in them, has much to do with it; this is the truth which has given vitality to the error. A cause more closely connected with philosophical thought, may be found in the con- fusion and obscurity with which the idea of substance has been affected from the earliest times; and from which it is not entirely free at the present day. In the metaphysical and logical trea- tises of ancient writers, and particularly of Aristotle, substance is frequently mentioned, and many statements are made con- cerning it, but no one yet has combined these statements into a consistent and intelligible account; nor does this seem a thing possible. For sometimes what is said applies to a metaphysical substance only — that is, to that substance in which powers may be inherent, but, more frequently, it refers to the logical substance, that is, to any entity whatever, considered independently and as an actual or possible subject of predication (§ 125). The confu- sion of these two notions threw obscurity on both. Because the logical substance, with which ancient philosophy mainly con- cerned itself, has this peculiarity, that it may be identified with the sum of its attributes, being precisely the same complement of entity with the attributes, though viewed in a peculiar light ; but the metaphysical substance is really, objectually, diflerent from its attributes, and is not the same thing thought of in a different way. Such being the case, two opposite mistakes re- sulted. First, the logical substance was supposed to have an existence distinct from that of its attributes, and, secondly, the metaphysical substance was denied to have any existence other 398 THE HUMAN MIND. § IGO. than that of its attributes. These mistakes, together with the diffi- culty inherently belonging to an abstruse subject, led some phi- losophers to speak of substance as the mysterious and incogniz- able substratum of attributes, and others to question the existence of any such thing as substance. This latter view is too directly contradicted by common sense to merit much attention; but the former is supported by great authority. Before Locke's time two definitions of substance McSSh'^uoted^^ prevailed among the schools. That which sets forth substance as "ens substans accidentibus," was generally preferred to that according to which substance is "ens per se subsistens." Each of these was applied to both the metaphysical and the logical substance ; but, of the two, the former is more apphcable to the logical, and the latter to the metaphysical. With regard to both kinds of substance, the exprevssion "ens per se subsistens" — from which Spinoza rea- soned to one only substance — erroneously interprets that in- dependence of -conception, which belongs to the idea of sub- stance, as if it were an independence of existence belonging to substance itself Rejecting this definition, Locke took the other, conjoining with it what had long been taught by philosophers, that substance is a thing mysterious and incognizable. His views are fully expressed in the second book of his " Essay," and may be illustrated by the following quotation. "When we talk or think of any particular sort of corporeal substances, as horse, stone, and so forth, though the idea we have of either of them be but the complication or collection of those several simple ideas of sensible qualities, which we use to find united in the thing called horse or stone; yet, because we cannot conceive how they should subsist alone, nor one in another, we suppose them ex- isting in, and supported by, some common subject; which sup- port we denote by the name of substance, though it be certain that we have no clear or distinct idea of that thing we suppose a support. The same happens concerning the operations of the mind, viz., thinking, reasoning, fearing, etc., which we, conclud- ing not to subsist of themselves, nor apprehending how they can belong to body, or be produced by it, are apt to think the actions of some other substance which we call spirit." Remark- ing on these teachings, Locke says, " He that would show me a more clear and distinct idea of substance, would do me a kind- ness I should thank him for " (bk. ii. chap. xxiii.Y In the fore- going, one sees how Locke does not distinguish the metaphysical from the logical substance; which he should have done. The perplexity of subsequent thinkers may be illustrated from Reid's writings. " I perceive in a billiard ball," he says, " figure, color, and motion; but the ball is not figure, nor is it color, nor motion, nor all these taken together; it is something that has figure and color and motion. This is a dictate of nature and the belief of all mankind. As to the nature of this something, I am afraid we can give little account of it, save that it has the qualities I § 160. THE OBJECTS OF DIRECT PERCEPTION. 399 which our senses discover. It seems to be a judgment of nature that the things immediately perceived are quaUties which must belong to a subject; and all the information that our senses give us about this subject is, that it is that to which such qualities belong. From this it is evident that our notion of body or mat- ter, as distinguished from its qualities, is a relative notion ; and I am afraid it must always be obscure until men have other fac- ulties" ("Essay," ii. chap. xix.). In opposition to such teachings as these, and their evil consequences. Dr. McCosh remarks, " It is high time that those metaphysicians who defend radical truth should abandon this unknown and unknowable substratum, or noumenon, which has ever been a foundation of ice to those who would build upon it \Ye never know quality with- out knowing substance ; just as we cannot know substance with- out knowing quality True, the substance is never known alone, or apart from the quality, but as little is the quality known alone or apart from a substance. Each should have its proper place, neither less nor more, in every system of th^ human mind" ("Examination of Mill," chap. v.). In his "Intuitions," also (book i. part i.), McCosh describes substance as a form of being en- dowed with power and permanence. This is not an analytic definition, but simply the determination, or indication, of a con- ception, by the use of distinguishing properties. It is important to remark that the notion of substance is no ruore capable of analysis than are those of space, time, power, and change; it is something simple, and to be defined only by the relations which belong to the nature of substance. The attempt to define substance analytically has been one cause of the confusion of philosophers respecting it. To say that substance is actual entity as permanently related, or as having permanent attributes, which is the teaching of Pres. Porter (" Human Intellect," §§ 644-646), is not satisfactory. For substance — that is, metaphysical sub- stance — is a peculiar and indefinable Izind of being, and is dis- tinguished by its own essential attribute of siibstanUality, as well as by other properties, which connect themselves with this. More- over, logical, no less than metaphysical, substances, may be either actual or possible, and may have permanent relations and at- tributes. The definition misses the mark; and this because the mark, that is, the kind of definition to be given, was misconceived. Accepting metaphysical substance as having an undefinable pe- culiarity, as being in fact one of the sum ma genera of entity, the distinction between this and the logical substance becomes plain. We see, too, how these conceptions are so related to each other that the same object may, in one aspect, be a metaphysical, and, in another, a logical, substance. The former, when distin- guished from its powers and other attributes, is conceived of as having its own essential attribute of substantiality ; the logi- cal substance, whether it be a metaphysical substance or not, is simply a complement of entity viewed indeterminately, i. s., as materia secunda or as materia prima (§ 127); and, therefore, 400 THE HUMAN MIND. % 161. when distinguished from its attributes, is conceived simply as an entity, or an existence. The s atiaiity of § ^^^' ^^^ther sourcc of error concerning sub- substance, stance has been the denial of one of the necessary Descartes, Locke. pj-Qperties of tliis kind of entity, viz., its extension, or spatiality. This denial has taken place in connection with the distinction between spirit and matter as the two kinds of substance. Till quite lately, modern philosophy, following Des- cartes, has taught that matter is the unthinking, extended svhstance and spirit the thinking^ unextended substance; and that, therefore, there may be substance without extension. This doctrine is simply a philosophical assumption. While indicating a just and strong desire to contrast matter and spirit, it is supported only by the fact that the extension of matter is more noticeable than that of spirit. Hamilton, who holds this view, admits its modern origin. In his " Discussion " of the philosophy of the "Conditioned," he writes: "The difficulty of thinking, or rather of admitting, as possible, the immateriality of the soul, is shown by the tardy and timorous manner in which the inextension of the thinking subject was recognized in the Christian church. Some of the early Councils, and most of the Fathers, maintained the extended, while denying the corporeal, nature of the spiritual principle; and, though I cannot allow that Descartes was the first by whom the immateriality of mind was fully acknowl- edged, there can be no doubt that an assertion of the inexten- sion and illocality of the soul, was long and very generally eschewed, as tantamount to the assertion that it was a mere nothing " (Wight's " Hamilton," p. 490). With us the difficulty, which Hamilton recognizes, of admitting the inextension of the soul, is insurmountable. We cannot conceive anything to exist save as in space, nor of any substance as existing save as oc- cupying, or pervading, space. Locke, writing twenty years after the death of Descartes, and knowing the views of the latter, by no means admits the inextension of spirit. *' We have," he says, " the ideas of but three sorts of substances, God, finite intelligences, bodies. First, God is without beginning, eternal, unalterable, and everywhere; and, therefore, concerning his identity there can be no doubt. Secondly, finite spirits having had each its determinate time and place of beginning to exist, the relation to that time and place will always determine to each of them its identity, as long as it exists. Thirdly, the same will hold of every particle of matter, to which no addition or substraction of matter being made, it is the same. For, though these three sorts of sub- stances, as we term them, do not exclude one another out of the same place, yet we cannot conceive but that they must necessarily each of them exclude any of the same kind out of the same place ; or else the notions and names of identity and diversity would be in vain, and there could be no such distinc- tion of substances, or anything else, one from another" (bk. ii I § 161. THE OBJECTS OF DIRECT PERCEPTION: 401 chap, xxvii.). This passage is conformable to the view, which we hold as a probable conjecture, that spirit and matter do not occupy space in the same way, and that psychical substances have a subtlety, a fineness, and a continuity of being, which enable them to penetrate the coarser substance, body, with as much freedom as if the space were vacant. We would not, however, say that spirit can occupy the very same space which is occupied by the ultimate atoms of matter; and perhaps the words of Locke do not suggest so much as this. Other passages in the writings of this philosopher show that he deprecated any undue distinction between material and spiritual substance. In a discussion subjoined to the third chapter of the fourth book of his " Essay," he says, " So far as I have seen or heard, the Fathers of the Christian church never pretended to demonstrate that matter was incapable to receive a power of sensation, per- ception, and thinking, from the hand of the omnipotent Creator. I know nobody before Descartes that ever pretended to show that there was any contradiction in it. So that, at the worst, my not being able to see in matter any such incapacity as makes it impossible for omnipotency to bestow on it a faculty of thinking, makes me opposite only to the Cartesians." To some these statements may savor of materialism, but it is to be observed that they are purely hypothetical, and that the matter mentioned in them simply signifies something possessing "extension and solidity," while this solidity is such only as must belong to any external object before it can affect the senses in accordance with the ordinary laws of sensation. Locke was no m-aterialist. Few, if any, of the leading philosophers of the Hamuton,^uoted! pi'^scut day, positivcly assert that spirits possess extension; this doctrine, however, is implied in the teachings of sorne. When Pres. Porter defines sensation, "A subjective experience of the soul as animating an extended sensorium," and when he says, that " in each sensation the soul knows itself to be afiected in some separate part of the extended organism which it pervades (" Human Intellect," §§ 112-114), it is natural to infer that the soul, which animates an extended organism and perceives itself to be affected in every part of the organism, is itself an extended being. Some words of Pres. McCosh are similarly suggestive. He says that " we intuitively know the organism as out of the mind,* as extended, and as localized," and that " at every waking moment we have sensa- tions from more than one sense, and we must know the organs afiected as out of each other and in different places." If the intuition of bodily parts, as different and separate, require the immediate presence of the thinking agent, this presence must involve a soul which can pervade the body. At the same time, we should note that Dr. McCosh does not consider this conclusion a necessary one. For, in another place, he writes, " I am inclined to think that our intuition declares of spirit that it must be in 402 THE HUMAN MIND. § 161. space. It is clear, too, that, so far as mind acts on body, it must act on body as in space, say in making body move in space. But, beyond this, I am persuaded that we have no means of knowing the relations which mind and space bea^- to each other. As to whether spirit does, or does not, occupy space, this is a subject on which intuition seems to say nothing, and I suspect that experience says as little" ("The Intuitions," pp. 109, 220). With the foregoing statements we may com- pare those of Hamilton, who writes as follows: "In the con- sciousness of sensations relatively localized and reciprocally external, we have a veritable apprehension, and consequently an immediate perception, of the affected organism, as extended, divided, figured, and so forth. . . . An extension is apprehended in the apprehension of the reciprocal externality of all sensations " (Hamilton's " Reid," pp. 884-5). Sensations external to one an other seem to indicate an extended soul. To us it is clear that the extension of the soul and the exten- sion of the body are perceived at the same time and as correlated with one another. But we allow that the space-relations of the soul are apprehended very indefinitely, and are probably not so fixed as those of the body; and they do not excite the interest or engage the attention of the mind. Moreover, the unity of the conscious spirit is inconsistent with the use of organs possessing distinct functions; and, no matter where within the sphere of the soul's presence any sensation or other activity may originate, it seems instantly participated in by the whole being. Hence the paradox of Aristotle, that the soul is all in every part of the body ("De Anima," i. 5). We content ourselves, therefore, with the statement that spirit and matter are both discerned as substance, and that this fbrm of entity is perceived, and conceived of, as having the occu- pation or pervasion of space for a distinguishing mark or prop- erty. For power, action, change, and the various accidents of substance, cannot be said to occupy space, but only to pervade or accompany substance in its occupation of space. This brings us to conclude our account of the con- ^bstanclr°^ °' ception of substance, by saying that we generally think of it as the repository and possessor of power. Power, whether active or passive, cannot reside in, or be exer- cised by, a space or a time, a shape or a relation, or anything, except a substance. Nothing can be done or endured unless there be something which has the ability to do or to endure; that something is a substance. The permanence of any power, or the continuance of its activity, is conditioned on the perma- nent existence of the ^substance to which it belongs. These things are intuitively perceived by us whenever we observe the operation of any power. The description of substance which we have now attempted need not be regarded as fundamental to any system of philoso- phy, although the doctrine set forth in it may be allowed to have § 162. THE OBJECTS OF DIRECT PERCEPTION. 403 some importance. In particular, this doctrine prepares us to seek some satisfactory determination of our specific conceptions of spirit and matter ; to which task we now apply ourselves. § 162. Our first knowledge of these two entities is knolaiS^ntJiSve obtained from an intuitive, or immediate, cognition perception. of our owu souls and our own bodies — that is, from 5pies"^hS ^"b- our consciousness of our own souls as in diflerent p£to*quoted. states and -operations; and from a perception of our own bodies as affecting our souls, and as being affected by them. All subsequent knowledge is derived and de- veloped from this. The primary lesson which we learn from this immediate cognition is composed of two closely related truths. We perceive, first, that the soul is not the body nor tlie body tJie sold, and, secondly, that the qualifies, that is, the poivers, of the soul, and the qualities, or poicers, of the body, are extremely different in nature from one another. Spirit in relation to matter, and matter in re- lation to spirit, is both aXXov and dXXoiov. This double distinc- tion, intuitively made by the human mind, is admirably illus- trated by a passage which Hamilton quotes from a dialogue of Plato. Socrates is conversing with Alcibiades. ''Hold, now," says Socrates, " with whom do you converse at present? Is it not with me? Alcib. Yes. Socr. And I also with you ? Alcih. Yes. Socr. It is Socrates then who speaks ? Alcib. Assuredly. Socr. And Alcibiades who listens? Alcib. Yes. Socr. Is it not. with language that Socrates speaks? Alcib. What now? Of course. Socr. To converse, and to use language, are not these then the same ? Alcib. The very same. Socr. But he who uses a thing and the thing used — are these not different? Alcib. What do you mean? Socr. A currier-^ does he not use a cutting-knife, and other instruments ? Alcib. Yes. Socr. And the man who uses the cutting knife, is he dif- ferent from the instrument he uses? Alcib. Most certainly. Socr. In like manner, the' lyrist, is he not different from the lyre he plays on ? Alcib. Undoubtedly. Socr. This, then, was what I asked you just now, — does not he who uses a thing seem to you always different from the thing used? Alcib. Very different. Socr. But the currier, does he cut with his instruments alone, or also with his hands ? Alcib. Also with his hands. Socr. He then uses his hands? Alcib. Yes. Socr. And in his work he uses also his eyes? Alcib. Yes. Socr. We are agreed, then, that he who uses a thing and the thing used are difierent? Alcib. We are. Socr. The currier and the lyrist are, therefore, different from the hands and eyes with which they work? Alcib. So it seems. Socr. Now, then, does not a man use his whole body? Alcih. Unquestionably. Socr. But we are agreed that he who uses, and that which is used, are differ- ent ? Aldb. Yes. Socr. A man is, therefore, different from his body? Alcib. So I think. Socr. What then is the man? Ahib. I cannot say. Socr. You can say, at least, that the man is that which uses the body? Alcib. True. Socr. Now, does anything 404 THE HUMAN MIND. § 163. use the body but the mind ? Alcib. Nothing. Socr. The mind is, therefore, the man ? Alcib. The mind alone." This dialogue brings out the intuitive conviction of mankind. The truth which it enunciates is to be found in the language and literature of all nations ; and every form of monistic philosophy, in attempting to destroy the distinction between mind and mat- ter, simply rolls up the stone of Sisyphus, that it may fall back again to the plain of common sense. The words of Hieroclea express the judgment of the race, '' 2v ydp El 7} tf^vxTJ; TO di 6(Sfxa dovJ^ , § 163. Let us now consider the specific conceptions cepUona°^f soS ^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^ body which intuition enables us to and body. form. Thesc, for the most part, are entertained in m^k^"^*^^ ^^' contrast with one another. The distinctive attri- butes of the two kinds of substance being extremely different from one another, yet being constantly perceived in correlation, our conceptions of the substances which they char- acterized are naturally opposed. We do not always and neces- sarily conceive of the mental and of the material as differing from each other; each may be, and often is, regarded positively and independently. But, because the two are so frequently viewed in correlation, it is not strange that, in our ordinary conceptions of them, the idea of difference and negation should mingle with our apprehension of what is positive. This is especially noticeable in our conception of body. Hence many philosophers make the starting-point — the primary element — of their definition of matter to be that it is the non-ego: in other words, the substance which mind perceives as different from itself In like manner, we find a tendency to define the soul as immaterial, that is, as devoid of the distinctive attributes of body. There is nothing wrong in this. In defining the leading cognitional conceptions of the intellect, we should present, as nearly as may be, the analytical expression of these conceptions as they are actually and ordinarily entertained. In this way only we can hope to exhibit truly the workings of the mind itself, and therein also to attain exact and clear views of the objects of its thought. Philosophical definitions, formed independently of the common sense and judgment of mankind, or without an impartial and careful interpretation of that judgment, have often proved the chief corner-stones for an edifice of error. Moreover, the cause of truth will be served most perfectly when the con- ceptions of the mind are given according to their full natural development. With these views, and remembering that substance ffild?^ °'***^' is that form of entity which occupies space and is endowed with power, we venture two definitions. We say, first, that mind or spirit is the tJiinking, self -active^ and intangible substance; and, secondly, tliat body or matter is the § 163. THE OBJECTS OF DIRECT PERCEPTION, 405 UTdhinUng, sdf-hd'pless, and tangible, or solid, substance. As these statements are opposed to each other throughout, they may be made the subject of a common discussion. The first element in our definition of spirit has, in ??Si^lir*li?b-' all ages, been regarded as the principal character- etance. istio of this kind of substance and as sufficient of pic annus. ftsclf to fomi a distinctive definition. By a natural antithesis, also, matter has always been regarded as the unthink- ing substance. Mind — mind only — thinks. Thought, in this con- nection, is considered, not merely in its own proper nature, but as symbolizing all those peculiar powders which consciousness re- veals. The term is employed in that broad sense which ordi- narily should be shunned, and of which Descartes took an undue advantage, when he declared that the essence of the soul con- sists in thought. Although, in strict speech, intellectual activity is not even all of the experience of the soul — much less all of the soul itself — it is the most prominent part of psychical life, and the chief condition of its development. No emotion, desire, or voluntary action, can take place without thought. Only to sen- sation thought is not prerequisite; yet it is difficult to believe that sensation could take place save in a being which should, at least, have a consciousness of that experience. When we define spirit as the thinking substance — that is, the substance endowed with sensation, intellect, emotion, desire, volition, and all those powers which we distinguish as psychical — we simply formulate the natural and intuitive judgment of man respecting his own nature. As might be expected, the doctrine thus presented is a very ancient one. Five hundred years before Christ, Epicharmus, the Herodotus of Grecian comedy, tempering his fun with wisdom, wrote, '^ Novi 6p^ Kai yoVs duovEi, raXXa KQoq)d noci rvcpXcc.^^ — words which belong, not to Epicharmus, but to all the chil- dren of Adam. ••"What sees is mind, what hears is mind; And all things else are deaf and blind." For, when we conceive of spirit as the thinking substance, we plainly deny that the other substance from which it is dis- tinguished, can think, or have psychical experience. This neg- ative teaching of Epicharmus, and of common sense, is founded partly on the fact that matter never in any way manifests psy- chical activity, and partly, we believe, on our natural perception of the incapacity of matter to do so. Whatever evidences of plan and desire material things may at any time present, they never exhibit any intelligence or feeling of their own. The laws of their action, so far as these can be observed, are purely me- chanical or molecular. Design, when indicated by any arrange- ment or organization in nature, presents itself exactly like design 406 THE HUMAN MIND. § 16a when displayed in the construction and operation of some arti- ficial machine. The most careful scrutiny tinds nothing more in every such organization than an assemblage of correlated parts which act one upon another according to fixed laws, each part unvaryingly performing its own function and giving no token of conscious intelligence. Nor does the organization as such, being simply the sum of its parts in their correlation, show an intelligence of its own. Its action is merely tlie resultant of the operations of its parts. Not only so; we perceive a unity and simplicity in every thinking substance which we find wanting in every physical structure or arrangement. Thought cannot be conceived of as the interaction of any collection of heterogeneous substances whether great or small, but only as the activity of one simple, or indivisible, substance. And see- ing that every physical organization is composed of parts and particles, we feel that we might as well ascribe the intention of pulling or holding to a rope or chain, as that of growing to a seed or of bearing fruit to a tree ; or as well the purpose of shining and giving light to a candle as that of seeing to the eye or of hearing to the ear. Moreover, being forced to concede an intelligent Being sepa- rate from those organizations which are the proofs of His ex- istence, we do not confine the presence of this spirit to the structures of His own formation. We find abundant reason foi ascribing to Him an unrestricted sphere of activity. A theor which would confine the unseen Author of the universe withitti his physical creations would be no less absurd than to say thai the human spirit exists within the instruments and agencies il forms and uses. It is not credible that the marvelous MinT which fashioned the universe and gave it laws, was employed^ while doing so, in making chains and a prison for Himself Suchl a task would be equally irrational and impossible for such a Being.| The self-active ^ sccond, and also secondary, element, in our con-" and the seif-heipl ccption of Spirit, is that it is self-active; correspond- , u s ce. ^^^ ^^ which characterization, we have the attribu- tion of self-helplessness to matter. The point of contrast betweei body and mind, thus presented, has not received much attentioi from philosophers ; but we believe that it is realized and felt b^ men generally. We often think and speak of spirit as somethinj active and living, and of matter as something dead and inert; oJ spirit as that which controls and moves, and of matter as thai which is controlled and moved. Such statements express a trutJ although, it may be, too strongly. As we have said, substance of whatever kind is known to us as endowed with powers, boti active and passive, so that, on the one hand, we cannot den^ active power to matter, nor, on the other, passive power to min( The majestic motions of the heavenly bodies — the volcanic am oceanic changes which geology considers — the growth of plants! and animals — the movements of clouds and currents overhead—' the chemical dissolutions and compositions going on around ufi § 163. THE OBJECTS OF DIRECT PERCEPTION. 407 attest the activity of material potencies. On the other hand, so far at least as the present condition of our race is concerned, it is plain that the human spirit is constantly subject to the action of physical agencies, as these operate, directly or indirectly, upon our nervous system. We cannot, therefore, make the distinc- tion that mind is the substance which acts, and matter the sub- stance which is acted upon. Matter, also, acts; and mind, also, is acted upon. Nevertheless, there is a difference, if we can only apprehend it, between the modes of action proper to each sub- stance. Every spirit seems to be endowed with a power of ac- tivity within itself, so that the current of its life, once opened, flows on for ever. Human experience, while stimulated, guided, and modified, by influences from without, properly originates from powers within. Hence, a state of things is conceivable in which the soul, being freed from bodily conditions and affections may pass a life, the producing cause of which shall be wholly the energy of the soul itself Such is the activity which we nat- urally ascribe to God and to angelic spirits. No such capabilit;y of automatic action is found in any particle of matter, or in any material substance. No body acts save when it is acted upon The most violent of physical agents lie perfectly inert and help- less, till some cause, external to themselves, arouses them. Chem- ical molecules show no independent activity, but simply act one upon another when the proper conditions are supplied. Mechan- ical motion is imparted from one body to another, and obeys the law that action and reaction are equal. Matter acts only when acted on by mind, or when acted on by other matter, — never in any other case ; and this inertness, which is frequently included in our conception of physical agents, we have termed the self- helplessness of matter. The tan • i t . -^7 i ^ o^v • i cognitions of the Of Superficial distance, size, place, andjigure. inis has ®^®' been determined by the testimony of those who have suddenly acquired eyesight through a surgical operation; as was the case with a youth seventeen years of age, reported by Dr. Franz of Leipsic ("Trans. Royal Society," 1841). The experiments tried upon him somewhat militate against the opin- ion which Locke quotes with approval as that of his contempo- rary, Mr. Molyneux, viz., that " a man born blind and now adult, and taught by his touch to distinguish between a cube and a sphere of the same metal, and nighly of the same bigness," having gained his sight, " could not by means of that sense, before he touched them, distinguish and tell which is the globe and which the cube." The young man distinguished cube and sphere by comparing their sensible appearances as projected on the plane of his vision, though he did not recognize them as solid bodies but simply as two flat figures. For sight, alone, can distinguish a circle from a square, but not a disc from a globe. When the eye of the young man was sufficiently restored, "A sheet of paper, on which two strong black lines had been drawn, the one horizontal, the other vertical, was placed before him, at the dis- tance of about three feet. He was now allowed to open the eye, and after attentive examination, he called the lines by their right denominations. The outline, in black, of a square, six inches in diameter, within which a circle had been drawn, and within the latter a triangle, was, after careful examination, recognized and correctly described by him. At the distance of three feet, and * on a level with the eye, a solid cube and a sphere, each of four inches diameter, were placed before him After attentively examining these bodies, he said he saw a quadrangular and a cir- cular figure, and, after 'some consideration, he pronounced the one a square and the other a disc. His eye being then closed, the cube was taken away and a disc of equal size substituted and placed next to the sphere. On again opening his eye he observed no diiference in these objects, but regarded them both as discs. The solid cube was now placed in a somewhat oblique position before the eye, and, close beside it, a figure cut out of pasteboard, representing a plane outline prospect of the cube when in this position. Both objects he took to be something like flat quadrates. A pyramid placed before him with one of its sides towards his eye, he saw as a plane triangle. This ob- ject was now turned a little, so as to present two of its sides to 440 THE HUMAN MIND. § 173. view, but rather more of one side than of the other: after con- sidering and examining it for a long time, he said that this was a very extraordinary figure; it was neither a triangle, nor a quad- rangle, nor a circle; he had no idea of it, and could not describe it. ' In fact,' said he, ' I must give it up.' On concluding these experiments I asked him to describe the sensations the objects had produced; whereupon he said that, immediately on opening his eye, he had discovered a difference in the two objects, the cube and the sphere, placed before him, and perceived that they were not drawings; but that he had not been able to form from them the idea of a square and a disc until he had perceive^ a sensation of what he saw in the points of his fingers, as if he really touched the objects. When I gave the three bodies, the sphere, the cube and the pyramid, into his hand, he was much surprised he had not recognized them as such by sight, as he was well acquainted with mathematical figures by his touch." With the foregoing we may compare the experience of Caspar Hauser, who is said to have been imprisoned till the age of seven- teen in a dark room, where food and attendance were supplied to him in silence, so that he never heard the voice or saw the face of any one. As Dr. Porter remarks, his story, whether true or false, illustrates how the world out of doors may appear to an infant when brought to the window of a room after it has be- come somewhat familiar with the objects within. " 1 directed him," says his teacher, " to look out of the window, pointing to the wide and extensive prospect of a beautiful landscape that presented itself in all the glory of summer, and asked him whether what he saw was not very beautiful. He obeyed, but instantly drew back with visible horror, exclaiming, ' Ugly, ugly ! ' and then pointing to the white wall of his chamber, he said, ' There not ugly.' Several years after, his friend asked him if he re- called the remembrance of the scene, and of his own feelings, and he said: "What I then saw was very ugly; for, when I looked at the window, it appeared to me as if a window-shutter 'had been placed before my eyes, upon which a wall-painter had spattered all the contents of his different brushes, filled with white, blue, green, yellow, and red paint, all mingled together. Single things, as I now see things, I could not at that time recognize and distinguish from each other. That what I then saw were fields, hills, and houses ; that many things which then appeared much larger were in reality much smaller, while many other things which appeared smaller were in reality larger than other things, is a fact of which I was afterwards convinced in the experience gained in my walks. He also said that, in the beginning, he could not distinguish between what was really round, and what was only painted as round, or triangular. The men and horses represented on sheets of pictures appeared to be precisely as men and horses carved in wood " (" Caspar Hauser; An Account," etc., p. 88). I § 173. COMPOUND AND ACQUIRED PERCEPTION, 441 From what we have now said, it seems evident that, Our cognition of ^yj^iJe a Superficial or lateral figure is immediately solid shapes. . r .i,,i i ^ c tjuj- • recognized by sight, the shape ot sond bodies is an original perception of touch and becomes perceptible to sight only by a habit of inference. Dr. McCosh, whose " Defence of Fun- damental Truth" (chaps, vi.-viii.) contains a more complete pre- sentation than we ca'n make of the philosophy of acquired per- ception, tells of experiments, illustrative of this point, which he himself made with the assistance of Mr. Kinghan, principal of the Belfast Institution for the Blind. "I experimented," he says, " with very young children born blind. I put two small pieces of wood, one triangular and the other square, under the palm of the hand, and, without being allowed to move the hand over it, they at once told us the shape of each. When their head, and their legs, and their arms were pricked exactly alike, they at once showed us the seat of sensation, and knew the points to be out of each other. I moved their hand over a book seven inches long and then over a desk fourteen inches long, oc- cupying the same time with each process, and they at once de- clared that the latter was much longer than the former. We allowed a boy to feel round a room with which he was unac- quainted, and he at once declared its shape. One of these chil- dren was a girl of the age of eight, just entered the Institution, so ignorant that she did not know the meaning of angle or cor- ner or point, calling the corners of the figures 'little heads.' She said the square had two little heads and two little heads, but was not sure that two and two make four." Experiments like these give proof, if any proof is needed, that figure, size, and distance, as in connection with every dimension of extension, are originally perceived by touch, and measured by the motion of the body and its members. The sight cognition of solid figures, and of their distance in front, first begins when the mind is able to connect certain lines and shadings of color with the shape and place of near and tan- gible objects. Having thus gained a standard of judgment, the eye gradually extends its perceptions to objects more remote. The perception of solid shape is well illustrated by Locke. Hav- ing remarked that " the ideas we receive by sensation are often, in grown people, altered by the judgment without our taking notice of it," he continues, "when we set before our eyes a round globe of any uniform color, e. gr., gold, alabaster, or jet; it is cer- tain that the idea thereby imprinted in our mind, is of a flat cir- cle variously shadowed, with several degrees of light and bright- ness coming to our eyes. But we having by use been accus- tomed to perceive what kind of appearance convex bodies are wont to make in us, what alterations are made in the reflections of light by the difference of the sensible figures of bodies; the judgment, presently, by an habitual custom, alters the appear- ances into their causes ; so that, from that which is truly variety of shadow or color, collecting the figure, it makes it pass for a L|^ oi shade 442 THE HUMAN MIND. § 174 mark of figure, and frames to itself the perception of a convex figure and an uniform color; when the idea we receive from thence is only a plane variously colored, as is evident in paint- ing." Those who have long been accustomed to perceive solid bodies by sight can scarcely believe that their ability to do this is wholly acquired; yet nothing seems more abundantly proved. What Ruskin says is literally true, "The perception of solid form is entirely a matter of experience. We see nothing but flat col- ors ; and it is only by a series of experiments that we find out that a stain of black or gray indicates the dark side of a solid substance, or that a faint hue indicates that the object in which it appears is far away. The whole technical power of painting depends on our recovery of what may be called the innocence <^ the eye; that is to say, of a sort of childish perception of these flat stains of color merely as such, without consciousness of what they signify, as a blind man would see them if suddenly gifted with sight" ("El. Drawing," p. 5). The perception of § ^'^^' ^o^® claim that the cyc can determine direction and dis- lincs of direction radiating from itself, without *^°®* any extraneous aid. This is doubtful; but, un- questionably, the visual perception of objects as in given direc- tions and as at a distance, is a very easy and early attainment. This cognition must take place at once, when it is found that the hand of the observer can come between his eye and the object seen. Some observations of Trinchinetti, an Italian sur- geon, bear on this point. " He operated at the same time on two patients, brother and sister, aged eleven and ten years respectively. The same day, having caused the boy to examine an orange, he placed it about one meter from him, and bade him try to take it. The boy brought his hand close to his eye {quasi a contatto del suo occhio), and closing his fist, found it empty, to his great surprise. He then tried again a few inches from his eye, and at last, in this tentative way, succeeded in taking the orange. When the same experiment was tried with the girl, she also at first attempted to grasp the orange with her hand Yery near the eye {coUa mano assai vidua aW occhio) ; then, perceiving her error, stretched out her forefinger, and pushed it in a straight line slowly till she reached the object." Trinchinetti "regarded these observations as indicating a belief that visible objects were in actual contact with the eye" (Abbot on "Sight and Touch," p. 150). So, also, the boy born blind, on whom Ches- elden operated, said that objects at first seemed " to touch his eyes as what he felt did his skin." A difficulty con- ^^' ^^^^ Smith, in his "Essay on the Senses," Bidered. noticcs an objcction to the doctrine now taught. A. Smith. fpi^.g QJ3JQ(3^JQj^ |g bascd ou the observation of the lower animals, many of which, from the very day of their birth, Eossess a good apprehension of distance and direction. " The en," he says, "never feeds her young by dropping the food into their bills, as the linnet and the thrush feed theirs. Almost § 174. COMPOUND AND ACQUIRED PERCEPTION. 443 as soon as her chickens are hatched, she does not feed them, but carries them to the field to feed, where they walk about at their ease, it would seem, and appear to have the most distinct per- ception of all the tangible objects which surround them. We may often see them, accordingly, by the straightest road, run to and pick up any little grains which she shows them, even at the distance of several yards; and they no sooner come into the light than they seem to understand this language of vision as well as they ever do afterwards. The young of the par- tridge and the grouse seem to have, at the same early period, the most distinct perceptions of the same kind. The young partridge, almost as soon as it comes from the shell, runs about among long grass and corn, the young grouse among long heath; and would both most essentially hurt themselves, if they had not the most acute as well as distinct perception of the tangible objects which not only surround them, but press upon them on all sides. This is the case, too, with the young of the goose, of the duck, and, so far as I have been able to ob- serve, with the greater part of those birds which make their nests upon the ground." Dr. Smith meets the difficulty pre- sented by such facts, by claiming that instinct is given to the lower animals on account of the necessity of their condition; that man, being cared for in helpless infancy by his mother or nurse, has no need of any such faculty ; and that, therefore, human beings are allowed to await the required development of their powers. But he also thinks it likely that infants have an instinctive perception ol size and distance, though to a very limited degree. " Children," he says, " appear at so very early a period to know the distance, the shape, and the magnitude, of the different tangible objects which are presented, that I am disposed to believe that even they may have some instinctive perception of this kind ; though possibly in a much weaker de- gree than the greater part of other animals." For ourselves, we admit the existence of instinct, that is, of a tendency and power, given to animals by the Creator, to seek some rational or necessary end without having that end in view; doubtless some immediate pleasure is attached to instinctive activity, and leads to its performance; but we are not inclined to ascribe to instinct everything that animals may do. More- over, in the present case, we think it not incredible that the intelligence of such actions as those adduced may have orig- inated in a very short experience. We have seen chickens only one day old, which a little girl, our Bessie, had taken from the mother and fed, refuse to follow the mother, while they did fol- low Bessie about the yard. They no sooner had left the shell than they exhibited this power of forming a habit of judgment respecting the source of care and food. We assume that cognitions of space and position arise in connection with muscular, organic, and tactual sensations, and that a power of thinking involving these cognitions is developed 444 THE HUMAN MIND. § 174. before any exercise of sight takes place. Probably, when the eyes are first opened, objects are seen as on a surface close to the organ. But, when the young animal moves its head and touches near objects with its mouth or beak, then things are discovered not to be contiguous to the eye, but to occupy sta- tionary positions in space. The lateral and vertical movements of the head show the object to be stationary, and the forward motion shows that some space must be traversed before contact. At the same time, also, the direction of objects is determined; they are instantly located on lines connecting them with the center of vision. Nothing further is now requisite save some serviceable measure of short distances; and, should we hazard the conjecture that objects within reach of the young animal possess a certain degree of visible distinctness, or cause a certain convergence of the optic axes, or in some other way peculiarly affect the organ of vision, this would present a rule of judgment which could be learned and applied at once. The determination of greater distances might involve a further process, and some- what more experience. It is also to be remembered that the bodies of the lower animals at birth possess a greater develop- ment than that which is exhibited by the new-born infant, and are more capable of that automatic action which, though purely nervous and physical, is complementary and coadjutant to the intentional guidance of volition. The co-ordination of the motion of limbs of birds and beasts in walking, running, and flying, is very much automatic, and so, also, are some tendencies to act under the stimulus of any distinct impression made on the organs of sense. The foregoing considerations do not take away the necessity for instinct, but justify a greater limitation than is usually given to the sphere in which that power is exercised. But, whether the sight perceptions of animals involve instinct or not, there is little need of accounting for human vision other- wise than as the acquisition of experience. We have now sufficiently considered the perception, SStence?^'^^ l^y sight, of the direction of objects and of their solid shape. But something must be added re- specting our estimations of size and distance. As already stated, our original or primordial perceptions of these things arise from internal sensations acting m connection with the sense of touch. Having in this way ascertained the length of one's foot or arm, and, in general, the size of our different bodily members, we use these determinations as standards for the measurement of other things. The original " foot " of length was doubtless taken from the foot of some man of authority, just as the standard yard-stick kept in the Tower of London is said to have measured the length of the right arm of a king of England. A cubit, as the term indicates, was originally the length of the fore-arm from the point of the elbow to the extremity of the fingers. After such standards of length had been determined others were easily ob- tained which are based on the movement of our limbs, as known § 174 COMPOUND AND ACQUIRED PERCEPTION. 445 through the muscular sense. Every full step of a medium-sized man traverses a distance of three feet or thereabouts. Hence the original mile was " mille passuum: " hence, too, the passage of time, as connected with the regular continuance of bodily- motions, is employed to indicate distance. The traveler in Eu- rope is often told that one place is a given number of hours dis tant from another, each hour being equivalent to a league of three miles, that is, to the length of road ordinarily passed over by a pedestrian in an hour. The extent to which such muscular measures of space can be employed may be illustrated by the ;ase of a Mr. John Metcalf, otherwise called "Blind Jack," men bioned in the memoirs of the Manchester Philosophical Society. I** He became blind at an early period; but, notwithstanding, Tollowed the profession of a wagoner, and, occasionally, of a ;uide in intricate roads during the night, or when the tracks ^ere covered with snow. At length he became a projector and mrveyor of highways in difficult and mountainous districts, an employment for which one would naturally suppose a blind man to be but indifferently qualified. »But he was found to answer all the expectations of his employers; and most of the roads over the peak in Derbyshire, in England, were altered by his directions. Says the person who gives this account of Blind Jack, ' I have several times met this man, with the assist- ance of a long staff traversing the roads, ascending preci- pices, exploring valleys, and investigating their several extents, forms, and situations, so as to answer his designs in the best manner.'" In order to communicate the faculty of measuring magni- tudes and distances from the locomotive or muscular sense to the eye, there is need only that a course traversed by the feet should be submitted to the sight. Then another course of simi- lar length would affect one's sight in a similar manner. But the more frequently such comparisons are made and tested, the more thoroughly is the habit of judgment formed. Thus our acquired perception of magnitude and distance results directly from a comparison of the sensations of sight with those by which these quantities are more directly measured. It does not in- volve any knowledge of the nature of the eye or of the opera- tions of this organ in receiving, transmitting, directing, and concentrating rays of light. Nevertheless, scientific investigations have shown Sment^. ^^*^ tiow the «ye is affected by variations in magnitude and distance; and, in so doing, they have revealed the causes of those ocular sensations which the mind interprets. First of all, it is ascertained that when an object is near at hand, and in proportion to its nearness, the optic axes, — that is, the lines passing through the pupil and the center of each eye, — are made to converge, so as to admit light from the object, in the most perfect way, upon the retina. This convergence is effected by muscles connected with the eye, whose action is indicated by 446 THE HUMAN MIND. § 174. a sensation. Hence one can more quickly and exactly seize a pin or a pea suspended in the air at a little distance, when both of his eyes are open, than he can when one eye is shut. The visual size of objects close at hand is of course at first imme- diately interpreted by its identification with that of objects felt. Again, it is known that, as a rule, nearer objects make a more distinct impression on the retina than those which are remote. Hence one looking, from some distance, across a ravine or river, can easily distinguish the foliage on the side next to him from that which is visible on the other. Hence, too, in such countries as Colorado, where the air is remarkably clear, mountains many miles distant appear to the new-comer only a short way off; while those who have been accustomed to such a transparent atmos- phere, find themselves adding unduly to the space-separations of a more hazy region. In the next place, the intervention of various objects assists our judgments of distance, while the presence of adjoining ob- jects aids our estimate of size. The length of a procession is better perceived than the distance of a single object; we make allowance for all the intervening spaces that are occupied or marked: and the size of an elephant at a distance, or even near by, is better appreciated if it can be immediately compared with that of a man or a horse. The sun and moon and other heav- enly bodies seem to us both near and small, because the eye can neither compare them with any known magnitudes, nor measure the distance between them and our planet. They are granted only such size and distance as would ordinarily be indicated by their appearance. But the most important law governing our perceptions of distance and magnitude, is founded on the fact that rays of light travel in right lines from the object to the eye. This being the case, the apparent size of any object — that is, the space which it occupies in the field of vision — varies inversely as the square of the distance from the eye. This law enables the mind to estimate distance when magnitude is known, and magnitude when distance is known. A man, standing at the distance of two rods from the eye, occupies one half the length, and one fourth the superficial extent, in the field of vision, that the same man occupies at the distance of only one rod. If the mind knows the visual size of an object at the distance of one rod, and perceives the same object as having only one fourth that size, it locates the object at the distance of two rods. On the other hand, if it knows some object of similar appearance to be only one rod away, while its visual size is no larger than that pre- sented by the known object at two rods, the object now seen, though similar to that previously observed, is concluded to be only one fourth as large. Of course no formal calculations of size and distance take place in the use of the foregoing rules; yet it is wonderful with what accuracy and ease our ordinary judgments of sight are made. § 175. COMPOUND AND ACQUIRED PERCEPTION. 447 § 175. We must not conclude the discussion now ^^e^feiiacies of -^^ ^^^^ witliout remarking that the so-called ^tiL "^ "^"" "fa-lla-cies of sense" — which really are mistaken inferences from the presentations of sense — take place only in connection with acquired perception. The im- mediate and original cognitions of the mind, whether of sense, or consciousness, or concomitant perception, are reliable ; they present realities; in them no mistake is possible. But errors may occur in the inferences we make from them. Moreover, our liability to error first arises in connection with the exercise of that very power of judgment whereby we are enabled to infer w^hat is true. It does not originate in the associative tendency of thought. This merely attaches conceptions to one another, without any necessary reference to their logical relations. He * who says that truth, or falsehood, or our belief in either, is the result of association, misses the mark sadly. Mistakes become possible for us when, by a power of judgment, we begin to unite things in the relation of antecedent and consequent. This relation, in some cases, is absolutely perceived, and then rules are formed which admit of no exceptions; in other cases, it is not absolutely perceived, but only supposed or accepted with greater or less probability and confidence; and the rules arising in such cases may admit of exception. By far the greater part of human judgments are formed in this way; for absolute or perfect truth is sometimes unattainable by the mind, and some- times, though attainable, is beyond the practical aims and necessities which shape our ordinary modes of thought and determine the degree of their development. This power of forming imperfect rules is a most necessary and useful attribute; for it yields a less perfect apprehension when absolute knowl- edge may be undesired or unattainable. But it indicates a limitation in the cognitive faculties of the being using it; and it results in a liability to error. Mistakes from this source are specially likely to occur whenever any imperfect rule of judg- ment is applied in circumstances differing from those of its first formation and original use. We allow, also, that association and habit, which contribute greatly to the ease and rapidity with Avhich our judgments are' formed, increase that liability to error which we have just mentioned. The force of habit hurries the mind into the adop- tion of conclusions — as it were instinctively — which the circum- stances do not warrant. In this way we sometimes find ourselves making judgments which we know to be wrong, and which we immediately correct. These remarks may be illustrated from every mode of acquired perception. Should one cross his fingers — say the second and third fingers, — and then move the end of a pencil back and forth between their extremities, he will find some effort necessary to disabuse his mind of the feeling that two pencils are employed in the titillation. The reason is that the sensations now caused 448 THE HUMAN MIND. § 175. by one instrument, require the use of two when the fingers are in their ordinary positions. This instance suggests a fact well known to surgeons, and cited in Muller's " Physiology." " When, in the restoration of a nose, a flap of skin is turned down from the forehead, and made to unite with the stump of the nose, the new nose, thus formed, has, as long as the isthmus of skin by which it maintains its original connections- remains undivided, the same sensations as if it were still on the forehead ; in other words, when the nose is touched, the patient feels the impres- sion on the forehead." Here evidently the object felt is referred to the accustomed place of the sensation. In the same way we account for the phenomenon that the sensations of an amputated limb are referred to the lost extrem- ities. Muller gives the following instances. "A student named Schmidts, from Aix, had his arm amputated above the elbow thirteen years ago; he has never ceased to have sensations as if in his fingers. I applied pressure to the nerves in the stump; and M. Schmidts immediately felt the whole arm, even the fin- gers, as if asleep." "A toll- keeper in the neighborhood of Halle, whose right arm had been shattered by a cannon ball in battle, above the elbow, twenty years ago, and afterwards amputated, has still, in 1833, at the time of changes in the weather, distinct rheumatic pains, which seem to him to exist in the whole arm ; and, though removed long ago, the lost part is at those times felt as if sensible to the draughts of air." The explanation of these and similar experiences by Pres. Porter seems sufficient. *'A man," he says, "who has no foot, will feel pain in the foot. Why ? Because he experiences precisely the same sensations which he suffered when he had the foot, and knew it was the seat of pain. But if he had never had a foot, he would never have assigned pain to it; for he would never have had the means, by eye or hand or muscular sensations of connecting these sensations with it." Pres. McCosh, on the contrary, in- clines to believe that the wrong judgment, if it resulted from past experience, would more easily give way to the teachings of a subsequent experience, and concedes that the physiolog- ical fact reported by Prof Valentin, that " individuals who are the subjects of congenital imperfection, or absence of the ex- tremities, have, nevertheless, the internal sensations of such limbs in their perfect state," necessitates the admission of an instinctive or immediate judgment (" Defence," etc., p. 163). We rather think that the class of phenomena in question may be accounted for by an acquired perception strengthened by a strong association. We see no necessity to suppose an original or immediate judgment, though, doubtless, there may be an inher- ited tendency in our nature, which, in the cases referred to, inten- sifies the operation of the associative power. With respect to the testimony of persons with amputated limbs, it is to be remarked, firsts that it is not uniform, some saying that their sensations do not long remain fallacious, while others assert that they do ; § 175. COMPOUND AND ACQUIRED PERCEPTION. 449 secondly^ this testimony does not mention muscular sensationp, in connection with which our perceptions of place are tolerably determinate, but vital and organic sensations, regarding which our original localizing judgments are indefinite; therefore, thirdly^ we may allow the feelings of the shortened limb to be similar to those of the same member while perfect, holding, at the same time, that such feelings do not of themselves definitely mark position ; and, fourthly, the positive associations of early life may be supposed to have in them a power of continuance compared with which that of any subsequent negative experience must be very feeble. The congenital cases reported by Dr. Valentin may be satisfactorily explained. Let us take the following,^ " A girl aged nineteeil years, in whom the metacarpal bones of the left hand were very short, and all the bones of the phalanges absent, — a row of imperfectly organized wart-like projections rep- resenting the fingers,— assured M. Valentin that she had con- stantly the internal sensation of a palm of the hand, and five fingers, on the left side, as perfectly as on the right. When a ligature was placed around the stump, she had the sensation of ' formication ' in the hand and fingers; and pressure on the ulnar nerve gave rise to the ordinary feeling of the third, fourth, and fifth fingers being asleep, although these fingers did not exist. The examination of three other cases gave the same results." Here, it will be noticed, that the girl speaks of the "internal" sensa- tions in her left hand as being, notwithstanding her deformity, similar to those in her right. We can see nothing very extraor- dinary in this, if it be 'allowed that each hand was furnished with a similar set of nerves similarly distributed; nor is it unnatural to suppose that conceptions associated with sensations in the stronger hand, and logically connected with them, should be recalled by similar sensations in the other and be the means of momentary error. But a person born destitute of both hands, could not, we think, have the interpretations of feeling which properly attach themselves to those members. In respect to the errors of vision and of the external senses generally, there is — or at least, need be — no serious dispute. No philosopher claims that the oar bent in the water — or the land- scape made yellow by the jaundiced eye — or the ringing in one's ears produced by large doses of quinine — or any of the extraor- dinary sensations of a diseased organ, are proofs that our senses are deceitful. Our immediate cognitions are always reliable even when our inferences from them may be wrong. The errors of Morcovcr, our acquired perceptions, like other in- sense easily cor- fereuccs, admit of Critical analysis, and can, for the ^^ ' most part, be tested by their consistency with each other, and by their logical connection and agreement with ac- companying perceptions that are more immediate. In this way, whenever any doubt arises, our perception can be confirmed, or modified, or rejected, after a sufficient investigation. Even ac- quired j)ercepti()n, therefore, is most reliable, and is regarded by all men as a proper and satisfactory source of knowledge. 450 THE HUMAN MIND, § 176. The ease with which the mind detects and corrects errors in its inferential cognitions, is evident from the fact that loe are seldom reoRy deceived hy such errors^ unless it be for a short time, bnt only amused, and interested to know their cause. Illustra- tions of this statement occur in the daily experience of us all; the following instances are remarkable only because recorded by scientific men. " I remember once," says Dr. Abercrombie, " hav- ing occasion to pass along Ludgate Hill, when the great door of St. Paul's was open and several persons were standing in it. They appeared to be very little children, but, on coming up to them, were found to be full-grown persons. In the mental pro- cess which here took place, the door had been assumed as a known magnitude, and the other objects judged of by it. Had I attended to the door being much larger than any door that one is in the habit of seeing, the mind would have made allowance for the apparent size of the persons; on the other hand, had these been known to be full-grown persons, a judgment would have been formed of the size of the door" ("Intellectual Powers," part ii. lY A writer in the "Edinburgh Encyclopedia" (Art. "Science '), mentions a more complicated case of optical illu- sion than the foregoing. " In examining a dioramic represen- tation of the inside of Eochester Cathedral, which produced the finest effect from the entire exclusion of all extraneous light and of all objects except those on the picture itself, he was struck with an appearance of distortion in the perspective, which he ascribed to the canvas not hanging vertically. Upon mention- ing this to the gentleman who exhibited the picture, he offered to walk in front of it and strike its surface with the palm of his hand, to show that the canvas was freely suspended. Upon doing this a very remarkable deception, or illusion rather, took place. As his hand passed along, it gradually became larger and larger till it reached the middle, when it became enormously large. It then diminished till it reached the other end of the canvas." Here the eye was deceived, first, as to the distance of the painted object, then, as to the place of the hand which appeared to touch the object, and, finally, as to the size of the hand. In this case, as in the other, the observer was not long deceived, but was able immediately to correct his false conclusions. CHAPTER XXXVI. MEMOEY. § 176. The reproductive or representative phase of mental ac- tivity is characterized by the predominant exercise of the repro- ductive power. It comprises those operations in which, for the purposes of contemplation, the mind recalls and elaborates thought § 176. MEMORY, 451 or knowledge already acquired. This phase of activity exhibits itself in two principal forms, that is, as Memory, and as Phantasy or Imagination. Hence, we speak of the memory and the phan- tasy as the reproductive faculties. The first of these is distin- guished by the knowledge and belief with which its representa- tions are attended; the other by a kind of synthetic judgment whereby constructions of thought are formed, sometimes with little design or effort, at other times with great skill and with well-considered aims. The phenomena presented by memory are more meSate''So\^: evidently reproductive of the past than those of edge of the past, phautasy ; for this reason, we shall attend first to the ton quoted. ' former power. Sir Wm. Hamilton finds fault with Dr. Reid for saying, " It is by memory that ive have an immediate knoidedge of the pasty Sir William says, " An im- mediate knowledge of the past is a contradiction. For we can only know a thing immediately if we know it in itself, or as ex- isting; but what is past cannot be known in itself, for it is non- existent" ("Met." Lect. XII.). Certainly, if immediate knowl- edge imply that the thing known exists at the time of the knowledge, and is immediately present to the percipient soul, remembrance is not immediate knowledge. But Reid never meant to teach anything so absurd as this. By immediate knowledge he signifies that which is not ratiocinative, or in any way inferential. He meant to teach that a thing distinctly re- membered is known simply because it is remembered — or rather, simply in being remembered — and by reason of the constitution of the mind. That such was his doctrine may be shown very easily. In his third " Essay " (chap, ii.), he says, " Memory is au original faculty, given us by the Author of our being, of which we can give no account, but that we are so made. The knowl- edge which I have of things past, by my memory, seems to me as unaccountable as an immediate knowledge would be of things to come; and I can give no reason why I should have the one and not the other, but that such is the will of my Maker. I find in my mind a distinct conception and a firm belief of a series of past events; but how this is produced, I know not. I call it memory, but this is only giving a name to it — it is not an account of its cause. I believe most firmly what I distinctly remember ; but I can give no reason of this belief. It is the inspiration of the Almighty that gives me this understanding." Here Reid expresses himself almost too strongly in saying that remembrance is as unaccountable as an immediate knowledge of things to come would be : his language, also, concerning the inspiration of the Al- mighty, is figurative ; it merely enforces the statement that " mem- ory is an original faculty given us by the Author of our being"; and his repeated assertion, " I can give no reason of this belief," explains what he means by immediate knowledge. Again, in the sixth "Essay," treating of first principles, Reid says, "An- other first principle I take to be — that those things did really happen 452 THE HUMAN MIND, § 176. which I distiTictly remember. This has one of the surest marks of a first principle, for no man ever pretended to prove it, and yet no man, in his wits, calls it in question : the testimony of memory, like that of consciousness, is immediate; it claims our assent upon its own authority." Here, it will be noticed, Reid does not teach that the testimony of memory is always as reliable as that of con- sciousness, but he does teach that it is always as immediate, in that " it claims our assent upon its oivn authority." In short, his doctrine is, that remembrance, properly and of itself, contains no ratiocination, but consists of two elements: first, a conception of some event or fact; and, secondly, a conviction that this event or fact really existed at some past time. We accept this doctrine as correct. We believe that memory, in its essential ivork, simply reproduces past perceptions, or rather the knoivledge gained in such perceptions, this reproduction being ac- companied by the attribution of neiv temporal relations to the fact re- called. If this be so, then memory, in an important sense, is an immediate knowledge of the past. As, in original sense-percep- tion, we do not first perceive an idea of the object, and then, in some way, become convinced that this idea represents a reality, but, on the contrary, immediately perceive the object itself as in relation to our sentient spirit, so memory immediately and directly reproduces from former knowledge, both the conception and the conviction which are included in that knowledge. There is no process, but a simple reproduction of the original conception and conviction, together with a perception of the lapse of time, rr 1*^^. A This doctrine conflicts with two others, in each of Hamilton's doc- i • ■ . i t . • /• ^i trine of memory which memory IS made a mediate cognition oi the damned. *^ ^°"" past. First, WO havc that of Hamilton, who even g^e^n ^^^^'^^^ goes so far as to deny that memory is worthy of the name of knowledge. He says, " I remember an event I saw — the landing of George IV. at Leith. This remem- brance is only a consciousness of certain imaginations, involving the convicti-on that these imaginations now represent ideally what I formerly really experienced. All that is immediately known in the act of memory, is the present mental modification ; that is, the representation and the accompanying belief Beyond this mental modification, we know nothing; and this mental modification is not -only known to consciousness, but only exists in and by consciousness. Of any past object, real or ideal, the mind knows and can know nothing, for ex hypothesi, no such object now exists; or, if it be said to know such an object, it can only be said to know it mediately, as represented in the present mental modification. Properly speaking, however, we know only the actual and present, and all real knowledge is an immediate knowledge. What is said to be mediately known, is in truth, not known to be, but only believed to be; for its existence is ovAj an inference resting on the belief that the mental modifi- cation truly represents what in itself is beyond the sphere of knowledge. ... So far, therefore, is memory from being an § 176. MEMORY. 453 immediate knowledge of the past, that it is, at best, only a me- diate knowledge of the past; while, in philosophical propriety, it is not a knowledge of the past at all, but a knowledge of the pres- ent and a belief of the past" (" Met."' Lect. XII.). These statements are extremely erroneous. They are wrong, firsts in teaching that remembrance is not a knowledge, but only a belief; secoiidly, in saying that it is mediate and inferential be- lief; and, thirdly, in asserting that the immediate object in mem- ory is a mental modification. As to the first of these points, we say that, whether remembrance be inferential conviction or not, it is often absolute and well-founded conviction, that is, what men generally call knowledge. The man who distinctly remembers that it rained yesterday has as perfect a conviction of that fact as he has that it is fine to-day, if he perceives this fact. We once heard a woman swear in court that the prisoner at the bar was the man whom she saw walking along a certain road at a certain hour. She said that she saw his face plainly, and could not be mistaken. This evidence completed the proof of the man's guilt; he was hung for murder. Memory could not be thus used in capital cases if it did not afford a knowledge of fact. Hamilton's limitation of knowledge to our immediate cog- nitions is preposterous. It is ridiculous to say that a man has no knowledge of anything save of that which is now passing be- neath his eyes or within his breast. Probably Sir William him- self would admit that memory produces absolute and well-founded conviction ; and, if that be so, his definition of knowledge may be passed by as simply an eccentricity in the use of terms. We may also regard with leniency the statement that the belief produced by memory is inferential and mediate. Doubt- less the inference mentioned here is not like any ordinarily ex- perienced in the exercise of ratiocination. If it were, memory would not be a distinct power, but only a species of reasoning. Hamilton nowhere teaches any such doctrine as that. His use of the word inference, in the present connection, only expresses the idea that, in memory, our conscious knowledge of a present mental modification originates, and is followed by, a belief in the past reality of the thing conceived of, and this without any logical reason, but simply from the operation of our mental con- stitution. Such a doctrine reminds one of that inferential real- ism (§ 55), according to which substance is perceived by imme- diate inference from its qualities, and power by an immediate inference from its operations. The phenomena of memory, how- ever, unlike those of perception, do not admit of any such infer- ential or suggestional theory. As Hamilton himself teaches, the very " mental modification " itself includes not only a conception of the event remembered, but also a conviction of its reality. For "the representation and the accompanying belief" are "im- mediately known." We may reason that, because a thing is per- ceived to exist, it does exist, or that, because we remember a thing to have been fact, therefore it was fact. But such argumentatiou 454 • THE HUMAN MIND, § 176. is merely analytical; so far from accounting for perception and memory, as valid grounds of belief, it starts out with the assump- tion that both these grounds of belief are valid. The simple mem- ory of fact is not, in any sense, inferential, but, in contradistinc- tion to all inference, is " an immediate knowledge of the past." We now come to the third error of Hamilton, in which he asserts that the immediate object of memory is a modification ot mind. This was his initial and radical mistake; for it led him to divide memory into two parts, one of which was knowledge, and the other belief, the latter being a kind of inference from the former. We have just seen that such inference involves ^ petitio prindpii and is of no logical value; but it is clear that the theory of such inference depends on the .doctrine that there is a present object which the mind, in some way, assumes as repre- senting the absent and past. In opposition to this doctrine, we hold that memory has no immediate object whatever. There is a sense in which memory is an immediate knowledge ; but there is no sense — no natural or proper sense — in which it has an im- mediate object. As Reid says, it is a knowledge, not of the present, but of the past. It is true that presentative cognition accompanies memory; we are conscious of our conception of some object and of the conviction that it existed at some past time. But this consciousness is no part of the remembrance; it is a concomitant. Memory is the direct reproduction of our original cognitions, modified by a judgment as to time. As such, it does not have, and does not need, any existing object. On the contrary, it is attended by the conviction that the object remembered, as such, does not exist at the time of the remem- brance. Many things remembered cannot in any way exist at the present time, and are known to have no present existence. They are the deeds and changes of the past. Things past are the only objects of memory; if it be denied that such things are strictly and properly objects, — si^ce they exist no longer, — then we say that memory, like imagination, is an exercise of objectless thought, in which we think, not of objects, but only as if of ob- jects. It is certain that the objects of memory are not those which exist here and now. The other theory which denies the immediacy of ^oaer unsound jx^emory rcscmbles that which we have considered, in making our remembrances dependent, and con- sequent upon, perceptions of consciousness ; but it is more plau- sible. It is rather to be gathered from the leading doctrines of some eminent writers, than to be found expressly stated by them : for which reason we shall give it in our own language. According to this view, the conception of a past fact is not immediately accompanied with 'conviction, but may be imme- diately identified with a past cognition, and then, because our cognitive conception agreed with fact, we conclude that our recollective conception agrees also with the same fact. We reason thus, " My present thought corresponds exactly with my § 176. MEMORY. 455 previous thought : but my previous thought was cognitive and corresponded with fact and was true; therefore, my present thought is true." This theory can scarcely be called absurd. It is especially plausible as an account of our remembrance of things external. It assumes two ultimate and inexplicable data: first, the conviction that a present corresponds with a past thought; and, secondly, the conviction that the past thought was cognitive; this latter datum being nothing else than the immediate remembrance of the past cognition. From tliese as- sumptions, the past existence of the thing thought of is deduced. A little reflection discovers the weakness of this theory. In the first place, it is self-destructive in assuming that ive can im- mediately recall the knowledge^ gained by consciousness, of past con- ceptions and convictions. If the knowledge of consciousness may be recalled and relied upon, why may we not do the same with the knowledge gained by sense-perception, — in short, with every kind of immediate knowledge? Keid's teaching makes no greater assumption than the theory now considered, and has the advantage of superior simplicity, which is a great advantage in philosophy. In the next place, this theory is yet more self-destructive in assuming the memory of cognitions as such. Because the mem- ory or knowledge of a past cognition, as the basis of a new knowledge of fact, involves that the fact is already knoivn, and need not be learned in this way. We cannot know that we knew any particular thing, without therein already knowing that thing. Finally, we say that our daily consciousness does not favor this doctrine, but that of immediate memory. Never, in any perfect remembrance, do we find ourselves first referring to our past cognition, and then making inferences from it; on the contrary, we immediately reproduce our cognitions, whether ob- jective or subjective, and therein immediately remember the ob- jects of these cognitions. But, while rejecting the theory which makes the foct SvXe^ *the remembrance of one's self as cognitive the basis ite^o^Sn.^ °^ of b^l^®^ i^ things formerly perceived, we allow that a reference to one's self as previously percipi- ent enters into, and helps to constitute, every act of remem- brance. This, at least, is true of memory as commonly con- ceived of When a man says that he remembers something, we understand that he himself has perceived that which he remem- bers. If he tells what he has heard from some one else, he re- members hearing it, but not the thing itself If he tells that of which he is sure, yet is not now certain whether he origi- nally perceived it himself, or learned it from others, or inferred it from some sign, we do not call his certainty or knowledge re- membrance; it is simply a recalled knowledge. This re-knowing is of the same essential nature with memory, and might be included under memory, provided the term were used in a wide philosophical sense. But that might lead to con- 456 THE HUMAN MIND. % 176. fusion. Besides, however confident one might himself be of some fact learned, he knows not how, his testimony regarding it could not avail with others so much as if he knew whence he had obtained his knowledge. Nay, perhaps he himself could not be absolutely sure of it. For this reason, we commonly wish to know concerning any reproduced conviction whether it first originated from inference, or from testimony, or from obser- vation ; in the latter case only we call it memory. Almost every other circumstance connected with a past event or fact, except that it was personally observed, may be forgotten, while the character of memory remains. One may be confident that he has heard another making a certain declaration, but may be entirely unable to say in what place, or at what time, or in what company; he may even forget how he himself was aifected by the declaration; but he must recollect that he himself heard it, or there is no remembrance. In memory the two primary powers of mind — JSS of con^ thought and belief — are always exercised together; ception. a^j^(j nothing is more necessary to a right under- standing of this faculty than that we should bear in mind the distinction between these powers. The want of a right apprehension of this distinction has rendered possible two related forms of error: firsts that which regards memory as merely a clear and vivid exercise of reproductive thought, and, secmvdly^ that which explains memory as an energetic kind of thought, resulting from an unimpaired, or reinforced, condition of the suggestive power. The first of these views naturally ac- companies Mr. Locke's account of memory and is involved in it, though rather from his carelessness and want of precision than from any positive adoption of the error. Locke, failing to dis- tinguish between ideas and 'cognitions, makes perception the faculty by which ideas are first received, and memory the faculty by which they are retained and revived ("Essay," book ii. chap. x.). The same doctrine is taught by those who describe remembrance as a distinct and life-like conception of something past. Vividness of conception should not be confounded with confidence of conviction. The former may often accompany the latter and for this reason may be mentioned as suggestive of it. But the two are not inseparable, and, even when conjoined, may be distinguished. Our conception of a well-told tale and our belief in its truth are different things. Were it not so, there would be no difference between distinct memory and distinct imagination. The second error, mentioned above, is held by ^«™°^ *\ep^2 t^ose philosophers who account for all the beliefs duced thought or and couvictious of the mind on the principle of the HerbMt Spencer, associatiou of idcas. Accordiug to them, we have, first, sensations, then reprodu(;ed sensations, or ideas, of different kinds, then association of ideas; that is all. This system confounds sensation with thought, and thought 1 § 176. MEMORY, 457 with knowledge, and makes all knowledge renewed and refined sensations. It is shallow and inadequate to the highest degree. But it signally fails in attempting to account for memory. Ad- mitting all its assumptions, it is impossible to see how any conception of things as existing in past time — much more, how any convection as to their past reality — is nothing more than a strongly reproduced feeling. A sensation of pain or uneasi- ness to-day, though it be reinforced by some influence from the pain of yesterday, has in it no reference to yesterday, much less any conviction that such reference is correct. These things are an addition to the present experience, however that may have been produced or compounded. In short, associationalism can- not explain the simplest exercise of remembrance. This fact, in the course of discussion, became so evident to Mr. J. S. Mill that, in his " Examination of Sir Wm. Hamilton's Philosophy," he candidly admitted memory to be an ultimate ground of belief In opposition to his own teachings, he says, " Our belief in the veracity of memory is evidently ultimate: no reason can be given for it which does not presuppose the belief, and assume it to be well-grounded" (p. 174). Those materialistic associa- tionalists, who identify sensations with molecular changes, and then make all mental action molecular, need scarcely be men- tioned. They are not worthy of consideration in the present connection. But we commend Mr. Herbert Spencer's chapter on memory to any one who has a fondness for sublimated non- sense (" Psych." part iv. chap. vi.). The following is the most intelligible sentence in that chapter. *'To remember a motion just made with the arm is to have a feeble repetition of those internal states which accompanied the motion — is to have an incipient excitement of those nerves which were strongly excited during the motion." That is, a feeble excitement of nervous tissue is the same thing with a feeble sensation of the mind, and the feeble sensation is the same thing with a recollection. " Thus," says Spencer, " these nascent nervous excitements that conflict with one another are the objective sides of those changes which are ideas on their subjective sides." This author should have lived in those ancient times when the soul, with its thoughts and feelings, was identified with fire, which gives light and heat, or with air, that moves and blows. His theories would have been great improvements on those old teachings, and, perhaps, would have supplanted them altogether. Memory, in its twofold character as the reproduc ?egTe?s^^y'?°^ tiou of both thought and belief, admits of excel- lence and of imperfection. An absolute recollec- tion of the past, in which all things submitted to one's observation should be recalled in all their details and with the full assurance of sight, could belong only to an ideal memory. A less com- plete exercise of the faculty passes for perfection with human beings. In general, when we speak of a perfect remembrance, we mean one which retains all those particulars of some scene 458 THE HUMAN MIND, § 177. or transaction which may have been specially noticed, and which includes a full assurance of belief respecting them; and a mem- ory is imperfect so far as it differs from such a standard, in either respect. While these two modes of excellence often accompany each other, they are also often separated. One witness may dimly recall the circumstances of a transaction which he remem- bers with absolute assurance, and another, of livelier imagina- tion, may have distinct conceptions of particulars, while he would not like to swear that everything happened just accord- ing to his description. Differences of ability are noticeable also in the same man at different times. The causes controlling these differences are, in the main, the same as those which govern the acquisition and the revival of our ideas. Hence, although every recalled belief, like every recalled idea, arises in the mind directly from the action of a reproductive power, we often can explain how one remembrance has arisen rather than another, and how one remembrance is more or less vivid, or confident, than another. What has been interesting, what has been ob- served carefully, what has occurred recently, what has been witnessed alone, and without distraction, and while one is in good health and vigor, will be recalled with special ease and confidence (§§ 112-116). § 177. Hitherto we have insisted upon the negative Semo^/yltoTeason i*elation of judgment to memory, and have taught or judgment. that, in rememberiufi: a thins:, we believe it, with 1. An imperfect '. , ^ • i i memory may be greater or Icss assuraucc, simply because we re- c^med or dis- member it. It is, however, true that the memory of human beings is not exercised apart from their reason or judgment, but continually in conjunction with the latter faculty, and that the relations arising from this fact are very important. Judgment may confirm or disannul remem- brances; it may scrutinize and test the action of memory; it may intermingle and combine its own inferences with remem- bered facts; and it may control and direct the mind in the effort to remember things forgotten. A great influence is exerted in these several ways. Firsts judgment confirms or disannuls remembrances. This happens only when the alleged fact is not remembered perfectly. In that case, to terminate doubt, the fact supposed to be remem- bered may be regarded in its external relations, and we may find good reason to believe that such an event must, or must not, have taken place. For instance, we may find that certain necessary consequences of it are, or are not, visible. If one, during the night time, had seen a great fire at a short distance, and on the next morning were not sure that he had not been dreaming, his memory would be confirmed if he should find the blackened and smoking remains of some large building in the neighborhood to which his recollection pointed. If no such remains could be found, he would conclude that he had been only dreaming. § IT MEMORY. 459 In the next place, yidigniQnt may scrutinize the action LuS^Se'^ndTeTt of memoiy, and the degree of its reliability. This is the action of (Jon 6 whenever a remembrance is intentionally and memory. deliberately repeated, and so subjected to the notice of a reflective and attentive consciousness. Under such condi- tions we may become sure that our conviction really arises from memory and is not a delusion of fear, or hope, or passion, or interest; and we determine with what amount of confidence we leally remember a thing, whether with full assurance or with doubt and hesitation. Then, also, we may compare our recol- lection with other recollections and beliefs, and may inquire whether there be any likelihood of our having erroneously com- bined the elements of our acquired knowledge. Let one remem- ber a portrait on the wall of a certain drawing-room, and have the doubtful impression that the picture, which he saw, was a Madonna. He can now ask whether his idea of the Madonna may not have been obtained from some other picture that he has seen elsewhere, and wrongly substituted in his present recol- lection for that of Beatrice, or some other lady. If he have seen no such picture in similar surroundings, his recollection is prob- ably a correct one. A remembrance is also confirmed or rejected by testing its power to excite other remembrances. When our attention is fixed on a fact the redintegrative tendency operates to recall particulars connected with it, so that a little study may bring before us all the prominent features of some scene or transaction in which we have been once interested. In this way circum- stances naturally connected with the point regarding which we are in doubt, are frequently brought to mind; whereas, if no effort can recall additional or confirmatory circumstances, there is increased reason to distrust the recollection. For this cause witnesses in courts of law are often required to confirm their testimony concerning some fact by relating, so far as they may, the time, place, and circumstances of its occurrence; and, in general, testimony is the more acceptable, the more detailed and circumstantial it may be. 3.inthee8timation I^? the//iiVc? p^ttcc, judgment intermingles and com- of time judgment biucs its owu beliefs with those furnished imme- m^OTy.^ ^ diately by memory, and thus performs an important Sates oSgSiat?.*^" function. Next to the doctrine that memory is an original and immediate source of knowledge, none other is so indispensable to a satisfactory understanding of this faculty as the doctrine that memory has a development, and that, in addition to the essential power of the reproduction of old cognitions and beliefs, there is an acquired memory, which is related to the original and simple power somewhat as original is to acquired perception. This developed or acquired memory is that lohich we commonly exercise, is ivhat lue commonly call memory, and, ivhile including an immediate knowledge, contains a considerable admixture of ivhat is rational and logical. The mystery and diffi- 460 THE HUMAN MIND. § 177. culty which many an able thinker has encountered, in connec- tion with the philosophy of remembrance, have arisen from his failure to trace the workings of the recollective faculty to their first beginnings, and to comprehend the duplex character of them as cognitions. The initial exercise of memory takes place in immediate connection with the perception of things as exist- ing in time, and is scarcely distinguishable from the operation of the perceptive power. One can perceive time only as pass- ing; the very cognition of things as existing in the present, must be accompanied by the knowledge of them as existing in the immediate past. These two modes of cognition are inseparably connected, and together form what may be denominated a perception of the continued present (§ 169). In this perception we gain those conceptions of time and of the relations of time, which are involved in every act of memory. Here, too, the mind obtains those measures of duration which it afterwards applies. The first memories of the infant are very imperfect. Its powers of attention and discrimination are feeble; and its inter- est is wholly occupied with the immediate present. Under such conditions the action of the reproductive power is confused and weak. Even after the mind remembers things with some dis- tinctness, and realizes how memory difiers from botli perception and imagination, i.ts judgment as to the time of past events re- mains indefinite. Any one acquainted with little children knows their incapacity to tell the time of occurrences which they remem- ber. The infant probably begins his measurement of duration while noticing short sensible events which succeed each other with regularity. The footsteps of the nurse, her monotonous song, the rocking of the cradle, or the successive breathings of the child itself, mark the passing moments. The remembrance of a number of such events together — of as many steps as the nurse takes in crossing the room, of the syllables composing one stanza of her song, of a succession of cradle rockings, or of a number of excited breathings after being laid down from the nurse's arms — would yield a further measurement of time, and prepare for greater judgments. Before many years, our earlier measurement of duration is succeeded by observation of the time consumed by regular artificial movements; and so seconds, min- utes, hours, — marked by the ticking of pendulums, or the move- ments of hands over the face of a timepiece, or the creeping of the shadow on the dial, or the falling of sand through the hour- flass — are learned and accepted as definite portions of duration, hus, by difierent immediate judgments, we determine the dura- tion of such regular processes, natural and artificial, as submit themselves to our continuous attention. After that we use such phenomena as standards, whereby we may determine with ac- curacy the duration of other things. But, the measurement of the time of any standard event being once perfected, the time occupied by its subsequent recurrence may be recognized infer- § 177. MEMORY. 461 t entially, and may be inferentially applied to any other event contemporaneous with it. Having once attained to the concep- tion of a day as that length of time which is occupied by the diurnal revolution of the earth, there is no need that we should again measure the successive portions of the day. We may sleep during part of the twenty-four hours, and, during the re- maining part, may give no special attention to the passage of time, yet we can know that one day only has passed, if there have been only one alternation of darkness and light. It seems quite evident that our determination of the time oc- cupied by past events, and of the time which may have tran- spired since their occurrence, is mostly made by means of infer- ences in which we first measure time by reference to some regular and well-known phenomenon, and then assign the time thus measured to the periods that we have more immediately in view. For example, when we remember that such or such an event happened a day, or a week, or a year, ago, this remembrance — like the perception of distance by sight — involves the use of rules which have been gained in a past experience. ment ^^ ^^^ fourth placc, and finally, judgment controls guides the effort to and assists memory, in the effort to recall things for- recouect. gotten. The reproduction of belief, as well as the reproduction of thought, is, to a certain extent, subject to the influence of the will; and, with reference to this fact, memory has been divided into the spontaneous and the intentional. We cannot recall what is not connected with our present thought, nor even that of which we do not already have some conception. But it is often possible to recall the forgotten particulars of some scene or transaction which we partially remember. The intel- lectual effort in which this end is accomplished is named recol- lection, because it is a collecting again of things into one's con- scious knowledge. In this process the mind appeals to the laws of the reproduction of thought. We dwell on the partial remem- brance and wait, expecting a redintegration. If this do not take place soon, then we try one form of completion after another till at last some happy conjecture, nearer the truth than the rest, recalls the particulars desired. For any past cognition is re- produced with special ease whenever our present thought may be similar to it. Having forgotten the name of some boy, we have not, of course, forgotten that he has a name; therefore, we try first one name and then another, till, at last, striking the right name, or one simila.r to it, recollection takes place. Such is a very frequent method of intentional memory. But often we seek the forgotten, not through the similar merely, but through that also which may have been in any way associated, in past cognition, with the object of our search. For instance, if one were desirous of recalling some remarkable saying of an- other's, he might dwell on the occasion of the utterance, on the temper and aims which animated the speaker, on the company which he addressed, and on the general character of the dis- k 4:62 THE HUMAN MIND. § 178. * course, and might hope that the remark might be suggested through its connection with some of these things. For any recollection tends to revive that which has previously been as- sociated with the fact which we recollect. circnmstantiaiand § ^^^' ^^ Spontaneous memory remembrances suc- methodicai me- cccd cach other simply according to the laws of °^°^' mental suggestion, and without any immediate guidance of the will and judgment. For this reason differences of intellectual tendency, whether original or acquired, are more observable in connection with this mode of memory than in con- nection with intentional recollection. Here, therefore, we may notice certain different styles of memory resulting from different objective habits of thought; among which what' may be termed the circumstantial and the methodical may be especially signal- ized. Some persons, naturally, have a penetrating strength of mind, which immediately lays hold of the important particulars of some transaction, neglecting the rest ; which talent is, for the most part, developed by use and education; while other persons are greatly deficient in this respect. Accordingly some mem- ories are merely receptive; the particulars of any event or scene are recalled by them indiscriminately and are mentioned in the evident, obvious, relations of time and place; but other mem- ories, as if guided by an instinctive judgment, bring up only those particulars which are appropriate to the occasion or con- ducive to some desired end. Lord Kames, in the first chapter of his "Elements of Criticism," excellently describes the diffusive and circumstantial style of memory. " In the minds of some persons," he says, "thoughts and circumstances crowd upon each other by the slightest connections. I ascribe this to a bluntness in the discerning faculty; for a person who cannot accurately distinguish between a shght connection and one that is more intimate is equally affected by each: such a peraon must necessarily have a great flow of ideas, because they are intro- duced by any relation indifferently; and the slighter relations, being without number, furnish ideas without end." The same author calls attention to that humorous illustration of vulgar memory which Shakespeare has given in the speech of Mrs. Quickly to Sir John Falstaflf. " What," said the knight, "is the gross sum that I owe thee ? " his hostess replied, " Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and thy money too. Thou didst swear to me on 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 for likening him to a singing man of Windsor; thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it ? Did not Goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in to borrow a mess of vinegar ; telling us she had a good dish of sprawns ; whereby thou didst desire to eat some ; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound. And didst not thou, when she was gone downstairs, desire me J 178. ' MEMORY. 463 to be no more so familiarity with sucli poor people, saying that ere long they should call me madam ? And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book oath, deny it if thou canst." A similar particularity of recollection is exhibited by the coachman in Scriblerus, who, giving an account of a fight, runs through all the categories of Aristotle. "Two men fought for a prize; one was a fair man. a sergeant in the Guards; the other black, a butcher; the sergeant had red trousers, the butcher blue; they fought upon a stage, about four o'clock, and the sergeant wounded the butcher in the leg." ^. , In contrast with the foregoing, a skilled and methodical recollection may be illustrated from Mark Antony's oration over the dead body of Caesar, in which every circumstance calculated to excite the sympathy of his hearers is artfully recalled. "Yon all do know tliis mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent. That day he overcame the Nervii: — Look, in this "place ran Cassius' dagger through: See what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Csesax followed it, As rushing out of doors to be resolv'd If Brutus so unkindly knock' d, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him I This was the most unkindest cut of all ; For when the noble Cassar saw him stab. Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face. Even at the base of Pompey's statue. Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar felL" \ A similar skillful selection of circumstances characterizes every good description of familiar scenes. The " Cotter's Satur- day Night," by Burns, and the "Elegy in a Village Church- yard," by Gray, both largely composed from recollections, con- tain excellent illustrations. The aauties of a "^^^ ^® ti'm.Q to discuss othcr modcs of memory, goodmemory. aualogous to tliose just Considered, it would be How cultivated. interesting to notice the effect of one's prevailing temperament, of his regular business, or of his chief interests and inclinations, upon the current of his recollections. But we shall now pass to the contemplation of those characteristics upon which the usefulness of one's remembrances, whatever be their objective character, immediately depends. These are three in number; namely, ease of acquisition, strength of retention, and readiness of reproduction. Tbe memories of different minds differ greatly in all these respects, partly by reason of their natural constitution, and partly by reason of their acquired 464 THE HUMAN MIND. § 178. habits; and it is seldom that any one mind excels in all these particulars at once. Very often those who memorize with fa- cility do not long retain what they have learned; and often those whose memories are sufficiently retentive, find it difficult to recall instantly circumstances w^hich they desire to mention. This sep- aration of qualities does not take place necessarily, but is owing to a variety of causes. A person who learns easily is not com- pelled to any great or prolonged exercise of the attention, and frequently on this account fails to secure his acquisitions. This deficiency generally may be supplied if he repeat to himself what he desires to remember and make it a special subject of consideration and of recoil ective effort. As a rule, we retain only that which we have acquired with some effort and atten- tion. The late Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton said to his sons, "What you know, know thoroughly;" and added, "There are few instances in modern times of a rise equal to that of Sir Ed- ward Sugden. After one of the Weymouth elections I was shut up with him in a carriage for twenty-four hours. I ventured to ask him what was the secret of his success. His answer was : ' I resolved, when beginning to read law, to make everything I acquired perfectly my own, and never to go to a second thing till I had entirely accomplished the first. Many of my competi- tors read as much in a day as I read in a week ; but at the end of twelve months, my knowledge was as fresh as on the day it was acquired, while theirs had glided away from their recollec- tion'" ("Memoirs," chap. xxiv.). The difficulty, which many experience, in recalling what they certainly know, is not always easily remedied. It arises from a slowness of mind which is often natural, but which is also produced by various depressing or retarding influences. This difficulty will be lessened by the systematic exercise of recollection ; but it is to be counteracted chiefly by the cultiva- tion of a cheerful and collected frame of spirit, by the mainte- nance of bodily freshness and vigor, and by a wise participation in that social intellectual intercourse, which brings our faculties into lively exercise. Stupidity and dullness sometimes take possession of the most successful student. Let him quit his books ; let him seek the open air and the scenery of nature ; let him devote himself for a time to practical affairs, let him mingle with the fife of men. He will return to his studies with new zest and with a surprising increase of mental activity. Ti,. ro.„iw r.f ,-r. The doctrine has been tausrht by some that the fac- The faculty of in- ,,• p . ,. i r *^ • a 4- vention as related ulties 01 inveutiou and 01 memory never exist to- LoM^KaSes and gcthcr in the same mind to any eminent degree, quo'ted. ^^^^"^^^ It is true that the exclusive or special cultivation of either of these faculties, while the other is com- paratively neglected, tends to lessen the uncultivated ability. " A man of accurate judgment," says Lord Kames, " cannot have a great flow of ideas; because the slighter relations, making no figure in his mind, have no power to introduce ideas. And hence § 178. MEMORY. 465 it is, that accurate judgment is not friendly to declamation or copious eloquence. This reasoning is confirmed by experience; for it is a noted observation, that a great or comprehensive mem- ory is seldom connected with a good judgment." The first sen- tence in this passage may be too unqualified; in many men, the exercise of sound judgment does not interfere perceptibly with cor- rect and ready memory. Yet that intense and peculiar thought which belongs to inventive and speculative minds undoubtedly tends to carelessness and incapacity in all matters of mere acqui- sition and reproduction. Hence men of philosophical genius often present a poor appearance in comparison with others whose talent is of a lower grade, and sometimes, even, are hesitating and uncertain with respect to questions which they themselves have investigated and settled. An extreme readiness and con- fidence in expounding the details of any system indicate rather the faithful disciple and the able advocate, than the master him- self Prof Stewart remarks that, " they who are possessed of much acuteness and originality, enter with difficulty into the views of others, because they cannot adopt opinions which they have not examined, and because their attention is often seduced by their own speculations; " then he continues, " It is not merely in the acquisition of knowledge that a man of genius is likely to find himself surpassed by others: he has commonly his in- formation much less at command, than those who are possessed of an inferior degree of originality; and, what is somewhat re- markable, he has it least of all at command on those subjects on which he has found his invention most fertile. Sir Isaac Newton, as we are told by Dr. Pemberton, was often at a loss, when the conversation turned on his own discoveries. It is probable that they made but a slight impression on his mind, and that a con- sciousness of his inventive powers prevented him from taking much pains to treasure them up in his memory A man of original genius, who is fond of exercising his reasoning powers anew on every point as it occurs to him, and who cannot submit to rehearse the ideas of others, or to repeat by rote the conclu- sions which he has deduced from previous reflection, often ap- pears, to superficial observers, to fall below the level of ordinary understandings; while another, destitute of both quickness ancl invention, is admired for that promptitude in his decisions whic^h arises from the inferiority of his understanding" ("Elements," chap. vi. 8). These observations contain comfort for some ear- nest and independent thinkers; but they should not be inter- preted as teaching that slowness of recollection is a mark of genius. Many examples of notable memory are recorded in ?f'Semo^^.*°'^^'' history. Till the decay of Pascal's health had im- paired his memory, he is said to have " forgotten nothing of what he had done, read, or thought, in any part of his rational age." Niebuhr, according to his biographer, " mas- tered languages and sciences, signs and the things signified, I 466 THE HUMAN MIND, § 178. with equal ease, and with such certainty, that, with the mind's eye, he saw each in its own individuahty, separate from its fel- lows, and yet intimately and variously related to them. His memory was equally retentive of perceptions and of thoughts, of view and feelings, of sights and sounds; whatever came within the sphere of his recognition took up its due relative position in his mind with equal certainty and precision," The late Dr. Addison Alexander was able to repeat a discourse ver- batim after one reading; and on one occasion, a considerable matriculation list of students having been mislaid, he imme- diately made out another from memory. Hortensius, the Koman orator, at the close of a large auction sale, could enumerate all the articles sold in their order, together with the prices paid, and the 'names of the purchasers. " Nature," says Cicero, " gave Hortensius so happy a memory that he never had need of com- mitting to writing any discourse which he had meditated, while, after his opponent had finished speaking, he could recall word by word, not only what the other had said, but also the authori- ties which had been cited against himself Caesar, and other great military leaders, both of ancient and of modern times, have been remarkable for being able to recall the name and the exploits of every officer or soldier who had ever distinguished himself in their armies. It is related that Alexander the Great knew the name and face of every individual in his army of thirty thousand men. A fellow-student of the father of the present writer had the whole of the New Testament so thoroughly learned by heart that, on the mention of any sentence, he could give the chapter and verse where it is to be found, and, on the numbers of chapter and verse being given he could repeat the words thus called for. In ancient times the practice of commit- ting literary productions to memory was more common than it is at the present day, when reading is universal and books are plentiful ; and it resulted in achievements which would now be considered more remarkable than they were considered then. The two great poems of Homer, each containing twenty-four books, and about fifteen thousand lines, were probably composed before "the art of writing and the use of manageable writing materials were known in Greece and the Grecian islands"; and it is certain that they were fully committed to memory by "rhapsodists," who recited them for the entertainment of others. A very wonderful exercise of memory was exhibited by Morphy, the chess-player of New Orleans. This man sat alone in one room in a New York hotel, while six of the best players in that city sat in an adjoining room, each with a chess-board before him. The six players severally made moves at their pleasure; and each move, when made, was announced to Morphy, through an open door. With very little hesitation he directed another move in the game reported from, and so he continued playing till he had beaten the greater number of his antagonists, one or two coming off with drawn games. Such a feat is most extra- § 179. MEMORY. 4Q1 ordinary; it reminds one of those wonderful calculators, who, using memory instead of slate and pencil, perform complicated arithmetical problems in their heads. These are prodigies whom the Creator sends into the world that we may see what a mar- velous thing the human mind is, and of what undreamt of accomplishments it is capable. § 179. Men of ordinary talent cannot hope to equal S'mlSry!^^^*^ the attainments of genius. They should satisfy themselves with the reflection that extraordinary mental powers are not essential to honorable success. Yet those who would pass their lives to the most, advantage, and who would participate in that nobility which intellectual advance- ment confers, should remember that the powers of the mind are more capable of development than those of the body, and that, of all our mental endowments, memory is the most improvable. This is particularly noticeable in the education of children, who at first are incapable of learning even the shortest verses, but who soon show themselves able for considerable lessons. Presently all the rules and methods, forms and paradigms, of grammars and arithmetics, are mastered ; the mind is stored with the facts of history and geography, and with the principles and illustrations of science; while whole pages of poetry and oratory are so studied that they become part of one's mental furniture, and are rehearsed with ease. Moreover, in subsequent life, should one's position call for the regular use of memory, a com- mand of this faculty is found to be gained rapidly by means of practice. In certain denominations of Christians young ministers are expected first to write out and then t6 commit to memory the sermon for Sabbath morning; and it is the common experience of such that this work, laborious at first, soon becomes easy. One or two attentive readings fixes an imprint of the discourse upon the mind. Men, too, who are accustomed to employ their memory receive a peculiar satisfaction from the exercise of this faculty and resort to it as a means of mental discipline and enjoyment. This was a pleasure of Lord Macaulay, a man whose memory resembled that of Pascal. In October, 1857, after he had retired from public life and, in great part, from literary com- position, he writes, " I walked in the portico and learned by heart the noble fourth act of the Merchant of Venice. There are four hundred lines, of which I knew a hundred and fifty. I made myself perfect master of the whole, the prose letter included, in two hours." About this same time he committed long passages from Lucretius, Catullus, and Martial. Also, having studied the Peerage at odd moments, he "could soon repeat ofi" book the entire roll of the House of Lords " ; then, taking up the Cam- bridge and Oxford Calendars, he soon " had the whole of the University Fasti by heart.'' "An idle thing," he adds, "but I wished to try whether my memory is as strong as it used to be; and I perceive no decay" ("Life and Letters," chap. xiv.). 468 THE HUMAN MIND. § 179. Natural mnemon- FaitKful commemorizatioTis and frequent rehearsals ics. The aid given may be depended upon as the principal means for the Sr^gement™w?d permanent improvement of the memory. But we id'eas^^*^*^^^ °^ must add that the recollective faculty may receive great immediate assistance from our arranging in our minds the particulars of any given case in some orderly connec- tion; and that this process tends also to a happy development of the reproductive faculty. The mind loves to act according to some law; therefore, it loves order; for order is an arrangement of things according to a rule or law. Any one accustomed to mas- ter the details of comprehensive topics can testify that these de- tails are recalled much more easily and completely, if they have been arranged according to some one or more of the natural principles of order. An order of recollection may be derived from the succession of events in time, or from the position of things in space, or from that similarity and difference of objects whereby they are thrown into logical classes, or from a continu- ous connection of cause and effect, or from association with other things that have a fixed order, or from grades of impor- tance or of excellence, or from degrees in the possession of any quality, or from a combination of any two or more of these grounds of arrangement. The order of time is observed in the composition of chronicles or annals, in which no further depart- ure takes place from simple successiveness than the nature of the history absolutely necessitates. Most private narratives, also, are constructed on this principle. The order of place applies to the description of any territory and its contents. Thus a farmer might describe his property by mentioning the different fields in succession as they lie in rows running east and west, and the various farm buildings with reference to some central structure. So one who had seen an exhibition of paintings might remember them according to the several places on the gal- lery wall in which they successively met his attention. Persons have been known who, after one or two readings, could repeat the entire contents of a daily newspaper; in which feat their memory, doubtless, was assisted by the order of place according to which the articles and advertisements followed each other in the col- umns of the paper. The collection of things to be remembered, into logical classes, according to the agreement and disagree-- ment of their natures, is a principal step in the construction of any science, and, together with their proper subdivision, is an aid to the memorization, no less than it is to the comprehension, of facts and principles. This rule applies only so far as the matter of any department of knowledge admits of classification. Always helpful, it is more useful in relation to some topics of study than to others. Only classification enables the botanist and chemist to retain and recall the results of long-continued obser- vation and experiment; no philosopher, statesman, man of letters, or man of business, can hope to have a large store of information at command if he do not digest the details of his 5 179. MEMORY. 469 knowledge and arrange them under appropriate heads. Often, again, the connection of things in our recollection is maintained, not by any order belonging to the things themselves, but by an order in other things to which they are related. Should some city officer desire to remember personally all the men of business within his territory, he might recall them according to the local order of their places of business ; or he might arrange them m his mind with reference to their modes of employment, each trade constituting a class by itself; or he might form an alpha- betical list of their names and familiarize himself with them in this way. Finally, the arrangement of things in memory, ac- cording to their importance, or their degree of the possession of some quality, is often adopted. For in practical matters we desire to remember first that which is of most consequence, and then things of less importance ; while, for the ends of dis- play and impression, we begin with things of small moment, that the interest of our hearers may increase and may culmi- nate at last. This order of importance is naturally followed when we would enumerate the individual persons or things in any class which we may have formed; and then it is supplementary to the order resulting from logical collection and division. For one principle of order often co-operates with another in the guidance and assistance of our recollection. The order of place and that of time are concurrent with reference to objects viewed upon a journey. Those of time, causation, and written language, may unite in history. For the most part, one prin- ciple supplements the work of another, and arranges the details of some subordinate subject that has already found a place for itself as a whole. Thus the topics of history are first arranged according to the order of time, but each of them is then treated with reference to its own origin and development, contemporary occurrences being for the moment neglected. Sometimes, too, history must describe scenes according to an order of locality, and sometimes she must descend to mere descriptive lists or enumerations. The foregoing observations may indicate in what way the mind, with more or less consciousness of purpose, elaborates its acquisitions so as to facilitate future recollection. They apply only to cases in which such elaboration is found desirable, and not to cases which call for no work save that of simple memoriza- tion. But it is to be observed that in this arrangement of ma- terials for remembrance, the mind does not slavishly adhere to any one law which may have served a purpose, but employs some other law so soon as another may suggest itself as better fitted to group and unite together the materials to be remem- bered. Hence, the natural order, even of our most considered recollections, cannot be said to follow any principles fixedly, but rather uses one principle after another, and this with a frequent freedom of choice; in having which freedom memory difiers from the reasoning power. 470 THE HUMAN MIND. § 179. Moreover, while care and ingenuity may greatly moScs*^ "^^®" improve those mnemonic arrangements of acquired knowledge which the mind makes spontaneously, and this especially in collections of fact which admit of scien- tific arrangement, we believe that no " art of memory " can su- persede the methods of nature, and that the work of nature ad- mits of no improvements, save such as may result from the development and application of her methods. For this reason certain artificial devices, which have been recommended in both ancient and modern times as powerful aids to memory, have been found to be of limited application, and consequently of limited value. These devices may be illustrated by that of a pious servant girl, who connected the successive parts of the sermon on Sabbath morning, with the different panels in the ceiling of the church, and who thus, when the sermon was over, had a kind of map of it in her mind. Possibly, the in- structions to which she listened, may have been improved in connectedness by having the order of place added to the order of thought; but, ordinarily, the parts of a well-composed dis- course suggest each other better without such external aids. The recollective location of the several parts of a discourse upon those segments of a plane with which they had been previously associated, would tend to prevent the omission of any part from our rehearsal, but we question whether it would directly aid the remembrance of it. The efibrt needful to form the artificial as- sociation would weaken somewhat one's attention to the true and proper relations of the parts of the discourse, and in this way more might be lost than gained. But, if an external association could be formed so easily and quickly as not to interfere with the perception of internal con- nections, the memory might be assisted by such an association. Hence, a good reader 'more easily learns sentences from a book than as repeated from the lips of another person. For he sees them in their places.' Hence, too, historical charts, in which the comparative duration of kingdoms and the times of events are denoted to the eye, may be of considerable value to the stu- dent. Moreover, there is an especial advantage, when things have no close connection of their own, if we can impose one upon them by some easily-remembered device. Those who have studied Hebrew grammar may remember the Heemantic and Begadkephath letters, which designations, and others like them, are simply mnemonic words, each composed of the class of let- ters which it names, and containing all of them. In like man- ner, the ancient Latin prosodists arranged lists of words in hex- ameters, so that they might be more easily committed; and of this sort is "The Memoria Technica of Mr. Grey, in which a great deal of historical, chronological, and geographical knowl- edge is comprised in a set of verses, which the student is sup- posed to make as familiar to himself as school-boys do the rules of grammar." A more familiar illustration is presented by the § 180. PHANTASY. 471 old stanza, which begins, "Thirty days hath September," and by means of which the number of days in each month is fixed in our remembrance. That, too, was a marvelous piece of ingenuity by which Petrus Hispanus — afterwards Pope John XXII. — indicated in a few lines the character as to figure and mood of all lawful syllogisms, and the mode in which those of the second and third figures might be reduced to the first. He made a few short and easily remembered symbols express a great number of truths, not easily associated together. For we acquire and recall with special ease what may have been happily ex- pressed in some rhythmical form of words. CHAPTER XXXVn. PHANTASY. \ ^K § 180. The reproductive phase of mental life com- ^^ SLe^?toedf*^^^ prises more than the mere exercise of the reproduc- tive power, that is, more than the simple reproduction of past thought or knowledge, according to the laws of sugges- tion (Chap. XXVI. ). It includes analysis, synthesis, judgment, quest, elaboration. It may be defined as that development of activity in which reproduction is the most prominent factor, and in which the mind, without making any advancement in knowl- edge, recalling and reconstructing the remembrances and ideas of its past acquisition,, supplies itself with matter for contempla- tion. If we would sharply distinguish the reproductive from the elaborative phase, we must emphasize the fact that contem- plation and the satisfaction to be immediately derived therefrom, constitute the principal and ultimate aim of the former mode of activity. When some recollection or imagination is used in "" the course of argumentative, or scientific, or moral, thought, not for its own sake, but for the purposes of conviction, or instruc- tion, or guidance, this would belong to the rational, rather than to the reproductive, intellect. For the mind exercises all of its elementary powers in each of the phases of its activity. But, because such uses of reproduced thought can be exhibited well in connection with others in which contemplation is the end aimed at, they have sometimes been discussed in connection with the latter, and then assumed as understood in the philosophy of the discursive faculty. This course is not objectionable ; there is rather an advantage in it, provided the reasons for it be understood. Two names for the ^® havc already considered those mental opera- reproductive fac- tions in which the mind recalls and modifies its TiSse names dif- past cognitlons (Chap. XXXV.). We shall now cMil^d?^ ^P®" discuss those operations in which conceptions and ideas, abstracted from the conviction which origi- nally accompanied them, are reproduced and elaborated. The 472 THE HUMAN MIND, § 180. general faculty corresponding to these operations has received two names from philosophers. Some, adopting a Greek word, have called it the phantasy, or power of producing appearances; while a greater number have employed the Latin term imagina- tion^ which signifies the power of constructing likenesses. Both designations are figurative; and both direct attention to the principal function of the faculty, which is to furnish ideal or mental objects. But, while both terms have been applied to the general faculty, there is a difference in their use; the one em- phasizes the reproductive, and the other the constructive activ- ity, of mind. This difference becomes especially marked when either term is opposed to the other. Then the word phantasy signifies that development of the reproductive power, whose action receives little or no guidance from the will or judgment, in which a succession of fleeting appearances combine with each other, according to the spontaneous operation of the associative tendency. Imagination^ as contrasted with phantasy, signifies that development of reproduction which is controlled by an in- telligent purpose, and which accomplishes a desired work — that is, the elaboration of mental images or representations. Those who have employed the term imagination, fS^ty divi^d^d.^^^ i^i the generic sense, have distinguished the two ed^"ith'^°"*'^^^'" ™o^^^ ^^ t^® faculty as the reproductive and the tion. ^ productive imagination, the former of these being identical with the phantasy, in its specific character, and the latter with the imagination, as contrasted with mere phantasy. Yet we should notice that reproduction is not confined to the phantasy, nor production to the imagination. Keproduc- tion is the essential basis of each style of activity; and the creations of either power are equally wonderful with those of the other. But, because phantasy works without the direction of skill and judgment, her constructions are largely accidental; they fall together like the patterns in a kaleidoscope ; while im- agination, being an intentional exercise of intellect, exhibits pro- ductions specially worthy of the name. Before entering upon the discussion of either spe- ?he*'^en1rS''%a^^ cific faculty, some remarks are due to that general ?D* t d c^^^^cter which belongs to both, objects as real. Let US uote the significant fact that imaginative thought presents itself without attendant belief in the, reality of its objects. The essential difference between memory and phantasy is that, in the one, both the conceptions and the convictions of our original cognition are reproduced, while, in the other, conceptions only are recalled and used. A tailor may imagine himself a king; yet, unless he be deranged, or de- ceived in some way, he cannot believe himself to be one; but, when he remembers his customary occupation, he has both the conception and the conviction that he is a tailor. Thus nature herself distinguishes thought from belief — conception from con- viction — a most important distinction in philosophy. 180. PHANTASY, 473 2 Its obects for ^g^^^j ^^^ ^^ remark, that the objects of the imagi- tiie most part non- notion do Tiot, foT tlie most part, exist. We may lo- existent. ^^^^ imaginary events in real places, and, in other ways, mingle knowledge with fancy. But the objects which imagination furnishes, and with which she is especially con- cerned, do not exist; when we call them objects, or more ex- pressly speak of imaginary or ideal objects, we use a figurative sort of language to indicate that we are not really thinking of objects, but only using ideas in the same manner as if we were. Adopting this mode of speech, we say, further, that vidu^ ^ "^^" ^^® objects 'produced by tJie imagination are aR indi- vidual. This statement does not conflict with the doctrine that generalization and its results, and the secondary powers generally, are employed in the reproductive phase of mental life. General notions furnish the rules which the imagi- nation follows; and the attributes with which she clothes her creations, are abstracted from many sources. But those ideal objects which imagination produces are individuals. If they were of a general character they would belong to the discursive phase of thought, and would present laws or types such as reason uses. Imaginary objects and constructions may contain much that is indefinitely conceived, and may nearly approach .univer- sality, but they are always granted individual difference (§ 132). For, in contemplation, the mind loves individuality and what- ever else may make thought more to resemble fact. With respect to the ideas of existence and non-existence, thou^te°o?exiS the Composition of imaginative does not differ from Sence.^ ^°^- that of othcr thought. We conceive of things as existing, and as non-existent, and as matters of question, in the same way as we do in a narration of fact. The story of Mother Hubbard and her dog may furnish a good illustra- tion, for those who are not high-minded. For Mother Hubbard and her dog and the cupboard, are conceived of as existing; but there is at first an imaginary question as to the existence of a bone, and whether or not the dog will get one ; and then these latter conceptions are united with that of non-existence. " For when she got there The cupboard was bare ; And so the poor doggy got none** Imaginative thought, in its exhibition of objects, employs tne same existential statements and conceptions that are employed by assertive or actualistic thought; but the propositions and conceptions of imagination are merely enunciative, while those which assert fact express also belief, or knowledge (§ 40). 6. Includes hypo- ^^ the ucxt placc, whilc imagination exhibits ideal theticai judgment objccts as existiuff variouslv, without anv iuderment or beliet as to the reality oi this existence, it yet also includes much judgment and belief concerning the imaginary existence of its own entities. The judgments and beliefs thus 474 THE HUMAN MIND, § 180. formed are hypothetical (§ 48), and are of two classes. They comprise, firsts those pertaining to the relations which must exist, even in imagination, among any given set of entities, according to their nature and the nature of things in general; and, secondly^ our judgments in regard- to the fitness or unfitness of any element of conception to enter into the construction which we may be endeavoring to complete. The first of these modes of judgment belongs alike to phantasy and imagination ; the second to imagination only. These judgments are hypothetical ; they do not affirm the real existence of anything, but only assert that, on the supposition of the existence of certain objects, they must exist in certain relations, or in connection with certain other objects, which, therefore, must be supposed to exist also. Should one form to himself the conception, or read the description, of the capital of some ancient empire, he could not do so without giving the city a location in some country" or province, or with- out supposing builders who erected it out of suitable materials, and houses and streets accommodated for private and public use, and inhabitants to occupy these. He would also conceive some governmental officers and regulations to be a necessary part of its constitution. Or were it his desire to plan a model capital for some Utopian kingdom, he would exercise judgment with respect to the site of the city, and the width, length, grade, and direction of its streets; with respect to the materials for building, the location and construction of buildings accord- ing to their several uses, and the disposition of parks, squares, fountains, trees, statues, and other ornamental additions; and the political, educational, and benevolent institutions, which might insure the well-being of the inhabitants. This exercise of judg- ment is a principal part of the work of the poet; it is because of his skill in the employment of it that he is called a poet — a maker of things beautiful and pleasing. The formations of fancy are often wonderfully dif- creaSve,^bu?^niy fercut from anything to be found in actual exist- ^Sc^^ower*'^*^ ence, and, therefore, because of their great novelty, they have been styled creations. But it is scarcely necessary to observe that imagination is only a reproductive and constructivt faculty ; it is not literally a creative one. The novelty of her productions pertains only to their construction. Phantasy does not provide for herself a single elemental thought, but ob- tains all the materials for her building from the faculties of per- ception and acquisition. Hence, it is true, philosophically, that fact furnishes all the materials for fiction. 7. Is Hmited only finally, wc Say that the realm of 'phantasy includes all to the sphere of db- things that havc in them an element of possibility, ac possi . ^^^ ^^ therefore, hounded only by the absence of pos- sibility. The purely impossible — that which contains no ele- ment of possibility — cannot be conceived. We cannot imagine a change to take place without any cause, or two things to be one in the same sense in which they are two, nor anything to I § 181. PHANTASY. 475 be and not to be at the same time. Nor can anything impos- sible be conceived so far forth as it is impossible. But we can imagine things impossible which contain elements of possibility, provided only we confine our attention to these elements. The Lady Fragi'antia asked of Baron Munchausen, " Pray, my dear Baron, were you ever at the Falls of Niagara?" "Yes, my lady," he replied, " I have been, many years ago, at the Falls of Niagara, and found no more difficulty in swimming up and down the cataracts than I should to move a minuet." In this story of the Baron we can discover no love of truth. He asserts, as a feat of his own, what would be a downright impossibility for any human being. Yet the statement has a sort of conceiva bility ; for no one could swim without a sufficiency of water, and there is always plenty in the Falls of Niagara. ^^ , T ^, * § 181. We pass now to phantasy, or the spontaneous Phantasy. Inwhat 3 V i ^- i r xi i^i. a sense a passive modc oi the reproductive phase or thought. As ^°^^^' contrasted with the imagination some have called this a passive power, because, in mere phantasy, voluntary agency is suppressed, 'and the associative tendency operates according to any influences that may be brought to bear upon it from within or from without. Nevertheless, in one sense, the mind is pre-emi- nently active in reproductive thought. In this case, the term 'pas- sive, can signify nothing more than that voluntary activity is either absent, or, at the least, subordinated, to that which is spontaneous. Phantasy, like our other intellectual powers, never Sole! if?p?om2 works wholly by itself Generally, its operations uonl "^*^^®^^ mingle in that thronging crowd of activities which pass over the track of one's conscious life. Some- times the soul is so engaged in the observation of fact, or so absorbed in memories of the past, or so intent upon the solution of some problem, that the contemplation of idealities is excluded; but, when our minds are not thus earnestly pre-occupied, we often entertain ourselves with passing fancies. This especially occurs when one's surroundings naturally suggest similitudes or sup- positions. In a journey through a wild wooded country, strange shapes, to which the phantasy has given a nature not their own, present themselves to the lonely traveler; incidents, adventures, dangers, and escapes, are experienced, which have no nearer re- lation to reality than is to be found in the possibility of their occurrence and in their congruity with surrounding scenes. The lively images of phantasy fill up the intervals of observation and reflection. But, in order to find this power in its purest and most un- interrupted exercise, we must turn to times at which the mind is freest from the influence of external objects and from the guid- ance of its own rational energy. For the first of these causes continually recalls the soul to the apprehension of fact, and the other determines its thoughts into some definite line of recol- lection or elaboration. This freedom is especially experienced whenever the general energies of body and mind are in a reduced 476 THE HUMAN MIND. § 181. or a disordered condition; and, for this reason, the phenomena of reverie, of dreams, of somnambulism, of the hallucinations | of sense, and of insanity, all illustrate the workings of the phantasy. The style of thought called reverie attends a con- Eeverie defined, dition of mind in whicli the vigorous exercise of our faculties is either prevented by weakness or exhaustion, or laid aside through indolence. The first thinkings of the infant are probably of this description ; such also are the wanderings of extreme old age. In reverie an unprompted and unchecked succession of thoughts pass before the mind, and are contemplated with equal interest whether they be recollections or mere imaginings. But the principal part of reverie, and that which gives character to its operations, is the exercise of the phantasy. Persons fully occupied with care and business have little time for this indulgence; but those who are disengaged often spend hours in it. Thus employed, the ambitious youth lays out for himself a long course of exciting adventure or hon- orable achievement; and the maiden surrounds herself with the delights of a happy home in which she reigns the queen. Less energy is needed for the action of phantasy than oniy^'^lughTeSr! f^T the exevclse of our other mental gifts. ^ A notice- cise of mental en- able dcgrcc of vigor is required even for distinct given. ^ '®*^°^ ^^^ satisfactory recollection. One whose remem- brance may be undecided, by reason of apathy, or distraction, or weakness, or somnolency, may sometimes over- come this difficulty if he rouse himself to energetic and atten- tive thinking. An equal, if not a greater, degree of psychical force 18 demanded for any mode of external cognition. Mere sensation may not require much tension of mind, but the ex- ercise of judgment or perception in connection with the sensa- tion involves considerable. A yet larger draft on mental vigor is made by the elaborations of the imagination ; while rational | and abstract thought, in constructing its theories and solving its problems, calls for the highest exercise of energy and atten- tion. For then we detain the passing idea, scrutinize remem- bered details, select significant, and reject insignificant, facts, carefully join consequents to antecedents and one correlate to another, and guide the whole work of reason to a satisfactory conclusion. Phantasy has no such labors to perform, and there- fore works with ease. In the grand Centennial Exposition, which recently took| place in Philadelphia, there was one prominent building, called the Machinery Hall. In this hall, many steam engines, all supplied with power from one large boiler, were engaged in various labors. Some drove card-printing, silk-weaving, type- setting, pin-making, and other light machines; some assisted in the heavier tasks of cutting nails, stamping coins, turning fan ning- wheels and furniture-lathes, and twisting ropes of wire or hemp ; others gave motion to heavy mill-stones, or worked huge § 181. PHANTASY. 477 pumps, or exerted enormous pressure upon bales of cotton or plates of iron, so as to alter these in bulk or shape. Now, we might suppose a time at which the supply of steam from the central reservoir would be insufficient to move the larger engines and their attachments, while yet those engines which had only light operations to sustain would be as busily at work as ever. And it is evident that, if the steam were shut off from the larger engines at any time, the smaller ones, when supplied with all the force to be expended, would work yet more vigorously, and that, too, with a less amount of motive power than would be usually employed for the whole collection of machinery. Some- thing like this occurs in the economy of mind; and, for this reason, the operations of phantasy frequently appear more exten- sive, and even more vigorous, in proportion to the state of weak- ness or abeyance which may affect our other powers. Hence, persons who have recovered slowly from some severe sickness can tell how their enforced leisure and their convalescent weakness together, have been attended by many reveries. This same law of mind is illustrated by an experi- SeiTorigin. ^TiGQ akin to rcvcric, — that is, by the dreaming which takes place in sleep. In this experience the exercise of the phantasy is more uninterrupted and complete than at any time during our waking hours. For this there are two reasons. Firsts the perception of external things is wholly, or in great measure, suspended during sleep, and so the influence of this perception to arrest and control the course of reproductive thought, is removed. And, secondly^ that peculiar condition of inactivity, which the brain assumes in sleep, reduces the active energy of the soul more powerfully than fatigue, or languor, or indolence, or any other cause which operates while we are awake. In very deep sleep mental action probably ceases en- tirely ; we are as devoid of thought and of sensation as when in a swoon. But in ordinary slumber those operations only are suspended which involve the more energetic action of the soul; the movements of the phantasy, and such others as may prove of equal facility, continue. The extent to which one's powers of attention and discrimination are suppressed in sleep is mani- fested in various ways, but especially in the acceptance by the mind of its own fancies for realities, in our failure to discover and reject the absurdities which enter into the composition of our dreams, and in the incoherent thinkings often exhibited by those who are but partially awakened. That the condition of sleep is peculiarly favorable to the exercise of phantasy is evident from the experience of all, but particularly from the fact that persons who show little or no play of imagination during their waking hours, can often entertain us with an account of wonder- ful dreams and visions which have come to them during the night. Most men have witnessed stranger and greater things while asleep, than they have ever been able to imagine when awake. k. 478 THE HUMAN MIND. % 181. The exercise of belief in dreams arises from sev- alf^mited fw^^™^ eral causes which act in conjunction with the sup- ^ews ^*®^^*'^ pression of our more energetic modes of thinking. Prof. Stewart ascribes our delusion in dreaming to "a suspension of the influence of the will," including therein the suspension of "recollection and reasoning" as voluntary- operations. ("Elements," part i. chap, v.) But, inasmuch as some part of our suppressed activity seems independent of the will, it may be more satisfactory to say that sleep suspends, not merely the volitional control of our faculties, but also every really powerful exercise of them, whether voluntary or not. Such being the case, we are not only liable to be imposed upon by a succession of images over which we have no control, and which, in this respect, resemble our actual perceptions, but, our ordinary vigor of discrimination being lost, we are less able to judge respecting the real character of those images which pass before us. These causes, together with our separation from con- scious contact with external objects, and from their stimulating and regulating influence, may account sufficiently for the delu- siveness of dreams. But Prof Stewart — though in a difierent connection — adds another thought to the explanation mentioned above. He teaches that a momentary conviction of reality attends every exercise of the imaginative poiver^ and that it is only by a judgment immediately consequent upon the imaginative act that this belief is corrected. If this were so, our failure, through the want of mental vigor, to make the requisite correction, would allow the instinctive error to remain. The professor says, " The impression which the objects of imagination make on the mind is so momentary and is so immediately corrected by the sur- rounding objects of perception, that it has not time to influence our conduct. Hence we are apt to conclude that the imagina- tion is attended with no belief; and the conclusion is surely just in most cases, if by belief we mean a permanent conviction which influences our conduct. But, if the word be used in the strict logical sense, 1 am inclined to think, after the most careful attention to what I experience in myself, that the exercise both of conception and of imagination is always accompanied with a belief that their objects exist. When a painter conceives the face and figure of an absent friend, in order to draw his picture, he believes for the moment that his friend is before him. The belief, indeed, is only momentary ; for it is extremely difficult, in our waking hours, to keep up a steady and undivided attention to any object we conceive or imagine; and, as soon as the concep- tion or imagination is over, the belief which attended it is at an end. We find that we can recall and dismiss the objects of these powers at pleasure; and, therefore, we learn to consider them as creations of the mind which have no separate and independent existence" (" Elements," chap. iii.). This doctrine can scarcely be maintained in its full extent. We do not think that a painter who conceives the face and figure of an absent friend, believes, § 181. PHANTASY. 479 for the moment, that his friend is with him. And, however this may be with persons remarkably endowed, it is certain that or- dinary people do not believe that the absent friends or distant scenes and objects of which they may be thinking, really exist before them. The writer recalls the appearances of two noble men, his uncles, Hugh and John, without for a moment believ- ing them to be present here in the land of the living. The truth is, that the mind, when in the full normal exercise of its faculties, canjudge immediately ofthe character of its passing states. When a sensation may be felt, and its external cause perceived in con- nection with it, this is recognized as a sense-perception. When the thought of former things is reproduced, with belief in their past reality, this is accepted as remembrance. And conceptions which occur without sensation, or presented object, or belief in the past, are known to be imaginations. We believe, too, that these differences are understood at a very early age, prob- ably at the very commencement of distinct thought. But, while we cannot admit that momentary belief in things imagined is an original and constitutional principle, nor even an ordinary rule, of mental action, we must alloio that an involuntary and ir- rational belief is frequently experienced; and we account for this belief by the well-known tendency of the intellect to form in- stinctive habits of judgment. In this way, principally, we ex- plain the fact, noticed by Dr. Keid, that •' Men may be governed in their practice by a belief which, in speculation, they ijeject. 1 knew a man," says he, " who was as much convinced as any man of the folly of the popular belief of apparitions in the dark : yet he could not sleep in a room alone nor go into a room in the dark. Can it be said that his fear did not imply a belief of danger? This is impossible. Here an unreasonable belief, which was merely a prejudice of the nursery, stuck so fast as to govern his conduct, in opposition to his speculative belief as a philosopher and a man of sense." We are satisfied with this theory, that the belief was a " prejudice of the nursery." A sim- ilar momentary delusion, resulting from the wrong application of acquired principles, may explain the anger occasionally man- ifested when one is suddenly struck or injured by inanimate objects, and that timidity which some experience when looking down from a lofty battlement, or standing near an instrument of death or torture. Mr. Locke knew a gentleman who was restored from insanity by a harsh and exceedingly painful oper- ation ; and he relates that this gentleman, " With great sense of gratitude and acknowledgment, owned the cure all his life after as the greatest obligation he could have received; but, whatever gratitude and reason suggested to him, he could never bear the sight of the operator; that image brought back with it the idea of that agony which he suffered from his hands, and which was too mighty and intolerable for him to endure." One might maintain that such cases as these may be accounted for by 1 he mere excitation of feelings, unattended by any belief in the pres- 480 THE HUMAN. MIND. § 181. ent existence of objects suitable to cause them, the feelings being excited immediately and simply by the conception, or imagina- tion, of the objects. But we rather think that a momentary de- lusion often occurs in such cases ; and there can be no doubt that such delusions take place in cases where our emotions are not concerned, and where the error must result from a misapplied habit of judgment. Such mistakes especially affect our acquired sense-perceptions and the methods of our daily occupations. And, certainly, if instinctive habits of judgment may cause momentary delusion during our waking hours, we may expect them to cause a more perfect and prolonged delusion during sleep. The force of habit, therefore, is a cause which intensifies the operation of that already named, whereby conceptions, because of their in- voluntary character, or their complete occupation of our atten- tion and interest, are sometimes mistaken for perceptions. Although the general principle, that mental enersry Extraordinary • jjj- 1-j.iii. dreaming achieve- IS reduccd duriug slccp, IS Supported by too many ments accounted facts to admit of denial, certain phenomena are occa- sionally observed which seem to conflict with it. These phenomena exhibit results such as are ordinarily obtained by persistent mental effort. Persons have remembered things in dreams which they had vainly endeavored to recollect while awake; others have solved problems upon which they haid been long pondering; others have composed speeches and poems which they could afterwards recite. "Condorcet, a name famous in the history of France, told some one that, while he was engaged in abstruse calculations, he was frequently obliged to leave them in an unfinished state, in order to retire to rest; and that the re- maining steps and the conclusion of his calculations have more than once presented themselves in his dreams. Franklin has made the remark that the bearings and results of political events which had caused him much trouble while awake, were not un- frequently unfolded to him in dreaming. And Mr. Coleridge says that, as he was once reading in the Pilgrimage of Purchas an account of the palace and garden of Khan Kubla, he fell into a sleep, and in that situation composed an entire poem of not less than two hundred lines, some of which he afterward committed to writing. The poem is entitled Kubla Khan, and begins as follows: ♦'In Zanadu did Kubla Ehan A stately palace dome decree, Where Alph, the sacred river, ran, Through caverns measureless to man, Down to a sunless sea." Such experiences as these are not of common occurrence. They belong, for the most part, to minds of extraordinary talent, and indicate the natural effortless workings of genius in some accus- tomed channel. They occur while slumber is light and the brain in an excited condition. Moreover, the new insight occasionally obtained in dreams mav be accounted for by the free play of the I § 181. PHANTASY. 481 suggestive power abopt subjects with whose important relations the mind has become familiar. For it is well-known that great discoveries, though not made without long study and research, have generally flashed into the mind of the investigator at some unexpected moment. Thus, by a happy intuition, Newton discov- ered gravitation, Archimedes the principle of specific gravity, and Goodyear the vulcanization of rubber. The influence of ^^though seuse-perccption does not ordinarily take sensations in placc In slccp, cxccpt to a limited extent in our dreams. lighter slumbcrs, the mind is not unconscious of various sensations, and is often influenced by them in the forma- tion of its dreams. Every one can remember instances of this phenomenon which have occurred within his own experience. Sometimes a noise indistinctly heard suggests some violent oc- currence; or pressure upon one's person excites the idea of a struggle with an overmastering antagonist. Often an undigested supper produces incubus, or nightmare, in which one vainly at- tempts to escape from troubles and burdens, by which he is sur- rounded and oppressed. " Dr. Gregory relates that, having oc- casion to apply a bottle of hot water to his feet, he dreamed that he was walking on Mount Etna, and found the heat insupporta- ble. A person sufi'ering from a blister applied to his head, im- agined that he was scalped by a party of Indians. A person sleeping in damp sheets dreamed that he was dragged through a stream. By leaving the knees uncovered, as an experiment, the dream was produced that the person was traveling by night in a diligence. Leaving the back part of the head uncovered, the person dreamed that he was present at a religious ceremony in the open air. The smell of a smoky chamber has occasioned frightful dreams of being involved in conflagration. The scent of flowers may transport the dreamer to some enchanted garden, or the tones of music may surround him with the excitements of a well-appointed concert." We have seen, in the discussion on memory, that tiSeS*Seam8. °^ ^^i' estimates of time are, for the most part, founded on our experience of the duration of events, and are made by a habit of judgment in which transactions are ac- cepted as indicating the time occupied by them. Such being the case, it is evident that a mistaken belief as to the reality of events will be naturally accompanied by a corresponding delu- sion as to the passage of time. A deception is experienced analogous to that efl'ect which is sometimes produced in connec- tion with the sense of sight. " When I look into a show-box," says Prof Stewart, "if the representation be executed with so much skill as to convey to me the idea of a distant prospect, every object before me swells its dimensions in proportion to the extent of space, which I conceive it to occupy; and what seemed before to be shut within the Hmits of a small wooden frame, is magnified in my apprehension to an immense land- scape of woods, rivers, and mountains." Moreover, since phan- 482 THE HUMAN MIND, % 182. tasies may succeed each other with great rapidity, a long series of events sometimes seems to transpire during a short dream. " Our dreams," says Dr. Upham, " not unfrequently go through all the particulars of some long journey, or of some military expedition, or of a circumnavigation of the globe, or of other long and perilous undertakings, in a less number of hours than it took weeks, or months, or even years, in the actual per- formance of them. We go from land to land, and from city to city, and into desert places ; we experience transitions from joy to sorrow, and from poverty to wealth; we are occupied in the scenes and transactions of many long months; and then our slumbers are scattered, and, behold, they are the doings of a watch in the night ! " Dr. Abercrombie relates that a friend of his " dreamed that he crossed the Atlantic and spent a fortnight in America. In embarking on his return he fell into the sea, and, having awoke with the fright, discovered that he had not been asleep above ten minutes." Count Lavalette, while under sentence of death in Paris, had a dream which has often been used to illustrate the present topic. The following is his account of it: "One night, while I was asleep, the clock of the Palais de Justice struck twelve, and awoke me. I heard the gate open to relieve the sentry but I fell asleep again imme- diately. In this sleep I dreamed that I was standing in the Rue St. Honore at the corner of the Rue de I'Echelle. A melancholy darkness spread around me; all was still; neverthe- less, a low and uncertain sound soon arose. All of a sudden I perceived, at the bottom of the street, and advancing towards me, a troop of cavalry, the men and horses all flayed. This horrible troop continued passing in a rapid gallop, and casting frightful looks on me. Their march, I thought, continued for five hours, and they were followed by an immense number of artillery wagons, full of bleeding corpses, whose limbs still quivered; a disgusting smell of blood and bitumen almost choked me. At length the iron gate of the prison, shutting with great force, awoke me again. I made my repeater strike ; it was no more than midnight, so that the horrible phantasma- goria had lasted no more than two or three minutes, that is to say, the time necessary for relieving the sentry and shutting the gate. The cold was severe and the watchword short. The next day the turnkey confirmed my calculations." § 182. The phenomena of the phantasy, in connection A^theoS^J?^"^* with: somnambulism, or abnormal sleep, are essentially the phenomena of dreaming modified by certain affec- tions of the brain and nervous system. On the immediate nature of the action of this organ no one has ever yet thrown any light. We know that mental changes are conditioned on cerebral. The function of the brain seems to be a regulative limitation imposed by creative wisdom upon the present exercise of our faculties. In ordinary sleep a general dormancy invades this whole organ. This dormancy admits of degrees, so that certain modes of psy § 182. PHANTASY. chical operation may continue, while others are totally or par- tially suppressed. If, to this statement, we add that some parts, or specific functions, of the brain may be affected with somno- lency, while others are in an excited and active condition, we shall have a sufficient basis for a theory of somnambulism. Even in ordinary sleep our different faculties do not cease to act at once or equally. Cabanis, a French savant, after certain experiments, held that sight becomes quiescent first, then taste, then smell, then hearing, and, lastly, touch. This order probably is often departed from; but the statement of Cabanis maybe accepted as a general rule. Moreover, some of our senses sleep more pro- foundly than others. Often, when a loud noise will not awaken one, if the soles of his feet be tickled, or even if he be touched anywhere, he is immediately aroused. And our internal and vital sensations almost always exhibit some activity. Should we now suppose a special excitement of the brain in one part or function whereby psychical life in some one direc- tion should be facilitated or stimulated, while, in other directions, our powers should cease to operate, this would explain the phe- nomena of somnambulism, especially in cases where a cerebral excitement may have arisen in connection with an excitement of the mind itself For, in attempting to account for the singu- lar modes of activity now under consideration, we must have re- gard to one's existing mental tendencies as well as to the cere- bral conditions under which these act. An instructive description of somnambulism, as it SSS^ie. ^^"^ is ordinarily experienced, is to be found in Shake- speare's account of the conduct of Lady Macbeth, after she and her husband had obtained the throne of Scotland through the foul murder of King Duncan. The great dramatist misses none of the essential features of the phenomenon, and, therefore, we shall quote at full length the passage to which we refer. It is the opening scene of the fifth act of the tragedy. \^''Erder a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman.] "Dod. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked ? "6^671. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen hei rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed ; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. '■^Doct. A great perturbation in nature ! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slum- bry agitation, besides her walking and other actual perform- ances, what, at any time, have you heard her say ? "(re/i. That, sir, which I will not report after her. ^^Doct. You may, to me ; and 'tis most meet you should ^'Gen. Neither to you, nor to any one; having no witness to confirm my speech. 'km 484 THE HUMAN MIND. § 182. [^''Enter Lady Macbeth, ivith a lighted taper.'] Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. "■Doct. How came she by that light ? '''Gen. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her command. ''^Doct. You see, her eyes are open. '''•Gen. Ay, but their sense is shut. ^^Doct. What is it she does now ? Lgok, how she rubs her hands. " Gen. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus wash- ing her hands : I have known her to continue in this a quarter of an hour. '•'Lady M. Yet here's a spot. '•'Doct. Hark ! she speaks : I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. '•'Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! — One, two ; why, then 'tis time to do't. — Hell is murky ! — Fie, my lord, fie ! a sol- dier, and afeard ? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? — Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him ? '•'•Doct Do you mark that ? ^'Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; where is she now ? — What, will these hands ne'er be clean ? — No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting. '"''Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you should not. ''''Gen. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. "Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. — Oh, oh, oh 1 ''''Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely charged. ''''Gen. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. "Doct. Well, well, well,— '•''Gen. Pray God, it be, sir. '•'Doct. This disease is beyond my practice ; yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. ""Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not so pale : — I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried ; he cannot come out of his grave. '•'Doct. Even so ? '"'•Lady M. To bed, to bed ; there's knocking at the gate : come, come, come, come, give me your hand; what's done, cannot be undone : to bed, to bed, to bed. "•Doct. Will she go now to bed ? '•''Gen. Directly. ^'•Dodt. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles ; infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets." 182. PHANTASY. 486 In the foregoing scene, let ns note, firsts that Lady uSSffioiJ^ *^® Macbeth is evidently sleeping. This agrees with the doctrine that somnambulism is nothing else than an unnatural or morbid sleep. In the next place, she has com- plete command of her limbs and bodily motions. She is able, not only to walk, but to dress, to take up and carry a candle- stick, to write, to speak, and, in short, to do whatever other ac- tion may be pertinent to that collection of conceptions and de- lusions with which her mind is occupied. For somnambulism is so called, only because walking is the most notable performance of persons who may be thus affected ; as a matter of fact, they show themselves capable of a variety of actions; though this capability is greater in some cases than in others. In the third place. Lady Macbeth exhibits a partial or limited exercise of the perceptive faculties. Her open eyes doubtless receive images of the persons and objects about her. She apparently has the sen- sations of vision, but she perceives only those objects which are immediately related to her own internal activity. Her conduct resembles that of an obsequious courtier who, in the presence of a great man, is oblivious of the existence of all other persons. What mental energy she has is entirely engrossed in one way of thinking; none can spend itself in any other direction. She neither sees nor hears the doctor and the nurse. This limitation of perception is a significant feature in somnambulism, as those can testify who have looked into the bright, yet vacant, eyes of their friends, who have been thus affected. Again^ the thoughts of Lady Macbeth evidently run in a channel prepared for them by her previous experience. Persons who walk in sleep do so usually after some excitement which they have encountered, and their actions and words have reference to circumstances in which they have become deeply interested. Further, the incoherence of Lady Macbeth's utterances is noticeable. Each sentence has sense in itself and relates to a common general subject; but it is not rightly connected with those that precede and with those that follow. Here, also, Shakespeare reproduces nature. Some- times the sayings of the somnambulist may not be so inconse- quent as those of Lady Macbeth; but, as a rule, they do not yield any connected sense. Finally, it is clear that Lady Mac- beth, on the succeeding morning, had no remembrance of her strange conduct; this agrees with the observation that somnam- bulists either entirely forget their eccentric performances, or re- member them only as parts of a dream. Dr. Abercrombie tells the story of a young nobleman, living in the citadel of Breslau, who was observed by another boy, his brother, " to rise in his sleep, wrap himself in a cloak, and escape, by a window, to the roof of the building. He there tore in pieces a magpie's nest, wrapped the young birds in his cloak, returned to his apartment, and went to bed. In the morning he mentioned the circum- stances as having occurred in a dream, and could not be per- suaded that there had been anything more than a dream, till he 486 THE HUMAN MIND. § 182. was shown the magpies in his cloak." The somnambulist prob- ably does not difier from other dreamers with respect to the rec- ollection of his performances during sleep. Tu-o^.«« .^^ Beside the somnambulism which we have now de- Magnetic som- mi ii-i ti nambuiism, or scribed, and which may be regarded as that ordi- mesmerism. narily experienced, there are forms of the phe- nomenon which may be styled extraordinary, and which, for the purposes of discussion, we shall distinguish into the magnetic and the ecstatic. The former of these is remarkable for its origin; the latter for its exhibition of talent. Magnetic som- nambulism is so named from the supposition that it is produced by a force somewhat similar to magnetism, and which, therefore, has been called animal magnetism. The doctrine has been taught that this force, being generated in connection with our corporeal functions, accumulates largely in some animals and persons, and can be emitted by them at their will, so as to control organiza- tions specially liable to be affected by it. Dr. Francis Mesmer advocated this theory in France during the latter part of the eighteenth century, and made it the basis of a system of ther- apeutics, which, after investigation by a governmental commis- sion, was rejected as of no value. Mesmer was quite successful in producing somnambulism by means of passes of the hand and with the aid of apparatus addressed to the imagination and suggestive of some mysterious influence; since his time, the term mesmerism has been applied to the theory and practice of his art. Although there is no evidence of the existence of any such thing as animal magnetism, it is certain that some persons can effect a wonderful change in the mental and bodily state of others who submit to be manipulated by them. It is an estab- lished fact that when one is overcome by the mesmeric sleep, he becomes obtuse to all impressions save those which have re- lation to the operator; the very succession of his thoughts and actions follows the suggestion and guidance of the operator. From this it will be apparent that mesmeric sleep resembles ordinary somnambulism in permitting only a limited exercise of the perceptive faculties, but differs from it in being caused and controlled by an artificial influence. It seems to be the imme- diate result of the action of a peculiar mental excitement upon a susceptible, nervous system. In connection with the mesmeric sleep we may mention a similar phenomenon, which may also be re- garded as of artificial origin. For some persons exhibit the power of putting themselves into a somnambulistic condition, during which they develop trains of thought and of speech on subjects with which they have become familiar. This power is sought and cultivated by those spiritualistic '* mediums," who profess, by means of it, to put themselves into -communication with another world. That form of somnambulism which we have termed ^bSusm. ^°°'" ecstatic is a development of either the natural or the artificial somnambulism, under conditions which produce a remarkable exercise of one's gifts. "The somnam- § 182. PHANTASY, 487 bulist," says Pres. Porter, "sometimes displays great acuteness of judgment. He sees resemblances and differences which had not occurred to him in his waking states, and which astonish lookers-on. He is quick in repartee; solves difficult questions; he composes and speaks with method and effect; he reasons acutely; he interprets character with rare subtlety; he under- stands passing events with unusual insight; he predicts those which are to come by skillful forecast. He appears to be an- other person endowed with new gifts, or quickened by some extraordinary inspiration." Dr. Porter qualifies this description afterwards by saying, " These efforts themselves are single and isolated sallies of subtlety and insight, rather than sustained and connected trains of judgment and reasoning." He accounts for them by a special concentration and excitement of mind, during which one's thoughts are occupied with but few objects, and exercised in the line of his previous efforts and training. This ecstatic somnambulism resembles that wonderful dreaming in which intellectual feats have been easily accomplished, or in which, so to speak, they have accomplished themselves. It may sometimes indicate a genius which slumbers under the ordinary conditions of one's life. But as it is generally, if not always, accompanied with intense cerebral action, we are inclined to ascribe it chiefly to the stimulus given to our mental powers by a morbidly excited brain. The supernatural production and control of an ecstatic state, whereby one is rapt from earthly things and made the mouth- piece of celestial wisdom, is an important subject, which, how- ever, lies beyond our present purpose. Such inspiration is a possibility; but it should not be assumed, as a fact, without sufficient evidence. In connection with ecstatic somnambulism we should notice some extraordinary claims made by those who practice the art of mesmerism. They assert that the somnambulist often sees objects in the profoundest darkness and without the use of the ordinary organs of vision ; that he can behold places and per- sons on the other side of the globe as if he were there with them ; and that he is able to divine the seat and cause of disease, and to foretell future events. So far as the perception of things dis- tant or future is concerned, we may safely hold that nothing occurs beyond the deceptive imaginations of the dreaming state: the man who sees Lake Lucerne, or Righi Kulm, in a vision, only imagines what appearance the lake, or the mountain, would have, if he saw them in reality. The mediumistic diagnosis of disease seems to be simply guesswork and quackery. But we allow that the sensitiveness of our organs, and of our minds in connection with them, is often quickened to a very great de- gree during ^mnambulism, so that sensation and perception may take place under conditions which would not ordinarily suffice for their production. In this way we explain such feats as those of Jane Rider, mentioned in Dr. Oliver's physiology 488 THE HUMAN MIND. § 182. (chap. XXX.). The eyes of this woman were securely bandaged with two large wads of cotton and a black silk handkerchief. " The cotton filled the cavity under the eye-brows and reached down to the middle of the cheek; and various experiments were tried to ascertain whether she could see. In one of them a watch inclosed in a case was handed to her, and she was re- quested to tell what o'clock it was by it; upon which, after ex- amining both sides of the watch, she opened the case, and then answered the question. She also read, without hesitation, the name of a gentleman, written in characters so fine that no one else could distinguish it at the usual distance from the eye. In another paroxysm, the lights were removed from her room, and the windows so secured that no object was discernible, and two books were presented to her, when she immediately told the titles of both, though one of them was a book which she had never before seen."- Occurrences like these have led some to conjecture that the soul may become independent of organs, and be able, even while in the body, to perceive objects without inter- vention of the senses. This view is not warranted by necessity. The theory of an ecstatic state of the powers of sense is to be preferred. The part which phantasy plays in producing those Hallucinations. hallucinations and apparitions which sometimes substitute themselves for realities, is to be dis- tinguished from the operation of this power in connection with the delusions of dreaming. In the latter, deception results from a reduction of the energies of the soul and the absence of the corrective influence of external perception; but the hallucina- tions of sense mingle themselves with our veritable cognitions and take place in spite of the exercise of a sound judgment and of our condemnation of them as fanciful. In this they resemble those errors of perception which spring from our instinctive habits of judgment. The principal cause of these hallucinations is a morbid condition of the organs of sense. When these organs become unnaturally susceptible of action, it is possible for the sensations appropriate to the perception of some object to be produced in them while the object itself is absent. This hap- pens, for the most part, we believe, through the influence of the phantasy; though it may result, also, from the stimulation of a reproductive tendency in the organ itself, under some physical excitement. In either case the sensible impression of the organ combines with the action of the intellect, and produces a phan- tasm or image which closely resembles an object of perception. Sometimes this phantasm is indistinct and transitory, as when, waking from feverish sleep, one may fancy that he sees and hears, when no real perceptions take place. These hallucina- tions are easily rejected, and are soon forgotten; but when, through the strength of disease, apparitions become vivid and stable, sober discrimination is needed. to perceive that they aro merely mental images, § 182. PHANTASY. 489 *' fiilse creations, Proceeding from tlie heat-oppressed brain." When the power of discrimination is wholly lost, as it is in deliri- um and insanity, the deception becomes complete and prolonged. We remember the conduct of a poor lieutenant whom we visited in his hut during the late war, and who was suffering from de- lirium tremens. "These, sir," he said, pointing here and there about him, " are the reptiles that are going to devour me." Then, springing up, he rushed out into the company street, seized whatever missiles came to hand, and flung them, with all his force, at the doors, corners, and chimneys of the huts of his comrades, and wherever else he could spy his imaginary tor- mentors. The fact that sense-hallucinations attack those who are ad- dicted to the habitual use of spirituous liquors, or of opium, can- nabis Indica, or other narcotic stimulant, shows that this phenom- enon has its principal origin in a disorder of the nerves. Generally the beginning and the ending of every experience of hallucinations can be connected with some physical cause. Two cases, chiefly remarkable for being scientifically recorded, may illustrate the general character of hallucinations. The first, which niustrations. is reported in the " Edinburgh Medical Journal," is that of a citizen of Kingston on Hull. This man had a quarrel with a drunken soldier who attempted to enter his house, during which "the soldier drew his bayonet, and struck him across the temples, dividing the temporal artery. He had scarcely recovered from the eflects of a great loss of blood on this occasion, when he undertook to accompany a friend in his walking-match against time, during which he went forty- two miles in nine hours. Elated by his success, he spent the whole of the following day in drinking. The result of these things was an affection — probably an inflammation — of the brain: and the consequence of this was the existence of those vivid states of mind which are termed apparitions. Accordingly, our shop-keeper, for that was his calling, is reported to have seen articles of sale upon the floor, and to have beheld an armed soldier entering his shop, when there was nothing seen by other Eersons present. In a word, he was, for some time, constantly aunted by a variety of specters, or imaginary appearances ; so much so, that he even found it difficult to determine which were real customers, and which were mere phantasms of his own mind." The other case, that of Nicolai, a distinguished Prussian bookseller, is preserved in a memoir read by himself before the Royal Society of Berlin, on the 28th of February, 1799. We abridge the quotation given by. Dr. Upham. Mr. Nicolai was a person of unusual intelligence and of vivid imagination, and at I the time of the occurrence of the hallucinations, had been agi- tated by a great trouble. " My wife," he says, " came into my apartment in the morning to console me, but I was too much I 490 THE HUMAN MIND. § 182. agitated to be capable of attending to her. On a sudden I perceived, at about the distance of ten steps, a form like that of a deceased person. I pointed at it, asking my wife if she did not see it. My question alarmed her very much, and she immediately sent for a physician. The phantom continued about eight minutes. I grew more calm, and, being extremely exhausted, fell into a restless sleep, which lasted half an hour. At four in the afternoon, the form which I had seen in the morning reappeared. I was by myself when this happened, and, being uneasy at the incident, went to my wife's apartment ; there, likewise, I was persecuted by the apparition, which, how- ever, at intervals disappeared, and always presented itself in a standing posture. About six o'clock there appeared, also, several walking figures, which had no connection with the first. After the first day the form of the deceased person no more appeared, but its place was supplied with many other phantoms, sometimes representing acquaintances, but mostly strangers; those whom I knew were composed of living and deceased persons, but the number of the latter was comparatively small. The persons with whom I daily conversed did not appear as phantoms. These appearances were equally clear and distinct at all times and under all circumstances, both when I was by myself and when I was in company, as well in the day as in the night, and in my own house as well as abroad. They were less frequent when I was in the house of a friend, and rarely appeared to me in the ^reet. When I shut my eyes, they would sometimes vanish entirely, though there were instances when I beheld them with my eyes closed ; yet, when they disappeared on such occasions, they generally returned when I opened my eyes. All these phantasms appeared to me in their natural size, and as distinct as if alive, exhibiting different shades of carnation in the uncov- ered parts, as well as different colors and fashions in their dresses, though the colors seemed somewhat paler than in real nature. The longer they visited me, the more frequently did they return ; and they increased in number about four weeks after they first appeared. I also began to hear them talk ; they sometimes con- versed among themselves, but more frequently addressed their discourse to me. Sometimes 1 was accosted by these consoling"! friends while I was engaged in company, and not unfrequently while real persons were speaking to me." In both the foregoing cases it is to be remarked that, although the hallucinations were involuntary and could neither be banished nor recalled at pleas- 1 ure, their true character became speedily and perfectly known to the persons who suffered from them. In both cases blood- letting was found an effectual remedy. The exercise of phantasy is a prominent feature in most forms of insanity, as those know, who have listened to the amazing claims and wild vagaries of madmen. This is the natural result of that distraction and dissipation of energy, and that loss of the power of attentive judgment, which are the essential elements § 183. IMAGINATION. 491 of mental derangement. The false beliefs of madness arise fqom the distraction and dissipation, just as the delusions of dreaming result from the suspension or reduction, of our men- tal vigor. CHAPTER XXXVIII. IMAGINATION. § 183. Prof Stewart has discussed the subject of Pagination de- imagination at greater length than any other En- glish author. He teaches that imagination is not a simple power, like attention, conception, and abstraction, but a combination of faculties. More explicitly, he says, " Imagina- tion is a complex power. It includes conception, or simple ap- prehension, which enables us to form a notion of those former objects of perception or of knowledge, out of which we are to make a selection ; abstraction, which separates the selected ma- terials from the qualities and circumstances which are connected with them in nature; and judgment, or taste, which selects the materials and directs their combination. To these powers we may add that particular habit of association to which I formerly gave the name of fancy, as it is this which presents to our choice all the different materials which are subservient to the efforts of imagination." This enumeration of constitutive powers can- not be taken as exhaustive. We are convinced that all the ele- mental powers of mind, whether primary or secondary, take part in the work of imagination, though some of them only in a subordinate degree. Belief or conception, for example, is subor- dinated to thought or conception, analysis to synthesis, and the power of generalization to that of individualization. But Prof Stewart's enumeration sets forth those powers which are the principal factors in the imaginative work of mind and whose predominance determines the peculiar character of this mode of thought. Moreover, we think that the power of "conception," of which Stewart speaks, and that "habit of association," which he calls fancy, and which we may identify with representation, may properly be united in one, inasmuch as they are both in- cluded in the power of reproduction or suggestion (§ 109). We shall, therefore, define the imagination as the reproductive poicer considered as producing ideal objects under the intentional guidance of an abstractive and synthetic judgment — a definition which is really that of Prof Stewart, modified to accord with a later termi- nology than his. This faculty is distinguishable from mere phantasy by reason of that special exercise of judgment which we have just named. In imagination, the mind always aims to form for iitself objects in the contemplation of which some end of pleasure, knowledge, 492 THE HUMAN MIND. § 183. useful direction, or practical influence, may be promoted. The elements of those conceptions, which are presented by the sug- gestive power, are chosen or rejected according to their fitness to serve the end. Hence the faculty of imagination, like that of reasoning, involves a voluntary control of our thinking powers. Dr. Brown somewhat imperfectly expresses this truth by saying that the higher imagination is a combination of association or suggestion with intention or desire (Lect. XLII.). This author also signalizes the fact that imagina- common to au ^.-^j^ jg ^ faculty cxcrcised by every human being. " Our romances of real life," he says, " though founded upon facts, are in their principal circumstances, fictions still, and, though the fancy which they display may not be so brilliant, it is still the same in kind with that which forms and fills the history of imaginary heroes. The dullest plodder over the obscurest desk, who sums up, in the evening, his daily ta- bles of profit and loss, and who rises in the morning with the sole object of adding a few ciphers to that book of pounds and pence, which contains the whole annual history of his life — even he, while he half lays down his quill to think of future prices and future demands, or future possibilities of loss, has his vis- ions and inspirations like the sublimest poet — visions of a very difierent kind, indeed, from those to which poets are accustomed, but involving as truly the inspirations of fancy." The truth of this statement is evident; for all those hopes and fears, ambi- tions and aspirations, plans and prospects, which occupy and control the minds of men, derive their existence, in great part, from the exercise of the imaginative power. The comparatively insignificant place which has been granted to imagination, in most metaphysical writings, is to be accounted for, partly because philosophers have been mainly interested in those operations by which truth and knowledge are secured, and partly because there is not much in the theory of the imag- ination to exercise philosophical acumen and subtlety. This faculty, nevertheless, is an essential part of the constitution of the mind. Were man's thoughts confined exclusively to mem- ories of the past, and cognitions of the present, together with such views of the future as can be obtained from accurate infer- ence, life would be a dull affair indeed. But now, bright hopes animate our efforts, lofty ideals present themselves for our real- ization, and gentle fancies soften the rough realities with which they mingle; thus we are solaced in the midst of cares, and are beckoned onward in the pursuit of noble ends. Butpte-emineBtiy Although imagination belongs to all men it is a possessed by gift granted to some in vastly more abundant some. measure than to others. For men differ far more as to their mental than as to their bodily endowments. The distance between a stupid clown and a cultured, educated gen- ius, is greater than that between a feeble gentleman and a prac- ticed athlete. Persons remarkable for imagination commonly § 183. IMAGINATION. 493 possess quick and lively sensibilities. This partly results from the vividness of their conceptions, but it also stimulates and increases their ability to form such conceptions; for this rea- son, the natural difference of persons in imaginative power, becomes greatly increased as their minds and characters develop. The faculty of imagination sometimes works on its own ac- count; that is, it creates scenes and objects simply for the satisfaction of surveying them. But, at other times, its opera- tions are subservient to purposes more remote than any included in this satisfaction. We cannot do better than to consider it, first in the one, and then in the other, of these relations. More- over, if, in our discussion, we should chiefly refer to extraordinary instances of the exercise of this power, it is to be remembered that the nature of what is common is often best illustrated by means of what is remarkable. ,. . That development of imascination which elaborates Ihe poetic im- , , , . ^, /. ,i <• x- -• r agination. mental objects lor the satisraction ot surveymg The fancy. them, may be distinguished as the poetic imagina- tion. But when exercised with little rational control, without any attempt at a serious and systematic work, and simply for the purpose of providing pleasing images, it is often called the fancy — a name, which implies that this is a mode of thought not fai' removed from simple phantasy. The poetic imagination, again, with reference to two well-known developments of genius that depend upon it, may be subdivided into the poetic imagination proper, and the artistic imagination. Poetry and art are pur- suits of a kindred nature, and yet easily contrasted with one another. The thought of the former expresses itself in language ; while that of the latter is embodied in painting, music, statuary, and whatever other material things may be made to exhibit the pleasing and the impressive. The sphere of poetry is vastly more extensive than that of art. Language can utter, with won- derful exactness, whatever the mind conceives: every change and turn of events, every motive and thought, affection and desire, of the heart, can be made known in befitting words. But the productions of art, however skillfully constructed, set forth only the outer side of things, and leave more unsaid than they express. At the same time, works of art, in appealing to our senses, and not to our minds alone, are better calculated than poetry to produce a strong immediate effect. The objects which the poet and the artist endeavor to prepare for our contemplation, are, in the first place, the beautiful and the sublime; the former comprising whatever may be pleasant to contemplate either in itself, or both in itself and its associations, and the latter being that which conveys the suggestion of power and greatness. In addition to these objects, whatever may move and interest the heart is delineated. For, to use a phrase of Hamilton's, the productions of both art and poetry are " ex- clusively calculated on effect." 494 THE HUMAN MIND. § 183. External condi- "^^^ external Conditions favorable for the develop- tions of poetry and ment of ono of these pursuits differ from those in *^' which the other flourishes. Both require a time of comparative peacefulness, when the minds of men are not occupied with wars and civil commotions. But poetry delights in an age characterized by simplicity of life and manners, in which the spirit of men is unconventional and easily impressed, and in which the memory of great achievements and the desire to emulate them, are fresh and vigorous. The poet then gives shape and expression to the sentiments which burn within his own breast and those of others. Art, on the other hand, waits for times of greater repose, and is roused to exertion when the extension of a cultivated taste, the facilities for artistic work, and the accumulation of wealth, create the demand for meritori- ous productions, and encourage those whose genius can supply the demand. As a rule, the great poets, in every country, pre- cede the great artists. We allow that the power of genius is wonderful in every age and in every condition of society; but, without opportunity, even genius can accomplish nothing of value, and, in general, favorable times are needed in order to any grand achievement. versiflcation-rea- ^* ^^ uoticeable that the poetry of every language son for. employs versification, or rather is composed in lines of a length and accentuation more or less regular. This may have been adopted at first to assist memori- zation, but must be chiefly ascribed to a natural fitness of rhyth- mical language to be the instrument of poetical expression. The ear delights in that regularity of intonations which is produced by the observance of metrical rules, while a higher sense is pleased by the skill which makes the accentuation of the verse and the emphasis of the thought coincident with each other. These remarks may be illustrated from any well -composed poem. Let us take the following stanza from a hymn of Addison, "How are thy servants blest, O Lord ! How sure is their defense ! Eternal wisdom is their guide, Their help. Omnipotence ! " or this, from another hymn by the same author, *♦ The spacious firmament on high, And all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim." These stanzas would lose much of their beauty if they were changed into the language of prose. This leads us to say that the composition of poetry, even for those who are capable of it, is a more laborious task than is commonly supposed. Doubtless, when one is in the proper spirit, the work is not irksome; yet it involves earnest and persevering application. There is always § 183. IMAGINATION, 495 that kind of effort which one puts forth in any business which deeply interests him. This view is confirmed by the experience even of those poets who have been most perfectly the children of nature. Robert Burns says, *' The muse, nae poet ever fand her, Till by himsel' he leam'd to wander, Adown some trotting bum's meander, An' no think lang; O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder A heart-felt sang ! " And the following passage from the correspondence of Burns proves that his songs were not hurriedly got up, but composed with the utmost care and attention : " Until I am complete mas- ter of a tune in my own singing," he writes, " I can never com- pose for it. My way is this: I consider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical expression, then choose my theme; compose one stanza.- When that is composed, which is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and then, look out for objects in nature round me that are in unison, or harmony, with the cogitations of my fancy and workings of my bosom, humming every now and then the air, with the verses I have framed. XVhen I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the fireside of my study, and there commit my effusions to paper, swinging at intervals on the hind legs of my elbow chair, by way of calling forth my own critical strictures as my pen goes. This, at home, is almost invariably my way." Poetical exertions cannot.be maintained with that regularity which serves a good end in ordinary business; creative genius must often wait till the muse is willing, that is, till one's mind is filled with fresh fervor and activity; but still it is true that the work of the poet engages all the energies of his soul. And after the song may have been first produced, the labor of revision and emendation equals that of the original composition.- This task was carefully performed by the most famous poets of both ancient and modern times; and it has imparted to their productions a perfection which all succeeding ages must admire and emulate. We need not discuss that exercise of talent which produces novels, and similar works of fiction; it is of the same radical nature with the poetic faculty. But it appeals less to the sense of the beautiful, and more to our curiosity. The artistic imagination follows the same general T^e^artisticimagi. ^ethods and the same general aims as the poetic, Th?\rae function ^^^ ^® distinguished from it by the fact that it is di- of imagination. rcctcd to a morc spccific work. The painter, the sculptor, and the composer of music, aim to pro- duce beautiful and engaging things by the employment of ma- terial means, and, in order to do so, thej^ form mental conceptions of the things which they would produce. Persons of ordinary gifts cannot make much progress in these pursuits. Original- 496 THE HUMAN MIND. § 183. ity in art calls for a great endowment of taste and talent. The "Nascitur, non j&t," of Horace, applies even more emphatically to the artist than to the poet. Assiduity may make a respect- able copyist; only nature produces the creative genius. Hence those who have attained distinction by artistic achievements, have found themselves attracted to art by a power which has compelled them to reject and forsake every other occupation. That imaginary object which the artist endeavors to realize is called his " Ideal." In general, ideals are objects which one imag- ines and endoivs^ to the best of his ability^ ivith every excellence suit- able to their nature^ and with luhich, as standards, he compares things really existing or in the process of production. While these concepta belong to every mode of the productive imagination, they are most consciously employed in the arts of painting and sculpture. The ideals of the poet and of the musical composer are immedi- ately embodied in their verses and melodies; those of the scientific thinker are surrounded by many other thoughts which equally occupy his attention ; the plans of the ordinary mechanic or man of business are but roughly sketched, and must be modi- fied according to the course of circumstances ; our conceptions of duty are very abstract and are rather referred to th^n contem- plated. But the designs of the painter and the sculptor are long retained in memory as the objects which they desire to express in their productions. At the same time, it is evident that ideals are formed and followed, not only by all artists and poets, but also by every one who imagines for himself things excellent and perfect. The doctrine which sets forth the origin and character of ideals is one of very general bearing. The essential point in this doctrine is that ideals are entirely new creations or con- structions of the mind, and are not merely copies of objects presented to us by nature. Genius conceives of things such as never existed, and produces objects more beautiful and perfect than any to be found in the natural world. Therefore, as Pres. Porter says, we sometimes " measure Nature by what Art has done, and commend her by epithets taken from Art. We say of the stem of the pine or the elm, 'It shoots up like a pillar'; we call the forest ' a pillared shade ' ; we say of a man ' He stands like a statue ' ; or 'He is an Apollo for graceful strength'; or, of a woman, 'She is a Venus for beauty.' " That theory, which asserts Art to be simply a reproduction of Nature, cannot be sustained. The Venus of Milo, and the Apollo Belvedere, are not copies of any ;• forms that ever were seen, but are more perfect than any; the wonderful music of Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn, is the expression of harmonies never heard before and whose birth- place was within the soul of the composer. It is the duty of JH Art to improve upon Nature. Even Eden, when Adam was put JH there, " to dress ' the garden, was not so perfect that it could '^H not be improved by skill and care. Art reduces the redundan- ^^ cies, supplies the defects, heightens the charms, and unites the attractions, which are to be found in natural scenes and objects. I § 183. IMAGINATIO^r, 497 Therefore it is quite inaccurate to say that the function of the imagination is merely to recdmpose, in some new way, objects or parts of objects which have been previously perceived. The work of this power includes not simply the partition and composition of objects, but that more searching and perfect sep- aration and combination which we call analysis and synthesis (§ 119), and which, in their fullest development, become abstrac- tion and conception (§ 124). Dr. Porter rightly remarks, " The lines and shapes of grace which have been , copied in marble or drawn upon canvas, in respect of delicacy of transition and ease of movement, far surpass those of any living being or actually existing thing. They are suggested by, but are not copied from, any such beings or things. The story that the Grecian painter assembled from every quarter the most celebrated beau- ties, that he might borrow some charm from each, could never have been true." And, when Prof Stewart says that Milton did not copy his Eden from any one scene, but selected the most beau- tiful features from the most beautiful scenes with which he was familiar, we are to understand that, however this or that prospect may have contributed some grace to the imaginary Eden, this was only by furnishing a fruitful suggestion, in which the plastic mind of Milton found material for its work. That work itself was a synthesis of elemental conceptions in which shapes and colors, sizes and distances, sounds and motions, uniformities and diversities, were first modified at will, and then combined into one harmonious scene, so as most to please the taste. This won- derful power, which, out of old material, makes things wholly new, is yet more evidently displayed in that description, which Milton gives, of Satan's dreadful home ; where "round he threw his baleful eyes. That witnessed huge affliction and dismay, Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate. At once, as far as angels ken, he views The dismal situation waste and wild. A dungeon, horrible on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed. Yet, from those flames, No light; but rather darkness visible Served only to discover sights of woe. Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell; hope never comes, That comes to all: but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever burning sulphur unconsumed. There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire. He soon discerns." This description was in no sense copied from any scenes that Milton ever saw. If one can understand how ideal creations are thus formed, diff'erent in every part from objects previously per- ceived, and surpassing them in excellence, or beauty, or grandeur, he has mastered the principal point in the philosophy of the imagination. 498 THE HUMAN MIND. § 183. But, while originative genius is not merely a re- ^rfi^olteyand productive and compositive, but a plastic and ^J^- .... ^ creative, power, it is to be noted that poetry and Conditions of ^ ^i j i -, c • i • -^ *^ . . success. art are under the necessity oi maintaining a certain analogy loith nature. They must take those scenes and objects which are witnessed in the real world as the basis of their new creations. Ideal excellence can be obtained only by the imaginative development of that which really exists, and it can aiFect the soul only as having a certain verisimilitude— that is, as having an essential agreement with reality in those features which are to engage our admiration and excite our sensibilities. The sphere of poetry and art, therefore, being confined to classes of scenes and courses of events similar to those which actually affect our lives, is not so extensive as that which we may assign to the imagination simply. Hence, it is plain that natural ability is not of itself sufficient for success in these pursuits. The mind must be stored with knowledge suit- able to furnish suggestion in the kind of work that is to be per- formed; for this reason, the productions of the most original genius are always formed upon previous experience and ac- quisitions. The following remarks, by a great painter, on this point, are worthy of remembrance. " Invention," said Sir Joshua Reynolds, in a discourse before the Royal Academy, "is one of the great marks of genius; but, if we consult experience, we shall find that it is by being conversant with the inventions of others that we learn to invent, as by reading the thoughts of others, we learn to think. It is in vain for painters or poets to endeavor to invent without materials on which the mind may work, and from which invention must originate. Nothing can come of nothing. Homer is supposed to have been possessed of all the learning of his time ; and we are certain that Michael Angelo and Raphael were equally possessed of all the knowledge in the art, which had been discovered in the works of their predecessors." The arts of creating landscapes, and of designing grand and beautiful buildings, do not admit so varied an exercise of the imagination as those others which we have now considered. Nevertheless, they have often worthily employed the efforts of genius. Those who can remember the northern end of Man hattan Island, as it was twenty years ago, a rocky desolate tract, covered here and there with miserable shanties and stag- nant pools, and who now admire the Central Park of New Yor with its lawns and lakes, its bridges and terraces, its pleasant retreats and broad prospects, its winding drives and shade' walks, can understand what is meant by "the prophetic eye of taste"; that eye. which "sees all the beauties of a place before they are born," and, when a seedling is planted, anticipates the various effects, which the tree will afterwards produce in the views to be enjoyed from different directions and distances. Then, when we consider what judgment and ingenuity are needful in architectural design, that every part of the building 1- i I § 183. IMAGINATION. 499 may have that form, and size, and place, and degree of promi- nence, that shall be both pleasing in themselves and conducive to the best general effect, v/e see that an equal, if not greater, exercise of talent is called for here. The temples of ancient Greece, the cathedrals of Europe, and many other magnificent buildings in our own and in other lands, are the enduring mon- uments of genius. We need not dwell on the humanizing and eleva- S^on^et^? °^ ting influence of poetry and art upon the character of any people who may cherish them. The better Eroductions of imaginative genius awaken the nobler suscepti- ilities of our nature, and urge us to the pursuit of all honorable possibilities. They exert an influence greatly to be desired, both in its public and in its private operation. In the ruder ages of society " The sacred name Of poet and of prophet were the same "; the bard was regarded with religious reverence. " Among the Scandinavians and the CeltaB," says Prof Stewart, "" this order of men was held in very peculiar veneration; and, accordingly, it would appear, from the monuments which remain of these na- tions, that they were distinguished by a delicacy in the passion of love, and by a humanity and generosity to the vanquished in war, which seldom appear among barbarous tribes; and with which it is hardly possible to conceive how men in such a state of society could have been inspired, but by a separate class of individuals in the community who devoted themselves to the pacific profession of poetry." The influence of the works of genius was illustrated, also, in the life of the ancient Athenians. " Among the Greeks," says an eloquent writer, " wherever the eyes were cast, the monuments of glory were to be found. The streets, the temples, the galleries, the porticoes, all gave lessons to the citizens. Everywhere the people recognized the images of its great men; and, beneath the purest sky, in the most beau- tiful fields, amid groves and sacred forests, and the most brilliant festivals of a splendid religion; surrounded with a crowd of orators, and artists, and poets, who all painted, or modeled, or celebrated, or sang, their compatriot heroes; marching, as it were, to the enchanting sounds of poetry and music that were animated with the same spirit, the Greeks, victorious and free, saw, and felt, and breathed, nothing but the intoxication of glory and immortality." In modern times, poetical and artistic pro- ductions do not exert so great an influence as they once did. Philosophy, science, history, and the practical pursuits of an advanced civilization, engross the minds of men and render them less susceptible to aesthetic influences. Nevertheless, it is the part of wisdom to cherish the poet and the artist, and to encourage labors which, when rightly directed, tend to the elevation and refinement of our race. 500 THE HUMAN MIND. § 184 § 184. We now turn to those uses of the imagina- SLtiSTdffiii™! *i<^^ which are less exclusively connected with its own nature, and which do not belong distinctively to the reproductive phase of thought, but must be regarded either as occupying a middle ground, or as forming parts of the discursive phase. With reference to these uses, three different modes of the imagination may be distinguished and character- ized. They may be named the Speculative or Scientific, the Practical or Ethical, and the Incentive or Motive. Exercising the first of these, we form conceptions of fact or possibility, so as to assist our understanding of truth; using the second, we fashion plans and ideals for our practical realization; and em- ploying the third, we stimulate our desires by placing before them definite aims and aspirations. All these ends may be ad- vanced by productions of artistic or poetic merit, as when epics, allegories, hymns, tales, and pictures, are made the vehicle of moral instruction ; but they may also be pursued without aesthetic aids; each, therefore, may claim for itself a specific exercise of the imagination. Those who are accustomed to regard scientific discovery and invention as the especial and crowning work of man's reasoning faculties, may be surprised to hear that success in these labors depends greatly on the exercise of the imaginative power. We naturally surrender the ideal world to Homer and Virgil, Shake- speare and Milton, Dickens, DeFoe, and other kindred spir its; we regard Aristotle, Euclid, Kepler, Newton, Davy, Fara day, Agassiz and the like, as men whose minds are wholly conversant about fact and reality. But the truth is that philo- sophic investigation, which discovers the laws of nature, and scientific invention, which discovers the modes in which these laws may be rendered practically useful, can make no progress without a vigorous employment of constructive and creative thought. This may not ordinarily be called imagination; it is certainly to be distinguished from that exercise of the faculty which the poet displays; yet it is essentially of the same nature with this, and diff'ers from it only because its operation is con- tinually modified and controlled in the interest of a peculiar end, namely, the rational pursuit of truth. We, therefore, dis- cuss the scientific in connection with the poetic imagination, and regard both as developments of that one comprehensive faculty which has been called the productive imagination. At the same time, we need not adopt an extreme poSkT^^ima^S inference from this doctrine, which some make. Su^- X., , . It has been tau2:ht that philosophic is so nearly Philosophical in- , , . , , , . & . , • ^ . i ^ i vention. allied to poctic gcuius that the same man may be expected to distinguish himself in both lines of effort, or, at least, to have the ability to do so. The philosophic imagination endeavors to form correct conceptions of the work- ing of causes as these operate in nature, so that, by means of such conceptions, the operations of nature may be anticipated I § 184 IMAGINATION, 601 and understood. In this mode of thought, we are at Kberty to imagine only what may naturally exist or happen under condi- tions which may naturally exist. We build upon fact, and em- ploy the known elements and laws of actual existence so far as these may be applicable; and, where they no longer apply, we still follow, as closely as possible, the analogy of nature, and carefully shun whatever may conflict with real possibility ( §78). The poetic imagination, on the contrary, regards possibility only so far as not to offend by evident absurdity, and seeks conform- ity to nature only in those features which may excite our sym- pathy and interest. Philosophic genius cares neither for the beautiful nor the affecting, but for the true and the probable; it may even co-exist with a very moderate sense of what is taste- ful and pleasing; it avoids the weakening of scientific discourse by much eesthetic illustration. But the spirit of poetry delights in the graceful, the beautiful, the touching, the wonderful, the sublime, and aims at no other end than the production of such objects. It is plain that the disposition and habit of mind proper to the philosopher differ from, and even somewhat conflict with, those characteristic of the poet. A conjunction of the two forms of genius in one mind is not a thing to be expected, but rather the reverse; and, in point of fact, it would be hard to find any instance in which the same person was eminent both as a poet and as a philosopher. That form of imagination employed in speculative thought is sometimes known as philosophical invention, the term inven- tion, in this phrase, being used in a wide sense, so as to include purely theoretical conjecture, as well as that which looks to- wards practice. This mode of imagination is always completed by supposing the object of it to be fact, that is, by distinctly uniting the idea of existence with that of the thing invented. Therefore, the products of it, commonly, and with reference to their use, are called suppositions. For the rational faculty deals with, and conceives of, things only as existing, or as supposed to exist. Different modes of philosophical invention may be distinguished according to the different ends for which suppo- sitions are employed. These ends are three in number, /rs^, the discovery and ascertainment of truth ; secondly, the application of truth, in deduction from things possible, and in useful invention ; and, thirdly, the explanation and illustration of truth. These aims are not pursued in separation ; they are so related that the attainment of one is often an important step in the prosecution of another; yet a special exercise of imagination, which belongs to each, may be distinctly conceived. The imagination ^^^. philosophcr is chicfly concemcd with that mode of discovery. of invention which seeks the discovery of truth. su^ositidn dL This is that which he himself employs ; it is that, te^T^ ^""^ also, which calls most for elucidation and discus- sion. The thought constructions, to which it gives rise, are distinguished from other supt)ositions by the name hy- 502 THE HUMAN MIND. § 184. pothesis. Originally, the terms hypothesis and supposition — as their formation indicates — had the same meaning. They denoted those constructions of the imaginative power which we employ to ex- plain phenomena, and in which causes and conditions are fig- uratively placed under those observed facts which are believed to rest or depend upon them. This specific meaning is now retained by the word hypothesis; which signifies a supposition used for the purpose of explaining phenomena and, in connection with that, of showing its oivn truth or probability. For any hypo- thesis which rationally accounts for fact may be true, and, if it be the only hypothesis by which the fact can be explained, it must be true. Supposition, on the other hand, has assumed the more general sense of imagining a thing to be fact, with ref- erence to something which would follow if it were fact, whether that thing be the explanation of phenomena and the ascertain- ment of causes, or not. When we speak of a supposition, we em- phasize the conceived existence of the thing supposed ; but, in the idea of an hypothesis, the emphasis rests on the explanatory relation of the thing supposed, to the facts immediately perceived. These remarks exhibit the reason on account of which a scien- tific conception, even though designed for purposes of explana- tion, is not commonly called an hypothesis, unless its explanatory value be immediately taken into account. We should note in passing, that the peculiar and specific meaning of the noun hypothesis is not always retained by the adjective hypothetical. An hypothetical case is simply a supposed case; an hypothetical syllogism means a syllogism in which one fact is supposed as the antecedent — not as the explanation — of another. While every hypothesis has a double end in view, h^otheS^""^"^ viz., to account for facts, and to ascertain whether the supposed cause exist or not, some hypotheses aim more at the former and others at the latter of these ends. The famous speculation of La Place respecting the origin and movement of planetary bodies, is interesting chiefly as an ex- planatipn of phenomena. He conjectured that the atmosphere of the sun originally extended beyond the present limits of the solar system, and that planets were formed by the cooling and condensation of successive rings of fiery vapor, their orbital motion being caused by a combination of their centrifugal force with the centripetal attraction of the sun, and their diurnal motion by similar forces operating within each separate mass of matter. Scientific theories, in general, are principally valuable as explan- atory of fact. On the other hand, those hypotheses which are made in the course of judicial proceedings, are mainly intended to show the truth or falsehood of the hypothesis itself In a trial for murder, it was shown that a certain money-lender was discovered one morning, in a wood, beaten to death, and that this individual and the prisoner had entered that wood together the previous evening. It also appeared that the accused was a person of bad character, and had been a debtor to the murdered § 184 IMAGINATION. 503 man in a considerable amount. The prosecution advocated the hypothesis that the prisoner had committed the crime in order to free himself from debt. The counsel for defense argued that the murder migM have been committed by some other man. The jury found that the facts could be explained only on the hypothe- sis of the prisoner's guilt ; and the man was executed. In this case, the important question concerned, not the explanation of fact, but the correctness of the hypothesis. Those systematic views, of phenomena and their ^dSracSSS conditions, as mutually related, which hypotheses ' enable us to form, are called theories. A theory differs from an hypothesis in being more comprehensive, — it includes, in one view, both fact and explanation. The concep- tion of it, also, is less suggestive of unreality. One's theory of a phenomenon is a view confirmed by investigation and accepted with more or less confidence. His hypothesis respecting a phenomenon is a conjecture yet to be tested, and which may- prove incorrect. While, therefore, these terms are allied, and may sometimes supply the place of one another, there is a dif- ference. In particular, after an hypothesis may have been fully verified, we incline to speak no longer of it, but of the theory established by it. Before Newton's time, three laws of planetary motion had been discovered through the observations of Kepler. These were that the radius vector of a planet de- scribes equal areas in equal times, that the path of every planet is an ellipse, and that the squares of the times of revolution of the difierent planets vary as the cubes of their mean distances from the sun. Newton conjectured that a force directed towards the center of the sun, and varying inversely as the square of the distance from that point, would produce these phenomena; and he was able to demonstrate that this was the only force which could produce them. Therefore, now, we speak, not of the Newtonian hypothesis, but of the Newtonian theory, of solar attraction — or of universal gravitation. Scientific ideaiiza- ^"^ *^® ^amc time, any digested view of fact— or tion. of what may be assumed as fact — considered as e reason o i united with its explanation, is properly termed a theoiy ; and, indeed, the imaginative character of our hypotheses is often remarkably exhibited in those theories which originate from them. For not only many theories have been constructed wholly by the imagination, with no aid from reason, ai)d no reference to the analogy of nature, but — what is specially to be noted — many even of those theories^ in luhich the laius of existence are correctly setforth^ present idealized objects and operations, such as are never to be met with in reality. This separation of even correct hypothesis from literal fact, takes place whenever we desire to have an abstract or independent conception of the proper effect of some latv. The powers of nature do not work separately, nor do they always operate under the same conditions. Each plays its proportionate and variable part in producing the com- 504 THE HUMAN MIND. § 184. plex actualities which we see. In order to comprehend some simple law, we must conceive of a certain power acting alone under given conditions; and thus we form the conception of a phenomenon which never really takes place, yet which truly sets forth the operation of an existing law. We may conceive of an iron ball at rest in space, or driven forward into empty space, and thereafter free from the influence of every force save its own inertia or momentum. Then, with the aid of these con- ceptious, we state the law that any material body will for ever maintain its condition of rest in the same place, or of motion in a right line and at the same rate of velocity, if it be not influenced by some external power. No such phenomena as these are ever witnessed; yet the phenomena actually ob- served justify our ideal conceptions and the law which they enable as to enunciate. The actual motion and rest of bodies obey this law, so far as the operation of other laws permit; and they can be accounted for by the combination of this law with others. This power of forming and using ideal theories throws light on a class of objects sometimes considered in scientific thought, which differ, in point of perfection, from any that have ever been met with. The conditions of a law affecting any class of objects, lie partly in the nature of the objects themselves; there- fore, the absolute, or perfect, exemplification of the law, may call for a perfection in the nature of the object, which is nowhere to be discovered. A perfect reflector, which absorbs none at all of the light which falls upon it, or an absolutely opaque body, through which no light can find its way, or a substance so trans- parent that light can pass through it without any, even the slightest, obstruction or diminution, has never been found. Yet such objects can be imagined; and laws of optics, which apply approximately to real cases, can be formulated with reference to these imaginary standards. For realities sometimes approach so near perfection that no appreciable error follows from regard- ing them as perfect; and, in other cases, when the imperfection seriously affects the result, this can be estimated and taken into account in our calculations. The ideals of geometrical theory have that perfec- ometry^ ° ^^' tiou to which wc uow refer. The scientific con- piainJd.^'^*^ ^^' ceptious of the point, the straight line, the plane, ^ the curved surface, and the regular solid, set forth things of a finer quality than any which present themselves to the senses. The ordinary definitions of some of these ideals have been the occasion of perplexity both to metaphysicians and to those mathematicians who have critically examined their own conceptions. In particular, the point, the line, and the surface, as described in geometry, are impossible entities. The existence of that which has neither length, breadth, nor thickness, but position only, or of that which has length, position and direc- tion, but no width and no thickness, or of that which has length § 184. IMAGINATION, 505 and breadth, but no thickness or dej)th, is inconceivable. Thus, apparently, geometry sets out by asking us to accept absurd con- ceptions. The difficulty here presented cannot properly be ascribed to the imaginary perfection of the entities considered. There is nothing impossible or absurd in imaginary perfec- tion. Tlie difficulty originates in connection with the peculiar scientific use for which the ideals of geometry are intended, and which they serve. Yet, as it could have arisen only where such ideals were employed, it may be considered in the present connection. A solution of it is offered in the two following statements. First, strictly-speaking, geometrical ^em^d*with atS- scieucc is uot conccmed with any independent en- witrbSe^ *^^^ titles which can be called points, lines, and sur- faces, but only with those inherent parts of solid bodies which these names may indicate, or rather — to speak more strictly still — with the characteristic attributes of these parts. A surface, as its name signifies, is properly the boundary of a solid body; a line is the edge at which one surface meets with another; a point is the termination of some sharp projection of the solid; the first of these is considered only with reference to its superficial extent, the second with reference only to its length and course, and the third with reference to its position only. Even the solid body itself, though possessing an independent or substantial ex- istence, is thought of only so far as it has shape and size, so that, in truth, the shape and size of the solid, rather than the solid itself, are considered. This fact — that the proper objects of geo- metrical thought are not independent entities, but attributes of solid bodies or of their inherent parts, helps to explain the char- acter of geometrical definitions. Though no surface can exist without solidity, we can think of its breadth without thinking of the solidity beneath it; though no line can exist save as a slender solid strip, we can think of its length without thinking of the solidity accompanying that; and, though no point can exist save as the terminal part of a line or sharpened body, we can think of its position, or of the position of the center of it, without thinking of its solidity. Therefore, in a science which concerns itself with surfaces, lines, and points, only that it may consider their characteristic attributes, it is natural that these entities should be spoken of as if they possessed these attributes alone, although, as we have said, these attributes cannot exist — nor even really be conceived to exist — in separation from each other and from solidity. Geometr uses "^^^^ modc of spccch will be furtlicr justified by auxiliary concep- the sccoud statement which we have to make. This *^°^^' is that ideal conceptions of lines^ points, and surfaces, as separate entities, are used by us as supports of geometrical thought. The mind dislikes to conceive of mere attributes, even though these may be the proper subjects of its con- sideration; so, instead of attributes, simply, it conceives of ob- jects as having them. In this way one's conceptions are made 506 THE HUMAN MIND. § 184. more to resemble fact. But, in the combinations of thought, it is needful that each attribute — or each system of attributes — should be allowed its own proper value and effect; therefore we fashion for ourselves objects in which all other attributes than those specially given to them exist in the lowest con- ceivable degree. In short, we imagine entities which have no appreciable force or value except in those particulars with which we have characterized them. Hence geometrical ideals are things more perfect for the purposes of thought than any that can be made or found. But they are not absurdities. The point occupies space, though it is infinitesimally small; the line has width and thickness, but it is of the utmost conceivable attenua- tion, and is without the slightest roughness or irregularity ; the superficies is a film of indescribable thinness, and absolutely con- tinuous ; while the solid is bounded by such surfaces, and is free from all interstices, so as fully to fill the space assigned to it. These conceptions involve no absurdity; they conform to the laws of being. But the size of the point, the width of the line, the thickness of the surface, are so insignificant that they can be disregarded in reasoning. And the solid, being of perfect density, is such that it is measured exactly by the space it occu- pies. When, therefore, the geometrician says that the point has position only, the line length only, and the surface breadth only, and identifies the solid with the possible content of a given space, we are to understand that these ideals are such as may simply represent certain attributes, and such that by means of them we reason, more easily than we otherwise could, regard- ing the position, length, superficial extent, and solid contents, of material objects. Theformationand ^hc manner in wMch men of genius form hypothe- use of scientific scs and Scientific theories is essentially the same ypo eses. with that in which we form suppositions to account for facts which interest us. The phenomenon to be explained is attentively studied, and is compared with similar phenomena whose causes are known. Thereupon a cause is conjectured similar to some known cause or causes, but differing from it or them in some way to account for the peculiarities of the case in hand. But often an hypothesis, when made, is found unsatis- factory. Deductions from it conflict with some of the observed facts, or with facts not previously considered. Then that con- jecture is abandoned for another, constructed in a similar way, but either wholly or partially different. Another process of trial takes place with this hypothesis; and so one continues till either hope of discovery is given up, or an hypothesis is framed which satisfactorily explains the facts. Then, if the cause as- signed by this supposition be found really to exist and operate, or if, in any other way, we can prove that no other cause can Eossibly produce the results to be accounted for, the hypothesis ecomes a doctrine fully received and confidently held. Such has been the history of almost all important theories. § 184 IMAGINATION. 507 That use of philosophic invention in which ice sup- h^oSes.^^ °^ po^^ things to exist for the purpose of deducing from them imaginary consequences^ is next in importance to that which aims at the explanation of facts and the discovery of causes. Indeed the formation of hypotheses or conjectures would be comparatively ineffectual towards the ascertainment of truth, if these could not be tested by a deductive process. This is done when one combines the hypothesis to be tested with some known fact or principle, and then marks the legitimate infer- ence. For he can now inquire whether this inference agrees with the various facts known to him, which relate to the subject in hand, or with such facts as he can discover, or with the results of his experiment, that is, with such facts as he can create. If there be agreement, the hypothesis is confirmed; if there be conflict with fact, it is overthrown. Thus suppositional inference is a test of hypothesis. But it has uses more immediately its own. Because the full sig- nificance of any scientific truth cannot be understood unless we combine it with one supposition and another, so as to perceive its different possible bearings. For example, the importance of solar light and heat cannot well be estimated, unless we should suppose them suddenly to cease to illuminate and warm the earth, and should consider what midnight darkness and frigid death would then inwrap all beings that are living now. A yet more notable use of imagination, in connec- usefui invention, tion with a dcductivc proccss, is exhibited in use- ful invention. Such was the invention of the air- pump, by Otto Guericke; of the thermometer, by Sanctorius; of the reflecting telescope, by Gregory; of the safety-lamp, by Sir Humphry Davy; of logarithms, by Napier; and of the Calculus, by Sir Isaac Newton. The steam-engine, the cotton-gin, the electric telegraph, the telephone, the daguerreotype; and ma- chines for carding, spinning, weaving, knitting, sewing; for type-setting and printing; for mowing, reaping, threshing; and many others employed in modern civilization, are the products of that invention of which we now speak. For invention, in the narrower sense, indicates only one species of philosophical im- agination or invention, and signifies the work of discovering methods by which laws and instrumentalities already known may be made to serve useful ends. This work is similar to that of discovering the causes and conditions of phenomena, but it is more fully dependent on the constructive power of the imagina- tion. That conjecture which uses hypotheses for the purpose of discovering antecedents, starts out from the perception or as- sumption of facts; but this invention, which aims to realize an end through the use of means, has only a possibility in view. Moreover, causes may often be found by simple inquiry and search, without the aid of supposition : but mental combination, alone, can afford us any hope of the production of a new agency. Sometimes the discovery of a useful adaptation may appear to 508 THE HUMAN MIND. § 185. result from chance; but it seldom or never results from chance alone. Ordinarily, the inventor must try many combinations, one after another, without producing the effect hoped for. But, if the end be a possible one, his work makes progress. Every new attempt reduces the likelihood of failure in the next, and increases the probability of success. But, generally, some uncer- tainty still remains, so that, in most instances, the end seems at- tained or suggested, at last, by some fortunate circumstance, and has the appearance of being found rather than achieved. Hence it is that the term invention^ which originally signified only discov- ery, has come to be applied to the laborious process of contrivance, and especially to the contrivance of useful instrumentalities. That exercise of the philosophic imagination wliicli SS^^^^ ^^^ furnishes illustrations of truth may be passed without extended discussion. It is a fact that a principle is sometimes better stated and understood by means of supposi- tions and similitudes than it can be by means of direct state- ment, or even by describing any actual example of its operation. The right illustration of truth is a work of less difficulty than the formation of wise hypotheses, or the invention of useful ap- plications. Yet it involves care and skill. An illustration which does not truly present the point to be considered, only confuses the mind; and an illustration, which sets forth with equal or greater prominence, some other point also may be the cause qf positive error. § 185. We now pass to that mode of imagination ^*^d^fii?d^lS which we have named the practical, or ethical. ^^4?<^-, . . This form of activity, like the philosophical inven- Practical imagina- . . i • i i • ^ -t • '^ , ^ tion proper. tiou wiiich wc havc considered, is not commonly characterized as imaginative, because it employs the constructive powers of thought for purposes ulterior to those of mere contemplation. Yet it is evidently a development of that faculty which creates ideal objects. It is a mode of think- ing related to that invention which devises useful instrumentali- ties; but it may be distinguished from this as being more imme- diately connected with the guidance of human efibrt, and as originating mental products of a less fixed and definite nature. It has been styled ethicaj, not because it always considers moral laws and aims, — frequently these are not considered, — but because the ideals of duty are the highest product of the practical imagi- nation, and because the conception of duty should be a pervad- ing element in all our plans of action. Yet, as many of man's schemes, even when qualified by some ethical principle, aim at natural rather than moral ends, while other, 'and quite different, conceptions of conduct are directly subservient to the realization of what is right, the non-ethical, or natural, exercise of the practi- cal imagination may be distinguished from that which is moral, or ethical, in a strict and exclusive sense. Indeed, this distinc- tion is necessary for the purposes of satisfactory discussion. The instruction we have to give respecting plans for the attainment § 185. IMAGINATION. 509 of desired ends is very simple, and consists merely in the recom- mendation of some self-evident rules. The first of these is similar to that already prescribed First rule. to theoretical thinkers : We must adapt our schemes to fact and reality. Everything visionary and impracti- cable must be avoided. The circumstances with which one has to deal, the extent of his means, and the character of his abilities and qualifications, must be consulted. One's natural wishes and in- clinations are not to be disregarded, but even these must submit to the regulation of reason. Sometimes it is the part of wisdom to repress our more forward tendencies and to aim rather at what can be attained than at what is most desired. The ne- cessity of careful and adaptive foresight has been recognized by men of overmastering genius as binding on them no less than on men of moderate ability. Napoleon Bonaparte, before his great campaigns, is said to have spent hours over military maps, scrutinizing the different roads, the villages, hamlets, valleys and elevations, the plains and forests, the rivers and mountains, of some distant region, and measuring accurately the distances from point to point. By the use of pins with variously colored heads he marked the positions which he expected the forces of his adversaries, and his own troops, to assume, day after day, in the stages of a conflict; and it is related that the predictions, thus formed, respecting the movements of opposing armies, and the ultimate result of the contest, were mostly marvelously correct. Those who would engage in any undertaking should consider every difficulty to be encountered, every labor to be performed, every instrumentality to be employed, every contingency to be provided for. Many a business has been wrecked, and many a life wasted, in the pursuit of projects which should never have been seriously entertained. Another counsel to be observed, in the conduct of secondrtde. life, conccrns tlie resolute spirit with which our plans should be prosecuted, after they have been formed and adopted, according to our best and deliberate judgment. Most enterprises of any importance encounter unexpected obsta- cles; and the greater and more difficult an undertaking may be in itself, the greater, also, will be the extraneous difficulties at- tending its prosecution. This is particularly the case if the work be one which needs, and may properly claim, sympathy and sup- port from persons in some way connected with it. We question whether even so unobtrusive a labor as the production of a new system of philosophy, was ever accomplished without encounter- ing the opposition of showy and self-exalting mediocrity, and the neglect and coldness of those by whose approval the patient thinker might have been encouraged. Success in any extraor- dinary undertaking can be expected by that man alone who is " tenax propositi." Irresolution and fickleness are faults which can neutralize the wisest plans, and render the greatest enter- prises productive only of loss and disappointment. Again let us 510 THE HUMAN MIND. § 185. take a lesson from the career of Bonaparte. After he had col- lected his troops in Switzerland, that he might cross the Alps, and descend in the rear of the Austrian forces, he met Mai'escot, who had been exploring the wild passes of the Great St. Bernard. The engineer gave an appalling account of the difficulties of transporting an army, by that route, into Italy. " Is it possible to pass?" said Napoleon, cutting the narrative short. "The thing is barely possible," answered Marescot. " Tres bien," said the chief consul, " En avant ! " The Alps were crossed; Marengo followed; and, within thirty days, Napoleon entered Milan, for the second time, as the conqueror of Northern Italy. One other suggestion, important chiefly as a quali- Thirdruie. fication of that just considered, must be added. We shoidd not ding tenaciously to pfojects after they have lost all reasonable prospect of success. Sometimes means, or ar- rangen^ents, on which we have confidently relied, are swept away. Then, if we can think of no new modes in which to em- ploy our resources, we have accomplished only failure. But, if the need of change be recognized, and the elements of power yet remaining to us be recombined, some other plan may still be successfully carried out. Once more let us refer to the great Corsican. For a long time the invasion of England was a cher- ished purpose of Napoleon ; and immense preparations for this enterprise were made by him during the autumn and winter of the year 1803. But, when the destruction of his fleets and the vigilance of the English cruisers had frustrated this design, he im- mediately formed new combinations. He broke up the camp at Boulogne, concentrated several armies on a new theater of oper- ations, and w^on the overwhelming victory of Austerlitz. Often the life of a resolute active spirit appears to be one uninterrupted course of success, not because he never encounters failure, — that never is the lot of any, — but because, instead of yielding to fail- ure, he addresses himself at once to some more hopeful undertaking. The ethical imag- ^^^ distinctively cthical, or moral, exercise of the ination. practical imagination, commonly combines with ai^mSf!^o°r TonI the natural exercise of this faculty, and acts in ^oimht °^^ °^ modification of the latter. But sometimes it takes a leading, and even an exclusive part, in the for- mation of some scheme of conduct. Our moral, as well as our natural, constructions of thought, should have a certain conform- ity to reality, yet, as their office is more to furnish models and ideals for our remembrance and imitation, than plans for our exact accomplishment, they are not so closely tied to fact. The work of the moral imagination is to devise such conceptions of conduct as will accord with the requirements of duty ; and the great importance of this work lies in the fact that the moral law, as conceived by any individual, or by any community of men, consists of generalizations formed from his, or their, conceptions of right conduct. In this statement we set forth the natural foundation of ethics, as distinguished from that revealed law, § 185. IMAGINATION, 511 which the enlightened conscience receives as the most perfect expression of its own convictions. As the rules which should regulate mercantile business are fashioned from methods sug- gested and approved by the experience and judgment of busi- ness-men ; and as the more general rules of wisdom for the care of our worldly interests, were first particular judgments which recommended themselves in the recurring exigencies of life ; so the rules of ethics have arisen from individual conceptions which men have formed in the recurring conjunctures of moral life, and which have had for their end the realization of right and duty. For all mankind have a moral sense or judgment, whereby they recognize some ends, and some actions closely connected with such ends, as being morally right, and as being obligatory upon persons capable of perceivmg those ends and of performing those actions. All men, also, assert that ends and actions, which conflict with what is right, are morally wrong, and ought to be rejected and opposed. Mankind differ in the definition of those things which they regard as right; but they all agree in recognizing the distinction between right and wrong, and in asserting the obligatoriness of what is right. Philosophers, on the other hand, and those who Moral rightness. have givcu tliemsclves to analytic thought, have been greatly perplexed with respect to the radical nature of moral rightness. Some have taught that moral right- ness is a simple and ultimate quality of certain actions and ends; others, that it is capable of explanation and definition. Some have identified the right with the duties of benevolence and be- neficence, especially as exercised towards all rational beings; others, with public utility as a general and dominant end of action; others, with the sanction given to the authority of a Supreme Power by the declaration of future rewards and pun- ishments. The views entertained on this subject by the writer of these remarks, may be found in an article contributed to the American Presbyterian Revieio, in the year 1870, and entitled, "A New Analysis in Fundamental Morals." At present, we have only to say that whether moral rightness be capable of explanation or not, it is certainly sui generis^ among the ends of human pursuit. Those systems which have made it a modification or combination of other ends, have failed to satisfy thoughtful inquiry, and this because they explain away what they set out to explain. More- over, that peculiar obHgatoriness — that legal supremacy over personal life — which belongs to the morally right, and which originates from its moral rightness, is also sui generis; and it may be questioned whether its peculiarity admits of any analysis. differ n ' ^^ ^^^^ already remarked that the variation in the^morS^^nce^^ the moral ideas of mankind pertains to those spe- counteffr'' ^ c.ific actions which they judge to be right and ob- ligatory ; it does not affect those radical conceptions of the right and its obligatoriness which are common to all men. This is an important fact. It indicates that the moral sentiment 512 THE HUMAN MIND. § 185. of men contains an underlying sameness which must be con- nected with the very constitution of human nature, and with the necessary relations of rational life. But, in connection with this fact, the question remains, " How does it happen that beings who are influenced by the same general principle of action, ex- hibit so great differences in those specific conceptions of duty, in which that common principle is manifested ? " The answer to this inquiry is the principal point in the philosophy of ethical imagi- nation or moral conception. This answer we take to be twofold. In the first place, the requirements of duty are not The first reason of exactly the Same at all times and under all circum- stances. The exchange of commodities is common to all men; but those methods of conducting mercantile business, which are excellent for a civilized people, would be unwise and ruinous among a savage or barbarous race. The exercise of constituted authority is found an universal necessity; but those forms and modes of government which are the rightful privilege of an enlightened country, would be unsuitable and injurious to a nation marked by a low grade of intelligence and principle. The conception of private interest is shared alike by the Hotten- tot and the Laplander; but they do not follow the same rules of life; each, under the guidance of rational judgment, forms prac- tical conceptions for himself, according to the circumstances of his lot. In like manner, man's determinations and conceptions of duty, and the rules derived from them, vary according to the diverse requirements of right as a moral end. This principle sug- gests a reason for those diverse laws of marriage and divorce, which belong respectively to the Mosaic and the Christian dis- pensations of religion. It accounts for the fact that the institu- tion of slavery, which is intolerable to the moral sense of a free Christian community, was not prohibited in ancient times. And it explains the general and gradual enlargement, among Chris- tian nations, of the sphere of human rights and duties. The possibility of moral attainment is greater than formerly ; there- fore, the standard of duty is higher than formerly. For duty demands whatever excellence is attainable. We apprehend, however, that the moral concep- forif^''^^^^^^^ tions of men would show much less diversity than they have hitherto done, if the only reason for difference consisted in the difi*erent requirements of duty. A more powerful cause is to be found in the tendency which men have always exhibited to adjust their conceptions of morality to their natural inclinations, or their views of interest, or their cherished pursuits and customs. Hence, in a warlike nation, bravery is the greatest of the virtues ; among a trading people, honesty is the " principle " most esteemed. Hence the method- ical Chinese make reverence for parents and obedience to au- thority the chief duty of man; while the Hindoos sacrifice the rights of human nature and the lives of innocent beings to the pretensions of their fanatical reHgion. Hence, heinous crimes § 186. IMAGINATION. 513 have been transformed into meritorious deeds, and men of ex- alted virtue have been condemned for impiety and wickedness. To this cause we ascribe that great prominence which men give to those virtues which are immediately related to the protection and conservation of temporal interests, and the neglect and obscurity to which those virtues are relegated which demand personal purity or self-restraint, or which call for self-sacrificing devotion to the good of others: and from this source all low codes of morality proceed. Even thieves and robbers devise foi- themselves rules of conduct which shall not conflict too much with their nefarious deeds; and they sometimes boast of the moderation and magnanimity, the equity, and good faith, and charitable liberality, with which they pursue a cruel and syste- matic course of crime. The possibility of such error arises from the fact that our original ethical convictions are the products of the practical imagination, acting under the guidance of the moral judgment. They are not perceptions of what is, but con- ceptions of what ought to be. So long as men are blinded and led astray by one powerful influence after another, we cannot expect their theories of duty to be free from error. But, as this f)erversion of one's judgment results, in great part, from care- essness respecting right ends, and from a willful partiality for evil, it is attended with grave responsibility. Let us cultivate a sincere desire to know our duty. Let us strive to avoid moral misconceptions, and to form true and high ideals of conduct. This can be done, if, depending on promised aid, we enthrone God and the right within our hearts, and do not neglect the examples of holy men and the counsels of heavenly wisdom. § 186. The last mode of the imagination proposed SnatiSS^*^^^ ^' f'^^^* present discussion, as being determined by uses The nature of ulterior to those realized by mere contemplation, ends, they are ideal • .i • .• .- *Vr,i • i • -i. o • ^ • objects. IS the incentive or motive. Ihis kind of imagina- tion is intimately related to the practical or ethical ; the two often combine in one. But a conception may be called practical as giving the idea or plan for some action or course of conduct; and it may be called motive as presenting to us some end or object of desire. Besides, a conception may serve only the one or the other of these uses : the plan of building a fire may be entirely instrumental, while the ideas of the warmth and comfort of the parlor may present merely objects of desire. The incentive or motive force of our ideas does not come from anything in their own nature, — many ideas have no such force— but originates in the fact that the desires and impulses of the mind are excited by the consideration of certain objects. The incentive force of any conception arises wholly from its specific, objective character, and is derived from the nature of some end which it presents to our motivity. At the same time, the dif- ferent ends of our pursuit all aim essentially at the condition and experience of sentient beings. That which can in no way affect the life or welfare of sentient being is incapable of becora- 514 THE HUMAN MIND. § 186. ing an end of desire; whatever can produce gratification, hap- piness, or welfare, is naturally sought for. The first excitants of our desire are real things considered with reference to their power to affect the experience of ourselves and others. We see food, and seek it to satisfy our appetite; we hear a sound, and wish to know its cause ; we behold friends, and solicit their fellowship and sympathy ; we notice others in want, and desire to share our benefits with them; we mark a case of wrong-doing, and demand that it be arrested and re- dressed. But while realities thus attract our attention, tlie essen- tial object of the desire^ or motivity, is not that ivhich actually is. but only that which may be hereafter. In seeking food the true end is a satisfaction which has not yet taken place; in the questioning of curiosity we ask to know what we do not yet know; the long- ing for the sympathy of friends is a desire that their fellow- ship may hereafter be enjoyed; and the urgent wish that some wicked action should be prevented or punished presupposes that, up to the present time, that prevention or punishment has not been effected. We often speak of desiring things actually exist- ing, such as food, clothing, money, mercantile goods, mechanical tools, lands, houses, and so forth; but, in all these cases, the object really sought for is some end to be attained in connection with these things. Strictly speaking, even money itself is not what men desire, but the continued or further possession and control of money. Such being the case, it is plain that present objects are the excitants of motive feeling, not directly, but by reason of other possible objects which they suggest and bring before our con- templation ; therefore, even our first objects of desire are not real but possible things, and creatures of the imaginative power. Such ideal objects may be brought before the mind merely by the laws of mental association, and without the presentation of any real object. In this case, the ideal creation being the same as in the other, it would be natural to suppose that an excitation of desire would take place similar to that efiected by the pre- sented object. The correctness of this expectation is fully at- tested by experience. A man may desire a new coat or a new book, or the satisfaction to be derived from the possession and use of it, as well when he merely thinks of such an object, as when he may see or handle it. Probably nothing can be regarded with desire or aversion unless we have first actually witnessed some reality of a corresponding nature which has affected us either with an attractive or a repellent influence. But, after a motive conception may once have been received, the simple re- currence of this conception awakens our desire. Indeed, the power of a motive thought to excite feebieness^of mo- dcsirc is Only incidentally connected with its rela- tives accounted tion to any real object, or with the possibility of the gratification of the desire. The actual presence of the book or coat may stimulate one's desire to have it; and § 186. IMAGINATION. 515 SO may the likelihood of his being able to obtain it; yet this happens only incidentally. The essential causes of the strength or feebleness of our desires lie partly in the condition of our motive tendencies themselves, and partly in the character of that energy with which any motive conception may be entertained. Some men, by their very constitution, have strong desire for cer- tain objects; other men for other objects; and in any one man the motivity, which seeks some end, varies in vigor and excitability. One's bodily appetites change with his bodily condition; his pro- pensities participate in the general freshness or exhaustion of his spirits, and exhibit also a freshness and an exhaustion of their own; even one's aifections and moral sentiments are some- times aifected with sluggishness, so that the man of principle seeks new strength for resistance to temptation and the efficient discharge of duty. In addition to the variable energy of our motive nature itself, the strength of our desires depends greatly on the completeness and power with which any object of pursuit may captivate the attention of the intellect. The more perfectly any end of desire receives one's exclusive and intense regard, the greater will be the energy displayed by the corresponding motivity. To this cause we ascribe the influence, already alluded to, of presented objects, and of the possibility of the attainment of our desire. The object, being obtrusively present, impresses the conception of the end upon the mind; while the possibility of attainment, and yet more the actual effort to attain, fixes and concentrates the attention upon the thing desired. Using the foregoing analysis, we may trace the methods which the soul employs in controlling and guiding the motive forces of its own life. They all arise from giving the attention and energy of the mind to some ends of pursuit rather than to others. First of all, one greatly influences the direction of ^ uf^^^st^y liis pwn activity simply by the entertainment of the entertainment motivc conceptious, or idcals of pursuit. To this of motive concep- , i • i i tions. cause, among others, we attribute the remarkable difference exhibited in the history of those who have commenced life under very similar circumstances. The scholars at the same village academy, the playmates of the same country neighborhood, are often widely separated in their sub- sequent employments and positions. One becomes an adven- turous seaman, and explores many lands; he visits home to tell of tempests and calms on the ocean, of frozen polar regions, of the torrid zone and the fruitful tropics, and of the strange peo- ple who inhabit distant countries. Another enters the military service, aftd mingles in the tumultuous excitements of war. He can relate stories of the camp and the picket Hue, of the march and the bivouac, of the dangerous skirmish, of fierce personal encounters, and of hard-fought battles. Another finds in the business of mercantile exchange occupation for his energies and advancement in his fortunes. The wisdom of his purchases, the expedition of his sales, his enterprise in new avenues of trade, 516 THE HUMAN- MIND. § 186. his promptness in the discharge of his obligations, and his close- ness in the securing and collecting of his claims, obtain for him honorable wealth. Another, who devotes himself to public life, becomes a leader of parties and the advocate of important meas ures; another qualifies himself for a learned profession, devoting his life to the care of the temporal or spiritual interests of his fellowmen ; still others — and perhaps the greater number — make choice out of those occupations which offer them opportunity for immediate employment. Thus, for a short time, we follow the same pathway, and then separate to enter upon widely dijBferent scenes and occupations. This change results in part from that force of circumstances from which no strength of char- acter or greatness of genius can secure exemption ; but it is largely due to the adoption of certain objects of pursuit as specially suited to one's character, or taste, or talent. No more important duty devolves upon those who are entering upon life's career, than the formation of a wise and high ideal. Secondly by the ^^ ^^^ ^^^ flacQ, the soul stimulates its aspirations contemplation of by the Contemplation of such objects as illustrate excitant objects. ^^ nature or the attainment of its chosen ends. When some fixed purpose or desire controls the mind, the cur- rent of one's interest no longer diffuses itself over the multitude of things which continually present themselves. As one who surveys the map or picture of some widespread region directs his attention to those places with which he is familiar and where his affections have their home, and regards other places only as they may be related to these, so the man who has made some ends the objects of his ambition specially observes whatever may be connected with those aims, and passes over other things. One's transitory thoughts, as well as his more elaborate fancies and imaginings, have reference to his favorite pursuits; and the realities of history and of observation, together with the cir- cumstances of one's personal life, are made the excitants and supports of his desires. The soldier sees in the world a battle- field; the statesman, a collection of territories under laws and rulers; the merchant, a great mart for business; the philanthro- pist, the home of weak and suffering humanity. Some persons cannot restrain their thoughts from images and tales which sug- gest sensual pleasures ; others turn their eyes towards the glitter of gold and the magnificence of wealth; others ponder those great deeds whereby power and glory have been won ; others contemplate the achievements of learning and science ; and others the labors and sacrifices of noble men who have devoted themselves to the enlightenment and elevation of mankind. In this w*y the con- sideration of objects — but especially of real objects — increases one's eagerness in the pursuit of his chosen aims. Thirdly by enter- Finally^ the mind often strengthens a desire by taining'the assur- entertaining as great an assurance as possible re- anee of succeBs. gpecting the accompHshmeut of its end. Many ob- jects of human aspiration are matters of only probable attainment. § 186. IMAGINATION. 517 It is the part of reason, before beginning the pursuit of them, to compare the chances for failure with the chances for success, and to determine whether the hope of gaining the end be worth the effort and sacrifice consequent upon the adoption of it. When this estimation is made to the best of one's ability, with the simple desire to know the truth, and not in the service of any- specific desire, we regard our course as determined by truth and fact rather than by any agency of our own. But even this rational conception and determination of chances is an act of personal self-direction. This is the more evidently true because the judgment of reason varies in different persons, and because, in most cases of probability, the ratio of positive to negative chances cannot be exactly ascertained, but may, within certain limits, be determined by a sort of voluntary guess. But when that control of one's faculties, which should be left to reason, is usurped by some strong passion, the mind specially manifests its power to make for itself assumptions of probability. In such cases the error of judgment is often perceptible to those who are disinterested and dispassionate, and frequently becomes evi- dent, sooner or later, to those who have had the misfortune to make it. The origin of such delusion is to be found in that limited view of facts and possibilities to which the mind confines itself while under the influence of haste, or excitement, or strong desire. Those facts, and the chances connected with them, which favor the desired result, are fully considered, while those which are adverse are more or less neglected; in this way, one judges according to a partial view of the case, carelessly or stubbornly assumed tcf be a fair and total presentation. Every mode of the imagination has a tendency to influence the judgment unduly ; such is the weakness of the human mind, and its liability to substitute supposition for fact. But the motive imagination is an especial cause of error; for, in this case, the tendency common to every exercise of the imagination is re-inforced by the engrossing power of some strong desire. Hence, the passion of love, creating the perfection which it de- sires to worship, " Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt." Hence, **Hope springs eternal in the human breast" Hence, the words of Butler, "The diflference is as great between The optics seeing as the objects seen;" and that other saying, "The man convinced against his will, Is of the same opinion still." Hence, the unconquerable prejudice of party; and the confi- dence, not always assumed, but often fully felt, of party leaders. 618 THE HUMAN MIND. § 187. Hence, the enlargement of threatening evil produced by fear, and the expectation of want which afflicts the miser, and the line of the ancient moralist, **MultamopiaB desunt; avaritisB omnia." In whatever relation the incentive imagination may be viewed, whether as to the conception of ends, or the considera- tion of excitant objects, or the suggestion of probable results, the importance of its operation cannot be over-estimated. The use of this faculty is a factor not only in the achievement of temporal success, but also in that religious faith and hope by which man is prepared for another and a higher state of exist- ence. If it be exercised with wisdom, it is grandly productive of good; but, when conjoined with folly, it becomes a powerful agency for evil. Of all the sayings of the Koyal Preacher, none should be more constantly remembered than this, " Keep thy heart with all diligence ; for out of it are the issues of life." The effect of the imagination on the emotional, as iS^ftion!°^**^° distinguished from the motive, feelings of our na- ture, might furnish a further topic of discussion; and this would suggest to us the pathematic imagination, as a general faculty of which the poetic imagination is the most re- markable development. We shall not now enter upon this dis- cussion. It is evident that the excitement of our sensibilities by imaginary objects in general, is to be accounted for by essen- tially the same laws as account for impressions from poetic and artistic productions. CHAPTER XXXIX. THE RATIONAL FACULTY. § 187. That power of thought which manifests itself promi- nently as the controlling element in the rational or discursive phase of intellect, is commonly known as reason. The common defl. Most logical and metaphysical Writers define this nition of the ra- faculty as that by which the mind forms general tionai faculty. notious and uses these in inference and in other operations pertaining to the perception of truth. This definition does not appear to be strictly correct; on the one hand, general notions are employed in operations which belong to the per- ceptive and reproductive faculties; and, on the other, certain exercises of the reason do not involve general notions. The cognitions of acquired perception, which are common to man and the brutes, and are not exercises of reason, involve the in- stinctive use of rules of inference, which rules are of the nature of general notions. In short, several operations which are often § 187. THE RATIONAL FACULTY. 519 described as belonging to the rational faculty exclusively, occur in mental phases which are contrasted with reason. And the doctrine, that every exercise of reason involves the use of gen- eral thought, cannot be sustained. It is now commonly ad- mitted that trains of geometrical ratiocination can, and often do, take place from the simple inspection and consideration of diagrams, and without the intervention of universal principles. Yet such reasonings are among the purest products of the ra- tional faculty. Locke says that reason is "that faculty whereby Locke's definition, man is supposed to be distinguished from beasts and wherein it is evident that he much surpasses them " (bk. iv. chap. xvii.). To make this definition explicit and satisfactory we must say " that faculty of perception and judg- ment " ; for man surpasses the brutes in imagination as well as in reason. As Locke's "Essay" was directed to the considera- tion of the understanding, the limitation we have suggested was doubtless in his mind. Indeed, this is evident, for he goes on to describe reason as the faculty which first distinctly ascertains the grounds for belief or knowledge, and which then applies them so as to obtain either certainty or probable conviction. IT *. ^1 Other authors, such as Kant, Colerids^e, and Morell, Kant 8 employ- . ' ]• i i • i i t ment of the term givc the name Tcason to a laculty which they dis- *^""''"' tinguish from the understanding, or reasoning power, and by means of which we immediately possess ourselves of the necessary elements or eternal principles of truth. We can discover no good ground to believe that we have any such inde- pendent faculty, and, therefore, shall not dwell on this meaning of the term. Nor need we discuss those teachings which make reason something impersonal, separate from the soul, and com- municated to it, a revelation of the Absolute Intelligence ! Phi- losophers should leave such language to orators and poets. An exact definition of the rational faculty can be S^girpiwe?°but obtained only by a careful scrutiny of that concep- a^pecuiiM: endo^ tiou of rcasou which thosc employ who use the ability. term without making it the expression of any phil- osophical theory. An examination of this usage, together with a consideration of the mental facts immediately related to it, will lead to the following results. In the first place, reason is not a single power, but rather a collection of powers ivJiich operate in connection with each other. Both thought and belief, to- gether with attention, association, analysis, synthesis, abstrac- tion, conception, generalization, specification, — in short, all the intellectual powers, whether primary or secondary — enter into this complex faculty. In the next place, reason involves a pe- culiar endowment of mental ability. The powers which this faculty employs, are employed by our other faculties of perception, but in lower degree. Man is said to be distinguished from the brute by his reason, and, undoubtedly, the development of reason in man is far beyond what any brute exhibits; yet a weak and lim 620 THE HUMAN MIND. § 187. ited degree of reason cannot be denied to some of the brute cre- ation ; for we call any perception rational which is the product of some thought and study. Again, we notice that the special ability out of which reason springs is manifested in connection with both the primary powers of mind. First of all, there is a peculiar power of comprehension^ whereby a collection of things naturally related — whether present or absent, actual or possible — can be thought of at once, so that the things presented in act- uality often occupy but a small portion of one's rational atten- tion ; and, secondly, there is a peculiar power of judgment, or penetration^ whereby the relations of things, and especially their necessary relations, are perceived; and so the mind discovers the inner nature of things and their more remote causes and consequences. By reason the savage is instructed to shoot the poisoned arrow, and is informed that, when wounded by such a weapon, he must die. The mere brute cannot fashion such an instrument and anticipate its effect. It is further evident that this peculiar ability of comprehension and penetration which we have now described, affects the operation of the secondary powers, so far as they contribute to that increased perception of truth which is the work of reason. Rational analysis is thorough, exact, and definite. The synthesis of reason is comprehensive, unites parts or elements by complex and important relations, and forms conceptions wholly its own. The associative or sugges- tive power of a rational thinker chooses from a wider range of ideas, and selects those of special significance and value: while abstraction and generalization, which are hidden factors in the lower modes of cognition, are marked features of rational thought. From these causes operations arise — such as the definition and division of notions, formal predication, the systematization and arrangement of topics, and analytical and connected argument, — which are wholly peculiar to rational beings. This leads to the remark that the exercise of reason exhibits a greater volun- tary control of our thinking powers than is to be seen in connec- tion with our other faculties. Some might even conjecture that reason originates in a peculiar ability to direct one's mental pow- ers to the accomplishment of their proper ends. But this would be a very imperfect view. The truth is that the will shows more direction because reason both furnishes powers capable of being guided to a peculiar efficiency, and also indicates the ends and methods of this guidance. The increased mental grasp is of itself sufficient to account for the phenomena without supposing any simultaneous and independent addition to the strength of the will. Reason or the ra- ^^^sou, therefore, may be defined as that compre- tionai faculty, de- hcusivc and penetrating faculty by which man obtains a distinct knoiuledge of the nature of things and can discover objects and the relations of objects, ivhich lie beyond the sphere of his immediate or acquired perceptions — a faculty by which we not only analyze and perfect such knowledge as is merely pre- § 187. THE RATIONAL FACULTY, 521 sentational or of easy and habitual inference, but also add to this knowledge by the power of widely embracing conception and far-reaching judgment. _ ,,,.... The older Enerlish writers divided the exercise of A twofold division • , ,i^ • i -i- i .1 t • • j.r • of reason, into the reasou luto the intuitivc and the discursive, m this Sfr'anJ 'turto: following somc of the Schoolmen. In the fifth book cursive or specu- of " Paradise Lost," Milton makes the angel Gabriel, amton quoted. in his address to Adam, to say, "The soul Keason receives, and reason is her being, Discursive or intuitive ; discourse Is oftest yours; the latter most is ours; Dififering but in degree, of kind the same.'* The intuition referred to in such language as this does not signify, according to the primary meaning of the word, an abso- lutely immediate or presentational cognition: as Milton says, the two modes of reason differ, not in kind, but in degree. We are here taught that there is an exercise of reason which resembles literal intuition, in being without a process, or — to speak more accurately — in being without any deliberate and conscious pro- cess. In this mode of reason, because either of intellectual supe- riority, as might be supposed in the case of angels, or of acquired and habitual skill, as in the case of human beings, the action of the mind is instantaneous or nearly so: the whole nature and all the bearings of some fact or collection of facts, are seen and un- derstood by a single glance. This kind of perception is often exhibited by men in the practical afiairs of life, and, with refer- ence to this, the faculty corresponding to it might be called the practical reason. But the other mode is slower, and more under the conscious direction of the mind. Its suggestion of thought is in answer to continued inquiry; its analysis scrutinizes each element in succession; its synthesis is deliberate systematization; its inference considers, one after the other, antecedent, consequent, and the connection between them ; in short, the energy of its at- tention is directed in turn to all the several elements of an act of knowledge, so that the nature and use of each may be properly apprehended. On this account this mode of reason has been called the discursive. It has also been styled the speculative, and, under this title, may be properly contrasted with that prac- tical reason which we have just defined. But, while reason is divided into the intuitive and the discursive^ or the practical and speculative, these are radically the same power, and differ only in the mode of their operation. The elements and methods of thought and of belief are the same in both. Intuitive reason may be com- pared to a practiced military genius who perceives at first sight all the capabilities of a field of battle; discursive reason is the less experienced, and, it may be, less talented, commander, who surveys each part of the field in succession, and forms his plan of action gradually. ^:\ 522 THE HUMAN MIND. § 187. Such being the case, it is plain that the term reascm cannot be exactly replaced by the expression discursive faculty^ one form of reason being, in a sense, intuitive. Yet reason may properly enough be called the discursive faculty, provided only it be un derstood that such language is adopted, because discourse is the more prominent mode of reason, and that alone in which the na- ture and workings of this power can be directly seen and studied. The intuitive exercise of reason is too rapid for either contem- plation or control; it can be understood and influenced only through a knowledge of the nature of rational discourse and of the rules by which this should be regulated. The philosophy of reason must mainly concern itself Avith the discursive develop- ment of this faculty. Only, in speaking of reason as discursive, we must guard against misapprehension. The reason and "^^ ^^^® Connection, let us notice an unwarranted the understanding distinction which has been made between the rea- * ^^ ^ son and the understanding. Some have confined the former terra to what we have called the intuitive reason, and have assigned the latter to the discursive faculty; while others, adopting an opposite use of language, have given intuition to the understanding and discourse to reason. The fact is that both terms indicate the same thing, though under different points of view. The designation reason is derived from the es- sential work of the faculty, that is, from that perception and col- lation of things and their relations (re5, reor) whence our higher knowledge takes its rise; while the name understanding springs from a reference to the result of the foregoing perception, whereby one figuratively stands under the facts he has considered, that is, below their superficial appearance and among their 'Causes. This result is directly indicated by the verb to understand, and, therefore, the noun understanding more immediately sug- gests that discursive faculty, by the use of which, ordinarily, one consciously attains to rational intelligence. To the common mind the term reason is without this suggestiveness. But that both terms have essentially the same application is chiefly evinced by a fact which will become more manifest during the course of our future discussions, viz., that the phenomena ascribed to both faculties, when sifted and explained, call only for the existence of one complex faculty. Such is reason. We may now inquire whether the S?.o?S?n,S^. rational, or discursive, phase of thought (§ 13), as tinguished from distinguished from the rational faculty, should be the rational phase ^ -i -, P • ^ ■> , • , . •" . i • i of thought. neld to include every mental operation in which reason participates ; or should it be conjined to those in which reason is the prominent and controlling factor ? If we adopt the former alternative, we must allow the rational phase to include every exercise of the productive imagination, because this imagination constantly employs the reason and judgment (§ 183). But it will contribute better to clearness of conception and statement if we limit the discursive phase to exercises of § 188. THE RATIONAL FACULTY. mind which are distinctively logical — whose proper purpose and result is the attainment of truth. This course will render more defined the distinction between the reproductive and the ra- tional phase of thought, and will agree with that frequent mode of conception according to which complex objects are named and distinguished with reference to their preponderating character. The rational phase should include every mental activity in which the ascertainment and understanding of truth is the main purpose and re- sult of the employment of reason; while those rational operations, which are simply elements in the work of the creative imagina- tion, may be relegated to the reproductive phase. And thus, as certain modes of scientific imagination may be claimed for the rational, so certain plastic exercises of reason may be granted to the reproductive, intellect. § 188. The elemental powers from which reason is n^essariiyiSgic^ coustitutcd, are the same with those which enter Three necessary into our lowcr Dcrceptive facultics, and have been forms of rational ,. i.i- i i c thought. discussed as the primary and secondary powers oi mind. In treating of them (Chaps. XI. to XXIX.) much matter was introduced which might have been reserved for the topics upon which we now enter, it being thought that our earlier studies might advantageously bear some of the bur- den of our more advanced investigations. In consequence of this we are not now called to discuss the radical nature of those modes or forms of thought which reason uses, but have to con- sider these in those specific lights and relations to which our at- tention is called when we make the rational phase of intellect the object of special study. The notion or conception, the propo- sition and judgment, and the inference, having been handled as to their essential nature, we must now deal with them from a point of view peculiarly logical. Not that we propose to formulate a logic, but because any satisfactory philosophy of the reasoning power can be nothing else than a discussion of those principles which lie, or should lie, at the basis of logical science. Very intimate relations exist between the forms of proposmonr' a^d thought which reason employs, propositions being the inference, to be framed froui iiotious and inferences from proposi- considered in their .. /-i-ii i loi-^i order. tious. Ooiisidered merely as a mode oi thought the proposition is little else than an existential notion ; it sets forth either the existence of a thing simply, or its existence as related to some other thing. Of course it may set forth non-existence likewise, but, for the sake of simplicity, we mention existence only. " There is a king," presents the con- ception of the king as existing; but, " The king is just," sets forth the quality of justice as existing in a king. The universal state- ment, " Man is mortal," presents " mortality necessarily existing in man." _ The proposition differs from the existential notion in emphasizing that element of existence which is not emphasized in the notion, and which, indeed, is not necessary to a notion at all. Therefore, when these forms of thought become vehicles 524 THE HUMAN MIND, § 188. of belief, the reality of the thing is only implied or supposed in the use of the notion, while it is expressly enunciated in the proposition. When we say, "The king is wise," the proposition sets forth " the existing wisdom of the king " ; the existence of this wisdom is expressly propounded ; but the existence of the king is not asserted; it is simply taken for granted. Again, the inference, contemplated as a mode of thought, may be regarded as consisting of two propositions connected with each other as antecedent and consequent. The antecedent proposition may be either simple or compound, according to the nature of the fact or truth presented by it : but the inference can always be reduced to two propositions, and, in a certain sense, always consists of two only. This may be seen, first, in the case of those inferences which logicians call immediate. In the ex- ample, " Nine inches are part of a foot, therefore they are less than a foot," there are two simple propositions, the latter being the consequent and the former the antecedent. But should we say, "John is older than Hugh, and Hugh is older than William ; therefore John is older than William," the antecedent might be said to contain two propositions, as it certainly does; yet neither of these by itself constitutes an antecedent; both must be taken together to express one compound fact, viz., "John is older than Hugh, who is older than William." This compound proposition is the antecedent; so the argument is reduced to two proposi- tions ; though one of them is compounded and doTible. In those inferences which logicians call mediate, the antecedent consists of one proposition; that is, of the statement of one fact, though it be compounded of two. When we say, " Hindoos are men, and men are mortal," there are two propositions, neither of which alone would lead to any conclusion ; but the compound proposi- tion, resulting ,from their union, is a logical antecedent. For we may say, " Hindoos belong to the class, men, who are mor- tal," or " Hindoos have the nature of man, which is subject to death"; whence we infer, "Hindoos are mortal," or "are sub- ject to death." As every inference is constructed from propo- sitions, and every proposition arises from a peculiar use of notions, simplicity of progress requires that we should first con- sider questions concerning the notion, then, after that, questions pertaining to propositions and predications, and, finally, ques- tions relating to inference and argument. § 189. THE NOTION IN LOGIC. 525 CHAPTER XL. THE NOTION IN LOGIC. ,. ^ S 189. A notion, in the most sjeneral sense of the The notion de- f • , i j^i • j.i ij.-i.-Ai fined. term, 18 the same thmg as a thought; it is tlje fwo,c''o'!Se?nformI result or prodnct of the mind's thinking about any- of being, or en- fhing in any way. As there is a sense in whicli anything whatever may be called an object, so the thought of anything may be called a notion. The word origi- nally signified the act of knowing, and then came to indicate the product of the act. We may have notions of every object that does or may exist, and of every element of every object, and also of their existence and their non-existence. As, ho-wever, our notions of existence and non-existence, like the' things themselves, are sui generis, and the immense multitude of our ideas represent entities — or things that may, or do, exist — the discussion of notions must almost entirely concern our conceptions of en- tities; nor is it any wonder that many writers, neglecting the ideas of existence and of non-existence, have treated the notions of entities as if they were the only ones entertained by the human mind. Without committing this error, we shall devote the following discussion to the notions of entities alone; for the thoughts of existence and of non-existence have been carefully considered in another place. The first formation of notions has been explained in connection with the topics of analysis, syn- thesis, abstraction and conception; we have also seen the nature of that synthesis, or conception, which, under the guidance of the spontaneous exercise of reason, has resulted in those forms of thought to which the forms of language correspond (§ 130). We shall now study those affections and relations which spe- cially attach themselves to notions in our rational pursuit of truth; and an understanding of which is essential to the phi- losophy of the discursive faculty. These affections and relations can be better understood in connection with certain logical dis- tinctions than in any other way ; and they have generally been discussed in connection with such distinctions, complete and Bup. ^i^?*' ^^^ .^^ cousidcr notious with reference to piementary no- their use in providing the terms of propositions. Categorical and and dividc them into the complete and the supple- syncategoricai rnentary. By the former we mean those capable in themselves of serving either as subject or as predicate of a proposition; by the latter those which can enter into terms only in combination with other notions. In the as- sertions, " Grass is green," "Rain-drops fall," the ideas expressed by grass, green, rain-dropSy fall, are logically complete. But in 526 THE HUMAN MIND. § 189. the propositions, "The blades of grass quiver in the wind," "The drops of rain sparkle like diamonds;'' the ideas expressed by the tlm^ of, in, and like, are supplementary. Moreover, these last two propositions; though containing eight notions logically complete, have only four terms, two of which, viz., "The drops of rain," and " The blades of grass," are subject notions, while the other two "Quiver in the wind," and "Sparkle like dia- monds," are predicate notions. From this we see that complete notions may be either simple or compounded; each term of every predication sets forth one complete notion. This distinction, which we have now explained, is related to that division of words into the categorematic and the syn- categorematic, which is commonly found in works on logic; a categorematic word being sufficient of itself for a term, and the syncategorematic being that which can only assist in the forma- tion of a term. The two distinctions may even be regarded as the same. But we have avoided these well-known terms, be- cause logicians give no satisfactory instruction as to the use of them. Some apply the name categorematic to single words only, others to compound words as well; some say that only nouns in the nominative case are categorematic; others admit adjectives and verbs or equivalent expressions; while all exclude adverbs, and expressions equivalent to them. These views and differences arise from considering the forms of language and grammar with reference to their original force in predication, and without per- ception of the secondary capabilities of expression which these forms assume. It is tacitly held that the same form of words always enounces the same mental proposition; and that the grammatical one. In the statement, "The man speaks truly," they would say that one term is the man, and the other speaks truly. But a predication may always be regarded as the answer to a question telling one that which he wishes to know. If, then, one knew that the man spoke, but was uncertain whether he spoke truly or not, the whole force of the predication would lie in the word truly, and this adverb would set forth the predi- cate of the mental proposition. In such cases the adverb should be regarded as the predicate. Any logic, to be successful, must not rest in verbal expressions, but should pass from them to the mental propositions, regarding even these, not only as to theii own primary construction, but yet more as to their actual force in stating truth and fact. In short, the logician should regard notions, rather than words, as being primarily the terms, or ex- tremes, of predication, and should interpret the verbal proposi- tion according to the mental assertion which it is intended to express. If these statements be correct, then adverbial, no less than verbal and adjective, notions, may be used as predicates and be logically complete in the discourse of reason and of lan- guage. Therefore, the ordinarj^ distinction between categore- matic and syncategorematic words is insufficient for the purposes of logic. But even our division of notions into the complete J 189. THE NOTION IN LOGIC. 527 and the supplementary indicates rather a difference in our mode of using them, than any necessary distinction between the notions themselves. For any notion is capable of becoming the subject or predicate of a proposition; but some notions are so constantly employed merely as the modifying complements of other con- ceptions that the thought of this attaches itself to our ordinary use of them. It is seldom, and then only by a special directness and emphasis of attention, that they are brought out of their sub- ordinate position. Such are the ideas expressed by articles, pre- positions, and conjunctions; and such, also, to a less degree, are adverbial conceptions. The distinction, which we have now discussed, leads jecti?e*or predi- to another, morc fundamentally connected with the ^^^^' structure of rational thought. Notions, considered as complete, that is, as fitted to be the extremes of propositions, are either subjective or predicative. By a subjective notion we mean that which may be the subject of a predication, and which, in a sense, subjects the object of the notion to the predication ; and a predicative notion is that which may be the predicate of a proposition, and using which we predicate something of the subject. The first of these forms of thought is invariably a substantal, or substantive, conception. It must present a substantum or logical substance, that is, some object or element viewed inde- pendently, or rather with only an indefinite reference to any relations other than those included in our conception of its na- ture. When an object is thus independently conceived of, we are prepared to assert either that the object itself exists or that something else exists in some relation to the object. But it is impossible to make statements about anything which Ave do not conceive of directly and independently. At least, in that case, our statement would concern, not that thing alone, but some- thing else also along with it. In the vocal expression of thought, the principle now enunciated requires that every subject of a proposition should be a noun in the nominative case, or its equivalent. For every oblique case presents the object as in some relation. On the other hand, a predicative notion, though it may include a substantal conception, is never such a conception simply, and may not include such a conception at all. The statement, "Soc- rates was wise," asserts that wisdom existed in Socrates, yet does so by means of an attributive — not a substantal — notion. Some say that every predicate adjective has a noun understood; but this doctrine is unwarranted. There is no evidence for it in lan- guage; and it conflicts with the common consciousness of men. When we say, " The bird flies," the flying is asserted simply as an action, and without any substantive attachment to the verb files. When we say, " The queen is in the parlor," "She is eat- ing honey," neither predicate is a substantive, though each con- tains one ; the first has a relation for its leading thought ; the 528 THE HUMAN MIND, § 190. second an action. Even when we seem simply to predicate one substantum of another, as when we say, " The man is a king," "Angels are spirits," "Patience is a virtue," what we really assert is not substance, but substantal identity. We do not assert that either object exists, but only that both objects are the same thing or substance. Whether the objects really exist, or are merely ideal, is supposed to be already known. If every predication is an assertion, and every predicate that which is asserted, we do not here assert a substance of a substance, but only, as we have said, a substantal identity. We allow that every predicate may be made to assume the form of a substantal expression, but we deny that this is the only proper form of predication, or that we ever predicate substance simply. Of this we shall speak again. The true doctrine is that the predicative notion always sets forth something as in some relation to the subject, and that the predication enunciates or asserts the existence — or the non-exist- ence — of that something as in that relation. The specific nature of the relation varies according to the nature of the things re- lated. This general relation of predicate to subject has been expressed by saying that the predicate is in the subject^ in which language the preposition indicates relationship in general, and serves to abbreviate that figure of speech according to which one thing is said to exist in some relation to another. The Schoolmen indicated this thought by saying that the predicate iiiliered in the subject, and, in this, they reproduced Aristotle, who says, that every enunciation or proposition is " a voice significant about something being inherent or non-inherent," which inher- ency means only to exist in some relation to something. § 190. The "Categories," or "Predicaments," of S"^ Ari8to§e"^ex- Aristotlc, as their name and nature, and his gen- piained. cral* treatment of them, indicate, are a classifica- They are a classifi- ,. ., , , tii tj.' cation of our spon- tiou oi our natural predicable — or predicative — teneous predica- conception s; and, although his detailed discussion of them loses sight of this character, and becomes confused in the extreme, the classification itself has more merit than Hamilton and Mill and most modern logicians have allowed to it. The first category, substance^ really sets forth that sub- stantal identity of which we have spoken. Using it, we assert the fact of the identity of the subject with the predicate. It is true that by means of this we generally assert something else and more; but this is the immediate act. The second category does not set forth simply that the sub- ject has quantity; for such a predication would differ little in nature from one of quality ; but it asserts that the subject has quantity, and that this quantity is of a certain amount or meas- urement. We say that a certain period of time is ten years, that a certain weight is one hundred pounds, a certain distance one thousand yards. This mode of predicative conception is radically one of relation; but it has the peculiarity that the at- § 190. THE NOTION IN LOGIC. 529 tention of the mind is given almost exclusively to the quantum as measured, and not to the standard of measurement. When a man asks how many dollars he has in the bank, he does not consciously think of the one dollar with which his tens or thou- sands are tacitly compared. This category, therefore, sets forth the existence of definite or measured quantity as inhering in the subject. Quality is asserted when we say, " Man is mortal," "Snow is white," and in all propositions intended to qualify the subject by setting forth attributal parts in their relation to it as a whole. For, in logic, attribute and quality may be used as convertible terms. The category of relation includes those statements which present simply the existence of some relation. Knowing the size of two objects, we say that one is greater or less than the other, or equal to it; or, knowing their positions, we say that one is within or without the other, or before or behind it; or, knowing two men, a lawyer and a phy- sician, we may say that the lawyer is like the physician, or is his son or neighbor. But, should we say, "The lawyer is the son of a physician," intending to characterize the father, this would not be a simple predication of relation; it would be a compound predication, and would answer two questions, first, " How is the lawyer related in the present case?" and second, " What is the occupational character of the person to whom he is related ? " Evidently, relations are predicated as inherent in the subject. The categories ivhere and luhen refer to compound propositions somewhat similar to that just mentioned. For, when we say, "The man is here, or at home, or abroad, — the event occurred to-day, or yesterday, or a year ago," — the importance of the statement depends as much on the particular 'place or time of the relation as on the relation itself The emphasis is not on the relation alone. Hence, the ancient languages usually answered the when and the where by one word; while modern thought, even when using a plurality of words, tends to a unity of concep- tion. So with the next two categories, which we shall call pos- ture and condition, meaning by the former an external state con- sidered as resulting from internal causes, and, by the latter, an internal or adherent state, however produced. Standing, sitting, lying, fitness or unfitness for work or duty, capacity or readiness for speech or action, are postures ; being shod or clothed, or sick or well, or weak or strong, as states of the body, and being in- formed or ignorant, virtuous or vicious, happy or miserable, as states of the mind, are conditions. Finally, action and passion, though often the same thing, difier as categories because they are predicationally conceived as related difi'erently to 'different subjects. ^^ We say of one, " He strikes," and of another, " He is struck." Moreover, intransitive actions are conceived of with- out reference to any result attending them. These categories are an excellent primary classification of those modes of predicative conception which are natural, or 630 ^ THE HUMAN MIND. § 191. spontaneous, to the mind. They appear both to exhaust the subject and to be exclusive of one another. They ilkistrate the nature of the predicative notion and especially exhibit that in- hesive character by which it is distinguished. But a scrutiny of them encourages one to attempt Bionofmirpredica^ a further classification, founded on further analy- proposed?^^^*^^^^ ^^^- Considering the categories in their essential nature, that is, as so many channels whereby the mind receives, or imparts, rational information concerning ob- jects, we perceive that every predicate belongs to its subject, either as an attribute, that is, as a part of its nature, or as an adjunct, that is, as something related to the subject without be- ing included in it. The first three categories may be taken as presenting attributes, and the rest adjuncts. In this way a two- fold division of predicative notions is suggested, according to which the substantal identity of the first category would be classed with attributes; inasmuch as it enters into the total na- ture or being of the subject. The assertion of this identity, how- ever, has a significance that the ordinary predication of attributes has not; because it identifies the subject with that which may itself be the subject of other predications, and because, when one thing is identical with another, it has — and may be affirmed to have — all the attributes and adjuncts of that other. Thus the predication of substantal identity, which, for brevity, may be called svhstantal predication^ has a logical effect and importance which are specially its own. Such being the case, we may rec- ognize three classes of predicative conceptions ;^^r5^, the Substan- tive, using which one substantum is identified with another; sec- ondly, the Attributive, by means of which attributal parts are assigned to the substantal whole; and, thirdly, the Adjunctive, in which things are set forth as in external relation to the sub- ject. The first of these may be said to identify wholly; the sec- ond, partially; the third, not at all. Which of these modes of conception may be employed by the mind in any particular case, should be determined from the analysis of one's thoughts, rather than by the forms of language which may be used. As Presi- dent McCosh says, "In all cases we must look to the thought, — to the notion in the mind — and not to the mere words, to determine what is the notion, and what sort of notion it is" ("Logic," parti. § 2). § 191. We now come to an important division, on SnTui^r^'^OT ind?. the ouc sidc or the other of which all our thoughts aioru'i5?er8^^r^' ^^^7 ^^ placcd, whatever be their use or signitica- * * tion. This division arises from the fact that we sometimes think of things as individuals, and sometimes of them in the general. Ideas, accordingly, are separated into the singu- lar, or individual, and the general, or universal. The former kind of notions are such as are affected with the element of in- dividual difference, and are applicable only to individual objects; the latter exclude the thought of individual difference, and are § 191. THE NOTION IN LOGIC, 531 applicable to a whole class of objects as being similar to each other in the aspect presented by the notion. A notion applica- ble to anything as being of a certain kind or class of similars, applies to that kind or genus, and to all the individuals in it, and, on this account, is called general and universal. These terms, therefore, indicate the same thing, under two closely re- lated aspects. A notion is called singular as applying only to single objects, and is called individual as being incapable of log- ical division. But, when the terms singular and individual are 60 contrasted as to divide this class of notions, the latter signi- fies conceptions considered as formed from general notions and rendered singular or individual by the action of the mind ; while the former indicates notions either derived from the immediate perception of things, or, at least, having in them no general ref- erence. In this sense, proper names, and words so used, express singular notions; while such utterances as, "This man," "These apples," would express individual conceptions. We should add that the term singular, even in its widest signification, is not ap- plied to those individual notions which are indefinite; such as, "A man," "Some apples." Singular notions ^J most logiciaus singular conceptions have been are of importance treated as scarccly belonging to the sphere of ra- Siirf doctrine re- tioual thought, or, at least, as discharging a com- S^es^'fefuted?^^' paratively unimportant function there. This is the case particularly with Sir AVm. Hamilton and those other writers who adopt Kant's theory of the origin and con- struction of our ideas. This class of thinkers incline to make all singular notions the derivatives of those which are general, say- ing that all thought, i. e., rational thought, is essentially "medi- ate and complex cognition." And, because they consider the general notion to be the necessary and essential instrument of thought, they restrict the term notion to general conceptions. Pres. McCosh avoids these mistakes when he says, " All notions are either singular or universal," and again, "Our primary knowledge is of single objects." While singular notions do not call for so much discussion as the general, their relations being simpler and more easily under- stood, they yet have a fundamental place in the economy of ra- tional life; and they are the source whence general notions obtain their content and meaning. Therefore, we must dissent from an opinion of Mr. John Stuart Mill, who says that " proper names, strictly speaking, have no signification" ("Log." chap, ii.). If signification be the powder of acting as the sign of an idea, and of the object corresponding to the idea, then proper names have more signification than any other names. This fact will be evident from the illustration employed by Mr. Mill to prove the contrary. He says that the chalk-mark made upon the house by the captain of the famous forty thieves, so that he and they might know the place again, did not declare anything about the house — it did not mean, "This is such a person's 532 THE HUMAN MIND. § 191. house," or " This is the house containing rich booty." To us it is palpably evident that the mark did declare this very thing, and was chosen by the captain as fitted for that end. In like manner, when we and others agree to use the name Socrates to designate an individual, the term signifies to each of us all that he conceives to belong to that individual. But when Morgiana defeated the designs of the robbers by marking all the neigh- boring houses in a similar way, she succeeded, not because the original mark had no signification, but because her act destroyed the signification which it had. If the mark, as originally made, had been without significance, there would have been no need for her ingenuity. Let us grant that the multiplied application of a proper name may destroy its significance; this proves that the name has significance, and that the significance lasts so long as the original understanding can be carried out, which is that only one known object be indicated by the name. The mistake of Mr. Mill, in calling a proper name " an un- meaning mark," resulted, probably, from a confusion of thought connected with his nominalism. Failing to comprehend the dis- tinction between the singular and the universal, in thought and language, he failed also to comprehend another distinction closely related to it. It is true that singular difi'er from general terms in that they cannot of themselves be the vehicles of any new knowledge. They recall what we know, but add nothing to this. Therefore, they may be said to have a recollective, and not an informative, force. But recollective is no less significant than informative language; it is even more so, and should not be compared to an unmeaning mark. The individual, as distinguished from the singular, Sn distSgSished notion, is more closely allied to the universal. Ke- mseith ^^d^finir g^^^^^g objccts as singulars, we attribute to them, orindefimte. uot merely individual difference, but also some definite characteristics which enter into that differ- ence, and belong to them only; and the emphasis of thought rests on this singular difference. But, regarding objects as indi- viduals, we neglect singular characteristics, and think of them as severally possessing some character which is common to a class of similars. Individual notions, as thus described, comprise all that are not either singular or general. With reference to their application to objects, they may be distinguished into the definite and the indefinite; the definite being those applicable only to one given individual, or set of individuals, and the in- definite those applicable to any one of a class of individuals, or to any set in a class. "The prisoner at the bar," "The prisoners in the jail," "This book," "These books," "Those ten men," are definite, individual notions. In this class of conceptions we in- clude the distributive notion, to express which a common noun in the singular number is used with the adjective each or every; as when we say, "Every man," "Each member of the family;" and, likewise, the class notion, viz., that which is expressed by § 191. THE NOTION IN LOGIC, 533 the plural of common nouns, taken in their widest possible appli- cation, for example, prisoners, hooks, meaning all prisoners,^ all books. For, in this latter conception, we think of a set of in- dividuals, and the notion is applicable only to the whole class as constituting one defined set. We do not think of the class as an ordinary whole, but as a plurality; and our notion is definite as setting forth this plurality in its entire extent. Indefinite individual notions are indicated by such terms as a prisoner, ten prisoners, some books, any books, a few books, and by nouns used with a partitive signification. In the sentence, " He sent me letters, and gave me information," the words letters and information express indefinite individual notions. For, in all such cases as we have mentioned, our words and thoughts are applied to individuals as being members of a class, yet do not in themselves refer to one individual, or set of individuals, more than to another. Some, who have been accustomed to identify the SSvidutr^d not <^l^ss conception with the general or universal, may gjerai. think it strange that the former should be spoken inaUstJ.^ of as an individual notion. But those notions, only, should'be esteemed general from which the element of individuality has been eliminated, and all those should be set down as individual which present objects in their individuality. Therefore, there is logical consistency in the nominalistic teach- ings of Mr. Mill and others, who, while denying, or ignoring, the existence of general ideas, admit the existence of the class- notion. The plausibility of modern nominalism arises chiefly from the fact that, in a frequent and important mode of thought, the class- notion, and its expression, assume the place and force of the general notion, and its expression. Nevertheless, in such cases, the power and function of the class-notion can be shown to be secondary, and derivative, and dependent upon its affinity to the general notion. This brings us to say, that, if notions should be con- or^notion^^^r^ sldeved with reference to their functions in predication sfnl^ar, Individ- ^^^^ Teosoning, OS wdl as with reference to the mode uai, indefinite, the of their application, the classification, thus resulting, unive?^"^ ^^ though uo lougcr conncctcd simply with the nature of the notions themselves, will yield a division more fruitful in logical uses than the radical distinction which we have now considered, and which recognizes only the singular and in- dividual, and the general or universal. Both the class-notion, in which we include the distributive (as also setting forth the whole class), and the indefinite individual notion, have functions in predication which separate them from the singular and ally them to the general. Therefore, instead of the division just dis- cussed, and on the complex principle already stated, we propose the following fivefold division. Fiiyt, we have the singular notion in which we consciously and directly conceive of a thing with its individual peculiarities, 534 THE HUMAN MIND. § 191. neglecting what community of character it may have with other things. This notion is expressed by proper names, or by simply pointing to objects, or by nsing descriptive language without reference to its common applicability. It may be either unital, {. e., grammatically singular, or plural. "George," "That man over there," "The friend I saw yesterday," express unital no- tions; while in the statement, "George and Henry are the friends I was with yesterday," both subject and predicate are plural. Secondly^ we have the individual notion, which, also, may be either unital or plural. In this we regard an object, or objects, as having peculiarities of their own, yet our attention dwells less on this than on the character possessed in common with a class. When we say, "This man," "These men," "George, my brother," " My brothers, William and Henry," " The town con- stable," " The town officers," intending to characterize known in- dividuals as having general marks, we use individual notions in the sense now described. This individuality is what we dis- tinguished above as definite individuality. Thirdly^ we have the indefinite notion, being that already de- scribed as the indefinite individual notion. IJsing it, we think of an individual, or set of individuals, with reference only to some general character belonging to it or them, and without any con- ception of any peculiarities by which it or they may be distin- guished from other members of the same class. Such a notion is indefinite, because it is indefinitely applied and does not men- tally separate one member from another, but only, as it were, prepares to do so. Indefinite objects, which are the objects of such conceptions, resemble general objects, in that, so far as they are indefinite, they are mere products of the mind, and without reality. For, whatever is actual is definite as well as individual. If a man resolve to give ten pennies to as many Italian beggars, in a crowd who were all unknown to him, he might be said to have in mind the indefinite object, ten beggars; but he could not give the money save to ten definite individuals. Fourthly^ we have the class-notion, and this, both in its dis- tributive, or unital, and in its collective, or plural, form — thus, " Every man," and " All men." This notion is connected with the general notion in necessitudinal predication. For, whenever, using the general notion, we can say, " Man is mortal," that is, " Is necessarily mortal," we can say also, " All men are mortal." Because these two kinds of conceptions afibrd convertible forms of predication, many have overlooked the difference between them. ^ Finally, we have the general or universal notion, which is formed by eliminating from our conception of a singular oWect all thought, not only of its peculiarities, but also even of its indeterminate, or material, individual difference. Both attribu- tive and substantal notions may be thus generalized ; both the adjective canine, and the noun dog, may express a general notion. § 191. THE NOTION IN LOGIC, 535 In technical language we reject what is individual in any notion, whether it be form, or matter, or both, and retain what is com- mon, whether it be form, or matter, or both. The scholastic doctrine, that every general object presents form only, cannot be sustained. General natures are conceived of as consisting of form, but general objects as having matter also (§ 129). Gen- eral objects are general suhsiantal forms. The general notion differs from the others of which ^^teiSld?*^*"" we have spoken m that it ceases to exist in being applied; it is, therefore, neither unital nor plural. Other notions, as such, exist by reason of their application. But, though the general notion as such, is not applied and has not even that partial or incomplete application which distinguishes the in- definite notion, it is always applicable, and that to the fullest de- gree. It is applicable to every member of a class, and to some, or any, or all, of the members. Therefore the general notion is more indefinite than even the indefinite notion. 'The latter does not indicate which individual, or set of individuals, in a class, are thought of, or to be thought of, in the further application of it; but the former, of itself, does not indicate even whether it is to be applied to one individual, or to several, or to all, in some class of similars. General conceptions are applicable to individ- uals in every possible way, but how they should be applied in any particular instance, is to be determined from the nature of the case, and not from the notion itself In the sentence, " By man sin entered into the world," the notion man can be applied to one individual only; being applied, it loses its generality and enters into the individual notion, "The man Adam." When we Bay, " Man cultivates the ground," the notion iinan is applicable only to a portion of the human race; thus applied, it produces the indefinite notion, "Some men," or "Many men." In like manner, the statement, that "The German prospers in America," when mentally applied, produces an indefinite notion; for we mean that 7m)st Germans do so. And the predication, "Man is mortal," which asserts a necessary attribute or adjunct of man as man, is applicable to the whole race; being applied, it results in the class notions, "Every man," "All men." Thus the general notion is an applicable, but not an applied, notion. When applied, it ceases to be general, just as fuel, when burned, ceases to be fuel. Moreover, this notion is called universal, or general, not be- cause it is applicable only to the whole class, but merely because this applicability is a very prominent characteristic of it. If the term universol were to be given to that notion to which it is most immediately related, it should be transferred to the class- notion. This, however, would conflict with an established usage. The terms tnde> '^^® *^^*"^ indefinite, in this discussion, has the nite «a(\ indetermi- meaning which attaches to it when we speak, in Botedistinguisiied. gj^ammar, of the indefinite article, and, in logic, of an indefinite proposition. Sometimes the word signifies in- 536 THE HUMAN MIND. § 192, determinate, not as to application, but as to meaning or essential signification ; a notion being indeterminate as to meaning when it is not sufficiently specific for the purposes of the inquiry in which it is employed. If it were alleged, or could be shown, that certain sheep were killed by quadrupeds, this conception of quadrupeds would be indeterminate, if the important question were whether the killing was done by dogs or by wolves. Every general conception is indeterminate in comparison with those more specific; and notions formed from general notions may be indeterminate in their meaning while they are determinate — that is, definite — in their application. The notion "All men" applies definitely to the whole class, but is indeterminate in com- parison with the conception of any particular class of men. When the terms indefinite and indeterminate are contrasted, in relation to conceptions, the former should refer to the application or ex- tent, and the latter to the meaning or content, of the notion. The idea "That man" is definite, while the idea "An Asiatic", is indefinite; but the latter notion is more determinate than the former. § 192. That fivefold division, which has now been explained and recommended, is founded on certain relations of notions to their objects without reference to the nature of the objects. For every conception sets forth its object either in the general, or as a class, or as indefinitely considered, or as an individual pos- sessing peculiarities yet marked by some common character, or as a singular object, that is, as an individual possessing pecu- liarities of its own and viewed without reference to its participa- tion in class characteristics. The five predica- ^^other divisiou has reference to certain general bies of Aristotle relations which arise between notions as setting unsatiJfactOTy as forth the nature of their objects. We refer to that conTerSlif'*^JSe ^^^^^ ^^ *^^ ^^'^ " prcdicablcs " of Aristotle and matter of predi- Porphyry. For the logical distinction of tilings iuto ^ °"* genera, species, differences, properties, and accidents is but the objective expression of the division of our notions into the generic, the specific, the differential, the proprietal, and the accidental. It pertains to things considered, not in themselves merely, but as connected with our modes of viewing them as having related natures. In other words, this division sets forth mutual relationships of notions as indicative of natures mutually related. A generic, as distinguished from a general, notion, sets forth the common character of a class within which other classes are contained. A specific notion gives the character of objects as belonging to some particular one of the included classes. The differential notion presents the difference by the addition of which to tho generic thing the specific thing is constituted. The pro- prietal notion, that is, the idea of a property, sets forth that which is necessarily connected with the nature of a thing, without being included in it. And the accidental notion represents what is only contingently connected with a thing or its nature. These § 192. THE NOTION IN LOGIC, 537 terms and definitions are those of Porphyry, but are essentially also those of Aristotle, although the latter sometimes mentions definition as being equivalent to species, and omits difierence as being convertible with genus ("Topics," bk. i. 4-5). This list of notions was called the predicables, because it was held that predication consists essentially in asserting that one thing, when said of another, is either a genus, or the specific difier ence, or the whole species or essence, or a property, or an accident, and that, therefore, this division sets forth predicate notions in their fundamental relations to subject notions; a doctrine which is to he found in most systems of logic, both ancient and modern. It may be admitted that every proposition which does not im- mediately employ one of these predicables can be made the basis of one which does: but we cannot allow that the mind always or necessarily makes use of some one of these modes of predica- tive conception ; nor is it true that the force of a proposition in . reasoning requires that its predicate should be conceived in one or other of these modes. Plainly, mere existential propositions, which have no predi- cates, do not 'conform to the predicables. As for predications proper, it is evident that whatever exists in a relation to a sub ject must be either included in the subject, or be the whole of it or be connected with it either necessarily or accidentally. Is then one of these things an element — and the essential ele- ment — in our thought, whenever we say something about some- thing? So far from answering this question affirmatively, we believe that most assertions, positive and negative, have no ref- erence to these thoughts at all. When we say, "Garfield is presi- dent — is wise and good — has been shot by an assassin," we have no intention of describing a part or the whole of the nature of the man, or of saying that certain things are necessarily or acci- dentally related to it. We simply set forth certain predicate facts in their own nature and their own specific relations to the subject. The first of these statements concerning Garfield has a substantive, the second, an attributive, and the third, an adjunc- tive, predicate; yet even these forms of conception and of lan- guage are not felt by the mind to be the essential elements of its thought ; they are only, as it were, the shapes which our thought naturally and necessarily assumes. If, then, these modes of con- ception, which are always employed, are not the essential or vital part of thought, much less can those be which are not em- ployed always. For, even as setting forth the non-essential forms of predicable conceptions, the threefold classification, which has just been illustrated, has more claims on our regard than the five- fold division of Aristotle. Every predication agrees immediately with some one of the three forms; even those various modes of conception which the " predicables " express, in some cases with equivocation or ambiguity, always conform to one or other of the three. Strictly and properly, generic, specific, and difieren- tial, are attributive ; proprietal and accidental, adjunctive, notiona THE HUMAN MIND, § 192. But the mind can vary its modes of conception and assertion, so that sometimes these predicables take the form of substantive notions; as when genus and species are expressed by saying, " Man is an animal — the rational animal," the attributive being displaced by the substantive conception. Sometimes, too, the predicables are understood to assign the subject to a class, as when we think or say, " He is one of the wise and prudent," in which case every predicate is relational and adjunctive. This ancient doctrine of the predicables, however viewed, is unsatisfactory and misleading with reference to its professed end, that is, the explanation of the nature and forms of predica- tion ; it has been a stumbling-block in logical science. The predicables Nevertheless, though unfit to illustrate predication useful in defini- in general, this classification is not without value, and g^neraUy^^Si For it exhibits the use of propositions wlien the. Bpectfng^naturesf" ^^^^^^ ?/ ohjects IS made the subject of our investiga- tions^ and it is especially hdpful in regard to those two important kinds of predication which we call definition and division. Predicate objects, so far as they are related to the nature or constitution of anything, are rightly distinguished into the internal or essential, and the external or non-essential; and these, again, being sub-divided according to their relations to the essence, produce the five predicables. Therefore, in phil- osophical inquiries, and whenever we set ourselves to determine the nature and natural relations of any object, these predicables are to be borne in mind. In the foregoing discussion the term attribute in- ^opoSLsTgen- dicates those parts which belong to the metaphys- eal term induct ical wholc as such (§ 122), and which, from being adjunct? ^ ® *" frequently used to distinguish the kind of thing a thing may be, are also called its qualities {TtoiorrjrEi). This is the ordinary meaning of the word as connected with the idea of the substantum, or logical substance, and whenever "substance and attribute" are contrasted with one another. Sometimes, however, attribute signifies any predicate object other than a substantum; in this s^nse, it includes adjuncts, as well as attributes strictly so called. Thus, the term, having become ambiguous, is opposed, sometimes to substance, and sometimes to the subject of predication. It is important that both these sig- nifications should find expression, and equally important that they should not be confounded with one another. Might we not, then, confine the term attribute to qualities, or metaphysical parts, and employ some other term for that comprehensive class of predicate objects which are not substantal? Perhaps, till some better word be found, attributes and adjuncts may be classed together as the non-substantal, or ascriptional, inherents of any subject; and attributive and adjunctive might be distin- guished from substantive, predicatives, under the term ascrip- live. For, whether we say, "The crow is black," or "The crow flies," in either case we ascribe something to the crow. Then, § 193. THE NOTION IN LOGIC. 53^ also, the non-substantal predicate-object, would be — not an at- tribute — but an ascript, or an ascriptum; since even strange and uncouth language is to be preferred to that which is ambigu- ous and confusing. ^ , , , , S 193. Beside the distinctions between conceptions, Absolute and rela- ^ , . , , , t t , i ^ tive conceptions which havc uow been discussea, none otners are explained. ^^ fundamental in reference to the operations of the reason. Two, however, may be mentioned, which have some importance in the intrepretation of thought and language; and, first, let us notice that between absolute and relative concep- tions. This arises from the fact that sometimes the principal part of our notion of an object is that it is related to some other object. As a relation may be viewed in connection with either relatura, these notions generally go in pairs. Father and son, majority and minority, superior and inferior, are relative names, and express relative notions. The object of these conceptions is a metaphysical whole constituted by adding a relationship to some lesser metaphysical whole. Thu^ father and son are consti- tuted by adding a relational qualification to human being. Even this is not sufficient, unless the relation be the emphatic element in thought and attention. The notions farmer, lawyer, preacher, though indicative of relations, are not called relative, because they present rather the occupations of men than the rela- tions which these occupations involve. Relata — or the ob- jects of relative notions — do not have a common part, but only each a part in a common relation. For every relation is composed of two relationships. When one thing is included in another, tliere is but one relation between them ; but the rela- tionship of the included is diff'erent from that of the inclusive. Since nothing can be related without a correlate, it is often said that correlatives involve the existence of one another. This may be accepted, subject to the following limitations. First, it depends on the nature of the relation whether correlatives must exist contemporaneously or not. An efi'ect involves the existence of a cause, yet exists subsequently to the cause; and a son re- mains a son even after his father has died. And, secondly, rela- tions which may be said to exist between an ideal and a real object, do not really exist, and do not involve the existence of two correlatives. The real correlate of an ideal relation does not involve the reality of its correlative. Strictly speaking, it is not a real correlate, but only a real object. The relation of simi- larity does not really exist between a mermaid and a woman : accordingly, we cannot infer that mermaids exist, because wo- men do. These remarks apply to correlatives that are impossible, or merely possible; for these are a kind of ideal objects. There- fore, also, the relation between two contradictory objects not being a real and existing relation, we cannot infer that the one contradictory must exist because the other does. Such an object is an ideal construction combined with a judgment as to its non- existence and impossibility. It is used to set forth a fact of 540 THE HUMAN MIND. § 193. non-existence in the relation of incompatibility with a fact of existence. So far as there is any real relation, it exists only between these facts, and not between objects. Finally, let us disting-uish positive from negative tiv?*^Toncep?S notions. As this distinction is founded on simple Uivativ^'iiotions diversity, which is the most universal of all rela- tions, it might be regarded as a species of the dis- tinction just mentioned. By relation^ however, we ordinarily mean something of less extensive application than mere diver- sity, and which also is based on diversity as one of its condi- tions. This relation is mere otherness, and is recognized when- ever we distinguish one thing from another. Since the universe might be divided into any one thing, or set of things, and all things else, numberless divisions might be made in this way, each of which could claim its own pair of positive and negative conceptions. Let man be whatever has a certain nature; then "not-man" would apply to whatever has not that nature. As a matter of fact, however, we are seldom called to distinguish a thing from all other things, but only from others of some class to which it belongs. Therefore, when we speak of the guilty and the not-guilty, the wise and the unwise, the known and the unknown, the competent and the incompe- tent, the valuable and the valueless, or in any other way contrast objects as having, and as not having, some quality, we confine our thought to that class of objects in which the existence or non-existence of that quality may be matter of serious inquiry. In this way the negative notion acquires the positive force of expressing what might be, but is not. Moreover, the non-exist- ence of important qualities is sometimes attended by the existence of other and opposite qualities, from which cause many negative words receive yet further significance. Such terms as inconvenient^ unpleasant^ unhappy., uneasy., may illustrate this remark. Sometimes, too, words, which express negative thought, indi- cate the absence, not merely of attributes which may, or may not, belong to some class of beings, but of attributes which belong to them naturally and for the most part. Terms with this shade of meaning are said to be privative, and to express privative notions. The adjectives blind., dumb, deaf., are of this character: and so are the expressions, "A truncated cone," "A headless statue." A privative notion deprives a thing of some part or at- tribute which would otherwise belono: to it. § 194 LOGICAL DEFINITION. 541 CHAPTER XLI. LOGICAL DEFINITION. § 194. The terms definition and division are applied An ambiguity. either to two kinds of propositions which reason forms and uses, or to the operations of reason in forming them. Process and product, however, are so intimately related in mental phenomena, that the same discussion exhibits the nature of both. In the present case, as in the philosophy of reason generally, our investigations will be best conducted if we make products the objects of our more immediate consideration, and study operations as they are connected with the products. For the correctness and value of the operation may be best de- termined from the correctness and value of its result. ^ ^ .,. ^ ^. Both definitions and divisions may be regarded as Definitions and di- .^ ._ . , , ^ ^ ,. '' . .^ rp, visions are identi- identincativc (or substantal) propositions. Ino fion'L^ iilTit'. former identify an object considered Avithout an- guished from alvsis of parts or relations, with itself considered other such propo- .-,■,■ \ ,. ^ i • mi - i i • i ^-x* sitions by reason m the light ot such analysis, ihe latter identity ot their use. ^ class of similars \vith the subordinate or specific classes of which it is composed. But these acts differ from or- dinary proportions in that they deal with things, not as actually existing, but only as conceived of by us. Their proper object is to explain and distinguish our conceptions. Whenever they do more than this, they cease to be simply definitions and divisions. They do not properlj^ make any objective assertion, but merely suppose things to exivst, and then tell us what they are and into what kinds they may be divided. We define a mermaid jast as we do a Feejee maiden, and classify the inhabitants of Olympus as we do the men of Athens. Other propositions are mainly employed to present facts, and, even in imaginative statements, are not used in explication of conceptions, but have an essenti- ally objective significance. This explicative force of definitions and divisions is the chief ground of their separation from other propositions. Being used to render our ideas clear and definite, they perform this office for the subjects and predicates of propositions, and so render the propositions themselves definite. In this way, by reason of their use, they become contrasted with propositions. Some say that definitions pertain to words, and prlSTtoWeS" show their meaning; others, that they pertain to ideas, and show their content; and others, that they pertain to things, and show their nature. Definitions are related to words and things, but their essential and proper con- nection is with ideas. The meaning of a word is simply the idea expressed by it, and the definition of a word can only be the ex- 542 THE HUMAN MIND. § 194. plication of this idea. In like manner, things are defined only by analyzing the conception we have of them. We do nothing whatever to the thing itself; indeed the thing may be only a figurative object, without any real existence. The assertion that we define ihhigs means only that definitional thought has an objective reference (§ 30), even while it may be devoid of ob- jf^ctive assertion. We hold that definition primarily pertains to notions, and is intended to assist us in the comprehension and use of them. The need of such aid is very evident. Often one's notions, be- ing confused and vacillating, must be rendered clear and fixed by definitions; and yet oftener, definition is needed so that our thought and that of others may correspond. Half the contro- versies in the woild might be avoided, if parties could agree as to the definition, or meaning, of the terms which they employ. If definitions render our notions fixed and distinct, either^ a?lsf?ntiS the qucstion ariscs whether all our notions can be defi^tion!^^*^^^*^ defined, or only some particular class of them. Those logicians who know of general notions only, teach that these only can be defined; and this view is conveyed in the scholastic doctrine that all definition consists in giving genus and specific difference. For every species, as composed of genus and difference, is an universal or general object. It may be allowed that definitions, for the most part, directly concern general conceptions; but it is not true th^t they pertain to these only. On the contrary, singular conceptions may have definitions of their own; while individual notions may partici- pate fully in those definitions which apply to general notions. When we enumerate the peculiarities of some singular object, or attribute to it some singular difference, as when one miglEit say, " Edward is my eldest son," this is a process of precisely the same nature as the definition of a general notion, though the diff*er- ence, "My eldest son," and any other peculiarities thought of, could belong only to the one individual. Moreover, those defi- nite individual notions, to which we have specially given the name individual — such as, "This man," "These words," — and those indefinite individual notions which we have designated indefinite — such as, "A man," "Some words," — plainly receive the definition of the general notion from which they are derived. There is an apparent absurdity in saying that definite notions may be defined, or made definite (since they are definite already), and yet more in saying that indefinite notions as such admit of definition (since this would destroy their indefiniteness) ; but these difficulties result from an ambiguous use of words. The term definite^ as here used, first signifies definitely applied^ which is its common meaning, and then definitely — i. e., distinctly — con- ceived, which is the meaning suggested by the word definition. So far, therefore, from being applicable only to general notions, definitions apply to all notions whatever; and one principal end § 194 LOGICAL DEFINITION. 543 of the definition of general notions is, to render defined our con- ceptions of individual and singular objects. The doctrine is also to be met with, that no notion d?flnitionf^g?ett is capable of definition which is incapable of ana- importance in lygig . ^nd this statement may be partially accepted, philosophy. '^ 1 • , -^1 i . xu -^ X I • J as being true with respect to the most common kind of definition. But definitions may be effected in two ways. We may either analyze the thing conceived of, and enumerate its constituent parts, or we may distinguish the object from all others by means of one or more of its peculiar relations. A defi- nition which presents a thing — or metaphysical whole — as ana- lyzed, is called an essential definition, because it directly sets forth the essence or nature of the thing; while that which shows what a thing is, by mentioning its peculiar relations, is an acci- dental definition. In this case, the word accident signifies what- ever falls into union, or connection, with the essence, and includes properties, as well as accidents, in the narrower sense. "The dia- mond is a brilliant stone, formed by the crystallization of carbon," and "The diamond is the most costly of gems," may serve as illustra- tions of the two modes of definition. The accidental definition is adapted for all things that are well known, yet, at the same time, either so peculiar or so simple that their analytic portrayal is diffi- cult or impossible. The accidental definition has received compar- atively little attention from logicians, but is of great value, both in philosophy and in common life. The thorough thinker will make frequent use of it, and will avoid the error of those, who assert that such and such a thing is incapable of definition, and there rest content; when they should say that it is incapable of essential or analytical definition, and thereupon define it by its accidents. A definition may be partly essential and partly accidental. When we say, "A camel is an oriental beast of burden," the term hea^st expresses an essential part of the camel, but the rest of the description does not belong to the very nature of the ani- mal. Statements of this kind are often of equal value with analytical definitions; but for the explication of notions and natures, which is the primary purpose of definition, they are inferior; and may be classed with the accidental definition. A proposition, which employs the accidents of a thing to indicate its nature, imposes an equal burden of thought and decision upon the mind, whether it be composed entirely, or only in part, of accidental notions. Besides, it is sometimes difficult to say whether a definition be essential or accidental. The mind can enlarge its conception of a thing, or metaphysical whole, so as to include some adjunct, which thereupon ceases to be an adjunct and becomes an attri- bute; after which the mention of it becomes part of the essential definition. Hence, the same term, in different connections, has meanings differing in their degree of comprehension, and calls for more than one definition. Thus, the word action may signify either a mere exercise of power, or an exercise of power which 644 THE HUMAN MIND. ' § 195. produces a certain result, or an exercise of power whicli produces a given result and is intended to do so, or an exercise of power which not only produces the result and is intended so to do, but which also proceeds from a certain animus or motive. Falling, striking, taking, stealing, are all actions, but each in a some- what different sense; what is essential to one of these actions, according to its kind, is accidental to another. Whether a thing be a part of a given whole or not, depends on the question whether the mind", to serve the ends of its thinking, has included the one thing within the other. § 195. For the ordinary uses of rational thought the §tiSf d'efiitS essential definition is of more importance than the are either schoias- accidental ; it also stands in greater need of that Uc or notationaL . ' , . , . i i • i r- ^ assistance which is to be derived irom an under- standing of its modes and relations. Our discussion must refer chiefly to this kind of definition. With reference to it, we dis- tinguish the. scholastic, from the merely notationcd, mode of state- ment. The latter of these enumerates, one after another, those essential marks, or characteristics, which constitute the nature to which the defined conception corresponds. But the former divides the nature into two parts, each comprising, it may be, many characteristics, and regards the one as generic, and the other as differential. The notational is less artificial than the scholastic, method, but is fully competent for the proper purposes of definition. On the other hand, the scholastic has the advan- tage of compactness, and of using comparison and classification as instruments, and is preferable provided only genus and differ- ence be themselves sufficiently defined. Another distinction, which pertains especially to kSvlf^^^ °' ^^' essential statements, divides definitions into the exhaustive and the selective. Sometimes, in describ- ing an object, we give every element which enters into our con- ception of its constitution. When we say, "A circle is a line on a plane surface, which returns into itself, and every part of which is equally distant from a fixed point," or "A square is a plane quadrilateral whose sides are straight and equal to one another and whose angles are right angles," we may be said, in either case, to give our whole conception. Generally, however, we do not give our whole conception, but only some leading character- istics, by which that conception, and the nature which it sets forth, may be distinguished from every other conception and nature. When we say, '* Man is a rational animal," we do not express all even of our ordinary conception of man. For, as an animal, he has a certain shape, and size, and certain modes of action, and, as a spiritual being, he is not merely rational, but is also endowed with afiections and motivities, engaged in a variety of pursuits, and related to other beings than himself. Indeed, one's ordinary idea of man is that of a being similar to himself in many notable particulars. The foregoing definition, instead of enumerating these, chooses two of the most important § 195. LOGICAL DEFINITION. 545 as sufficiently indicative of the object to be defined. For, whether one may, or may not, include "two-legged," or "social," in his ordinary conception of a human being, he must, at least, regard man as a rational animal. This selective definition es- pecially pertains to all substances — that is, rmiaphysical substances — whether material or spiritual. For a substance has many qualities and relations, some of which may be known to us and some unknown, some included in our idea of it, and some re- garded as adjuncts only. Hence, difierent persons may enter- tain correct conceptions of the same substance, while yet these conceptions may be constructed somewhat difi'erently. Ordi- narily, the ends of rational thought are sufficiently secured, pro- vided only the conceptions of men in respect to any kind of substance, agree in regard to the more prominent of its known characteristics. Then we not only think of the same object, but also, to a great extent, regard it in the same light. Of course, when things are practically related, the prominence of the characteristic very frequently arises from its importance. No one would conceive of man as the naked biped, when he can be conceived of as the rational animal. Therefore, in the con- struction of definitions, we should select, not merely distin- guishing, but important qualities. Yet there may be a choice even of such qualities; and so there may sometimes be more than one correct definition. Coal might be described as a black, stone-like substance used for fuel, or as a mineral composed mostly of carbon and obtained from stratified deposits; either definition would be sufficiently correct. We are thus brought to another distinction ; defi- tquate*^ °' ^*^' nitions may be either adequate or inadequate. They are adequate when they fully serve the ends of definition ; inadequate when they fail to do so. Every exhaus- tive definition is adequate. A selective definition may be in- adequate, either by failing to distinguish its object, or by giving insignificant characteristics. The definition, "Oxygen is an inflammable gas," is inadequate, and, in fact, is no definition at all, because other gases are inflammable; while the definition, "Man is the naked biped," is inadequate, not because we could not distinguish man thereby (for no other biped is without natural covering) ; but because the marks given are "unessen- tial " in the sense of being unimportant. Though distinctive, they do not sufficiently characterize. But a certain cause may render a definition adequate, which otherwise would be inadequate, and even essential, when it would otherwise be accidental. This is the determination of the mind to view a set of objects only in a given light, or only 80 far as they have a certain general nature with its modifica- tions. Hence, we have definitions which may be termed techni- cal, and which may be opposed to those which are unspedalized or ordinary. " Man is the two-handed mammal," " Common salt is the chloride of sodium," are adequate and essential definitions 546 THE HUMAN MIND. § 195. in the sciences of natural history and chemistry; but they would not be adequate with reference to our ordinary conceptions. The attributes given in the first definition have no prominence in ordinary thought; while those mentioned in the second are not ordinarily known or considered at all. Technical definitions are adequate because they set forth the important attributes of the object regarded simply as having a given nature; but if the object be viewed without that special limitation, these attributes are no longer the important ones, and even may not be recog- nized as attributes at all. We now come to a distinction which applies to wlTteiy quoted."^ every kind of definition, yet which cannot be said so properly to exist between definitions, as beticeen definitions simply as such, and definitions as having a force additional to their oion. This distinction, which divides definitions into the nominal and the real, has greatly perplexed logicians; because it is connected with that radical difference between thought and belief, which logicians have never accurately apprehended. Archbishop Whately says, "Definitions have been divided into the nomiiial, which explains merely the meaning of the term defined, and real, which explains the nature of the thing signified by the term." Then, as might be expected, he finds no difficulty in showing that this is no true distinction ; since there is no true difference between the explanation of the meaning of the term, and the explanation of the nature of the thing. Thereupon, he expresses the opinion that " any definition, which explains more of the nature of the thing than is implied in the name, may be regarded, strictly speaking, as so far a 7'eal definition." But he adds that such definitions should more properly be called de- scriptions, and that logic is concerned only with the nominal defi- nition. These statements of the archbishop are by no means satisfactory. A real definition does not involve any additional attribution of characteristics; and the distinction between the real and the nominal definition is of great importance in logic. The distinction is that the nominal definition is simply explana- tory of the notion, and, therefore, of the meaning of the term and of the nature of the thing, and is without any force of realistic assertion; but the real definition, in addition to this essential func- tion, implies the actvxxl existence of objects to which it is applicable. The distinction might be expressed in better terms, should we say that some definitions are merely explanatory while others are also assertory. The statements, "A harpy is a winged monster, with the face of a woman and the body of a vulture," " A dragon is a serpent breathing flame," can be taken only to explicate concep- tions; but when we say, "Saltpetre is the nitrate of potash," or "A common triangle is a plane figure bounded by three straight sides," our thought implies that the things described really do, or may, exist. Since definitions, ordinarily, are intended to apply to real objects, it is plain that most definitions have this assertive force; yet, so far as they have it, their character is not that peou- § 196. LOGICAL DEFINITION. 547 liar to definitions, but that which belongs to predications in gen- eral ; they are, in fact, not merely definitions, but postulates. For the purposes of logical illustration there is no absolute necessity for real definitions, but only for some that are assumed, or sup- posed, to be real; but when definitions are employed in the groundwork of any science, they must be real and describe real classes of things. Therefore, also, when definitions are rightly used as the sources of argument in geometrical and other reason- ing, we do not build on mere explanations of our own notions, but on that knowledge of realities which these notions are em- ployed to express. Moreover, when definitions are made at the beginning of any discussion, they are laid down as the correct representations of real objects; and a definition which should inadequately express the conception of an object, would be in- adequate to describe the reality. Hence, the adequacy and the inadequacy of definitions may refer to their competency as repre- teentations of fact ; and, in this way, these terms have a secondary eignitication. In what sense do § ^^^- ^^ ^^ ^^ ^® allowed that the importance of definitions present most definitions dcpcuds on their having not merely toe^^jssence of ^j^^-^ ^^^^ pccuHar fuuctiou, but that also of propo- The term essmct gitious in general; in other words, they are not merely explicative of notions, but assertive of fact — they are real and not merely nominal definitions. Such being the case, we may usefully close the present discussion, by con- sidering, in what sense^ and Jiotv far, definitions can he the true representations of things. The orthodox doctrine on this subject, and the metaphysical difficulties attendant upon it, are brought before us in the statement that a real definition, when correct, truly sets forth the essence of a thing. Let us seek the proper meaning of this expression, the essence of a thing. The term essence, or essentia, is said to have been first used by Cicero. It is nearly equivalent, in philosophy, to the term nature, in that sense which the latter has when we speak of the nature of a thing. But under the term nature attributes are considered more as characterizing, and under the term essence more as constituting. Essence, also, in philosophy, is nearly the same as form, and may be said to be the same thing viewed in a difi'erent light. The form is the constitution of a thing considered as making it a thing distinct in itself and distin- guishable from other things. An essence is the constitution of a thing simply as constituting it. The relation of identity gov- erns the conception of essence ; that of difierence the conception of form. Essence has been defined as that "by which a thing is what it is," or "which makes a thing to be what it is;" by which we are not to understand that the essence causes or pro- duces the thing, but only that it is the constitution or make-up of the thing. The language is figurative, and is derived from the fact that the mind makes or forms the idea of a thing, by putting together the ideas of its difi'erent attributal parts. The 548 THE HUMAN MINP. § 196. essence is the whole collection of such parts. Yet not absolutely the whole; in a more searching sense, the attributes of a thing taken collectively, its essence, or form, or nature, may be either the whole thing, or only a part of it. The ideas expressed by these terms are what logicians have called notions of second in- tention, and set forth things, not simply in their own nature, but also with a reference to the operations of the mind in view- ing them. The essence, or form, or nature, is the constitution of an object considered, not simply as a whole, but as a whole composed of distinctly conceived, or conceivable, parts. As genus presents a nature thought of not only in itself, but also in its relation to other subordinate natures, and can be conceived of only by a secondary direction or intention of our thoughts; — which intention varies according to the diverse grounds and methods of our classification; — so essence implies that we not only know a thing, but that we know it analytically, or, at the least, may do so. Even though one be familiar with an ob- ject, he does not know its essence if he do not have a distinct conception of its constitution. Such being the case, although the essence or form be the whole constitution, this must be taken with the qualification that it is the whole constitution only so far as this may he distinctly conceived. For this, indeed, is the only constitution to which our consideration extends. If, there- fore, one should have a perfect analytical conception of any individual thing, the essence of that thing as conceived of by him would be identical with the whole thing; but, if the con- ception did not include absolutely the whole constitution, the essence would be only the whole constitution conceived of,, and would be a part of the absolute whole. In that case, whatever in the object might not be included in the distinct conception, would, in respect to that conception, be unessential, informal, or material. Moreover, our conceptions being supposed to be adequate and correct, the essential is commonly held to include what should be j)art of our conception of a thing under a given light, whether it is or not. Considering Caesar simply as a man, whatever is comprised in manhood is essential to him, in that light; but all other particulars are unessential. Metaphys- ically speaking, they are merely matter. Certain logical appli- cations of the terms matter and material have given them a different and almost opposite signification from that in which we have just used them; we now speak of their original philo- sophical meaning. The name essence is the literal equivalent of the English word being, and, evidently, was suggested by the employment of the verb to he in predication. For, although that express form of predication in which this verb appears, is not used exclusively in definitions, or in giving the attributes of a thing, these are its most prominent uses. The definition, " Hominem esse animal rationale," may be regarded as the fullest and strongest of those predications in which the "substantive verb" is employed. It § 196. LOGICAL DEFINITION. 649 should be noticed that essence, like entity, indicates, not attribu- tive existence, but that of which existence may be predicated. 1 ortai ^^*' ^^® ^^"^ ^^*® iliree different meanings, or appli- a^r'Siguifr esl cations, of this term, in each of which the radical TiSf^isence of a signification is retained and modified. First of all, thing is that which there is the qeneral nature or essence. This was nat- makes It to be what n ,i ^ • • v a.\ J T'U it is. so lar as con- uvally the primary meaning oi ttie word, ine ceivedofbyus. ^^.^^ Q^ovts of philosopliy werc employed upon the generalizations which are formed in ordinary thought, and sought to understand and define the nature of those objects which these generalizations present. The ancient thinkers, unable to explain correctly the objective character of general notions, imagined act- ual entities, which they called universals, to correspond with them ; and ascribed to these universals real general essences. Individ- ual things were supposed to derive their nature from the gener- ative and multiplicative power of such essences. Hence, the idea of essence, as applied to these creatures of the imagination, be- came contrasted with the notion of an individual nature; and the term essence was applied to the general nature only. Such, too, was the influence of usage, that, even after Platonic realism had been pretty well discarded, philosophers still taught that an essence could not belong to an individual. Even Locke says, " There is nothing essential to individuals." Such a limitation is unreason- able. If essence be that constitution whereby a thing is what it is, then an individual essence may be the constitution of an indi- vidual, just as a general essence is the constitution of an universal. We next notice a kind of essence which never, so far as we are aware, has received any express designation ; but which may have been in Mr. Locke's mind when he spoke of " sortol " names. He does not, however, in any way, distinguish sortal, from gen- eral, names and essences. By the sortol essence we mean the na- ture of an individual object so far as it may correspond to one of those general essences already mentioned. Such sortal essences are individual, and may actually exist. Should we think, either definitely or indefinitely, of some song and of the singer of it, simply as individual objects possessing characters in common with the rest of a species or sort, we might say that we are think- ing of the sortal essences existing in the song and in the singer. It may be questioned whether any other essence should be mentioned than the two preceding. But, if essence correspond to definition, and we can define singular objects as such, then we may speak of singular essences, just as we do of singular natures or forms. At least, in the present discussion, we shall speak of the singular essence, and mean by it the nature of an individual thing with all its singular characteristics, so far as these may be distinctly conceived of This essence differs from those already named in having a greater capacity of enlargement. One's con- ception of a general object or kind of thing, for example, of any species of flower, or mineral, or mechanical machine, or bodily organ, may be enlarged by the increase of one's knowledge con- 550 THE HUMAN MIND, § 196. cerning it. But this knowledge of general natures can reach a fullness beyond which we find it difficult to pass. On the con- trary, the particular elements in one's conception of any individ- ual object may either be very few, or may be very numerous. One who never visited Switzerland may think of Mont Blanc simply as the highest peak of the Alps; but one who has made the tour of "The Giant," from Chamounix to Aosta, naturally includes many particulars of shape and appearance and surround- ing relations, in his idea of the mountain. We have this range in conceiving of any individual thing whatever, whether sub- stantial or insubstantial. For our conception of a thing is formed w^hen the attention is fixed upon some individual instance of one of the fundamental forms of entity; and consists of this basis, or body, together with such adherents, be they few or many, as we may find naturally to coalesce with it. But whatever particulars are fairly included in one's idea of a thing are to him the elements of its essence. Hence, one's idea of an object at one time might comprehend more than his idea of it at another. But the expli- cation of either conception would be a definition; and, indeed, on the principle of the selective definition, even a few singular characteristics might be sufficient to define, if these were at once distinguishing and prominent. Moreover, being such, these char- acteristics are often called the essence. Inasmuch as a defi- nition is supposed to present the essence of a thing (whether general or singular), the characteristics chosen by the selective definition are often called the essence, even while they are not the entire essence. From this circumstance the word essence^ in popular use, has come to signify, not the whole nature or con- stitution, but only the most prominent or important part of it. Hence, too, certain fluid extracts are called essences. Recurring to that essence which is equivalent to form or nature, we remark, in final illustration of it, that it is related differently to the log- ical, and to the metaphysical, substance. The former, being matter, is no part of the essence ; but the latter is. In conceiv- ing of any material or spiritual substance, its substantiality nec- essarily enters into our conception of its nature. We now come to a question, the consideration of tare?^°Ver™ctiy^ which has bccu the principal aim of our discussion others truly and concerning esscuccs. It is this, "Can the nature of oniyln part. ^ ^^ tilings be truly and adequately represented by the conceptions of the mind, or is our knoivledge of es- sences to be regarded as superficial^ and pertaining only to the exter- nal appearances of things ? " To answer this query, let us divide our cognitional conceptions into two classes. In the first place, some of these set forth things the conditions or elements of ivhose ex- istence are ivhoUy known to us. Such are our conceptions of the shapes and sizes of things, so far as these can be accurately Eerceived, and of mathematical entities in general. We may e perfectly confident that the sphere seen in an apple and the parallelopipedon seen in a brick, are what we conceive them § 196. LOGICAL DEFINITION. 551 to be, and no more. To form these shapes there is need of space, and of bodies occupying space, with defined boundaries; all of which things are discernible by our senses, or in connection with them. So with many general conceptions concerning spaces, times, quantities, substances, powers, changes, actions, and the relations subsisting among these things, — conceptions which per- tain to every form of being. We see no reason to doubt that these, being generalized from our immediate perceptions, are adequate and true. And, of course, the individual conceptions corresponding to them possess the same character. But, in the second place, some of our ideas are of things the conditions of luJiose existence are not tvholly and thorouglily known to vs. Take, for instance, any simple flower. We perceive per- fectly its shape, size, color, and perfume; we can learn also the laws of its growth and reproduction, and the proper method of its culture. Yet, along with this reliable knowledge, we must confess an ignorance. We know the fact, but not the nature, of that vital force which resides in seeds and vegetables : neither can we tell how the plant which grows from one seed is small, while that produced from another seed is large, and of a totally different structure: nor can we distinguish those minute molec- ular arrangements on which colors and perfumes depend. This imperfection — or, rather, limitation — of knowledge especially af- fects our specific conceptions of material and mental substances, — for wdio can penetrate the minute and ultimate physics eithei of body or of spirit ? — but it pertains to the conceptions of all natures which are characterized by something too minute, oi too remote, or too complex, for our apprehension. The growth of vegetables, already noticed, the diversified color of the fixed stars, the changeable directions of the winds, have something in them mysterious and inexplicable. Moreover, the relations and characteristics of many singular objects are too numerous to be all regarded and conceived of. Aristotle seems to have had in view a singular nature or essence, conceived of exhaus- tively, and with absolutely all the characteristics which might be predicated of it, when he spoke of the entelecliy (tKre/lf'^fm), or completeness, of a thing. Our present knowledge falls short of grasping this entelechy (or enlarged and perfected essence) of most singular objects. If these remarks be true, they show that man's powers of cognition are limited, but not that they are imperfect, or inajie- quate for right knowledge. For, in the first place, our concep- tions, so far as they go, represent things in their true nature; and, in the second place, even the unknown elements of things are not wholly unknown. They are known to exist and to be related to those more perfectly known, and, as such, have a place in our more finished conceptions. The more occult ele- ments of a thing, therefore, should not be regarded as constitut- ing an essence by themselves, but only as fitted to occupy a subordinate place in the essences to which they belong. Mort-' 652 THE HUMAN MIND. § \m. over, so far as we can see, these occult elements derive all their importance from the effects which visibly attend the constitution which they help to produce. The molecular powers which re- sult in the density, weight, color, and malleability, of gold, are important, not in themselves, but because these manifest qual- ities render gold valuable both for use and ornament. In ad- dition to this, the constitution of articles made from gold, or wood, or any other substance whose molecular structure is in- scrutable to us, depends only in part on that structure, and quite as much on other conditions which are entirely knowable. Among these we may mention the proper use of tools, and the skill of cunning workmen. We have now illustrated the cognition of essences of '^esslnces.^ ^x^ Sufficiently to appreciate a doctrine concerning them oiST^^^ ®^^°^®' taught by Mr. Locke, and which we cannot but re- gard to be exceedingly sophistical and dangerous. According to this doctrine, no human knowledge lays hold of the real essence of things, but only of that which constitutes their superficial appearance. In the third chapter of the third book of the "Essay " (§ 15), we read, " Essence may be taken for the being of anything, whereby it is what it is. And thus the real, internal, but generally, in substances, unknown, constitution of things, whereon their discoverable qualities depend, may be called their essence. This is the proper original signification of the word Secondly, the learning and disputes of the schools, having been so much busied about genus and species, the word essence has almost lost its primary signification, and, instead of the real constitution of things, has been almost wholly applied to the artificial constitution of genus and species. Things being ranked under names, into sorts or species, only as they agree to certain abstract ideas to which we have annexed these names, the essence of each genus, or sort, comes to be noth- ing but that abstract idea, which the general, or sortal (if I may 80 call it) name, stands for. And this we shall find to be that which the word essence imports in its most familiar use. These two sorts of essences, I suppose, may not unfitly be termed, the one real, and the other nominal." This doctrine of Locke, which is allied to his theory of sub- stance (§ 126), is full of error. Had it been developed and ap- plied by him it would have gone far to destroy the value of his system of philosophy; and such, likely, would have been the course adopted by any man of less powerful judgment. As it is, we wonder that some subsequent philosopher has not made the error of Locke the basis of an imposing system of delusion. After the discussion already had, we shall not undertake any de- tailed refutation of it. We should note that Locke mentions the scholastic definition, as if that were the only kind with which he was acquainted, and, in connection therewith, speaks of the essence which it defines as artificial. But the essence of a thing, though it may be arti- §197. LOGICAL DIVISION, 553 ficially conceived and defined, according to the scholastic method, is not artificial in itself. It is precisely the same essence which is presented by the notational definition. That essence which Locke calls nominal, is as real as the other of which he speaks, and is, indeed, the true essence. But, if any essence should be distinguished from this, as more emphatically real, it would not be that occult constitution which Locke honors as the real es- sence, but that complete constitution of a singular object, which, as the correlate of distinct and exhaustive knowledge, we iden- tify with the entekcliy of Aristotle. CHAPTER XLIL LOGICAL DIVISION. § 197. That second operation of reason, whereby our notions are made clearer and more distinct, is called the Division of No- tions, and is closely allied to their definition ; for it has the same general end in view. But definition advances this end by a de- tailed examination of the elements of a thing, while division works by comparing one thing with another. ^. . . ^ A notion may be distinct in two ways, either as a Dmsion compared j-i.--iJX- i-U Ul with defiuition. wholc distinguished irom other wholes, or as a com- InddtSSsuSd plement of parts distinguished from each other. H^niftoi?*'' ^^ Definition directly produces this latter kind of dis- tinctness; division, the former. But each process aids in accomplishing the Work for which the other is specially suited. Hamilton, following Leibnitz, calls that distinctness of a notion which division promotes, its clearness; and restricts the term dis- tinct to notions whose parts are clearly discriminated, as by defini- tion. This is not a happy use of terms. For clearness is always the cause of distinctness. Either whole or part is perceived dis- tinctly, in relation to other wholes or parts, because it is seen clearly in itself We should not distinguish these qualities as if that could be distinct which is not clear, or clear which is not distinct. While distinctness, internal and external, is the immediate aim of definition and division, other ends, also, are attained. Definition, in particular, renders the statement of our knowledge exact; while division makes it perspicuous and comprehensive. Hence, also, well-made definitions and divisions promote the cor- rect formation of propositions and inferences. The usefulness of "^J^^ practical application and usefulness of logical division depends divisipu depends on the fact that all things in the o?th^Sniv™3e!^'^^ universe can be classified with reference to their SSc^'^i'' ""^ *^ similarities and differences. For aught that ap- pears, the universe might have been constituted of fewer classes than it now contains. There might have been only 554 THE HUMAN MIND. § 197. one kind of animal, one kind of vegetable, or one kind of organ- ized being, every individual of the kind being dissimilar to every other save in those respects in which the whole class were mutually similar. This would have rendered classifications few and easy. On the other hand, the universe might have been made with a far greater number of classes than it has at present, that is, with many more groups of individuals characterized by common peculiarities. Moreover, the number of genera and species intermediate between the all-comprehensive class of en- tities and those lowest classes which we divide only into indi- viduals, might have been either much greater or much less, than it actually is. Probably no universe could be constructed in which genera and species should not exist — certainly no uni- verse worthy of the name ; but there is no necessity that these should exist to that particular extent, and in that particular proportion, which are now discoverable. At the same time, it is evident that the existing state of things is well-adapted for the successful discipline and employment of a rational faculty, such as man possesses, and as may be supposed to belong to other finite creatures. From these considerations we may reasonably gather that the present universe was designed, by creative wisdom, as a field for observation and reflection, in which such faculties as ours might be fully occupied, and might satisfactorily progress in knowledge, without being overwhelmed with a multitude of diverse details. Some have accounted for the existing classes of things by what they call principles of homogeneity and heterogeneity — or of integration and differentiation. If, by such principles, we are to understand that likenesses and unlikenesses affect all things so as to place them in genera and species, and that there are causes which more or less continue to maintain this state of things, this may be admitted: but this is not an explanation of the facts to be accounted for. It is only an explicit statement of them. On the other hand, the phraseology, above quoted, may mean that the generic and specific characters which things now possess result from an universal tendency in the necessary nature of things; and that no other explanation than this is need- ful or possible. We reject this theory as contrary to reason. We admit that no universe could exist without containing some rad- ical genera, such as substances, powers, actions, changes, and re- lations. But the sortal similarities and diversities to which these relate would not be causes, but only attendant conditions of the production of the universe. For such things have no force in themselves. And, further, the specific diversities and similarities, of existing substances, causes, powers, actions, and so forth, can- not be regarded even as the conditions of a universe ; for these are not included in the necessary nature of things. In short, no cause for the existing logical structure of the universe can be discovered in the universe itself; we find ourselves compelled either to ascribe this structure to chance, which seems preposter- 1 § 197. LOGICAL DIVISIOlf. 555 ous, or to admit the existence of a creative power working with a wise design. ^. . . , The definition of loe-ical division has been found Division not an ,, ,. i-rr- i^^ \\t x. v analytic process, a matter 01 Rome dimculty. v\ e must tree our Not classification, j^^^ds fi'om auv impressioii* that a general concep- tion, when logically divided, is, in any sense, separated into parts. The divi.sion of a notion is a metonymical expression, derived from the division of the class which the notion characterizes, it signifies what might be termed the, S]f)ecialization of the notion. Yet it includes more than this; it calls for a number of special- izations, and for a co-ordination of the specific notions produced. The division of a general class into subordinate classes requires less abstraction, in thought and language, than the formation of specific notions from the general one, but it is equivalent in efi'ect to the latter process. Hence, the name proper to the one operation has been given to the other also. Logical division should be distinguished from classification. This latter ordinarily signifies the assignment of individuals to the classes to which they belong; and this is an act of judg- ment which supposes division to have taken place. But, some- times, classification means the first formation of classes by the comparison of individuals so as to perceive their similarities. Then it is, in effect, that generalization which furnishes the ma- terials for division. Sometimes, though seldom, classification has the more simple and general meaning of the formation of classes; in that case, we might say that division, in one aspect of it, is a kind of classification, but, even so, this classification would be rather the immediate result of division than the divi- sion itself. Logical division ^omc liavc defined this process as the separation defined and iiius- of a gcuus iuto its spccics, or the differentiation of a generic notion into its specific notions. But this definition must be qualified by saying that we do not, in dividing, give all the specific classes or notions into which the genus or general notion may be specialized; we only give a set of classes which are exclusive of one another, or of notions which are mutually incompatible. The essential aim of division is to pre- sent a number of things^ or kinds of things, as possessing a common nature, and as characterized severally by mutually incompatible addi- tions. And, along with this chief work, grades of subdivision are employed to indicaie the degrees of difference which exists among the objects compared. Dividing animals into Vertebrates, Artic- ulates, Mollusks, Radiates, and Protozoans, and subdividing Vertebrates into Mammals, Birds, Reptiles, and Fishes, we pre- sent five comprehensive species as having a generic agreement together with specific incompatibilities; while the subdivision of vertebrates shows that any one of the four species of this class is further removed from the nature of animals in general, or from that of an articulate or moUusk, or other general species, than from that of the vertebrates in general. Thus, division is the 656 THE HUMAN MIND. § 198. methodical presentation of a number of notions and natures in their mutual agreements and disagreements. § 198. If we have now properly described this opera- ^iondiscussecL^' tion of rcasou, it is plain that the first rule of valid mu^stb™— "^^^'^^ division is, that specific notions must be so formed (1) Exclusive, that uo two of them shall be applicable to the same (3) ExhaSSv?.' object; while a second, but less essential, rule is, tifeTe^nUes ^ ^^^ ^^^ co-ordiuatc members of each division and subdivision are to be produced by adding the same amount of difi'erence to the genus or genera to be divided. This latter rule expresses what is frequently desirable rather than always necessary, and makes it a fault if a division fail to present grades of difference when it is necessary that it should do so. But this is not always indispensable. Indeed, many useful classi- fications would be made needlessly complex, if we must always indicate the degrees of difference. This rule forbids that any of the dividing members should, in comparison with the rest, be of a generic nature. Useful divisions often neglect this. For example, we say words are monosyllables, dissyllables, trisyllables, and polysyllables. But, if the rule under discussion be applied, we must first distinguish words into those of one syllable and those of more than one; then subdivide those of more than one into those of not more than three and those of more than three; and finally, divide those of three syllables or less into the dis- syllable and the trisyllable. So we might replace the division of triangles into equilateral, isosceles, and scalene, by a division, first, into triangles which have some sides equal to each other, and those which have none mutually equal, after that subdividing the first class into those in which all three sides, and those in which two sides only, are equal to each other. Some grammat- ical classifications — those, for instance, giving the six cases of declension or the eight parts of speech, in Latin, — illustrate the point in hand. The division into six cases neglects the distinc- tion between the direct and the oblique cases; and the eight parts of speech are correctly grouped by Zumpt into nouns, verbs, and particles, the noun including substantive, pronoun, and ad- jective, the particle including adverbs, prepositions, conjunctions, and interjections, and the verb standing alone as the only one of the eight parts of speech that has a generic breadth. Here, too, we might refer to Aristotle's categories of predication. These admit of similar grouping, substance being distinguishable from all the rest. Clearly, the rule in question is imperative only wlmn tlie design of the classification is not merely to state differences, but to express degrees of difference with tJie greatest attainable exact- ness. This happens especially in those sciences, or parts of sci- ences, which employ division chiefly for the purpose of setting forth the nature of things. Another rule of logic is that division should be exhaustive; — the dividing members must be equal to the generic whole. It may, however, be beyond one's power to give all the species of § 198. LOGICAL DIVISION. 557 a genus, and, quite as frequently, it is immaterial to his purpose whether he does or not. When a genus is divided to show what kinds of things it contains, rather than how many kinds, such a division need not be exhaustive. But, when a division — which is often the case when there is no understanding to the contrary — is professedly, or by implication, the account of a whole genus, it is faulty if not complete; and this happens especially, when an enumeration is made the ground of a dis- junctive argument. We say, triangles are equilateral, isosceles, and scalene; this triangle is neither equilateral nor isosceles; therefore it is scalene — or, this triangle is not scalene ; therefore it is either equilateral or isosceles. Here the whole force of in- ference depends on the exhaustive character of the enumeration. In all such cases the division must be complete. We now come to a rule of division which logicians IS mIdToii™^ne cousidcr the most fundamental of all, and the most fmdantntum. intimately connected with the essential nature of this operation. They say that every division should refer to some one attribute or property of the genus divided, which, in this relation, they call the principle or foun- dation of this division. The first rule of Hamilton is, " Every division should be governed by som^ principle," and the last rule of Thomson is, "The division must be made according to one principle, or ground." The importance of this precept cannot be questioned; but the universality of its application may. The principle of the rule requires that the differences or modi- fications, by which the several species are distinguished, should all pertain immediately to one attribute or property of the divided genus, or, if they concern more than one, that the same composite basis or foundation of difference should be employed in the case of every specialization. When we divide man into the wise and the unwise, the basis of division is an essential characteristic of man, namely, his rationality. It is as rational that man is wise and unwise. When we say, " Man is either European, Asiatic, African, American, or Australian," the basis is a property common to the race. All men live somewhere on the earth; and this shows their differences in that respect. Each of these divisions affects man as to one characteristic, and is not immediately connected with his whole nature, or his properties in general. But, should we divide man into the savage, the barbarous, the semi-civilized, the civilized, and the enlightened, this would relate, not to one characteristic only, but to that complexity of characteristics, which makes man capable of diverse degrees of social and industrial advancement. In the foregoing divisions, the mind refers only to a part of the generic nature; and this is commonly the case with complex genera. But, should we take some simple genus, as color, and divide it into white, black, red, blue, yellow, etc., then the whole nature of the genus would be the "fundamentum divisionis," 558 * THE HUMAN MIND. § 198. to which the distinguishing differences should immediately attach. Is tliere^ noio^ any exception to this rule ? We think there is, and that we often divide a natural genus of things by reference to prominent marks of its several species, when these marks, though pertaining to different characteristics, or aspects, of the genus, are yet recognized as distinctive of the species severally. We say that there are four simple gases, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, and chlorine; and we distinguish the first as the Jife- sustaining gas, the second as the lightest of substances, the third as the most inert element, the fourth as the colored gas, adding to these peculiarities such others as we may note, without any reference to a basis of division. And, in general, chemical ele- ments are divided in this way. In a similar manner, we classify vertebrates into mammals, birds, reptiles, and fishes. Each spe- cies is marked by a system of characteristics peculiar to it, with- out reference to any common basis for distinction. Our ordinary division of quadrupeds into the elephant, rhinoceros, hippopota- mus, lion, tiger, jackal, horse, cow, dog, etc. ; and our classifica- tions of vegetables, as potatoes, parsnips, onions, cabbages ; and of flowers, as the rose, the lily, the anemone, the tulip, the hyacinth, etc., are without any one fundamentum. Division, in fact, can take place whenever a number of specific differences^ or systems of difference, are mutually repugnant, whether we refer to one principium or not. This evidently happens in many common divisions of natural things. We see a certain number of mem- bers belonging to a genus which have a set of attributes pos- sessed by no othej: members of that genus, and so we make them a species by themselves. In the same way we form another co- ordinate class, and another, and another, till the genus is divided. In short, the difference employed in each specialization may have a fundamentum of its own, if it only be incompatible with all the other differences employed. The reason, on account of which a common fundamentum has been considered necessary for correct division, is, that, if we should neglect the actual constitution and laws of the universe, and have regard only to things abstractly possible, we could not separate a genus into repellent species without adopting a com- mon fundamentum. We now distinguish the elephant as the largest of quadrupeds and the horse as a quadruped of a peculiar shape. In abstract possibility the same animal might be an ele- phant in size and a horse in shape. But when we distinguish both animals as to shape, or both as to size, then there is not even an abstract possibility of any animal belonging to both classes. It is abstractly possible that a gas having the life-supporting quality of oxygen should have the color of chlorine and the lightness of hydrogen. The rule as to the principium arose from an exclu- sive attention to what logicians have termed "Pure Logic '|; which, in some cases, they make too pure to be of any practi- cal use. § 198. LOGICAL DIVISION, 559 But, while a common fundamentum is not needed J^l n% Top^st two Statements respecting the same subject, or unite *^°'^- equivalent modifications to the extremes of a prop- osition, or combine one statement with another of a congruous nature. Gold is a metal; Gold is valuable; therefore Gold is a valuable metal: — here we combine two statements respecting the same subject. That transformation of thought, which we call tli& suhstanticdi- zation of the predicate, is another instance of this combination. For we say, Gold is a valuable thing, by uniting the propositions. Gold is a thing; and Gold is valuable. — Again, A negro is a fellow-creature; therefore A negro in suffering is a fellow-creature in suffering. — Oxygen is an element; therefore The decomposition of oxygen is the decomposition of an element. these inferences result from the addition of equivalent modifica- tions to both terms of a proposition. Finally, the union of con- gruous statements yields such inferences as the following. Industry deserves reward; and A negro is a fellow-creature ; therefore An industrious negro is a fellow-creature deserving of iBward. Any synthetic statement may be justified when it is compounded of assertions which are individually correct. Facts viewed in conjunction, are the same facts, and as worthy of our belief, as when they may be considered separately. Another application of the law of identity is spe- me^!^^*' j^'^s- cially connected with the metaphysical whole and parts, and supports what are termed analytic judg- ments. These inferences predicate of a thing only a part of its essence, and may, in this way, be distinguished from definitional substitutions and conversive statements; which are also, in a sense, analytic. As the inferences of which we now speak in- volve a special modification of the principle of identity, they might be regarded as judgments respecting a whole and its parts rather than judgments respecting identity. Yet they come under this general head because the relation of whole and parts is a particular case of identity. There is entire and absolute same- ness between a whole and all of its parts; there is partial and qualified sameness between a whole and any of its parts. When, therefore, we select some particular attributal part of something, and say, for example, " Gold is metallic," our assertion follows the principle of identity, and is, in a peculiar and special sense, a statement identical with the larger statement that " Gold is gold." It sets forth a partial identity. 606 THE HUMAN MIND. S 210. Lastly, let us notice that modification of the law SrS^y^**®^ of identity according to which inferences of subor- dination are made, and which enables us to say, All men are mortal; therefore Some men — or these men — are mortal: — No men are perfect; therefore Some men — or these men — are not perfect. Analytic inferences are true because propositions, which pred- icate an attributal part of a metaphysical whole, are included in, and partially the same with, propositions which identify the metaphysical whole with itself. Subordinative inferences are true because propositions which distributively ascribe any predicate to some portion of a class, or logical whole, are in- cluded in, and partially the same with, propositions which assert that predicate of the class universally. The inference, All men are mortal; therefore Some men are mortal, gives no new information, but only a part of that which has been given. The oR implies the some as a kind of correlative — the logical whole implies the logical part — and implies it, too, as having the same predicates. The principle of identity is not so directly and manifestly employed in the subordinative as in the analytic judg- ment; yet it is present in both. Such being the case, the doctrine of some that the " Dictum de omni et nullo " is a specific modifi- cation of the law of identity, is well founded. This formula as- sumes that whatever is true of a class universally is true of any portion of the class, and states that "whatever may be affirmed or denied of a class universally, may be asserted in like manner of anything contained in the class." This law, in itself, is just the principle of the subordinative inference, and a specific form of the principle of identity. rm,^ T^•M «* In this connection let us notice the common and Aristotle. Not the erroucous doctriue that the Dictum of Aristotle is fundamental law i.i r J i. i ' * i x* 11 * nni • of all reasoning, the lundameutal principle oi all reasoning, ihis office."**'^^ ^^ misconception arose because the dictum is the basis of a form of statement in which every infer- ence may be expressed. Every act of reasoning may be formu- lated if we first make an universal assertion, and then apply this assertion through the partial identification of some object or objects, with the class of things considered. Ordinarily, how- ever, the force of our reasonings is only incidentally connected with the dictum. In saying. All men are mortal; Hindoos are men ; therefore Hindoos are mortal, the inference does not really arise from the universality of the first statement, but from an observed necessity which admits of generalization, and, therefore, authorizes universality. "All men are mortal," only because "man must die." As a rule, universality is a secondary form of thought employed to ex- press a generalized necessity. For a general statement is not § 211. ORTHOLOGICAL DEMONSTRATION. 607 of itself universal, but indeterminate (§ 96). When we assert that Hindoos are men — or belong to the class men — our object is to show that they are like men in that nature which neces- sitates mortality: their class membership is only an accom- paniment and expression of this fact. Logicians over-estimated the office of the dictum, because they supposed that the ulti- mate form of inference was reached when it became evident that all inference can be reduced to a specific form of state- ment. We should ever seek the true source of conviction, not in what mkjld. be, under some circumstances, the real ground of belief, but in those reasons which actually originate convic- tion. The dictum has an universality as a mode of stating in ference, but in itself, and as an original ground of inference, is of comparatively limited use. Before leaving the principle of identity, we must tinctionf^^ ^^ remark that it directly concerns the identity of facts or of predications^ and not facts or predications of identity. That is, it no more concerns these than any other predications. Predications are identical when they set forth essentially the same fact or truth; they are predications of iden- tity when they set forth one thing as identical with another. *' Gold is valuable," — " Gold is a valuable," are assertions essen- tially identical, though only the latter indicates identity. " Gold is a metal," — " The rose is a flower," are assertions of identity, but they are not identical assertions. § 211. The principle of identity, which requires us to assert what we have asserted and to deny what we have denied, is employed by the mind more frequently than any other specific law of orthologic inference. For the most part this is done with easy and rapid intuition, and eludes our observation and, in a sense, our consciousness. This is not true to the same ex- tent with respect to the other two laws of inference Avhich we have mentioned; hence, though neither of them have that uni- versality of use which characterizes the principle of identity, they have much more engaged the discussions of philoso- phers. Both the law of contradiction and that of excluded tradictioa and°e5l middle are contrasted with the principle of identity, u?d to e^h'^Ll: a^d allied with each other, because, while this last enables us to infer the same from the same, the other two enable us to infer one thing from another. Moreover, both these laws refer to what are called contradictory cases or state- ments. The first asserts that, if one contradictory he true, the other is false, and that if one he false, the other is true; the second as- serts that, of tivo contradictories, one or other is false, and one or other is true. The principle of the excluded niiddle, or, better, the principle of the excluded third {principium exclusi medii vei tertii), limits our belief— and our disbelief — in a case of con- tradiction, to two propositions, asserting that one of these is false, and that one of them is true. But the principle of con- 608 THE HUMAN MIND. § 211. tradiction asserts that, whichever proposition is true, the other is false, and, whichever is false, the other is true. Two statements are the contradictories of each other when one sets forth something as existing and the other sets forth that very same something as non-existent. "A exists," and "A does not exist," are contradictories; and so are "A is B," and " A is not B." But statements are not mutually contradictory if they do not each conceive of the same thing as in the same relations. According to the law of the excluded third, one of the two propositions " A is," and " A is not," is true, and one is false. But this principle does not assert that the one is true and the other false ; it does not say whether one or both propositions may not be both true and false at the same time. It says, " It is true either that A is or that A is not ; " it does not deny that both may be true. It says, " It is false either that A is or that A is not;" it does not deny that both may be false. The law of contradiction takes up the contradictory statements at this point, and says, that, " If either contradictory be true, the other is false, and, if either be false, the other is true," and that, there- fore, only one is true and only the other false. Thecommonstate- ^^ ^^^^ foregoing bc a COrrCCt analysis of our judg- ment of these laws ments concerning contradictories, the formulas or- dinarily used to express the laws of contradiction and excluded middle, are not perfect presentations of these prin- ciples. The law of excluded middle is commonly stated thus, "A thing must either be or not be," — "A either is or is not," — "A either is, or is not, B." These expressions are ambiguous. They may mean simply^ "A thing must either be or not be," that is, " One of two contradictories must be fact," or they may mean, " A thing must either be or not be, and whichever of these is fact, the other is not fact, and, whichever is not fact, the other is fact." In other words, it may mean, " Of two contradictories, one must be true and the other false." It is only in its simple use that the maxim expresses the law of excluded middle. Em- ployed, as it commonly is, in cases of contradictory opposition, it expresses hoth laivs in combination; in which combination the law of contradiction is generally a more prominent element in our thought than the law of the excluded third. Again, the law of contradiction is given in the maxim, " It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be." This enunciation is defective. It gives only the principle of contradictory denial, and not that of contradictory assertion. It expresses one half of the law of contradiction. It states that, if an alleged fact, whether positive or negative, be fact, its contradictory is not fact; it does not state that if an alleged fact, positive or nega- tive, be not fact, its contradictory is fact. Yet this latter reason- ing as plainly employs contradictory thought for the purpose of inference as the other, and should be co-ordinated with the other, under the general law of contradiction. This positive, or assertive, phase of the law of. contradiction is presented to § 211. ORTHOLOGICAL DEMONSTRATIOlSr. 609 US more prominently than the negative, in the complex for- mula, " A thing must either be or not be," when this formula is taken in its strongest sense. For this reason some have confounded this phase with the law of excluded third, which is expressed by the same formula in its most restricted sense. But we should no more identify the law of contradictory asser- tion with that of excluded middle than the law of contradic- tory denial. The law of excluded middle, no less than the law of contradiction, has a double application. It asserts respecting two contradictories, both that one is false, and that one is true. But it does not say that if, or because, one is true, the other is false, nor that if, or because, one is false, the other is true. These are the phases of contradiction. These two laws 'I'tiough thcsc laws of excludcd third and contra. reauy foTm one dictiou are distinguishable by mctaphysical aualysis, b7erthl?nrme.^° they ucvcr operate apart in ordinary thought. We The law of contra- ncvcr, in Contrasting two contradictories, think diction. ^j^^^ ^^^ ^^ WiQm must be false without thinking that, in that case, the other must be true, or that one must be true without thinking that, in that case, the other must be false. For this reason many philosophers have included both principles in one, namely, that "of contradictories, one alone is true, and the other alone is false ; " and they have styled this tlie law of contradiction. This is the method of Aristotle ("Met." bk. in.) He does not distinguish the law of excluded middle, as later thinkers have done, but first lays down that two contradictories cannot both be true; so that, if one be asserted, the other must be denied; and then teaches that "there is a necessity either of asserting or denying " any proposition ; in other words, of accepting either it or its contradictory as true ; all of which teachings fall un- der the head of the principle of contradiction ; which Aristotle de- clares to be the " most firm of all first principles." For the pur- poses of logical praxis there is no need to separate the principles of excluded middle and contradiction; and, in our further discus- sion, we shall regard them as in combination, and as constitut ing the one complete law of contradiction, or of disjunctive inference. T- dcnics the sanfie predicate of another subject There- Ked^uctiSnfrSm ^P^^» *'^ ^^^ couclusion, onc subJcct is rnade a predi- the general to the cat€ and is denied of the other. In the mood Cesare, particular. ^^ ^^^^ Nothing material has free will; (This denies free will of everything material,) All spirits have free will ; therefore No spirit is material. Or, transposing the premises, we produce the mood Camestres, and obtain the converse conclusion, Nothing material is a spirit. Again, in Festino, we say. No vice is praiseworthy; Some actions are praiseworthy; therefore Some actions are not vices. We could, in the same way, obtain a converse conclusion from the premises of this argument; we could deny vices of some ac- tions, that is, of as many actions as are praiseworthy. We can- not, however, say, simply. Some vices are not actions; this would mean "not any actions"; and, as only this latter kind of negation is useful and enters into ordinary thought, we con- fine ourselves to the one conclusion, Some actions are not vices. 632 THE HUMAN MIND. § 217. The law governing the form of such reasoning is plain. It is the orthological principle that, when one thing is identical with,^ and another diverse from, a third, the first and second are di-' verse from each other. In the scholastic syllogism this princi- ple is not applied to single things, but to classes, and is modified by reason of this circumstance. With reference to this use, it may be expressed specifically by saying, "When a first class is identical with, and a second diverse from, a third, the first and second are diverse from each other"; to which we must add, for the explanation of particular conclusions, "When a first class is wholly identical with, and a second partially diverse from, a third, or when a first class is wholly diverse from, and a second partially identical with, a third, the first and second are partially diverse from one another." This principle is quite different from the "dictum de omni et nullo"; it relates to logical classes, in a way distinctively its own; and it is perfectly self-evident. Moreover, we shall see that this principle, though, like the dic- tum, essentially orthological, in being applied to the logical class, becomes subservient to homological reasoning. For the logical genus is a kind of mental creation for the aid of homo- logic inference; and those principles which assume, and reason from, its existence, partake in its instrumental character. The law of the ^^^^ ^^^^ C)f the third figure is twofold, and may be third figure also thus stated. If ike Same tiling, or set of things, be- o ogica . ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ different classes, these classes partially in- clude one another, hd if the same thing, or set of things, belong to one class, and not to anotJier, then these classes partially exclude one another. The first part of this principle supports affirmative, the second, negative, conclusions. The affirmative inference may be illustrated by the following syllogism, which is in the mood Darapti. All gilding is metallic; All gilding shines; therefore Some things that shine are metallic. The mood Feriso yields a negative conclusion, thus ; No man is perfect; Some men are lovable; therefore Some lovable beings are not perfect. In this mood the major premise implicitly includes the subor- dinate statement," Some men are not perfect"; in this way, the two premises assert that the same " some men " belong to one class, and not to another. The principle of the third figure, as given above, is self-evident and orthological, and is applicable to classes of any kind. But, when applied to the logical class, it becomes subservient to homological reasoning. The fourth figure is allied to the first more closely ^"^foSh^e?^ t^^an any other of the three inferior figures, and, because its conclusions can be easily obtained through reductions to the first figure, it has been regarded by most as simply an awkward form of the first. This was prob- ably the view of Aristotle, who does not speak of the fourth § 217. THE ARISTOTELIAN SYLLOGISM, 633 figure at all. The first three moods of this figure yield syllo- gisms in the first figure on the mere transposition of their pre- mises ; and the conclusions thus obtained, though not the origi- nal conclusions, yield these by simple conversion. The other two moods fall into the first figure if we convert both premises. Those have some show of reason on their side, who neglect the fourth figure, or identify it with the first. When, however, we carefully study syllogisms in this figure, we find that they really follow an independent principle. This principle is twofold. It justifies affirmative conclusions by saying, that, if a first thing is identical with a second ivhich is identical icith a thirds then the third is identical ivith the first; and it supports negative inference by saying, that, if one thing is iden- tical loith a second^ which is diverse from a third, or diverse from a second, ivhich is identical luith a third, tJien tJie third is diverse from the first. Thus it proves either the identity, or the diver- sity, of a third thing as related, through a second, to a first. This law of the fourth figure, in the same manner as the laws of the other figures, is used as applicable to genera, or logical classes, of things. We say, in the mood Dimaris, Some practical men are profound thinkers; All profound thinkers are philosophers; therefore Some philosophers are practical men. Here the some practical is identified with some profound thinkers, and then, through the all, these are identified with some philosophers; thereupon we identify some philosophers with some practical men. The following, in Camenes, gives a negative conclusion. All ruminating animals have four stomachs; No animal with four stomachs is carnivorous; therefore, ' No carnivorous animal ruminates. It will be perceived that this fourth figure involves the sub- stantialization of the predicates of the major and of the minor premises so as to provide subjects for the minor premise and for the conclusion, that is, in cases in which each or either predi- cate may not be already a substantal term ; in this respect it difi'ers from the first figure as interpreted by the dictum of Aristotle. It is also noticeable that we might naturally conclude, from the premises, of any syllogism in the fourth figure, that a first thing is identical with, or diverse from, a third. Let us take the syllogism in the mood Bramantip, All greyhounds are dogs; All dogs are quadrupeds; therefore Some quadrupeds are greyhounds. With the premises of this syllogism, as they stand, thd most natural and easy inference is. All greyhounds are quadrupeds. Clearly, too, the argument producing this conclusion is in the first figure, though it does not follow the principle which ordi- narily governs this figure, that is, the Aristotelian dictum. Then, after this inference, we might say further, " Since all greyhounds 634 THE HUMAN MIND. § 217. are quadrupeds, some quadrupeds are greyhounds," and in this manner reach the conclusion which is directly produced by the fourth figure. Thus it is a natural peculiarity of the fourth figure to assert a reciprocation of identity or diversity. The foregoing examination of the three inferior toe^ foS'^'flSref figurcs sustaius the doctrine that eaxih figure has n^^?"^^*^ ^^ ^ P^'^'^'Ciple of its oivn, by means of which it accom- plishes a specific mental result. The first figure has the "dictum de omni et nullo." This, at least, is the law which ordinarily governs this figure, and which renders it expressive of homologic reasoning. When, as mentioned above, the first figure is used to prove the relation of identity or diversity of a first thing, through a second, with a third, the law of inference is not the Aristotelian dictum, but what might be called the principle of mediate identity or diversity. This law appears fre- quently to govern this figure when, the terms of the conclusion retaining their places, the minor premise is uttered first, thus, Hindoos are men; Men are mortals; therefore Hindoos are mortals. It is a principle closely related to that of the fourth figure, and, like the latter, requires a substantialization of the predicate of the major: for this is needful before we can identify Hindoos with mortals. The great prominence and value of the first figure, however, depend, not on this principle, but on the dictum, and on that fitness to express homologic reasoning which conformity to the dictum imparts. Moreover, as the leading aim of the mind in following the dictum is to ascribe something to some- thing, the first figure may be distinctively characterized as as- criptive. In the second figure we always deny something of something; it might be called the separative figure. In the third figure we support or weaken some general statement, by establishing instances of it, or exceptions to it; so that this figure may be styled the spedficative or exemplificative. And, since the fourth figure proves a reciprocal identity or diversity, it may be - named the reciprocative figure. A specific conclusion naturally sought by one of these figures, may often be obtained through another; but the formative principle of each figure renders it specially suitable for its own work. We have now to consider the fact that each of the S^'^eSre^es dl- ^^ur figurcs dcals with the logical class, and is, in ductive reasoning this wav, made subscrvieut to homoloffical reason- properly so called. . * • i j^ i • ^ j.i • ? • -n But in every figure Hig. A right comprehcusion 01 this topic Will rc- tog^io^c^Sse^ veal the fundamental nature and ultimate scope of the scholastic syllogism. In order to this under- standing, let us recall the doctrine already taught respecting the ratiocinative use of pure propositions, or assertions " de inesse." Pure universal predications are used to express what is necessa- rily true respecting a given kind of thing ; while pure particular propositions are used to express what is contingently or proba- § 217. THE ARISTOTELIAN SYLLOGISM. 635 bly true respecting a given kind of thing. When we say, " All men are mortal," we mean, "Man is necessarily mortal " ; and, when we say, "Some men are unfortunate," we mean, "Man may be unfortunate " ; and so are prepared for necessary or con- tingent conclusions respecting this or that man. The universal proposition expresses a homological principiation in view of some necessary consequence, and announces a form or law justi- fying further homological inference. As, in principiation, we reason from the agreement of the general with the particular antecedent, so, in deduction, we reason from the agreement of the particular with the general. It is clear that the subject of the universal sets forth the antecedent, and the predicate of the universal, the consequent, of the necessary sequence. For the principiation, on which the universal is founded, is an infer- ence in which the antecedent and consequent of some individual necessity have been generalized together and in their mutual connection. In pure universal statements, therefore, subject and predicate really set forth antecedent and consequent. In like manner, the pure particular predication indirectly expresses a law of contingent homologic inference, with its antecedent and consequent. When we say, " Some minerals, or most min- erals, are valuable," we really mean that any mineral or metallic possession is possibly, or probably, of value, and thus we suggest the rule of sequence, that, "If there be any mineral or metallic posses- sion, it is possibly or probably valuable." And evidently, in form- ing and applying such rules, we exercise homologic reasoning. Such beine^ the case, we say that the scholastic syl- The relations of i • • • j. . r \ i • • i' • the scholastic syi- logism IS an instrument oi homologic mierence in io|ic'Sife?ei?cr*^ the following ways: /?'s^, by reason of the nature of its premises, since both the universal and the particular propositions which it employs express laws of sequence ; secondly, in the fact that every syllogism, whatever be its figure or mood, produces a general conclusion either of necessity or of contingency; and, thirdly, because a singular conclusion from any scholastic syllogism involves the homologic principle. For singular and definite, as distinguished from particular and indef- inite, conclusions, are best regarded as no proper part of the syllo- gism, but as addenda which can be attached to any syllogism when desired, after the fashion of a deduction in the first figure. ^ In the first figure the major premise sets forth, in reason in the gen- the general, a TwcessUant antecedent and its consequent, Sd'eni^SSg'ISf and the minor sets forth, also in the general, either results of principi- a n£cessitant or a Contingent antecedent which has the ation. But In the j 7 . /• #7 - ^ ., .mi first figure only antecedent of the major for its consequent I hereupon TgiSr """""^ '^^ conclude, also m the general, that the antecedent of the minor is, n£cessarily or crnitingenfly, as the case may require, followed by the consequent of the major. From which general conclusion any corresponding singular conclusion can be immediately inferred. Thus understood, the first figure reasons in necessity, as follows, 636 THE HUMAN MIND. § 217. If anything is composite, it is dissoluble ; If anything be material, it is composite; therefore, If anything be material, it is dissoluble. In contingency, it reasons thus ; If one be honest he is worthy of respect; Though one be a poor man, he may be honest; therefore, Though one be poor, he may be worthy of respect. The second figure sets forth tlie same general consequent as neces- sarily inherent in one general antecedent^ and necessarily non-inherent in another, or as hearing one of these relations necessarily and the other contingently. Thereupon we conclude, in the general, that the. one antecedent is, as the case may require, necessarily or contingently, non-inherent in the other — in other words, that, necessarily or contin- gently, the existence of the one is not involved in the existence of the other. From which, of course, a singular conclusion may be horaologically inferred. Thus interpreted, this figure reasons in necessity, thus (Cesare), If anything is material, it has not free-will ; If anything be spiritual it has free-will; therefore, If anything be spiritual, it cannot be material. In contingency it reasons thus (Festino), If an animal be a horse, it is not carnivorous; If it be a quadruped, it may be carnivorous; therefore, If (or though) an animal be a quadruped, it may not be a horse. In the third figure, two different general consequents are affirmed of the same antecedent, or one is affirmed and the other denied, the con- sequents being either both necessary, or one necessary, and the other contingent. Thereupon one consequent is contingently affirmed, or con- tingently denied, of the other, as the case may require : and this conclu- sion, also, may be the ground of an immediate singular inference. Thus explained the third figure argues after this fashion (Darapti), Music has necessarily a refining influence; Music is necessarily a sensuous pleasure; therefore A sensuous pleasure may have a refining influence. Or thus (Disamis), If one kill another, he may do so rightly; If one kill another, he does a cruel act; therefore, If one does a cruel act, he may yet be acting rightly. In the fourth figure, the latter of two consecutive consequents is asserted to be, either in necessity or in contingency, an ante- cedent of the antecedent of the prior consequent. When both consequents are necessary, the conclusion is one of necessity; when one is necessary and the other contingent, the conclusion is one of contingency. According to this analysis this figure rea- sons thus (Bramantip), If a greyhound be a dog; and If a dog be a quadruped; then A quadruped may be a greyhound. Or thus (Camenes), If an animal ruminates, it has four stomachs; If an animal has four stomachs, it is not carnivorous; therefore, If an animal be carnivorous, it does not ruminate. § 218. PROBABLE REASONING. 637 Sucli is the ultimate analysis of the scholastic syllogism. It has been presented, not for practical, but for philosophical, uses. We have desired to show how the logic of the Schools is re- lated to the radical principles of reasoning. The first figure, as explained by Aristotle, originates entirely from the homologic principle. This law of inference not only gives force to the difierent propositions in an argument of the first figure, but is used in the construction of the figure itself. The other figures subserve homological reasoning only because their syllogisms are constructed from general propositions and infer about the general. The principles according to which these figures them- selves are constructed are orthologic. In the arguments of the first figure one application of the homologic principle (that is, the dictum) combines its force with that of other applications or employments of the same principle (that is, the premises). In each of the other figures general homological conclusions (the premises) are combined so as to produce a new law of homologic inference (the conclusion) by the operation of a principle that is not homologic. In the first figure, alone, we reason from the general to the particular. This figure, only, expresses deductive reasoning, properly so called. The unapproachable superiority of the first figure, arises from the fact that we consciously use the deductive inference more than all other styles of reasoning put together, and because all reasoning whatever may assume a deductive form of thought and expression. This analysis shows, also, that the consideration of contingency cannot easily be excluded from any searching account of the operations of the reasoning faculty, even though the account be partial and one-sided. CHAPTER XLVIII. PROBABLE REASONING. The modal Uo ^ ^^^' ^^ ^^ remarkable that those writers of the gisL Treated" at prcscut age who profcss most respect for the au- SotS.''^'^ ""^ thorityofAristotle, avoid the discussion of probable Jd^omio^f^''^" ^®^?o"i"g» a-nd,^ so far as they can, exclude this HamXn°^uoted topic from logic. Aristotlc himself, in his book Dr^SJimafReid. "^^ luterpretatione," and in the "Prior Analytics," treats of propositions and syllogisms as affected by contingency. He evidently regards the inference and belief of what is contingently true, as important, and as different from the inference and belief of what is necessarily true. The chapters in his " Organon " which discuss modal reasonings are twice as numerous as those devoted to the pure syllogism. The early Greek expositors of the Peripatetic logic gave- the name mnddi 638 THE HUMAN- MIND. § 218. to propositions and syllogisms as affected by contingency and necessity; Aristotle had left them unnamed; and both they, and subsequent logicians, greatly exercised themselves over these forms of thought. Reid, in his account of the Aristotelian logic, tells how the scholastic doctors tortured their wits regarding the modal syllogism. Then, having mentioned various eminent authors who declined the discussion of it, he says, "All the writers of logic for two hundred years back, that have fallen into my hands, have passed over the rules of modal syllogism with as little ceremony; so that this great branch of the doc- trine of syllogism, so diligently handled by Aristotle, fell into neglect, if not contempt, even while the doctrine of pure syllo- gism continued in the highest esteem." To these remarks Ham- ilton subjoins, that modals " ought, on principle, to be wholly excluded from logic," and that they have, at last, "been for- mally expelled from the science." In his "Lectures," Sir Wil- liam justifies, at some length, this dismissal of modality. "The discrimination of propositions," he says, " into pure and modal, and the discrimination of modal propositions into necessary, impossible, contingent, and possible, and the recognition of these as logical distinctions, rendered it imperative on the logi- cian, as logician, to know what matter was necessary, impossible, contingent, and possible All this proceeds on a radical mistake of the nature and domain of logic. Logic is a purely formal science. It knows nothing of, it establishes nothing upon, the circumstances of the matter to which its form may chance to be applied." The consideration of modality is "im- possible, first, inasmuch as logic would thus presuppose a knowl- edge of the whole cycle of human science; and it is impossible, secondly, because it is not now, and never will be, determined what things are of necessary or contingent, of possible or im- possible, existence" (Lect. XIV.). This reasoning is poor. Logic may consider the necessary, the contingent, the possible, and the impossible, as posited^ without involving any knowledge of things specifically considered. In pure syllogisms we assume things as simply true ; we need not know whether they are true or not. In modal syllogisms we assume things as necessarily or as contingently true ; we need not know whether they are so or not. We do not object to the statement that logic per- S^^'^^foimV'^of tains only to the necessary forms of thought, and cJSfn*enc a ^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ scusc, it is a formal science. But we thing necessary, ask, " What ave the ncccssary forms of thought ? " That is, what are the necessary forms of inferential thought? For logic concerns this only. Are no forms of thought necessary save those which relate to the inference of that which is necessary, of that, which, as a consequent, must certainly exist, if the antecedent certainly exist ? Such a limi- tation is gratuitous. In one sense all those modes of thought are necessary, which the nature and surroundings of the human mind require it to adopt. But, in the most absolute and abstract § 218. PROBABLE REASONING. 639 sense, which is that now in question, those fornas of inference are necessary which the mind must employ in gaining a knowl- edge of any system of things, which might exist and offer itself for our consideration. ♦ Logic — the pure or formal logic, of which we now speak — deals only with things ontologically necessary, that is, with certain relations which must exist in any system of being. But this does not exclude the consideration of contingency. Con- tingency, no less than necessity, is a thing ontologically neces- sary, and must pertain to any system of things. The contingent is that which, under given circumstances, may be and may not be for aught that there is in those circumstances to prevent; and the conditions productive of it must exist under any state of things. Ontological contingency is a specific form of general, or logical, contingency. It is the character of that which is consistent, not with the circumstances of some specific case, but with the ultimate laws of being. It belongs to everything which infinite power could cause to be or not to be. Both this contin- gency, and logical contingency in general, are ontologically necessary. The ontologically contingent, of course, is not on- tologically necessary; but ontological contingency itself — like logical contingency in general — is a necessary feature in any universe. If, then, contingency is a thing ontologically neces- sary, the laws according to which a rational intellect perceives or infers things as contingent, should certainly be determined by the science of " formal thought." We hold that all inference, whether necessary or probable, is the subject of one ontological science, and should be explained with reference to one funda- mental philosophy, which may be called the fhilosophy of con- ditions and tJie conditioned, or of logical relations. In tliis we follow Prof. De Morgan, who, rejecting the too limited concep- tions of his contemporaries, entitles his work, " Formal Logic, or the Calculus of Inference, Necessary and Frohable.'' But, in this connection, let us note a specific A feJiacy exposed, theory, by which, in an indirect way, logicians endeavor to exclude modality from their science. They say that the necessity or contingency of propositions really belongs to the predicate, and not to the copula of the proposition; and that, therefore, there is no logical difference between purity and modality. Undoubtedly, the necessity, or the contingency, attaches itself to the predicate. That is, it has a predicational character somewhat similar to that of those signs of quantity which apparently qualify the subject of the proposition (§ 204). But, as these latter have an office of their own distinct from that of the subject, properly so called, so the former have an office of their own distinct from that of the predicate proper. They indicate the logical connec- tion of the predicate with the subject; they shoiv in ivhat sense, and how far, the latter may be the logical antecedent of the former; and this is a most important office, because it determines the char- 640 THE HUMAN MIND. § 218. acter of our inference, and the degree of our belief When we reason thus, Wholesale dealers are often (or probably) wealthy; ^ Any merchant may be a wholesale dealer; therefore One who is a merchant is, perhaps, wealthy, the contingencies denoted by often in the first proposition, \yj may in the second, and by perhaps in the third, affect the char- acter of our conclusion, and are intended to do so. They are not used to qualify the predicate object. The contingency i)i each premise, though no part of the copula, is used simply with reference to its effect on the copula, or on our belief in that assertion which the copula expresses. Though of a predicative character they are no part of the predicate proper. No one can dispute that the major premise and the conclusion of the above syllogism have the same predicate; but the contingency of the major is not the same contingency with that of the conclusion. The former is a strong, the latter a weak, probability. And the contingency affecting wholesale dealer in the minor premise, does not affect this term in the major at all. In short, the reduction of the modal to the pure proposition cannot be carried out when we come to modal syllogisms: and thus it fails with respect to the only important end to be attained by it. It leaves the doctrine of reasoning as much burdened with modality as ever. But, while Aristotle is right in considering modal- m^nt'of'moSmy ity of inference, and his disciples wrong in rejecting mustrated^^* ^*' ^^ ^^ "^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ Aristotlc's presentation of modality is sufficient and satisfactory. On the contrary, two circumstances render his discussion imperfect. First of all, we find no clear recognition of the true nature and purport of modal propositions. Aristotle dwells upon proposi- tions and syllogisms which set forth the necessary and the con- tingent, as if the assertion and ascertainment of necessity or contingency were the ultimate aim of the mind in the employ- ment of these modes of thought. He never mentions certainty and probability in connection with modal inference. But the essential aim of modal reasoning is to determine the grade of confidence with whit3h a conclusion must be received. The con- sideration of premises as necessary or contingent, is wholly in- strumental to this end. Viewing the matter in this light, it is of no consequence whether a premise or a conclusion be a nec- essary statement or a pure universal, or whether it be a pure particular statement, or contingent and modal. Therefore, the syllogistic forms of the " Organon " are needlessly multiplied and complicated. Secondly, the mistaken view that all reasoning depends essen- tially on a perception of the relations between the wholes and parts of logical classes, led Aristotle to discuss necessity and contin- gency rather as modifying that perception than as to their effect on inference in general. Influenced by this main idea, he traces the § 219. PROBABLE REASONING. 641 operation of pure, of necessary, and of contingent,^ premises, throughout all their combinations in every mood and figure. To follow these analytic labors, step by step, is a strengthening in- tellectual exercise, but it contributes little to one's knowledge of logic as either a theoretical or a practical science. The syllogism given above (respecting wholesale merchants), is in the first figure, with both premises contingent. Should further illustration be desired, we might take a syllogism in the third figure (" Prior Analytics," chap. xx.). Gilding may be costly; a Gilding may be tasteful; therefore What is tasteful may be costly. Here, again, both premises are contingent, but the minor pre- mise might be either necessary or pure, and still we would have a contingent conclusion. Thus, Gilding may be costly; {Gilding is necessarily tasteful; or Gilding is sometimes tasteful; or AU gilding is tasteful; therefore What is tasteful may be costly. Moreover, says Aristotle, if we make the major a necessary, or on universal, negative, we can have a negative conclusion " de in- esse," or of simple negation. Thus, No slave can be weU circumstanced; A slave may be happy; therefore Some happy people are not well circumstanced. So much for the Aristotelian modals. Though correct forms of reasoning, they are complicated and far removed from the ulti- mate laWs of inference. Their abandonment was justifiable, not because of their difficulty, but because of their unprofitable- ness. That field of discussion, however, which is presented by modal reasoning, should not, by any means, be neglected by the logician. On the contrary, since it has heretofore been only superficially developed, it should now be entered upon afresh, as if it had never been labored in before. Indeed, a true under- standing of this subject is philosophically more important than the doctrine of the "pure syllogism"; it involves a deeper and clearer knowledge of the nature of all reasoning whatever. § 219. Having considered the specific forms of nece^- ^ti^f^heTaw sary inference (Chaps. XLV.-VII.), it remains that ^M?quenr*^*^ ^^ should discuss somowhat those of contingent and probable inference. The universal principle of logical sequence is that of tlie sufficient or adequate reason, or, as it is also termed, of antecedent and consequent. Generally, in speak- ing of this law, we refer to necessary consequence, and to demon- strative reasoning. But, because rational behef in the contingent or the probable is always grounded on some sufficient or adequate reason, our conception of the law may be enlarged so as to be applicable to the sequences of contingency and of probability. We may speak of the antecedents and consequents of such sequences. 642 THE HUMAN MIND. § 219. Every antecedent of contingency or of probability ^tin|encj^^aiid ^lay be regarded as part of that, which, if it were necesSty*^ *° known to entirely exist, would be, in relation to the given consequent, an antecedent of necessity. The antecedent of contingency — that is, of pure contingency — is easily conceived and defined. It is the same as an antecedent of possibility, save only that it indicates a nearer relation to real- ity than possibility is generally allowed to have. It arises when a number of the elements of an antecedent of necessity are known to exist, while the remaining elements, though not known, may be naturally supposed, to exist. Hearing that a friend is sick, we might conjecture him to have typhoid fever, without any special reason to give probability to this conjecture of the contingent. But, if we were informed, not only of the sickness, but also of its causes and symptoms, we might conclude, probably or certainly, that he has that disease. Contingency easily passes into, and often is identified with, a low grade of probability. The antecedent of probability is always itself an antecedent of necessity which admits of becoming a more determinate antece- dent of n£cessity^ in a limited number of luays. With reference to each of these ways it is a partial antecedent of necessity to a possible consequent. Therefore, it is a partiaf antecedent of ne- cessity to its own consequent of probability, which agrees with, and is supported by, one or more of the individual possible con- sequents, or chances. Let us suppose ten soldiers to be subjected to the sentence that three of them, tq be selected by lot, shall sufi"er death. On the supposition that this sentence will be cer- tainly executed, the case, with respect to each man, presents an antecedent of necessity, the consequent of which may be ful- filled in any one of ten ways. Every man is subjected to a fate — to a determination of his future; and this may happen in any one of ten ways; for any one of ten lots may fall upon him, seven being for life, and three for death. With respect to life, the case presents a consequent with the probability of seven tenths, and with respect to death, a consequent with the probability of three tenths. Contingency and the contingent may be under- ^tin'Sln^/'^liS stood in two significations. First, they may indi- tiie contingent. catc a form of possibiUtv closely related to the Aristotle's con- i i i i -T' ^ ' .t ^ • r u n tingency. probablc, and which is the basis oi a wnoUy in- determinate judgment, that is, indeterminate as regards the assertion of fact. Secondly, they may denote that form of probaMlity which is asserted by a judgment more or less indeterminate, the ratio of the chances not being exactly esti- mated. Contingency in this latter sense may be regarded as a modification of the contingency first mentioned. For all things probable, as such, are things contingent, because the conditions of their probability render them possible either to be or not to be. These two senses are closely related also, because, as a matter of fact, we seldom dwell upon anything as purely con- § 219. PROBABLE REASONING. 643 tingent, but add to this judgment the further belief that there are chances of its occurrence — that it has the contingency of probabiUty. Hitherto we have considered contingency chiefly in its first signification, and as a form of possibility. The inference of the contingent, viewed in this Hght, resembles that of the necessary, and need not farther engage our pr^ent attention, although cer- tain interesting questions might be discussed in connection with it. Hereafter we shall chiefly consider contingency as a form of probability. We shall mean by contingent inferences, those whose premises and conclusions exhibit probability, but a prob- ability tJw degree of which is not determiimtdy fixed. This is the ordinary sense of terms when logicians speak of our inferring things as contingent; this is especially the meaning which un- derlies Aristotle's employment of the conception of the contin- gent. "Let us next," he says, "speak of the contingent; when, and how, and through what, there will be a syllogism. To be contingent and the contingent {to ivdsxoMEvor), I define to be that, which, not being necessary, but being assumed to exist, nothing impossible will, on this account, arise " (" Prior Analy- tics," bk. i. 13). From these words we might suppose Aristotle to mean the contingent to be that which exists, but which does not exist necessarily. This, however, is not what he says ; nor is it his meaning. For, a little farther on, we read, "The contin- gent is non-necessary, and the non-necessary may happen not to exist." So far, he describes that pure contingency of which we have already spoken. For, though things contingent may, and continually do, exist, this is no part of their contingency. A thing is contingent in that, if it exist, it is possible for it not to exist, and, if it do not exist, it is possible for it to exist. Pure contingency simply takes away all impossibility and ren- ders a thing credible. Because, when one cannot deny that, for all he knows, a thing may be so, he cannot assert positively that it is not so. But Aristotle adds to this conception, when he says, " To be contingent is predicated in two ways, one, that which happens for the most part and yet falls short of the necessary; for in- stance, for a man to become hoary, or to grow stout, or to fail, or, in short, whatever may naturally be. For this has no constant necessity The other way is the indefinite, and is that which may possibly be thus, and not thus; as for an animal to be walking, or, while it is walking, for an earthquake to happen, or, in short, whatever occurs casually ; for a thing does not take place thus more naturally than its opposite." Then Aristotle adds that arguments and speculations generally concern the con- tingent which happens naturally, that is, according to such a natural tendency that we can form a probable judgment about it. Concerning those contingencies which are casual, and wholly in- determinate — in other words, pure contingencies — Aristotle says that we may make a syllogism, " But it is not generally inves- 644 THE HUMAN MIND. § 219. tigated." Then, under the head of Contingency, he goes on to discuss syllogisms of probability: and the only probable syllo- gism of which Aristotle speaks is this syllogism of contingency. Our ordinary judgments of probability do not close- toS^*^^^ '^^' ly determine the ratio of the chances. They only assert that the chances, that is, the majority of the chances, in some case, favor a given supposition. They are judgments of contingency in the sense principally contemplated by Aristotle. These inferences are less exact than those in which the ratio of the chances is ascertained mathematically, and, therefore, they are uncertain and doubtful, not only in the sense of falling short of absolute conviction, but also in the sense of leaving the degree of conviction indeterminate. By means of them we know that a thing is probable, but not just hoio prob- able. Yet such reasonings are often the best which circum- stances admit ; and they are of greater practical importance than those in which the chances can be accurately calculated. So far, however, as they positively exercise judgment and belief, they are of the same nature, and obey the same general laws, as our more exact judgments of probability. The two styles of inference, which we have named KoioJcS pr^5)^ orthological and homological, are employed in this con- 2^^^*J- .„ tin2:ent or probable ratiocination, as well as in that The former illus- iV,.,^ ,,. o ,• trated. wJiich IS demonstrative, bometimes a case presents a sufficient reason for a probable inference without reference to any other case in which a similar ground for such a judgment may have been perceived ; and, at other times, an antece- dent is held to render an event probable, because it is like some other antecedent which has been found to have that effect. The reason, on account of which the homologic principle may be ap- plied in probable, as well as in demonstrative, inference, is that the necessary condition, which makes a thing possible, and the necessitant conditi'on, which makes it certain, are subject to the same law, viz., that similar antecedents have similar consequents. This common property is connected with that necessitative char- acter which is common to necessary and necessitant conditions (§ 84). But, since the necessitant is always composed of neces- sary conditions, we may suppose the homologic principle to at- tach primarily to the latter, if it belong primarily to either. Orthological contingent reasoning may be illustrated from any immediate calculation or determination of the chances. If an urn contain ten white and five black balls, or any number of black and white balls in the proportion of five to ten, we can immediately say that the likelihood of drawing a white ball is as two to one, and that of drawing a black ball as one to two. If a man live in one of ten houses, we know not which, we need no rule to say that the probability of his living in some one of them taken at random is indicated by one tenth. If three fourths of the voters in some election precinct are illiterate, it is self- evident, respecting any one of them, that there are three chances § 220. PROBABLE REASONING. 645 to one of his being illiterate. If the statistics of ten thousand individuals who lived till they were forty years of age, show that nine tenths of them lived on till they were sixty years old, then there is an immediate probability of nine tenths, respecting any one of those ten thousand, that he attained the age of sixty. § 220. From any conclusion of orthologic proba- Sty."^'' ^''"^ biHty we might reason homologically as to any Illustrated. t casc presenting a similar antecedent. But, when ders of thought.^^ the casc. Considered simply in itself, and without reference to any previous case, presents an antece- dent of probability, it is commonly easier and better to make a direct or original inference. The homological inference of pro- bability may be looked for in cases where the chances can be as- certained only through the aid of the homologic principle. For fre- quently we cannot immediately determine the ratio of the chances, but must obtain this by questioning a past experience. Let the question be, " What is the expectation of life for a man forty years of age and in good health, wlio is now living?'' Consulting ex- tensive statistics, we find that, in the whole number of recorded cases, nine tenths of those who have reached forty, live at least twenty years longer. From this we infer, orthologically (as has been said above), respecting any of those individuals whose cases have been recorded, that, at forty years, he had an expectation of twenty years, with a probability of nine to one. Then, as- suming that the lives of other men are subject to similar tenden- cies and conditions, we say, homologically, that any, or every, man forty years old, has the probability already mentioned of reaching the age of sixty. In the foregoing statement, the fol- lowing succession of thought is supposed; firsts the statistical information that nine tenths of that large number of men ob- served lived till they were sixty years old; secondly, the infer- ence respecting some one of them that, at forty years, his chances of living twenty years more, were nine to one; and, thirdly, the homological conclusion that this expectation of life belongs to any one, or to all, of that large number of men who are forty years old, and who are now living. The succession of thought, however, might be, and generally is, difierent from the foregoing. We might have, first, the statistical information as before ; sec- ondly, the paradigmatic or principiative inference that nine tenths of any large number — or of all — men, who reach forty, live till sixty; and then, the inference of probability that any man of forty has the given expectation of life. In the first or- der of procedure, the homologic principle furnishes the last step, and may be said to act on the principle of probability, which operates in the middle of the process ; in the second order the principle of probability governs the third step, and may be said to act on the homologic principle, which justifies the prin- cipiation. In both cases alike, these principles combine their operation, and produce homologic reasoning in probability. Moreover, by either process, a general rule of probability may 646 THE HUMAN MIND, § 220. be formed which can be employed afterwards without reference to its origin. The tychoiogic "^^^'^ ^®* US notc that thcsc laws of inference, which principle of infer- thus Combine their operation, are distinguishable ^th othe?L but^is from cach other. The homologic principle of itself di^s^inct from ^oes not affcct the grade of one's belief; like the principle of possibility, or pure contingency, it is, in a sense, apodeictic. The law of probability, alone, requires our confidence to vary according to the ratio of the chances. In order to indicate the nature of this law, and to give it a con- venient name, it might be called the tychoiogic principle. For some distinctive designation is needed when we would speak of the radical principle of all probable inference. Probable inference ^^ ^^}^ Connection, wc must notice a theory which has a form of Hamilton and other Kantian losricians teach bv thought appropri- x'j.u- >• c /» -i t > ate to itself. mcaus 01 tueir Conception oi pure or formal logw. exposed. ^°''*^''® They make this logic to concern "the absolutely necessary forms of thought without which no use whatever of the understanding is possible," and then they iden- tify these absolutely necessary forms with those of demonstrative reasoning, or, at least, with certain general and comprehensive demonstrative forms. And thus, since probable reasoning is a use of the understanding, they teach that it employs the same forms of thought as demonstrative, that, in short, the probable syllogism is made up of the same propositions as the demonstrative, but differs only in the loeahness of its premises and in the consequent weakness of its conclusion. We regard this view as erroneous. Demonstrative, contingent, and probable, reasoning have each a form of thought peculiar to itself All conform to the general law of reason and consequent; in every case we can say, "A exists; therefore B exists." But, in necessity, A is conceived as embracing a logical or necessitating condition of B; in con- tingency, as including merely necessary conditions of B; and, in probability, as the foundation of chances for B. When, there- fore, the premises of any syllogism in necessity give a probable conclusion, this is not because the probable syllogism is neces- sarily based on the demonstrative, but because probable may be combined with necessary inference. When we say, A may be equal to B; B is equal to C ; therefore A may be equal to C, the contingency of the conclusion comes properly from the con- Unbent 'premise. It is only accidentally connected with the struct- ure of the syllogism, which is purely apodeictic. But, should we say, A is one of a number of quantities, some of which are severally equal to B; Therefore A (contingently or probably) may be equal to B; this syllogism would express that form of thought which is es- sential or peculiar to probable inference. When a syllogism of a demonstrative form has a probable conclusion, this results sira- § 220. PROBABLE REASONING, 647 ply because the apodeictic reasoning conveys to the conclusion a probability previously inferred, and not because probable and necessary inference have the same form of thought. What we have now said, taken in connection with Homoio^c^jrob. former discussions (§ 86), may suffice for the ortho- chiefly takes place logic inference of probability. A great field of in- Secfci^g°?hl^iaw8 vcstigatiou rcmaius untouched regarding homo- a^d events of na- logical probability. For, although the horaologic principle itself operates with the same simplicity, in probable reasoning, that it does in demonstrative, consider- able difficulty has been experienced in regard to the fundamental ground on which our ordinary inferences of homological probabil- ity are based. These inferences take place lohen ice determine^ with more or less confidence^ the laiv of some natural, or cosmical, sequence. The inquiry after causes or consequences, which may exist in any part of the actual universe, necessarily involves the homologic principle ; and the conclusions of this inquiry, so far as they are affected by probability, are the only probable conclusions to which homological reasoning is an indispensable condition. Let us in- vestigate the grounds on which our convictions, respecting the laws or operations of nature, rest for their truth or probability. We may open this discussion with the remark that, parS^matic^Say for prcscnt purposcs, parallel, or paradigmatic, reason- d^ctivfkifeiSiict W f^'^^y ^ classed with deductive. These modes of inference are alike in this respect, that they immedi- ately depend on the perception, or assumption, of likeness between some known and some alleged antecedent. In both we say, A is the antecedent of B; C is similar to A ; therefore C has a consequent similar to B. The only difference is that deduction employs the abstract and general premise, which is derived by principiation from the in- dividual, or particular, case of sequence, while paradigmatization proceeds immediately from one individual, or particular, case to another. If we neglect the question whether the first premise in- volve principiation, and regard that premise simply as the state- ment of a sequence, paradigmatic and deductive inference may be classed together as of the same nature, and as being both, equally and essentially, dependent on the similarity of C to A. In both cases, this similarity must be perfect as regards those elements which make up a logical antecedent; it is what we often mean by sameness, and what we may call logical identity. Reasoning from a general principle, we say, Man is mortal; The Duke of Wellington is a man; (that is, is identical with a man). Therefore, he is mortah . Reasoning from a parallel case, we say, John, Thomas, and others, have died by reason of their physical constitutions; The Duke of Wellington is the same as John, Thomas and company, in his physical constitution; therefore He is mortal 648 THE HUMAN MIND. § 221. As the paradigmatic and deductive processes both assume the prior sequence from which the inference proceeds, — viz.,. that A is the antecedent of B, — it is plain that any probabiUty which may he specially connected ivith either of these modes of inference^ must arise in connection with the assertion tliat C is identical with A. Such being the case, it is not surprising that only oi^p^obTbie hl)°mcf. ^^o radical modes of probable homological infer- logicai reasoning eiicc are recos^nized, one of which is essentially ordinarily recog- . . . ^. i'iii-t,' *^ nized. principiative, and is called induction, or, more prop- erly, probable induction, and the other of which is either paradigmatic or deductive, and is called reasoning by anxzlogy. The terms induction and analogy, which are frequently to be met with in discussions respecting inference, do not, of themselves, iiecessarily imply a probable conclusion. They primarily indi- cate two modes of procedure, in each of which we reason respect- ing natural causes and effects. Inductive and analogical rea- sonings are called probable, not because the conclusions of them are necessarily affected with probability, but only because this happens generally, or for the most part. ^, . . , ,. 6 221. Induction takes place when some natural Tne term induction ^ . . ,. -, • i i i r defined. Intro- law IS interred to exist whether as a rule oi neces- ^duct?v6i i. • j.i i. ^^ ^ - in ^ ^i trated. But, in the present discussion, we shall mean, by experience, only the simple perception of fact, that is, of fact so far as it does not involve logical relations ; for these relations, of course, may also be things actual. So, also, by em- pirical cognition, judgment, or perception, and by empirical knowledge, we shall mean the cognition of simple fact, and not the knowledge of any law, gained from observation, although the phrase might have this latter signification. Experiential or empirical judgments, or perceptions, are ex- pressed by pure categorical statements, or what the Aristotelians called propositions " de inesse." They use the indicative mood of verbs, and this in its simplest and most literal significance. Sometimes this mood is used to express a necessary law, as when we say, "A straight line is the shortest possible between two points,"—" Ice, when exposed to the fire, will melt." But it ex- presses experiential perception, when it is used merely histori- cally. Hence, experiential, or empirical, knowledge might be called historical ; as it was by Aristotle. Philosophical history, which accounts for facts and traces them to their causes, is not purely empirical; but history, as a mere chronicle of facts, is a formal record of experience. Experiential knowledge admits of generalization, or rather of the use of general notions. One can say, " All the trees in that forest are oaks." This does not express any law of neces- sity, but simply sums up the result of an exhaustive observation. A general fact must be distinguished from a general law. In causational sequence, experience, or empirical perception, may be said to observe the agent and its power, the operation of the power and the result as produced by this, but not that absolute necessity of connection which exists between these things; just as it may perceive a body occupying space, but not as doing so necessarily. In other words, historical fact and log- ical necessity may be distinguished, and the perception of each assigned to a difierent power, or to a different modification of the same power. The term intuition signifies literally a looking upon, mSosS^ ^®^®^' and is naturally applied to any style of conviction in which something is immediately seen, and not inferred, or believed on testimony, to exist. " By intuition," says Pres, § 225. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. 669 McCosh, " I mean that power which the mind has of perceiving objects and truths at once, and without a process." This is the primary and generic meaning of the term. But, according to this signification, that act of mi^d which we iiave distinguished as experience, or empirical perception, is a leading kind of intuition : all presentative cognition, whether of sense, or consciousness, or concomitant perception, is intuitive. For all such cognition is immediate and without a process. In a previous part of the present treatise (§ 156) the term inhiiticm was used to signify presentational cognition, and not in the pe- culiar and technical sense now to be employed. The intuition of which we are about to speak, is not, indeed, to be distin- guished from all presentative cognition, but it is to be dis- tinguished from what we have called experiential^ or empirical, perception. According to the sense at present before us, it is not intuition simply to be conscious of having a toothache, and » to know that it is on one side of your face and not on the other, or to reahze that you have five digits on one hand, and that with these you are touching the fingers on the other hand, or other objects within reach. These perceptions would be experiences, in the special sense already defined. Again, intuition sometimes signifies an action of the intellect in which things are perceived, not really without a process, but so quickly and with so great natural or acquired facility, that the steps of the process elude our observation. According to this sense intuitive reason is opposed to discursive, though these are both radically of the same nature (§ 187). In like manner the process of inference in our acquired sense-perceptions is called intuitive. This is that intuition exhibited by great mathemati- cians who sometimes understand and solve problems at once, which others master only by slow and methodical calculation. The intuition, of which we now treat, agrees with S? te™m*Si«o» experience in being a perception of truths without te nf£'Tr1«t?e*^^ ^ pi'occss ; but it difi"ers from experience in that it takes place quite as tceU in the absence as in the pres- ence of the objects asserted to exist. It manifests itself in the fact that a large class of propositions need only to be presented to the mind in order to be fully believed. No objects need be ac- tually present; the conception of them is sufficient. For this reason the truths thus perceived may, more emphatically, be styled intuitional' than those gained by experiential cognition. Experience does not lead to the belief of propositions apart from the evidence of observation, and simply on our consideration of them; in this sense experiential convictions are not intuitive. Because logic and mental science immediately examine repro- duced or elaborated ideas, and not the perceptions in which these originate, it was natural that, in many discussions, those beliefs alone should be called intuitive which are evident in themselves, or simply as forms uf thought, while propositions expressive of our perceptions of simple fact should be regarded as immediately 670 THE HUMAN MIND. § 225. evidenced by the presented object, rather than as immediately evident in themselves. Thus the terms intuitive and intuitional, though naturally referring to all perceptions which are immediate or with4)ut a process, are often opposed to the terms experiential and empirical, and are then employed to distinguish a class of cognitions which are not those of simple fact. With respect to ^^^ objective peculiarity common to intuitive or their objective sclf-cvident couvictious is that they pertain to the character, intu- 7 «• /» #7 • i ± f ,1 n • itions are neces- necessary relations 0/ things ana set jorth things as m diSi TudgmeJt?' '^G^ssary relations. For this reason they have been called our necessary judgments or beliefs. This desig- nation refers to the necessary nature of the truths which these judgments set forth, and not to their own nature as modes of mental conviction. Although the constitution of the mind ren- ders them necessary in this light also, they are no more subjec- tively necessary than our experiential convictions. What our cognitive powers apprehend to be fact, we cannot help firmly believing, whether we apprehend it as necessary fact or not. Moreover, it is to be remarked that, although our intuitions set forth what is necessarily true, they do not always set forth what is necessarily existent. They may present the merely possible, or, through a combination of the possible with the necessary, what is only probable. The distinction between in- tuitive and experiential convictions is not such that certainty belongs to the former and probability to the latter. On the contrary, pure intuitional reasoning, in which only ontological principles are employed, may have probable conclusions, while both experiential knowledge and the inferences from it may be perfect and absolute. No one will dispute that, when I see an object, for example, my inkstand, I am just as certain experien- tially, that it is where it is, that is, on my table, as I am, intu- itively, that, being a real inkstand, it must exist somewhere. But the doctrine has been taught that intuitive perception, being the cognition of things necessary, is always productive of abso- lute certainty. This is incorrect. Our ontological convictions set forth always what is necessarily true, but not always what is necessarily existent. Possibility, or contingency, and probability, no less than necessity and certainty, belong to the very nature of things, and are intuitively perceived. Our inferences in pos- sibility and in probability, no less than those which are neces- sary and certain, involve ontological judgment. All pure mathe- matical reasonings are intuitional, but among the purest of them we must reckon calculations of chance and probability. We allow that our more important intuitions concern the necessarily existent, rather than the possible and the probable. But we maintain that the radical principles of contingent reasoning are intuitive convictions. Let it be remembered that necessary judg- ments are not simply those which set forth things as existing necessarily under given conditions, but those which set forth things as necessarily true. I § 225. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. 671 In styling all intuitional judgment necessary we recognize a community of nature which subsists between logical necessity and logical possibility. Both are modes of the state of the con- ditioned. Possibility may be regarded as a partial or imper- fectly developed necessity, and it partakes so much of the nature of necessity that it cannot be destroyed so long as the antecedent on which it depends exists. An effect is necessarily possible when some parts of its cause, at least, exist, nor can it cease to have this possibility till these conditions are removed. As intuitive judgments assert necessity and contingency, they are naturally expressed in modal and hypothetical propositions, just as empiri- cal judgments are naturally expressed by categorical statements. Some distinguish intuition as the immediate per- SioS°of^po^sli- ception of that which is necessary as such, and biuty and of con- make experience the perception of that which is tingency are intu- . ^ v rr^i • ± i.r'j x itive, and, in a Contingent as such, ihis contrast oi judgments ne^iS^T''' may be made, but it is not that called for in this department of philosophy. Both the perceptions above mentioned are intuitive. Empirical perception is the simple cognition of fact, as fact, without reference to its logical relations. When we see a man walking along the street, we perceive, experientially, that he is moving in space. This is a thing necessary if he move at all, for no motion is possible save in space; and it is a thing possible, for the actual is always pos- sible, and the existence of space renders the motion of any body possible. Moreover, we may say that this necessity and this possibility are presentationally perceived. But they are not experientially perceived. So far as anything is perceived as logically necessary or possible, it is the object of intuitional cognition ; but mere fact, to the exclusion of logical relations, is the object of experiential cognition. It is true that empirical knowledge does not recognize things as necessary; but neither does it recognize them as contingent. Here let us avoid that extreme doctrine which f?^resenud S makcs all presentational thought experiential, and, Three modes of in- i^ this wav, dcuics that auv iutuitivc thoua:ht can tuition; one of ex- , rpu • i j-/ • • i.\ i. perience. be SO. i here is no absurdity in saying that some things immediately perceived as fact, are also, and in the same act of intellect, perceived as things necessary or possible. It is even reasonable to suppose that our first intuitions take place in connection with experiential cognition, and that they are not properly inferences, but presentational perceptions of things as in logical relations. Or we may say that, in complete presenta- tional perception, intuition and experience unite. Thus, in the very act of perceiving some event as resulting from some cause, we also perceive it to result necessarily. We see that it could not take place without the cause, and that, with the cause, it could not fail to take place. In such a cognition, we would not infer the event from the cause, but perceive it as in necessary relation to the cause. In like manner, mathematical intuitions 672 THE HUMAN MIND. § 226. may be presentational. We may see three equal bodies and their equality, and at the same time perceive the necessity that two of them, being respectively equal to the third, must be equal to one another. But it is true that the great use and value of intuitive judgment are realized in connection with inference. As the vital element in inference, intuition enables one to per- ceive and know things which he does not know already, and which he cannot know in any other way. The fitness of intui- tion for this use, more than any other characteristic, is tlie ground of its philosophical importance and of its distinction from experience. While this latter mode of perception is wholly presentational, the intuitive judgment may assume three forms. First, it, also, may be presentational, the perception of necessary relations between things visibly present. Secondly, it may be an actualistic infer- ence, in which, from some seen antecedent, we infer a real con- sequent as necessarily connected with it. And, thirdly, it may be a hypothetical inference in which we merely suppose an an- tecedent, and thereupon infer a consequent as hypothetically necessary. In these two latter modes of judgment, intuition exhibits that peculiar power whereby it produces conviction on the mere presentation of a proposition, and in the absence of the object asserted to exist. § 226. When we examine any spontaneous intui- vidSand'gei^Sl tiou or self-cvidcnt belief,— as, for example, that or principiated in- gome individual chauffc which we observe must tuitions distin- ^ n " j i j^ i • i guiahed. procccd irom a cause, or that some particular change similar to another must proceed from a cause similar to that of the other — or that two individual things, bodies, weights, forces, lines, surfaces, solids, or any kind of quantities, being equal to a third, are equal to each other, we find that the judgment does not depend on the whole nature of the things observed and judged about, hut only on certain elements of their nature^ which we perceive as the fundamenta of the necessary relations. We ground our judgment on the percep- tion that certain objects are quantities and have relations and relata pertaining to them as such ; or on the perception that they are events and have the relations and relata belonging to them as such; or that they are substances, or powers, or spaces, or times, or relations of some kind, as identity or diversity, or similarity or dissimilarity, and have the relations and relata connected with them as such. Our conclusion is logically in- dependent of any more specific features which may accompany these radical characteristics. Such being the case, it is both possible and natural for thinking men to withdraw their atten- tion from those elements in objects which are not necessary con- ditions of their judgment, and to concentrate their thought upon those which are. In this way abstract singular judgments are formed, presenting that which is self-evident simply as having the nature which makes it self-evident; and from these, by an § 226. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. 673 application of the homologic principle, general judgmeTits are de- rived, which express fundamental laws, and may be used as radi- cal rules of inference. For example, perceiving or thinking about any indi^^ dual event simply as such, we can immediately say that it must have a cause, and that, too, a cause corresponding to its own nature, and which, if repeated, will produce a similar effect. Or, should we add together three equal amounts of some particular substance, as sugar, or salt, or water, or wine, on two or more occasions, we might, thinking of them only as quantities, say that the sum, in each instance, is equal to that in each of the other instances. Then, immediately consequent upon such judgments, we have the general "principles," that there is no effect without a cause, that like effects have like causes, and that, if equals be added to equals, the sums will be equal. Every such general judgment sets forth that which wS Bensrin£ ^^ uccessarily true in any particular instance what- itive and intuition- evcr, in which the antecedent of the judgment may ontoiofS^^^^ exist. Such a judgment, therefore, may be regarded as expressing a universal law of being. It states what absolutely must be true of some subject provided that subject exist. It asserts that anywhere, or at any time, or in any sys- tem of being, in which that subject may be found, that law must prevail. Because these generalized intuitions would be true under any possible system, they may be distinguished as ontological judgments, and may be said to express ontological laws. This character may be given to them on the further ground, which may become more evident as we proceed, that they would be necessarily employed by rational beings, under any system of existence, as really applicable to the forms of entity composing it. In other words, our abstract intuitive judgments are not only such as would be true, if applicable, under any system of being, but are such, also, as must be applicable. For this reason, therefore, — as connected with the very existence of things, in case things exist at all, — we may call them ontolog- ical judgments, and say that they indicate ontological laws. Those concrete intuitions in which objects are regarded in their whole nature, and without rejection of those elements on which the necessary perception does not depend, might also be called ontological, as containing and embodying the necessary judgment; and they sometimes do receive this name. They are ontological, however, not as to their whole nature, but only in an inferior and secondary sense, and as including judgments which more properly deserve the designation. • iud<^- ^^ contrasted with the abstract or general judg- ments defined, M mcut, the coucrcte intuition might be distinguished taiSLT^orinfS- as cosmological; and so our intuitive convictions How^reiated to on- ^^g^^ ^c divided iuto two kiuds, the ontological toiogicai judg- and the cosmological; these latter having, in ad- ^^^^' dition to the thought and perception which on- tological judgments employ, and which they also employ, modes 674 THE HUMAN MIND. §^226. of conception and of conviction peculiar to themselves. Our most noted cosmological judgments relate to the specific opera- tion of natural causes. Let us, for example, take our intuitions respecting the explosion of a percussion cap by the blow of a hammer. Presentationally we say that that particular blow (with its attending circumstances) was necessarily followed by that particular flash and report. Inferentially we say that an- other cap, just like that one, would be exploded by a similar blow. These judgments pertain, not to cause and effect in the abstract, but to the hammering and explosion of certain percus- sion caps. Evidently, too, the propositions expressing them, when understood as the utterances of intuitional or necessary truths are self-evident in the sense that they need only to be conceived or stated in order to be believed. Our conviction, in each case, assumes or starts from our observation and analysis of the act- ual phenomena. But, at the same time, these judgments, as setting forth necessary relations, include, and are founded on, modes of perception which do not depend on our knowledge of any instituted order of things, but which employ principles of absolute necessity, and are emphatically ontological. They include the judgments that a change demands a cause — that the true cause, or an essential element of it, is discoverable by the method of difference (for the explosion takes place only when the blow is given), — and that like causes are conjoined with like eff*ects. These principles are ontological; and not only does the cosmological judgment involve the assertion of them, as a part of itself, but its whole force as an inference depends on, and fioios from, this assertion. The only part which presentation necessarily performs, in connection with inferences respecting the actual operations of nature, is to give a knowledge of fact simply as such, and without reference to the logical relations of fact. Thereupon inferential perception, according to intui- tional or ontological principles, taking hold of the facts, and retaining the specific forms of thought furnished by experience, yet without any further aid from presentative perception, pro- duces the conclusion proper in the case. The judgment, that the explosion necessarily follows the blow, is something so in- dependently intellectual that it takes place as well on the sup- position or remembrance, as on the perception, of the facts; while the judgment, that a similar cap will be exploded by a similar blow, is a homological — and, therefore, an ontological — inference, from the particular intuition already made. So that, although cosmological judgments find the specific form of their data, and of their conceptions, in experience, or the observation of fact, their whole force comes from the apprehension of truths which are evident merely on being stated and independently of our cognition of the actual. Therefore, as opposed to experi- ential perception, and as being a mode of necessary or inferential perception, the cosmological judgment is essentially intuitional. While our reasonings respecting the operations of specific § 226. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. 675 causes are pre-eminently cosmological, all other inferences, which employ any mode of conception not essential to the ontological principle which they follow, have the same character. Such are judgments and inferences in which mathematical, or other intui- tional convictions, are employed about natural objects, consid- ered as such and as having their observed peculiarities. The assertion that a pound of feathers is of the same weight as a pound of lead, because they are each equal in weight to a pound of iron, is cosmological. Such judgments, yet more evi- dently than those regarding causational sequence, derive their force from the abstract principles which they embody and to which they are conformed. An ambiguity '^^^ forcgoiug remarks may illustrate the relation avoided. between those modes of judgment which we have Kant quoted. distinguished as ontological and cosmological; and they show how both are essentially intuitive. We have named our concrete intuitions cosmologicol in order to avoid an ambigu- ity. Some, perhaps most, who observe that these judgments are connected with experience and take their start from specific ex- periential cognitions, have distinguished them as experiential or empirical. While the use of such language is not without reason, it is fitted to produce perplexity. It tends to confound cosmolog- ical judgments with those which are purely experiential; and it obscures that relation of affinity, or community of nature, which exists between cosmological judgments and those which are purely ontological. In the statements of Kant, the experiential judgment is distinguished from the empirical, this latter being the simple perception of concrete fact, and the former being what we have called the cosmological judgment. He says, — in his "Prolegomena to Future Metaphysics," § 18, — "Although all judgments of experience are empirical, that is, have their ground in the immediate perceptions of the senses, yet, conversely, it is not true that all empirical judgments are, for this reason, judg- ments of experience; but, in addition to the empirical element, and, in general, in addition to that given to sense-intuition, par- ticular concepts must be furnished, whose origin is a priori in the pure understanding, under which every percept must be subsumed and so changed into true experiential, as distinguished from em- pirical, knowledge." The terms experiential and empirical are the exact Latin and Greek equivalents of each other. We prefer to use them as mere synonyms, and have, therefore, distinguished the experiential perceptions of which Kant speaks, by the term cosmologicol. The distinction between ontological and cosmological intui- tion applies to all necessary or inferential judgments whatever and, therefore, to conclusions of contingency and probability as well as to those of necessity and certainty. In every case the illative force depends on the recognition of ontological laws. This truth has been illustrated in previous discussions (§ 218). We shall not dwell upon it now, but shall assume that the 676 THE HUMAN MIND. § 227. relation between ontological and cosmological judgments has been sufficiently considered. § 227. The next point calling for attention con- mon*S°Vo^dmiS cerns the modes in which experience, or the cog- by that of experi- nition of simple fact, may and does affect intuition ence in two ways. • • i \ > l. j-'"! i. r t-i First, as to the na- lu its abstract, and m its concrete, lorm. Inese S^Vuef™""^^ ""^ modes are two in number. One of them relates to the nature^ and the other to the matter^ of our intuitive convictions. In the first place, every logical judgment^ tvJiether ontological or cosmological, is either actualistic or hypothetic col, according as it is, or is not, founded on experiential perception. This will be evident in regard to abstract intuitions, if we attend to the operation of our minds in the use of any mathe- matical or metaphysical axiom. If we say respecting some straight line which we know to be actually existent, that it is the shortest possible between its terminal points, this is an actualistic judgment; but, if the line be only a supposed or imaginary one, our judgment is hypothetical. In just the same way a cosmological inference is actualistic if the antecedent be known, or believed, to exist, and hypothetical, if the antecedent be only supposed to be. But it is to be remarked that the two kinds of judgment do not assume the hypothetical character with equal ease and completeness. Axioms, or general onto- logical judgments, are essentially hypothetical, and may be entertained without any reference to existing realities; while cosmological judgments, even when hypothetical, are seldom purely so. For example, hypothetical statements concerning specific causational sequences almost always refer to a law of nature, as known. In the axiom, every effect must have a cause, our conviction is free from the remotest dependence on experi- ence; this is not the case with even our most general statements respecting the operations of nature. These involve an experi- ential reference. We say, "All vegetable growth must have moisture," in other words, " If there be vegetable growth, there must be moisture;" this is hypothetical as regards the existence of vegetable growth and of moisture. But, behind this hypo- thetical reasoning, there is an actualistic conviction concerning the stability of the course of nature, and the reality of that law which connects moisture with vegetable growth. Therefore, our belief in the necessary connection of this consequent with that antecedent, though hypothetical, is not purely so ; it is partly founded on our observation of the course of nature in regard to such growth. For the hypothetical judgment would have no force unless we believed that the course of nature is really uni- form, and that we have discovered one of its uniformities. We might conceive of a judgment in which these principles, also, were hypothetically assumed,, but ordinarily we have no use for such judgments, and do not use them. Considered with reference to their ultimate grounds, our ordinary cosmological judgments, even when general or hypothetical, are partly founded § 227. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. 677 on experience, and, to that extent, are not hypothetical. A purely hypothetical cosmological judgment would be such as would predict the operations of some imaginary law in an ideal world. The conviction attending it would be wholly independ- ent of experience, though it might employ what we may call experiential eleinents of conception (§ 231). Such a judgment has merely theoretical importance. It might be distinguished as the poetical or supposititious cosmological inference. In the second place, ontological and cosmological ^tter^Jf ^^c^*- intuitions are differently related to experience with viction. respect to the matter asserted by them. The mat- Matter of convic- , ^ n .] i^ 1 • 1 • 1 , 1 1 tion defined. tcr oi the outological judgment may be supposed to originate with the judgment itself; it does not logically involve any antecedent experience. But that of a cos- mological conclusion, so far as it includes more than that of the ontological principle on which it is founded, is drawn from experi- ence. By matter, here, we mean the matter of conviction and assertion, in other words, that luhich is believed and asserted. In the abstract intuitions, "Like effects must have like causes," and "Things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other," the conception of what we assert and believe is not. originally obtained in experiential cognition; but in order to conceive and say, "A struck percussion cap will explode," we must start from, and refer to, a past experience of causational sequence. So, when we say that a lump of butter which bal- ances a given weight equals another lump which balances the same weight, the peculiarity of the conclusion, that it is a lump of butter which is equal to a lump of butter, is to be traced to experiential perception. In poetical cosmological judgment, which is purely hypothetical, imagination takes the place of experience, in supplying the additional matter. Both the radical modes of cognition which we have Stfon^^r?ou?d ii^w explained, that is, both empirical and intui- iii e\^ry please of tional judgment, manifest themselves under every Butintmtionmore phasc of mental life. In the perceptive phase ex- wtiSiSaS. *^^ periential cognition is the prominent element. But intuition, uniting itself with experience, is mani- festly present in our concomitant and in our acquired percep- tions. These are actualistic judgments in which we perceive things in necessary relations, and in which, according to on- tological principles, we infer the actual from the actual. In the reproductive phase, experience, though not immediately employed, appears in simple memory, which is reproduced ex- perience, and is referred to as the basis of most of those hypo- thetical concrete judgments which are employed in the con- structive work of the imagination. These judgments, being cosmological, involve also intuitive convictions. Moreover, in avoiding absurdities, imagination employs perceptions of pos- sibility and of probability; and these are modes of intuition. In the rational, or discursive, Dhase of intellect the exercise 678 THE HUMAN MIND. § 227. of intuition is more prominent than in eitlier the presentative or the reproductive phase. This is a consequence of the dis- tinguishing characteristics of reason, which are a clear and full comprehension of things and their relations, and a special de- velopment of the powers of analysis and judgment. These prop- erties pertain equally to what is called the intuitive or instinctive^ and to the discursive, mode of reason, but they are more observ- able in this latter because of its deliberate and articulate move- ment. Such is the force of rational perception that it never perceives things simply as existent, but always, also, in their necessary or ontological relations; and such is its power of analysis and abstraction, that it can think of things simply so far as they condition, and are conditioned by, such relations. All pure, or abstract, ontological judgments are the product of rational thought. The "fundamental ^ecausc intuitional principles are more distinctly, reason," or "ijeine morc prominently, knd more efficiently, employed emunfi. ^^ rcasou than by any other form of intellect, some have ascribed the origination of these principles to the reason, and have called this power the faculty, or place, of " principles," meaning by these the general laws of intuitive conviction. We prefer to say that intuition is a radical power which appears in every mode of apprehension, but which becomes especially prom- inent in our rational perceptions. But we cannot object much to the terminology of those who, referring to abstract onto- logical judgments, distinguish the faculty whereby we make these, as the pure or fundamental reason. This is the reine ver- mmft of various German philosophers. There is danger, however, of considering such a faculty as the ultimate source of these rad- ical convictions, and not simply as the power by which they are brought out into distinct and separate consideration. The origi- nal capability of forming necessary judgments, whether ontolog- ical or cosmological, should be called intuition. The relation of in- '^^® Ordinary cxcrcise of this power is more perfectly tuition to ratio- sccu iu that modc of rational perception which we Locke"?" teachings Call rcosoning or ratiocination, than in any other SSite^' ^*^ ^^' employment of the mind. Comparing the philoso- phy of intuition with that of reasoning, we perceive that the latter is but a development of the former. A course of ratiocination is a suecttog^he^n! generalized, and form axioms, they have always, finitude of space as wc havc sccu, a hypothetical character. The and the endless- ,, , • i*jj.t j.j.i- -j. ness of time ac- abstract axiom may be said to lie at the opposite a?e n*o?8impk^iii^ P^^^ of couviction fi'om the experiential judgment. ^tions. This latter is always both actualistic and devoid qiioted. of the thought of necessary consequence ; the former is both necessary and hypothetical. Cosmological statements occupy an intermediate place. To this rule, that all axioms are hypothetical, the convictions that space is boundless and that time has been ivithout beginning and shall be luithout end, may seem to be exceptions. These beliefs are so simple that they appear to be immediate intuitions, and so universally re- lated that they might be taken for general principles. But close examination will show that they are neither general prin- ciples, nor even, strictly speaking, immediate intuitions. They do not, like axioms, set forth any law of being which can be realized in particular cases; they are actualistic convictions regarding singular facts of a most unlimited relatedness. They assert the real and necessary existence of that infinitely extended space and that infinitely lengthened time, which never have, and never will, come under the immediate perception of any finite being. Hypothetical judgments, indeed, are possible respecting space and time. We might say that, because any thing or sys- tem of things, must exist in space and during time, therefore, if any thing exist, these entities must do so. But we do not commonly reason in this way. We perceive that the space and time around us are things necessary and actual, whether other things exist or not, and then, along with this immediate actual- istic intuition, we form the further judgments, that space is bound- less and time without beginning and without end. President McCosh, recognizing the peculiarity of these convictions, has distinguished them from other necessary judgments under the title of Intuitive Beliefs. We are inclined to consider them, not immediate intuitions, but conclusions reached by a simple process of reasoning. They certainly are ontological, that is, they contain no element of thought which is not immediately given in the action of intuition. But they do not seem absolutely immediate. We 682 THE HUMAN MIND. § 229. take them to be a kind of constructive conclusion, formed somewhat after the fashion of a geometrical demonstration. For, noticing two bodies to exist beside one another, we intuitively recognize that the nature of space is such that another body- could exist beside them in like manner, and another, and an- other, and so on, indefinitely. In this way, by a mental con- struction, we perceive that boundless space is necessary as the correlative of an indefinite possible extension. In like manner, noticing a number of successive events and imagining others both before and after them, we perceive that the nature of time is such that no limit can be assigned to the number of events which may precede and which may succeed one another — that time, therefore, is endless. In this process our conception of space and time as infinite, is formed just in the same way as the alge- braic conception of any infinite quantity, that is, by combining the thought of an increasing series with the negation of limit. The actualistic character of our convictions respecting these infinitudes has its root in the perceived reality of that space and time in which our own existence is passed. Beginning with the consideration of this, the possibility of indefinite extension and succession is perceived as a real possibility (§ 76), and therefore, also, as being accompanied with the reality of its conditions, which are space and time. If this account of our cognition of the infinite in space and time be adequate, it should be preferred to the theory of an im- mediate intuition. It involves less assumption ; and it harmonizes with the doctrines that all intuitions primarily exhibit themselves as presentational perceptions, and that actualistic intuitions and reasonings take their start from experience. The a priori argu- ^^^ convictious respecting the unlimited character ment for the exist- of spacc and time, guarantee the possibility of an enceofGod. infinite Substance extending throughout all space and enduring throughout all time. Some have even supposed that the being of such a substance is necessarily involved in that of these conditions. On this assumption what has been called the a 'priori argument for the existence of God has beeh constructed. This, however, involves the misconception, now no longer entertained by any one, that space and tim^e are the attributes, or properties, and not merely the necessary conditions, of an infinite substance. A more satisfactory demonstration of the Divine existence is that which employs the principles of causational inference. The reliability of § ^^^^ ^.* ^? ^ frcqueut teaching of Aristotle that our original con- "the principle (or beginning) of demonstration is Slstoue and Eeid not demonstration" ("Met." iii. 6), that "first F?r8t^^* principles, ^^^^^hs are such as are believed, not through aught defined and dial elsc, but through thcmselves alone," and that " we guis e . should not, in respect to the principles of rational knowledge, demand the reason why {to Sid ri\ but each prin- ciple ^should be a belief in and of itself" ("Topics," i. 1). Reid § 229. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION repeats this doctrine when he says, " I hold it to be certain, and even demonstrable, that all knowledge got by reasoning must be built upon first principles. This is as certain as that every house must have a foundation. ..*... When we examine, in the way of analysis, the evidence of any proposition, either we find it self-evident, or it rests upon one or more propositions" that support it. The same thing may be said of the propositions that support it, and of those that support them, as far back as we can go. But we cannot go back in this track to infinity. Where, then, must this analysis stop? It is evident that it must stop only when we come to propositions which support all that are built upon them, but are themselves supported by none — that is, to self-evident propositions" ("Essay," vi. 4). Such remarks as these are frequently to be met with in philoso- phical writings; they simply recognize the fact of inferential knowledge and analyze its nature. But it is to be observed that this doctrine as to first principles, when examined criti- cally, has a double application; first, to experiential perception, or our simple knowledge of fact, and then to intuitional convic- tion, or our perception of necessary relations. For, if we use the word principle, here, according to its original signification, to indicate that in which belief first originates, it is plain that the knowledge of mere fact or existence, no less than that of the necessary relations of entity, furnishes principles of conviction. Because every perfect inference is actualistic, and consists, first, in a simple belief or knowledge of fact, and then in the assertion of some other fact as necessarily connected with the known fact through the medium of necessary relations. A course of reason- ing may be likened to a chain, hanging from a hook. The links of the chain may represent intuitional principles, but the hook is the experiential knowledge from which the reasoning starts. In hypothetical reasoning this knowledge does not really exist, but is imagined to exist; and so we infer hypothetically what we tvould infer actualistically, if we knew the antecedent to be fact. If our language followed nature simply, this perception of fact would receive the name principle quite as frequently as the intuitive convictions which employ it as the basis of proof. The discussions of philosophy, however, have chiefly concerned the intuitive convictions, and, therefore, these, especially in their generalized forms, have very much appropriated to themselves the term principle. Yet experience, no less than intuition, has the character of an original or fontal belief • While, from the nature of the case, some convictions must be self-evident, so as to have no need of logical proof, it does not follow that there are any convictions incapable of logical proof One thing which is self-evident may be proved from something else which is self-evident. Such is the case some- times with experiential perceptions as connected by logical re- lations (§ 156). But our intuitions seem related only as logically harmonious ; they do not directly prove one another. 684 THE HUMAN MIND. § 229. T* • . « 1 * When a conviction is original, or a truth self-evi- It 18 irrational to .. iii i r r • demand proof for dent, it IS not reasonable to demand prooi oi it; cipl?^bl?t^?e£oS- sometimes, however, it is not unreasonable to inquire ^wT,!^ o^!!SVi7 whether a conviction he self-evident or not. In the wnetner a princi- • -x re • r \- 1' p • pie be self-evident practical aliairs 01 liie our powers oi immediate *''^"°*' cognition never exhibit doubt or hesitation, but, in abstract speculations, men have been led into perplexity even regarding the fundamental grounds of belief Persons troubled with such skeptical difficulties should first satisfy themselves that there are some things which are self-evident, and should then inquire regarding any particular belief whether it be self-evident or not. For there are certain characters by which such truths may be tried and known. Three such marks are noticeable. Of these we may mention first, that every self-evi- J^-evidSfcS- °^ ^^ni truth is necessarily believed by the mind. Such 1. Subjective ne- ig our mental constitution, that we cannot reject it. Hamilton quoted. In Order to usc this test properly, we must remember that our immediate cognitions, whether experiential or intuitive^ are never of the general or abstract^ hut of the singular and concrete. We must receive or reject, correct or modify, general statements, according to our perceptions in individual cases. This direction is especially important with reference to our in- tuitive convictions; for these are of a more subtle and delicate nature than those of experience. Care is necessary in the de- termination of ontological principles from our immediate judg- ments. In the first place, we must be sure that the singular perception is really intuitive and self-evident — a point not to be hastily assumed, but ascertained by the critical scrutiny of the action of one's own mind; and in the second place, the abstraction of the general principle must be so performed as to retain every es- sential element and to exclude all others. This is not always an easy task. Hamilton says, "Common sense is like common law. Each may be laid down as the general rule of decision ; but in the one case it must be left to the jurist, in the other to the phi- losopher, to ascertain what are the contents of the rule; and, though in both instances the common man may be cited as a witness, for the custom or the fact, in neither can he be allowed to officiate as advocate or as judge." These words contain a truth ; yet, perhaps, it is too strongly expressed. One unaccus- tomed to intellectual analysis, may not be able to formulate doc- trines; he cannot be a safe interpreter and expounder of truth; and, in this sense,, cannot be accepted as a judge. But persons of sound understanding have no difficulty in comprehending fundamental principles after they have been correctly formulated, or in perceiving their self-evident truth. To this extent the common man may be a judge of common sense. We need scarcely remark that the test derived from necessity of conviction operates somewhat differently in the case of experi- ential and in that of intuitive convictions. In the former we have to ask ourselves whether or not what we perceive and know § 229. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. 685 as immediately present to us exists — whether, for example, we can doubt the reality of our own minds, or thoughts, or desires, or actions, or of our bodies and their parts and affections, or of the material substances with which we come into immediate contact. But intuition is tested by attempting to believe that something necessary might not be, as that a body might exist without space, or an event take place without any relation to time, or to a cause. In either case we find that we cannot but believe in a certain way. 2 Lo -cai con- ^ sccoud tcst of our Original judgments is to be sistency. fouud in their logical consistency. This of itself does Hamilton. ^^^ ^^ ^^ show that our Original convictions must be believed, but only that we have never any reason to disbelieve them. It takes for granted one intuitive principle, viz., the laio of contradiction^ that a proposition cannot be both true and false at the same time. For, if the truth of one of our convictions involved the falsity of another, then that other would be asserted as both true and false at the same time. Thus the skeptic, in arguing from the alleged inconsistency of first principles, em- ploys one first principle at least. But all truth, when fairly ex- amined, is ever found consistent with itself Often, proceeding from observed fact on intuitive principles, we infer fact which subsequent observation witnesses, and thus experiential percep- tions confirm each other and the intuitions connecting them. Moreover our intuitive convictions, though independent of one another, always work in perfect harmony. Such being the case, those who have not befogged themselves in sophistical subtleties, have not even theoretical doubts as to their primary beliefs. They realize that presumption, mentioned by Hamilton, who says, "There is a presumption in favor of the veracity of the primary data of consciousness. This can only be rebutted by showing that these facts are contradictory. Skepticism attempts to show this on the principles which dogma- tism postulates." The presumption here is an antecedent cer- tainty, which certainty is only confirmed by every accurate an- alysis and comparison of our beliefs. Finally, the reliability of our original cognitions ^e^^enfSrma'S ^8 often illustrated by what is called the argument ^d. phiiosopM- from common sense. In this expression, the term sense." scuse, derived from the Latin sentio, signifies, not feel- ing, but perception, and indicates that there is a cog- nition, which, like the feeling which it commonly follows or accompanies, is immediate and without a process. The princi- ples of common sense are the generalizations of those perceptions, whether experiential or intuitive, which are common to man- kind. Of the first class are such statements as the following — that those things exist of which we are conscious, such as our thoughts and feelings, our souls and their powers — that those things really exist which loe perceive by our senses, and are what ive perceive them to be, for example, our bodies and the things with which we come 686 THE HUMAN MIND. § 229. into bodily contact. — that we can and do exert a control over our bodies^ and are, also, to some extent, ourselves controlled by external forces — and that those tilings really happened ivhich we distinctly remember. Such principles are simply generalizations of our per- ceptions of fact; they cannot be used, as laws of inference, for the enlargement of our knowledge. In a wide sense the exist- ence of all things, external and internal, so far as they may be commonly and directly perceived by men, is the object of experiential common sense. The principles of intuitional common sense are our ontological convictions, and they set forth fundamental laws of existence and of ratiocination. Such are the laws of causality, of substance and attribute, of the nec- essary relations of things in space and in time and as having quantity, and the laws of identity and of contradiction. Such, also, are the radical principles according to which all men rea- son in matters of possibility and of probability. Owing to the fact that the discussions of philosophers have chiefly concerned ontological convictions, there has been a ten- dency to restrict the term common sense to the agreement of mankind with respect to assertions of necessary consequence. But the expression, as thus, used to designate exclusively, the rational intuition of the race, has this serious objection, that it applies, just as naturally, to their rational experience, that is, to their generalized cognitions of simple fact. For this reason the restriction of the name to intuitional judgment cannot be maintained in the absence of any justifying necessity. Even the restriction of the name to the power of immediate cognition is technical and philosophical; because, in ordinary language, common sense is not subject to this limitation, but indicates rather that entire development of judgment and reason which men commonly exercise about their afiairs. Both Keid and Hamilton reco2:nize the experien- Common sense . ,, , . .. ,o r r> both experiential tial as wcll as the intuitioual phasc 01 Common H^ut^^SidReid Sense. Hamilton goes so far as to say that " the T^t^ii.., a^^M.. argument from Common Sense is of principal im- A peculiar applica- & ■ n . -i i r f* Fj j? tion of the term portaucc lu rcierence to the class oi contingent truths; contingent. ^^^ othcrs, from their converse being absolutely incogitable, sufficiently guard themselves"; and Reid enumerates certain "first principles of contingent truths'' among the principles of Common Sense, Here, let us note, what is properly related to a point already mentioned, that the term contingent, as ap- plied by these and other philosophers to experiential convictions, simply denotes truths or beliefs tvhich do not set forth things as nec- essarily true. In this sense contingent truth is that of simple fact, and excludes alike judgments of necessity and judgments of contingency, properly so called. For every such judgment, whether of necessity or of contingency, is logically necessary, and, in a certain sense, sets forth a necessary truth. The ulti- mate principles of inference in possibility and in probability are as intuitional and as necessary, as are those of demonstrative rea- § 229. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. 687 soiling. When, therefore, the adjective contingent is applied — not to one kind of logical judgment as distinguished from another — but to experiential as contrasted with intuitive con- viction, the term contingent assumes a secondary signification different from its original and proper meaning. It does not indi- cate the perception of what is contingent, but only the perception of fact aside from any consideration of its necessity or contingency. This use of language arose partly from the circumstance that, in a certain wide sense, all logical judgments are objectively nec- essary, perceptions of simple fact being devoid of this element of assertion; and partly, also, because in our ordinary thinkings, those perceptions of the simple esse or inesse which specially call for our attention, are related to things contingent. Neither Keid nor Hamilton defines his use of terms, but the former, with his customary good sense and sagacity, makes statements which jus- tify our interpretation of his language. He says, " One of the most important distinctions of our judgments is, that some of them are intuitive, others grounded on argument In proposi- tions that are submitted to our judgment, there is this great dif- ference — some are of such a nature that a man of ripe understand- ing may apprehend them distinctly and perfectly understand their meaning, without finding himself under any necessity of believing them to be true or false, probable or improbable But there are other propositions which are no sooner understood than they are believed. The judgment follows the apprehension of them necessarily, and both are equally the work of nature and the result of our original powers. There is no searching for evi- dence, no weighing of arguments; the proposition is not deduced or inferred from another; it has the light of truth in itself, and has no occasion to borrow it from another. Propositions of the last kind, when they are used in matters of science, have com- monly been called axioms; and on whatever occasion they are used, are called first principles^ principles of common sense^ com- mon notions, self-evident truths. Cicero calls them naturcB judi- cial judicia communihus hominum sensihus infixa. Lord Shaftesbury expresses them by the words, natural knowledge, fundamental reason, and common sense" This passage is wanting in clearness because it does not dis tinguish intuition from experience, but only immediate from ratiocinative conviction. It does, however, state that there are propositions which are no sooner understood than they are be- lieved, which have the light of truth in themselves, and which a man of ripe understanding, who apprehends them distinctly, finds himself under a necessity of believing " to be true or false, probable or improbable." Thus we are taught that necessary convictions, or those which we have distinguished as intuitive, comprise judgments of probability and contingency as well as those of necessity. Again, Reid teaches that "the principle, whatever hegins to exist must have a cause lohich produced it, is not a contingent, but 688 THE HUMAN MIND. § 230. a necessary proposition. It is not that things which begin to exist commonly have a cause, or even that they always in fact have a cause; but that they must have a cause, and cannot begin to exist without a cause." Here the statement, that things which begin to exist liave in fact a cause, is represented as a contingent proposition. But, evidently, it is contingent only in the sense that it is an experiential assertion — that is, one of fact simply; for, as Reid constantly maintains, experience is a knowledge of what is or has been, but never of what must or might be. The state- ment in question is not contingent in the sense of asserting what might be otherwise. In the case to which it relates, the con- nection experientially perceived is allowed to be a necessary one. Returning from our digression, we must say in th?apS^^^to°Sm' conclusion, respecting the "argument from com- ^oji sense- mou scusc," that the usefulness of this appeal lies lanctW. chiefly in the assurance, which it excites, that one has correctly interpreted the judgments of his own nature. First principles, as expressed in language, are nec- essarily abstract and general; if there/ore, many persons find them- selves independently Tising the same formuJcB to express their convic- tions, they conclude that they not only have judged correctly, hut also have correctly expressed their judgments. The concurrence of a large number of people respecting matters immediately subject to their observation renders assurance doubly sure. Aristotle denounces as "idle talk" the doctrine of some who denied that the pleasurable is a good. "For," he says, "what appears to all, that we affirm to be ; and he who would subvert this belief, will himself assuredly advance nothing more worthy of credit " ("Ethics," x. 2). But the caution is not to be forgotten that the appeal to common sense concerns only those truths and facts which are the objects of our immediate cognitions. The agree- ment of men, or of classes of men, in regard to matters of in- quiry and deduction, should have more or less weight according to the means of information enjoyed by the judges, and their qualification to act with skill and care and impartiality. But no concurrence of opinion has the infallibility^ of philosophical common sense. To contradict this is to be guilty of absurdity, and is even given by Melancthon as his definition of the absurd. He says, " Absurdum in philosophia vocatur opinio pugnans cum Sensu Communi, id est, vel cum principiis naturae notis, vel cum universali experientia " (vide Hamilton's Note A). intuitionaiiBxn § ^30. The doctrine of intuitionalism, which we compared with have uow endcavored to expound, is the only the- other theories ^^^ ^^ immediate cognition which at once recog- nizes all the facts presented by consciousness, and explains these on principles derived from a careful comparison and analysis of the facts. On this account we believe that this doctrine will remain as the final statement of philosophy regarding man's primary beliefs. The excellence of the Intuitionalist view may be illustrated by the incompetency of all other theories which § 230. EXPERIENCE AND INTUITION. 689 have sought the approval of studious minds. These may be rudely classified under four heads as the Skeptical, the Dog- matic, the Kantian or Idealist, and the Associationalist, theories of our primary convictions. PMioso hie ske ^^ aucieut timcs philosophical skepticism nourished ticism. itself on the sophistical refinements of Pyrrho re- pyrrho, Hume. gardiug our acknowledged cognitions ; in modern times, under the leadership of David Hume, it has triumphed in overthrowing inadequate accounts of our perceptions of fact and truth. But it never has been a common doctrine even among philosophers. For no man, however he may be puzzled by subtle difficulties, can really doubt the testimony of his senses and of his consciousness, or the intuitive perceptions of his intellect. That school in philosophy which maintains that uebSweg™Locke, the mind "has the power of immediately perceiving Soted • ^'^^^^'^^^ fundamental truth in the form of general abstract prin- ciples^ has been called the dogmatic. " Dogma- tism," says Ueberweg, has an immediate faith in the power of human thought to transcend, by the aid of perfect clearness and distinctness in its ideas, the limits of experience, and attain to truth." This doctrine is an improvement on skepticism, but it sets out from a wrong starting-point and tends to the acceptance of abstractions whose truth may be questioned and whose author- ity may be denied. Locke attacks dogmatism when he denies that maxims, or axioms, are "the principles and foundations of all our knowledge." "Many a one," says he, "knows that one and two are equal to three, without having heard or thouglit of any axiom by which it might be proved, and knows it as cer- tainly as any other man knows that the whole is equal to all its parts, and all from the same reason of self-evidence " (bk. iv. chap. vii.). But this doctrine, that all cognition is primarily a perception of the singular, has been struggling for recognition from the earliest beginnings of philosophy. That famous saying which Aristotle borrowed from the Stoics, " In intellectu nihil est quod non prius fuerit in sensu," is no obscure anticipation of Locke's assertion that all knowledge originates in experience. For in this statement aMrjdii is to be taken broadly to signify every kind of immediate or presentative perception. Aristotle did not sufficiently emphasize this doctrine and deliver it intact to his disciples, yet he expressly teaches that general truths are formed by induction, or principiation (as we would prefer to say), and that this process is based on our knowledge of particu- lars. " Demonstration," he says, " is from universals, but induc- tion from particulars. But it is impossible to investigate univer- sals except through induction. For abstract statements will be known through induction." The doctrine" of Kant was an attempt to explain and Ka^^anism. ide- ^f^^^ fj^^ fr^.^ij^ ^v^iich dogmatism inaccurately taught and imperfectly upheld. Kant failed to see that experience is as intellectual as intuition, and that intuition, 690 THE HUMAN MIND. § 231. is not a mere power of forming conceptions, but a cognition of things as they truly exist. His a priori ideas are far more fanci- ful things than the general principles assumed by dogmatism. Kantianism has this only in its favor, that it contains more of truth than any of those systems of pure idealism to which it gave rise, and which agree with it in substituting conceptions for cognitions. Associationaiism Finally, associatioualism presents the weakest and materialism, senl most unsatisfactorii occount possibh of our original per- sationalism. ,• ii t r nni • r r • i 'ii i ceptions anabeliejs. i his lorm oi error is plausible and captivating, especially when divorced from the grosser schemes with which it is commonly united. Materialism, which confounds molecular with psychical activity, and sensationalism, which con- founds all thought and feeling with bodily impressions and their reproduction, inevitably ally themselves with associationaiism, which confounds the objective laws of inference with the subjec- tive laws of the succession of our ideas. The weakness of all these modes of philosophy is nowhere more apparent than in their attempt to account for the radical conceptions and con- victions of the mind. The harder one tries to form such no- tions as those of space and time, and substance, and power, from the association of "feelings, or impressions, or states of consciousness," the more he will realize the impossibility of do- ing so. And the more one endeavors to identify our conviction of logical necessity with that of an acquired psychical necessity governing the sequence of our thoughts, the more he will find that logical necessity pertains to objects, and is truly perceived by the mind viewing them. The convictions that all things must exist in space and time, that power must reside in sub- stance, that action comes only from power, and change only from action, that nothing can be existent and non-existent at the same time, and that a thing must be either existent or non- existent, that the nature of space admits geometrical figures and relations, and necessitates certain connections between them, and that quantity, in like manner, admits and necessitates arith- metical relations — these, and many other principles, irresistibly assert themselves as simple, ultimate, objective, verities. CHAPTER L. THE ELEMENTS OF ENTITY. § 231. The doctrine of intuitionalism would not be fully il- lustrated if we did not consider two distinctions, not absolutely essential to it, yet naturally and necessarily connected with it § 231. THE ELEMENTS OF ENTITY. 691 The first of these may be expressed by saying that d^^din^^ti^ek.! 50^6 portions or elements of our thought, and the oh- ments of thooight Jecfs Corresponding to them, are intuitional or onto- enuty. logical, while others, and the objects corresponding to them, are empirical or experiential. The second may ibe expressed by saying that some portions or elements of entity, and our conceptions of them, are ontologically necessary, while others, tvith our conceptions of them, are ontologically contingent. The first of these statements and the terms employed in it relate, pri- marily, to our modes of conception, and, secondarily, to the objects corresponding with these ; the second statement and its terms relate, primarily, to the objects of our thought, and, second- arily, to conceptions corresponding to them. When, therefore, in the first statement, we speak of intuitional and experiential things or elements, we do not mean things which are the pro- ducts of experience and intuition, but only things specially related to each of these modes of cognition, and when, in the second, we speak of necessary and contingent conceptions, we mean only conceptions corresponding to things necessary and contingent Moreover, as in each case, the division of thought and the di- vision of things exactly correspond to each other, we may some- times, for the sake of simplicity, omit mention of one of these classes of things. That is, we may speak of a difierence in objects, leaving it to be understood that there is a corresponding difference in our conceptions, or, conversely, of the difierence in thought, making the difference in objects a matter of reference. For conceptions, considered as to their objective nature (§ 30), are distinguished by the distinction of their objects. The discussion of these different modes of concep- S^Kanti^sm?^^ ^i<^^ ^^^ of the different ekments of entity corres- ponding to them, is desirable, not only as illustrating the action of the mind in its primary cognitions, but also as ex- hibiting the truth which gives vitality to the error of Kantianism. The doctrine, that the perception of the actual essentially con- sists in the union of two diverse modes of mental activity, is a fundamental mistake, yet we must allow that two different modes of conception do unite in every perception of the actual. The error of Kant possibly was suggested by the Aristotelian teaching that existence or fact lies in the connection or com- position of things. For we might naturally infer from this that the perception of truth lies in the composition or union of our ideas (§ 45). A person conversant with ^Aristotle's doctrine, who should find that two peculiar modes of conception really did combine in every perception of the actual, might naturally sup- pose that he had discovered the ultimate nature of our cognitions. But we need not repeat that the perception of fact is a thing simple and sui generis, and not to be resolved into any synthesis of conceptions or other mental states. 692 THE HUMAN MIND. S 231. Beginning, then, with the first distinction, we say tStionSSJmentei ^^at some elements of thought are intuitional while defined and con- others are experiential. The objects of the modes trasted with the p , • , i -i • . • • i i i <• <• experiential. 01 conccption thus distinguished, are two lorms oi entity which are most intimately united in actual existence, and which are not ordinarily discriminated. Indeed, experiential elements are never ordinarily conceived of by them- selves, and they may be best pointed out if we first explain what we mean by the ontological elements and then say that those elements are experiential which are not ontological or intuitional. By ontological elements, we mean those which enter into our most abstract or general statements of intuitional truth, that is, into those judgments which are distinctively ontological or axio- matic. In the statement, " Power must reside in substance," power, substance, the peculiar relation between them, the exist- ence of that relation, and the necessity of this existence, are ontological elements. On the other hand, those elements of thought are experiential which never enter into and condition a pure ontological judgment, but which, as added to, or combined with, ontological conceptions, compose our ordinary ideas of things. The idea of a tree, or that of any common object, con- tains both ontological and experiential elements. It includes the conceptions of substance, quantity, size, place, shape, power, and of such relations as that of whole and parts (which makes the tree one body), of cause and effect (which accounts for its existence), of similarity (which gives it a common nature), and of individual difference (which separates it from all other trees). These are the ontological elements ; but the experiential are those peculiarities of the properties of the tree of which our senses are cognizant, and which, by their relations to the diff'erent other elements of the tree, color its whole nature. In like manner, the peculiarities of one's disposition as lively or dull, amiable or morose, intelligent or stupid, may be regarded as experiential elements in the facts of psychical life. For such things are origi- nally perceived only in experience, and are not of themselves the bases of any logical necessity. We call the conceptual and objectual elements on which in- tuitive judgments are conditioned ontological^ simply because of their relation to these judgments. For our ccmvictions of neces- sary truth do not depend on all the elements perceived in objects, hut only on certain elements which are the fundamenta of logical relations. The judgments which depend on these elements are of such abso- lute necessity, that they would hold under any system of things in which their subjects or antecedents might be found. Therefore, they, and the conceptions which condition them, may be styled ontological. On the other hand, elements of thought and being which do not enter into the laws of necessary conviction, may be called experiential, not because they alone are used in experience, nor yet because they are used in experience only (neither of these things would be true), but because they are the additions, ob- § 231. THE ELEMENTS OF ENTITY. 693 tained in experience, whereby ontological judgments or concep- tions become cosmological, and because they can be employed in argument, as representations of reaUty, only on the ground of an actual or assumed experience. For these experiential ele- ments of conception are fitted of themselves to represent fact, but not principle or law. The distinction which we have now made refers to avoided.^^^^^^^ "Certain elements of thought and being, and should not be confounded with another related to it and founded upon it. By ontological conceptions we might mean, not merely such elementary forms of thought as set forth, or con- nect, subjects and predicates in our ultimate abstract intuitions, but also any combinations or constructions formed from these. In this sense not only the simple and radical, but also the com- plex and even complicated, conceptions of the " pure sciences," and especially of mathematics, are ontological ; while all such ad- ditions to these conceptions as are not fitted to furnish logical relations, are experiential or empirical. We might, for example, take some peculiar geometrical shape, as a pyramid, or a sphere, which is a combination of simple geometrical elements, and which, on that account, has certain necessary properties peculiar to itself Our judgments respecting these properties might be called onto- logical^ as being of an absolute and universal necessity, and the shapes themselves might be called ontological^ as the bases of these judgments. Or, because an attractive force, operating on bodies inversely as the square of the distance, and directly as the quantity of matter, would produce certain efi*ects in any uni- verse, we might call that force and our conception of it onto- logical. But, at present, we consider elements^ and not compounded objects^ or our conceptions of them, and, in particular, we mean by ontological elements such ideas (and objects) as are the neces- sary factors in axiomatic judgments or simple abstract intuitions. ^ \. ^. ,. In the next place, let us note that the distinction The distinction , ^ ^ • \- i ^ • , ■.- i between experien- between experiential and intuitional conception, S''^'£ments"nSt though growiug out of that between experiential between "^^^x ^^ri- ^^^ iutuitive coiivictiou, is not so connected with ence and intu- the latter that experiential thought only is used in **^°^' experiential conviction, and intuitional only in iutuitive. On the contrary both modes of conception are used in each mode of belief. The distinctions, therefore, though related, are not parallel to each other. For cosmological intuitions em- ploy experiential conceptions along with those on which their peculiar force depends, and our experiential cognition of things includes — and sometimes mainly consists in — the perception of elements which may be the fundamenta of necessary or logical relations. When one sees a man walking along the road, his body and its parts, his place, his size, his motion, and his rate of speed, are all perceived as matters of fact. But these things involve such radical entities as space, time, substance, power, action, change, quantity, and relation; which are ontological 694 THE HUMAN MIND, § 231. elements. Plainly, experience perceives such elements, and ob- jects compounded from them, as well as the non-ontological peculiarities which may be found in such objects. Because of this want of correspondence between the division of our conceptions and that of our convictions, when each are distinguished into the ontological and the experiential^ it may be questioned whether these terms should not be used exclusively with reference to convictions, and some other designations provided for the elements of conception. But, so far, no better terms have presented themselves. TT,. r.^^r<^rsr^r,.^^^ Thc sccou d distinction between the elements of Tne ontologically necessary, and the couccption and entity, though closcly related to SgenC'^iJments the first distinction, is not based on so simple and being^°"^^* *"^ evident a ground. Each distinction is related to what might be called an ontological necessity, and, therefore, also, to necessitating conditions; yet, in a certain sense, the first refers to a conditioned, and the second to an un- conditioned, or absolute, necessity. In the division already con- sidered, conceptions are ontological as representing natures which exist in various simple necessary correlations ivith each other. The intuitive propositions in which these elementary conceptions are found, state what must be true, provided certain specific antece- dents exist. But, using the second distinction, we call concep- tions ontologically necessary, when they set forth ivhat must in any case exist in any developed system of being. Philosophers employ this rule of discrimination, when they speak of the necessary elements of conception or thought, and of being or entity. They refer to what must exist in case any system of being exists. The single antecedent thus described is of so general tnd comprehensive a character that the necessity resulting from it, as compared with the other already described, may well be called absolute. But it is absolute, not as being wholly uncon- ditioned, but only as being free from any specific condition; and, like the other necessity, it is of a hypothetical nature. To understand the character of this necessity, we STb'iiS.* '^^*^" must note that the antecedent to which it refers is not the mere existence of entity but the development w construction of a system of entity. A necessary element of be- ing is not such as cannot be supposed to be non-existent, but only such as must exist provided that, and so far as, any uni- verse or system of things exist. Excepting only space and time, it is possible to conceive — that is, we can conceive as abstractly possible — the non-existence of all things. There is no contra- diction in the idea of an infinite void in which not even one sub- stance abides in solitude; so, also, an endless duration is conceiva- ble in which no events transpire, and an unbroken silence reigns. But, on assuming the existence of any system of being, we cannot but attribute to it a certain constitution. First of all. it must contain one or more substances; without substance noth- ing can exist in time save empty space. Then this substance § 231. THE ELEMENTS OF ENTITY, 695 must be endued with power, or a capability of action ; else we shall have a world of stillness and death. Further, this power must exhibit itself in action, or exertion ; and this action must be productive of change; otherwise phenomena will not really take place, but be mere possibilities. Moreover, the different substances, powers, actions, and changes, of the universe, must all be affected by quantity ; for whatever exists cannot but be a something; and they must be subject to various relations, those, for example, of numerical difference, of similarity and diversity, of space and of time, of causation, of number and of quantity. In short, there must be various general modes of entity, if there be any universe or system of being, and, in this aspect of the case, such things may be called the necessary or fundamental elements of entity. This power of the mind to judge regarding the necessary conditions of universal being is something won- derful; but it is not inexplicable. For what we immediately perceive to be the necessary conditions of any system of being in that sphere of space and that period of time, to which our own personal existence is united, may be inferred, on the homo- logic principle, to be necessary in any space and at any time. We know that which is distant, because we know that which is present. We have seen that each of the distinctions now S)°gS^lcess?^! discussed relates, in its own sense, to an ontologi- Both hypothetical cal ncccssitv, and divides the elements of thino^s One conditioned, ,. ,^ . t.- i i the other absolute, according as they are or are not conditioned by such a necessity. In each case we may be said to distinguish the ontologically necessary and the ontologically contingent. But these names have been sjoedally given to the elements divided by tJie second distinction, because the necessity to which it refers is, as we have said, most absolute. The determination of the character of elements according to the first distinction, though not always easy, has the advantage of having definite starting-points in our specific and ultimate intuitions. An analysis of the fundamental laws of necessary or inferential judgment, yields the ontological elements of thought; and an analysis of the additions obtained in experience, the ex- Eeriential. Thus we are led directly to a division of elements y a consideration of definite intuitions respecting specific forms of entity. There is not the same simplicity in applying the sec- ond distinction. According to it, those elements of thought and of being are ontologically necessary without which no developed system of being could exist, while all elements additional to these, are ontologically contingent. For what is not necessary either to be or not to be is contingent. The antecedent of this necessity is noticeably indefinite, and even somewhat variable. The notion of a system of things or entities is a very general one; and such a sys- tem may be more or less developed. We might conceive of substances which were powerless, of powers which never 696 THE HUMAN MIND. § 281. were exerted, and of exertions which, through mutual oppo- sition or counteraction, produced no change; but we cannot think of a change save as the effect of the exertion, or of exer- tion save as the action of power, or of power save as the prop- erty of substance. And, with reference to these modes of de- pendence, we say that, next after space and time, if anything exist, it must be substance, and next after substance, if any- thing exist, it must be power, and so after power we put action or exertion, and after action, change. . Moreover, quantity and re- lation, though existing with each of these other forms of entity, are existent or non-existent so far as each is existent or non-exist- ent ; they live or perish with that to which they belong. Hence, it seems that collective entity forms a sort of system in wMch^ though every part is essential to the system^ some parts are built on others, and are, in a sense, less fundamental. Each element is necessary to the system in its own way, and has, for an immediate ante- cedent, a greater or less development of the system. That each element is necessary to the system as a whole, is the ultimate conclusion of such judgments as we have given above respect- ing the logi(»al succession of the elements. For, as every part of a process is necessary to the process, so every fundamental form of entity is an essential element of being. The question now arises, " In what way are the of eiementJ^com- two divisions of the elements of being, which we Kd. "^^ ^^^'^' ^^^® ^^^ described, related to one another ? " To which we reply, that they seem to be coincident, and that the elements respectively ontological and experiential, according to the first division, are also respectively ontologically necessary, and ontologically contingent, according to the sec- ond. This statement refers to the elements in question, and not to objects compounded from them. In particular, we do not say that objects composed of certain elements, as, for example, the com- plex forms of geometry, are ontologically necessary, but only that certain elements of which these objects are composed are so, and that if objects be fully analyzed into their elements, ontological and experiential, we shall find on examination, that the former are ontologically necessary and the latter ontologi- cally contingent, in the specific sense already explained. This position will be established if we can show that ontological and ontologically necessary elements are the same; for, beside the ontological, there are only the experiential, and, beside the on- tologically necessary, only the ontologically contingent. It is very apparent that any simple nature which may be onto- logically necessary, according to the second distinction, is an ontological element, according to the first. We not only find that such natures are the foundation of intuitive judgments, but those very judgments about them, on account of which we pro- nounce them ontologically necessary, are intuitive and ontological. Is, then, the converse proposition true, that any element, ontological, according to the first distinction, is ontologically necessary, according § 232. THE ELEMENTS OF ENTITY. 697 to the second ? To answer this question in the fullest and most satisfactoiy manner, all our simple, or axiomatic, intuitions should be distinctly formulated, and then we should inquire whether and how far each factor entering into the composition of every such intuition, must be present in a developed system of being. This would involve the collection and analysis of all the differ- ent axioms, postulates, and primary conceptions employed by pure reason. Without entering on this task we must express the opin- ion that it would result in exhibiting the coincidence of the two divisions of elements. The fundamental principles of the onto- logical sciences appear, on examination, to be simply statements expressive of certain necessary relations pertaining to space, or time, or causation, or quantity, or to substance, its powers and its actions, or to things as having numerical difference and sameness, or as logically identical or diverse, or as existent or non-existent ; and these relations, in any developed system, can- not be things merely hypothetical, but must be really operative laws, such as involve the reality of their elements. We think, too, that any intuitive principles other than those employed in the sciences commonly distinguished as ontological, may be shown to relate to things ontologically necessary. We refer to certain principles of mental and of moral science which seem self-evident and incapable of analysis into any simpler beliefs. That identity of elements which we have now de- diMskSf * not*^a scribed, and which is a bond of union between two fundamental, yet different principles of distinction, can scarcely be an important, doc- ^ ^ ^ ^ ,, r r i , ^ • j trine. regarded as a matter oi lundamental importance; yet, if we accept it as true, a new light is thrown on the nature of our intuitive convictions. We perceive that the necessary convictions of the mind set forth what, in a very absolute sense, is the necessary nature of things. The practical advantage also follows that we may reason from either distinc- tion of the elements to a correct application of the other. For, the divisions being coincident, whatever elements are ontologi- cally necessary, are such as specific intuition considers, and what- ever are involved in specific intuition, are ontologically necessary. But ordinarily we have no need of such criteria. § 232. We shall now enumerate and define certain of eutfty !"" ^*"^° elements whose ontological necessity and whose riesof^beijir*^^°" i^^^^^i^i^^^^^l character are both very apparent. The consideration of these will illustrate the nature of ontological elements, and will prepare us to understand more easily the natirre of the experiential, or contingent, elements of being. The things to which we refer may be called the summa genera, or fundamental forms, of entity, and of the relations of entity. They are the ultimate generalizations to which we natu- rally come from the analysis of all classes of objects. For, the end of generalization being to facilitate the logical ccmsideration of things, our highest natural generalizations set forth those radical 698 THE HUMAN MIND, § 232 forms of entity, which are the simplest, and, therefore, the most general, fundamenta of logical relations. So far as we can see, there are in all seven ultimate categories of being, and, beside these, several radical kinds of relation which exist between them, and which constitute another comprehen- sive category. These seven elements may be enumerated as Space, Time, Quantity, Substance, Power, Action, and Change. They are in every case to be regarded as simple ultimate ele- ments, and as exclusive of one another. Space, for example, is simply room^ without refer- Itewart? Le^nitz, Gucc to its cxtcut ; for this involves quantity. More- quoted ^*^^°^^ over, the conception of space as immense or infinite is not simple and primary. In like manner the idea of time is merely that of duration, without reference to its capability of measurement, or to its being without beginning or end. Stewart says truly that " space is neither substance, nor an accident, nor a relation; but it does not follow from this that it is nothing . objective." The same may be said of tiTne. Both are entities sui generis. Nothing could be more erroneous than the opinion of Leibnitz, "Je tenois I'espace pour quelque de purement relatif, comme le temps — pour un ordre de co-exist- ence, comme le temps est un ordre de succession." Space and time are the conditions of certain relations; they are not them- selves relations. In regard to the teaching of " certain mystical divines and philosophers who speak of space and time as having no reality to the Divine mind," Dr. McCosh well remarks, " If they have no reality to the God who knows all truth, they can, properly speaking, have no reality at all. If our convictions testify that they have a reality, it follows, I think, that they have a reality to the Divine mind." The "eternal now," or " punctum stans," of the scholastics, is a pious absurdity, origi- nating in a figure of speech. Space and time are utterly devoid of power; they can produce nothing. But neither can they be affected by power: and they condition all things, even the Divine Being. It is part of the perfection of God to be omnipresent and eternal. He could be neither wer^ there no space and time. Dimension^ or the capability of measurement, be- S^^8pS?^^defin?d. longs to space and to everything which occupies I^?L*^f a^£!n^^®' space. Of course, definite measurement is possi- zueuts oi space. i • -i f ' t -liir ble only when space is definitely occupied. Meas- urement is possible in every possible direction from any given point in a space or the substance occupying it. But, inasmuch as the volume or extent of space is proportional to the product of the measurements on three lines crossing each other at right angles, we often speak of the three dimensions of space. Such language does not teach that space is composed of length, breadth, and thickness, as of three elements, but only that it is of such a nature that it admits of lines, surfaces, and solids, and that its volume may be determined by three measurements. Space itself is a simple thing and extends equally in every direction- § 232. THE ELEMENTS OF ENTITY, 699 Quantity is distinguished by its peculiar inherence S?5ded'^'*^ in all entity. It is that which makes everything ti?uoul^ ^^ *^°°' ^ something. Without importance of its own, it Mathematics. bccomes important according to the nature of that in which it inheres. The quantity of entities, con- sidered as having numerical difference, and without reference to their measurement, is called discrete quantity, and is the basis of multitude and of number. The quantity of entity as subject to measurement, and without reference to numerical difference, is styled continuous quantity, or magnitude. Thus the many and the great are distinguished. Mathematics is sometimes defined as the science of quantity. Strictly speaking, it considers quan- tity only as the basis of numbers or of measurement, that is, of definite quantitative relations. Yet, as there is no other science specially devoted to the consideration of quantity, the common definition is not inappropriate. But we cannot agree with Eeid that, because mathematics deals only with things as having determinate quantitative relations, quantity should be defined that which may be measured. This, of course, was intended only as an accidental definition ; for simple elements cannot be analytically defined. But it is of too limited an application. We prefer the more general statement that quantity is that on which the relations of the more and the less depend. Both con- tinuous and discrete quantity belong to every element of entity, but relations are commonly conceived of only as having discrete quantity. Yet continuous quantity may be ascribed to relations. For example, we might say that a greater quantity of similarity exists between two pieces of blue cloth, each ten yards long, than between two which are only one yard in length, respec- tively. But this quantity of relations is so connected with the continuous quantity of the things related, that we seldom think of it independently, but regard it as an attribute of the things. Substance is the central category. It is that ele- SddMd^ed.^^^*^ mcut whicli is most easily and frequently taken as Aristotle's doc- ^hc basis of the unity of our conceptions. We can think of spaces, times, powers, actions, changes, and relations, as things, but substances, pre-eminently and em- phatically, are called things. The reason for this is, that this element is perceived constantly, and as a stable factor, amid our successive cognitions of other elements. Many places, times, powers, actions, changes, and relations, may be perceived sepa- rately from each other, yet all in connection with the same sub- stance. Like the other elements, substance, though of a simple nature, has distinctive properties. It occupies or pervades space; and it is the sole repository of power. We cannot conceive of a substance which should occupy no space whatever; nor of a power which should exist in separation, and not as the attribute of some substantial entity. Those use an unintelligible language who say that the different forms of matter are only different modes of force. 700 THE HUMAN MIND. § 232. We know only two kinds of substance, the material and the spiritual ; these are distinguished by the diverse characters of their powers. Aristotle's doctrine of substance, which occupies a large place in his philosophy, is wonderfully confused. This arose principally because he did not distinguish the logical from the metaphysical substance (§ 126). The former of these is not a specific kind of entity, but is entity considered as the subject of attributes. At present we speak of the latter only. The remaining genera of entity — power, action, and change — are intimately related to one another. Power is the principal con- dition of action ; and action of change. These three are gener- ally perceived at once, the action^ or operation, of powei% being recognized as the cause of change. Power defined and Powev Tiot ouly rcsidcs in, and can be exercised by, divided. substaucc Only, but also operates only on substance, c e quo e . -g^ ^j^-^ ^^^ mean that the changes produced by power are all changes in the affections and relations of sub- stance. Moreover, whether the agent act on itself or on some other substance, there is need of a capacity to receive, as well as of power to effect, the change. This capacity ha-s been named, by philosophers, passive power — 8vyap.ii ita^rjriKTf. Locke says, " Fire has a power to melt gold, that is, to destroy the consistency of its sensible parts, and consequently its hard- ness, and make it fluid, and gold has a power to be melted. The sun has a power to blanch wax, and wax a power to be blanched by the sun, whereby the yellowness is destroyed and whiteness made to exist in its place Power, thus con- sidered, is twofold, viz., as able to make, or able to receive, any change. The one may be called active^ the oXh^x passive power" ("Essay," bk. ii. chap. xxi.). The Greek language indicates this distinction by two kinds of potential adjectives, one terminating in xiKoi — such as TtoirjriKoi, HivrjriKoi — signifying active power, and another terminating in To Evidence, defined, 130; illative, 145. Excluded Middle, the law or prin- ciple of, 178, 607. Exclusive predication, 578. Existence, term defined, 75, 82, 704; may be used as a specific differ- ence, 333. Experience discussed, 24, 214, 215; as opposed to intuition, 665. Fact, term defined, 132. Faculty, defined and distinguished, 14. Fatalism, defined and distinguished, 174. FiCHTE, the natural successor of Kant, 143. Figures, the syllogistic, 629; names for the four, 634. Final Causes, origin of our belief in, 657, 659. FiTZGERAiiD, Prof., a libertarian, 172, 714 INDEX. FiiiNT, Kev. Timothy, his memory during fever, 263. FoEM, term defined variously, 83, 297, 548; formal conceptions, 86, 298; form of the impossible, 179; attributal and substantal, 304. Fox, Charles J., his exuberant vital- ity, 30. Fbanklin, Benjamin, his dreaming, 480; his experiments, 662. Feanz, Dr., his observation of a boy born blind, 439. Free Agency, or moral freedom, defined, 174. FuNDAMENTUM, or grouud of logical division, distinguished from the fundamenta of a relation, 557, 561. Gassendi, on memory, 260; on spe- cies, 375. Geneeification, defined, 335. Genus, the twofold use of the term, 334. Geometrical ideals, discussed, 504. God, has no brain, 51; is logically conditioned, 167; is knowable, 168; a free agent, 173; the su- preme cause, 656; omnipresent and eternal, 698; a ■priori argu- ment for existence of, 682. GooDYEAE, his discoveries, 481. Geay, the poet, mentioued, 463. Geey, his " Memoria Technica, " 470. Geound, the use of the term in phi- losophy, 145. Geowth, defined, 20. Habit, defined, 20, 278; as related to thought, 278. Hallucinations of sense, the, 488. Hamilton, Sir William, on the will, 16; on the place of sensations, 35; on the conscious and uncon- scious activity of spirit, 62; on ideal existences, 97; on beUef, 99, 102; on the simultaneousness of mental states, 72; his use of the terms objective and subjective, 76; on the universal implication of the thought of existence, 81; on the definition of logic, 99; in- fluenced unduly by Kant, 102; on the definition of judgment, 115; on symbolic knowledge, 122; on '■^natural and hypotheti- ^al " realism, 137; led by Kantian views into agnosticism, 145; his confused use of the word condi- tion, 161; on our ignorance of God, 166; on the infinite, 167; a libertarian, 172; on fatalism, 174; defines attention, 254, 255; on acquisition and reproduction, 259; on the redintegration of thought, 272; on induction, 283; on generalization and abstrac- tion, 296; on relations, 302; on the term genits, 334; on percep- tion, 339; on the "primum cog- nitum" 348, 350; on the order of knowledge, 353; on conscious- ness, 357; on consciousness be- ing necessary to mental life, 368; on original perception, 382; on intuition, 387; on the mutual consistency of our intuitions, 392, 685; on David Hume, 394; his strange agnosticism, 395; on the ancient doctrine of substance, 400; on the extension of spirit, 402; on the muscular sense, 409; on the principle qualities of mat- ter, 411, 415; on the secondary qualities, 418; on percepts and concepts, 433; on the cognition of the extra-organic world, 435; on Eeid's doctrine of Memory, 451; on the poetic and artistic imagination, 493; on the terms distinct and clear, 553; on the principle, or ground, of division, 557; on syllogizing, 588; on the term oion-contradiction, 610; his doctrine of induction, 622; on the figures of syllogism, 629; on modal syllogisms, 638; on pure, or "formal," logic, 646; on com- mon sense, 684, 686; his quanti- fication of the predicate dis- cussed, 577. ' ' Haemony, peedetekmined, " a doc- trine of Leibnitz, 38. Hartley, the originator of Associa- tionalism, 54. Haven, Dr., his philosophy quoted from, 17. Head, Captain, and his guide, 437. Hegel, a successor of Kant, 143, 326. Heeaclitus, thought the soul to be fire, 373. Heeschel, Sir John, on the evidence of an ethereal medium in space, 663. HiEEOCLES, teaches that man is not his body, 404. Histoeical Peopositions, distin- guished, 572. HoBBES, on mental suggestion, 273; a nominalist, 325. INDEX. 715 HoMOGENETTT, and heterogeneity, principles of, 54, 554. HoMOiiOGiCAij inference, 593, 616; probability, 644, 647. HoBACE, his **Ars Poetica," 291; his '*nascitur, non fit," 496. HoETENSius, his wonderful memory, 466. Hume, David, his *' impressions," 58; his argument, 96; on the laws of association, 269; a nominalist, 325; denied his own existence, 355, 376; on Pyrrhonism, 388, 689; on common sense, 390. HuTCHESoN, Prof., in the Glasgow University, on concomitant per- ception, 421. Huxley, mentioned, 43. Hypostasis, or suppositum, ex- plained, 304. Hypothesis, term defined, 501; use of hypotheses, 506. Hypotheticaij, the term, 502. HYPOTHETicAii, tnowlcdgc, 124, 147; necessity, 159; possibility, 186; contingency, 198; conditionals, 568; reasoning, 591. iDEAiiS, philosophy of, 496; geomet- rical, 504. Identieicative, or substantal, pred- ication, 575. Identity, literal and logical, 647. Identity, assertions of, not identical assertions, 607. Identity, law or principle of, 603. Imaginaby Objects, their individu- ality, 333. iMPOSSiBiiE, the, in what sense in- conceivable, 79; how distin- guished from the necessary not to be, 175; how perceivable, 430. Indefinite, the term defined, 535. Indeterminate, the term defined, 535, 571. iNDivTDUAiiiTY of scnse-objccts, 348; of notions, 534; of real things, 320, 330. Induction, discussed, 6, 620, 647, 655, 661. Inference, defined, 126, 524. Infebentialism, the doctrine of, dis- cussed, 142. Infinite, the, conceivable, 103; not perceived intuitively, 425. Inftebential, the term defined, 564, 571. Innervation of sense organs, 42. Integeation and diflTerentiation, the so-called principles of, 554. Intuition, variously defined, 24, 339, 386; in the sense of presentation- al perception, 387; rational in- tuition, 521; as opposed to ex- perience, 665; combines with experience, 676; the vital prin- ciple in all ratiocination, 678. Intuitionalism defined, 665. Invention, useful, its nature dis- cussed, 507. JouPFBOY, on dreaming, 64. Kames, Lord, on varieties of mem- ory, 462, 464. Kant, Lnmanuel, Prof. , his history, 142; sums up his own philoso- phy, 142; limits association to empirical ideas, 279; on the prac- tical, or intuitive, reason, often called the common sense, of men, 390; on time and space, 424; his use of the terms a priori and d posteriori, 427; his use of the term reason, 519; on the syl- logism, 588; distinguishes expe- riential from empirical judg- ments, 675. Kantianism discussed, 142, 280, 394, 420, 422, 689, 691. KjEPiiEB, the astronomer, on God's thought in the structure of the universe, 658. Kinds, natural, a peculiar species of logical genera, 560. Lambebt, his doctrine of the syllo- gistic figures, 629. Language, its natural structure and parts, 306. La Place, on the theory of the cal- culation of chances, 214. Labomiguiebe, his ' ' Le§ons de Phi- losophie," 37. Lavelette, his dreaming, 482. Law, defined, 330. Leibnitz, on the connection of soul and body, 38; on monads, 62; on unconscious activity, 261; on the principle of individuation, 332; the antagonist of Locke, 343; his ^^nisi ipse iniellecius '* discussed, 343; his definition of space and time, 423; on the terms distinct and clear ^ 553; on final causes, 659. TjTBEBtabianism, favored by the ma- jority of philosophers, 172. Livingstone, the missionary, quoted, 12. ri6 INDEX. Locke, Mr. John, on the classifica- tion of the powers of the soul, 15; on the activity of spirit, 62; his history, 78, 327; on the first origin of thought and knowl- edge, 78, 341, 372; his use of the term idea, 95, 680; his definition of judgment, 115; his use of the term experience, 215; on mem- ory, 260; on universals, 327; on individuals, 330; on the ''prin- cipium individuaiionis,'' 331; on the natural priority of the com- plex and the particular, 351; his use of the term refleciion, 354, 355; his definition of substance, 366; on the doctrine that all mental life is accompanied by consciousness, 367; makes ideas the objects of thought, 376; his definition of consciousness, 397; on substance, 398, 400; on our original perception of matter, 409; on body or matter, 410; his distinction of primary and secondary qualities, 412, 417; on concomitant perception, 422; on the perception of external bod- ies, 438; on sight - perception, 439; on the perception of solid shapes, 441; his account of mem- ory, 457; on acquired prejudices, 479; his definition of reason, 519; on sortal names, 549; on essences, 552; on direct, or or- thological, inference, 593; on trifling syllogisms, 603; on rea- soning from particular proposi- tions, 617; on intuition as the vital element in all ratiocination, 678; on philosophical dogma- tism, 689; on passive power, 700. LucKETius, the poet, quoted, 374. McCosH, Dr. James, President of Princeton College, his "Scot- tish Philosophy" quoted from, 63, 81; on the definition of judg- ment, 115; on self-evident truths, 136; on abstraction, 295, 296; his use of the term conception, 334; originates the true doctrine of substance, 366; on the primary test of intuition, 387; on first principles, 392; on Locke's con- ception of substance, 399; on the extension of spirit, 401; on the dynamical theory of matter, 411; on the fallacies of sense, 448; de- fines intuition, 668; on the real- ity of time and space, 698; on the immutability of the radical dis- tinctions of morality, 706; on the true subject of the science of logic, 530. jMacaulat, Lord, his memory, 467; on trifling inferences, 603. Magnitude, defined, 704. Malebbanche, on the connection of soul and body, 38; on occasional causes, 376. Mania potu, its hallucinations, 489. Mansel, Dean, a Kantian, 102; on the nature of judgment, 116; on our ignorance of God, 166. Matebia, prima and secunda, the terms explained, 298, 299, 399. Mathematics, the science of, de- fined, 699. Matteb, defined, 404; its qualities and properties, 411. Matteb, metaphysical use of the term, 298. Meandeb, origin of the term, 351. Melancthon, Philip, on common sense, 688. Memoby, defined, 133; abnormal, 261, 266. Mesmeb, Dr. F. , his pretensions, 486. Mesmeeism, discussed, 486. jMetcalf, Mr. John, his achieve- ments as a blind man, 445. Methods, in philosophy. The re- gressive or analytic, and the pro- gressive or synthetic, illustrated and compared, 289. MHiii, Mr. James, quoted from, 54, 358. MHiii, Mr, John Stuart, an associa- tionalist, 54; his definition of matter, 57; on the nature of judgment, 116; his character as a thinker, 116; his classification of assertions, 117; his theory of probable judgment, 214; on repe- titious probability, 225; on ab- straction, 295, 296; his definition of mind, 356; on the authority of consciousness, 362; his doc- trine of the ego discussed, 362; his view of memory, 457; on the non-significanceof proper names, 531; on the inference of the par- ticular from the particular, 617; his theory of reasoning, 619; his theory of induction, 621; on gen- eralization as a mode of infer- ence, 626; on our belief in the uniformity of nature, 659; on INDEX. 717 the fonr metliods of scientific inquiry, 661. Milton, John, his "Paradise Lost," quoted from, 497, 521. Mnemonics, their value discussed, 468. Modaij propositions, distinguished from pure, 567, 570. MoDAii syllogisms, discussed, 638. Monism, the doctrine of, 51. Moods, the syllogistic, discussed, 628. MoRAii IjAW, diverse interpretations of the, accounted for, 511; moral intuitions, 705. MoRPHY, the chess-player, Mq^. Mother Hubbard and her dog, 473. MuiiLER, his observations on cases of amputation, 448. Munchausen, the Baron, at Niagara, 475. MuscuiiAR sense, the, 409. NAPOiiEON Bonaparte, the practical imagination illustrated from his career, 519. Nature, the term contrasted with essence, 548. Necessary forms of thought, de- fined, 638, 671. Necessity; its nature, 125; moral, 169; etymology of the word, 175; its radical nature, 196, 705; how perceived, 430; causational, 654. Negative facts, their nature, 609. Newton, Sir Isaac, mentioned, 257, 481, 507; his memory, 465; his analogical conjecture, 653. NicoiiAi, his hallucinations, 489. NiEBUHR, his power of conception, 61; his memory, 465. NoMiNAJj AND REAL, definitions, dis- cussed, 546. NosHNALisM, discussed, 325, 533. NoN-EXiSTENCE, defined, 82; percep- tion of, 428. • ^ Not, the force of this particle in predication, 580. NoTATioNAL, contrasted with scho- lastic, definition, 544. Notion, origin and use of the term, 333, 523. Notions of first and of second inten- tion, a useful scholastic distinc- tion, 548. Number, defined, 704. Objectivity and ohjeciuality, distin- guished and defined, 76. Observation, defined, 256. Occam, William of, a nominalist, 325; on species, 375. Oliver, Dr., his physiology quoted from, 487. Ontologicaij relations, 595; all rea- soning founded on the percep- tion of, 665, 673. Ontological, the use of this term, 709; sciences, 697. Operation, defined, as a mode of action, 700. Opinions, the, of mankind and of philosophers, their value, 12, 390. Opposition, contradictory, 610; con- trary, 611. Orthological inference, 593; the su- preme law of orthological infer- ence, 602; orthological probabil- ity, 644. Ostensive syllogisms, contrasted with suppositive, 592. Pantheism, materialistic and ideal- istic, 51, 326. Paradigmatic reasoning, discussed, 617, 620, 624. Parcimony, the law of, 657. "Parity of Reason," or the homo- logic principle, 650. Particular predication, its use, 576, 635. Partition, a mode of analysis, 285. Parts of Speech, the natural origin and use of the, 309. Pascal, his memory, 465. Passive power, distinguished from active, 700. Patricius, on the relation of sense to thought, 28. Pemberton, his account of Newton's philosophy quoted from, 653. Petrus Hispanus, John XXH., his mnemonic lines, 471. Phases, the, of mental life, distin- guished, 23, 338, 340. Phrenology, estimated, 10. Physiological psychology, esti- mated, 10. "Plastic Medium," the, a Platonic hypothesis, 37. Plato, his mode of philosophizing, 5; on universals, 324; on sense- perception, 374; his ^^ ideas" 375; on the cognition of soul and body as distinct from one another, 403. Poetry, conditions favorable to its production, 493. Pope, the poet, quoted, 3, 517. 718 INDEX, PoKPHYKT, a neo-platonist, on the nature of genera and species, 324; his list of the predicables, 536. PoRTEB, Dr. Noah, President of Yale College, his definition of mind, 1; his division of the powers of the soul, 15; on the place of sen- sation and of sense-perception, 36; on the activity of mind, 62, 65; on the power of acquisition, 71 ; on the universal implication of existence, 81; on ideal exist- ences, 94:, 98; on the nature of judgment, 116; on memory as influenced by disease, 264; on - the association of ideas, 272, 276; on the individuality of im- ages, 333; on the philosophical imagination, 339; on the imme- diate cognition of the ego, 355; his definition of substance, 399; on the spaciality of spirit, 401; on the cognition of time, 424; on the perception of external bod- ies, 430; on acquired perception, 381, 431, 448; on compound per- ception, 433; on the cognition of solidity, 436; on Caspar Hau- ser, 440; on ecstatic somnambu- lism, 487; on ideals, 497; on the meaning of the word not, 583; on the radical or ultimate ground of inference, 627; on inductive , reasoning, 654; on final cause, 659. PoETERFiELD, Dr., ou the perception of the distant, 377. Positive and negative conceptions, 84. Possibility, logical and causal, 184; real, 190. Postulates, their nature, 191, 615. Power, defined and divided, 700. Predicables, the five, of Aristotle, 536. Predicaments, or categories of Aris- totle, 118, 528. Predication, discussed, 88, 117, 527, 562. "Prerogatives op Instances," Ba- con's, 661. Present, the term as used in philos- ophy, 425, 460. Presentationalism, discussed, 142, 671. Presententiaii, the term proposed, 564, 571. *' Primum cognitum," the, discussed, 348. Pkencipiative inference, or princi- piation, defined, 620. Principium, the, or ground, of logi- cal division, 559. ''Principium Individuationis," dis- cussed, 331. Principle, the term explained, 683. Privative conceptions, 540. Probability, logical, is simple and compound, 234; is related to ne- cessity and certainty, 642. Probability, philosophical as dis- tinguished from logical, 651. "Probable reasoning," an ambigu- ous expression, 651. Problematic reasoning, 590. Process, product, and object, distin- guished from one another, 69, 70. Proof, the term, defined, 146. Proposition, the nature and use of the, discussed, 104, 108, 119, 523,562; propositions "tiemesse," or pure propositions, 567, 570, 624, 668. Pythagoras, on universals, 323. Quality, the term, defined, 300, 302. Quantification of the predicate, the, discussed, 577; of the subject, 580, 585. Quantity, 302, 699; relations of, 703. "Eatio Cognoscendi," the, and the " ratio esseiidi,^' defined and dis- tinguished, 164. Eeal, contrasted with assumed, predication, 566; real, contrasted with hypothetical, possibility, 190; real conditional predica- tions, 568. Realism, the doctrine of, 320, 531, 534, 561. Reason, the term, 340, 520; pure or fundamental, 678. Reasoning, or ratiocination, 588. Reductio ad absurdum vel impossi- bile, a mode of immediate infer- ence, 612. Reflection, the term, variously de- fined and used, 256, 354. Reid, Dr. Thomas, on the division of the powers of the soul, 15, 17j on the place of sensations, 34; on dreaming; and his o^vn expe- rience, 63; on acquired dexteri- ties, 67; on conceiving the im- possible, 79; teaches that exist- ence is not included in every notion, 82; on cognition, 96; on INDEX. Qk Of ' T19 ideal objects, 97; on the defini- tion of judgment, 114; an infer- ential realist, 137; on knowing by means of signs, 138; a liber- tarian, 172; on attention, 255, ■ 256; on universals, 329; on the term conception^ 334; his treat- ment of philosophical skepti- cism, 347; on the reality of our perceptions, 376; on the cogni- tion of the distant, 378; on ac- quired perception, 379, 383, 430; on "common sense," 390; on first principles, 392, 393; on our original perception of external objects, 409; on concomitant perception, 422; on the percep- tion of contingency and neces- sity, 428; his doctrine of mem- ory correct, 451; on habits of belief, 479; on axioms, 603; on the modal syllogism, 638; on the principle of final cause, 659; on the necessity of first principles of belief, 683; on contingent first truths, 686. Belations, logical, defined, J.56; at- tributal, 302; perception of, 426; their duality, 702. Belativity of knowledge, the doc- trine of, 396. Beproduction, and reproductive^ terms discussed, 267. Besidues, method of, 663. Beverie illustrates the phantasy, 476. Beynolds, Sir Joshua, on the artis- tic faculty, 498. Bhapsodists, the Greek, their mem- ory, 466. Bldeb, Jane, her wonderful percep- tions, 487. Bightness, moral, something *'sui generis,'^ 511. BoscELiiiNus, a nominahst, 325. Bush, Dr., on memory as affected by fever, 263. Buskin, on " the innocence of the eye," 442. ScAiiiGEB, on the mystery of mem- ory, 268; on the true starting- . point of science, 353. SohelijING, an idealist, 326; calls na- ture "an immature intelli- gence," 368. Schema, and schematic, a new use of these terms proposed, 563. ScHMiD, his theory of memory, 261. Scholastic, definition, the, 544; syl- logism, 626. Schoolmen, the, the theologians of the middle ages, 6; on the mo- dals, 567. Schweglek, Dr., his "History of Philosophy " quoted from, 6. ScELBLEBUs, his coachmau's mem- ory, 463. Self-deteemination, the, of the soul, explained, 174, 515. Sense defined, 27, 343; fallacies of, 447; common sense, 389, 684. Shakespeare quoted, 462, 483, 489, 517. Shedd, Dr. W. G. T., Prof, in Union Theo. Seminary, on the immu- table distinctions of morality, 706. Sight, our leading sense, 438, 445; the sensations distinguished from the perceptions of, 59. Singular, the, as contrasted with the individual, 313. Smith, Adam, on the perceptions of very young animals, 443. Solidity, or tangihiliiy, the differ- ential attribute of matter, 407; the cognition of, 436. Somnambulism, discussed, 262, 482. SoRTAL ESSENCES, defined, 549. Soul, the, its spaciality, 36, 400. Space, perception of, 423; its infin ity, 681; its radical nature, 698 relations of, 703. Species, "sensible and intelligible," 95, 375, 383; as logical kinds or classes, 334. Specification, defined, 319, 335. Spencer, Herbert, his doctrines, 54, 59; on ideas producing sensa- tions, 42; his definitions of life, thought, and mind, 54; his sys- tem discussed, 56; his account of memory, 261, 457; his pan- theistic materialism, 368. Spinoza, the logical basis of his pan- theism, 311; his support from the teachings of Aristotle, 326. Spirit, the thinking, self-active, and intangible substance, 404. Stewart, Dugald, on the place of sensations, 34; on acquired dex- terities, 67; on the successive- ness of ideas, 71; on belief ac- companying imagination, 93; on attention, 255; on the term con- ception, 334; on the "primum cognitum," 349; on the percep- tion of one's own existence, 397; on memory, 465; on beUef in dreaming, 478, 481; his defini- 720 INDEX. tion of imagination, 491; on ideals, 497; on the influence of the imagination, 499; on "prob- able " reasoning, 651; on the reality of space, 698. Subjective notions, contrasted with predicative, 527. SuBOBDiNATivE inference, orthologi- cal, 606. Subsistence, the term in philoso- phy, 304, 311. Substance, ordinary or metaphysi- cal, perception of, 396; defined by Schoolmen, 398; its spacial- ity, 400; defined, 699; Spinoza's conception of, 311. Substance and atteibute, the log- ical, discussed, 292, 297, 300, 305, 310, 397. SuBSTANTAL, or idcntificative, predi- cation, discussed, 530, 574. Substantial fobms, defined, 304. ^ Substanti AT JZATioN of the predicate, 605; employed in conversions and reductions, 633. Sugden, Sir Edward, the secret of his success, 464. SupposiTTVE, syllogisms, 592. SupposiTUM, a scholastic term, 304, 501. SYiiiiOGiSM, proper use of the term, 588. Systematization, a synthetic pro- cess, 289. Tangibilitt, or solidity, the dis- tinguishing property of matter, 407. Tennent, Eev. William, his experi- ence, 264. TEETUiiiiiAN, his traducianism, 42. Theory, the term defined, 503. Thing, a very wide use of the word, 178. Thomas, Thomas E., D.D., a saying of, 257. Thomson, Dr., on the conception of logic, 102; on modes of defini- tion, 196; on logical division, 557. Time, the perception of, 423, 459; in dreams, 481; its endlessness, 681; its essential nature, 698; the re- lations of, 703. Touch, the sense of impact, 408. Tkansfee, law of logical, 613. Teinchinetti, his experiments re- garding vision, 442. Truth, defined, 107. Tuppee, his " Inquiry into Gall's System " quoted from, 264. TYCHOiiOGic principle, the, of infer- ence, 646, 660. Ueberweg, his "History of Philoso- phy " quoted, 343, 345, 689. Understanding, the, or reason, 340, 522. Untfoemity of nature, our belief in the, accounted for, 657, 659. Univeesal predication, 576, 586, 624, 635. Univeesal negative predication, its peculiarities, 580, 586. Univeesals, defined, 320; impossible entities, 321, 531, 534. Upham, Dr., on the division of the powers of the soul, 16; quoted from, 481. Vague, or indeterminate, proposi- tions, 571. Yaero, his saying about philoso- phers, 362. " Yernunet, die reine," 678. Yis iNERTiiE, the, a secundo-primary property of matter, 416. Whately, Archbishop, on abstrac- tion, 295; on the term genus, 334; on nominal and real defini- tions, 546; on the "dictum" 617; on induction, 623. WnoiiES, the collective, generic, mathematical, and metaphysi- cal, 284, 287. Zeno, a nominalist, 324. Zumpt, his classification of the parts of speech, 556. NOTE TO TEACHERS. It may be found desirable to omit from the ordinary- undergraduate course some discussions not essential to a fair knowledge of mental science. In that case, we suggest that the following sections may be wisely passed over, viz., §§ 18, 19 ; being all of C lapt er VII. §§ 26, 27 (( (4 (( X. §§ 28, 29 u u <( XI. §§ 48, 49 u (( (( XVII. §§67-72; (( u (( XXI. §§93,94 il . part of (( XXIII. §§ 95-106; u all of (( XXIV. §§ 124-131 ; u u (( XXVIII §§ 138-141; C( part of (C XXIX. §§ 165-167; (( (( (( XXXIII. § 196; « 't a XLI. §204; i( (4 (4 XLIII. §§ 216, 217; u (( 4( XLVII. §224; « (( «. XLVIII. §§ 231-2^ 55; c< all of 44 L. After the omission of the foregoing sections, the treatise may be studied in fifty lessons of eleven pages each. Should a still shorter course be a necessity, the judicious teacher can find further matter for omission ; for example, Chapter XXII., on Logical Possibility, might be passed over; for the principal points concerning this topic are afterwards pre- sented incidentally. 14 DAY USE ! 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