LIBRARY OF THC UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. Received jan 11 ]H93 - '^9 Accessions No. Hqqi'^1. . Class No. ^n UBlMSr I ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY BY NOAH K. DAVIS, Ph.D., LL.D. Peofessob op Moral Philosophy in the University op Virginia E coelo descendit : yvQ9i (reavrSv ^•^ OP THB ^« SILVER, BURDETT & CO., PUBLISHERS New York BOSTON Chicago 1892 EDUC. PSYCH. UBRARY GHT By silver, BURDETT & CO. Copyright, 1892, Typography by J. 8. Cdshing & Co., Boston. Presswork by Berwick & Smith, Boston. PREFACE. This treatise is intended primarily for those who have not already studied psychology, and now propose to give it thoughtful attention. It is therefore elementary, as its title indicates, and is introductory to the abundant and growing literature of the science. Though no previous acquaintance with the subject is requisite, yet as it can by no means be made light and easy, even an elementary treatise must pre- suppose mental maturity in the reader, and habits of thought- ful study. For him I have tried to prepare a statement of psychological doctrine, broad and true, on which he may build by his own thinking and wider reading. If his occu- pations do not permit this, he will at least have acquired a rounded knowledge of the generally approved principles and chief features of the science. A reader already acquainted with the history and litera- ture of psychology will find many familiar things restated. Let him remember that the treatise is for the novice. But he will find some familiar things modified, and some things new. A few may be indicated as follows : The material object immediately perceived ; the argument for immediate perception ; the modified view of intuition ; the argument for duality ; the relation of feeling to cognition ; the char- acter and place assigned to belief ; the separation of feeling 111 iv PREFACE. and desire ; the defence of freedom in willing. On these and other points I earnestly ask for a candid and critical judgment. I care for nothing but truth in the matter, and will heartily join in condemning all else. The portion calling for study is given in the main text. It is logically developed, with exact definitions adhered to throughout. Into the many marginal notes are gathered citations of authorities and references to those within easy reach, quotations from general literature, explanatory re- marks, examples, illustrations, — indeed, all sorts of items, some of them mere trifles, the general intent being to en- liven the terse and dry statements thus annotated. The style is didactic. Above all things, I have tried to be accurate, concise, and clear, and as simple as possible. It would be much easier to write learnedly and obscurely, and so be judged profound ; but I am willing to take the risk of slight esteem, hoping to be clearly understood. The matter of this treatise has been the basis of my teaching for twenty years, with modifications and additions from time to time, so as to include the approved results of the most recent investigations. The interest which my pupils have taken in the subject, and the general favor which has been shown to my treatise on Logic, entitled "The Theory of Thought," encourage the hope that this work also may be found useful. CONTENTS. PHYSIOLOGICAL INTRODUCTION. I. The Cephalic Senses. PAGE § 1. A preliminary physiological view needful 1 § 2. Logical distribution of the senses 1 § 3. Of smell — its organ and excitant 2 § 4. Its relatively sensuous character 3 § 5. Its percept, odor, a quality or phenomenon of brain 4 § G. The percept not consciously located 5 § 7. Of taste — its organ, excitant, sensuousness 5 § 8. Its percept, savor, a quality or phenomenon of brain 6 § 9. Analogies of smell and taste 7 § 10. Of hearing — its organ and excitant 7 § 11. Its relatively perceptive character 8 § 12. Its percept, soimd, a quality or phenomenon of brain 8 § 13. The percept not consciously located 9 § 14. Binaural audition affords proof that it is intercranial 9 § 15. Of sight — its organ and excitant 10 § IG. Its relatively perceptive charactei- 10 § 17. Its primary percept, color, a cerebral phenomenon 11 § 18. Binocular vision affords proof 12 § 19. Its secondary percept, extension. The field of view^ 13 § 20. Analogies of hearing and sight 14 § 21. The immediate object in perception 15 II. The Somatic Senses. § 22, Of touch — its organ. The intermediary 17 § 23. The sensation. Its primary percept, tangibility 18 § 24. Its secondary percept, extension 19 § 25. Erroneous views concerning touch 20 § 26. Of muscular sense — its organ and stimulant 20 V vi CONTENTS. PAGE § 27. The sensation. Its percept, solidity 20 § 28. Illustrative examples 21 § 29. The sensus vagus. Temperature. Pure pain 23 § 30. No knowledge of the outer world given by sense alone 25 III. The Nervous Organism. § 31. The sympathetic system 26 § 32. The cerebro-spinal system — its distribution 26 § 33. The cerebral nerves 27 § 34. The spinal cord and nerves 27 § 35. The nervous circuit 28 § 36. Neural reilex action 28 § 37. Muscular dexterity or habit 29 § 38. Anatomy of the brain 31 § 39. "White and gray matter — its distribution 31 § 40. Cerebral localization 32 § 41. Unconscious cerebration 33 § 42. Psychology not dependent on neurology 34 IV. PhT SIC LOGICAL PSTCHOLOGT. § 43. Comprehension of this title 35 § 44. Historical notices 36 § 45. P.sycho-physics. Fechner'.s law 37 § 46. Its critics. Results summarized 39 § 47. Psychometry — its methods and results 40 § 48. Limitations of physiological psychology 42 § 49. Relation of pure to mixed psychology 44 PART FIRST. — CONSCIOUSNESS. I. Preliminary Definitions. §50. Psychology defined. Explication of terms 47 § 51. The ego and non-ego ^2 § 52. Subject and object 53 § 53. Mental powers and activities 55 II. Generality of Consciousness. § 54. Consciousness the suminum genus ^^ § 55. Its logical content ^^ CONTENTS. VU III. CoNDlxroNS OF Consciousness. FAQB § 56. Opposition, a condition of its existence 59 § 57. Change, a condition of its continuance 60 § 58. Law of relativity , 60 § 59. Shock of difference, and of similarity 61 IV. Limits of Consciousness. § 60. It is of the actual, not of the potential 62 § 6L Of the present, not of the past 62 § 62. Of the positive, not of the negative 63 § 63. Are we always conscious ? 63 § 64. Are we conscious of several things at once ? 64 § 65. Are there unconscious mental activities ? 65 V. Facts of Consciousness. § 66. Description of the facts of consciousness 68 § 67. Their essential characters , 69 § 68, Their enforced acceptance 69 § 69. Their distinguishing criterion 70 § 70. Their fundamental importance 71 VI. Modes of Consciousness. § 71. The generic powers. Scheme 72 § 72. Cognition 73 § 73. Feeling 74 § 74. Desire 74 § 75. Volition 75 § 76. The specific powers. Scheme 75 § 77. Unity of mind 75 § 78. Simultaneity of its activities 76 PAET SECOND. — IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. I. Cognition. § 79. Definition and division of cognition 77 § 80. Is a comparison and a judgment 78 § 81. Conditions the other powers 79 § 82. Attention defined 79 § 83. Law of Limitation 80 § 84. Observation and reflection 81 viii CONTENTS. PAGE § 85. Indefinite or expectant attention 82 § 86. Involuntary attention. Distraction 82 § 87. "Voluntary attention. Abstraction 83 § 88. Is plural attention possible ? 83 § 89. Tbe sole function of will. Importance of 85 II. Presentation. § 90. Definition and division 87 § 91. The object given to consciousness 87 § 92. Representation discriminated 88 § 93. Presentations, many ; representation, one 89 § 94. Illustrative examples 89 III. Perception. § 95. Definitions. The percept 91 § 96. Organs of sense eliminated 91 § 97. Sensation and perception set apart 92 § 98. Data of perception strictly stated 93 § 99. Passivity in perception 94 IV. External Reality. § 100. Doctrine of immediate perception 96 § 101. Argument in support of 97 § 102. Replies to adverse view 99 § 103. Perception of primary qualities of body requisite 100 § 104. Found in tactile and muscular senses 100 § 105. Extra-organic body given in voluntary movement 101 § 106. Outer world given in manipulation 103 § 107. Order of development unknown 103 V. Self-Pekceition. § 108. Definition. Internal sense 105 § 109. Distinguished from self-consciousness 105 § 110. Distinguished from perception 106 § 111. Subdivision. Introspection. Example 106 §112. Reflection, Representative. Postponed 107 VI. Pure Intuition. § 113. Intuitions divided. The pure defined 108 § 114. Examples of pure ideas 109 § 115. They are abstract 110 COJS'TENTS. IX PAGE § 116. They are catholic » Ill § 117. They are self-evident ; Ill § 118. They are certain 112 § 110. They are necessary. Examples 113 § 120. They are strictly universal 114 § 121. Three kinds of general truth 115 § 122. Catholicity and universality distinguished 110 § 123. No classification effected 117 VII. Origin of Pure Truth. § 124. Questions stated 118 § 125, Empiricism. Locke and Mill 118 § 126. Reply to empiricism. Syllogisms 120 § 127. Intuitionism. Leibnitz 122 § 128. Kant. Mansel 123 § 129. The doctrine restated 125 § 130. PrefeiTed view. Pure truth objective 126 § 131. Pure ideas representative 128 § 132. Objective ground of necessity and universality 129 § 133. This theory distinct from empiricism 130 § 134. The discussion metaphysical 131 VIII. Mind and Matter. § 135. Substance intuitive. Monism and Dualism , 132 § 136. Idealism — its various forms 133 § 137. Idealists self-contradictory 135 § 138. Materialism — its creed 136 § 139. Its doctrine stated 137 § 140. Its inconceivability an unsound objection 138 § 141. Three philosophic objections 139 § 142. Absolute identity — its doctrine 141 § 143. Concomitant variations do not prove it 142 § 144. Reduces to other forms of monism 143 § 145. Dualism — its doctrine and gi'ound 144 § 146. Proved, as opposed to idealism 145 § 147. Proved, as opposed to materialism 146 § 148. Mind and brain correlated 148 § 149. Mind not related to space 148 PART THIRD. — MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. I. Representation. § 150. Definition. Discriminated from presentation 150 § 151. Division. Relations of condition 151 §152. § 153. § 154. § 155. §156. § 157. § 158. §159. §160. §161. §162. § 163. §164. § 165. § 166. §167. §168. § 169. §170. § 171. §172. § 173. §174. §175. §176. §177. §178. §170. §180. §181. §182. § 183. §184. §185. § 186. §187. §188. § 189. CONTENTS. PAGE The medium, an object perceived 152 The medium, a mental image or idea 154 Locality merely represented 155 Mental images sensuous — from exi^erience 155 Ideas always representative — in two modes 157 II. Mediate Perception. Distinguished from perception proper 158 Genesis of a case 150 Genesis generally stated — four steps 159 LiabiUty to illusion and error 160 Eeview of the fourth step in the genesis 161 Perception of spatial relations 162 Unity and plurality in space 163 Solidity and shape of outer things 164 The direction of objects in space 167 Direction as judged by hearing 168 The size and distance of objects 169 Analysis of this mediate perception 170 Perspective, ground and aerial 172 Location of tactile percepts on the body 173 Location of sense-percepts beyond the body 175 III. Suggestion. Sequence of mental states — of two kinds 177 Law of similarity — contraries 178 Law of association or redintegration 179 Order in association — loss of links 180 Multiplicity of simultaneous revivals 181 Indissoluble associations 182 Wide generality of this law 183 Law of preference. Four points 184 The associational school — disapproved 186 IV. Memory. Definition. Theory of repetition 187 The primary judgment intuitive 187 The secondary judgment. The attendant belief 188 Based on suggestion 1 89 Theory of mental retention. Two objections 189 Theory of physical retention. Supplementary 190 Remembrance, involuntary. Subdivided 193 Recollection, voluntary. Impelled by desire 194 Cirrunistantial and philosophical. Mnemonics 196 CONTENTS. xi V. riWAGINATION. PAGE § 190. Terms. Definition. The ideal object 198 § 191. Distinguished from memory 198 § 192. Limitations of imagination 199 § 193. Simple imagination — two forms 201 § 194. Complex imagination, constructive and plastic 202 § 195. Involuntary imagination or phantasy. Dreams 203 § 196. Concomitant action of the brain 204 § 197. Voluntary imagination — subdivisions 207 § 198. The artistic. Fancy 207 § 199. Poetic imagination 209 § 200. The reflective. Philosophic 209 § 201. Deliberative imagination 211 § 202. The practical. Ideas of actions 211 § 203. Ideal standards of actions 213 VI. Thought. § 204. Definition — illustrated. The notion 216 § 205. Three movements. Abstraction 217 § 206. Abstract terms 218 § 207. Generalization 219 § 208. Conception — particular and general 219 § 209. Denomination 221 § 210. Intension and extension of the concept 222 § 211. Classification 223 § 212. Review. Judgments — inductions and deductions 224 § 213. Relation of judgment and conception 225 § 214. Relation of thought to memory, and to imagination 226 § 215. Intuitive thinking 227 § 216. Symbolical thinking 229 § 217. Test of symbolic thought 2.30 § 218. Truth — its definition, and its criterion 231 § 219. Error — limited to thought. What is its source? 234 § 220. Attributed to imagination 236 PART FOURTH. — FEELING. I. Characteristics. •§ 221. Correlation of cognition and feeling 239 § 222. Their inverse ratio 241 § 223. Change requisite. Law of accommodation 241 § 224. Novelty. Familiarity the basis of memory 243 Xll C0^^ TENTS. PAGE § 225. Desire set apart 244 § 220. The consciousness of self- existence found in feeling 245 § 227. Certainty, belief, and doubt 247 § 228. Pleasure and pain. Aristotle's theory 249 § 229. Feelings involuntary — their mediate control 252 § 2.S0. Diffusion of feeling — expression and organic effects 253 § 231. Logical distribution — scheme 25G II. Sensation. § 232. Correlation of perception and sensation 258 § 233. Sensations attending the senstis vagus 258 § 234. Those of the sensus jixus. Muscular sensations 260 § 235. Tactile sensations 2G1 § 236. Odors — their classes 261 § 237. Tastes — their classes 262 § 238. Sensations of sound 264 § 239. Sensations of white light, color, and lustre 265 III. Emotion. § 240. Temperament, mood, disposition 266 § 241. Characteristics of emotion 268 § 242. Wonder and its cognates 269 § 243. Tear — its causes and effects 270 § 244. Joy and sorrow — their expression 272 § 245. Affectionate emotions 273 § 246. Sympathy — its objects. Panic 274 IV. Sentiment. § 247. Correlation of pure intuition and sentiment 277 § 248. Sensuous sejitiments. Beauty — limitations 277 § 249. The sublime, the picturesque, and the ludicrous 280 § 250. Utility — distinct from beauty. 281 § 251. Pure intellectual sentiments of truth, property, etc 282 § 252. Those of honor, trust, and pity 284 § 253. Those of self-esteem, etc. — humiliation, humility 286 § 254. Pure ethical sentiments of respect, etc. — gratitude 287 PART FIFTH. — DESIRE. I. Its Relations. § 255. Definition. Relation to cognition. 289 § 256. To feeling — pleasure and pain 290 § 257. To volition — correlative 293 § 258. Psychical instinct 294 CONTENTS. xiii II. Its Kinds. ^^^^^ § 250. Logical distribution — list of species 295 § 260. Appetites — marks of, with examples 206 § 261. Appetences — illustrative examples in detail 298 § 262. Affections — benevolent, with examples in detail 300 § 263. Affections — malevolent, with examples in detail 303 III. Its Regulation. § 264. The conflict among desires 305 § 265. The two regulative desires — how harmonized 305 § 266. Their relation to subordinate desires 307 § 267. The moral impulse conditioned. Conscience 308 PART SIXTH. — VOLITION. I. Its Relations. § 268. Definition. Contrasted with cognition 309 § 269. Its double relation to cognition 310 § 270. How related to feeling and desire 311 § 271. Subjective and objective control 311 II. Its Elements. § 272. Two conditions, and three elements 313 § 273. Choice — its special conditions, and essence 314 § 274. Intention — its static character 315 § 275. Effort — the nisus of attention 316 III. Its Freedom. § 276. The two opposed doctrines 318 § 277. Am I free ? Importance of the question 318 § 278. An objection to the inquiry retorted 320 § 279. The presumption, and burden of proof 321 § 280. The necessitarian argument 321 § 281. The reply that I am conscious of freedom 322 § 282. That volition is exempt from causation 324 § 283. That causality is modified in this case , 325 § 284. That causation does not apply to mind ^ 327 § 285. That free agency comports with subjective necessity 329 § 286. A critical analysis of the argument 332 -§ 287. A premise corrected in form and denied 333 § 288. The making the choice distinct from the choice itself 334 § 289. The choice itself is not a change 335 § 290. The necessitarian argument invalid 336 § 291. An indirect demonstration of freedom 337 § 292. The conditioning antecedents of choice 338 / ^x^Sov yap TL €y(oye avro tovto r]iJLi eivai (roxfipoavvTjv, TO yiyv(ii(TK€iv kavTov Kal ^u/xt^epo^at rw iv AeA<^o?s avaOevTt TO TOtovTov ypdfJifJia, FN LUG I ^EAYTON. kol yap tovto ovto) fioL BoK€L TO ypap-fia avaKUtrOat, cos hrj Trp6(rpr](Ti.<; ovaa tov 6eov Twv elaiovTwv olvtI tov ^atpc. — PlATO, ((UHI7.E.. PHYSIOLOGICAL INTRODUCTION. -»-oi«e- cific sense-perception, a state of mind ; sound is its object, the thing perceived. I am conscious of the sound. Now what is the thing herein immediately known to me ? It is not the bell, nor the aerial vibrations ; these are only remote causes. Indeed, the latter are not requisite, as is proved by a tuning- fork held between the teeth, in which case the vibrations are conveyed by the bones of the face.^ But even vibrations are not essential, nor indeed the apparatus of the peripheral or outer ear ; for if this ear be completely destroyed, and the stump of the auditory trunk nerve irritated with a needle, a sense-perception of sound is produced. The outer ear serves 1 In case of deafness it may be thus determined whether the cause is a stoppage of the outer passages, or a disorder of tlie inner car. Fish have no ear opening, the vibrations being conveyed from the water to the audittuy nerve througli solid bono. THE CEPHALIC SENSES. 9 doubtless to receive, modify, and transmit in all their various characters the sound-producing vibrations ; but of its func- tions, even of its existence, I am utterly unconscious. I am conscious only of a result occurring at the supposed aural centre, the inner ear, which I call a sound. Sound, then, is a phenomenon of brain. The percept is not merely enorganic, but intercranial ; the thing immediately perceived, the proxi- mate cause of the sense-perception, is the inner sensory.^ § 13. The percept of hearing is not consciously located at all. It is not perceived to be in the sensorium, where in fact it is, nor in the outer ear, where it is not. That some sounds seem to be in the outer ear is doubtless due to a disturbance of tactile nerves in the vicinity. Commonly we locate a sound, by inference, in its remote cause, as in the bell, or else in its atmosphere. But sound proper is wholly inter- cranial. Outside there are only vibrations, and were there no inner ear to hear, absolute silence would reign throughout the universe. § 14. That sound is an intercranial phenomenon is proved by a fact in binaural audition. If two unisonant musical tones be conveyed by acoustic tubes, one to each ear, a smooth musical note is heard ; but if they differ by a quarter tone, a beating note is heard. Now where is this beating? Not in the outside air, which is shut off by the tubes. Not in either tube, for each conveys a smooth tone. It can be only in the brain, and, since the auditory nerves do not decussate, probably at co-ordinated centres where they terminate. This is a physical demonstration by experiment, that sound is not 1 When we stop our ears with the tips of the fingers a roaring sound is heard, probably due to the circulation of the blood in and about the inner ear. If one will attentively contemplate this subjective sound, as the physi- ologists call it, dismissing all consideration of its cause and its apparent locality in the outer ear, he can more clearly apprehend our doctrine that all sound is subjective, its perception being merely a consciousness of the sensory excited in a peculiar manner. 10 INTRODUCTION. something in the sonorous body, or in its atmosphere, nor something in the outer ear, but that it is a cerebral phenom- enon, and that the thing immediately perceived is an excited sensory, probably an aural centre.^ § 15. The outer organ of sight, the eyeball, is a camera obscura, having in front a combination of lenses which bring pencils of light to foci on the retina lining the interior. These pencils thus depict on the retina, as on a screen, an ojDtical picture of remote luminous objects. The retina is a complexus of nerve filaments which are ramifications of the optic nerve, and through the optic nerve the impressions on the retina are conveyed in a modified form to a sensorial sight centre, and vision ensues, a sense-perception of colored figure. § 16. Sight is the most objective of the senses. Its sensa- tions are ordinarily quite feeble, scarcely marked as pleasant or painful. A very bright light, however, and also a dim light, are painful, because of the overstrained energy they arouse. Certain soft and rich colors, of medium brightness, give a marked sensuous pleasure ; and, in general, light is an agreeable and very effective stimulant.^ But the pleasure we experience in viewing harmonious contrasts of colors and the variations of light and shade is mostly intellectual and ^ The experiment was first tried by myself, and the above paragi-aph written, early in the winter of 1876-7. It was at once published to my pupils, and has ever since been used in my teaching. In the summer of 1877, Professor S. P. Thompson announced to the Brit- ish Association his own discovery of this phenomenon. (See Beport of Brit. Assoc, Plymouth, 1877, p. 37 ; also Phil. Mag. for October, 1877, p. 274; for November, 1878, p. 38.3 ; and for November, 1881, p. 351.) He pursues the subject by a number of ingenious experiments, and adds many acute observations, dwelling especially on the fact that the sensation of the sound is localized centrally at the back of the head. Viewing the matter as a physicist, he establishes andfliscusses the facts, but nowhere does he draw tlie important psycliological conclusion given above in the text. 2 lished is an addition to the sum of knowledge that may prove of inestimable worth. The difficulties, the obstacles which the physiological psychologist encounters, are very great, but perhaps they may be conquered at last, and we should encourage the audacity that attacks them. The field is new, barely broken and unpromising, but we must admire the patient zeal, the earnest hopefulness that labors for fruitful results where but few, if any, are possible. 44 INTRODUCTION. § 49. It is important to observe that this mixed psy- chology is, in all of its aspects, subordinate to and dependent on pure psychology. Evidently neither physiology alone, nor psychology alone, can ever give knowledge of the other. Pure psychology is strictly a subjective science, a science of introspection ; pure physiology is strictly an objective science, a science of external observation. It is true that mental action being in direct connection and correlation with neural action, neither can be fully understood without regard to the other. For it is within the province of psychology to trace the mental conditions of knowledge and feeling from the inner towards the outer world ; and it is within the province of physiology to trace their physical conditions from without towards the inner circle of experience. But neither can penetrate into the domain of the other.^ The most perfect analysis of the facts of consciousness could never reveal the functions or even the existence of the outer organs of sense, nor the objective existence, in its physiological aspect, of the cortex of the brain or sensory, the inner organ of consciousness. On the other hand, the most profound and exhaustive study of neurology can never explain the facts of consciousness, or even confirm their existence. If all the cells and fibres involved in each intellectual act or emotional state were numbered, measured, weighed, and their changes exactly ascertained, if all the circulating, thermal, chemical, and electrical motions were exactly formulated, the utter unlike- ness between the objective phenomena and tlie correlative subjective phenomena would completely debar the passage from one to the other, and afford not the slightest knowledge 1 Says Bain: "Mental states and bodily states are utterly contrasted; they cannot be compared, for they have nothing in common except the most general of all attributes — degree, and order in time ; when engaged with one we must be oblivious of all that distinguishes the other. ( )ur feelings and thoughts have no extension, place, form, or outline, no mechanical division of parts ; and we are incapable of attending to anything nuntal until we shut off the view of all that." — Miixf mid Ihidij. \\ V-V^. PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY. 46 of the intellectual act or emotional state. ^ Between the objective and the subjective there is a great gulf fixed. Whatever relations are discernible, it is impossible that the one class of facts should ever replace the other, or that either should ever be interpreted in terms of the other. In consequence, however, of the essential connection of mind and body, the phenomena of each stand to those of the other in the relation of cause and effect.^ Upon this the mixed or physiological psychology relies, and seeks in its narrow field a more exact expression and measurement of the facts. Nervous process in its single aspect belongs to physiology; nervous process in this double aspect belongs to the mixed psychology. It studies psychical variations indirectly by the aid of physical variations that can be pro- duced directly. It has for its object the facts of conscious- ness that accompany nervous phenomena. This combination of two distinct sciences implies a knowl- edge of each. The physiology of the nervous system must be known to some extent before nervous action can be made the basis of higher experimentation. The better it is known, the more hopeful the procedure. Likewise, the combination, instead of excluding the results of the pure psychology, pre- supposes them. One must know what the phenomena of 1 Professor Tyndall says ; "Let the consciousness of love be associated with a right-handed spiral motion of the molecules of the brain, and the con- sciousness 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 motion is in the other, but the v^luj would still remain unanswered." Dr. McCosh adds : " Not only so, but without self-consciousness we could never know that there was love, or that there was hate, or that they had any connection with the motions of the brain." 2 It was a sore problem with the earlier philosophers as to how mind and matter could interact. Descartes solved it by his theory of occasional causes. Leibnitz solved it by his theory of pre-established harmony. Both had recourse to the Deus ex machina of the ancients. For these historic curiosi- ties, see Hamilton, Meta., p. 208 sq., or any History of Philosophy, e.g. Ueberweg's, § 114 and § 117. We accept the interaction as an ultimate, inexplicable fact. 46 INTRODUCTION. consciousness are, must analyze and classify them, must know their relations and laws, before any hopeful attempt can be made to produce and measure them. One must know him- self as thoroughly as possible by an internal study of him- self, together with a comparison of this observation with the observation of others and by others, before he can reasonably enter on an investigation of the quantities of the ascertained facts. Professor Ladd very truly says: "The phenomena of consciousness as primary facts can be ascertained in no other way than in and by consciousness itself. AVhatever fault may be found with the so-called introspective method in psychology, on account of its alleged inaccuracy, lack of scientific and progressive quality, etc., from the very nature of the case, no other way of ascertaining what the phenomena of consciousness in themselves are can ever take the place of the direct examination of consciousness. And there is no way of directly examining consciousness but the way of beinof conscious of one's self." Let us then enter upon the study of the pure psychology, a very old science, since it has Aristotle for its founder, fully persuaded that during the twenty centuries of its con- tinuous life, matter worthy of preservation has accumulated, and that it can never be superseded so long as there are sub- jective facts to be investigated, so long as consciousness is the ultimate ground of all science. ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY. -o-o>»<0<>- FART FIRST. CONSCIOUSNESS. CHAPTER I. PRELIMINARY DEFINITIONS. § 50. Psychology is the science of the phenomena of mincl.^ The several terms of this definition call for some explication. A science is a logical system of truths. Its matter is exhi- bited in a fixed terminology of precise definition, and in a thoroughly systematized classification. It is a complement of knowledge, a knowledge of the princif)les and causes of the things and events within its bounds,' and of their essential relations, excluding accidental matter.^ Sciences are speculative and empirical.^ Speculative or 1 The word psychology is from \pvxvi soul, and X670S, a reasoning or dis- course. Aristotle has a treatise -n-epl i^vxv^, the De Anima, but the term psychology is quite modern, not being found earlier than 1575. Goclenius first adopted it as a literary title in 1504. Coleridge apologizes for using the insolens verbum, but it is now familiar, and the approved title in all European languages of the subject before us. 2 Science, Lat. scicntia, from scire, to know ; Grk. eTTLffTrjur], for it leads to some stop or boundary of things (iirl (TrdcTiv). This etymology is given by Plato in the Crutyliis, p. 434 a, ed. Steph. But cf. p. 412 a, ^ eiroixivq rots irpd'yfjLaffi.v. 3 Speculative, Lat. speculari, to spy out or look into, from specere. 48 CONSCIOifSJ^ESS. a priori science is a metliod of pure thought, deducing its system from intuitive, necessary principles \iy the synthesis of these principles alone ; as philosophy, logic, mathematics. Empirical or a posteriori science arises from the facts of expe- rience and observation, and through inductive inference devel- ops its system by the analysis and synthesis of these facts ; as psychology, physiology, chemistry .^ Though necessarily in- volving intuitive principles, empirical science is a knowledge of facts as distinguished from j)rinciples,2 and may be delined as a science of facts generalized and inductively formulated in laws from which deductions are made. Empirical, Grk. ifnreipia, experience. Empirical or historical kuowledge, the knowledge of experience, is the knowledge that a thing is, yvua-is &tl ea-ri. Speculative or philosophical knowledge, the knowledge of ratiocination, is the knowledge why or how a thing is, ywQais 5i6ti '4<7ti. ""Ori scienticc fiinda' laentum est, 5i6ti, fastigium.''^ — Trexdelenberg, Elem. Log. Arist. See Sir William Hamilton's detailed account of the term empirical in 3Ieta., Lee. 3. 1 The phrases a priori and a posteriori were used by the schoolmen in a sense derived from Aristotle, the former to denote a reasoning from cause to effect, the latter a reasoning from effect to cause. More commonly now, in logic, they are used to distinguish between the deduction of a special case from first principles, and the induction of a general truth from observed facts. In philosopliy and psychology knowledge a priori, according to Kant, is that which is independent of all experience, and logically prior to it ; knowledge a posteriori is that acquired by observation of facts, and therefore dependent on, and logically jxisterior to, experience. The one is knowledge of pure, the other of empirical, truth. — Critique of Pure Reason, Int., § 1. Cf. Esser, Logik, §§ 4 and 12 ; Fries, Logik, § 124. Also Hamilton, Meta., p. 285, and Logic, p. 385 (Am. eds.), and his note in BeixFs Works, p. 762. Also Thompson, Outline of the Laics of Thottght, §§ 32, 33 ; and Trendelen- burg, Kj-ccrpta, p. 81. 2 Principles (principia, oi dpxal, beginnings, elements) are those primary truths which underlie all knowledge. They may either be stated as original elements, in which case they are constitutive, or be formulated as original laws, in which case they are regulative. When taken in a more general sense, the word jmnciple denotes that on which some other truth depends. In this use we may distinguish between a primary or first principle and a secondary principle ; though in strictness the one phrase is tautological, the other self-contradictory. Aristotle notices several meanings of apxaii, and says : " What is common to all principles is tliat they are the primary source from which anything exists, is imxlnced, or is known." — Metn , iv. 1, 3. Cf. Descartes, Priucijii((, /'jiisf. An/. PRELIMINABr DEFINITIONS. 49 A phenomenon is that which appears, either to the external or to the internal sense. ^ It is anything manifest to mere observation, as distinguished from the elements into which it is resolved, and the forces and laws by which it is explained. The moon and its changes, if observed, are physical phenom- ena, antecedent to any explanation. The facts of experience, or more generally of consciousness, are psychical phenomena. Since the phenomena of mind are facts of experience, psy- chology is an empirical science. It becomes a science by infer- ring from these facts obtained by introspection universal propositions which are formulated as laws of mind, and is therefore an inductive, a posteriori science. And since these facts are modes of consciousness, it may very well be defined as the science of the facts of consciousness. It is the natural history of mind, the science of human nature. It is true, however, that on analyzing the facts of conscious- ness we shall find certain elements that are not empirical, not given by, but along with, experience. A consideration of these elements will carry us beyond the bounds of empirical science into philosophy. In this, and perhaps other respects, psychology leads so directly into metaphysics that it is not desirable, and indeed hardly possible, to observe strictly the bounds of these sciences. Whenever, then, it seems needful to elucidate the matter in hand, to confirm the doctrine, or to aug- ment our information, we shall freely transgress the limits of empirical psychology, and touch upon metaphysical inquiries.^ 1 Phenomenon, (paivofxaL, to appear. In the Kantian philosophy, phenome- non is opposed to noumenon or thing in itself (das Ding in sich) ; that is, the real taken absolutely. Phenomena are things in consciousness ; noumena are things out of consciousness. — C. P. i?., p. 178. A phenomenon, then, is the thing as presented to external or internal sense, as it stands related to mind. Perhaps more fundamentally and strictly a phenomenon is merely an observed change in consciousness. Psychology is concerned only with mental phenomena, with what appears in consciousness, or with the changes in modes of consciousness. It has nothing to do with the nature of interior realities apart from consciousness, this being the province of metaphysics. 2 To empirical psychology is opposed rational psychologj\ The distinction was first made by Wolf in his works entitled Psyclwlogia Empirica, and 50 CONSCIOUSNESS. The mind is commonly thought of as a substance.^ Matter is extended substance. Mind is conscious substance. Mat- ter and mind arc known to us only under two totally distinct series of phenomena or qualities. Matter manifests extension, solidity, divisibility, figure, motion, color, heat, etc. Mind manifests knowing, feeling, desiring, and willing. Now no quality can be conceived as existing apart, by itself, in abso- lute independence, per se. We necessarily think it the quality of some thing, and the thing in which the quality inheres, that which manifests the phenomenon, we call substance.^ Psychologia Rationnlis, 1734. The latter is a branch of ontology, seeking to evolve a priori from the conception of spiritual being those principles that govern its manifestations. The method was in high repute until Kant assailed it, so successfully that it is now hardly recognized. Hence the simple title Psychology is usually given to the empirical science. 1 The word mind is Anglo-Saxon, allied to Lat. mois and Grk. fi^vos, all probably from a common root preserved in the Sanscrit mena, to know. Soul is now synonymous with mind. Originally it signified only the principle of organic life (anima, i^vx^^), which meaning may be traced in the N. T. trichotomy of body, soul, and spirit (crw/xa, ^/vx-ri, Trvevf/.a). — See 1 ThesS. 5: 23. Cf. Plato, in the Timmts, 34 d. sq., and 36 e. sq., ed. Steph. ; also Aris- totle, Pol. 1. In the 0. T. soul (Heb. nephesh) generally means life. Spirit is generic, meaning either an immaterial part that is or has been connected with body, or else an immaterial being never so connected. The words soul and spirit have such strong theological associations that they are little used by psychologists. It is remarkable that many words synonymous with mind signify, prima- rily, air in motion. E.g. ypvx"^, dvfx6s, irvevtxa, spiritns, each meaning wind or breath (see John 3:8); animns, from dve/xos, wind ; soul, Ger. Seele, from a Gothic root meaning to storm ; ghost, Ger. Gei.' Intellect. (5) Imagination. (6) Thought. 2. Subjective consciousness, or Feeling. (1) Sensation. (2) Emotion. (3) Sentiment. II. Conation. 1. Subjective conation, or Desire. (1) Physical. (2) Psychical. 2. Objective conation,' or Volition. (1) Choice. (2) Effort. § 77. A mind is a unit. In the various divisions of its powers we are apt to see corresponding parts of mind ; in its 76 CONSCIOUSNESS. various acts, various actors ; in its various functions, various organs. But the mind, unlike the body, has no parts, has no organs. It is conscious of differences in its modes of activity, and these it distinguishes by names, and classifies. But the absolute one that knows is the same that feels, is the same that strives. So one and the same particle of matter attracts all others, elects some, emits light and heat, and exerts and is subject to electrical influences. A particle of matter may fairly be defined as an origin of forces. These forces are manifest in their effects, in objective phenomena. Perhaps physical force is one, and the variety in phenomena due to the various conditions under which it acts. It may help our conception of the unity of mind to consider that in like man- ner the conscious subject is merely a source of powers mani- fest in their effects, in subjective phenomena, and that these powers are modifications of one, of consciousness. § 78. It is important to observe also that the generic powers of mind are always simultaneously in exercise. Cognition, feeling, desire, and will may be discerned in every actual state of this unit. Each state is a single instantaneous activity capa- ble of only a logical resolution into conceivable components which never in any case exist singly and apart. Successive states exhibit a varying predominance of one element over another, and but for this the analysis would perhaps be imprac- ticable. Moreover, the specific powers likewise act simulta- neously, yet with varying intensity. At one and the same instant the conscious subject may be perceiving, remembering, imagining, thinking, experiencing sensations and emotions, desiring, choosing, striving. This should not tax our credulity more than the familiar fact that a single particle of matter constantly and simultaneously exerts a great variety of widely distinct j^hysical forces. PART SECOND. IMMEDIATE KNO^A^^LEDGE. CHAPTER I. COGNITION. § 79. A consideration of cognition in its general aspect is prerequisite to the specific treatment of immediate knowl- edge. A state of consciousness contemplated on its objective side, that is, as related to an object, is called a cognition.' Cogni- tion is consciousness of an object. This is knowledge. To cognize is to know.^ All forms of cognition are merely modes of the objective consciousness. We cannot specifically discriminate percep- tion, or memory, or imagination, or thought, from knowing, for these are only modes of knowing. Every act of intelli- gence is thus a modified consciousness, and the cognitive con- sciousness has no existence whatever except in one or another of these special modes.^ The mode which it shall assume is determined by the object known. If the object be present 1 "Cognition, Lat. cognitio, a finding out; co- (for con, wliicli for cmn, togetlier) and gnoscere, to know." — Skeat. Cf. yuuxris, from yvQvaL. 2 For illustration : Goethe found every organic member of a plant to be a modified generic leaf. The fruit, the flower and its parts, the plant as a whole, are each metamorphosed leaves. And, indeed, the leaf proper is only a nearer approximation in form to the generic typical leaf. So each of the intellectual states is a modification of one generic form, which apart from these has only a logical existence. 77 78 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. now and here, within the sphere of consciousness, and there- fore immediately known, then we have a presentation, an intuition or immediate knowledge. If the object be remote ill time or space, beyond the sphere of consciousness, and therefore known only through some medium, then we have a representation or mediate knowledge. Specifically, a present color, sound, or odor determines the mode to be perception; a representation of some past experience, memory ; and so on. The modes thus determined are presently to be discussed. § 80. It has already been pointed out that a state of con- sciousness is produced by a shock of difference, and that a cognition of difference involves discrimination and comparison (§ 59). This becomes quite evident when we consider that all knowledge is a relation between a subject knowing and an object known, as expressed in the general formula : I know it. Now it is impossible for this relation to subsist, unless there be a contrast, and the subject so constituted as to discrimi- nate. For I know only in so far as I know something, and I know that something only in so far as I distinguish it from what it is not. This discrimination implies a comparison, and it follows that comparison occurs in every act of knowledge, even the simplest.^ Comparison implies analysis and synthesis. In so far as objects are found dissimilar they are set apart ; this is analy- sis. In so far as they are found similar they are united ; this is synthesis. Hence the issue of comparison is judgment, for judgment is the conscious act wherein one thing is atlirmed or denied of another, a declaration of similarity or difference. Judging is commonly considered a compound or derivative operation, but here it appears that the simplest act of intelli- ^ The first experience, the first moment of consciousness, is doubtless a dis- covery of tlie existence of two things, ego and a non-ego, by virtue of their opposition, which implies comparison. And so throughout cognition. Our originally simple and our factitiously complex, our abstract and our general- ized notions, all are acts and results of comparison in its various applications and degrees. COGNITION. 79 gence implies a judgment, and that so far from being a pro- cess only subsequent to the acquisition of knowledge, it is the very essence of every cognitive act.^ We should, however, distinguish between primary or psy- chological judgments and inferences, the latter being secon- dary and logical. A psychological judgment, such as, I am, is certain and original, and so a fact of consciousness. A logical judgment or inference, such as, I shall be, is uncertain and derived. The one cannot be proved, but is self-evident ; to obtain the other a logical process is requisite, and so it is an inference. Psychological judgments are the condition and ground of all others ; they are the foundation of knowledge. § 81. Cognition is a condition of all other mental activities. I cannot feel unless there be some known object to determine in me the kind and degree of feeling. I cannot desire, unless there be some known object toward which my longing tends. I cannot choose, unless there be alternative objects of cogni- tion desired. I cannot make a voluntary effort, unless I form prospectively an image of the action. Hence I am essentially an intelligent being. Since cognition conditions the other generic powers, it is proper to treat of it first. § 82. Attention is an intensity of cognition. We have defined cognition to be consciousness of an object. We now define attention to be consciousness concentrated on an ob- ject ; or a concentration of the cognitive consciousness. This intensified, concentrated consciousness is, of course, always in some special mode, in some special faculty of cognition, as perception, memory, thought.^ 1 In the psychology of Lotze and of Wundt, the act of comparison under the eye of attention, i.e. the discernment of tlie relation between objects, has received the title apperception, a term borrowed from Leibnitz. It has value as emphasizing an act common to all cognitive states, and thus unifying their exercise. 2 The etymology of the word attention {ad-tendere, to stretch towards) in- dicates intensity, a cognate word. Cf. the words lust, list, listen, listless, 80 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. Some psychologists have treated attention as a special faculty. But attention is coextensive with the cognitive con- sciousness ; for it requires a known object, and any object that can be known may, through its special faculty, become an object of attention. Cognition and attention cannot there- fore be distinguished as differing in kind. The difference is merely one of degree.^ But may not consciousness be concentrated in the subject ? Certainly there is an intense self-consciousness. All feelings vary in intensity, as also do desires. Yet, since there is no object, we never speak of them as attentive, but rather as passionate. Attention knows an object, and hence the limi- tation to cognition. § 83. Attention operates according to the following Law of Limitation : The extension of cognition at any instant is in inverse ratio to its intension. That is to say, the more intently I consider an object, the fewer or less clear will be the other objects in consciousness ; and, on the other hand, the greater the number of objects to which consciousness is simultaneously extended, the smaller is the intensity with which it is able to consider any one.^ I am usually conscious of many things at once (§ 64). Now when consciousness is concentrated on some one of these, to the disregard of others, from the Anglo-Saxon lustan, to incline or lean towards. Their secondary meaning was suggested, possibly, by the natural attitude of the body corre- sponding to the state of mind. 1 In recent psychology as well as in the earlier, there is a strong disposi- tion to treat attention as a special and dominant faculty. See Eibot, Studies in Attention. But, beside what is said above, this violates a fundamental law of philosophizing, called Occam's Law of Parcimony : " Entia non sunt muItipUcanda praiter necessitatem.'''' A plurality of principles is not to be assumed when the phenomena can be explained by one. " Frustra fit per plura quod fieri potest per pauciora." See Hamilton, Aleta., p. 225, and p. 321 ; also in lieid, note A (p. T-'Sl, at foot); but especially Grote, Aristotle, vol. ii, p. 25, note. Logical absurdity is a violation of the Law of Contradic- tion. Philosophical absurdity is a violation of the Law of Parcimony. 2 Thus the old adage: ^^ Phirifms intentus, minor est ad singula sensus.''^ See Hamilton, Meta., pp. 1()4, 171. COGNITION. 81 then the intensity rehative to it is acquired at the expense of the vividness of the others. They become confused and obscure, and perhaps many pass entirely out of consciousness. Thus the intensity of present knowledge limits its extension. When listening to an eloquent discourse an assembly will remain motionless ; but no sooner is it ended than a move- ment of the whole audience shows that each one has become conscious of some discomfort which he seeks to relieve, and perhaps is startled to find himself suddenly in the presence of hundreds, when but the moment before he was alone with the speaker. Many a soldier wounded during the heat of battle has not discovered it until exhausted by loss of blood ; and many a martyr has suffered at the stake with calm serenity, his attention being so engrossed with beatific visions that the flames had no power of torture. ^ § 84. Attention to an external thing is observation ; atten- tion to an internal mental image of a thing is reflection.^ The former relates to objects of sense ; the latter, to subjec- tive objects. Observation is only of a thing present ; whereas reflection considers also something not now present, but represented by the mental image. Observation without reflection hardly does more than amass facts ; reflection with- out observation needs material. As a habit of mind one or 1 Sir Walter Scott, while painfully ill, dictated almost the whole of Ivan- hoe. When a dialogue of special interest was in progress, he would rise from his couch and walk to and fro with the greatest animation, unconscious of the pangs that a moment before and after extorted from Mm groans of agony. — Lockhart, Life of Scott, ch. 44. A skilful portrait-painter will depict the features of his subject clearly and distinctly, but will "sink" the drapery, the background, and other acces- sories, making them comparatively indistinct. This does not represent nature as it is, but as it appears ; it corresponds to our state of consciousness when we intently observe the features of another person. The artist thus leads us to contemplate the features of the portrait, for that is the attitude in which the spectator finds most ease. 2 Reid, as understood by Stewart, gives us this distinction, but in common usage it is not strictly observed. 82 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. the other generally preponderates, so that men of science may fairly be divided into observers and thinkers ; the former furnisliing matter, the latter forging it into shape. § 85. Besides attention to a definite object there is an indefinite or expectant attention, having no particular, dis- tinct object. Consciousness is, as it were, concentrated within itself, and thus intensified awaits a definite object, expected but as yet undetermined, on wliich it shall concen- trate. A teacher says to his pupils : Attend to what I am about to say. There is a pause, during which their minds are attentive ; they are listening, their attention is arrested, but its object is as yet undetermined. Anxiety, vague forebod- ing, and anticipation in general, involve this state. Coleridge says : " In attention we may keep the mind passive, we sub- mit it to an impression, we keep it steady in order to receive the stamp." ^ § 86. An important distinction is between voluntary and involuntary attention ; the one active, the other passive. The latter occurs when some sudden or persistent presen- tation excites consciousness intensely, distracting it from other objects and concentrating it on this one, without the exercise of will. A startling noise, a flash of light, a con- tinuous and acute pain, powerfully attract attention, as also a bright idea, or a striking thought. Likewise a strong desire, as hunger, curiosity, love, excites involuntary attention. A commanding effort of the will may transfer attention promptly to preferred objects, but for an instant at least the distraction is usually irresistible.^ 1 Aids to Beflection, vol. i, p. 4. This is called by Dr. Carpenter "ex- pectant attention.'" — .l/c?t«. Fhiis., ch. 3. A knock at the door excites it. Also the military command, "Attention company." Also the gavel. 2 " L'esprit du plus grand homme du monde n'est pas si independent, qu'il ne soit sujet k etre trouble par le moindre tintamarre qui se fait autour de lui. II ne faut pas le bruit d'un canon pour empecher ses pensfies ; il ne COGNITION. 83 Involuntary attention and distraction are correlatives, implying each other, the positive and negative aspects of the same state. In such attention the mind is attracted by an object ; this is positive. In distraction, the mind is drawn away from other objects ; this is negative. § 87. Voluntary attention occurs when the ego, by an inherent, original, and constitutional power, chooses to con- centrate consciousness, and does actually concentrate it, on a chosen object. This is intentional attention.^ Its correlative is abstraction. These are the same exercises viewed in dif- ferent relations, the positive and negative aspects of the same act. In attention the mind centres on an object ; this is the positive view, the giving of mind to the thing. In abstrac- tion the mind draws away from other objects; this is the negative view, the withholding of mind from those things. What we call absence of mind is abstraction, the mind hav- ing withdrawn from things to which we think it should be attending.^ § 88. Can I attend to more than one thing at a time? The question is concerning a fact of consciousness, and can be answered only by an appeal to consciousness. faut que le bruit d'une girouette ou d'une poulie. Ne vous etonnez pas s'il ne raisonne pas bien a present ; une mouche bourdonne a ses oreilles ; e'en est assez pour le rendre incapable de bon conseil. Si vous voulez qu'il puisse trouver la verite, chassez cet animal qui tient sa raison en echec, et trouble cette puissante intelligence qui gouverne les villes et les royaumes." — Pascal, Pensees^ I, vi, 12. A rustic cannot think amid the bustle of a city ; but J. S. Mill tells us that he thought out the greater part of his System of Logic during his daily walks in the crowded and noisy streets of London, and that, so complete was his abstraction, he suffered no distraction. 1 As attention is related to cognition, so is intention to volition. Inten- tion is volition concentrated ; it is will determined on an action. Both are objective. Flirting is attention without intention. 2 It is preoccupation of mind. Inattention, absolute, probably never exists, the mind being always more or less attentive to something. 84 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. Consciousness of an object should be distinguished from attention to an object. I am always conscious of many things at once, and the effect of attention is to bring an object out from obscure into clear consciousness. Now can I select several of the objects, and attend to each separately and at once ? I find on trial that I cannot. I can attend to a group of things, but not to them severally. A group is but one object. I can transfer my attention rapidly from one thing to another, but succession is not simultaneity. I find I can attend to only one thing at one time.^ If it were otherwise, then it might become possible for me to pursue two distinct trains of thought simultaneously. Who has ever done this ? ^ I cannot attend even to two per- sons talking to me on different subjects at the same time. I can attend to either one at pleasure without being much dis- turbed by the other; I can, if versatile, rapidly alternate my attention, and thus, perhaps, catch the meaning of both ; but if I try to listen to both strictly at once, I can understand neither. Indeed, if plural attention were possible, why should there be such a thing as distraction? But we are often so distracted by a call for double attention as to be incapable of any.^ 1 Hamilton per contra^ Meta., Lee. 13, 14. He offers a direct argument which is a bald petition. — See p. 165. He confuses consciousness of many objects, with attention, e.g. : "If mind can attend to, or be conscious of, only a single object at a time, how is comparison possible ? " — p. 175. This is ignoratio eleitchi. President Porter follows Hamilton. — Hum. Intellect., § 180. Yet, with approbation, Hamilton quotes Jouffroy as saying : " It is established by experience that we cannot give our attention to two different objects at the same time." — p. 227. 2 Gibbon says of the emperor Julian : " He possessed such flexibility of thought, and such firmness of attention, that he could employ his hand to write, his ear to listen, and his voice to dictate, and so pursue at once three several trains of ideas, without hesitation and without error." — Decline and Fall, ch. 22. Hardly historical. ** Plural attention is apparently supported by such cases as Napoleon I dictating to a dozen secretaries, and Paul Morphy blindfolded playing eight games of chess at once. But these are explained by alternating attention, COGNITION. 85 It is fairly asked : How, then, is comparison (§ 80) possi- ble? The answer is easy. In order to compare, a relation must be discerned between two objects within consciousness. By virtue of this relation the two become one, for "the knowledge of relatives is one." The more intimate the rela- tion, the more complete is the fusion in consciousness; but even a remote relation is sufficient so to unite them that they may become a single object of attention.^ § 89. It is the special function of the will to fix and hold attention. The great significance of this fact in human nature becomes apparent when we observe that (the control of muscular energy probably not being an exception) the will has no other power. Voluntary attention to this or that object is the sole but sufficient means of self-control. I have no other, and I need no other, means of repressing, arousing, directing, or combining my faculties, whether of cognition, feeling, or desire. The command of one's faculties by the power of attention is more or less perfect in proportion to the natural strength of the will, which varies in individuals, and to the develop- ment of its energy under the Law of Habit, namely: Our powers acquire facility and strength by exercise. This development requires that hindrances be resolutely met and overcome, that distractions be persistently reversed until they aided by powerful memory. Great versatility, the ready and rapid transfer of attention, often quite remarkable in women, startles us who are slow to follow by an appearance of plural attention. But how is it that a pianist can play two discordant tunes, one with each hand, while singing a third ? Two at least are produced automatically, without attention (§ 37). 1 Contrariorum eadem est scientia, said the scholastics. Mere juxtaposi- tion is sufficient for unification, enabling us to group as one the most hetero- geneous objects. The subject and predicate of a proposition are thought together only by virtue of the relation constituting them one proposition. Aristotle pronounces the act of judgment to be single and instantaneous. "In general, we may say, whenever by an act of attention mental data are unified into a related whole, this is an act of apperception." — Baldwin, Psychology, p. 56. See § 80, note. 86 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. cease. To acquire this power of attention should be the primary purpose of all mental discipline ; for by it alone can one cultivate and realize his natural gifts, by it alone can he rigorously train them, by it alone can he direct their exer- cise in the manner best suited to expand and elevate, and by it alone can he restrain them from all that would limit and debase. Moreover, the discovery of truth requires the labor of attention. " It is only the labor of attention," says Male- branche, "that has light for its reward. The attention of the intellect is the natural prayer by which we o]:)tain the enlightenment of reason. Since the fall, the intellect can but feebly pray, the labor of attention fatigues and afflicts it. Indeed, this labor is at first great, and the recompense scanty ; nevertheless, it is necessary; we must invoke reason to be enlightened; there is no other way of obtaining light and intelligence. Faith is a pure grace, but the understanding of truth is a grace that must be merited b}^ labor ; so that without this laborious attention, which is the force of intel- lect, we shall never be enabled to comprehend the grandeur of religion, the sanctity of morals, and the littleness of all that is not God." ^ 1 Free quotation from Traite de Morale, I, v, 4 ; vi, 1. See Hamilton, Meta., p. 177 sq. for excellent remarks on the value of attention, supported by many striking examples. Cf. Stewart, Elements, ch. i, p. 122 sq., and p. 352. The following, said of Cardinal Richelieu, illustrates several of the foregoing points : — "Ce jour-la, il fut remarqu6 par ses serviteurs (c'etaint a pen pres tous ceux qui rapprocbaient) que, depuis son lever jusqu'a la nuit, il ne prit aucune nourriture, et tendit tellement toute I'application de son ame sur les 6venements necessaires a conduire, qu'il triompha des douleurs de £ m corps, et sembla les avoir dgtruites a force de les oublier. C'fitait cette puissance d'attention et cette prfisence continuelle de I'esprit qui le haussaient presque jusqu'au g6nie. II I'aurait atteint s'il ne lui eut manqufi I'filgvation native de I'ame et la sensibility g6n6reuse du coeui-." — Vigny, Cinq-Mars, p. 157. PRESENTATION. 87 CHAPTER II. PRESENTATION. § 90. So far of cognition in general. We are now to con- sider immediate knowledge or presentation specially. Presentation is a mode of the cognitive consciousness. It is called presentation because its object is present to me here and now ; or because the object is viewed as given or presented to consciousness. The definition of presentation is immediate knowledge ; that is, knowledge wherein no medium lies between the subject knowing and the thing known. Expressed positively, this is direct knowledge. Presentative knowledge being immediate or direct is also intuitive ; the subject and object are, as it were, face to face.^ Now intuition is of two kinds, empirical and pure. Empirical intuition is either of an external thing or non-ego known in perception, or of an internal subjective object known in self-perception. Pure intuition is of non-sensu- ous objects intellectually discerned. These special powers are to be discussed in their order. § 91. In presentation, consciousness is primarily not actively exerted, but passively affected, does not act, but merely reacts, is merely receptive of the impression which the object makes upon it. A flash of light, or a sudden noise, is a presenta- tive object making an impression on me, and this impression, of which I am passively conscious, is, in the first instant of cognition, a presentation.^ 1 Intuition, from intueri, to behold, to look directly upon, Ger. Auschauung. The term, says Duns Scotus, was probably sus:gested to the earlier scholas- tics by the Vulgate of 1 Cor. 13 : 12, '■'■facie ad faciem.'''' 2 So, also, the mental image I now form of an absent object, as the moon, 88 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. A presentation is a psychological judgment (§ 80) afBrm- ing existence, and affording certainty of the actual, of the here and now existent. That is, the object is consciously known as real, or, in other words, its reality is given as a fact of consciousness.^ § 92. The logical opposite of presentation is represen- tation. Representative knowledge is mediate knowledge or cognition, since therein the conscious subject knows through a medium some remote object beyond its sphere. In presen- tative or immediate knowledge, there are only two factors, a conscious subject and an object consciously known. In representation, there are three factors, a conscious subject, the medium or object representing, and the remote object represented. So far as the immediate object is considered in itself alone, the cognition is a presentation ; as, I hear a sound. But when this object is considered with reference to some other beyond consciousness, the cognition is a repre- sentation; as, I hear a voice. If I think of Alt. Blanc, there is an image or idea of it formed by my mind of which, as a present object, I am conscious ; this idea, as a medium, repre- sents the real mountain, but of the mountain itself I am not conscious. Again, I am angry, and am subjectively self- conscious of this state. If, now, I contemplate it as a subject- object, this knowledge of it is merely presentative. If, afterward, the anger having ceased, I remember and reflect considered in itself alone without regard to the remote object, is a subjective presentation. 1 A presentation is always numerically single, an individual, undivided, though not necessarily indivisible. E.g. a chain, or one of its links ; a sen- tence, a word, a letter ; each of these is an individual. Tresence here and now, in both space and time, is requisite to a presenta- tion of external sense, as the book before me ; but time only to a presenta- tion of internal sense, as my interest in it. But thoughts, as representative, are emancipated from both bonds. So Thomas Aquinas: " While sense can know existence only under the limits of space and time (cognoscU esse sub hie et nunc), the intellect apprehends it absolutely, or with reference to all time," — Sum. Theol., i, 75, 6. PRE SEN TA TION. 8 9 upon it, there is then an image of it present to my mind, through which I know the past anger. This image, itself a presentation, represents the past anger, and the total state is representative. The medium or object representing is consciously or immediately known in itself, and therefore, considered irrespectively of what it represents, is itself a presentative object. A representation, then, involves a pres- entation ; it is a presentation, and something more. § 93. The many objects usually present within the cog- nitive consciousness, with perhaps a single exception, are merely presentative. In the impression they make, the great majority are cognized more or less obscurely, only a few are clearly known ; but in so far as each is known, it is known in itself, immediately, and without reference to anything else beyond. When attention is fixed on any one, it is thereby drawn, into clear and distinct consciousness, and may become also representative. A state of attention seems requisite to a representation; and, since we can attend to but one object at a time (§ 88), it follows that, amid the many objects present in consciousness, only one can be representative. Also, let it be remarked, if the attention be involuntary, the total state is primarily passive; but if it be voluntary, then, relatively to the object of attention, consciousness is at once active and passive; passive in receiving the impression, active in giving attention to it. § 94. Further illustration will perhaps be helpful here. A book is before me, and my hand rests upon it. I am conscious of the sensuous impression which the object makes on me. If no more than this, then there is a presentation only, a mere perception in the strict meaning of that term, an immediate cognition. But if my attention is turned to it, I recognize it as a book, I refer it to a class, and this is a representation, an apperception, a thought. Words spoken to an absent-minded man are heard as sounds. 90 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. but are not understood. Also lie stares in the face of his friend without recognizing him. When the latter enforces his attention, the recognition takes place, and the remembered sounds are now perhaps understood. But he knows that the impressions did not just then begin, but his attention to the impressions now interpreted. Suppose one born blind to receive sight, and to have as his first visual percept red light. This experience being quite new, he cannot at once refer the object to any class of things already known, he cannot give it a name, he cannot analyze it into parts or qualities, he did not will to produce it, he cannot at will modify it, it is given to him and he is passively receptive ; he must cognize it, but does not recognize it. So far it is a presentation merely. But perhaps when he has reflected a moment he recognizes it as a percept of sense. This reference to a class is a thought, a representation. Ordinarily the transition from the presentative to the repre- sentative state is almost instantaneous, quicker than lightning. For when a flash of lightning unexpectedly occurs, I first perceive an object suddenly presented, but before the flash has passed away, or before its impression on ni}^ retina has ceased, I recognize it, now as a visual object, a flash, next as out before me in space, then as a flash of lightning. In the first glance at a new landscape, I have only an intu- ition of the scene, a confused knowledge of it as one whole, without a recognition or even a clear distinction of parts. This is mere presentation. But in an instant I recognize trees, buildings, streams, rocks, hills, etc., and apprehend their relations, or apperceive them, in respect of distance, magnitude, etc., and thus come to think out the landscape as a whole. This thought of the whole is far more complete knowledge than the intuition of the whole, which was all that sense gave us at the first momentary glance. Tn this example it is very evident that presentation furnishes the iii;it(Mi;ils with wliicli iiitcllfcl builds. PERCEPTION. 91 CHAPTER III. PEKCEPTION. § 95. Perception is the immediate knowledge of an exter- nal object. Being immediate, it has but two factors, a sub- ject knowing and an object known. Since all modes of cognition are modes of objective consciousness, and since consciousness is always immediate, it follows that perception is consciousness of an external object. Accordingly, the ob- ject, though external, that is, a thing distinct from mind, is nevertheless within the sphere of consciousness. Being an object perceived, it is called a percept. § 96. The physical organs of sense are closely associated in our thoughts with the exercise of perception; they are sometimes spoken of as physical media between the subject perceiving and the object perceived ; and some authors have thought it right and sufficient to define perception as knowl- edge by means of the senses. We should, however, remem- ber that our science is only a development of the facts of consciousness, that it originates in and proceeds from these, and that to consider aught else is to abandon its proper held. We are limited, then, to what consciousness gives in an act of perception. Now, of the several outer organs of sense, the eye, the ear, etc., consciousness tells us nothing whatever. We are not at all conscious even of their existence, much less of their struc- ture and functions. Observation and inference apprise us that they exist, and also that they are physical conditions of perception (§ 5). The investigation of their structure and 'UNIVBErf^ (^^ ^ »»• 92 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. functions belongs to anatomy and physiology, and with them psychology strictly has nothing to do. Moreover, we have already found tliat the true percept lies not beyond, but on this side, so to speak, of the outer organ of sense (§ 21); so that the organ cannot, even in the freest view, be considered a medium, but only as an antece- dent condition. Therefore we must eliminate these organs entirely from our present considerations. I must retire within and ask : Of what am I conscious when perceiving? And this standpoint must be rigidly maintained if we would enjoy the certainties of consciousness. § 97. Within the domain of consciousness we are still liable to confusion, and perception projDcr needs to be sharply discriminated from certain things which lie close to it ; first from its correlative sensation. The primary power, consciousness, was sub-divided into cognition and feeling (§ 71). These, though always coex- istent, may be clearly distinguished. A cognition is objec- tive, a feeling is wholly subjective. Now, perception is a special kind of cognition (§ 72), and sensation a special kind of feeling (§ 73). The consideration of the latter must be postponed to Part IV. We have here to do with perception only.i But another distinction is needful. The definition dven 1 "A conscious presentation," says Coleridge, "if it refer exclusively to the subject as a modification of its own state of being, is a sensation ; the same, if it refer to an object, is a perception, which, when hnmediate and individual, is an intuition." — Church and State, p. 301. See also Hamilton, Meta., p. o35, and lieid, note D*. The word sensation is still used by some scientists to denote sensitive apprehension, both in its subjective and in its objective relations, like the Greek atfferiffis. It was limited first by the Carte- sians, and thereafter in the Scottish school, to the subjective phase. We should not expect sensation and perception to be distinguished in common language, for the purposes of common life do not require it; but in psy- chology they should be discriminated as obverse and reverse. Neglect of this has caused, like the shield in the story, many a knightly tilt. PERCEPTION. 93 is of perception proper, that is, of immediate perception. There is another quite complex mode of cognition, of which perception proper is only a part, but which is always in com- mon speech called perception simply, though involving much more. Since it is largely a representative state, we shall call it mediate perception.^ What, for example, in looking at a house, do I truly and really see ? Certain colored figures ; nothing more. These, and these only, constitute the object presented, the object immediately, intuitively perceived by sight. As a result of experience and observation, they have become also signs to me by or through which I judge a house to be there, and judge also of its details. The house is doubtless real, but is not the real object of direct perception. The vision of col- ored figure only is given by sight (§§ 17, 19). All else that I seem to see and say that I see is inferred, represented, and known in mediate perception. So also of the commonly sup- posed objects of the other senses. We must, therefore, elim- inate from our present considerations all mediate, all repre- sented, matter, and limit them to the immediate, presented percept. § 98. What remains in perception when we disregard all that is mere sensation, and all that is mediate ? In the exer- cise of each sense, I perceive immediately, or am conscious of, the positive existence of a phenomenon. I do not perceive substance, but a quality of substance. I do not perceive its cause, but know there must be a cause of the phenomenon. Altogether, I perceive the positively existing and caused qual- 1 In the comparatively recent psychology of Lotze, of Wundt, and of their strict followers, this is called simply perception, and is classed as one of the apperceptive faculties (§ 88, note). Leibnitz, however, from whom comes the term apperception (§ 80, note), calls the cognitive exercise described above, mediate perception (§ 69, note). The psychologists referred to lose the important distinction between sensation and immediate perception, and commit the error of treating mediate perception as a special or simple faculty. 94 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. ity of something that is not I. If I go one step beyond the presentative state, I know the percept to be an odor, or a sound, or a color, as the case may be. Nothing more than these simple percepts is immediately given. I do not perceive that they are qualities of something outside my own body ; for the senses do not singly or together tell me that a body belongs to me. Nor do they primarily reveal to me the exten- sion or existence in space of anytliing whatever. § 99. An important feature common to the several modes of perception is their passivity relatively to their objects. In modes of mediate cognition, in remembering, in imag- ining, in thinking, I am consciously active, either sjjonta- neously or voluntarily. With conscious energy, I form and contemplate representative ideas of remote objects. Each image thus presented by consciousness to consciousness is subject to consciousness ; it may be dismissed or modified either in spontaneous action or at will. I myself am the author and master of these mental modes, they being the products, or, rather, the exercises of my own conscious activ- ity determined directly by me. In perception, the case is different. When my eyes and ears are open I receive impressions of light and sound with- out the slightest effort on my part. I may place myself in an attitude favorable to the impression, and thus increase its effect. I may pay little or no attention to it. I may remove entirely out of the way, as by shutting my eyes. But while within its reach, I have power to receive, that is, passive power, but no power to reject the impression. Also, I am powerless to change or modify it in kind, but onl}- in degree. Its existence is wholly determined for me, not at all by me. For example, while I am absorbed in study, my clock strikes. Is it true that I do not hear it ? No ; for if asked the time a few moments afterwaid, I remember having heard it. If a speaker's voice or topic is disagreeable, I may " turn a deaf ear," or give little heed to it, and so diminish the PERCEPTION. 95 effect ; but I cannot at will refuse to hear, and so be uncon- scious of the sound. Let us suppose I am standing alongside a steam engine, studying its mechanism, when suddenly the whistle blows. What can I do? Can I refuse to hear? I stop my ears with my fingers, but that only abates the horror. I can run away, but shall have to run very far. I can commit suicide, as perhaps it disposes me to do. Otherwise I hear. Can I continue my study ? Not at all. The powerful over- mastering sound comes upon me, dominating all my faculties, and they become helpless and useless under its power. The same, mutatis mutandis, is true of each of the six senses. Perception, then, relatively to its objects, is an affection, not an action ; a capacity, not a faculty. In it, the mind receives impressions without being able to reject or to modify them ; it does not act, but is acted on ; it does not affect, but is affected. In perception my state is merely receptive ; I am strictly passive. There is no such thing as absolute passivity. All things are at once acting and reacting, and the reaction, which is positive, is the passion. It is this positive reaction, this passive resistance, of which I am conscious when receiving a sensuous impression, and I am conscious that it is reaction, a passion, and not an action, that I am the patient, and not the agent. I am therein the subject of experience in the strictest sense, and perception is pre-eminently the power wherein I am subjected to experiences.^ 1 The verb to eorperiment always implies activity, while to experience is always used with reference to a passive, receptive state. Both words are from the same deponent verb experiri, to try or to be tried. We try an experiment (Ger. Versuch), we undergo an experience (Ger. Erfahrung). See § 60, note. The noun trial is eitlier an action or a passion. Passivity seems to be a special characteristic of experience. Let us note also that a passive state is not a quiescent one. The former is positive, the latter merely negative. 96 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. CHAPTER IV. EXTERNAL REALITY. § 100. The percept is external to mind, is a non-ego. This seems almost paradoxical. How can mind be conscious of that which is beyond it ? The doctrine is not to be rejected because it is incomprehensible, for the primary data of con- sciousness, being the conditions under which all else is com- prehended, are of course themselves incomprehensible. We can only know that they are, not how they are. To explain how they are would be to refer them to some higher princi- ple ; but there is none. If a clearly correct analysis ascer- tains that mind is conscious of something distinct from itself, there is an end of the matter ; the fact is ultimate, and must be accepted.^ It is admitted by all philosophers and skeptics that I am conscious of the percept, for example, of an odor or a sound. This, therefore, may be taken for granted as undisputed and indisputable. It is the common conviction of men that the percept is a non-ego. This, certain philosophers pronounce a delusion, holding the percept to be merely an objectified mode of the ego itself. Of these, some theoreticall}^ deny the exist- ence of a non-ego ; others admit its existence, maintaining, however, that this is not immediately, but mediately known. 1 "Herein," says Herbert Spencer, "is an all-sufficient warrant for the assertion of objective existence. Mysterious as seems the consciousness of something; wliich is yet out of [i.e. distinct from] consciousness, the inquirer finds that he alleges the reality of this something in virtue of the ultimate law, he is obliged to think it. It is impossible by reasoning either to verify or to falsify this deliverance of consciousness." — Pn'nciph's of Psychology, § 448. EXTERNAL REALITY. 97 Our view, on the contrary, is that in perception I am con- scious of a non-ego ; that is to say, I immediately know that the object is a non-ego. This is the doctrine of immediate perception.^ § 101. In a previous section (§ 99) it was shown that per- ception relatively to its object is strictly a passive power, contrasting in this respect with the representative faculties. What now is involved in this fact of consciousness, this com- plete and positive passivity of mind in perception? A patient implies an agent, and a consciousness of one correlative im- plies a consciousness of the other. My consciousness of the agent or object lies in my consciousness of its action on me ; and herein I am conscious of its activity. Thus in percep- tion, while consciously passive, I am conscious of an activity. Now, as I cannot be both active and passive myself, in one and the same relation, it is evident that this activity must be the activity of a non-ego ; and, since I am conscious of this activity as a positive fact, I am therein conscious of, or per- ceive, a positive non-ego.^ 1 It is the chief cliaracteristic of the Scottish school of philosophy, the school of Eeid and Hamilton, in opposition to idealism, and under various forms of statement now widely prevalent in the philosophemes of Europe and of this coiintry. It is held in the present treatise with important though not essential modifications, and supported on original grounds. ■^ We are well aware that Mill (Logic, bk. iii, ch. 5, § 4) teaches that the distinction between agent and patient is illusory, being merely verbal. But surely a distinction embedded in the very structure of all languages is founded on something more than mere expression. Surely there is some essential difference between I strike, and I am stricken. It is unquestionably true, as he says, that " in case of a sensation produced in our organs, the laws of our organization, and even those of our minds, are as directly operative in deter- mining the effect produced, as the laws of the outward object." Still it remains that there is a real distinction between these antecedents, and not merely that one is taken arbitrarily as the theatre or "scene in which the effect takes place." The ground of the distinction seems to be in the rela- tion to volition, which is essentially active. The antecedent which is more nearly related to will, or more directly traceable to it, is the agent. Or, that antecedent in which a will is forcibly dominated or unresistingly subject, 98 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. Another view. In my conscious reaction I am conscious the object as a cause or force irresistibly and irreversibly constraining me, oftentimes compelling my attention, and sometimes completely dominating all my faculties. I cannot expel it from my consciousness, within whose sphere it has appeared, exerting a mastery, and determining that peculiar state of consciousness we call perception. That in being thus forced, I am conscious of force, cannot be questioned. Such force in one case we call light, in another sound, in another odor, etc. We usually identify it with some external force, but contemplate it here only as adventitious energy, coming into the sphere of consciousness, and determining its state. ^ I am conscious that my own mental energy, and this physical energy, experienced in perception, are entirely inde- pendent of each other in their origin, and wholly different in their operation. 1 have a positive, unmistakable conscious- ness that they are often in actual conflict, the one tending to produce a peculiar mental state, the other striving to counter- act its influence ; though indeed the conflict is one-sided ; for I find no mode of direct resistance, and no present recourse save in flight. This opposition and subjection mark consciously and clearly two distinct realities external to each other. Neces- sarily in my consciousness they are apprehended as two realities ; I cannot possibly unite them in one conception. The one is consciously the property and manifestation of me myself. The other is consciously the property and manifes- directly or remotely, is the patient. Where no relation to will is discoverable, the distinction becomes uncertain, and hence illusory, but not even then groundless. Because of the doubt which Mill's view may excite as to the validity of the argument in the text above, founded on the distinction between action and passion in the antecedents, another form of the argument is presented, founded on the distinction between cause and effect, or antecedent and conse- quent. 1 "La force proprement dite, c'est ce qui rfigit les actes, sans r6gler les VOlontfes." — COMTE. EXTERNAL BEALITY. 99 tation of something in direct opposition to me, the manifes- tation to consciousness of a positive non-ego. Surely, then, it is a primary fact of consciousness, original and not inferred, certain and beyond the possibility of the least actual doubt, that the immediate object in perception is consciously not I. § 102. There are those who hold that consciousness may, and probably does, deceive me in this matter. They dis- tinguish between the fact that consciousness testifies to the existence of a non-ego, and the truth of its testimony. The former, they admit, cannot be doubted; but the latter, they affirm, may reasonably be doubted. In reply it is said that if consciousness can possibly deceive me in any one particular, then all trust in it is at an end ; for I have nothing higher by which, as a criterion, to test its deliverances, and so a doubt of any one is equally applicable to all. Hence all philosophy would reduce at once to extreme agnosticism, or the impossibility of any certain knowledge whatever.^ 1 This is the gist of Hamilton's famous argiiment for immediate percep- tion, which contributed more perhaps than any other one thing to his gi-eat reputation. See it elaborated in Meta., Lee. 15; and in Discussions, article Phil, of Percep.; but most carefiiUy and fully stated in Reid, appendix, note A. The argument is open to criticism at several points. E.rj. it hinges in its progi'ess on the statement that because it has never been shown that con- sciousness contradicts itself, therefore the logical presumption is in favor of its truthfulness. Allowed ; but since there can be no more certainty in a con- clusion than is in the premises, his conclusion is merely presumptive, and not demonstrative as he claims it to be. Again, the argument is in form a reductio ad ahsurdtim. But the conclu- sion does not contradict an assumed premise, nor is it self-contradictory ; there is no logical absurdity. Nor is there even a philosophical absurdity, i.e. a violation of the Law of Parcimony (§ 82, note). The conclusion, if proved, would violate our most cherished convictions, but should not on that account alone be rejected. Moreover, the subsequent paragraph in the text above shows that the argument is Fallacia ficjurce dictionis, a form of fallacy on which Hamilton heaps contempt. See his Logic, § 78. 100 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. A better reply is as follows : The distinction between the fact that testimony is given, and its truth, is inej)t in this case. Testimony implies two parties ; here is but one. To say that literally I myself testify to myself is absurd. Con- sciousness as a witness is only a misleading metaphor. Dismiss the figure of speech, and the distinction vanishes, the testimony of consciousness to a non-ego becomes simply consciousness of a non-ego. § 103. Let it be granted, then, that each of the percepts is a quality of a non-ego. Most of them, however, as odor, savor, sound, color, and tangibility, are, in immediate percep- tion, only excited states of the sensory or brain, which is, therefore, the true non-ego of consciousness. They have no existence, as we perceive them, in external bodies. These are only the occult and remote causes of the percepts, which are consequently reckoned as merely secondary qualities of body. The primary, essential, and defining qualities of body are extension and impenetrability.^ These are supposed to exist in the external body itself in the same manner in which they are perceived. Unless they are immediately perceived, we cannot be sa,id to have immediate perception of body as it really exists, a consciousness of matter in its essential features. § 104. Perception of extension, which is denied to the other senses, is attributed to sight and touch as a secondary percept (§§ 19, 24). Let us examine touch. Suppose that without seeing it, or other premonition, my open palms are lightly touched simultaneously. Tlie contacts are not to differ in kind or degree. Now it is unquestionable, not only that I am conscious of these contacts, but that I consciously distinguish them numerically as two. But this is impossible unless I am conscious that they are apart from each other. 1 The primary and secondary qualities of body are discussed, historically and critically, by Hamilton in Iteid, note D. See also Mansel, Meta., p. 97. EXTERNAL REALITY. 101 The consciousness that they are apart is consciousness of extension. It is needless just now to follow out the details by which I pass from this elementary form of the cognition to a full knowledge of body as occupying space in three dimensions. It is sufficient here that by touch I have an immediate knowl- edge of body in this primary quality, geometrical extension.^ Now consider the percept of the muscular sense. The weight of my limbs necessarily exerts various pressures on the nerves that penetrate the muscular tissue. There can be no pressure without its correlative resistance. Of this resist- ance I am passively conscious. But the consciousness of the resistance of body to compression is a consciousness of its physical solidity, or impenetrability. Thus in the exercise of touch and the muscular sense, which usually co-operate, is given an immediate and proper knowledge of body in its real and essential characteristics. § 105. The body thus made known to me is my own sen- sitive organism. This much is given by sense. If no more 1 The origin of the notion of space is much discussed by recent psycholo- gists. Is the knowledge of extension and its determinations, length, breadth, thickness or distance, position, form, etc., inborn or derived from experience? Many theories have been proposed, classified by Helmholtz as native and empirical. Empiricists hold that knowledge of extension comes through experience from elements that have no spatial form, either by deduction from them (Herbart), or by a transforming power of association (Bam). Nativists maintain that knowledge of space cannot originate in data of con- sciousness which are merely intensive, and that it is an original datum, native, innate. Nativism is divided into nativism of product (Kant) and nativism of process (Lotze, Wundt). The latter is well expressed thus : ' ' The mind has a native and original capacity of reacting upon certain phys- ical data in such a way that the objects of its activity appear under the form of space." — Baldwin, Psychology, p. 121. See also Ribot, German Psychology of To-day, ch. 4. The doctrine of the present treatise might be classed as nativism of process, differing, however, from the foregoing, and holding that on an empirical occasion, i.e. a sense presentation, the pure intellect has native power to discern space, time, and other non-sensuous realities. Our views are given below, in chs. 6, 7. 102 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. than this, I could never know even of the existence of an outer world of things. But my limbs are framed for loco- motion by voluntary muscular energy. Herein is a new experience, a new immediate cognition. I am conscious of an effort, of a nisus or striving to overcome a resistance.^ In the muscular sense-perceptions that follow it, I am conscious that the resistance yields, that is, I am conscious of inertia overcome. This is a consciousness of motion.^ In this experience I am not merely a patient, but also an agent. My nervous organism is herein cognized, not as merely affecting me, but as a means, subject to my will, by which I affect something else. In this positive activity, in this consciousness of being a cause, I immediately cognize the effect on something opposed to and distinct from my organism, on some outer thing resisting the action. Thus, in the exercise of locomotive energ}'-, I become aware of the existence and properties of material tilings outside of my organism.^ Hence it appears that the primary knowledge of extra- organic body, or in general, of an outer world, depends, not 1 Accordiug to "Wundt there are two distinct elements involved in volun- tary movements of the muscles : first, a feeling of effort, and second, a feel- ing of resistance. The feeling of effort arises from the expenditure of nervous energy at the centres, and is called also feeling of innervation. The feeling of resistance, on the other hand, seems to have its seat in the muscle atlected. It is the sense of opposition to muscular movement, and is connected with sensations of pressure. — Theorie der Sinneswahrnehmung, p, 376 sq. See Baldwin, Psychology, p. 89. 2 "That a thing is movable cannot be known a priori, but only from ex- perience." — Kant, C. P. li., p. 95, note. 3 "When I am conscious," says Hamilton, "of the exertion of an cnor- ganic volition to move, and am aware that the muscles are obedient to my will, but at the same time aware that my limb is arrested in its motion by some impediment, — in this case I cannot be conscious of myself as the resisted relative without at the same time being conscious, being immediately percipient, of a not-self as the resisting correlative. ... In the conscious- ness of being thus resisted is involved, as a correlative, the consciousness of a resisting something external to my organism." — In Jieid, note D* (pp. 866, 882). EXTERNAL REALITY. 103 on the relation in which it stands to perception by the senses, but to volition. Voluntary energy is the source of this knowledge ; the muscular sense, only the secondary and pos- sibly the contingent accompaniment.^ § 106. When a limb, moved by volition, encounters an exterior obstacle, I could not, probably, by the combination of volition with muscular sense alone, distinguish between the limb and the obstacle. But since such encounter involves contact with the skin, the sense of touch co-operates with these, and enables me to make the distinction. By the triple combination, then, I discriminate between my own frame and foreign bodies. The mechanism of the hand and arm is peculiarly fitted for the exercise of this combination. B}^ manipulation or handling I ascertain the shape and many other qualities of things. By this I learn the shape of my own body, distinguishing between it and foreign bodies by virtue of the double touch which it affords. Manifestly, the experience is quite different when I clasp my hands, and when I grasp the hand of another person. It appears, then, in general, that we have an immediate perception, not merely of a material non-ego, but further, of extra-organic body, and that the existence of an outer world of things is a fact of consciousness. § 107. The order in which the senses and their percepts 1 "Supposing all muscular feeling abolished (the power of moving the muscles remaining, however, entire), I hold that the consciousness of the mental motive energy, and of the greater or less degree of such energy re- quisite, in different circumstances, to accomplish our intention, would of itself enable us always to perceive the fact, and in some degree to measure the amount, of any resistance to our voluntary movements ; howbeit, the con- comitance of certain feelings with the different states of muscular tension renders this cognition not only easier, but, in fact, obtrudes it upon our attention." — Hamilton, in Reid, note D (p. 8G4). He does not, however, attribute any special percept to muscular sense (§ 27) apart from that given in voluntary movement. And this is very generally true of the more recent psychologists. 104 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. have been discussed must not be thought of as the natural order of development. Of this nothing lias been said. The elements of the discussion have been obtained by logical analysis, and recombined in logical order. Any attempted synthesis in natural order would be largely conjectural. The processes have mostly occurred at a period too early to be remembered, some of them probably m utero} As we know not how the bones do grow in the womb, so we know not how the mind proceeds in its development. Only the matured consciousness is capable of introspection, and it finds its percepts already bound up with acquisitions into a complexus that is almost inexplicable, and that completely defies the most skilful analyist to tell how it was woven. It is, however, worthy of remark that the combination of the tactile sense with the muscular sense under the influence of volition, seems to be an important condition of the deveb opment of the cognitive intelligence. With the other senses only, we would be forever shut up to a knowledge of self in oj)position to a few sensorial phenomena. But the combina- tion named introduces us to the universe. Men are some- times born destitute of smell, taste, hearing, sight, but never, perhaps, of the tactile and muscular senses. Defects of sense, such as actually occur, consist with a limited intelli- gence, but it is inconceivable how intelligence, even of a low brute form, could arise in a being deprived of tactile and - muscular sense, or, indeed, if all the senses were perfect and volitional power over the muscles were wanting. 1 Miillor (see § 44) very plausibly speculates as follows : " The uterus which compels the child to assume a determined position, and gives rise to sensations in it, is also the means of exciting in the sensorium of the child the consciousness of something thus distinct from itself, and external to it. The child governs the movements of its limbs, and thus perceives that they are instruments subject to the use and government of its internal self ; while the resistance which it meets with around is not subject to its will, and there- fore gives it the idea of an absolute exterior. In this way is gained the idea of an external viovld."" — Physiology, p. 1080, Baly's tr. SELF-PERCEPTION. 105 CHAPTER V. SELF-PEECEPTION. § 108. The specific power of mind next in order after per- ception is self-perception. Self-perception is the immediate cognition of a subjective object. Consciousness is sometimes defined as the immediate knowledge of our mental actions and affections. If this were correct, there would be no dif- ference between consciousness and self-perception. But con- sciousness is much more than this ; it is general, it attends all our mental activities, it is their common characteristic, every mental state is in itself a conscious state ; whereas self- perception is only one special mode or modification of the cognitive consciousness, and might fairly be defined as the consciousness of a subject-object. This power is sometimes called the internal sense, and we shall find it convenient to use the term sense thus generi- cally, as including both perception and self-perception, the external and the internal sense, these being our faculties of cognitive experience, or empirical intuition. § 109. The distinction between self-perception and self- consciousness is refined, but real and important. It will be remembered that we resolved consciousness into the subjec- tive phase feeling, and the objective phase cognition (§ 71). According to this view the term self-consciousness is appro- priate to the subjective j)hase, but not to the faculty we are considering, since this is distinctly objective. True, its object is always subjective, always a mode of self, but it is a mode of self objectified. We may illustrate the distinction thus : I am beholding a 106 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. color, let us say the blue of tlie sky. I consciously perceive the color, or am conscious of perceiving the color, or am con- scious of the color. This is perception. It is objective, for it relates directly to an object. Now the subjective correla- tive of perception is sensation, which is not a mode of cogni- tion, but of feeling, and in and by virtue of the sensation only am I conscious tliat it is I who perceive. This is self- consciousness. I may, however, objectify a mental state. I may contemplate it as though it were apart, a thing distinct . from me, yet known to be a mode of self. To do so is an act of cognition, is a consciousness of an object, though it is, indeed, a subjective object. This is self-perception. § 110. Cognition is either presentative or representative. Presentative or intuitive cognition is either empirical or pure. Empirical intuition is distributed as perception and self-per- ception, the one relating to external, the other to internal ex- periences (§ 76). Hence the latter might fairly be defined as the consciousness of a subjective empirical intuition. By perception we have intuitive knowledge of matter ; by self- perception we have intuitive knowledge of mind. The ob- jects of perception are conditioned on and presented in time and space. The objects of self-perception are conditioned on and presented in time and self. Space is peculiar to the one, self to the other. Time is common. § 111. The subjective object is really identical with the ego, is a mere modification of mind, but still the mind distinguishes it as an accident, as a mode from self. By an original con- stitutional power, I, the subject of that accident, project, as it were, my own act or state from myself, objectify it. view it as a phenomenon. A difference in the character of the objects thus presented authorizes a distinction of two varieties of self- perception, introspection, and reflection. Let us exemplify the first. I am angr}^ and I am conscious of it, or rather it is a conscious state. But perhaps my cogni- SELF-PER CEPTION. 107 tive powers are fully occupied by the object that angers me ; then, though there is subjective consciousness of anger, there is no cognitive introspection of it. Now some one asks me : Are you angry ? An introspective glance, a momentary objec- tification of my state while it still exists, an instant of self- perception, and the state is cognized and recognized, and I answer : Yes. So any present mental state not representative, as a perception, a feeling, a desire, a choice, an effort, may be cognized, may become the direct object of introspection. It is by this power of introspection that we are hereafter to study the phenomena of feeling, desire, and volition. § 112. The other kind of self-perception is reflection. Reflection has already been distinguished from observation as attention to an internal object (§ 84). It is distinguished from introspection b}^ the specific character of its object. The direct object of reflection is a mental image, such a one as I now form of a centaur, of the moon, of a strain of music, of the odor of violets, of my past anger, or of any object of past experience, external or internal. This image is itself a mere mode of mind, for it cannot be distinguished from the act of cognition. Since it is subjective, \&t at the same time the object of cognition, a mode of self objectified, it is a specific object of self-perception, the immediate object of reflection. The image is an object unlike the object of introspection. The latter is not, whereas the former is, representative. The object of introspection is complete in itself, being merely pre- sentative ; whereas the object of reflection, the image is incomplete in itself, being not merely presentative, but also representative of some other, of some remote, object; and this of necessity, for no act of cognition can terminate on itself. Since reflection is, therefore, always an element of repre- sentative or mediate knowledge, the further consideration of it is postponed to Part III. 108 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. CHAPTER VI. PURE INTUITION. § 113. Knowledge must have an ultimate basis. By a thorough analysis of our cognitions we must finally come to primitive truths beyond which we cannot and need not go. These primary cognitions are simple facts of consciousness. As merely given, they are presentative ; as free from any intervention, they are immediate ; as seen face to face, they are intuitive. As a molecule or ultimate particle of water, one which cannot be resolved into constituent aqueous particles, is capa- ble nevertheless of resolution into two impalpable gaseous elements of opposite character, so every fact of conscious- ness, though ultimate as a fact, is susceptible of analysis into at. least two constituent and essential elements, the one sen- suous, the other intellectual. That which is contributed to the total presentation or intuition by sense external or inter- nal, by perception or self-perception, is sensuous, and being the element of experience, is called the empirical intuition. The datum of intellect, it being not at all sensuous, is called, negatively, the pure intuition. The union of the two is essential to the total and single cognitive fact, but by logical abstraction either may be contemplated apart from the other. Although neither of these intuitive elements can be actu- ally realized in consciousness apart from tlie other, still, in the logical analysis of the mental acts, they are assigned to different faculties. The empirical intuition is exercised by sense strictly taken, either by perception or by self-perception. The pure intuition is exercised by pure intellect or reason. ^ 1 This name of the faculty, pure reason, or simply reason, recalls the Platonic distinction lutwcen the uituitive reason, voOs, and the discursive PURE INTUITION. 109 The objects cognized by pure reason are called pure or a jjriori intuitions, ideas, notions, principles, and pure or necessary truths. Accordingl3% pure intuition may be defined as the immediate cognition b}^ pure reason of a pure idea or neces- sary truth.i § 114. Let ns consider some examples of pure intuition. Whatever I am conscious of is always given along with the notion of its existence, i.e. it is, it exists here and now. Every act of consciousness is thus an affirmation of the exist- ence of a thing ; for we are conscious only as we apprehend a thing, and we apprehend it only as we affirm it to exist ; hence existence must be attributed to the thing by the mind.^ Now existence itself is not an object of sense, but of pure intuition. Every object of sense, however, is attended by this idea, and each immediate cognition, therefore, is made up of a presented sensuous experience of a thing, comple- mented by a pure intellectual intuition of its existence. When phenomena of mind or of matter, subjective or ob- jective, occur in succession, it is evident that the cognition implies, in the concrete, the cognition of time. Now what is time ? It is not an object of perception ; we can neither see it, nor hear it, nor handle it, nor is it a mode of mind. It is simple, not being capable of resolution, and as a last product reason, didvoia, running to and fro. Let us, then, not confuse reason with to reason or reasoning. The one is a faculty, giving immediate insight, the other is a logical process. Kant used the name pure reason, die reine Ver- nunft, followed by Jacobi and the German thinkers generally. As reason is opposed to the logical faculty, so pure is opposed to sensuous. Hamilton calls pure reason ' ' the regulative faculty,' ' but doubts if it be properly a faculty. Other names have been used and abused. 1 The nomenclature of the subject is remarkably varied and unsettled. See Hamilton's famous note A, in Reid^ § 5, for a historical and critical examination of the multitude of synonyms used ; cf. Meta., p. 514. For the use of a priori and a posteriori by Kant, as distinctive of pure and empirical cognitions, see § 50, note. 2 Existence, ens, is commonly viewed by philosophers as the prinucm cog- nitiim. 110 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. of analysis it is ultimate. It is indefinable and incomprehen- sible, not being referable to any more general idea. Yet every human mind has knowledge of time, and needs only that the meaning of the word be pointed out in order to make the simple analysis that abstracts the pure idea, and clearly apprehends it apart. Again, when I am conscious of body, which is a sensuous experience, there is implied an apprehension of space. Now what is space ? It is not an object of sense. Yet as an idea original, simple, clear, and incomprehensible, it is in posses- sion of every one. When I am conscious of a change in phenomena, either subjective or objective, I apprehend there must be some cause of the change. Now in this proposition change is a sensu- ous element, it is a conception which can be derived only from experience. But what of causation? This idea is not sensuous, but pure, not derived from experience, common to all minds, primary, indefinable, presentative, immediate, intuitive. In general, then, these pure elements of cognition are not given by, yet always attend, or are evoked by, sensuous experience. I have no proper experience of them, they are not empirical. Separated by abstraction from their empiri- cal accompaniments, they are distinguished as pure intuitions, or pure ideas. Other examples are the idea of substance, of unity, of identity, the law of contradiction, the idea of right, and of infinity. § 115. The characteristics of these pure ideas and principles are now to be considered. They are abstract. The pure or a priori, and the empiri- cal or a posteriori, elements are always originall}^ conjoined, and indeed, without the union of the two, no cognition is possible. Since the pure elements actually occur only in this concrete combination, it requires analysis by abstraction PUEE INTUITION. Ill to effect their logical separation. Qualities of things, such as tall, strong, brave, honest, which cannot actually exist apart from the things, have assigned to them by abstraction a logi- cal independence, as expressed by the abstract terms height, strength, courage, honesty. So the pure elements of cogni- tion, which, though not qualities, yet are actual only in the concrete, have a similar logical independence given them, as expressed by the abstract terms time, place, substance, cau- sation, etc. Complete cognition does not require this analytic abstrac- tion. Actually an intuition consists of pure and empirical elements in the concrete. Only by thinkers is the pure ele- ment clearly discerned, and set apart as an abstract idea. The chief difference is that so long as it is in the concrete, the pure element is limited, by the connection in which it stands, to that individual case ; whereas, when taken abstractly, then its strict universality appears. § 116. They are catholic ; that is, they exist in every human mind, even the most ignorant, the most immature. Any one bearing of a murder will ask : When ? Where ? Why ? Where- fore? These inquiries imply the pure ideas of time, place, efficient cause, and final cause. Every one regards murder as a crime. This implies the intuitive distinction between right and wrong.^ The catholicity of the pure elements of cognition is with- out limit. Manifestly the vulgar mind is regulated by such ideas and principles, and though it does not usually explicate them, still, did they not exist, the simplest knowledge would be impossible. § 117. They are self-evident. Many of the pure intuitions may be expressed in propositions instead of single terms, and perhaps some require this form. U.f^. : A whole equals the sum of its parts; Every event is caused ; Benevolence is right, etc. 1 See Cousin, Le Vrai, U Beau, et le Bien, p. 41. 112 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. In this form they are called principles, axioms, first truths, transcendental truths, constitutive and regulative trutlis, primary laws, etc. These are self-evidently true ; they have in themselves original authority. That a thing cannot both be and not be, is a proposition which the human mind can neither deny nor doubt. Yet it has no guarantee, it reposes on nothing beyond itself, it is merely self-evident. That the three angles of a triangle are together equal to two right-angles, is not self-evident, though it may be clearly, positively, and with certainty demonstrated ; for its truth is not seen without proof, without reference to principles. But that two straight lines cannot enclose an area, does not require, and indeed is incapable of proof ; it cannot be deduced or inferred, it has the light of truth in itself and needs not to borrow. Such principles or first truths are the primary ultimate premises of all demonstrated truth.^ § 118. They are certain ; that is, their truth being uncon- ditional or absolute, a doubt of it cannot exist. Absolute truthfulness and self-evidence are the negative and positive views of the same thing. Attending it is the feeling of entire and immovable certainty. Says Aristotle : " It is not only necessary that we should be endowed with an antece- dent knowledge of first principles, but also that this knowl- edge should be of paramount certainty. For, whatever com- nuuiicates a quality to other things, must itself possess that quality in a still higher degree, as that on account of which we love all objects that partake of it, cannot but be itself pre-eminently an object of our love. Hence, if we know and 1 Self-evidence is the first of Bufficr's essential qualities of primary truths. "The first of these characters is tliat they be so clear that when one under- takes to prove them, or to disprove them, he can do it only by propositions which manifestly are neither more clear, nor more certain." — Traite des Pre- mieres Veritps (a.d. 1717). His was perhaps the first comprehensive attempt to found philosophy on primary truths. It was a principle with Descartes that " all things which we may clearly and distinctly (chn'ro H distinctc) conceive are true." — 0« Method, pt. iv. PURE INTUITION. 113 believe through first principles, we must know and believe these themselves in a superlative degree, for the very reason that we know and believe all secondary truths through them."i § 119. A primary fact, a fact of consciousness as a whole, was likewise found to be self-evident and certain (§§ 67, 69). These characteristics, therefore, will not serve to distinguish the pure element from the empirical matter with which it is combined. A criterion is needful to mark the distinction, and it is found in the necessity which specifically character- izes the objects of pure intuition. A j)ure idea or truth is necessary ; one involving empirical matter is contingent. That is contingent of which I can at least conceive that it need not be ; that is necessary of which I cannot conceive that it need not be, or, positively, of which I must conceive, not merely that it is, but that it must be. Facts of experience are such as are themselves possible, and whose opposites also are possible ; they are such as are liable to occur, yet may not ; they are incidental and casual and dependent on circumstances or choice ; in a word, they are contingent. But pure truth has no negative alternative in any case ; it is in no manner or measure whatever reversible in thought; I cannot but think it; the opposite is incon- ceivable ; in a word, it is necessary .^ For example : In analj^zing any cognition whatever, I find 1 Anal. Post., i, 2, § 16. 2 Necessity as opposed to contingency is of two kinds. The certainty that attends a present fact of consciousness (§ 69) comes of the necessity I am under of cognizing it as actually existing. Still this actuality of existence is merely accidental. When it is not present, but is contemplated through a representative idea, this necessity disappears ; there is no necessity that I should think it to be, or that it should be ; it may or may not be, it is wholly contingent. But in case of a datum of pure intuition, I am necessitated to think not merely that it is, but that it necessarily js. When it is not present, but represented through a pure idea, this necessity remains. It is this sort of double necessity that differentiates the object of pure intuition. Hence we call it specifically a pure and necessary idea. 114 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEUaE. always this fact of consciousness, self-existence, I am. Now in this duad the element self is contingent. While in fact I do exist, my existence is not at all necessary. I am a mere accident in the universe, my presence therein is not essential, and my annihilation is quite as conceivable as my creation. But the other term of the duad, the idea existence, is not at all contingent, it is necessary. I cannot conceive of a non- existent; whatever I conceive is necessarily conceived as existing. So the primary datum of consciousness, I am, con- sists of two elements, one empirical, one jDure. Another example : That body is heavy is a judgment a pos- teriori, a synthesis from experience. Now though my expe- rience of weight in connection with body has been invariable, without ever an exception, yet the judgment is contingent, it may or may not be. I can easily conceive of a body having no weight. Indeed, until recently, a class of imponderables was recognized by physicists. But that bod}^ occupies space is not given by experience, is not an empirical fact or judg- ment, but an analytic judgment a priori, a pure intuition. For while we have experience of body as heavy, we have no experience by any sense that it occupies space, since no sense is percipient of space. Yet this judgment is self-evidently true ; it is not at all contingent, it is necessary. We cannot conceive of body not occupying space ; that it does occupy space must of necessity be true.^ § 120. Furthermore, "an empirical judgment never ex- hibits strict and absolute, but only assumed and comparative, 1 See Kant's celebrated analysis of judgments, C. P. R., Int., § 4. The distinction between necessary and contingent truth can be traced to Aris- totle. Descartes uses necessity as a criterion in many places. E.cf. : " This proposition, I am, I exist, is 7ierp,sfinrn)j true." Again : "T now admit noth- ing that is not necessarily true." — Meditations, ii. Yet again : "Though certain general objects, as bodies, be imaginary, we are nevertheless abso- lutely necessitated to admit the reality of, at least some other objects still more simple and universal than these." — Id., i. It was, however, first ex- plicitly enounced as a criterion by Leibnitz, and used systematically and efficiently by Kant in his Kritik der reinen Vernunft. PURE lyTUITION. 115 universality. Therefore, the most we can say is, so far as we have hitherto observed, there is no exception to tliis or that rule. If, on the other hand, a judgment carries with it strict and absolute universality, that is, admits of no possible excep- tions, it is not derived from experience, but is valid abso- lutely a priori. Necessity and strict universality, therefore, are infallible tests for distinguishing pure from empirical knowledge, and are inseparably connected with each other. But as in the use of these criteria, the unlimited universality which we attach to a judgment is often a more convincing proof than its necessity, it may be advisable to use the criteria separately, each being by itself infallible." ^ It is manifest that necessity and strict universality are the same thing in different aspects ; for when a truth is necessary, it is eo ipso universal, and that a truth is strictly universal is an unerring index that it is necessary. Hence neither is to be considered as secondary, or as subsidiary to, or as derived from the other. Both are named, because sometimes the one is more easily applied as a test, sometimes the other. § 121. In connection with the characteristic of strict uni- versality, it should be particularly observed that general truth is of three distinct kinds : — First, a mere logical generality is attained when we think, within the limits of experience, the similar to be the same. Thus : All the members of my class are studious : Every day I find a duty; Each of the States has two senators. This generalization is an artifice or fiction of intellect, a fictitious means of giving order and compactness to knowledge, and thus bringing it within grasp. Second, by the hazard of induction, truth is extended beyond the limits of actual experience, and declared general or universal. Thus : Every particle of matter attracts every other particle ; Day always succeeds night ; No one is per- 1 From Critique of Pure Reason., Int., § 1. 116 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. fectly content. This, however, is only an empirical, inductive, and precarious universality. Exceptions may actually, or at least conceivably, occur. Third, pure truth also is said to be general, but this gener- ality is attained neither by generalization, nor by induction. When we have abstracted the pure element, we immediately cognize it as absolutely universal, true always and everywhere. Every rule derived from experience has actual, possible, or at least conceivable exceptions ; a rule given by pure reason has no exception, it is without the conceivable possibility of an exception, past, present, or future, in all the univei'se of things. Such truth transcends the limits of possible experience, and has unlimited, universal validity. Thus : Space is infinite ; An attribute and a being exist only as they coexist ; Contra- dictory attributes cannot coexist ; I ought to be truthful. As has already been said, most persons do not abstract and formulate these primitive a priori cognitions. Nevertheless, their strict universality is practically, though obscurely, appre- hended, which is evident from the unhesitating use of them in each particular case ; and likewise their necessity, as is shown by the confident assertion that such and such a thing must be so, it would be nonsense to speak otherwise. The thinker disengages them, and sets the abstract and universal forms clear in consciousness. This, however, is not to consti- tute, nor to derive, nor to generalize them ; but only to discern them. They leap ready armed from the womb of reason, like Pallas from the head of Zeus. § 122. The catholicity just referred to must also be distin- guislied from universality. The one means that the pure intuitions are, potentially at least, in every human mind ; the other, that they are universally true, always and everywhere, even should all mind cease to be. That pure truths are com- mon to all mankind is simply a consequence of their own inherent necessity and universality. On the other hand, because a judgment is common, it does PURE INTUITION. 117 not follow that tlierefere it is a pure truth. All men once held that the sun revolves around the earth ; and that a body cannot act where it is not. This last, indeed, has much the appearance of an intuitive, axiomatic, necessary truth, but falsely assumes that body acts only by contact.^ That all men judge so and so, is not a guarantee of truth of any sort ; but when a truth is intuitive, this is a sure guarantee that all men think accordingly. § 123. Many attempts have been made to classify pure intuitions, but none has been generally approved. It is con- ceded that Kant's system of categories is a failure. These ideas are so subtle, so mutually interwoven, so evasive aud pervasive, that they seem to defy distinct enumeration and articulate arrangement. We can hardly divest them com- pletely of empirical matter, and in cases where thought succeeds in this, language fails to express them in pure nakedness. They appear to be numerous ; but could we fix the naked truths, each by a suitable sign, it might greatly reduce their apparent number, and enable us to classify them. We shall not attempt a classification, nor discuss them in detail. Indeed, not much can be said about them. Their light, says McCosh, is like that of the sun, which darkens as we gaze on it. They behave like Macbeth 's witches. " When I burned in desire to question them further, they made them- selves — air, into which they vanished." 1 This reminds us that Newton, it is said, was sorely perplexed by the notion of gravity, being unwilling to admit the possibility of action at a distance, which Faraday also rejected as an impossible conception. Should not these eminent physicists have admitted it as a fact revealed by nature, as ultimate and therefore incomprehensible ? 118 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. CHAPTER VII. ORIGIN OF PURE TRUTH. § 124. A close consideration of the origin of pure ideas and principles reveals many difficulties. Psychologists and metaphysicians entertain various opinions respecting it, and just here engage in such fierce and endless controversies, that the ground we now venture upon is fairly termed campus philosojyhorum. The questions in debate may be stated thus : Does the knowledge of pure truth originate within or with- out ? is it innate or adventitious ? Is the object ideal, or has the pure idea a corresponding reality in nature ? If real, is that reality itself intuitively known, or is it known only through a representative idea ? These are difficult questions. The first alone offers room for wide divergence. The history of opinions, touching the acceptance or rejection of such notions as native, is, in a manner, the history of philosophy ; for as the one alternative or the other is adopted in this question, the character of a system is determined. The cliief parties to this primary form of the controvers}^ are empiricists who deny, and intuitionists who affirm, the innate or sub- jective origin and character of the pure intuitions. § 125. Modern empiricism has Locke for its founder. He maintained an old aphorism, traceable to the Stoics, that there is nothing in intellect that was not previously in sense. "/>i intelleetu nihil est, quod non prius fuerit in sensu.^' To sup- port their doctrine, the Stoics had seized upon a passage in Aristotle, in which intellect prior to experience is compared to a tablet on which nothing has been actually written, a ORIGIN OF PURE TRUTH. 119 " tabula rasa" ^ This also Locke adopted, and the two have since been the favorite text and formuhx of his followers. His doctrine he states as follows : " Whence hath mind 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 ultimately derives itself. Our obser- vation 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 under- standing with all the materials of thinking. These are the fountains of knowledge from whence all the ideas we have, or can naturally have, do spring, that is, sensation and reflection." ^ Empiricism has found many able advocates, but none stronger than J. S. INIilL His avowal of it is very distinct. " It remains to inquire," says he, " what is the ground of our belief in axioms, what is the evidence on which they rest ? I answer, they are experimental truths, generalizations from observation. The proposition : Two straight lines can- not enclose a space, is an induction from the evidence of our senses." 3 He finds necessity or inconceivability to consist either in invincible association, or in that a logical contra- diction is meaningless. 1 De Anima, iii, 4, § 14. The context seems inconsistent with the infer- ence that Aristotle favored empiricism. 2 Essay on the Human Understanding, bk. ii, ch. 1. Condillac and others of the French philosophers rejected reflection as a distinct source of knowl- edge, and their doctrine, to distinguish it from that of Locke, is called sensa- tionalism. What Locke means by reflection is obscure, and has been the subject of much debate. 3 Logic, bk. ii, ch. 5, § 4. See also his Ex. of Hamilton's Phil., ch. 6. " Two and two may be five in some other world," he says. Herbert Spencer sharply criticises Mill's views in Principles of Psychology, § 426 sq. He maintains the "universal postulate" that "cognitions of which the predi- cates invariably exist along with their subjects express a necessary relation in consciousness, and have the highest possible certainty." To his criticism Mill replies in the eighth edition of his Logic. See addendum to bk. ii, ch. 7, § 4 sq. 120 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. Thus the empirical philosophy denies all a priori cognition of truth, all purely intuitive ideas and princij)les. It denies that the intellect is itself a source of knowledge, and that there is any essential distinction between contingent and necessary truth. It holds that sensuous experience is the origin and sole basis of all knowledge, and that necessity arises only because of an experience that is invariable, and hence invincible in thought. Logically and historically, em- piricism results in materialism ; its more immediate offspring is sensationalism or sensualism.^ § 126. A reply to empiricism, denying the sufficiency of experience and insisting that the distinction between con- tingent and necessary truth is essential, is as follows : Expe- rience, even invariable experience,, however large, cannot establish necessit}^ That the sun moves westward is our invariable experience, yet it is not conceived as necessary, but as contingent, for however improbable an exception, one is easily conceivable.^ On the other hand, experience is not requisite to necessity. That two intersecting circles have two and only two points in common, is a truth which does not require any specific experience in order to command assent, and which is conceived not at all as contingent, but as necessary. It must be so in ever}^ case, ahvays and every- where. An exception is absolutely inconceivable, and would be more than a miracle.^ There is, therefore, an essential difference in such conceptions, indicating a different origin. Let us argue the distinction more articulately. The proposition. Every change is caused, is, saj^s the empiricist, an induction from experience. But it cannot be so for these reasons : — ' Tornied contemptuously by Fichte, "the dirt philosophy." 2 E.g. the dial of Ahaz. — 2 Kings 20: 11. 8 This strong expression is used advisedly. Infinite power may cause the sun to retrograde, or may quicken the dead, but cannot make a thing to be and not be, cannot reconcile contradictories. The infinite is limited. ORIGIN OF PURE TRUTH. 121 First: An empirical judgment is not necessary. Experi- ence tells us only what actually is, not what must be. The most ample evidence from observation that each change does actually have a cause would never prove that change must have a cause. Induction from experience reveals the estab- lished laws of nature, but can never discover what connec- tions of things are necessary. But this judgment is necessary. It is not that changes commonly have a cause, or even that they always in fact do have a cause, but that they must have a cause, and cannot possibly occur without a cause. Therefore, this judgment is not empirical. ^ Second : An empirical judgment is not strictly universal. It can have only a degree of probability proportioned to our experience, and is always so understood as to leave room for exceptions, if future experience shall discover any. The law of gravitation, that every particle of matter in the universe attracts every other particle, has as full proof from experi- ence and induction as any empirical truth can be supposed to have, yet physicists have supposed the existence of imponder- able bodies. Such universality, then, is not strict, but haz- ardous, precarious, probable perhaps in a very high degree, but liable to exceptions that are at least conceivably pos- sible. But this judgment is strictly universal. Neither philoso- phers nor the vulgar have ever considered the principle as one admitting limitation or the possibility of exception. They consider that it must always have been true, must now be true, must always hereafter be true, in every case through- out the universe. Therefore, this judgment is not empirical. Third: An induction must have sufficient grounds in experience. Unless the principle of causation now before us be itself involved in the proof, it requires a very thorough experience of very many cases to justify an induction of a general truth, and this is the most hazardous form of indue- 122 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. tion. But it is obvious that the principle cannot be used in proof of itself. Hence if it be an induction, it can be so only through much experience of it. But this judgment has not sufficient grounds in experience. The causes of by far the greater part of the few changes in nature that fall within our observation are wholly unknown, and therefore our experience does not inform us whether they have causes or not. Indeed, causation is not an object of external sense. The only actual experience we have of it is in the consciousness of an energy in ordering our thoughts and actions. Surely this is insufficient ground for the gen- eral conclusion that every change in the universe that has been or shall be must have a cause. Therefore, this judgment is not inductive.^ § 127. The opposed intuitional philosophy, in its modern phase, originated with Descartes. " Of ideas," says he, "some appear to me to be innate, others adventitious, and others to be made by myself." ^ Leibnitz expounded and defended it more fully. He controverted Locke's Essay in a work bearing a like title,^ and subsequently * made an addi- tion to the empirical text, thus: "iw intellectu nihil est, quod non prius fuerit in sensu, nisi intellectus ipse "; which clever retort, more clever perhaps than clear, has become famous. 1 The logic of these statements is unquestionably good, and cannot be refused, but an empiricist would deny the premises. E.g. Mill, in his oppo- sition to metaphysical conceptions, as a disciple of the positivist Comte, denies any experience of efficiency in causation, and reduces cause to " un- conditional invariable antecedent." — Logic, bk. ii, ch. 5, §§ 2, 6. His denial of all intuitive knowledge leads him to maintain that while the princi- ple of causation is the ground of induction, induction is the ground of the principle of causation. Empiricism revolves in this circle, and Mill labors to justify it with all his great acumen. — Id., bk. ii, ch. 4, § 3 ; and ch. 21. Within our limits it is impossible to discuss empiricism adequate^. We can only introduce the reader to the question. 2 Meditations, iii. ^ Nouvcaux E.t.taift .'1. EEPEESENTATION. 157 arily all possible triangles. In these cases the image is ideally mimetic or exemplar. I cannot thus image the Chinese Empire ; it is too com- plex. I cannot image virtue, or any other abstraction not a percept of sense. But I entertain thege cognitions by means of images symbolical of them. The symbol may be merely the name, which I image as heard, or as seen in print, which then represents primarily the real sound or print, and second- arily the thing or things of which it is the name.^ 1 "The product of the representative power, or the object which the mind creates and apprehends in memory and imagination, has been the occasion of much confusion of thought, and not a Uttle controversy. Scarcely any single topic has been more vexed in ancient or medifeval philosophy, than the nature of ideas or representative images. As the term idea in the Eng- lish language is applied to the widest possible range of objects, so these con- troversies either include or trench upon almost every possible question in metaphysical philosophy, beginning with the images or species, material or quasi-material, that were supposed to be given off from every object perceived [see Ueberweg, Hist, of Phil., § 25], and ending with those eternal ideas which Plato and his followers hold to be the archetypes of all created beings, and which they even hypostatized into actual and almost divine agents. These controversies and questions respect ideas of perception, of memory, of imagination, and of thought — ideas a posteriori, or ideas of experience, and ideas a priori, or ideas that are original and necessary. But to all these the ideas of the memory and imagination have a very close relation, and hence a just determination of their real nature will go very far toward an accurate understanding and a satisfactory solution of the questions and controversies which concern the remainder." — Porter, Hum. Intdl., § 224. '^ OF THT^ 158 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. CHAPTER II. MEDIATE PERCEPTION. § 157. Perception taken strictly is immediate. Each sense has its special percept, the inner sensory excited in a special manner. Sight and touch make a conscious reference of their percepts to space, thus furnishing a consciousness of extension. In resistance to voluntary locomotion is given the existence of an outer world. These results of the anal}-- sis of perception are in themselves very meagre, but they constitute the sufficient foundation of knowledofe. From them and their combinations, we make inferences, and com- bine inferences with inferences, and thus attain a detailed knowledge of the material universe. This inferred knowledge is in certain cases so clear, exact, and reliable that it seems to be direct conscious perception. We seem to see directly the house out yonder, to hear the bell and the birds, to smell the flowers, to feel the fanning breeze, and the firm ground beneath our feet.^ But each of these is a complex total involving a percept as one element, all other elements being the results of inference. Since the percept is a vivid element, and since the whole is usually esteemed simple, it is commonly spoken of as a thing per- ceived.^ We should discriniinate, however, between the primary percept and the inferred matters associated -with it. These supplementary cognitions are mere images or mental 1 "This universal and primary opinion of all men is soon destroyed by the slightest philosophy. Thi! table which we see seems to lUniinish as we remove further from it ; but the real table which exists independently of us suffers no alteration ; it is, therefore, nothing but its image which is present- to the mind." — IIijmk, Essays^ vol. ii, p. 154. ' See § 97 and its notes. MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 159 representations, and may fairly be called represented per- ceptions, or secondary perceptions, or still better, mediat(! perceptions. The process by which they are obtained I,; usually termed the education of sense, and hence they have also been called acquired perceptions, which name is some- times, though inaccurately, understood to imply that the senses acquire power to perceive more than their original percepts. § 158. Let us take a simple example, and then attempt a general explanation. An orange, a thing we will suppose new to me, is placed in my hand. I perceive by handling that it has a rough surface, that it is spherical, solid, and heavy. By sight I simultaneously perceive a yellow color, mottled and shaded, having a circular figure. Now I iden- tify the rough sphere with the colored circle ; for as I move it with my hand, the pictorial aspect changes concomitantly with the tactile and muscular impressions, and I infer that they have a common cause. What I see is what I handle ; and I not only attribute the perceived color to it as the cause, but I project the color upon that outer thing. So also, what I smell or taste is the same thing that I handle and see. If next day I should see on my table a circular yellow figure, mottled and shaded, I would recognize the figure and color, and attribute to the thing sphericity, solidity, weight, roughness, flavor, etc. Combining what is presented by sight with what is thus represented by images, I would recognize the whole as an orange ; and because the visual percept is the given and most obtrusive element in this com- plex cognition, I would say I see an orange. § 159. Now, in general : That the change in my conscious- ness in case of a single percept, is caused by something, this I intuitively know. When two or more percepts of different senses occur, when the impressions are simulta- 160 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. neous and their variations concomitant, I inf erentially attrib- ute these imjDressions to the same thing as their cause, regarding them as qualities of that thing, that is, as powers belonging to it, and capable of producing these effects in me. Thus I assemble upon one thing or substance as one object of cognition the various qualities perceived, and it becomes as completely known as is jDossible by sense. Secondly, in case of a similar set of experiences, I infer inductively that the cause is the same or similar, and this constitutes recognition. Soon I go so far as to hazard the general induction that whenever I experience such effects they arise from the same or a similar cause. Thirdly, having observed that a certain set of qualities accompanj^ each other, I regard each as characteristic of the thing. Now when any one is ex]3erienced as a percept, I infer the presence in the thing of the rest, and supply them to it by a mental image. Finally, these experiences and inferences having been often repeated, the several qualities become associated in the mind with each other, so that upon the presentation of any one of the distinctive percepts, the rest are suggested immediately, that is, without any renewal of the process of inference, and the complementary image or images are at once supplied. Such, in general, is the genesis of mediate perceiDtions. They are evidently logical judgments or thoughts, retained in memory by association with percepts. Therefore, it should be particularly observed that mediate perception is not at all a distinct, special faculty of mind, but a combined exercise of several faculties. § 160. It should further be observed that our senses, strictly taken, never deceive us. When we consciously per- ceive a color, a sound, an odor, it is impossible even to con- ceive that we have mistaken sometliing else for color, for sound, for odor. A jaundiced man seems to sec all thino-s MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 161 tinged with yellow. We may easily convince him that the tilings are not yellow, but it is impossible for him to doubt that he perceives j^ellow. A ringing in the ears we may take for a distant bell. We mistake about the bell, but not about a sense-perception of sound. ^ But the mediate process of acquisition described above involves at least one inference from effect to cause. This induction is liable to the fallacy called "plurality of causes." A variety of causes may .produce indistinguishable effects. The sound by which I am affected, and which I judge to be caused by a steam- whistle, may in fact be caused by a trumpet. The doubtful induction is a source of error or delusion in our acquired perceptions, and we pronounce our senses untrust- worthy. It is not, however, the sense that errs, but the judgment. Now in every case of illusion, and indeed when- ever delusion is conceivably possible, the matter is not given, but judged; is not presented, but represented.^ § 161. Let us remark and illustrate the final step in the genesis described above (§ 159). When a number of percepts have become closely linked by association, the experience of 1 See Leibnitz, quoted in § 69, note. Says Kant : " Wahrlieit oder Schein sind nicht im Gegenstande, so feme er angescliaut wird, sondern im Urtheile iiber deuselben, so feme er gedaclit wird. Man kann also zwar richtig sagen dass die Sinne nicht irren, aber niclit daruin, weil sie jederzeit riclitig ur- tiieilen, sondern weil sie gar nicht urtheilen." — Kritik der r. V., p. 238. 2 Delusion believes something false to be true ; it attributes to a fallacious appearance objective reality. Illusion occurs when one is not actually de- ceived, yet cannot resist an impression known to be false in fact, and a mere subjective affection. Delusions are what Bacon calls idols of the den (idola specus^ § 220). A deep pool of clear water looked at aslant seems shallow, and if I take it to be shallow, this is a delusion. My walking- cane put half- way and aslant in the water seems crooked ; but since I know it to be straight, this is merely an illusion. The pretty story told by Tliny of the contest between Zeuxis and Parrhasius recites cases of delusion. The mirage of the desert is to the ignorant a delusion, to the informed an illusion. Dreams are delusive. Hallucinations are abnormal, and either illusive or delusive ; e.g. a crazy beggar thinks himself a king, and in his rags sees robes. See below, § 195, note. 162 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. any one seems to cany with it the experience of the others. Thus one sense apparently acquires power to perceive quali- ties of objects that are originally given by other senses. For example, an orange looks rough, an apple smooth, gloss being an accepted sign of smoothness.^ Obviously this apparent transfer of percepts is a mediate judgment, a given percept being a sign of the presence of other perceptible qualities, which are accordingly represented. To discrimi- nate in a total complex cognition the elements that are strictly presentative from those that are representative, we make use of the criterion described in § 69. § 162. It would be needless to consider the subject further, were it not that there are certain cognitions relative to space and extension in space, and given only in connection with voluntary locomotion, which present peculiarities and diffi- culties requiring special examination. 1 Strictly, I do not see, but judge them to be rough and smooth, and these qualities are represented as felt by the fingers. See § 155, second paragraph. In such case sight seems to have acquired power to perceive qualities known only to touch. On the other hand, those who have become blind are some- times able to distingui.sh the colors of cloth by touch. Those born blind, however, know nothing about color. Locke tells of one who on handling scarlet cloth said it felt to him like the sound of a trumpet. — Essay, bk. ii, ch. 4, § 11. Beethoven, after he became quite deaf, would play the organ in the dark, and greatly enjoy the music. By touch, or rather by manipulation, he seemed to perceive sound. Further illustrations : When I perceive a certain fragrance that suggests a rose, T instantly supply by an image its visual aspect, and perhaps a tactile feeling of its thorns. Without discriminating what is presented and what represented, I say I smell a rose. So we judge of viands by smell. I do not see the table before me, but a colored figure which is to me the sign of a table. The mountain path looks wearisome, a nuiscular percept which I represent in connection with the visual aspect of the path, and judge to belong to it. We connect many objects with the sounds they emit. The quality of a musical note enables us to recognize the instrument, and we supply a visual image of it. We recognize animals by their cries, and a friend by his voice, cough, or footfall. By tapping a barrel, we measure its contents. By their ring we discriminate stone, wood, glass, iron, pottery, and also base from good coin, when in tJiis case no sense except hearing would perceive a difference. MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 163 We have found that none of the senses proper give us a knowledge of the existence of extra-organic or outer thino-s, and concluded that this is given only in connection with the tactile and muscular senses by voluntary locomotion or manipulation (§§ 105, 106). It follows that our knowledge of outer things as they really exist in space, as to their num- ber, shape, direction, size, distance, locality, etc., can be given directly only by or in connection with the same energy. Since a percept can be represented only in the sense origi- nally giving it, e.g. a color as seen, a sound as heard, etc. (§ 155), so also these cognitions arising in manipulation or voluntary locomotion can be truly represented only as in that act. Nevertheless they seem to be direct perceptions of sense. Sight being keenly perceptive and also cognizant of extension, they are habitually associated with its exercise. We shall therefore examine them more especially, as mediate or acquired perceptions of sight. § 163. The real unity or plurality of objects in space is known directly and originally only in manipulation. We commonly suj^pose that we directly see a single object to be one thing. What we consciously see is only a colored figure on the field of view. But things may not be as they appear in this field. A single thing seen by one eye, may be apparently two.i Also the rays from two or more objects may be united so that we shall see but one. If we doubt, we handle. In binocular vision a single object is seen as one, although there are two retinal pictures of it. This is not because it is one, but because the double picture is associated with the 1 If we make two pin-holes in a card less than one-twelfth of an inch apart, and, closing one eye, look through them with the other at a pin, we see two pins. Iceland spar doubles a hair-line ; and the well-known " multi- plying glass " makes many coins of one. 164 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. judgment of one thing, known to be one by handling. ^ On the contrary, the stereoscope presents two objects, but they seem to be one, because the lenses cause the pictures to fall on associated parts of the retinas. Whenever we have doubt of physical integrity or suspect duplicity, we take the mat- ter in hand, and test it by a grasp. Optical illusions in general show that the unity or plurality of things is not pre- sented in vision, but represented in manipulation. ^ § 164. The geometrical solidity or shape of outer things is not directly perceived, but only judged of by the eye. ' Wheatstone holds that unity in binocular vision is an inference from the mental combination of the two retinal pictures. Some physiologists have explained it by supposing a special provision in the structure of the organ. See MuUer, Phi/sioJogy, pp. 1197, 1205 ; also Carpenter, Physiology, p. 917. Lotze explains it by his theory of local signs. Various views are held by the physiological psychologists. See Ladd, Elements of, p. 420 sq. If the forefinger be held vertically a foot from the eyes, and a pencil a foot beyond, then on looking at the linger I see also two pencils, and vice versa. If I squint, all objects depicted on " the yellow spot" {macula lutea, the central and most sensitive portion of the retina) seem double. One whose strabismus has been corrected has double vision. For example, every road forks before him. The illusions continue until gradually he forms new judg- ments and habits of sight. Tliese facts seem favorable to Wheatstone's view, which we have adopted. On squinting, see Helmholtz, Physio. Optik., Fr. tr., p. 882. 2 Nor is the i;nity of an outer thing discernible by touch alone. A pea touched by the forefinger certainly seems single, just as when seen with one eye. If touched by the fore and middle fingers, it still seems one, as when seen with both eyes, and for the similar reason that simultaneous contact with the adjacent sides of these fingers has long been an accepted sign of a single body. Now let the middle finger be crossed over the forefinger, and the pea placed between their tips ; I distinctly perceive two, as when I siiuint, and for the similar reason that contact with the opposite sides of those fingers usually indicate two things. The impression is aided, no doubt, by the fact that surfaces concave to each other are a usual sign of unity, and surfaces convex to each other (apparently so in this case) are a usual sign of duplex- ity. This childish illusion, which interested and was discussed by Aristotle, shows that unity is not, as commonly supposed, directly perceived by touch. It is inferred, a mediate perception, given originally in voluntary handling, sometimes called active touch. MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 165 The field of view may be regarded as a plane at right angles to the optic axis. That the eye perceives the two dimen- sions of figure as projected on this plane is obvious, but we must remember that this figure is determined by the retinal picture, and is not at all the superficial figure of any outer thing (§ 19). A circle seen aslant depicts an ellipse, and it is an ellipse that is actually seen, and not a circle, though we may mediately judge it to be in reality a circle. The real figure of the outer thing is known originally only by manipulation. 1 The third dimension, since it does not at all exist in the picture, the eye does not find there; and though we may seem to see it, yet is it merely inferred from certain signs, certain pictorial aspects, which we know, by experience in handling under the eye, that solid bodies present.^ Thus a sphere is actually seen as a circle, but the shading of its sur- face is a sign by which from experience we judge, and say we see, a sphere.^ In binocular vision we have, besides the shading, yet another means of judging geometrical solidity or shape. In looking at a thick book, for example, lying on my table, there are not only two pictures, one on each retina, but these pictures are different, since the book is seen from different points of view. Knowing from experience that the differ- 1 Volney observed, in a case of couching for cataract, that the patient^ who was a good geometrician, not only distinguished plane figures as differ- ent, but also correctly named the circle, the triangle, etc. But on being asked how he was enabled to do this, he replied that he tried to think how they would feel if he should pass his fingers over the outline. 2 " The ' old psychology ' was accustomed to hold that we cannot perceive the third dimension with the eyes. This is undoubtedly erroneous. Depth and distance are immediately perceived by sight." — Ladd, Outlines of Phys- iological Psychology, p. 339. We quote this remarkable assertion merely to show that other opinions are entertained. 3 The sun and moon, and the planets as seen through a telescope, being destitute of this shading, appear to be flat discs, though we know them to be and think of them as spheres. The shading is often exhibited on a flat surface, as in good frescoes, so skilfully as completely to deceive us. 166 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. ence is produced by a solid bod}-, I seem to see a solid, I seem to see the third dimension. It is, however, merely represented, and the judgment involved is called the stereo- scopic judgment.^ The physical solidity of outer bodies is known originally in their resistance to voluntary locomotion. Mere contact is usually an accepted sign of a physical solid. If we doubt, we apply pressure as the test,^ Opacity is also a sign. But to both touch and sight physical solidity is a mediate and acquired perception, and occasionally they betray our trust.^ In all cases of suspected error in any of these cognitions originally given in voluntary locomotion, and acquired as mediate perceptions by the other senses, we almost instinc- tively have recourse to their source ; we test them by hand- ling. This is why children and uncultivated people are so strongly disposed to handle whatever they see. They show thereby a lack of culture, it is true, but it is an indispen- sable part of the process of culture. 1 From (TTepeSs a-KOTreTv, to see a solid. The pretty illusions of the reflecting and refracting stereoscopes of Wheatstone and Brewster, which supply to vision the requisite conditions, are familiar, and prove the mediate character of this cognition. Molyneux asked Locke whether a man born blind could on receiving sight distinguish between a cube and a sphere by the eye alone. The question has been much discussed. The answer is that he could distinguish the projected plane figures as different, but could not know in them a cube and a sphere. — Locke, Essay, ii, 9. Nunneley, On the Onjans of Vision, p. 31 (1858), describes a case of couching with careful observations. See also Naville, Bevue Scientifique, p. 943 (1887). The oldest but most famous case of Cheselden is detailed m Philosophical Tra)isactions for 1728, No. 402. See it quoted by Hamilton, Meta., p. 391 sq. ; and, with other cases, by McCosh, Psychology, vol. i, p. 45 sq. All the observed facts in these cases confirm the view we have adopted. It is well worth noting that the giving sight to a man born blind, recorded in John 9, was more than a physical miracle. He received not merely a sense, but an educated sense, such as took Cheselden's patient many months to acquire. 2 See Luke 24 : 39 ; and John 20 : 24-27. 8 For example, we sometimes mistake a panel mirror for an open door, and attempt to pass through. MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 167 § 165. The perception of the direction of objects is a mediate perception. The terms right and left, before and behind, above and below, refer to my own position. They are the names strictly of relations, and mere relations of things are not at all objects of sense." The knowledge is given in the movement of my limbs requisite to reach things, or in the movement of my eyes requisite to see them. Upon this experience rests the judgment of direction.^ The tensions of the small muscles that move the eyeball furnish a very delicate indication of direction. They cor- respond with the various positions of the optic axis, so that when this is turned from one object to another they tell of the different directions, the sweep of the eye giving the angular deviation. The estimate of an angle of difference of direction by this movement of the eye reminds us of the sweep of the index arm of a mariner's sextant.^ The doctrine that an object is judged to be in the direc- tion which the axial ray of light from it has on entering the eye, is true, excepting that the last direction of the ray is not at all the ground of the judgment; for of the ray, as well as of the eye itself, we are utterly unconscious. The accord between a visual judgment of direction and the last line of light is because the latter most generally lies in the 1 The attitude of the body being erect, it seems not unlikely that we refer a line of direction to three co-ordinate planes at right angles to each other, one horizontal through the eyes, the others vertical, one of which passes through the ears, and the three having their common point in the middle of the head. If it be true that we naturally figure to ourselves in a vague way this construction, each one thus assuming himself to be a centre of things and an origin of co-ordinates, then the Cartesian system of rectangular co- ordinates was not so much an invention as a discovery. 2 On the authority of Wundt we have that " one sviffering from paresis of the right external muscle of the eye, so that the nmscle is not able by the utmost effort to effect a lateral movement of more than 20", locates an object, which in reality is only 20° distant from the median plane, at a point so far ovitward as corresponds to the utmost outward movement of the normal eye, and, when asked to touch the object, places his finger far beyond it to the right." — See Baldwin, Psychology, p. 128, note. 168 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. true direction. The ground of judgment, originally certain muscular impressions, is transferred to certain visual im- pressions. These, not the last direction of the light, some- times mislead us. It is thus that refraction, reflection, and aberration cause illusions; for example, the sun appears to have fully risen, when it is in reality still below the horizon.^ In explaining visible direction, the complete inversion of the retinal picture has been a great puzzle. But it is easily solved by the consideration that we are unconscious of the retinal picture itself. Being conscious only of the impres- sions which it determines on the inner sight centre, we judge from them of direction according to experience. But on any supposition, the inversion of everything is equiva- lent to the inversion of nothing. Total inversion does not change or modify any spatial relations whatever. ^ § 166. The ear learns to estimate direction. There is an axis of hearing, the line passing through the two ears. Experience teaches that the most distinct sounds come in the direction of this line. We judge that the sound having a maximum distinctness in one ear, and a minimum in the other, has its source in the direction of the auricular axis. An angle formed at the ear by this axis with a radius of the aerial waves, and estimated by the degree of distinctness, 1 Like a coin viewed aslant in a teacup of water. 2 This last is Miiller's explanation. — Hum. J'hys., p. 910. It is adopted by Carpenter, who objects to Brewster's theory that the Ime of visible direction is immediately given by the path of the axial ray. Le Conte revives Brewster's theory thus: "Each focal impression is referred back to its corresponding radiant, and thus the external image is reconstructed in space in its true position, or is reinverted in the act of projection." — Sight, p. 85. This is merely a geometrical fancy, without a fact to support it. Our knowl- edge of the direction and relative position of objects seen is an aquisition by sight from our experience in handling them. When we dress before a mirror, we perform a series of partial inversions, perplexing at first, but soon as easy as if we were working under direct vision. So also the microscopist and teiescopist adjust themselves to the inversions of their lenses. MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 169 also enables one to perceive the direction of the sonorous centre. But the judgment of direction by the ear is much less accurate and reliable than by the eye, since the ear has no appendages similar to the muscles of the eyeball for counter- checking its estimates ; and also because the aerial Avaves are not so rigidly direct as the ethereal rays. Frequent illusions warn us and impair our confidence. Yet we as truly hear the direction of a sonorous body as we see that of a luminous one. The art of ventriloquism lies chiefly in a skilful mimicry of sounds, so that in spite of reason we misjudge, on grounds of experience and confirmed association, their direction as well as their distance and source. ^ § 167. The size of things, and their distance from each other and from me, are given originally only in voluntary locomotive energy. Size or comparative magnitude is meas- ured extension taken as a quality of body. It is given directly in differences of grasp for small bodies, in differ- ences of reach for the larger, and in differences of total movement, as in walking over or about them, for the largest. Distance is the measured extension of the free space between bodies. It is similarly given. What is meant by an object's being four yards from wheje I stand ? This at least, that it would require a certain number of paces to come up to it, a certain amount of voluntary effort, a certain expenditure of muscular energy. The true and ultimate meaning, then, of size and distance, as objects of experience, is tactile and muscular in connection with voluntary locomotion. ^ 1 One of the most pleasing of illusions is echo. Other senses learn to estimate direction. We are led by smell in the direction of fire. We can perceive muscularly, while walking at night, our direction pretty well, but an inexperienced person is liable to wander. 2 When I say that yonder log is six yards long and a yard in circumfer- ence, this ultimately means that it would take so many strides to traverse its length, and the full extent of my arms to embrace it. To get an idea of a mile, I must travel it, and a hundred miles is a hundred times that energy. 170 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. Each of the special senses acquires power to discern dis- tance; that is, each of the percepts becomes a ground on which we estimate it. We judge of distance by smell, and even by taste, as when we perceive that we are approaching the sea by the taste of its salty air. The mediate perception of distance by sound is habitual. The sharp clap of thunder is near ; the long, subdued roll is far off. We hear the bay- ing of our hunting-hounds, and perceive that they are half a mile away. By the sound of footsteps on a pavement at night we hear them first approach, and then recede. Hence many illusions. The exciting crescendo of an unseen trum- pet seems to advance; the soothing diminuendo seems to recede, and die away in the distance. Similarly the ven- triloquist, imitating the count of a regiment in line, pro- duces an illusive vista of sounds ; and by playing in many ways, with our accustomed sonorous perspective, he cheats, not our ears, but our judgments, and sets them to contra- dicting each other. § 168. The estimate of the size and distance of near objects by the eye involves several elements. The visual angle, or the angle at the eye which the object subtends, measures the apparent size on the field of view.^ Now, An infant crawls about its nursery, and handles all it can get hold of, thus investigating size and distance. The natural standards are taken from the human body ; as, the inch, or thumb joint ; the span ; the foot ; the cubit, or forearm ; the yard, or arm's length or a stride ; the fathom, or a man's height, or reach with both arms; the league (Ger. Stxinde), or an hour's walk, etc. This accords with the ultimate muscular meaning of size and distance. So also my tongue tacitly tells me the size of a morsel. 1 The visual angle should be distinguished from the optic angle. The latter is the angle formed by the optic axes of the eyes, and has its apex in a ijoint of the object seen. It varies inversely with the distance. It has been supposed by Brewster and many others that the knowledge of this angle, given by the tension of the external and internal recti muscles, enables us to judge the distance of near objects. To this is added the tension of the ciliary muscle, altering the convexity of the crystalline lens (Ilelmholtz). But Wheatstone ascertained by exix-riments that "unless other signs accompany MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 171 since this apparent size is a projection of real size, it is obvious that there is a certain direct correspondence between them, and that the one furnishes, in part, ground for judging the other. But it is also obvious that apparent size depends not merely on real size, but also upon the distance from the observer. Apparent size varies inversely as the square of the distance. But the distance, having no projection, no representative, on the field of view, can be judged only indirectly, and with much uncertainty. ^ Apparent size is given. If real size be known, distance may be estimated. If distance be known, real size may be estimated. If neither real size nor distance be known, one of the two must first be estimated in order to judge the other. Which comes usually first? Since distance has no projection or representative on the field of view, evidently there will first be an estimate of size in order to an estimate of distance.^ The distance of two objects from each other is estimated ocularly by judging first their real size; then, if they are the sensation of convergence of the optic axes, the notion of distance we thence derive is uncertain and obscure." For example, the vision of a single luminous point shining in the dark. See Phil. Trans, for 1852, Bakerian Lecture, by Sir Charles Wheatstone. 1 Thus the full moon is as large as the sun, though the intense brightness ■of the sun makes the false impression that it occupies more space on the field of view. The moon appears much larger than Jupiter, and still larger than Sirius, and these projected on the face of the sky may be so situated as to appear at equal distances from each other. All this is unreal. A dime held up in the field of view eclipses the moon, and the moon in turn eclipses the sun, all in one apparent place. And so of terrestrial objects. A book in my hand is as large as the window, i.e. it occupies as much of the area of vision. A straw stuck on the window-pane is as high as the pine tree beyond, and as the further mountain. A carriage moving off from me is a striking experience. At first it rapidly, and then more slowly, dwindles. But the carriage itself does not grow smaller ; hence what I see is not the carriage. See § 157, note. 2 This conclusion thus reached a priori is the same as that reached by Wheatstone a posteriori, or by experiment. 172 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. in a line with the observer, his own estimated distance from each gives, by subtraction, their distance from each other; if not in line with liini, an easy method of natural triangu- lation ascertains the distance, and this, by practice, with remarkable accuracy.^ § 169. The estimate of the size and distance of objects more than twenty feet away depends mainlj- upon perspec- tive. Ground perspective, as it is technically called, is determined by the number and arrangement of objects in the field of view. Some of these being known in respect of size or distance, furnish means for judging others. The simplest case is that of a vista, as an avenue of trees, or the houses along a street. All lines parallel to the line of sight seem to meet it in the vanishing-point on the horizon, and the length of all vertical lines, as the height of the trees, houses, columns, etc., apparently diminishes in the ratio of the distance. In case of a landscape, a known object, as a man in the middle ground, enables us to appreciate the size, distance, and relative position of objects in the fore and back grounds.^ 1 Then scientific trigonometry is not so mucli an invention as a discovery. Tliat distance, as discerned by sight, is not at all an original but a second- ary perception, was maintained by Berkeley in his Essay toward a New TJieory of Vision (1709), a prelude to his doctrine of the Perception of a Material World. See § 1.30. The latter has been generally rejected, the former as generally accepted. It is noteworthy that Descartes, in his treatise on Dioptric, anticipated, in every point, the views of Berkeley respecting vision. See especially Discourse, vi. For further proof we add tlie pathological fact, that in case of paralysis of of the abductor muscle of the eye, the patient sees objects further from him than they really are. A stonemason afflicted with this disease strikes his hand with the hammer Instead of hitting the stone (Wundt). But little by little lie recovers his judgment of distance, thougli by great effort. ' - Optical illusions are so frequent tliat the word apparent is used in oppo- sition to 7-eal (v{. apparition). The full moon and the sun, when near the horizon, appear larger and further tlian when overhead, though, in fact, the angular diameter is then somewhat less. This is because at the horizon intervening objects furnish a perspective. If we cut off this by looking MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 173 Aerial perspective or atmosphere is the greater or less dim- ness or distinctness of an object. This, having been found to vary with the distance, furnishes a basis of estimate. Thus we judge the relative distances of mountain peaks ris- ing above and beyond each other, and becoming more and more dim.^ The art of landscape-painting depends on the principles of perspective. In early life, before the visual signs of real size and distance have been investigated, and the secondary perception acquired, it is probable that a real landscape is viewed as an erect surface like a picture. An important part of the education of artists consists in learning to view landscapes thus, in order to depict them, which is called by Ruskin "recovering the innocence of the eye." § 170. The definite location of the percepts of touch on parts of the skin is an acquired perception. It is evident that we cannot locate these percepts unless we have knowl- edge of the superficial form of the body. If my foot and shoulder be lightly struck, I would surely be conscious that the contacts were two, even if simultaneous, and this doubt- less by virtue of the independence of the nerve connections; but I could not locate the contacts without some knowledge of the localities. Now a knowledge of the superficial extent or shape of my body is acquired by the voluntary locomotion of one part, as the hand, over other parts. Having thus learned it, I entertain a representative image of my figure, through a tube, the estimate is instantly reduced. For the same reason the dome of the sky appears flattened, or less than a hemisphere. A landsman's estimate of distance at sea is liable to be very erroneous, his accustomed basis of ground perspective being wanting. 1 In the clear air of Italy the background of the landscape seems much . nearer than in hazy England. A man seen in a fog appears gigantic ; the aerial effect overcomes and reverses the usual order (§ 168) ; we overestimate his distance first, and then his size. On illusions see Keid, Inquu-ij into the Hummi Mind, ch. 6, § 22 ; also Brewster, Letters to Sir Walter Scott on Natural Magic; also Memoirs of Bohert Houdin, an autobiography. 174 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. and then it becomes possible to Ibcate a contact on the foot, or hand, or trunk, or head. But since this is done through a representative knowledge of my superficial figure, it follows that this localization is representative, mediate, and acquired. 1 Moreover, if a tactile sensory nerve trunk be tied with a thread, all parts of the skin supplied by it become wholly insensible; but if the trunk be irritated above the thread, pain is felt, which, however, is referred to those parts, although the nervous communication with them is entirely cut off. So when the foot is asleep, the disagreeable sen- sation of numbness, which is distinctly referred to the foot, is because of an injurious pressure of a trunk nerve, per- haps in the thigh, and we greatly mistake the true situs of the disturbance. Such facts show that the definite location of the sense-percept is mediate. The remarkable illusion, known in surgery as "the phantom limb," not only accords with, but strongly confirms this view.^ What has been said of the location of tactile sense-percepts is true of cutaneous sensations generally, and also of all 1 See § 24, note on "local signs." When a babe is hurt by a pin, it screams with pain, but shows no sign of knowing where the hurt is. Some- times the dentist pulls the wrong tooth, because we cannot tell him certainly which one it is that aches. 2 After an arm has been amputated the patient still locates sense-percep- tions in a representation of it. He will say : My hand is open ; now it is shut. I am touching my little finger with my thumb, etc. An irritation in the stump he feels in the phantom hand. Muller insists that " these illusions are permanent and preserve the same intensity throughout life." — /'/«?/s., p. 043.- Vulpian, Carpenter, Spring, and others, hold the contrary. Also Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, who has made a special study of the phantom limb, says: "The site of the amputation does not seem to exercise any influence upon the consciousness of the existence of the limb, but in time, if not reminded by pain or other subjective symptom, the patient is apt to lose sense of the presence of the part, and this, I think, is most liable to occur as regards the leg." — Lessons of the Nerves, p. 350 ; cf. p. 350. That is, the old judgments of locality are gradually replaced by new ones. It was this curious fact that led Descartes to explain localization by asso- ciation. See remarks by Coleridge, Biog. Lit., oh. 5. Also by Ribot, Ger. Psych., pp. 111-2. MEDIATE PERCEPTION. 175 internal sensations. The latter, however, owing probably to the comparative sparseness of the nerve connections and to their being less accessible to observation, are localized with more difficulty and less accuracy. Painful disturbances of the liver, the spleen, the kidneys, are hardly distinguish- able, and are often misplaced even by those who know some- thing of their own anatomy. The well-informed physician often applies local remedies to parts remote from those where the pain is distinctly felt. § 171. Let us consider another curious and significant fact. If I touch a rough wall with the end of a rod, the roughness is not perceived at the hand grasping the rod, but beyond, at the wall. Moreover, I locate the sensation also at the remote end of the rod, rather than in my body. Tlie end of the rod seems to be sensitive. I feel out there the roughness and hardness. The perception apparently carries the sensation perforce along with it out of my body ; or we might say, my personality seems enlarged and extended to the point of the rod. Upon this principle depends the efficacy of tools. If we felt merely their contact with the hand, and not their hold and movement on the material, they would be unmanageable and useless. So the knife and fork, the knitting and the sewing needle. So the probe of the surgeon ; he feels the bottom of the wound. The stick of the groping blindman seems to him a part of himself. This extension of tactile and muscular sense-perception beyond the periphery is obviously representative and ac- quired.i 1 This feeling of enlarged personality is quite remarkable. If I hold a rod by the middle, I feel its weight only ; but if by any other part, or if balanced vertically on my finger, I feel its length, and am carried out beyond myself to that extent. If I swing a plumb-line, I feel its length; the plumb has become a part of me, and describes my own circumference. If I balance a bowl on the tip of my finger inside, and some one taps its edge with a stick, I feel the expanse of the bowl. This will account perhaps for some fancies in dress. High heels give a. 176 MEDIATE KISOWLEBGE. The i)ercepts of our other senses are also located upon what is conceived to be their proximate cause. As Ave assign tangibility to what is perceived to be in contact with the skill, so we locate the red color on the rose, and Ave assign the blue to the sky, even after we have found out there is no such thing as a sky. We locate the blast of a trumpet in its throat, the peal of a church-bell in the steeple, sweetness in the sugar, and perfume in the violet. If, however, I have learned that odor is caused by an ether, I may come to represent it as diffused in the ambient air. The physicist, who is accustomed to represent sound as aerial vibration, will locate the tones of the bell, not in the steeple, but in its atmosphere. In these cases, the sensa- tion, if located at all, is referred to one's own body, generally to the organ of sense in exercise. feeling of height from the ground up. A man sets his beaver square on his head, and feels its weight only ; a dandy sets his a little to one side, feels its swing, and is elevated to its centre of gravity. So the waving curls and floating sash of a young miss, and the long train of a duchess, give a wide and enjoyable sweep to their feeling of presence. It will also account, in part at least, for our fondness for horseback exercise. A rider is more than a man ;• he is, in one word, a horseman. He feels the stroke of the horse's feet on the ground ; feels it himself to be hard or soft ; feels the animal's strength and speed to be his own. and will say, I have just galloped a mile, when in fact it was the horse only that galloped. Perhaps the myth of the centaur took its rise from this feeling. Lotze discusses these feelings at some length. See Mikrokosmus, bk. v, Geisty ch. 2, Die menchliche sinnlichkeit. SUGGESTION. 177 CHAPTER III. SUGGESTION. § 172. Before discussing the specific powers of mediate knowledge, it is needful to consider the sequence of mental states. Perceptions being dependent on the presentation of external objects, the order in which they follow each other is determined from without and not by the mind. Repre- sentations, being wholly subjective, and so independent of external objects, their order of sequence must be either altogether fortuitous, or else determined by some principle of the mind itself. We are conscious of a constantly chang- ing train of mediate cognitions ; one follows another unceas- ingly. Evidently they do not arise at hap-hazard, but are connected by bonds which determine the train. Logical sequence occurs when one or more cognitions implicitly contain one other which the process of thinking explicates.^ The sequence is intrinsic in the thoughts themselves. The individual thinker propels the train, but does not determine its order: this is the same in all minds, being independent of experience and habit. Suggested sequence occurs when a present mental state induces the repetition of a past similar state with its associa- tions. This bond between the present and the past is estab- lished by the experience, and strengthened by the habits of the individual mind. It determines that a present state shall be followed by a repetition of past states. This, as dis- tinct from the logical order, may be called the psychological, 1 For example, the notion of a triangle is followed by the notion that an exterior angle is equal to the sum of the two opposite interior angles. The consideration of logical sequence is postponed to the topic Thought. 178 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. or the empirical, order. Its procedure is expressed in three laws, called the Laws of Suggestion. ^ § 173. The first is the Law of Similarity, or of Repeti- tion, thus : A present mental mode tends to suggest a past similar mode. The suggesting and the suggested states are similar, but differ in time. For examples : I see a man and recognize him as having been seen before; the grief that now agitates me recalls a former grief. ^ This law expresses a primary condition of complete recognition, of the repro- duction, renewal, revival, or repetition of a previous state, according to subsequent laws.^ Present mental states tend to revive also their contraries. The brightness of to-day may remind one of the darkness of last night.* But this occurs only through the law of repe- 1 Hamilton's treatmeut of this subject, Meta., p. 428 sq., abounds iii good illustrations, but is philosophically defective. See Mill, Ex. of H.'s Phil., ch. 14. But in Reid, note D***, Hamilton gives it a much more thorough and satisfactory analysis. 2 Other examples : I hear a sound, as of a steam-v^'histle, and recognize it as indistinguishable from what I have often heard before. A sweet taste just now experienced reminds me of a sweet taste experienced some time ago. The present thought of a social duty suggests the entirely similar thought of yesterday. Let it be noted that the principle of similarity is not association, for the mental states implied have not been experienced together, which is essential to association. Wit, which always presents somethmg new, has been fairly defined as a quick discovery of remote resemblances. E.g. the French say, a prudent man is like a pin, his head keeps him from going too far. Voltaire said, ideas are like beards, women and boys have.jione. Putting these in form of question and answer, we have the conundrum. So also punning, rhyming, and alliteration depend on similarities, and not at all on association. 3 For shock of similarity as fundamental, see § 59. The terms reproduction, etc. , are apt to mislead. A present state cannot be strictly a revival or renewal of our past. It is similar, but not the same, for it differs in time, without having persisted meantime, which is essential to identity. * Other examples : The cold of this winter suggests the heat of last summer ; the frigid, the torrid zone. Seeing the strength and boldness of a lion, I may think of the weakness and timidity of a hind. A mountain reminds me of an abyss. The brevity of life brings to mind eternity. Sidney Smith said that in time of danger presence of mind is good, but absence of body is better. SUGGESTION. 179 tition. We have seen that, by the law of relativity (§ 58), every cognition coexists with its opposite or contrary. Hence a state may recall a past contrary, but not directly. Either it recalls its own past similar, and with it the paot contrary, or the present contrary recalls its past similar. ^ § 174. The second is the Law of Association, or of Redintegration, thus: Mental modes occurring together or in close succession, adhere, so that the after-recurrence of any of them tends to suggest the others. The suggesting and suggested states are dissimilar, but have previously occurred at the same time.^ For example : A spoken word strikes my ear. The sound is somewhat familiar; that is, the present is similar to some previous mental state, which being thus partially revived, constitutes a partial recogni- tion. So far, this is according to the law of similarity. But the previous state was associated with other dissim- ilar yet simultaneous or successive states, to which it ad- heres. Bj^ virtue of this adhesion they also are recalled, and I now fully recognize a peculiar pronunciation as the habit of a friend whose person I now mentally represent, together with the circumstances of a conversation I had with him yesterday while dining with him at his home. Thus having revived, according to the law of similarity, one point of a past experience, the mind then, according to the law of redintegration, spreads, as it were, through all the attendant 1 We proceed, as it were, along the sides of a rectangle, rather than directly along its diagonal. Alexander of Aphrodisias held that the suggestion of contraries is equivalent to that of similars, because contraries always have common attributes. — In Top., i, 18. For failures in the law of similarity, due to feebleness or to diversity of impression, .see Bain, Senses and Intellect, p. 461 sq.. Am. ed. ^ See this law as stated by Kant, Anthropologie, § 30. Juxtaposition is also usually held to cause association, as lips and teeth, Naples and Vesuvius. Hence this is often named the law of contiguity in time and place. But objects in space are known to be contiguous only by being observed simul- taneously or in succession ; and it is this, and not juxtaposition, that is the proximate cause of the adhesion. 180 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. circumstances with whicli the point was associated, and so reintegrates, or makes whole again, the former total state. This second law is obviously conditioned on the first. ^ § 175. When the experience causing the adhesion is one of succession, then the total reproduced is a total of succes- sion, and the order is the original order. We can easily say the words of the Lord's Prayer in their order; but it would not be easy to say them backwards. Yet regressive order is not disorder, only it is not the order of association. ^ A natural order in some cases determines the associated order; for examples : an observed cj-cle, as that of the seasons ; an evolution, as the growth of plants ; cause and effect, as hail and damage. But more often the order is arbitrary or acci- dental. After a chain of associations has been formed, it not infrequently occurs that intermediate links disappear, those that remain interlinking with each other, and still preserv- ing their original order. Thus the feeling of pleasure 1 Thus the name Alexander the Great may suggest Alexander the Copper- smith. Campbell's lines, — " — we linger to survey The promised joys of life's iiurueasured way," very readily suggest those of Pope : — " — we tremble to survey The growing labors of the lengthened way." The striking similarities enable us to recall the differences. The following, from Hobbes, is an oft-repeated and classical illustration : "In a company in which the conversation turned upon the late civil war [1042-49], what could be conceived more import hient than for a person to ask abruptly, what was the value of a Roman denarius ? On a little reflec- tion, however, I was easily able to trace the train of thought which suggested the question ; for the original subject of discourse naturally introduced the history of the king, and of the treachery of those who surrendered his person to his enemies ; this again introduced the treachery of Judas Iscariot, and the sum of money which he received for his reward." — Leviathan, pt. i, ch. 3. A number of fine illustrations are given by Stewart, Elements, i, ch. 5. 2 The notes of a familiar tune suggest each other, and we sing it through. Now try to sing it backwards. SUGGESTION. 181 becomes associated in the mind of the miser directly with the mere possession of money, he having lost the connecting link, conveniences procured by money, out of the chain, money, conveniences, pleasure.^ Thus it is that thoughts which originally followed each other in the order of logical sequence, and were linked by reasonings, become associated by these experiences, and afterward suggest each other in the same order, but without a repetition of the reasoning. We have many special examples of this in the mediate per- ceptions (§ 161). § 176. When the total revival is a complement of states associated by simultaneity, the likeness to a chain does not hold. In speaking of a train of thoughts thus associated, it should not be understood that one idea or mode brings up another, and this a third, and so on, in a simple chain. We should remember that ordinarily in an}' given state we are conscious not of one, nor merely of a few, but of a great many things at once (§ 64). Now each of these things may have its own peculiar connections with previous states of the same manifold sort. Whichever one, then, operates to suggest its special associations, that brings up, not merely another one, but a new multitude, and some one of this throng brings up still another throng of cognitions, feelings, states, of every kind. The succession, then, is not like that of the links of a chain, but rather like that of the links of an intricate network, each of which has its own independent and numerous connections. Thus in lively conversation, the several topics, suggested often by chance words or phrases, come freely, without logical connection, and the mind is ^ Hartley expresses this in liis Law of Transference. — Observations on Man, ch. 4. See also Morell, Hist, of Phil, pt. i, cli. 1, § 3. Thus, proba- bly, Hamilton lost B, his A interlinking directly with C. — Meta., pp. 244 and 430 sq. So the events of history come to be immediately associated with its monuments, a long intermediate chain of studies being overlooked. xVmid the ruins of ancient Rome, '■'■quocunque enim ingredimur, in aliquam histo- riam vestigium pon'imus.'''' — Cicero, De Finibus, bk. v, ch. 1. 182 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. crowded with successive swarms of ideas, images, thoughts, and feelings. In reverie, images come and go in great troops, every moment the scene changes, we can scarce tell how, and host follows host unceasingly. ^ § 177. vSome states between which there is no necessary, and it may be no natural, connection become nevertheless so firmly adherent by a frequent experience of them together, and perhaps never an experience of them apart, that they cannot be separated. If one exists, the other exists along with it in spite of every effort made to disjoin them. This is called indissoluble association.^ For example, it is hardly in our power to dissociate color and extension. We have constantly seen them combined; we have, perhaps, never ob- served color unless apparently spread, as it were, on a sur- face ; they have been invariably conjoined. Whenever, then, the idea of the one occurs, that of the other comes along with it, and is retained as long as the first remains. Yet there is no necessary connection between them. Color is wholly sub- jective ; extension is objective. The man born eyeless appre- ciates extension without color; and if his inner organ be excited by an electric shock, he experiences color without extension. "There is no more connection," says Stewart, "between color and extension, than there is between pain 1 " Lulled in the secret chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain ; Awake but one, and lo ! what myriads rise, Each stamps his image as the other flies." — KoGEKs, Pleasures of Memory. "Zwar ist's mit der Gedankenfabrik AVie mit cinom Webermcisterstiick, Wo ein Trilt tausend Fiiden regt, Die Schifflein heriiber hiniiber schiessen. Die Fiiden ungesehen flicssen, Ein Schlag tausend Verbindungen schlagt." — Fmtst, p. 73, Whitney's ed. See Cardaillac, J^Audes Element, de Philos., t. ii, oh. 6. 2 See James Mill, Analysis, etc., ch. 3. SUGGESTION. 183 and solidity." He might have said, not so much, for solid- ity may be a cause of pain, but extension cannot be a cause of color. § 178. Clearly the two laws which have been stated are applicable to various modes of cognition. Perceptions be- come associated merely by the experience of them together or in close succession, so that tlie subsequent presentation of one excites a representation of the other (§ 161). Upon this depends the possibility of language. ^ So also memories, imaginings, and thoughts may suggest each other.^ The adhesions determined by experience are not, however, limited to cognitions, but take place between any, even the most heterogeneous mental states. Not only may a feeling be associated with a feeling, or a volition with a volition, but a cognition may be united Avith a feeling,^ a volition 1 The association between a vocal sound and the position of the organ of speech requisite to produce it enables the one to recall and reinstate the other. Hence the power of imitating sounds, or of producing them at will. Again, these sounds are associated with the things which they name, and in written language the visible forms of words are likewise associated with the things. Moreover, the sound and the written word are associated with each other. These connections are almost wholly arbitrary, yet they are the essential basis of human speech. So a child comes to distinguish its right hand from its left (see Jonah 4 : 11), by associating the words with a par- ticular set of muscular sense-perceptions. One who has an ear even slightly educated appreciates the rhythm and rhyme of verses in silent reading ; and a musician silently scans writtv n music, enjoying its beauties and critically judging its merits. 2 No logical connection is requisite. I see a toad, and instantly think of Ithurial's spear. But for the toad, I should not have thought of the spear. See Paradise Lost, bk. iv, 11. 797-882. 3 A burnt child dreads fire ; or, as a Hebrew proverb has it : Who has been bitten by a snake is afraid of a rope. Says Ossian : "The music of Carryl was, like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul." Descartes, in illustrating association, says that when a child he had as a playmate a little girl with a squint, whose early friendship made him ever after regard this defect with favor. See an odd case mentioned by McCosh, Emotions, p. 179. The fact of associations or adhesions between mental states other than 18 i MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. with a cognition, an affection with a sensation, and so on; and these then suggest each other. Indeed, an association may be so strong as to reproduce, not merely mental, but also physical states.^ § 179. The third law is the Law of Preference, thus: Suggestion takes the direction and is in the ratio of the interest which objects have for the individual mind. The two previous laws do not account for all the phenomena. They explain recurrence by association, but not Avhy one idea or mode takes preference of others. They explain the fact of adhesion, but not why A preferably adheres to C rather than to B. They explain the general tendency, but not the mode of realization. The third law is complemen- tary. Associations are established by exjDcrience, but they are modified and directed by the native disposition, tastes, and habits of the individual. Two persons under entirely similar circumstances will recur to very different ideas, and that cognitive shows that the phrase "association of ideas," whicli is the usual title given to this whole subject, is much too narrow. It originated with Locke, who, however, used the term idea in a wide sense. The old scholas- tic title, " the excitation of species," is also inadequate, since adhesions occur between heterogeneous states. 1 Reading a bill of fare may excite hunger. One who has taken quinine lu coffee, for weeks tastes its bitterness in every cup. A remedy for inebriety is to put tartar-emetic in the drink ; thereafter liquor is nauseous. See a curious statement in Rush, Afedical Inquiries, vol. ii, p. 42. Thinking of a precipice excites a thrill, and even may make one dizzy. Imagine a nail drawn across a slate, the flesh creeps. The sight of the surgeon who lias performed a painful operation on me revives my agony, and excites a dislike for his person. See the anecdote in Locke, Essa)/, bk. ii, ch. 23, § 14. News of a battle makes a veteran's old wound burn. So Heine's ballad, Die Grni- adiere : " Wie breunt meine alte Wunde ! " Seeing the assassin who has recently attempted one's life may cause the wound to bleed. Possibly in this originated the old and widely spread notion that a murderer's approach to the corpse of his victim causes the wound to bleed afresh. See Nihelun- genlied, Siebenzehntes Ahenteuer ; Richard III, A. 1, sc. 2; Fair Maid of Perth, ch. 23 ; and Marhle Faun. SUGGESTION. 185 perhaps in spite of the natural relations of things. Such a relation subsists between the ideas horse and work, and also between rain and growth, and to a farmer the one will sug- gest the other. But to a jockey the idea of a horse suggests a race, and to a tramp rain suggests mud. The preference is determined by the interest arising from taste and habit. Likewise our interpretation of events is determined largely by preference in associations according to taste and habit. ^ The points determining preference are sometimes stated as the secondary laws of association,^ thus: 1. Long con- tinuance or frequent repetition of impression confers prefer- ence. This is by the general law of habit. 2. Natural adliesiveness causes preference. One's disposition, as gloomy or cheerful, his taste, as vulgar or refined, his talents, as for languages or mathematics, will generally 1 A very fine illustration, too long to quote, will be found in Merchant of Venice, A. 1, sc. 1, speecli of Salarino. When Moses and Joshua were coming down from the mount, and heard from far the noise of the people as they shouted, the warrior said with mili- tary brevity : — " A noise of war in the camp." But the poet said : — " Not the voice of them that shout for mastery, Nor the voice of them that cry for being overcome, But the voice of them that sing, do I hear." — Exodus 32 : 18. The following classical illustration is taken from Helvetius : "The passions not only concentrate our attention on certain exclusive aspects of the objects which they present, but they likewise often deceive us in showing these same objects where they do not exist. The story is well known of a parson and a gay lady. They had both heard that the moon was peopled, believed it, and telescope in hand, were attempting to discover the inhabitants. If I am not mistaken, says the lady, who looked first, I perceive two shadows ; they bend toward each other, and are doubtless two happy lovers. Lovers, madam, says the divine, who looked next, oh, fie ! The two shadows you saw are the two steeples of a cathedral. This story is the history of mankind. In general we perceive only in things what we are desirous of finding. On earth, as in the moon, various prepossessions make us always recognize either lovers or cathedrals." — De V Esprit, dis. i, ch. 2. 2 See Brown, Phil, of Hum. Mind, § 37. 186 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. give direction to his associations. ^ 3. Recentness of the im- pression. 4. Concentration of mind in attention. § 180. The English school of psychologists hold that the principle of association is the fundamental law of mind. All our psychic states are merely transformed associations. "Not only our intellectual pleasures and pains, but all the phenomena of memory, imagination, volition, reasoning, and every other affection and operation, are only different modes or cases of the association of ideas ; so that nothing is requisite to make any man whatever he is, but a sentient principle with this single property. "^ We have endeavored to exhibit the princij^le of associa- tion, not as productiA^e or transforming, but as merely re- productive. It is unquestionably of wide and important consequence in mental processes, especially as underlying the specific faculties of representation. To these we now proceed. 1 Says Aristotle in De Memoria: "Certain things with certain minds become more intimately associated at the first movement than with other minds, though this be frequently repeated. Hence it is that some objects which we have seen but once are more perfectly remembered by us than others which we have oftentimes beheld." 2 Priestley, Hnrtleifs Theory, Int. Essay, p. 24. The whole theory of evolution is contained in the last clause. The general subject is discussed by Aristotle, De Mem. et Rem., ii, 8 ; by Augustine, Confessions, lib. x, ch. 19 ; by Leibnitz, JVouv. Ess., I, ii, ch. 33 ; by Hobbes, Leviathan, ch. 3 ; and by Coleridge, Biog. Lit., chs. 5-7. The theory culminated with Hartley, Observations on Man, ch. 4. He found in association the fundamental law of mind, which alone accounts for all mental phenomena whatever ; the prolific principle, which evolves from mere expe- rience all our activities of both consciousness and conation. He held that "transference" is the generalization of this process (§175, note). The theory has been variously modified by its chief advocates, .Tames Mill, John S. Mill, Bain, and Spencer, but in its essential features is characteristic of the English school of thinkers. MEMORY. 187 CHAPTER IV. MEMORY. § 181. Memory is the representation of a past experience. This definition implies that the past experience is repre- sented as a past experience. Memory is a recognition, a knowing over again, a consciousness of a certain mental image, involving the conviction that this image now repre- sents ideally what was formerly experienced really. It seems to be an nltimate constitutional fact, which, therefore, is not in itself susceptible of explanation, that mind tends to modes consciously similar to previous modes, or tends to a conscious repetition of its modes, and this tendency, in respect of cognitions, gives rise to the phenom- ena of memory. This we shall call the theory of repetition. ^ § 182. There is in an act of memory, a primary and a secondary judgment. The primary is a psychological judg- ment, a fact of consciousness. It is that I have heretofore experienced a state similar to the one now present. More than this it does not afiirm. It makes a conscious reference to past time, but is wholly indefinite as to time when. This primary judgment may not attend a renewed cognition. A state that has in fact been experienced before may seem quite novel, may not be recognized. Then it is not memory. 1 A thing is said to be repeated when there is another thing numerically distinct, but otherwise indistinguishable; i.e. precisely similar. They are either separate in space, as two coins; or in time, as a double rap ; or m both, as the twin Dromios. Mental states are repetitive when they differ in time only. An act of memory repeats but a part. When I represent a former presentation, the two states differ in many respects besides time ; still some common or repeated element produces the shock of similarity. 188 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. But when this judgment does occur, recognition, in so far, is intuitive and unerring. That this is a psj^chologieal judgment is evident. The shock and judgment of simihxrity, in case of simultaneous impressions, is allowed by all to be an ultimate, intuitive fact of consciousness. Surely in case of successive impressions, as the strokes of a clock, the judgment of similarity is not less a fact of consciousness, not less an intuition. § 183. The secondary judgment of memory affirms the time, place, and circumstances of the past experience, and constitutes complete recognition. The primary judgment is immediate and certain; the secondary is mediate, and liable to error, being subsequent and inferred. Hence all distrust of memory has reference exclusively to this second- ary judgment. For we are very apt to conjoin circum- stances which were really separate in time and place, and so to mistake an act of imagination for one of memory. ^ The secondary judgment may be attended by any degree of belief, from the faintest suspicion, up to the highest con- fidence, falling just short of strict certainty. The degree of this belief seems to correspond with the degree of familiarity excited by the incoming circumstances. ^ When this feeling is strong, the judgment is quite pronounced and confident. In case two points belonging to my past experience recur in memory, each is attended by its own degree of familiarity. If, however, they originally occurred together, their recur- ^ For example, on meeting a man I recognize him as one I met yesterday. I call him by name, and speak of our previous meeting; but in a moment he convinces me that he is another person whom I have never met before. Did I altogether mistake ? Not every particular. I am still certain that the impression he made was in some respect quite similar to a former impression. My error was solely in the secondary judgment. The trustworthiness of one's memory lies largely in the ability to distinguish between a real and an ideal coneinuitance of circumstances. ^ For the feelings of certainty and belief, see § 227. For familiarity as a basis of memory, see § 224. MEMORY. 189 rence is attended by a degree of familiarity more than is due to their sum, for to this sum we must add the familiarity arising from their original connection. Then I am highly confident that the two originally occurred together, i Thus our confidence in recollecting a past fact is greatly increased by connecting with it minute and otherwise insignificant circumstances. § 184. It is quite evident that memory acts according to the laws of suggestion. Its primary judgment is a specific judgment of similarity, one relative to the past. This cor- responds to the first law of suggestion, the law of similarity. Its secondary judgment is a judgment of totality, bringing in the time, place, and circumstances. This corresponds to the second law, the law of association or redintegration. The laws of suggestion, therefore, as applied to cognitions, are laws of memory. § 185. The law of memory is involved in the more general law that mind tends to modes similar to previous modes, or tends to repetition. This theory of repetition is in contrast with what may be called theories of retention. ^ One of these holds that a state of mind excited by an 1 It has often been asked, for instance, why it is that on trying to recall the name of a person while looking at him, I successively reject Smith, Jones, and others, but on trying Brown, I am at once assured that this is his name. Augustine, Confessions, bk. x, ch. 19, gives an explanation differing from that above. - In common speech the phenomena of memory are usually expressed metaphorically. The mind is said to retain its knowledge and to revive or reproduce it on occasion. Memory is a storehouse where the accumulations are treasured up, a thesaurus omnium rerum, says Cicero, De Oratore, i, 5. It is a bureau where facts are filed for reference, a reservoir of experiences, Tj IMV-^M awrvpia aiadvcrews, says Plato, PMlebus, 34 Steph. All such figurative expressions are unscientific. They are accommodations to be tolerated only in the poverty of language. See Locke, Essay, bk. ii, ch. 10, § 2. Yet many psychologists undertake to explain how mind does literally retain and reproduce its acquisitions. 190 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. object is actuall}' retained ever afterward in a condition of tension, and on a fit occasion springs forth into conscious- ness. A mental activity can never absolutely cease to be. Its predominance is lost, but the activity itself does not, can not, cease. It continues as an activity of inferior, and it may be of extremely low, tension, until some combination occurs that revives its intensity, when it reappears, again predomi- nant, and the same, having persisted tlu'oughout.^ Two objections may be offered in passing. All agree that my consciousness of an event is my knowledge of that event. But according to the theory, my knowledge next day in memory of the event is this same knowledge revived. Hence this knowledge in memory is a consciousness of the event of yesterday; that is, I am conscious of the past, which is absurd. A perception and my recollection of it are states differing widely in kind. The one is relative to a present external object, the other is wholly subjective; the one is passive, the other active; the one is attended by sensation, the other not. There is a similarity amid these differences, yet they are such as preclude identity. § 186. Other psychologists attribute memory to physical action, and find ground in the brain for the phenomena of retention. "We know what are the conditions of makinsf an acquirement, or of fixing two or more things together in 1 So Herbart and his followers. See especially Schmidt, Versiich einer Metaphi/ftiJc der innern Natur, p. 231 sq. This view was adopted by Hamil- ton, who defines memory as "the power which the mind possesses of retain- ing hold of the knowledge it has acquired." — ,l/e^(7., Lee. 30. He calls it "the conservative or retentive faculty in which the phenomenon of retention is the central notion." — M, p. 412. He distinguishes it sharply from "the reproductive faculty, or the process by which what is lying dormant in memory is awakened." — Id., p. 427. Bain condemns this as fictitious. — Logic, p. G40. Yet elsewhere he says : " The fundamental property of intel- lect, named retentiveness, supposes that somi'thing lias been ingrained in the mental structure that succeeding impressions have not been able to blot out." — Senses mid Intellect, p. 325. MEMOBY. 191 memory. The separate impressions must be made together, or flow in close succession, and they must be held together for a certain length of time, either on one occasion or on repeated occasions. Now to each impression, each sensation or thought, there corresponds physically a group of nerve- currents. When two impressions occur, or closely succeed one another, the nerve-currents find some bridge or place of continuity, better or worse, according to the abundance of nerve-matter available for the transition. In the cells or corpuscles where the currents meet and join, there is, in consequence of the meeting, a strengthened connection or a diminished obstruction, a preference track for that line over other lines where no continuity has been established. This is merely a hypothetical rendering of the facts, yet it is a very probable rendering."^ When we consider the concomitance and interdependence, the mutual action and reaction, of mind and brain, and the progressive growth and gradually confirmed organization of the latter, this hj^othesis, though perhaps too specifically stated, seems plausible. That the brain acquires prefer- ences is possible, and if so, it may largely determine in spontaneous memory the succession of images, and in volun- tary memory the greater ease with wliich certain lines of thought are recalled. As in perception, the mind is passive and determined to its special state by the condition of the excited sensory, so it is conceivable that in memory it may be passively determined to certain successive states by ac- quired brain tendencies, by physical preferences, which have become established through habitual exercise.^ 1 Bain, 3lind and Body, p. 117. We adopt the illustration of Gassendi, who compares mind to a sheet of paper which is capable of receiving very many folds, and which not only repeats those in which it has been often or sharply laid, ^'■vernm etiam possint facili negotio excitari, redire, appa- rare, quatenns una plica arrepta, cceterce, quae in eadem serie quasi sjwnte seqimntur.'''' — Physica, lib. viii, ch. .3, § 3. 2 This will explain why aged persons often have a vivid memory of early events, and one dim of those recent, as illustrated by the character Elspeth 192 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. This supposed transference of cause from the mental to the physical sphere has an analogous precedent in the ac- quisition of physical dexterities and habits under the law of reflex action (§ 37). We may conceive that as muscular movements, originally voluntarj^, become by habit involun- tary physical instincts, a ganglionic nervous centre acquir- ing the power to determine and co-ordinate them as j)urely reflex actions, so brain may acquire such conformation as to determine automatically a series of states, and their con- comitant states of consciousness. Such transference from the mental to the physical seems to be according to laws of growth and complete development. ^ in Scott's Antiqiiary. We may suppose that in old age certain lines of cere- bral communication have become iixed, and the brain indurated by a sort of organic crystallization, with a loss of youthful plasticity and the power of forming new combinations. The hypothesis is helpful in accounting for the loss of speciiic memories. Dr. Beattie lost, for some time, from a blow on the head, his knowledge of Greek, whilst his other mental stores were left intact. Ballantyne relates of Scott that when J'he Bride of Lammermoor was submitted to him after an illness, he did not recognize it as his own, though the original tradition was still clearly remembered. We often hear of cases of marvellous power of memory, and they make on us the impression that the power is unlimited. But every one is a block- head in something, and memory in the lines of incapacity is a rope of sand. Moreover, much improvement in later life is a substitution, which is not an addition, of mature for immature judgments. We lose at one end as much as is gained at the other. Newton, turned theologian, forgot his own scien- tific discoveries ; and Erasmus forgot his mother-tongue in favor of Latin. These limits to memory are best explained by identifying them with the limited capacity of the brain to receive and retain lines of preferred activity. 1 Spencer carries this very far. " Memory belongs to that class of psychi- cal states which are in i^rogress of being organized. It continues so long as the oi-ganization of them continues, and disappears when the organization of them is complete." Memory is "incipient instinct," and instinct "a kind of organized memory," it is "Inherited experience." — Prinnplcs of Psy- chology, §§ 102, 202. Birds instinctively building tiicir nests are exercising a fully organized, and so obsolete, inherited memory. They are, then, more completely developed beings than we, who are In an earlier, transition stage. Humanity, then, is running down to the brutal forms. But how did we ever get, from our zoophyte beginning, up to our present unstable height? Does evolution work butli ways at once? MEMORY. 193 It appears reasonable, therefore, to accept the hypothesis that, as a result of mental exercise, the concomitant activi- ties of the brain induce lines of preferred or more facile nervous action, having various degrees of permanence, which determine subsequent mental tendencies.^ But this hypoth- esis cannot be held exclusively. It is not sufficient to account for all the facts. It does not explain voluntary recollection, wherein will determines the train of images. It affords no explanation of first spontaneous memories, wherein experiences often recur to us for the first time with a vividness and vigor surpassing old established memo- ries ; nor why recentness of impression is a special occasion of vivid memory. Hence the theory of a mental tendency to repetition is held by us as expressing the original and ultimate ground of memory; and the theory of physical retention is allowed as supplementary. § 187. Having defined memory, and discussed the princi- ples and causes to which it is to be referred, we now turn to examine its kinds. A distinction is taken according as memory is exercised spontaneously, called remembrance, or under the direction of will, called recollection. ^ In remembrance one image follows another, according to the laws of suggestion and involving a reference to past time, without the intervention of will. The mind is passive, operating spontaneously, and Ave are reminded of things simply and solely as they hapj^en to be similar or associated, without any exercise of choice. It is so in reverie. In ^ In that case it is tlie brain, and not the mind, which is retentive of impressions, but not of knowledge, much as the printed page retains its story, or the worn channel its current. Brain is the bank of deposit which, when drawn upon, yields not the same, but similar and equivalent knowledge. The beaten and established paths are preferred by mind in subsequent movements. Or, to speak literally, neural states facilitated by exercise tend to siiperinduce mental states similar to those previously concurring. 2 The distinction dates from Aristotle, and occurs even in the title of his treatise, De Mem. et Bern., wepl ixvrjfj.i]s Kal dvdfj.vr]cn^. 194 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. dreams, also, we have an illustration of mere remembrances, the absence of a directing will over the train of images being characteristic of dreaming. Remembrance or involuntary memory may be subdivided into simple recognition or reminiscence, and complex recog- nition or remembrance proper. We are often reminded of something, with a sense of familiarity, but without any remembrance of the time, place, or circumstances of tlie former experience. This is simple recognition or reminis- cence, the law of repetition alone being effective.^ When, however, the law of redintegration also becomes involun- tarily effective, suggesting the time, place, or other associ- ated circumstances, this fuller reminding may be distin- guished as complex recognition, or remembrance proper, § 188. Recollection is voluntary or intentional memory. It is an activity, a deliberate choice being followed by an endeavor to recall something fully to mind. The special function of will is to fix attention, to concentrate conscious- ness on a chosen object (§ 89). The immediate effect is to intensify the consciousness of the chosen object at the expense of others within its sphere, according to the law of limitation (§ 83). A further consequence is that the adhering states are brought into clear consciousness accord- ing to the law of redintegration (§ 174). Thus we re-col- lect the former circumstances. From among these we may then choose one as a new object of attention, and repeating 1 From such vague impressions Plato drew an argument for the pre-exist- ence of the soul ; and, indeed, it is easy to fancy that they are memories of a previous life, of another \^rld. So Wordsworth, in his famous ode, " Inti- mations of Immortality " : — " Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; The soul that rises with lis, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And conieth from afar. Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory, do we come From God, who is our home." MEMORY. 195 the process determine continuously the succession of the intellectual train. The subjective correlative of will is desire (§§ 71, 74). An effort to recollect implies a want, it is an endeavor to gratify a desire, e.g. curiosity. But desire is conditioned on cogni- tion. This implies that the thing we seek for intentionally in memory is not wholly out of consciousness, not wholly unknown. We cannot endeavor to recollect something of which we have at present no remembrance whatever. " We still hold of it, as it were, a part, and b}^ this part which we hold we seek that which we do not hold."^ Throughout the process, the effort is stimulated by the want, which at its close is satisfied, and both together cease. ^ 1 Augustine, Confessions, lib. x, ch. 18. 2 The process of recollecting may be illustrated thus : Suppose I wish to make a quotation, but have in mind only the first few words, " Take physic, pomp ; — " I repeat this much over and over with close attention, but what follows does not recur. I then turn my attention to some associated circum- stances, and fix on Shakspeare as its author. His name suggests the titles of his plays. I run these over in mind, and the fragment seems best suited to, or most familiar in connection with King Lear. I recall attentively one and another of the characters of the tragedy, and it strikes me as most likely that Lear himself would use such words. I then picture with attention his several situations, and the storm scene apparently connects with the words. I recall the image of the hovel, and the humiliated king stooping to enter it ; then his words come in full to mind ; I can almost hear him saying : — " Take physic, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou raayst shake the superflux to them, And shew the heavens more just." — A. 3, bc. 4. Says Aristotle : "When we accomplish an act of recollection, we pass through a certain series of precursive movements until we arrive at a move- ment on which the one we are in quest of is habitually consequent. Thus it is that we hunt through the mental train." Perhaps this suggested the com- parison of Longinus : "For as dogs," says he, "having once found the footsteps of their game, follow from trace to trace, deeming it already all but caught, so he who would recover his past cognitions from oblivion must speculate the parts which remain to him of these cognitions, and the circum- stances with which they chance to be connected, to the end that he shall light on something which shall serve him for a starting-point from whence to follow out his recollection of the others." 196 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. § 189. A distinction of some practical importance is that between circumstantial and philosophic memory. Circum- stantial memory is dependent on accidental relations, such as the sensuous or superficial resemblance of things, their anal- ogies, their contrarieties, their vicinity in time or place, or other insignihcant coincidences. A philosophic memory is determined by essential relations, such as cause and effect, means and end, premises and conclusion, associating things by their scientific affinities and logical connection. The first is manifested by childi-en, or by undisciplined minds gener- ally, and seems more natural ; the second is rather a result of intellectual education, and seems more artificial. The one is read}^ and quick, and often surprises us ^yith its extent, variety, and minute accuracy of detail; the other appears sluggish, is complained of as defective, and fails in non-essential particulars. All minds make use of both; but with one class of minds the former, with another class, the latter, kind of memory is lu-edominant and habitual. ^ 1 In looking up a quotation, one person can tell whereabouts in the book it occurs, whether on the right or left hand page, and whether at top, middle, or bottom ; another person recalls only its logical connection with the subject- matter of the book. A punster and a rhymster are engaged by accidental coincidences in the sound of syllables ; a wit and a poet are occupied with the inner, subtile, and delicate logic implied in the expression. Magliabecchi, librarian to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, was asked to produce a certain rare book. '• It is impossible," said he ; " there is but one in the world, and that is in the Grand Seignior's library at Constantinople, the seventh book, on the fifth shelf, on the right hand as you go in." Montaigne, whose cast of mind was reflective and speculative, more tenacious of principles than of facts, complained of want of memory. "I am forced," says he, "to call my servants by the names of their employments, or by the countries where they were born, for I can hardly remember their proper names ; and if I should live long, I question whether I should remember my own name." All the great masters of human nature mark the distinction. Cervantes makes Sancho Panza, the boor, talk very circumstantially ; but Don Quixote, the cultivated man, though crazed and absurd, is made to talk quite i)hilo- sophically. But compare, especially, Hostess Quickley's speech before the Chief Justice, in King Henry IV, pt. ii, Act 2, so. 1, with that of Lady Percy to Northumberland, so. 3. MEMORY. 197 Circumstantial memory is often used specifically to strengthen bonds of the same sort, or to supplement philo- sophic memory, and confirm its more uncertain adhesions.^ Mnemonics, the art of memory, memoria technica^ is an expansion of this principle into a system. The possession of such artificial means accounts for many wonderful feats of memory. Ver}^ many systems have been devised, but they are of little value, the adhesions being only temporary.^ 1 The familiar doggerel, "Thirty days hath September," etc., is useful in its way. The word vihgyor, composed of the initials of the seven prismatic colors, helps us to remember them in their order. A quaint phrase serves a similar end ; as, " Shakspeare died in the two sixteens," i.e. a.d. 1616. The scholastic logic abounded in mnemonic devices, the most famous and useful one being the hexameters beginning " Barbara, Celarent," etc. 2 It is highly probable that such a system was used by Seneca, who boasts that on one occasion, two hundred unconnected verses having been pro- nounced in his hearing, he repeated them in reverse order. The feat of the law-student of Padua, cited by Muretus, and recited amazedly by Hamilton, Meta., p. 421 sq., was doubtless of this sort, for he proposed to teach a fellow-student the art; hence his '■'■farinus mirificissimum'''' is unworthy of so much sterile astonishment. Simonides, the Greek poet, 5th century n.c., invented a system which is described by Quintilian. When Simonides pro- posed to teach Themistocles his art, Themistocles, whose natural power of memory was such that he knew by name each of the twenty thousand citi- zens of Athens, replied: "I had rather you should teach me the art of forgetting." He had found that memory, like other gifts, is the curse of the gods when they give too much. "Si la souvenir embellit la vie, I'oubli seul la rend possible. Dieu a mesure la peine a nos forces en nous donnant I'oubli." Sophocles pronounced memory the queen of powers, nnd the earlier Greeks affirmed that the nine Muses were the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne. 198 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. CHAPTER V. IMAGINATION. § 190. The representative state, considered generically, is called an image, the act an imaging. Having thus far found these terms sufficient, Ave have reserved the word imagmation, with its conjugates, to imagine, imaginari/, etc., as exclusively applicable to the mode of representation now before us, co-ordinate with memory and thought. Imagination is the representation of an ideal object. In this definition it is needful to explain the specific difference, ideal object. There are two spheres of cognition, or two kinds of objects of knowledge, the real and the ideal. The real object is one that truly exists either objectively, being given in perception, or subjectively, given in self-percep- tion ; or it is one that actually has been, and is now repre- sented in memory. The unreal is that which does not, and perhaps never did, exist, a negation of the real, and so furnishing no object of cognition. Now, by the logical law of excluded middle, there can be nothing between the real and unreal ; yet the mind has power to consider a real object as unreal, that is, to disregard the fact, and also power to form images or ideas rei)resenting things that are in fact unreal. Such objects are ideal objects, and the act represent- ing them is imagination. § 191. In memory the representation is judged to be of a past experience; in imagination it is not so judged. In other words, the objects of memory are facts of experience ; those of imagination may or ma}' not be facts of experience, the question is not considered, the representation is in disre- ['\Y(\ of experience. IMAGINATION. 199 " Memory is an immediate knowledge of a present idea, involving an absolute belief that this idea represents another act of knowledge that has been. Imagination is an immedi- ate knowledge of an actual idea, which, as not subjectively self-contradictor}^, but logically possible, involves the hypo- thetical belief that it objectively may be, that it is really possible." 1 Imagination is productive; memory is merely reproductive. The object represented in memory is real; that represented in imagination may be unreal. Memory is mediate knowledge of tlie actual in the past; imagina- tion is mediate knowledge of the possible in the past, pres- ent, or future. 2 The ideas or images in both cases are real, but they diifer in their origin and in their objects. § 1#2. The sphere of the real is finite ; that of the unreal is infinite. Mind trangresses the bounds of the real, and forms for itself ideal objects in the boundless unreal. But there are limits to its excursive power. That imagination is conditioned on memory is one limitation. Although it disregards experience, it cannot transgress the bounds of 1 Hamilton, Discussions^ p. 58, Am. eel. 2 Were this power wholly lacking, we should be unable to devise for the future, or to anticipate and provide for even the next coming moment. All hope, all reasonable forecast of events, all inspired prophecy, the history of the future, are wrought out by imagination, and then become memories as time flows by. The young, says Aristotle, live forwards in hope, the old live backwards in memory. — Rhet. , ii, if^ The following lines of Shelley mark the distinction : — " You are not here ! the quaint witch Memory sees In vacant chairs your absent images, And points where once you sat, and now should be, But are not. I demand if ever we Shall meet as then we met; and she replies. Veiling in awe her second-sighted eyes : 'I know the past alone; but summon home My sister Hope, she speaks of all to come.' But I, an old diviner, who know well Every false verse of that sweet oracle, Turned to the sad enchantress once again, And sought a respite from ray gentle pain. By acting every passage o'er and o'er, Of our communion." 200 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. experience. At the furthest extreme, its images are com- binations of partial experiences given by memory; it is only the combination that is new.^ The limitation is not to objects of sight, nor in general to those of sense. ^ All presentations, external and internal, all sensations, emo- tions, desires, affections, volitions, and thoughts furnish, through memory, materials for imagination. Whatever can be remembered can be idealized. The true linutation is experience reproduced in memory. A second limitation : Imagination, being representative of an intuition, is, like intuition, possible only on condition that its immediate object be individual. If we try to form the image of a triangle, it must be of some individual figure. To the individual is opposed the general. I can foi-ni no image of the general. The notion triangle can attain to generality only by surrendering distinct existence in space. Nature and fact do not present the general, but only indi- 1 " For it is not in the power of the most exalted wit or enlarged under- standing, by any quickness or variety of thought, to invent or frame one new simple idea in the mind. The dominion of man, in this little world of his own understanding, is much the same as it is in the great world of visible things, wherein his power, however managed by art and skill, reaches no further than to compound or divide the materials that are made to his hand, but can do nothing towards the making the least particle of new matter, or destroying one atom of what is already in being." — Locke, Essay, h^i. ii, ch. 2, § 2. Experience is the quarry whence memory draws the materials with which imagination (Ger. Einhildungskraft) builds. Hume asks, however, whether one who had seen blue and yellow, but not green, would not be able to form an idea of green by compounding the others in imagination. 2 We most readily represent visual objects, and thi§ with surpassing clear- ness and accuracy, and so become slaves to the eye, — a despotism from which Tythagoras by his mimeral and Plato by his musical symbols, as the first irpoiraidevTiKdv of the mind, .sought to emancipate their disciples. See Fhoido, GO Ste. Some writers have so far yielded to this sway of the eye as to teach that imagination is. limited to visual ol)jects. So Addison, Pleasures of r may.. Sped. 40; and Reid, Intellect. Powers, Essay, iv, ch. 1. Others teach that it is limited to objects of sense. So Stewart, Elements, pt. i, cli. ;] ; and also Descartes, who says: "Tmagiiiari nihil aliud est quam rei corporese figuram seu imaginem contemplari." — ^Jed., ii. IMA GIN A TION. 201 viduals, having each a distinct existence in space or time.i My experience, then, is only of individuals ; and as images are representations of experience, they are limited to indi- viduals. The third limitation of imagination is common to all powers of knowledge. Every cognitive experience is con- ditioned on pure ideas and principles, discerned by reason, acting as regulative, or rather as limitative, of cognition (§ 151). These, then, set bounds that imagination cannot transcend. We cannot imagine a body out of space, or an uncaused event, or an absolute beginning or ending, or con- tradictories coexistent, or irresponsible personal actions. Beyond the sphere thus strictly circumscribed, imagination cannot pass. The light dove cleaving in free flight the thin air, whose resistance she feels, might think that her move- ments would be far more free and rapid in air-less space. But her flight fails from lack of support even in the rare regions, long before she reaches the invisible yet absolute limit, beyond which the lightest wing can never soar. So within a vast unmeasured region of pure ideas, the atmos- phere of reality, imagination may play, but not beyond. § 193. Within these limits, imagination shows various modes of activity. Certain differences fairly distinguish kinds; others seem to be marks rather of degree. One mode of exercise we will call the simple to distinguish it from the complex or productive imagination. Simple imagination consists in the transfer of an object from the real to the ideal sphere. It represents an object that is real without reference to its reality, that is, in disre- gard of the fact; as, If the sun be now in the sky. Here a known reality is idealized: the matter is treated hypotheti- cally. Another simple exercise is to idealize in spite of fact, taking the obverse of reality; as. Were the sun not in 1 See Mansel, Metaphysics, p. 129. ^02 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. the sky. To realize is the converse of to idealize ; it is to bring matter from the ideal sphere into the real ; as, But the sun is now in the sky. The obsolescence of the subjunc- tive mood, which is the ideal mode of speech, indicates a common neglect of these distinctions. § 194. From the individual objects presented to sense, external or internal, and represented in memory, thought abstracts qualities, and forms representative notions by combining them into new qualitative wholes ; this is anal}'- sis and synthesis. From such individual objects, the com- plex or productive imagination severs parts, and forms ideas by recombining them into new quantitative wholes, into new individuals ; this is dissection and construction. The objects thus represented are contingent or unreal, the only actual existence being the factitious images or ideas of the mind, representing what would be possible to intuition, and cor- responding to objects merely hypothetical.^ Dissection and composition constitute one special exercise of the productive faculty. It may, however, merely alter proportions, or size, or motion, making transformations as to space or time. The former species is constructive imagi- nation; the latter is plastic imagination. ^ 1 Thus out of materials funiished by memory are constructed new geo- metrical figures, new mechanical inventions, palaces of pearl, satyrs and mermaids, all fabulous monsters and events, the novelties of prose fiction, the creations of poesy and art. For an excellent example of dissection and composition, see the description of Chimera by Homer, Iliad, vi, 144 sq.; and by Hesiod, Theoffony, v, 322 sq. 2 Hence the grotesque Caliban, the fantastic Touchstone, and the extrava- gant Parolles. Hence the Brobdignags and Lilliputians, the nut-shell car of Queen Mab (Romeo and Juliet, A. 1, sc. 4), the golden car of Juno {Iliad, v), and the great chariot of the Sun-god Phoebus. Time, space, and motion are its subjects. It expands a geologic cycle to myriads of centuries, com- presses the stellar system to a celestial vault, and inspires Puck's prophetic brag: " I'll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes." — Midswn- mer XiyhVs Dream, A. 2, sc. 1. Are its productions creations ? Is imagination creative ? Creation is the bringing into existence what did not before exist. Bringing order out of IMAGINATION. 203 § 195. Other distinctions may be taken, determining varieties according to the reLative predominance of co-operat- ing activities. The first cLaiming our attention is character- ized negatively by the absence of volitional control. Involuntary imagination is spontaneous, without choice. Phantasy is an appropriate name for this variety. The phantoms that fright us in the dark, the spectral voices that we hear, the odd, ludicrous, and absurd ideas that strike us, are among its products. Phantasies have an instinctive origin. Slental instincts are the promptings of blind de- sires ; that is, of such as are not directed by thought. These arouse imagination to a disordered activity, producing the fantastic. Phantasy, therefore, is characterized by the im- pulsion of desire in the absence of intelligent choice. ^ Dreams afford familiar examples of phantasms. They have already been noted as involuntary memories (§ 187) ; but perhaps their images are less memories than new combi- nations, " wherein blind phantasy would fain interpret to the mind the painful sensations of distempered sleep." ^ Reverie, castle-building, or day-dreaming is a pleasing play of phan- tasy, not, however, altogether pure, since a fanciful purpose generally gives some voluntary direction to the combina- chaos is a creation. Order, laarmony, fitness, new proportions, new combi- nations into new wholes, are creations, and he who produces these is a maker, TToiijTT??, a poet. "Though there were many clever men in England during the latter part of the seventeenth century," says Macaulay, "there were only two great creative minds. One of those minds produced the Pai-adise Lost, the other the Pilgrim's Progress.'" — Esscnj on Southey''s Bunyan. Shakspeare, "I'homme qui a le plus cree apres Dieu," out -doing history, has peopled his realm with immortals. The Black Prince was, but is not ; Prince Hamlet was not, but is, and will be forever. 1 From (t>a.vTa.^eLv, to cause to appear. Gurney defines a sensory halluci- nation to be "a percept which lacks, but which can only by distinct reflection be recognized as lacking, the objective basis which it suggests." — In Mind, No. 38, p. 163. This scarcely differs from illusion. See § 160, note. We take illusion to be the genus, and hallucination its species, differentiated by being abnormal. 2 The will resigns control, and these sensations, together with appetites 204 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. tions. The craze of delirium and of monomania are extreme cases.^ § 196. Let us consider here, once for all, the relation of imagination to brain action. It has been scientifically ascer- tained that when the inner"* organ of sight is disorganized, it becomes impossible to image scenes ; and we hold it gen- erally true that all mental activities are specially conditioned on concomitant brain action (§ 143). Voluntary efforts of imagination doubtless require for their success a physical response, a corresponding molecular movement of the brain substance, probably that of the inner organ of the sense originally presenting such objects as are now represented.^ and other forms of desire, impelling blindly in the general torpor of intelli- gence, arouse imagination to unchecked extravagance. " When nature rests, Oft in her absence mimic fancy wakes To imitate her; but, misjoining shapes, Wild worlv produces oft, ;ind most in dreams, III matching words and deeds long past or late." — Milton, Paradise Lost, bk. v, 109 sq. It is remarkable that the power of self-control seems to have so little reserve force that it is the first of our faculties to break down, not only in sleep, but in grief, in intoxication, in fever, in case of a stunning blow, etc. Other faculties continue active when this has completely succumbed. The torpor of volition during sleep is an important element in explaining the phenomena of dreaming. 1 In reverie the imagination suffers but little restraint. Images assemble, form, and dissolve, not so much at will as at pleasure. It is the dolce far niente, the luxury of idleness. "La reverie est le dimanche de la pensfie." — Amiel. The generic character and difference of delirium and monomania come to light on comparing Otway's line, — " Lutes, laurels, seas of milk, and ships of amber," with Lear's pathetic words, — " What! have his daughters brought him to this pass? " 2 " What is the manner of the occuiJation of the brain with a resuscitated feeling of resistance, a smell, a sound ? There is only one answer that seems admissible: The renewed feeling occupies the very same parts, and in the same manner, as the original feeling, and no otluT parts, nor in any other assignable manner." — 15ai.\, iienses and JntcUect, p. ;3;J8. See § 17, note 2. IMAGINATION. 205 It is certainlj'' true that imaged activity always tends strongly to go out into real activity. When we image a leap, we are ready and disposed to spring ; when we con over a proposed speech we are apt to break out with it aloud ; a fancied blow causes one to start or dodge ; and on this principle alone can we account for many varieties of involuntary gesticulation and facial expression, which it requires severe discipline to repress.! In all such cases the cause is mental, and brain change the effect. The reverse is true in perception. Here the brain is active and the mind recipient. Probably this is the case also in involuntary memory and imagination ; brain changes are the cause, mental images the effect. Certain molecular movements take place in an inner organ of sense confusedly along lines of preference established by habit, and these determine or cause a succession of corresponding mental images in more or less confusion and disorder. Hence a man dreams in character. Physical appetites also, as hunger and thirst, will direct and color a dream. Hence likewise the subjective effects of brain fever, and the extravagant visions of the opium eater.^ All these are cases of neural disturbances determining mental images. Hence it appears that involuntary or spontaneous memory and imagination 1 Miiller cites the following instances: "The mere idea of a nauseous taste can excite the sensation even to the production of vomiting. The qual- ity of the sensation is the property of the sensitive nerve, which is here excited without any external agent. The mere sight of a person about to pass a sharp instrument over glass or porcelain is sufficient, as Darwin remarks, to excite the well-known sensation in the teeth. The mere think- ing of objects capable, when present, of exciting shuddering, is sufficient to produce that sensation of the surface in persons of irritable habit." — Physi- ology, p. 945. 2 The doctrine is not new. It occurs in the following : — "Lovers and madmen have such seething braiuB, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends." — Midsummer Night's Dream,, A. 5, so. 1. Observe also the accurate and happy use of the terms apprehend and com- prehend. 206 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE. differ from perception in degree rather than in kind, it being^ no essential difference whether the movement of the sensory be determined by a physical habit, by the stimulus of fever or of opium, or by a normal influence passing from the outer organ along the nerve of sense to the inner sensory. Brain excitement in the cases of spontaneous memory and imagination is ordinarily of lower degree than in case of per- ception. Accordingly images are normally much less vivid than percepts.^ It is by this different degree of vividness that we usually distinguish an image from an object proper ; that is, from a sensorial excitement due to an extra-organic cause.2 But when memory or imagination are extraordina- rily aroused by a brain excitement correspondingly great, images may be as vivid as percepts, and then can be dis- tinguished from them only by applying several senses as tests. The madman and the ghost-seer are conscious of 1 Says Spencer: 'Terceptions are vivid states of consciousness ; memories are faint states of consciousness.' ' 2 Upon this ground we regard mental images iu dreams, without doubt or question, as external realities. Descartes asks, " How do we know that the thoughts which occur in dreaming are false, rather than those otlier which we experience when awake, since the former are often not less vivid and distinct than the latter ? Attentively considering these cases, I perceive so clearly tliat there exist no certain marks by which the state of waking can ever be distinguished from sleep, that I almost persuade myself that I am now dreaming." — 0« Method, pt. i. See also Meditation 1st, and Principles, pt. i, § 4. Is it not conceivable, then, that hereafter we may awaken from life into some higher state of intelligence, and discover that what in life we took to be external realities were merely mental images ? Is it not true that, — " We are such stuff As dreams are made on; ami our little life Is rounded with a sleep."— Tempest, A. 4, sc. 1. Had we no other means than degree of vividness by which to distingui.sh the ideal from the real, we might be led by the idealist to doubt reality. When asleep and dreaming, we have no other means ; but when awake there do exist very certain marks, overlooked by Descartes, which leave no doubt. The aroused and masterful volition applies the tests of various senses, and so determines the (juestion. See § Kil, last paragraph ; but more especially see the chapter on External Reality, § 100 sq. IMAGINATION. 207 objects which are truly external to self, though enorganic, and they mistake only in referring them to extra-organic causes.^ § 197. Returning to the varieties of imagination, we are now to consider what is commonly called the voluntary imagination. It is distinguished from phantasy in being governed by a purpose. This purpose is conditioned on and impelled by a desire, it may be a desire to feel, or a desire to know, or a desire to do, and imagination is made to represent accordingly. Hereon, then, we ground a subdivision of its modes. Impelled by intelligent desire and controlled by will, imagination may be exercised with special reference to sentiment, giving the artistic imagination ; or with reference to knowledge, giving the reflective imagination ; or with ref- erence to performance, giving the practical imagination. The order here adopted is continuously progressive toward the real. § 198. The artistic imagination, or that characterizing the fine arts, has two sub-varieties, or rather degrees, fancy and 1 When one's terrors conjure up a ghost, it is truly a visible thing, external to the seer, existing in his visual organ. " This is the vei'v coinage of your brain; This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in.'.' — Queen to Hamlet, A. 3, sc. 4. Huxley, remarking the famous case of Mrs. A., detailed by Brewster in his Natural Magic, says, " Mrs. A. undoubtedly sav? what she said she saw." — Physiology, p. 269. That is, as he explains, her retina was affected from within so as to present the image of an object which did not otherwise exist. Says Gurney : "In the most complete or ' external ' form of hallucinations, a refluent current will pass downwards to the external organ, and the percep- tion will be referred to the eye or ear, just as though its object were really acting on those organs from outside." — In Mind, No. 38, p. 191. Proofs are : 1st. Pressure on one side of one eyeball, or squinting, doubles the phantom. 2d. A hemiopic case, where only the upper half of a phantom was seen, the upper half of the retina being anopic. 3d. The surviving of dream-images into waking moments. This last was remarked by Spinoza, and observed by MiiWer. ~ Physiology , p. 945. Wundt suggests that, in case the phantom does not move with the eye, this centrifugal retinal stimulation is disproved. — Phys. Psych., vol. ii, p. 356, 208 MEDIATE KXOWLELXJE. the poetic imagination. They have this in common, and are thereby distinguished from other varieties of imagination, that they have direct reference to sentiment, but more espe- cially to the aesthetic feeling, aiming to excite the pleasing sense of beauty, and being governed by the aesthetic judg- ment conformably to the laws of taste. Their difference is one of degree.^ Fancy excites only the more delicate sentiments, and these delicately; poetic imagination aspires to awaken emotion and often soars to the sublime. The latter adheres more closely to the truth of nature, and is more severely logical ; the former disregards the truth of nature, creating a new idea, a fairyland of its own, and submits to logic only so far as not to fall into the disorder and misrepresentations of phantasy. Thus fancy is an advance beyond phantasy in the movement from the impossible and absurd, toward the actual and real.^ 1 The Greeks used ui?n"," says Hamilton, " is like that of being unable to die, and not being allowed to live ; and sometimes becomes so oppressive that it leads to madness and suicide. It is less felt by the uncul- tivated than by the educated. Our easy occupations we call pastimes. All occupation is either labor or play. In both there must be ever a change of object, or both will soon grow tiresome. They must alternate, or we shall never know true enjoyment in life." — .1/^^r, p. 017. A due proportion between uniformity and variety is somelinics given as a definition of objec- tive beauty. More generally, a mean seems to be most pleasing. CHARACTERISTICS. 243 law of accommodation. No feeling can long persist in its original intensity. The second day of a holiday is attended with less flush than the first. The millionnaire's accumula- tions strike him Avith feebler and feebler impulses. The delights of knowledge, and even of virtue, are subject to decline. When the lower level of either pleasure or pain has been reached, we become, as it were, accommodated to the situation, and the feeling thenceforth maintains an even tenor. ^ The principle of relativity has already been resolved into the shock of difference, with its correlative shock of simi- larity (§ 59). Now be it observed that a shock is not at all a cognition, but strictly a feeling. Hence it appears that the primary movement of consciousness lies rather in feeling than in cognition, the shock being the logical antecedent or condition of the intellectual discrimination. Unless we feel, we cannot know. In the shock determined by the difference between two objects or ideas, we feel; in the discrimination we make between them, we know. The con- sciousness of the shock is feeling; the consciousness of the difference is cognition. ^ § 224. Novelty has already been mentioned. It is not itself a feeling, but merely expresses the superior force of all stimulants of feeling on being first applied. It is a fact which contributes to raise the intensity of our energies, and consequently to determine a corresponding degree of pleasure or pain. It is realized chiefly in youth when all feelings are fresh. New scenes, new modes of life, constitute the attractions of travel. Inventions, discoveries, artistic effects, especially in the pages of story, have the charm of novelty, and in fashion it is supreme. Novelty in pain has the same 1 It is said that at the overthrow of the Bastile the prisoners manifested no joy at tlieir release. Long and unintermitted confinement had accom- plished its perfect work of accommodation to bondage. 2 "We note the common phrases : a shocking impropriety, a startling event, a striking remark, a surprising likeness. 244 FEELING. enhancing effect. The first encounter with a cause of pain involves the worst experience. As variety or change is opposed to monotony inducing tedium, so novelty is opposed to familiarity. Novelty is the absence of familiarity, and so is merely negative and not itself a feeling. But familiarity is positive, a feeling quite general and of great moment. It is the feeling correlative to memory, and so to all powers conditioned on memory. In a very important sense it seems to be the basis of all the convictions of memory. It attends repetition, and so is distinguishable from the shock of similarity that attends simultaneous impressions, but must be considered as merely another form of this ultimate experience (§§ 182-3). The strength of the feeling of familiarity is proportioned either to the vivacity of a single impression, or to the fre- quency of the subsequent repetitions, the word being more commonly applied to the latter case. It will also be largely determined by the degree of attention given to the ante- cedent impression. All memory, but especially its primary judgment, seems to be based upon and guaranteed b}^ this peculiar and unmistakable feeling of familiarity. AVhen I meet a stranger a second time, when I write my name for the thousandth time, because of the familiarity, I feel sure that these have been known before. Mediate perceptions are not usually thought of as involving memory. When, for example, I judge that two sounds come from different directions (§ 166), is there any appreciable reference to past experience? Only perhaps in the unmistakable feeling of familiarity with the direction of sounds, which implies previous experience. In all cases this feeling is the ground of our confidence in the judgment. § 225. The distinction between feeling and desire is to be more fully stated hereafter. It is admissible here to refer to § 74, Avith the remark that the distinction is usually neglected. It seems, however, of great importance, and CHARACTERISTICS. 245 quite clear. In desire there is essentially a want, a longing, an impulse towards some object of cognition. In feeling there is no want, no longing, no impulse whatever. "It is altogether different to feel hunger or thirst and to desire its appeasement; and again different is it to desire its appease- ment, and to enjoy the feeling afforded in the act. Feel- ing belongs exclusively to the present, desire only to the future; for it is a longing either to maintain the present state, or to exchange it for another. "^ Thus desire is not feeling, but an activity which feeling sets in motion. We are now undertaking a consideration of the feelings only, excluding the desires. § 226. There are several marks or qualities which are characteristic of feeling in general, that is, found in feelings of all classes and in feelings only, and so distinguish them from all other mental activities. One primary and most important is consciousness of self. That the consciousness of self, of my own existence, originates and is constant in feeling is an easy deduction. In every cognition there is essentially an opposition between a subject knowing and an object known. The subject, then, is not cognized, else it would be both subject and object at once, and these being contraries cannot coexist. Hence the consciousness of the subject, its self-consciousness, not being found on the cognitive side of the mental state, must be grounded in the correlative feeling. Given a cognition of an object, then in the correlative feeling is given self. Thus the consciousness that I am is essential in the original fact that I feel. 2 Hence it is that I distinguish myself from the rest of the world so absolutely that this distinction has an entirely different value from the distinction of another thing from a 1 Hamilton, 3Ieta., p. 572. 2 For the distinction between self-perception and self-consciousness, see § 109. 246 FEELING. third. Each of my states, all that I suffer or do, is marked off immediately by a feeling, which is lacking when I con- sider the doing or suffering of another. In feeling, then, is to be found the motive of the peculiar distinction by which each person sets himself over against the universe, and the consciousness of his own existence as contradistinguished from every other existence.^ That the consciousness of the ego or I myself, of my OAvn being, lies primarily and indeed exclusively in feeling, and moreover is an essential element in each and every feeling, is confirmed by the fact that the intensity of the conscious- ness of self varies with the intensity of feeling. When cognitive exercise is intensified, the correlative feeling is, according to the law of inverse ratio, enfeebled, and such states are attended by a comparative forgetfulness of self; but where there is great pain or passion, cognition is enfee- bled, and the consciousness of self predominates. Hence, not in cognition, but in feeling is self given. ^ The primary consciousness of a feeling and an after cogni- tion of it should be discriminated. The former is experi- enced, and involves the consciousness that I am, when indeed I do not at all think about it. The most ignorant person, the new-born babe, must be fully conscious of self- 1 Lotze emphasizes this, and adds: "Diese beiden Leistungen also, sein eigenes Wesen zu kennen, und sich als ein Selbst zu fiihlen, sind mit einan- der nicht nothwendig verkniipft. Als das erste haben wir eben dieses unmittelbare Selbst g e f ii h 1 to betrachten, dessen Vorhandeiisein ebensowohl wie seine Lebhaftigkeit ganz unabhiingig sind von deni Grade der Selbst- e r k e n n t n i s s, die wir gewohnlicli unter dem Namen des Selbst b e w u s s t- seins denken. Vielmehr ist diese letstere nur die im weiteren Verlanf unserer geistigen Entwicklung zu Wegc komniende denkende Interpretation jener urspriinglichen nur in der Form des Gefiihls niogliclien innereu Erfah- rung." — GrumlzYuje der Ps>/choIofjie, Dictate, § 52. 2 This discovery of the consciousness of self in feeling rather than in cognition would justify a correction of the famous " Cogito, ergo s?/?»" of Descartes. It would read more accurately : I feel, therefore I am. But the illation cannot be allowed ; as an enthymeme it is false to the fact, which fact is more truly expressed in the form : I am, in that I feel. CHAR A CTERIS TICS. 247 existence in every sensation. ^ The feeling may be eventu- ally objectified even while it still exists, and analyzed by thought, and thus I come to a knowledge that I am, which is quite different from the simple and original consciousness of it, the mere feeling it. All feel it constantly; some, perhaps many, never think it. § 227. Strict certainty, the correlative of immediate cogni- tion, is the feeling attending a consciousness of necessity; that is, in so far as there is necessity on the objective or cognitive side, its psychological correlative, a feeling of certainty, exists on the subjective side. Since all intuitions a.re attended by this feeling, and since they are component elements in every cognition, it follows that the feeling of certainty relative to them intermingles with every state of consciousness. It also attends the results of rigid demon- stration. In character it is strict, absolute, admitting of no degrees and incompatible with any measure of doubt (§ 69).^ Belief, the subjective correlative of mediate cognition, is the feeling attending all forms of representative knowledge. Since in every cognitive activity there is always an exercise of the representative faculties, it follows that the feeling of belief relative thereto is also intermingled with every state of consciousness. It has many degrees of intensity, and is compatible with doubt. In its highest form it approximates certainty, but never attains it; like a conic curve constantly approaching yet never reaching its straight asymptote. As inference never becomes intuition, so belief never becomes strict certainty. As there is good reason for distinguishing mediate from immediate knowledge, so it is proper to dis- ' Even the brute must be conscious of self-existence, but surely cannot have a notion of it. 2 It is this feeling vs^hich is referred to by Aristotle when he says that knowledge, in the last analysis, reposes on a blind and necessary belief. So also Hamilton: "A fact of consciousness is one whose existence is given and guaranteed by an original and necessary belief." — Meta., p. 188. 248 FEELING. tinguish belief from certainty; though indeed the latter word is often inaccurately used for a liigh degree of belief. The logical or formal opposite of belief is disbelief, but as a mental fact they are one, disbelief being belief of the contrary. The psj^chological and real opposite of belief is the feeling of doubt. These two always coexist, but in inverse ratio. With the highest belief, falling just short of certainty, there is some remainder of doubt, of uncertainty. Descending the scale, while belief diminishes, doubt in- creases, but does not reach its maximum in ignorance, but along with a minimum of belief. Doubt cannot exist where there is no trace of belief. Ignorance, a pure negation of both knowledge and feeling in respect of any matter, lies beyond. Certainty and ignorance, then, are not the termini of this psychological scale, but are just beyond its opposite ends. As ignorance, a negation of belief, is never accounted a degree of doubt, so certainty, the negation of doubt, should never be reckoned a degree of belief. As doubt never be- comes blank ignorance, so belief never becomes strict cer- tainty. ^ 1 In psychological treatises generally the doctrine of certainty, belief, and doubt is either neglected entirely or slighted, or else confused with tliat of knowledge. The confusion arises from the intimate relation of belief and knowledge. Truly they are inseparable, yet cannot be identified. The words to know and to believe are often used interchangeably, either as implying the other, to know being the stronger expression ; but accurate use distinguishes them, e.g. Isa. 43 : 10 ; 1 Tim. 4 : 3. One is thought of as conditioning the other. The famous dictum of Aristotle, 5ei yap iriiyThieiv rbv fj.avddmvTa ('Zo(})ia-T., 2), accords with the humble Crede ut intelligas of Anselm, but contrasts with the hauglity IntcJVnje ut crt'das of Abelard. This last seems to be the true logical relation, as already indicated in § 81. The doctrine that certainty, belief, and doubt are merely simple feelings does not derogate from their importance, but rather serves to bring feeling forward to its true position, and show its weighty importance in human nature. The common si)eech of men supports our view, since it always recognizes these mental states to be feelings, as seen in the familiar phrases, I feel quite certain, I feel sure, or assured, I feel a strong conviction, I feel very doubtful, etc. The complex state, reliance, trust, faith, in which belief is a predominant element, is likewise recognized to be feeling in the phrase, CHARACTERISTICS. 249 Mediate judgment and belief are the obverse and reverse of the same mental state, but the strength of the belief does not depend on the soundness or accuracy of the judgment, but upon its clearness and distinctness, or its singleness, all alternatives being obscured or eliminated. What is really false may thus be heartily believed. An error is an error only when taken for truth, and the correlative feeling may mount to the highest conviction. So it is that belief attends the false when thought of as true, just as the feeling of moral approbation attends wrong conduct when judged to be right. 1 § 228. Every feeling is marked by pleasure or pain. It has, therefore, been proposed to make a primary division of feelings into pleasant and painful. But this gives insuffi- cient ground for subdivisions. Indeed, the distinction is not always sharply marked, being of degree rather than of kind. Pleasant feelings often graduate into painful feel- ings, and vice versa., without change of any other quality, or even of name, by a change of intensity only. A pleasing musical tone may gradually become so loud as to be displeas- ing. Pleasant expectation may pass into painful anxiety. It is better, therefore, to take them together, though oppo- sites, as a characteristic of feeling in general. ^ I feel confident. The whole matter deserves an expanded treatment beyond what our present limits will permit ; but if we have truly and clearly indicated the right place for these modes of consciousness in the psychological system, and their relations to other modes, this alone is a great gain. For the senti- ment of truth, see § 251. 1 Opinion primarily means a feeling of conviction of a truth on merely probable evidence. "Every opinion," says Montaigne, "is strong enough to have had its martyrs"; and Luther cries: "0 doxa ! doxa ! quam es communis noxa ! " Emotion by heightening the intensity of its correspond- ing idea, greatly influences belief, and our desires react in like manner to determine opinion. " Quse volunt sapiunt, et nolunt sapere quse vera sunt," said St. Hilary ; and so Demosthenes : BovXerai rovd' ^Karros /cat o'lerai. — Ohjnth., iii. 2 "Pleasure and pain," says Hamilton, "are the phenomena which con- stitute the essential attribute of feeling under all its modifications." — Meta., 250 FEELING. Both pleasure and pain are positive, but either may, Avith reference to the other, be viewed as negative. Abso- lute pleasure or absolute pain never exists. Actually they always coexist in the coexistence of various feelings, and tend to neutralize each other, so that the total state is only relatively pleasant or painful, or perhaps neutral. One form of relative pleasure arises from contrast, in the mere diminution or cessation of pain.^ Aristotle's explanation of these phenomena, referring them to their causes, has been very generally accepted. Pleasure is the effect of certain harmonious relations, of certain agree- ments ; pain is the effect of certain unharmonious relations, of certain disagreements. The pleasurable is therefore prop- erly called the agreeable, the painful, the disagreeable. Pleasure is the reflex of spontaneous and unimpeded energy. Pain is the reflex of over-strained or repressed energy. Here the term spontaneous refers to subjective, the term unimpeded to objective perfection. Each power tends spon- taneously, that is, of its proper nature and without effort, to put forth a certain maximum of free energy. If this maximum be reached there is pleasure. If less, the energy is repressed, if more, it is over-strained, and there is pain. The term unimpeded stipulates that, in order to pleasure, the object should not check the spontaneous spring of the p. 573. See his distribution. — /r?., p. 602. "Inasmuch as suffering treads always on the lieels of deliglit, and each kind of sweet has its cognate bitter, it would be divorcing the closest relationship to partition the human feelings into pleasures and pains as the primary division of the whole," — Bain, Emotions and Will, p. 77. 1 Plato, in the Philebxis, taught that pleasure is merely relative, tlie absence of or passing from pain, dei yiyvdfjLevov, ovd^Trore 6p. Kant adopted this view, according to the quotation in Hamilton's Meta., p. 5i)9 sq. But in another place Kant says: "Sie sind einander nicht wie Erwerb und Mangel (+ und 0), sondern wie Erwerb und Verlust (+ und — ), d. i. eincs dem andern nicht bios als Gegenthell (cnntrndirtnn'r, sc. logice oppositnm), sondern audi als Widerspiel {contrarie, sc. realitier oppositum) entgegengesetzt." — A7ithro- pologie, § 59. Aristotle hold that both are positive, and his views now generally prevail. — Nirom. Ethics, bk. x. CHARACTERISTICS. 251 energy towards, nor stimulate it beyond, its natural maxi- mum. Thus all pleasure arises from the free natural play of our faculties ; all pain, from their repression or their over-strain. More tersely and more widely: The normal gives pleasure; the abnormal, pain.^ Pleasure and pain taken together have been regarded as the fundamental and sole determinant of character and con- duct; but we shall find in the sequel that there are other determinants which often oppose and overcome this one. The application of the principle has been further extended to explain the entire nature, not only of man, but of all sentient beings; for the doctrine of the evolution of the varied forms of animal life from primordial forms by nat- ural selection, is grounded on the natural impulse toward pleasure and shrinking from pain.^ lA famous dictum of Descartes is: " Tota nostra voluptas posita est tantum in perfectionis alicujus nostrse conscientia." — Ejnst., pt. i, No. 6. Says Kant: "Pleasure is tlie feeling of the furtherance (Beforderung), pain -of the hindrance of life." So Herbart : "Feeling is the immediate percep- tion [?] of hindrance or furtherance among the presentations extant at any moment in consciousness, i.e. the immediate consciousness of the momentary rising or sinking of the mental vital activity." — Cf. Lotze, Psychologie, Dictate, § 47. Says Bain: "States of pleasure are connected with an increase, states of pain with an abatement, of some or all of the vital func- tions." — 3Iind and Body, p. 59. Spencer says : "Pains are the correlatives of actions injurious to the organism, while pleasures are the correlatives of actions conducive to its welfare." — Data of Ethics, § 33. For illustration : Extremes of heat and cold, the one stimulating the vital functions to excessive action, the other depressing them, are painful ; whereas a medium temperature is pleasant. Darkness and also silence long continued are depressing and painful ; intense light and sound are exciting and pain- ful ; but the medium exercise of the eye and ear is pleasant. Harmony is especially pleasing ; but discordant colors or sounds, harsh lights or grating noises irritating the nerve conduits, are painful. In hope there is a healthful stimulus ; depression in despair. The pain of tedium, ennui, arises from a repressed natural tendency to action. The more varied the objects presented to thought, the more varied and vivacious our activity, the intenser will be the enjoyment of life. See § 223, note. 2 See Darwin, Origin of Species, ch. 4 ; but Spencer, passim. 252 FEELING. § 229. A negative characteristic of feelings in general is that they are spontaneous, or at least involuntary; that is to say, Ave cannot at will directly originate, or control, or suppress any feeling. The sole function of will is to con- centrate the cognitive consciousness on an object, which is voluntary attention (§ 89). Any influence, therefore, voli- tion may have over other activities is only indirect, only through attention. It can excite or repress feeling only by a command of its causes and conditions, which, however effectual, is mediate control. Therefore the feelino-g, in. themselves considered, are wholly involuntary. When their causes are unknown or obscure, we call them spontaneous. The rare and difficult art of self-mastery implies control of feeling. The opposite is passion. This is a subjective state, either of feeling or desire, or of both, so intense that will is overpowered by blind instincts, the intellect being darkened according to the law of inverse ratio, and tlie sufferer from self becomes j)assively enslaved. If will suc- cessfully resists this subjection, it is done by withdrawing from the exciting object, that is, by attending to some other. This persisted in, the passion subsides; but it appears to be flight rather than victory. It is much the same when the exciting object continues present, and one maintains self- control, restrains action, speaks calmly and holds an imi)as- sive countenance, by giving his attention strongly to thoughts of duty, or fit conduct, or consequences of passionate action in the case; then the flight is not so far. But one may conquer self, yet only indirectly. If attention be fixed, if the cognitive consciousness be strongly concentrated on the exciting object itself, then, by the law of inverse ratio, the objective side of the mental state is intensified at the expense of the sul)joctive side. Thus a determined intellectual activity relative to the object restrains and subdues passion- ate feeling. This is victory. A humane surgeon calmly and steadily does his work, and, though pitiless for the time, is not so before and after. The coolness of a general is CHARACTEEISTICS. 253 perhaps due to intense attention to the phin and progress of the battle. When attention is firmly fixed on an object, the causes of feelings other than those attending it are inoperative. Hence extreme enthusiasm, or powerful emotion of any kind, may make us insensible to physical pain, and even gentle emotions assuage bodily suffering. On the other hand, the effect of fixing attention on the feeling itself as a subject-object, tends to increase its quantity and intensity. A slight discomfort, if heeded, soon becomes intolerable. Dis-ease becomes disease. A cherished sentiment becomes a passion. § 230. It is a general characteristic of feeling that it tends to produce certain specific physical effects, both in the orsfans of movement and in the viscera. Smiles and tears are examples. Every pleasure and every pain, every mode of feeling, has a definite wave of effects which speads more or less widely through the nervous system, affecting organic functions, or manifest in expressive movements. This diffusion of feeliiig, as it is called, must be distin- guished from reflex action. Tlie latter may or may not be attended by consciousness ; the former is always attended by consciousness. Reflex actions have a very limited range, each being strictly confined to its single effect; whereas in feelincr there is an influence diffused over the members more widely, a general wave of effects. But the chief distinction is that in reflex action mind is not at all concerned, unless it may be as affected ; but in diffused feeling mind is pri- marily the cause of the physical changes. Reflex action has been designated as purely physical instinct (§ 36). The diffusion of feeling, being partly mental and partly physical, may be termed psja^ho-physical instinct. Hereafter, under desire, we shall find a third class of instincts, those purely mental, the psychical instincts (§ 258). All instincts are involuntary and spontaneous. 254 FEELING. Generally, if the action be anticipated, it may be inhibited ; if it have already begun, it may be suppressed by volition. In the psycho-phj^sical instincts, however, this is true only of movements dej^ending on the voluntary muscles. Organic effects, such as blushing, are mostly beyond our power. The suppression of displa}^ may become habitual, yet the feelings themselves will still occur, though not unmodified by the refusal to allow them their natural vent.^ Feeling being the subjective side of cognition, it follows that when a cognition ceases, the feeling should cease. But in fact feeling often seems to persist, and to subside only gradually, as in joy and sorrow. This seeming persistence is because we commonly confound the feeling itself with its physical effects. The latter may persist, but the former ceases to be Avhen the correlative cognition ceases to be, its physical effects becoming in turn the causes of sensations more or less continuous. The effects of feeling in physiognomic expression are largely through the facial nerve. Different fibres of its motor branches determine different movements of the face in response to specific feelings. The lifted or frowning brow, as in supercilious pride, or in anger, pain, doubt, or embar- rassment, is very expressive, and easily read. The connnon elevation of the lip and nose gives expression to disdain or disgust. There are nine muscles moving the mouth, making it the most expressive feature, far more so than the eye. 1 "Most of our emotions," says Darwin, "are so closely connected with their expression, that they hardly exist if the body remains passive. Louis XVI, when surrounded by a hostile mob, said : ' Am I afraid ? Feel my pulse.' So a man may intensely hate another ; but until his bodily frame is affected, he cannot be said to be enraged." — Expression, p. 239. This recalls that Aristotle, in De Anhna, says: "Very often a thing takes place which has to be described by different men in different ways. Supposing a man is angry, lie would be so described by the poet or the historian. Thus the poet would say, this man is in a boiling rage, Jie is exceedingly angry, and is likely to do certain things. But the naturalist would say, there is a, boiling up of the blood about his heart." CHARACTERISTICS. 255- This power of expression is seen in smiles, pouting, the curled lip of scorn, the depressed corners in sadness, the open mouth of wonder, and many others. The tones of the voice correspond. ^ Next to the facial, the respiratory nerves are most susceptible, as in sighing, breathless sur- prise, and panting eagerness. The convulsive movements of the diaphragm in laughter and sobbing are noticeable displays, the latter due to partial and transient paralysis. During the sway of certain passions, as anxiety, fear, terror, all the muscles of the body become relaxed, the motor powers of the brain and spinal cord being depressed.^ The organic effects of feeling are those produced on the glands, lungs, heart, stomach, kidneys, and viscera gener- ally, and on the skin. Effusion from the lacrymal gland is an accompaniment of grief, but there are also tears of merri- ment, of joy and of anger. Cheerfulness promotes diges- tion, while all depressing feelings tend to arrest the healthy action of the stomach, liver, bowels, and kidneys. In fear, the mouth is parched by a suppression of saliva, and a cold sweat breaks out on the skin. The disturbed action of the heart under emotion is a remarkable instance of the influence of feeling on the movements of an organ supplied by nerves of the sympathetic system. This influence is so great that 1 The language or articulate expression of feeling consists in the few interjections that belong to speech, as Oh ! Ah ! Alas ! To these add words and phrases used interjectionally, as Bravo ! Hurrah ! Dear me ! Alas for the rarity of human charity ! This is a very limited means of expression, far more so than facial change and gesticulation, and it utterly fails unless the tone corresponds. Music, however, song without words, is so exclu- sively and widely expressive of emotion that it might fairly be named the language of feeling. On_"Le Language des Emotions," see Revue des Deux Mondes for March 1st, 1887. 2 Expression is a relief. A groan is a solace. A sigh, a flood of tears, discharges a surplus of nervous excitement, thus preventing the reaction which suppression would ensure, and the consequent exaltation of feeling. A secret is a burden until told. A shout, a burst of applause is followed by- renewed calm. 256 FEELING. the heart is popuhirly spoken of as the special seat of feeling, as the brain is of intelligence. ^ § 231. In conclusion we will now state the logical distri- bution of feelings, determined by specific characteristics. It will be observed that desires are excluded from this classification, being reserved for subsequent and distinct treatment. Yet some anticipation in the discussion will perhaps be unavoidable, because of the intimate relation of feelings and desires. They commingle and coexist, act and react upon each other, though, in general, feeling excites desire, and hence stands naturall}^ and logically prior. Both are wholly subjective, and in them lie one's character and disposition, just as his talents and abilities lie in the objec- tive powers of cognition and volition. In consequence of this intimacy, feelings and desires have a number of names in common, and a term properly belonging to one is often in usage transferred to the other. Passion, for examj)le, is recognized in either, or in both. Most t]-eatises do not distinguish between them, and hence mucli confusion and variety of doctrine in the literature of the subject (§ 225). ^ 1 See Miiller, Physiology, pp. 932-4 ; and Sir Charles Bell's Anatomy of Expression (1844). ■■^ Kant divides feelings (Gefiihle) into sensual and intellectual. Tlie sensual are those of sense or physical pleasures, and those of imagmatioi: or pleasures of taste. Tlie intellectual ai'e those connected witli the concepts of the understanding, and those connected with the ideas of pure reason. — Anthropologic, bk. 2. He treats of desires (Beghrungsvennogen) apart from feelings in bk. 3. Brown divides feelings into immediate, prospective and retrospective, confusing desires with them. — Phil. <>f Ihtm. Mind, J^ec. i'^2. Hamilton divides feelings first into pleasures and pains. — Lee. 44 (see § 22S). Afterward he divides them into sensations and sentiments, which latter he subdivides into the contemplative and the practical. Under the practical sentiments he introduces desires. — Lee. 45. Bain does not distinguish feel- ing and desire. — Emotions and Will, see p. 11. The two are confused also by McCosh. — The Feelings. Waitz, following suggestions of Herbart, divides into feeling proper (1, formal, 2, fiualitative) and complex emotional states, which latter are made to include desires. CHARACTERISTICS. 257 By keeping clear of the desires many difficulties are avoided, but many remain. A rigid classification is perliaps impossible. It would seem that, if our view of feelings as the subjective side of cognitions be true, the task should be easy, and consist merely in transferring the divisions and subdivisions of cognition to feeling, and marking the correl- atives. This is the case so far as perception proper and sensation are concerned. But beyond these we find it impracticable. For illustration, many feelings accounted simple in themselves have very complex correlative cogni- tions. Shame at wrong conduct, for example, implies introspection, and perhaps memory, with thought, and this under a law of duty discerned by pure reason. It is evident that it cannot be classed as correlative to any one of these exclusively. Hence, after sensaiion, some other ground of classification must be sought. As sufficient for the purpose of orderly discussion, we have adopted the following : — SCHEME OF THE FEELINGS. I. Consciousness. 1. Objective consciousness, or Cognition. 2. Subjective consciousness, or Feeling. (1) Sensation. a. Sensus vagus. h. Sensus fixus. (2) Emotion. (3) Sentiment. a. Sensuous. h. Pure. («) Intellectual. (h) Ethical. The ground of the several subdivisions will be given in the progress of the discussion. Cf. § 76. 258 FEELING. CHAPTER II. SENSATION. § 232. Sensations bear a specific relation to the organism. Tliej, together with the attendant perceptions, are the effects of external physical causes. The immediate perception is of the proximate cause as an immediate object ; the sensation is the subjective side of the same mental state. Sensations are sometimes described as physical feelings, and sentiments as mental feelings. Sensations have a physical basis, but are none the less strictly mental states, as truly so as sentiments. Perhaps it is sufficient to say simply that sensations are the feelings that attend the exercise of sense, and that senti- ments attend the exercise of intellect. The distinction between sensation and perception was noted in § 97, and their inverse ratio has been repeatedly mentioned. It remains to say that the diffusion of feeling (§ 230) should be distinguished from sensation. In sensa- tion the feeling is an effect, in diffusion it is a cause. True, diffusion causes a cpiaai sensation, as when one [)ain- fuUy shudders at the thought of crime, when horror chills, when a blush burns. But these diffusive effects of feelincr in general should be distinguished from the primary sensa- tions attending the senses proper. § 233. The sensus var/us, as in })ure pain or in the sense of temperature, is highly subje(>tive (§ 29). The fact, how- ever, tliat we locate many of these sensations is evidence of percipient power. Under this head are included a variety of sensations, ministering for the most part to tlie oigaiiic functions, and to the conservation of the body. Nearly all SENSATION. 259 parts of the frame have their several feelings of comfort and pleasure, of discomfort and pain ; but in some of the deeply seated organs no strong sensation occurs, unless in the form of pain indicating a disordered condition. Several distinct groups of these feelings are discernible, of which the follow- ing are examples : — ■ The nerves and nerve centres determine a class of sensa- tions according to the organic condition of their own tissue. Pain arising from wounds, diseases, headache, toothache, and neuralgia, should probably be classed as pure pain. But nervous exhaustion produces a distinct sensibility, while repose, refreshment, and stimulants engender an oppo- site condition. Under the general term nervousness is included quite a variety of sensations, usually arising from a waste of nervous energy and substance. This pain is not acute but massive, having quantity rather than intensity. It is widespread and oppressive, and is expressed by col- lapsed features, restlessness, and fretting, and, when extreme, drives to madness and suicide. The feeling arising from a healthy and fresh condition of the nervous tissue is of an opposite character and a pleasurable consciousness. The nervous substance is, of course, necessary to all forms of sensibility, but we are here noting the effect of its own state, and not the effect propagated from some other tissue. The sensations attending respiration include the enjoy- ment of pure air, and the various shades of ojjpression from foul air, lack of breath, and suffocation. The influence of pure air is stimulating and spreads over the system, elevat- ing other functions by improving the quality of the blood. But in the lungs themselves is felt a pleasurable sensibility, not acute, but refreshing. No feelincr arises from the luno-s in ordinary steady action, but either acceleration or retarda- tion at once gives rise to the characteristic sensations. The feelings of insufficient or impure air are manifested in faint- ness, weariness, exhaustion, and suffocation. No voluntary effort can long maintain suspended respiration. 260 FEELING. Digestion affords all the conditions of a sense, and like the sense of temperature niiglit fairly be assigned to the sensus jixus. There is an external object, the food; a dis- tinct organ, the alimentary canal ; and a set of sensations, distinct and specific, arising from contact. Excluding taste, the sensation arising from a healthful meal is massive, I'ich, and luxurious. Its magnitude appears in its ability to sub- merge many irritations, and for the time to rule conscious- ness. The feelings attending unsatisfied hunger and thirst become states of prevading, massive, deep, and intolerable wretchedness. They are more intense than nervous depres- sion, and accordingly we take more precautions against them. They incite furious passions which we call wolfish. The feeling of nausea is distinctly stomachic, exciting reflex muscular convulsions that result in vomiting. An experi- ence of sea-sickness enables one to estimate the depth of misery reached by this sensation. Deranged digestion pro- duces a depression of spirits difficult to resist. One pos- sessed by the demon Dyspepsia is not himself, is hardly accountable, and lives in gloom and wretchedness.^ § 234. The sensations of the sensus jixus are now to be examined. Those of the two somatic senses (§ 22 sq. ) are similar to those of the sensus vagus. The muscular sensation is the massive sense of pressure, which within limits, as in squeezing the hand, or in the hug of affection, is pleasur- able ; but in higher degrees it becomes oppressive and pain- ful, as in cramp and spasm. According to Brown-Sdquard, the pain is in proportion to the resistance offered to the muscular contraction. Fatigue is a muscular sensation. Over-fatigue is painful, 1 While the writer is responsible for the general treatment of the feelings, he must acknowledge his great indebtedness to the excellent works of Mr. Bain for very many of the details in this and other chapters. They have been used freely, even as to phraseology, without minute indications, in the hope that this general acknowledgment would be deemed sufficient. SENSATION. 261 is sometimes used as a punishment, and is a part of the miseiy attending toil. Many causes of suffering are called burdens. Within limits, fatigue is pleasurable, as from walking, running, dancing, swimming. The lassitude that follows such pleasurable muscular exertion is agreeable. To this must be added the luxury of slumber, for the massive sensation we experience when falling asleep has its seat mostly in the muscular tissue. § 235. The tactile sensation excited by soft clothing, a glove, or a cushion, is agreeable, not acute, but massive, and resembling the sensation of gentle warmth. Pleasurable contact keeps a new-born animal by its mother's side. A gentle slapping or stroking of the hand, as in caress, is agreeable.! But when, instead of soft touch extending over considerable area, we have intense action over small area, as by the stroke of a whip, an acute and painful sensation results, so intense as to make the whip the most effective instrument of torture. Tickling is a peculiar sensation, and may become an intolerable agony, exciting convulsive laughter, sneezing, jerking the limbs, and extraordinary efforts at deliverance. Clamminess, arising from the adhesion of some foreign sub- stance to the skin, is an uneasy, disagreeable feeling. The skin is also liable to feelings not due to contact, and hence called subjective sensations; such as the creeping feeling, as if produced by a crawling insect, and numbness, or the tingling of a limb asleep. § 236. Of the cephalic senses the sense of smell is the most subjective (§ 4). The varieties of odor are endless, and their classification difficult. The following will per- haps be sufficient for our present purposes : — 1 " The sensation specially due to contact in a kiss, or other gentle caress, disappears in the greater strength of the accompanying sentiment, and the consequent diffusive thrill." — Bain. 262 FEELING. First, the fragrant odors, or those that appeal to the ol- factory sensibilities, and represent the pure and jjroper sensations of smell. The odors of the violet, rose, jessa- mine, orange, lemon, lavender, and rosemary are examples. We call them sweet odors. ^ The opposite is stench. It is intense rather than massive, and we are discomposed rather than depressed by it. Asafoetida, sewer smells, and the cadaverous odor are examples. Secondly, fresh odors are those that owe their character to the sympathy of the lungs. Eau de Cologne, the resinous perfume of the pine forest, the balmy odors of the field and garden, are examples. The opposite is the suffocating odor, as of a red-hot stove, or the effluvia of a crowd. Thirdly, the appetizing odors, producing a sympathetic effect on the stomach, as the savory smell of roasting meat. The opposite is the nauseous odor, as of rotten eggs. Fourthlj-, the pungent odors are such as seem to excite, with the olfactory, the tactile nerves. Ammonia or smelling salts, nicotine or snuff, pepper and mustard are pungent. Snuff-takers who have lost the power of smelling the sweet odors, are still susceptible of the nicotine pungency. § 237. Taste is less subjective and more percipient than smell (§ 7). For this reason perhaps it is that tastes are more distinctly remembered, and hence their repetition more eagerly sought.^ A viand or a wine tasted to-da}- may be 1 "Sweetness is a name for a variety of pleasm-es. Derived orii^inally from taste, it is extended to smells, to sounds and to several of the hisiher emotions, such as the tender affections and the beautiful in nature and in art. These feelings are so far of a kindred nature, as to suggest and support each other. They all agree in being forms of pure passive pleasure, and in this they resemble repose, wanntli and liealthy digestion.'" — Bain, Sciixes and Intellext, p. 150. For the present classification, see /(/., p. \o'-\ sq. It is gi'ounded on the effects produced on our organs. Linnieus made seven classes. See Longet, p. 151. - Yet, as Longet observes, in dreaming of a banquet we see, but neither siurll iinr taste the viands. , For the following classes, see Senses and Intellect, p. 144 Ai\. It is taken in part from Gmelin's Chemistry, SENSATION. 263 confidently pronounced the same as one tasted long ago. The sensuous pleasures of taste are great and strongly- marked, but they should be distinguished from the sensa- tions of the alimentary canal, relish and nausea. A health- ful state of the digestive organs and hunger are the requisite conditions of a strong relish. When hunger is satisfied, there still remains the enjoyment of sweets, as at dessert, due to their independent effect on the gustatory nerves. After sea-sickness, when there is no relish for food, the taste of sweet or bitter is still acute. Tastes may be more clearly classified than odors. First, the sweet taste, of which sugar furnishes the type, due generally to the actual presence of sugar, the faint sweetness of the alums being an exception. The true opposite is bitter, as in quinine and aloes. As sweetness is the pleas- ure proper to taste, so bitterness is the pain, and these words are used to describe, metaphorically, many kinds of pleasure and pain. Secondly, acid taste, which when moderate is an agreeable pungent stimulus, as in vinegar, lemonade, and acid fruits generally. When powerful, the sensation is sharp and penetrating, producing the pain of a burn, rather than of rejjulsive taste. The opposite is the alkaline taste, as in soda, and is rarely agreeable. Thirdly, the saline taste, as of common salt, due princi- pally and therefore similar to that of the base. The repul- sive taste of Epsom salts, as also the styptic taste of ink, seems to be compounded of saline and bitter. Fourthly, the fiery taste, as of mustard, pepper, camphor, volatile oils, and alcoholic liquors. This, however, seems not truly gustatory, but an effect upon the sense of tem[)er- ature. Peppermint produces a marked sensation of cold. Acrid substances and astringents, as alum, affect the tactile rather than the gustatory nerves, but the effect is usually spoken of as an acrid or an astringent taste. 2G4 FEELING. § 238. The sensations attending the exercise of the two objective or percipient cephalic senses are, unless extreme, comparatively slight. We refer to the pleasures or pains that are wholly in sense, to the exclusion of those intellec- tual delights, and their contraries, of which hearing and sight are the most copious and constant channels. Music is the natural lanonuao-e of sentiment. The discernment of beauty by the eye is its prerogative. But sentiment in general and that of beauty in particular are intellectual cor- relatives, and not sensations. We are here considering sensations only. A disorder of one of these senses, or its excessive action, may produce great misery, j^et their highest pleasures lift us but little above indifference. Still their pleasures do not cloy so quickly as those of smell and taste, and hence we obtain from them a larger amount of sensuous enjoyment than if they also were limited by speedy satiety. Hearing is more sensuous than seeing (§ 11). Sounds differing in degree cause distinguishable sensations. Those having volume or quantity, as distant thunder, produce a massive sensation. Loud or intense sounds, as loud speak- ing, produce an acute sensation. Increased intensity gives pain, as a scream. A difference of pitch gives rise to a difference of sensation, grave sounds being generally volu- minous, acute sounds intense. A sound may be both volu- minous and intense, as a steam-whistle. The crescendo and diminuendo have a special sensuous effect, the former stimu- lating, the latter depressing, as in the moaning of wind, the swell of a trumpet, the cadences of an orator. Sounds differing in kind may be distinguished as articu- late, imisical, and noisy. In the first, the hissing of the s, the burring of the r, and the hum of the m, produce differ- ent sensations. In musical tones, the different quality or timbre produces distinguishable sensations, as the same note from a flute, a violin, a trumpet, and a voice. The pleasure of several smooth tones in concord is peculiar, and the highest known to the ear. Noises are unmusical discords SENSATION. 265 varying in degree. They readily become painful, and are characterized as harsh, grating, piercing, shrill, etc. Since we have no ear-lids to protect us, and as sounds go great distances, turn corners, resound, and are very penetrating, it comes that a noisy person is one of the most unavoidable a:id disagreeable pests that afflict mankind. § 239. The sensation of white light, as diffused solar radiance, is distinctly pleasurable (§ 16). The effect is massive or acute according as the light proceeds from a surface or from points. In cheering influence, it ranks with warmth, nourishment, and repose. Light does not exhaust the nerves as rapidly as odor, savor, or even sound, and hence its influence, though gentle, is by endurance power- ful. Its enjoyment, however, requires alternation and limitation. Exposure must be balanced b}^ the repose of darkness. Almost instinctively we seek the cheerful day or the well-lighted room, and on the other hand, the grateful shade, when there is excess of light. Color is attended by special sensations. Blue and green are commonly reckoned as mild and refreshing; red as- pungent and exciting. Perhaps this effect attributed to red is not absolute, but arises from relativity; for, next to white and shades of gray, we are most familiar with blue and green, and hence red, being comparatively rare, is more stimulating. As in sounds, so in colors there are agreeable harmonies and contrasts, and disagreeable discords. The sensation due to lustre is more pleasant than that from color alone. Lustrous bodies, as opposed to dull, reflect beams of light; as polished gems, metals, and woods;, ivory, pearl, silk; hair, teeth, eyes. These owe their spe- cially pleasing effect largely to their lustre. The common use of the words dull, polished, and brilliant, to mark intellectual character, and illustrious to replace renowned^ indicates how highly we prize this shining quality. 266 FEELING. CHAPTER III. EMOTION. § 240. The discussion of emotions may be introduced by a very brief notice of certain states which influence them. These are the temperament, mood, and disposition of the individual. Temperament is a term used to designate a special stat- ical relation between body and mind, certain fixed physical and consequent mental characteristics. The physical organ- ization determines a general cast of feeling, causing a ten- dency to see, as it were, everything colored with some one invariable hue. It determines to what moods the man shall be most commonly subject, and inclines him to special kinds of emotions. The temperaments have long been distin- guished as the choleric, the sanguine, the melancholic, and the phlegmatic. The corresponding mental traits in general are irascible, hopeful, despondent, and impassive. Certain external physical marks usually distinguish them, less mani- fest in old age than in youth, and in many cases failing entirely. ^ 1 The theory is ancient. Galen has an essay to show, " Quod animi mores corporis temperamenta sequuntur." In the history of medicine it holds a prominent place, but is now little regarded by practitioners. It is still recog- nized in psychology. Dr. Leopold George treats of it ably and at length. See Lchrbuch d. Psj/rhoJorjie. p. 125 sq. (1854). lie holds that jieoples are distinguished by temperaments, that the Spanish and Italians are choleric, the French sanguine, the English melancholic, the Germans phlegmatic. More generally, the Malayan race is choleric, the Caucasian sanguine, the Mongolian melancholic, the Negro phlegmatic. The four periods of life also correspond to the four temperaments ; childhood is sanguine, youth melan- cholic (sentimental'), manhood choleric, age phlcgmiitic. Lotze treats the f-ubject in Mirrorosmus, ii, p. 24 sq. He would substitute sentiuu'ntal for EMOTION. 267 Mood or humor differs from temperament chiefly in being less permanent. There is generally a physical predisposing cause together with some casual fact. These being tempo- rary, the consequent mood is transient. He whose liver and finances are in disorder is likely for the time to be in an ill-humor. Moods exist only in that they are a tendency to a special class of feelings, yet they have received numer- ous distinguishing names, as cheerful, glad, ga}^ hilarious, lively, etc. ; opposed by sorrowful, sad, sulky, solemn, dull, etc. Such contraries cannot coexist, but neither may exist. Moods have characteristic expressions in the features, ges- tures, gait, and tones of the voice. ^ Disposition has the permanence of temperament, but is wholly mental. Mind, though in a very important sense a unit, has nevertheless, like the body, a constitution which varies in different individuals as to the degree of its powers. The subjective differences mark the disposition of the man, influencing the kind and current of his feelings, especially of his emotions. Thus we say that one is naturally, or melancholic, a temperament marked by " a special receptivity for the feeling the value of all possible relations," but indifferent to the bare facts. Wundt distributes the temperaments thus : — Strong. Weak. Quick Choleric Sanguine. iilow Melancholic .... Phlegmatic. He says: "One should be sanguine amid the petty sufferings and joys of daily life, melancholy in the serious hours of life's more important events, choleric toward impressions that fetter one's profounder interests, phlegmatic in the execution of the resolves that have been reached." — P/ii/s. Psych., ii, p. 345 sq. 1 Anciently moods or humors were supposed to depend on the fluids of the body, hence humor, from Juimere, to be moist. Their transient and variable character is indicated in the Ger. Laune, from Lat. luna, the moon, upon whose changes the moods, perhaps because they are changeable, were fancied to depend. Cf. Eng. lunacij. Cheerfulness and melancholy, U Allegro and n Penseroso, may be taken as generically representative of the opposed classes. So also the temperaments may be reduced to two, the sanguineous and the melancholic ; the phlegmatic being a mode of the former, and the choleric a mode of the latter. 268 FEELING. perhaps by culture, of a cheerful, proud, meek, modesty timid, gloomy, morose, suspicious, liberal, or sociable dispo- sition. § 241. As sensations are feelings correlative to perception, so emotions and sentiments are correlative to intellect. The specific difference between emotion and sentiment is rationality. Sentiment is rational; emotion is non-rational. This non-rational or irrational character of emotion is purely negative, and means, not that it violates, but that it is not determined by reason. No clear logical process is antece- dent, but the feeling arises apparently on the bare emjjirical presentation or representation of some fitting object. The irrational brute is deemed capable of emotions, such as surprise or fear, but not of sentiments, such as regret or reverence, A positive mark of emotion is its inhibiting influence on the cognitive and other faculties, and so on reasonable con- duct. Emotions, even when moderate, confuse thoughts, so that to be clear we must be calm. At their height, they attain overwhelming force, paralyzing other energies, in accord with the law of inverse ratio. Wonder arrests volun- tary activity, and astounds; sorrow dulls, abating interest in things around; joy transports; fear ti-ansfixes, putting a restraint upon both intelligence and action. Imagination in certain cases is highly stimulated by emotion, but its voluntary exercise being inhibited, the images are mere phantasms. Fear especially has this effect, for even a slight alarm may conjure up phantoms that terrify. The diffusive effects of emotions are greater in variety and intensity than those of any other class of feelings (§ 230). More than any other they tend to go out naturally, that is, instinctively, into forms of energetic ex])ression. In them we are greatly moved, lience the word emotion. Facial expression, voice, gesticulation, are called into i)lay, and their language, very hard to repress, is so plain as to be read EMOTION. 269 by any observer. Every one knows the start of surprise, the gaping eyes and mouth of stupid wonder, the shout of joy, the groaning or sobbing of grief and sorrow, the smiles of ghidness, the sighs of sadness, the scream of terror, the shrinking of bashfuhiess, the burst of tears whether of joy or of sorrow we cannot always tell. The organic effects are powerful. The pale cheek of fear, and the flushed face of joy, show a notable effect on the heart beats. Hysterics, panting, paralysis, and even instant death are not infre- quently the effects of emotion. § 242. There are several distinct groups of emotions whose members differ chiefly in degree. Some of these will now be mentioned by way of illustration. It should be observed that many others exist, many that have received no names, and that complex states, as hope, are often spoken of as emotions because of an emotional element. Wonder is typical of a group which, in the order of degree, runs about thus: surprise, admiration, wonder, amazement, astonishment. Surprise, the least intense of these, attends a sudden arrest of attention. By it we are awakened, startled, stirred. To admire, in its original sense, is to wonder at.^ But wonder is a stronger emotion. In it we are transfixed and confounded. These emotions are almost indifferent to pleasure and pain, especially those in the lower degrees. True, we speak of a pleasant or a painful surprise; but the pleasure or pain seems to be not in the surprise, but in other feelings excited by the surprising object. We are surprised and delighted, or are surprised and grieved. Wonder has been called the daughter of ignorance ; still she is the mother of knowledge. " Admiratio est semen 1 From ad and mirnri ; whence also miracle. '• Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind." — Twelfth Night, A. 3, sc. 4. Horace says : — '• Nil admirari prope res est, Nurnici, Solaque, qua? possit facere et servare beatiim." — Epis., lib. 1, 6. 270 FEELING. sapientite," says Bacon. What is a wonder, a mystery, a- miracle?^ An isolated, unexplained fact. It excites a rest- less seeking to refer it to some cause or class. This done, the wonder ceases, and we rest. § 243. Fear is generic of a series which ma}^ be stated tluis : apprehension, alarm, fear, flight, terror. The emotion is ^jrospective, arising from the representation of evil to come. It is, therefore, especially dependent on imagination, which alone depicts the future ; and hence, persons of lively and unrestrained imagination are most liable to fears. The cause of fear is generall}^ involved in uncertainty or ignorance. Before any great but evident, certain, and well- understood evil, the mind stands in dread, which is thus a sentiment rather than an emotion. Brutes no doubt feel fear in all its degrees, but not dread. P^ear arises in prospect of evil unknown in character and amount. Thus fear, as Avell as wonder, is the offspring of ignorance ; but wonder gives birth to science, and science strangles fear. Knowledge is not only power, it is composure. A phenomenon, as a solar eclipse, intelligently understood, may still inspire awe, but no longer terror. One of the benefits of modern science is the subduing of unreasonable fears.^ 1 Ger. Wunder, a miracle, a prodigy, a marvel. So in the last verse of the scene in Auerbach's cellar in Faust : — " Nun sag' mir eins, man soil kcin Wuuder glauben ! " "With like meaning the third stanza of Vemis and Adonis begins : — " Vouchsafe, Ihou wonder, to alight thy steed." 2 On the other hand, the ignorant are delivered from many fears to which the enlightened are reasonably subject. Belarius says of Cloten : — " Being Bcarce made up, I mean, to man, lie had not appieliension Of roaring terrors; for th' effect of judgment Is oft the cause of fear." — Cyiubiliiw, A. 4, sc. 2. " Real valor," says Scott, " consists not in being insensible to danger, but m being prompt to confiMut and i-cpel it." — Pcrrril <>/ l/ic Piak, vol. 2, p. 172, Black's ed. The true opposite of courage, then, is not fear. Again, EMOTION. 271 In all its degrees this emotion is painful. The pain is not only unlike, but may be more severe than physical pain. The cruelty of scaring a child is greater than that of striking it, and the effect is likely to be more permanent. Yet excep- tions must be allowed. The agreeable fascination of super- stitious fear when moderate, as from a ghost story, is well known ; and the fictitious terrors of the drama are a volup- tuous excitement.^ The organic influence of fear is chiefly a depression or prostration of muscular energy, except in the one form of running away from danger. Extreme terror may so paralyze as to make even this impossible. Involuntary expressions are starting, trembling, staring, huskiness, or perhaps speechless- ness. The mouth and lips become dry and parched, the flow of saliva being checked.^ T'le hair seems to stand on end, and sometimes turns white.^ The blood rushes to the heart, leaving the extremities pale. We are appalled, and dismayed or weakened. Cold sweat, convulsions, insanity, and death are not unusual effects of fright. the antithesis of hope is not fear, but despondency, whose highest degree is despair. The negative of fear is simply the feeling of security. Godly fear, which is in contrast with servile fear, is a composite state, and entirely compatible with the perfect l6ve that casteth out fear. See 1 John 4 : 18. 1 See Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination, bk. i, 255 sq., ending: — " Each tiembliug heart with grateful terrors quelled." The solemn Eleusinian mysteries were intended, says Aristotle, to purify the heart by pity and terror. 2 In India a suspected criminal is made to hold a mouthful of rice, and after a little, to drop it out. If found dry, he is judged guilty, and vice versa. It is needless to remark that this "Ordeal of the morsel of rice" may be a fair test of fear, but not of guilt. ^ That hair turns white under the influence of fear is a well-established fact. That it seems to stand on end is unquestionable ; in the bristling of animals it actually does so. The notion is very ancient ; e.g. : — "Obstupui, steteruntque comae, et vox faucibus haesit." — ^neid, bk. ii, 774. But see e.specially Job 4 : 15. Horror, from Lat. horrere, to bristle ; cf. horripilation. 272 FEELING. § 244. Gladness, joy, bliss, rapture, contrast with sadness, sorrow, grief, woe. The former are pleasurable emotions, the latter are usually, but not necessarily, painful ; for, says Plin}' : " Est quffidam etiam dolendi voluptas." Joy arises generally on the fulfilment of ardent wishes, especially if the gratification be sudden and the manner unex- pected. Sorrow arises generally on the disappointment of hope, or the experience of loss. Hence these emotions bear a sjDccial relation to the desires. They are most familiar to us in connection with affectionate desire, especially in the form of personal love. We are glad on meeting a friend, we rejoice at the restoration of a lost brother, and the highest bliss of heaven is represented as the rapture of perfect love. Tlie pains have like gradation, from the gentle longings of a brief absence, to the overwhelming sorrow of a new-made Qfrave.^ The word rapture, indicating the highest joy, well expresses the inhibiting effect of this emotion, in which we are, as it were, seized upon and carried away even from one's self. Transport and ecstasy, expressing the extremes of both joy and sorrow, have a similar significance. Joy quickens the blood, and often excites violent, and sometimes fatal, palpitations of the heart. The ej^es are animated and bright, and sometimes overflow with tears while the mouth is wreathed with smiles. To these expres- sions are added exclamations, clapping of hands, and other lively gestures, which, when not restrained by a sense of decorum, extend to leaping and dancing, with shouts and 1 " There is something in melancholy feelings," says Scott, " more natural to an imperfect and suffering state than in those of gaiety, and when they are brought into collision, the former seldom fail to triumph. If a funeral train and a wedding procession were to meet unexpectedly, it will readily be allowed that the mirtli of the last would be speedily merged in the gloom of the other." — PercrU of the Pt'dk, ch. 4. Cf. Irving's true and beautiful analysis in the sketch, "Tiie Widow and her Son." beginning: "What are the distresses of the rich!" and in '• IJmal Fiuifrals," beginning: "The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow fnuu which we refuse to be divorced." EMOTION. 273 laughter. In the burst of grief there is violent agitation of the whole frame, convulsive movements of the features, beat- ing the breast, tearing the hair, rending the garments, wail- ing, lamentation, sobs, sighs, and floods of tears. ^ Then follow lassitude, debility, dejection of the countenance, and languor in the eyes. Circulation is enfeebled, the face pale, the muscles flaccid, and hence the head hangs, the eyelids droop, and the features lengthen. § 245. The emotion that accompanies love in its various forms has no distinctive name. Love strictly taken is an affection, a desire, but is attended by both emotions and sentiments peculiar to it. These, together with the affection, constitute the strongest, the most influential, and most uni- versal passion of human nature. We distinguish fraternal, filial, paternal, maternal, conjugal, and sexual love, and other kinds, but the attendant emotions are so similar that they may be accounted one. The emotion, though often rising to a great height, is usually gentle, tender, and pleasing, yet strong, even in its mildest form. Its opposite is the painful emotion attending hate. Jealousy is a complex passionate state, involving, among other elements, both these opposites. The inhibiting influence of the emotion on the intellect is well expressed by the old myth that Love is blind. The chief instinctive expressions of love are reducible to gentle touch. As anger gives a blow, love offers or craves a caress. Fondling or caressing may take the form of the embrace, the kiss, or the hand-stroke, which under restraint 1 " In joyful moods the features are dilated ; the voice is full and strong ; the gesticulation is abundant ; the very thoughts are richer. In the gambols of the young, we see to advantage the coupling of the two facts, mental delight and bodily energy. Introduce some acute misery into the mind at that moment, and all is collapse, as if one had struck a blow at the heart." — Bain, Senses and Intellect, p. 286. The gay dance is a conventional mode of expressing gladness ; the grave march of a funeral train is a conventional expression of sadness. 274 FEELING. are reduced to the hand-shake, linking of arms, and the like, all these being forms of touch.^ § 246. Sj^mpathy is not itself an emotion, but the experi- ence of feelings, chiefly emotions, similar in kind to those expressed by or known to exist in another person. It is a mental contagion, a spontaneous, unreflecting, irrational im- pulse, one that sets aside our own personality, and moves us to partake of the pleasure or pain, the happiness or misery, of others. The word is Greek. The corresponding Latin word is compassion, but this is limited in usage to painful states, and is more nearly synonymous with commiseration and condolence. Compassion partakes of the nature of senti- ment, and is a condescending term, indicating the feeling of a superior toward an inferior.^ 1 The origin of this emotion has been sought for in sympathy. Doubtless the two react upon and strengthen one anotlier, but they seem to be distinct and equally original. " In considering the genesis of the tender emotion, in any or in all of its modes, I am inclined," says Bain, "to put great stress upon the sensation of animal contact, or the pleasure of the embrace. Touch is the fundamental and generic sense, the first-born of sensibility [see § 23, note 3]. Even after the remaining senses are differentiated, this primary sense continues to be a leading susceptibility of the mind. The combined jiower of soft contact and warmth amounts to a considerable pitch of massive pleasure ; while there may be subtile intluences not reducible to these two heads, such as we term, from not knowing anything about them, magnetic or electric. The strong fact that cannot be explained away is that under tender feeling there is a craving for the embrace. As anger is consummated by knocking some one down, so love is completed and satisfied with an embrace. Touch is both the alpha and the omega of affection. The naive remark of a child, quoted by Darwin, is true to nature. To the question : ' What is meant by being in good spirits? ' the answer was: ' It is laughing and talk- ing and kissing.' " — Emotion^ and Will, p. 126 sq. 2 Anciently the brain was supposed to be the seat of intellect, the heart of affection and volition, the spleen of latent- si)ite and melancholy, the liver of valor and choler (x"'^'?, bile), and the bowels {to. airXd'yxva.) of compas- sion. "And Jesus, moved with compassion ((rirXa7x>"0'^«is), put forth his hand and touched him." — Mark 1:41. See also 2 Cor. G : 12, Phil. 1:8, and Luke 1:78, where (xtrXdyx^^ is rendered " tender mercy." Cf. "Thou thing of no bowels." — 'J'roil., A. 2, so. 1 ; cf. so. 2, 11. Pity is still more strictly a sentiment. See § 262. EMOTION. 275 Sympathy awakens most strongly towards those we love, less strongly toward strangers, and still less toward enemies. The joys or sorrows of those to whom we are most closely akin, move us most deeply, and in proportion as the points of community diminish, the community of opinions, of situa- tions, of fortunes, in like proportion diminish our sympathies. ^ The opposite of sympathy is antipathy, an emotion of contra- riety, involving disgust and repugnance. It is the positive emotion we feel against foreigners, especially those of other and inferior races, and against reptiles. The pure negative of sympathy is indifference. Sympathy is a blessing that gives and takes. Even the laws of common decorum require us to assume at least the appearance of sadness or of gladness, to smile at meeting, to sigh at parting, to be sorrowful in the house of mourning, and joj'ful in the house of feasting. To know that another shares our emotions has an especial charm, whether it be for encouragement in arduous struggle, or for endurance in affliction.^ Thus sympathy lightens distress, heightens de- light, and prolongs pleasurable thrills.'^ 1 As we like those to whom we are like, and dislike those to whom we are unlike, so kind induces a fellow feeling that makes us wondrous kind. Cf. Hamlet's first speech: "A little more than kin, and less than kind." Sympathy with kind has given us the beautiful words kindness and humanity. "Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienmn puto." — Terence, Heaiit. Tim., A. 1, sc. 1. Poetically, sympathy extends to brutes, and even to inanimate nature. " Can man forbear to join the general smile Of Nature? The love of Nature works And warm's the bosom, till at last sublimed To rapture, and enthusiastic heat, We feel the present Deity, and taste The joy of God, and see a happy world." — Thompson The Seasons, v, 869 sq. 2 Madame de Sevigne dit a sa fille malade : '• J'ai mal a votre portrine." Dumas fils dit: "On souffre moins en souffrant dans deux coeurs." In diffusing gladness, we give and gain ; in sharing sadness we lessen pain. In short, it is the wedding-ring motto: "Sorrows I divide, joys I double." ' ' .Jede qual wird leichter, wenn man sie ausprechen kann vor dem Freunde der mit uns f iihlt. ' ' 3 Aristotle quaintly says : " It is not easy to maintain a glow of mind by 276 FEELING. The influence of numbers is remarkable. The actor or orator is inspired by a crowded house. Tumultuous applause is infectious, and arouses an enthusiasm impossible in a thin assembly. The devotion of a large body of worshippers is easily worked up by sympathy into fanaticism. The esprit de corps of a regiment, of a political party, of a nation or race, tells with accumulated force. Panic is sympathetic fear. It is wholly irrational, and is greatly enhanced by numbers. A herd of cattle, a mass of people, are equally liable to be panic-stricken. The contagion spreads with wonderful rapidity, and often leads to senseless and needless disaster. Since sympathy is an experience of a similar feeling, its expression is the expression of that feeling. We weep with those that weep, and we follow even the pathos of the voice of suffering when we take up the lament.^ Laughter is catching, and when one of a company yawns, the rest are infected. We shrink when we see the incision of the sur- geon's knife ; and a mob, looking on a rope-dancer, will throw their bodies into contortions, and take the posture requisite to save the fall. one's self, whereas in company with some one else, and in relation to others, this is easier." — Mc. Eth., bk. 9, t)5. In order to sympathize, there must have been a prior experience of similar feelings. The range of experience fixes the range of possible sympathies. Sympathy cannot be wider, but may be narrower than experience. No man can have sympathy, proper, for the pains of childbirth, or the cares of maternity. The timid man cannot comprehend the composure of the cour- ageous in face of peril. The cold man cannot understand the woes of an ardent lover. The impulsive man cannot sympathize with cautious delibera- tion. But one may harden his heart, and contemplate all the ills that llesh is heir to, without a responsive throb. " He jests at scars, that never felt a wound." — /?. and J., A. 2, sc. 1. 1 " Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus afflent Iluniaiii vultus. Si vis me flere, dolendum est I'rimum ipsi tibi ; tunc tua me infortunia la>dont." — Horace, ad Pisones, 101 sq. SENTIMENT. 277 CHAPTER IV. SENTIMENT. § 247. The mark of sentiment is rationality ; that is to say, it is correlative to an intellectual intuition, or to the result of a logical process involving pure ideas. Indignation, for example, relates to the idea of personal worth ; and a claim to personality can be made only by a rational being. A being destitute of pure reason is incapable of sentiment. In the passions of a raging lion there is no indignation, but only such emotions as attend anger. It is impossible to insult a brute, but a man may easily be wounded in his self-esteem. Sentiment is the echo of reason. ^ We cannot always clearly distinguish sentiment from emo- tion, for the two often coexist and intermingle ; and more- over, sentiment itself, when intense, becomes emotional in character, at least so far as to produce an inhibiting effect on other faculties. But in extreme cases, as between the burst of sympathetic sorrow and the calm though strong sentiment of pity, the distinction is clear. A satisfactory classification of sentiments has hardly been attained. For present treatment we divide them into the sensuous and the pure, and subdivide the pure into the intel- lectual and the moral. § 248. The sensuous sentiments are those experienced in the contemplation of objects of sense, presented or repre- sented. The chiefest is the sentiment of beauty. 1 " Pascal definissait les passions 'des precipitations de pens6es.' M. Wundt definerait voluntiers les sentiments des precipitations de raisonne- ments,:' — Revue de D. J/., Oct. 15, '83, p. 301. 278 FEELING. We should clearly distinguish the sentiment of beauty, and its objective cause or that in an object which makes it beautiful. An object having this quality is approved by the aesthetic judgment, or judgment of taste ; and correlative to this judgment is the aesthetic feeling, or sentiment of beauty. The cause or occasion is the objective fact of beauty ; the effect is the subjective feeling of beauty ; the two mediated by the judgment of taste. Now, with that character in objects which renders them beautiful, we have strictly nothing to do. The matter belongs to the separate and somewhat obscure science of aesthetics. Nor are we here concerned with the judgment of taste, as to whether it be a pure intuition or a deduction from intuition, or whether it be a consequence of experience and associa- tion, or what may be the laws which should regulate its decisions. Though these be psychological questions, they do not belong to the present topic. We are to consider only the feeling, the sentiment. It is highly and always pleasing. Perhaps none of our sentiments, unless certain moral sentiments be exceptions, are so thoroughly delightful and have so little alloy. A beautiful object excites the intellectual faculties to a free and full activity, Avhose reflex, therefore, gives pleasure. But many other objects do this, and we should not call every one that gives pleasure beautiful. Yet this is a com- mon habit both in speech and writing. Therefore let us note some limitations. We hear of physical beauty and of intellectual beauty and of moral beauty ; and indeed Avriters on testhetics usually pursue the subject under these three heads. Many intel- lectual and moral sentiments are highly pleasing, and are perhaps in other respects similar to the sentiment of beauty, and hence the word is loosely applied to them. But strictly and properly tlie true sentiment of beauty arises only on the contemplation of certain ol)jects of sense, presented or repre- sented. All true beauty is pln'sical beauty, and it is exclu- SENTIMENT. 279 sively a sensuous sentiment. Its objects are objects eitber in nature or art, or in imagination. In tbese intellect dis- cerns the quality of beauty, and thereupon arises the correla- tive sentiment. Beauty, says Plato, is the shining of the ideal through the sensible. It is a union of the intellectual with the sensual, of the o-eneral with the individual. It is the pure idea mani- fest in material things, or, as Jouffroy says, it is the invisible expressed by the visible. These definitions recognize that a sensuous element is an essential condition of the beautiful. By the union of the intellectual with the sensual is meant the intellectual manifest in sensuous forms ; that is to say, by shape, movement, color, or sound. Take from the Venus of Milo the matter, that is, the marble, with the shape or figure, that is, the statue itself, and preserve only the pure idea — its beauty has disappeared altogether. Though sensuous in that it is excited only by objects of sense, beauty is not a sensation. In the absence of a real object of sense, and therefore of sensation, memory recalls, or imagination creates, beautiful objects ; and since ideal objects are faultless, and free from the grossness of reality, the senti- ment, when excited by ideal objects, excels in pl^rit3^ delicacy, and refinement. Hence the especial charm of poetry and fiction, and a superiority of literary over other fine arts. Nor is -beauty an emotion. The irrational brute is believed to be capable of both sensation and emotion, but not of the feeling of beauty, it being experienced only by rational beings. Nor is it a desire, for beauty pleases without interest in the object. 1 Though not a sensation, the ajsthetic feeling, being sensu- ous, is directly conditioned on sense-perception. But none 1 See Kant's Critique of Judgment. Beauty tends strongly to excite desire, especially the desire of possession. As it is impossible to attempt a thing unless we beUeve it practicable (§ 202), so is it impossible to desire a thing unless we believe it attainable (§ 255). A sunset sky is often very beautiful, but we have no interest in it, i.e. we do not desire it. 280 FEELING. of the organic senses, or smell, or taste, or touch, or muscular sense, can give rise to it.^ This is the more worthy of note since the aesthetic feeling and judgment borrow the name of the sense of taste, and in reference to beauty, we speak of the pleasures and decisions of taste .^ Hearing and sight alone are sesthetic senses ; that is to say, audible or visible objects only, either present to sense, or represented by memory or imagination, can become the basis of sesthetic sentiment, give rise to it, and truly combine with it. § 249. The sentiment of the sublime, of the picturesque, and of the ludicrous are akin to, yet differ from, that of beauty. The beautiful soothes, the sublime agitates ; the beautiful attracts without repelling, the sublime at once does both ; the beautiful affords a feeling of unmingled pleasure in the full and unimpeded activity of our cognitive powers, whereas the feeling of sublimity is a mingled one of pleasure and pain — of pleasure in the consciousness of strong energy, of pain in the consciousness that this energy is vain. It is highly probable that the essence of the sublime is the idea of infinity. The indefinitely great, transcending our grasp of thought, suggests, or for consciousness is equivalent, to infin- ity and so becomes sublime.^ 1 An exception should perhaps be taken in favor of the congenitally bhnd, who probably appreciate beauty of figure given in handling. 2 Fr. gout^ from Lat. gustare, whence also 'disgust.' Ger. Schmack, a taste, hence a smack, a kiss. Also Geschmack, whence Geschmackslehre, aesthetics, or the theory of taste. The Grk. ai'ffdijais means, primarily, per- ception by touch. James Russell Lowell said very neatly : ' ' Good taste is the conscience of the mind, and conscience is the good taste of the soul." 3 "Baffled in an attempt to reduce an object, such as the extent of the starry heavens, their millennial cycles, or the omniiiotence that projected them, within tlie limits of the faculties by wliicli it must be comprehended, the mind at once desists from the ineffectual effort, and conceives the object not by a positive, but by a negative notion ; it conceives it as inconceivable, and falls back into repose, which is felt as pleasing by contrast to the con- tinuance of a forced and impeded energy." — Hamilton, Meta., p. G29. " Ml' qii.T(Iam divina voliiptas Percipit, atque honor." — Lucketius, De Re. Nat., iii, 28. SENTIMENT. 281 Of the pleasing sentiments of the picturesque and the ludi- crous it is sufficient to observe that as in beauty and sublimity there is an ascent of the object above a median level, so in the picturesque and the ludicrous there is a descent below this plane of indifference.^ A corresponding contrast exists between the feelings, yet they pass readily and quickly from the highest to the lowest extreme. The painful contrary of the sentiment of beauty is disgust at ugliness or deformity ; but the sentiment of the ludicrous, exciting laughter, is a sort of mental nausea ejecting the logically absurd.^ § 250. The pleasurable sentiment of utility is quite dis- tinct from that of beauty, though often confounded with it. Beautiful objects please directly and of themselves. Useful 1 Unity amid variety is perhaps tlie essence of beauty. But variety with- out unity, if tliere be no discord, is pleasing. Now a picturesque object is one determinately varied, and so abrupt in its variety, presenting such an irregularity of broken lines and angles, that to reduce it to unity is evidently impossible. So, giving up unity, the mind falls into pleasing play amid this variety. In a landscape a church spire is not picturesque but graceful ; a dilapidated windmill is not graceful but picturesque. A race-horse has beauty, but a rough donkey with his panniers makes a better picture. A stylishly dressed lady, however beautiful, is not picturesque, as the fashion- plates prove ; but a peasant or a ragged beggar girl is a favorite subject with the painters. The waste and calm ocean is sublime ; a ship sailing on its placid bosom is beautiful, a wreck upon its rugged cliffs is picturesque. - The sentiment or sense of the ludicrous is a highly agreeable mental titillation attending an appreciation of wit or humor. Aristotle tells us that it arises from ' ' some error in truth or in propriety, neither pernicious nor painful " ; Cicero, from "that which without impropriety notes and exposes an impropriety," or from "a sudden conversion into nothing of a long-raised and highly wrought exi^ectation " ; Kant, from "the sudden transformation of a sense expectation into nothing" ; Hobbes, from "a sudden glory aris- ing from a sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity of others " ; Johnson, from " a kind of discordia concors, a combination of dissimilar images, or a discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike"; Hamilton, from "wit, which, like a flash of lightning, discovers similarities between objects which seemed contradic- tory" ; Bain, from "the degradation of some person or interest possessing dignity, in circumstances that excite no other strong emotion." Bat Spencer rejects -degradation as a governing circumstance, saying: "There are many 282 FEELING. objects please indirectly and not of themselves, but by rela- tion to an end which as means they are fitted to attain. "■ Pvilcrum esse quod per se ipsum, aptum auteni quod ad aliquid accomodatum deceret." ^ Neither conditions, neither determines, neither explains the other, though they often coexist. A Greek column affords both kinds of pleasure, it being both beautiful in form and useful in support. But an object may be useful without beauty, as a canal ; or beautiful without utility, as a cascade. It is sometimes said that the sentiment of utility arises in view of a means to ulterior pleasure. Still it is as remote as ever from the sentiment of beauty. § 251. Under the pure or non-sensuous sentiments, let us first note those that are intellectual and not ethical. They are intellectual in that they attend the exercise of our logi- cal faculties in connection with pure intuition, the ultimate basis of all true sentiment. The simplest one that does not require a personal object is perhaps the sentiment of truth. This is the pleasant feeling we experience on recognizing that our conception corresponds to its object, that the judgment is true. It is the pleasure of knowledge. It is distinguishable specifically from, though instances in which no one's dignity is implicated, as when we laugli at a good pun." The instance seems badly chosen, for in punning a good word is usually dragged down to a base level, or if not, yet wit itself is therein brought low, or at least the punster degrades himself in condescending to quibble. As to expression: "The lips are, of all features, the most susceptible of action, and the most direct index of the feelings. If an idea be exceedingly ludicrous, it is in vain that we endeavor to restrain their relaxation and com- press them." — Bkll, Essaij, ch. (5. "During excessive laughter, tlie whole body is thrown backward and shakes, or is almost conv\ilsed, the res]iiration is much disturbed, the head and face become gorged with blood. Tears are freely shed. Hence it is scarcely possible to point out any difference between the tear-stained face of a person after a paroxysm of laughter and after a bitter crying fit." — Dahwin, Ej-prcxninn, ch. 8. ' St. Au'xustine in f'nufi'usifois. lib. iv, cap. 2;'). SENriMEyr. 283 always accompanied by, a high degree of that general belief which attends all forms of knowing (§ 227).^ In 'iie observa- tion of the facts of nature or art, in the identities established by science, the abstractions, generalizations, inductions, deduc- tions, and classifications that constitute progress in knowledge, there is a keen positive enjoyment, often referred to as intel- lectual delight. Contrary statements, opinions, or appear- ances are disagreeable, operate as a painful jar, and stimulate a desire for reconciliation that greatly promotes the exten- sion and perfection of knowledge. The sentiment of truth often rises to enthusiasm, and is attended by a devotion that shows it to be one of the most powerful elements of human nature. Science as well as religion has had its army of martyrs. But the sentiment, as merely subjective, determines nothing in regard of objective truth and error, and men will lay down their lives in support of an error mistaken for truth, as readily as in testimony of truth itself. The charm of property is also a powerful sentiment. It is perhaps a greater stimulant to human industry than want. Hunger presses ; but having beckons. It will speedily con- vert a wilderness into gardens. It builds cities, and heaps up useless riches. The pleasure of pursuit must not be unnoticed. It is often greater than that of possession. After the chase, who cares for the game ? Suspense is in itself a painful feeling, 1 Mere belief is not markedly pleasurable. Doubt or uncertainty, when predominant, is an uneasy, disagreeable and painful feeling. We earnestly seek to escape it, and often, when a legitimate resolution of the doubt is not at hand, the situation is so intolerable that we escape by violence, by a plunge into belief, or, more simply, by adopting a groundless belief. This accounts for much error (§ 219). The tenacity with which we cling to our beliefs, refusing to listen to reason against them, is perhaps largely due to our unwillingness to fall into doubt and uncertainty. The transition from predominant doubt to predominant belief is highly agreeable. But probably this pleasure is merely relative, the pleasiire of relief (§ 228). The feeling of belief is one of settled steadiness, with but little of pleasure or pain. 284 FEELING. but it seems to be an essential ingredient in the intense pleas- ure of pursuit, for " the end of uncertainty is the death of interest." ^ The pleasurable sentiment attending freedom arises upon release from restraint. Consciousness of restraint is painful, it being a suppression of natural energy. Indeed in these opposites we have the recognized basis of all pleasure and pain (§ 228). We speak here more particularly of physical restraint as opposed to freedom of movement and speech and conduct. Confinement is a severe punishment that may amount to torture, especially with the young. The pleasure of release is proportionally great. As liberty is merely the negative of constraint, so the pleasure of liberty is merely relative, existing only by contrast; it is the pleasure of deliverance. When the contrast disappears the pleasure would also disappear, were it not that the fact of liberty sug- gests the positive pleasures of pursuit. Otherwise pleasure is felt, not in the mere negative fact of freedom, but in the free exercise of one's powers. § 252. Pure intellectual sentiments that require a personal object are numerous, and as in the previous section a few typical examples must suffice. 1 Heart of Mid-Lothian, ch. 1. The attraction of a plot, as it is gradually unfolded in a drama or novel, is in an ideal pursuit. The pleasure of field sports lies chiefly in the interest of suspense in pursuit. The search and uncertainty make a charmed interval of delay, and when the game is started there comes a good run. The fascination of gambling finds much of its explanation here, and the more the uncertainty, the more the excitement. In many activities of life the contest pleases more than the victory. The past does not interest, the present does not satisfy, the future alone engages us. " Man never is, but always to be, blest." " Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing." — Troil., A. 1, sc. 2. " No endeavor is in vain, Its rcwiircl is in the doing, And the rapture of pursuinir Is the prize the vanquished gain." So is it in the pursuit of truth. We enjoy the search more than the find- ing. Says Malebranche : "Si jc tcnais la verite captive dans ma main, j'ouvrirais la main afin de poursuivre encore la v6rit6." SENTIMENT. 285 The person that excels in power, intellect, or goodness, we honor. This sentiment is somewhat different in kind and desrree from admiration or esteem. Admiration is also a response to excellence, but is more condescending than honor. Esteem refers to the useful qualities of those who do well their part in life. Industry, integrity, and good sense command esteem at least, perhaps admiration, but hardly honor. The opposites are disdain, contempt, and scorn. These, like the ludicrous, have special physical expressions.! A judgment of the ability and good will of another toward us is attended by the sentiment of trust or confidence, a con- soling, cheering, and elevating feeling. The reverse judg- ment is attended by suspicion and distrust. Some persons, especially children, are naturally trustful, others suspicious. Faith is a complex feeling, combining trust and belief with hope, which last consists of a desire and an expectation also involvinof belief. The sentiment of pity arises in view of another's helpless- ness, trouble, misfortune, distress, pain. It is often, though not necessarily, attended by sympathy ; for the rich may pity the poor, the wise the ignorant, the innocent the guilty, but cannot properly be said to sympathize with them. It is a condescending sentiment, highly pleasurable, but easily turns to contempt. It excites a desire to afford relief, and thus is a source of beneficence. Like sympathy it is greatly pro- moted by nearness of relation, of kind or kin, and then in its gentle, continuous form it becomes loving-kindness (§ 246). As though it were the very essence of our nature, it is often 1 "The most common mode of expressing contempt," says Darwin, "is by movement about the nose or round the mouth. The nose may be sliglitly •turned up, which apparently follows from the turning up of the upper lip. These actions are the same with those we employ when we perceive an offen- sive odor. We seem to say to the despised person that he smells offensively, in nearly the same manner as we express to him, by half shutting our eyelids or turning away our faces, that he is not worth looking at." — Expression, ch. 11. 28G FEELING. called humanity ; and a j)itiless, liard-hearted deed of cruelty we pronounce inhuman. ^ § 253. In the exercise of self-perception or introspection (§ 108 S(|.), we recognize as belonging to ourselves attributes which when observed in other persons excite in us the senti- ments of esteem, admiration, and honor, or their opposites. This discovery produces a peculiar effect. There is great pleasure in contemplating our own excellence or absolute worth ; great pain in view of our inferiority or lack of esti- mable qualities. These sentiments are known as self-esteem, self-complacency, self-confidence, self-conceit, vanity ,2 pride. Opposites are humiliation, mortification, chagrin, humility. The pleasure or pain of these feelings is greatly intensified when our character or conduct calls forth open manifestations of corresponding regard from those around us. The sentiment of personal honor is at once most powerful, delicate, and sensitive. It cannot be touched in a hisrh-minded person without stirring and putting into commotion his whole being. An appeal to it is sometimes more binding than an oath, and a trespass upon it makes life intolerable. The thought of being dishonored by another excites the sentiment of humiliation. We feel as if thrown to the ground and degraded. We are cast down, but not destroyed. When, however, our own judgment also condemns us, the humiliation may turn to mortification. We are then cast down and destroyed, figuratively put to death. The sentiment of humility is different from humiliation. It is not painful, and does not involve a sense of dishonor. Jt is the opposite of false pride. It admits of a high estimate of one's self as compared with others, but implies a low esti- ^ Pity, tliougli originally the same word as piety, docs not convey a distinctively religious sense. It has been thought that a sort of self-pity explains " the luxury of grief." Kant wondered that there could be " so much kindness and yet so little pity in the world." 2 "La vanit6, c'est le mal de tons; il y en qui en meurent, mais le plus grand nomlirc en vit." SENTIMENT. 287 mate as compared with an ideal standard. When this stand- ard is ethical, humility becomes a moral sentiment.^ § 254. Pure moral sentiments are now to be considered. They are pure in being non-sensuous. They differ from the exclusively intellectual class in being both intellectual and ethical. Their essential basis is an intuition of moral law by pure reason ; the cognitions to which they are correlative always involve ethical elements. The vast, weighty, and all-pervading feeling or sentiment of moral obligation, the sentiment of duty, attending the intuition of moral law in its specific applications, may be taken as generic, or as implying the moral sentiments generally.^ Inasmuch as moral law unconditionally commands us to perform our duties, implying that we are able to fulfil them, there is attributed to man an absolute worth, an absolute dig- nity. The sentiment which the manifestation of this worth inspires is called respect. One cannot be said to feel respect for another, nor self-respect, except in view of moral worth or dignity. Disrespect excites indignation, leading to resent- ment. Indignation is a painful sentiment, yet as a revolt and self-assertive of worth, it consoles. When respect rises into reverence, the ethical element is not merely unquestionable, but becomes predominant. The reverence we have for Cato is because we see in his character and conduct an embodi- ment and manifestation of moral law. The omnipotence and omniscience of Deity may excite our highest admiration and awe ; but only before the white-heat of his holiness do we feel reverence, deepening into veneration and adoration. Another class of moral sentiments arises as correlative to 1 " The first and last step in tlie education of the scientific judgment," says Faraday, "is liuinility." — See liis admirable lecture in Christian Thought for Nov. 1884, "The kingdom of men," says Bacon, "which is founded in knowledge, cannot be entered in any other manner than as the kingdom of God is entered, namely, by becoming as little children." Humility is the ground (humus) whence all the virtues spring. 2 On these feelings, see Edinburgh Eeview for 2d quarter of 1883, p. 236 sq> 288 FEELING. a moral jiulginent on the agent. This judgment keeps a par- ticuhir action in view, but bears on the agent rather than on the action. It does not rehxte to his general character, but to him as doing some specific act or acts. This agent may be some other person ; then, according to my judgment, I expe- rience sentiments of approbation or disapprobation, exciting a disposition to reward or punish him. The agent may be my- self in conscious action; then, according to my judgment on my own conduct, I experience self-approbation or self-con- demnation, self-reproach, shame, • remorse, together with a sentiment of ill-desert, that sometimes prompts a self-surren- der to justice. If I habitually practise self-excuse, self- respect diminishes, the sentiment of shame is blunted, and the result is shamelessness. This may consist with pride, but not with self-respect. While self-condemnation is a lasting pain, self-approbation is one of the purest and most intensely pleasurable feelings of which the mind is capable. Gratitude, the sentiment awakened by the good offices of another, is both natural and ethical, but not necessarily relig- ious. It inspires love, prompting a return of pleasure for pleasure received, and is itself an added pleasure. It enters, along with kindness, largel}^ into the forms and substance of true politeness, and is the special and chief lesson taught by the parable of the Good Samaritan. It is essential in good character and is ennobling. Gratitude to God is its most obligatory form. The lack of gratitude to a benefactor is considered brutish, and nothing is more abhorrent or inflicts keener pain than positive ingratitude, a return of evil for good. This vanquished Ca3sar, and maddened Lear. The sentiment of justice, or what is obligatory in the mutual relations of life, is closely allied to gratitude. Much may be and is due to those from whom nothing has been received ; to accord it is justice. Injustice, like ingratitude, injures not only the receiver, but the doer of it. Socrates asks: " Which is tlie greater evil, to do or to suffer wrong ? " PART FIFTH. DESIRE. CHAPTER I. ITS RELATIONS. § 255. Desire is logically defined as the subjective cona- tion (§ 71). More fully, it is a conscious activity marked by a want implying an impulse or tendency relative to an object seemingly fitted to the want (§ 74). It has two specific modes, desire proper and aversion. The relation of desire to the other generic powers is im- jjortant, and should be carefully considered. Let us observe first its relation to cognition. Although desire is strictly a subjective state, it is often said to have an object, that is, the thing desired. But it is evident that the object thus spoken of is properly an object of cognition, which being in some sense known, comes to be desired. A thing wholly unknown, neither presented nor represented, cannot be desired. Ignoti nulla cupido. In order to desire, there must be a logically antecedent and causally coexisting cognition of an object, with its correlative feeling. Desire is, therefore, conditioned on cognition .^ 1 "In cognition there exists no want ; and the object, whether objective or subjective, is neither sought for nor avoided ; whereas, in conation tliere is a want, and a tendency supposed, which results in an endeavor, either to obtain the object, when tlie cognitive faculties represent it as fitted to afford the fruition of the want ; or to ward off the object, if these faculties represrrt 289 290 DESIRE. Desire impels toward the attainment of an end. But an end requires means. Hence, not only is the end to be cog- nized, but the means must be conceived, thus calling into exercise the teleologic judgment. Then the conceived means also comes to be desired in order to the desired end. So it is that desires are conditioned secondarily and specifically on the teleologic judgment. An end may be desirable, that is, fitted to excite desire, but if judged unattainable, it cannot be truly desired. It is pronounced hopeless, desire being essential in hope. Hence it is that desire is conditioned also on a practical judgment, that is, on a judgment that the end is possibly attainable. In still other words, it is limited to what is deemed practicable in the future, implying expectation and hope.^ Desire has respect to the future alone. I cannot desire what is past, for it has ceased to be ; nor what is present, for it is already in hand ; I desire only what may or can be. Therefore it is definitely conditioned on imagination, which alone represents the future. Moreover, since desires impel to actions, and are therefore practical in character, they are still more especially conditioned on the practical imagina- tion which represents also the means requisite to the end or final cause of the primary desire (§ 202). § 256. It is very important to observe closely what desire has in common with feeling, and especially by what it is distinguished therefrom, the two being commonly confused it as calculated to frustrate the tendency of its accomplishment." — Hamil- ton, Meta-i p. 572. 'OpeKTiKbv 5i ovk dvev (pavracrLas. — Auistotle, Ylepi i^vxv^f Hi, 30. 1 To wish has a -wider meaning than to desire. Thej' are often used synonymously, the object lying in the future, e.g. I wish, I desire, I hope, etc., to be there. In other cases a wish relates to what is deemed desirable but impracticable, coupled with regret, the object lying in the past, present, or future, e.(/. I wish (not desire) I had been there ; I wish I were now there ; I wish I could be tiiere. Wish and regret are positive and negative correlatives, e.g. I wish I could go ; I regret I cannot go. ITS RELATIONS. 291 and treated indiscriminately, usually under the title of sensi- bilities (§ 225 and § 231, note). Both desire and feeling are wholly subjective states, and both are modes of consciousness ; but while feeling is char- acteristically a state of self-consciousness, a mode of con- sciousness and nothing more, desire is a state of consciousness and something more as a specific difference ; it is conscious- ness of a want, or rather a conscious want, together with an impulse toward the object wanted. This want and impulse are wholly absent from feeling. Feeling gives rise to desire, and coexists with it, and is modified by it ; but the intimacy of this relation should make us only the more careful to mark clearly the important distinction between them. Pleasure and pain are, on all hands, admitted to belong to feeling ; that is, all feelings are either pleasant or painful (§ 228). But this is not commonly admitted to be a mark of feeling exclusively characterizing it, and so distinguishing it from desire. On the contrary, desires are usually consid- ered as in themselves states of pain exciting an' effort to escape, and their satisfaction is regarded as equivalent to pleasure.^ This view confuses distinct psychical powers, obscures the doctrine of conation, especially of motive, by making pleasure and pain all dominating, and so leads to utilitarianism in morals, and to pessimism in philosophy. Yet it seems that a very little consideration is sufficient to clear the confusion. Pleasure and pain belong to feeling only, and so mark it off. Desire is marked by want, a state of unrest, which must be distinguished from pain, implying an impulse leading to satisfaction, which must be distin- 1 So Kant, as quoted by Hamilton: "We find ourselves constantly im- mersed in an ocean of nameless pains, which we style disquietudes or desires ; and the greater the vigor of life an individual is endowed with, the more keenly is he sensible to the pains. Man thus finds himself in never-ceasing pain ; and this is the spur for the activity of human nature. Pleasure is nothing positive ; it is only a liberation from pain, and therefore, only some- thing negative. The mind is harassed by a multitude of obscure uneasinesses, and it acts for the mere sake of changing its condition." — Meta., p. COO. 292 DESIRE. guished from pleasure. Certain feelings, pleasant or painful, excite desire ; certain others attend it ; certain others arise on its gratification. All these must be set apart from the desire itself, as dissimilar antecedents and consequents, and not mistaken for essential characteristics or inherent marks. The distinction becomes clearer on observing that the unrest of desire is often attended by highly pleasurable feelings ; as in the enjoyment of many kinds of pursuit, urged by a desire to attain an object.^ On the other hand, a satisfaction is often eagerly sought which, it is well known, will be attended by painful feelings throughout, as in nursing the sick, or engag- ing in a duel.2 Thus the propulsion of desire to satisfaction 1 See § 251. " Sordet cognita Veritas," says Seneca. " All things that are Are with more spirit chased than enjoyed." — M. of V., A. 2, sc. 6. " Our hopes, like towering falcons, rise At objects in an airy height; But all the pleasure of the game Is afar off to view the flight." — Prior. Says Aristotle : " The end of philosophy is not knowledge, but the energy conversant about i^nowledge." And Jean Paul Richter says : " It is not the goal, but the course, which makes us happy." Pursuit may properly be taken in a wide sense as meaning the activity excited by any and all desires. That it is pleasurable is in direct contradic- tion of the doctrine that desires are pains. Pleasure attends normal activity. Surely, desires have a normal action. Dissatisfaction is the unrest of desire. When neither overstrained nor impeded, it is not a painful, but a normal activity. The fulfilment of desire is satisfaction, satiety (from satis, enough), and in it the desire ceases to be. A distinguishable result of pursuit, in its wide sense, is gratification, i.e. my desire is gratified. This generally implies a pleasant feeling, with a continuance of the desire. When pursuit is followed by success, taken in a similarly wide sense, this is often, though not alwa\ s, pleasant. It may be an inferior degree of pleasure, momentary as compared with that of pursuit ; yet there is usually a pleasure in success, experienced though unsought. '' Mais le souffrance empoisonne les succes qiii ne sont pas legitimes." — Coisin. -The duellist wants "satisfaction." He knows very well that all its concomitants and all its consequents are painful, yet he insists upon it, and eagerly seeks it. Othello, too, wanted "satisfaction," with all its horrors. Anger, a malevolent desire, seeks its en 1 in disregard of present and prospec- tive pain. The miser in his misery continues to indulge his avarice. Duties ITS RELATIONS. 293 often overrides and disregards all consideration of pleasure or pain, either present or prospective, or both. In general, it is true, Ave desire what will give pleasure, and have an aversion for what gives pain; but numerous exceptions in practice indicate that pleasure or enjoyment is only one of the many and various ends desired, and that present or prospective pain is only one of many that excite aversion. Another mark of difference between feeling and desire is that feeling, pleasant or painful, belongs exclusively to the present, whereas desire and aversion have reference exclu- sively to the future, the impulse being either to maintain a continuance of the present state, or to exchange it for another. Hence, also, desire is more persistent than feeling. Feeling stands related to desire as cause to effect. The sensations of an empty stomach excite desire for food, those of a full one excite loathing. Pity excites inclination to help ; indignation arouses anger ; wonder, curiosity. When there is no feeling, there cannot be desire. In this important sense desire is conditioned on feeling. § 257. Desire is the subjective element in conation, correl- ative to volition, the objective element. These complement and condition each other. That the exercise of volition or will is conditioned on desire is obvious. There can be no choice except between desired objects, and no effort except by the impulse of desire. In this relation desires are called motives, being the efficient causes of efforts, and so of actions.^ On the other hand, desire is conditioned on the are often irksome, sometimes painful, but we do them. Many men grumble "when paying debts, and perhaps no one enjoys "paying for a dead horse." But why multiply cases? A very little observation would seem sufficient to convince us that we often, nay, almost constantly, pursue desired ends in utter disregard of the pleasure or pain that attends them, or that is conse- quent upon them. Indeed, we look upon the one who merely seeks pleasure and avoids pain, the mere pleasure-seeker, with contemptuous scorn. 1 A motive moves us. The word expresses the prompting, impulsion, pressure, tendency, propensity, or inclination of desire. These words are originally mechanical. The term motive is sometimes, though less properly, applied to the final cause, the end or object desired. 294 IJESIEE. existence of will ; for it implies preference, which implies choice, an element of volition ; and again the impulse of de- sire implies a tension or pressure to an endeavor or effort, another element of volition. Clearly there can be no impulse except in the presence of something impelled. The relation of desire and volition, therefore, is similar to that of feelhig and cognition. They always coexist, conditioning and com- plementing each other. It is well to observe that strong will implies strong desire, and weak will weak desire. But strong desire may be accompanied by a weak will, and weak desire by strong will. Strong desires in conflict are generallj^ equivalent to a weak desire, but sometimes in this case will shows an inde- pendent strength in repressing one of the opposites, and con- forming determinately to the other.^ § 258. Thus far we have had in view only the rational •desires, that is, desires in which the impulse arouses delibera- tion, involving thought, which serves to guide the choice and effort of volition. These desires are not merely conditioned on the cognition of an object, but they are also regulated by intelligent choice between alternatives. But desires, probably all of them, have also primarily an unintelligent exercise, without deliberation and without choice, as in the natural prompting or propensity of hunger, of curiosity, of anger, and of maternal love (§ 195). The primary impulse, at least, is blind and fatal and unregulated, and the consequent volition is not free, but consists merely of a dii-ectly deter- mined effort. We discover here the class of purely psychical instincts, co-ordinate with the physical and the psycho-ph}si- cal instincts heretofore indicated (§§ 36, 230). 1 III a previous section it is said that I cannot desire the unattainable. It follows that I cannot try to attain it, the desire being a necessary antece- dent to the voluntary effort. Accordingly, it was said, in discussing the practical imagination : " I cannot even altenipt what T judge and believe to be impracticable" (§ 202). Judging the end unattainable, I cannot truly desire it, and so cannot really try to reach it. ITS KINDS. 295 CHAPTER II. ITS KINDS. § 259. The impulse, tendency, or pressure of desire is either towards taking or towards giving. The want calling for satisfaction must therefore be understood to imply, in some cases, a lack craving supply, as, I want to know ; in other cases, a wish to bestow, as, I want to help. This furnishes a primary division. Again, the desires that crave are fairly subdivided into those that have a physical basis, the appetites, and those that are purely psychical, which we shall call the appetences.! This distribution, connecting with that to be found in § 231, appears in the following : — SCHEME OF DESIRES. II. Conation. 1. Subjective conation, or Desire. A. Craving. (1) Appetite. (2) Appetence. B. Giving. (1) Affection. The craving desires incline toward impersonal objects. They urge me to appropriate what seems fitted to benefit my- self, and so accounted a gain. The giving desires incline toward persons. They urge me to bestow from my own resources what seems fitted to benefit another. Let us make a further distribution. The subjoined lists are by no means 1 Appetence is the same V70rd as appetite, from ad and petere, to seek for (see next note), and has been hkewise narrowed to the same meaning. Justified by its etymology, we nevertheless make bold to use it as the mucb- needed name of the second class of desires. 296 DESIRE. exhaustive. They are given for the sake of more specific statement, and as a basis for subsequent discussion. APPETITES. APPETENCES. AFFECTIONS. For Food. For Living. For Kindred. Drink. Pleasure. Friends. Sleep. Property. Country. Sex. Knowledge. Mankind. Movement. Power. God. Each of the craving desires has its opposite aversion. Appetite is opposed by disinclination, distaste, disgust, con- sequent generally upon satiety ; appetence also by disinclina- tion, or the more purely negative disregard or indifference. These contraries have not been included in the foregoing dis- tribution, it being deemed superfluous, since each positive implies its negative. Beside the benevolent affections men- tioned, there is a series of aversions, the malevolent affec- tions ; as anger, envy, jealousy, misanthropy, etc. Some further notice of these will be taken subsequently. § 260. Appetite is the craving produced by a recurring need of corporeal life.^ Appetites correspond in general with sensations. They are always preceded and attended by sensations as causes. The sensation, however, may exist without the appetite; as, I may feel dry without being thirsty, especially when my attention is otherwise engaged. The sensations that induce appetite belong chiefly to the sensus vagus (§§ 29, 233). When any member of this sense excites in us a want tending to the appropriation of some material thing which will satisfy or appease it, this is properly an appetite. As the basis is physical, so also in general is that which appeases.^ 1 The Romans and the Latinists used the word appetite as coextensive with desire. Thus Cicero: " Motus animorum duplices sunt; alteri, cogita- tionis ; alteri, appetitus. Cogitatio in vero exquirendo maxime versatur ; appetitus impellit ad agendum." Cf. § 71, note. 2 Appease, from ad pacem, at peace. Plenty, from plenns, full. Since appetites orighiate in, and are attended by, sensations, their excessive indul- gence is called, in a bad sense, sensuality. ITS KIJSBS. 297 Hunger, a desire for food, is rightly the typical appetite. It is due to a state of the stomach. Thirst is distinguishable as a call for cooling liquid in a dry and heated state of the air-passages and skin. The desire for fresh air may be regarded as an appetite, having its origin in pulmonary sensa- tions. Drowsiness, or a desire for sleep, should perhaps be included. These have reference to the maintenance of life. Carnal concupiscence, the sexual appetite, has reference to the propagation of life. It is compatible with sexual love, but should be marked as quite distinct.^ The foregoing are natural appetites, and each has its instinctive, original, and powerful phase. Morbid and artificial appetites are acquired under the influence of habit, and are transmittible by heredity ; as, the appetites for tobacco, liquor, and opium. It would be hard to distinguish from appetites the nameless longings which arise in great number and variety out of numerous subjective sensations, — such as weariness, restlessness, faint- ness, etc. 2 In general, these prompt an escape from pain, and so mio-ht be referred to the class of aversions. But moreover, we need light and sound and muscular exercise for health and comfort, and the deprivation of any one of these brings on a disagreeable state of unrest which longs for relief. But this is not strictly appetite. Even taste, apart from stomachic sensations, hardly affords a basis for an appetite. Still, such is the recurring need, and so thoroughly subjective is the craving for physical exercise, that we have ventured to include this in the list as repre- sentative of a large and important class of corporeal wants not elsewhere considered. 1 To list or listen, Anglo-Saxon lustan, to incline or lean towards ; an expression of desire. Lust means, primarily, desire in general, but has acquired a bad sense ; as, lust for gold. There is a tendency to limit the meaning to the above-named appetite. '■' When one wants to sneeze, it has been said, he would rather do that than anything else in the world. Certainly, not for the pleasure of it, though there be pleasure in it. The want attending excrementation in general may be construed as appetitive aversion. 298 DESIRE. Besides their physical character, another mark distinguishes appetites from the remaining desires. It is their periodicity. They arise at intervals, more or less regular, and become temporarily appeased and quiescent on satisfaction. Hence the term satisfaction, with its cognates, to satisfy, to satiate, satiety, etc., is better applied to appetites than to psychic desires, which are rarely satisfied. § 261. The desires marked in the scheme as appetences are psychic desires. Appetence is the craving produced -by a recognized need of mental life. In a loose and genei'al way, appetences may be said to correspond to emotions as their causes ; e.g. wonder begets curiosity. Like sensation and emotion, appetite and appetence seem to be common to man and brute ; appetites predominating in the brute, appe- tences in man, perhaps because the latter call for higher intelligence. Aj)petence is more persistent than appetite, and is gratified rather than satisfied ; for instead of ceasing, it is often stimulated by supply. Like appetite it is directed to things, or to persons viewed as mere things. It takes the form both of desire proper and of aversion. In the one, it craves things seemingly fitted to gratify ; in the other, it avoids things distasteful. In either case, the attainment is accounted a personal gain. Being cravings, longings for a gain, appetences as well as appetites are primarily altogether selfish in their aims and ends. In noting a few illustrative examples of the appetences, we name, first, the desire to continue in life, leading to effoj'ts for its conservation. This has a powerful instinctive exercise, manifest in a blind impulse to self-preservation in case of danger ; but also an intelligent exercise, manifest in careful provision for its needs, and in energetic actions thouglitf ully combined to compass the end. It enters largely into all human conduct, and is so strong that, when life is threatened, it commonly overrides all other interests, and is profou:;d]y oblivious even of duty. The natural terror of ITS KINDS. 1^99 death is assuaged by the belief that it is not annihihxtioii, that there is an after-life ; and we are also consoled by the thought that we shall still live in our descendants. Circum- stances may induce a morbid aversion to life. Tedium has already been noted as productive of this effect. " I'm aweary, I'm aweary ; would to God that I could die ! " Hence, and for other bad reasons, suicide. We next observe that there is undoubtedly a universal desire for pleasure and an aversion to pain. Accordingly, one is prone to seek things calculated to please, and to avoid those that give pain. In the Epicurean, the mere pleasure- seeker, this desire overrides and subordinates all others. He makes not only his appetites and appetences, but even his affections subserve this end. He desires certain things solely for the pleasant feeling they excite, and earnestly avoids all those that offend, never admitting a present pain except as a means to some ulterior pleasure. Now all men at times seek pleasure merely for its own sake, but in the nobler characters this is only occasional. In general, they set for themselves higher and more varied ends, and pursue these in total disregard of the pleasures or pains that may occur either in the process or in the result. Let it be emphasized that pleasure is only one of the many objects of natural ■desire, and pain only one, and by no means the greatest, object of aversion. There are a multitude of evils recognized as far greater than pain.^ Another appetence is curiosity or inquisitiveness, — these words being taken in a wide and good sense, the desire for knowledge. This also has a notable instinctive exercise, and in its higher, intelligent form is a powerful incentive to action, improvement, and progress. It is figuratively spoken 1 The Hedonists said that pain is the greatest of evils. The Stoics denied in toto that pain is an evil. The Peripatetics, however, allowed pain to be an evil, hut affirmed that vice is a greater evil. This last is more in accord 'With the views now prevalent in Christendom. 01? THE ' 300 DESIRE. of as a hunger and thirst for knowledge, which liowcver hxrgely gratified, is never properly satisfied-^ Acquisitiveness is the desire for property in things. When extreme, it is called avarice, and, with reference to appetite, greed. Its influence in determining the aL-tivities of human life should be remarked (§ 251). Ambition, or the desire for power, is directed toward per- sons, but commonly regards and treats them, not as persons, but as mere things. Napoleon Avas " a sceptered hermit." In its petty forms, as in small politics, it disregards the feel- ings and rights of others, and is thoioughly selfish ; but when regulated by a sense of duty (§ 266) and guided by genius, it commands not onl}- admiration, but esteem.^ Sociality, the desire for society, is an approach toward affection, yet views otliere as means rather than as ends, and so is selfish. We are gregarious animals, seeking to consort with our fellows, and to be in the fashion. Ofttimes, how- ever, we find it grateful and healthful to be alone ; and sometimes there springs up a morbid aversion to society. Sociality is akin to sympathy (§ 246). Out of it arises imi- tativeness, a psychic instinct, marked in children, but disa])- pearing with culture ; and emulation, a psychic desire, notable in maturer persons, and increasing with culture. Approba- tiveness, or the desire for the esteem of others, is also social in its impulse. A lack of it is unnatural and injurious, a negative mark of defective character. § 262. Affection, or love, is an impulse or inclination toward other persons, disposing us to give out from our own ' Suppose some one says to me : " T have bad news for you." " What is it ? " " Be content not to know." " No ; tell me." " It will give you very great pain." " Nevertheless, tell me at once ; I want to know." Indeed, I may become almost frantic under the impulse. How can such familiar expe- rience be explained by those wlio would resolve all impulses into a desire for pleasure and an aversion to pain ? 2 The famous speech of Cardinal Wolsey, in K. Henry VIII, A. 3, at the close of 8c. 2, is too well known to allow of quotation. ITS KINDS. 301 resources what may benefit or injure them. In a loose and general way, it may be said that affections correspond to sentiments as their caiuses ; e.g. pity begets a desire to relieve. They are attended, however, by a special class of emotions (§ 245). The brute is supposed to be incapable of them, except in instinctive or in rudimentary forms, and so they are accounted especially human. Practically their tendency is the reverse of the appetites and appetences, for they do not take, but give. Moreover, they are exercised toward persons or sentient beings only, not at all toward mere things, for they presuppose, not only intelligence in the subject, but also a possible harmony or discord of affection in the object. In pure exercise they contrast with the craving desires in being wholly unselfish.^ Affections are subdivided into the benevolent and the malevolent.2 We may call it love and hate. Benevolent affection is modified according as it is consequent upon the sentiments of pity, kindness, gratitude, reverence, etc., the object being esteemed inferior, equal, or superior in its nature or experience. Our first example of benevolent affection is kinship, or the love of kindred, especially the family tie. This exhibits the varieties of conjugal, parental, maternal, filial, and fraternal love. It has notably in each case, but especially in maternal love, a strong instinctive exercise.-^ Very often these affec- 1 Affection, unlike appetite and appetence, has primarily a passive sense ; we are affected thus and so. Perhaps the fact that this class of desires readily becomes passionate, or, more probably, the primarily recipient state of the subject, induced the use of this passive term. 2 The reader should note the etymology of benevolent and malevolent, of ■benignant and malignant, of beneficent and maleficent. 3 Some one has well said that labor of every kind is in itself bitter, but is sweetened by love. Even the pains of childbirth are qualified and assuaged by the awakening feelings of maternity. George Sand discovered in herself the strength of maternity, and her best works are devoted to depicting its transcendent power. Sexual love, the commonplace of the novelist, is shown to be light in comparison, and the profound love which every fair man has for his mother is still a shallow depth of what the mother has for her son. 302 DESIRE. tions are coraj^ressed, by association, into the love of home» But it is not the phice or home that truly is loved, but those belonging to it. " 'Tis home where the heart is." Affection expands, with diminishing force, to collateral* kindred. Another form is friendship, or the love of our fellows whom we like, i.e. to whom we are like in important respects, and with whom, therefore, we agree, or whom we lind agreea- ble and congenial.! Hence arise fraternities or brotherhoods, clubs, societies, and churches. An important modification is the love of a benefactor, arising from the sentiment of grati- tude (§ 254). The tribal affection should not be overlooked, notable in clans and clanship. Its strength is best indicated, perhaps, by the antipathy between different races, which, as it has a marked instinctive exercise, seems native, ineradicable, and within limits, justifiable. Patriotism, or the love of one's country, has a wider circum- ference and a more generous flow. It embraces fellow-citi- zens, all living under a common government. Anciently it was accounted one of the greatest of virtues, involving hos- tility toward all outsiders as gentiles and barbarians. Chris- tianity is gradually suppressing this hostility in favor of pliilanthropy, but does not forbid strong patriotic affection. This love is not, as commonly thouglit, toward the country itself, which as a senseless thing cannot experience benefit, and so cannot be loved. The love is for the people, and for their sake one labors to improve the government and the country .2 It is by association and personification that we 1 The variety of cognate terms is worth noting ; genesis, genus, and genius or the divine element or tutelar deity (like enthusiasm, iv 6eb%). More especially gentle, genteel, genial, and generous, of. kindly. Let us add that the genial element enters into all forms of real courtesy, for true politeness is love in trillcs. ■- " I call that my country," said .John Winthrop, " wheie I may most glorify God, and enjoy the presence of my dearest friends." — Green's Short History, p. 498. ITS KINDS. 303 become attached to places and to things, and speak of loving them, as though they were sentient beings. Philanthropy is the love of mankind at large. '■'■ Hoino sum., humani niliil a me alienum puto" called forth the plau- dits of even a Roman theatre. But the brotherhood of man is eminently a Christian doctrine, in opposition to the racial and patriotic hostilities of heathendom. The love of God, or piety in its best and largest sense, is the climax of the affections. It enforces and embraces them all. If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar. We should love God for his own sake, and all others for God's sake. § 263. Malevolent affections may be typified by hate, and anger or resentment, impelling us to inflict pain and in- jury.i They also follow sentiments, such as indignation, dishonor, etc. Hatred is more persistent than anger; the latter being a hot, transitory passion, the former cold and continuous. Closely akin to these is the savage impulse to revenge, which inflicts injury merely in the indulgence of the resentful and malicious impulse. To avenge is to inflict just retribution. upon an evil doer, and so may be a righteous action. Jealousy is consequent upon suspicion, and arises when we imagine that some one is aiming to deprive us of what is our own, and dearly prized. In some natures it needs only '^ a trifle light as air " to arouse the impulse, which readily passes or rushes to a blind and deadly passion.^ 1 They are all akin to insanity. We say, in common speech, the man is mad. 2 It is the custom to regard Othello as especially illustrating jealousy. This is questionable. Coleridge, a very subtile analyst, boldly denies that the Moor was jealous. Indeed, his struggle seems not so much between love and jealousy, as between love and honor. Leontes, in Winter''s Tale, is a more notable victim of the passion. Othello has much of our sympathy ; Leontes, we despise. It were curious to consider how much of the purity of society is due to the lurking and threatening of this passion. It is a powerful protective. 304 DESIRE. Envy is the desire to reduce another to our own level, or below. It differs from emulation, which desires merely to rise to or above another. This is not malevolent, and is ennobling. But envy, besides being a malevolent and igno- ble impulse, is altogether without an excuse, or wholly evil. Each of the foregoing has its defensive or punitive element, whereas envy is simply injurious. Cruelty is an odious malevolence. It has degrees, from mere indifference, on through wantonness, up to the nameless form that finds pleasure in giAdng pain. It is horrible to know that there is ever a pleasurable thrill in the flesh of the arm that strikes a blow, that there are men who enjoy using the whip. Cruelty implies pain ; yet the surgeon is not cruel, nor is it cruel to punish. It is more, too, than giving needless pain. Cruelty is pain-giving trespass. It is the trespass, and not the pain-giving, that makes it wicked ; yet it is rather the pain-giving that makes it harrowing and damnable in the eyes of pity. Like envy, cruelty is utterly without excuse. Lastly, misanthropy, or hatred of mankind, sometimes takes merel}^ a negative form by withdrawing from all society, but also may be positively injurious. In the one case it injures by disregarding social duty, in the other by doing violence to social rights. 1 • 1 Moliere's Alceste, and Timon of Athens, are fine illustrations of the two phases indicated. The melancholy Jaques was hardly a misanthrope. lago is the incarnation of envy. ITS REGULATION. 305 CHAPTER III. ITS KEGULATION. § 264. Desires often conflict ; that is, the gratification of some one is incompatible with the gratification of some other. This conflict arises between members of the same class, but more notably between members of different classes. In gen- eral there is a conflict between the craving desires which would take, and the affections which would give. In instinctive exercise the appetites are strongest, the affections weakest, though exceptional cases occur. In rational exercise there is recognized a gradation in dignity or worth and excellence, the inverse of instinctive strength, affection being highest in the scale, and appetite lowest. This superiority of affection is due to its having the larger share of the rational element, to its call for self-denial, and to the intimate relation between the exercise of affection and observance of moral law. But there is nothing in the nature of either class to give it the supremacy of control. Hence there appears a need for some controlling principle or consistent principles. ' These are found in the regulative desires (not exhibited in the fore- going scheme) which are fitted by their nature to subordinate and regulate all others. It is commonly said that the will regulates the desires, suppressing this, enhancing that. True ; but, as every exer- cise of Avill is conditioned on an antecedent desire, what desire or desires are the antecedents of this special exercise of will, in which it acts as an intermediary ? The answer is, the regulative desires. § 265. The regulative desires are two: interest, or the desire for happiness, and the impulse to duty, or the desire to 306 DESIRE. do right. The former is often called self-love ; but this improperly confuses it with the affections, or modes of love.^ The latter may fairly be called the moral impulse, but is to be distinguished from conscience. Interest urges us to seek and appropriate the means to our own happiness as an end.^ Thus it is strictly egoistic or selfish in its direction and tendency, and therefore intimately related to the craving desires, the appetites and appetences. The moral impulse urges us to pay our dues in the widest sense, for this is the meaning of duty, and what we owe we ought to pay.^ Thus it is strictly altruistic in its direction and tension, and therefore intimately related to the affections. It might seem from the foregoing that the regulative desires are themselves in essential opposition, that duty con- flicts with interest, and impels us away from our own happi- ness. But not necessarily so. The relation is conceived more truly thus : Interest, seeking one's own happiness in violation or disregard of duty, never finds it. Its selfish dic- tates are misleading, injurious, and wrong, and the outcome therefore a failure. Duty, seeking the good of others, impels 1 The definition of affection or love (§ 202) excludes the notion of self- love, or love of one's self as impossible, self-contradictory, and absurd. Strictly, there is no such thing ; loosely, it is a synonym of selfishness. In this sense, good usage admits the phrase, e.g. "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as [thou lovest] thyself." 2 Happiness is harmony between our wants and condition. A utilitarian would define it as the maximum of pleasure, satisfaction, gratification, and contentment in life, implying a minimum of their opposites. See Pope's rhapsody in Essay on Man, beginning : — " Oh, happiness! our being's end and aim." Prudence, wisdom, policy, expediency, dictate that we should often forego a present gnitification for a future and greater gratification, in order to secure the maxhnum. 8 Ought is an old preterite of to owe ; and this formerly had the double meaning of to be indebted and to own, to possess. For example : — " Be pleased, then. To pay that duty which you truly owe To him that owes it." — A'. John, A. 2, bc. 1. Altruism is from Lat. niter, another, and is in opposition to egoism. ITS REGULATION. 307 away from interest but not from happiness ; for in its perfect exercise, true happiness, or what is the same, the highest good, is attained, though unsought. This genuine happiness is tliat defined by Aristotle as "the energy of the soul, accord- ing to the best virtue, in a complete life." ^ It appears, then, that the moral impulse has at least the office of control over interest also, and therefore it alone is rightfully supreme over all desires. § 266. What now, more particularly, are the relations of the regulative to the subordinate desires ? The moral impulse or desire to do duty, being altruistic, is in general accord with the benevolent affections. ^ It urges them from their merely natural exercise up to the higher plane of moral obligation, regulating them in due proportion among themselves. In regard of the two lower classes, it counteracts their interested, selfish, egoistic tendencies, impelling them to a disinterested exercise toward a higher altruistic end. For example, interest impels me to seek food, knowledge, property, power, etc., each for its own sake, or rather for the sake of the gratifica- tion it will afford me, the end being altogether selfish. The impulse to duty, in view of the higher end, the good of others, urges me to seek these things in order to increase my ability to serve others, or to use what I obtain in such ser- ^dce.^ When the inferior desires stretch toward this higher 1 Nic. Ethics, bk. i, ch. 6. " L'erreur des utilitaires est cle s'etre trompes sur la definition du bonheur. Le bonheur n'est pas, comme le pretend Bentham, la plus grande somme de plaisii- possible ; c'est le plus haut etat d'excellence possible, d'oCi r^sulte le plaisir le plus excellent." — Janet, La Morale, ch. 4. - Also with the malevolent affections (except envy and cruelty) within certain limits, for there is " a righteous anger." 3 The gratification of the craving desires is still exiDerienced, but it is not that which is sought. They still crave and enjoy fruition, but crave in order to give. E.g. One desires to win my esteem, not for his or its own sake, not that he may enjoy it, but to be in position more effectually to promote my welfare. Not less, but the more, does he win and enjoy it. 308 DESIRE. end, interest or selfishness disappears ; duty and love reign supreme. The process is one of constant self-denial or self- sacrifice, and character and conduct are purified and perfected in the realization of absolute unselfishness. § 267. The moral impulse is conditioned on cognition in a special manner. The moral law is an objective imperative discerned intuitively by pure reason as of universal and supreme obligation. Its authority is directed to the will of every person, commanding riglit action. But as the will is conditioned on desire, the behest of the moral law would be inoperative and idle, were there not in every person a desire, however weak, to do right, that is, to obey the law. Thus the moral impulse complements and is conditioned on the intuitively cognized moral law. In popular usage, the term conscience is applied to any and every mental exercise connected with our moral conduct. In scientific use, the term is limited by definition to the moral exercise of some one faculty, either of thought, feeling, or desire. We follow Kant in applying it exclusively to the source and condition of all morality, and define accordingly : Conscience is pure reason discerning moral law. In this view, the moral impulse is not conscience, nor is moral senti- ment, nor moral judgment, nor righteous choice ; but all these are conditioned on and consequent upon conscience, the discernment by pure intuition of a primary truth in the form of law. These considerations have led us to the very threshold of Ethics. PART SIXTH. VOLITION. CHAPTER I. ITS RELATIONS. § 268. The fourth and last of the generic powers, complet- hig the mental cycle, is volition or will.^ It is defined as the objective conation ; the faculty or activity in whose exercise mind chooses between alternative actions conceived as pos- sible, and strives accordingly to modify its own state merely, or to superinduce muscular movement. It is the function of the ego to determine the time, manner, and measure of the activity, mental and physical. Not that it must, but only that it may do so. Activities, spontaneous and instinctive, occur without such determination.^ 1 See § 71. The circuit is in the order of condition and conditioned (§ 81). 2 See § 52, note. The distinction is merely between the active ego and its activity. It is self-determining. Kant says of man that his will is his very self ; it lies in bis innermost nature ; it is his primary essence, and may be most nearly identified with the ego. A person (see the curious origin and etymology of the word) is sometimes deiiued as an intelligent being capable of self-determination. This is insuffi- cient. We should add : and consciously subject to moral law. As conscious subjection to law implies both intelligence and power of self-determination as conditions, these may be omitted, and the definition stated thus: A person is a being conscious of obligation. But this is true only of the imper- fect person ; he only is under law. A perfect person is a being conscious of holiness. The conception of Deity is that of a perfectly harmonious person- ality infinitated. 309 310 VOLITION. Volition or will is, like cognition, an objective faculty in that it is immediately related to an object. The object of cognition is a fact, something to be known ; the object of volition is an act, something to be done. Thus attention in cognition corresponds to intention in volition. The normal aim of cognition is truth ; the normal aim of volition is duty. The opposites are error and wrong. Logic states the laws of thought, and the subjective result of their observance is knowledge. Ethics states the laws of conduct, and the sub- jective result of their observance is virtue.^ § 269. Besides the foregoing contrasts, volition or will bears a double relation to cognition. It is superior to cogni- tion as controlling it ; inferior as dependent on it for intelli- gent guidance. For any and every action, external or internal, will is de- pendent or conditioned on practical imagination, which as a necessary antecedent represents by anticipation the act to be done (§ 202), For every judicious action it is also depend- ent on a logical judgment, and in case of a means to an end, on the teleological judgment. For every moral action it is furthermore dependent on the intuition of moral law, which furnishes the major premise from which are deduced the specific actions requisite in doing duty. Thus intelligence guides volition .2 Volition controls cognition in the determination of atten- 1 Propositions, the expression of cognition, are true or false ; actions, the expression of volition, are right or wrong. The violation of logical law is error ; the violation of ethical law is sin. I cannot believe seeming error, nor desire seeming evil. Truth and right are natural ends, but I may carelessly or ignorantly disregard either, and so incur its opposite. In this sense only can logical law be violated ; but ethical law may be knowingly and wilfully violated, since, unlike logical law, it implies a choice between possible alternatives, one right, the other wrong. ' Pure reason is legislative ; it discovers and propounds law. Thought is judicial ; it interprets and applies law. Will is executive of the behests of law. Thus we find, original in the essence of human nature, the approved functions of the Departments of State. ITS RELATIONS. 311 tion. That is to say, I am able to concentrate my cognitive consciousness on an object, now on this, now on that. I do so at will, and by the power of will (§§ 87, 89). By this means memory recalls (§ 188), imagination constructs (§ 197), and thought abstracts and elaborates (§ 205). This deter- mination of attention is the special function of will, and it is important to observe that it has no other direct controlling power, which is to say, it immediately or directly controls cognitive exercise by determining attention, and that what- ever controlling influence it has over other activities is mediate and indirect, the medium being attention (§ 229). § 270. According to what has just been said, volition bears no direct relation to the feelings. It is conditioned on them only remotely through the desires. It controls them only indirectly by giving or refusing attention to the objects which excite the feelings. The feeling, however, may persist for a time after abstraction from the object, owing to physical diffu- sion (§ 230). Volition is directly conditioned on desire, which furnishes motive to choice, and efficient cause to the subsequent effort (§ 257). The volitional control of desire, like that of feel- ing, is indirect, and through or by means of attention trans- ferred to or from desired objects of cognition. A complete withdrawal of consciousness from a desired object at once determines the complete cessation of the desire. The resist- ance to be overcome is due mainly and is proportional to the intensity of the desire, and can be counteracted only by virtue of some other desire with wdiich the will accords. § 271. Our experience in first apprehending an object is the product of our constitution and environment, and not voluntary. Also it is true that will can neither cause nor inhibit the rise of either a feeliner or a desire. In their in- cipience they too are spontaneous and involuntary. But the continuance, or the increase, or the diminution and termina- 312 VOLITION. tion of the conceptions, feelings, and dispositions attendant on an object are under control according as attention is be- stowed on the object, or withdrawn by concentrating on another. This is subjective control. Objective control, or the control of the voluntary muscles, is more obscure. Commonly it is understood that the will acts immediately on the motor brain centres, and that through the motor nerve connections the muscular contraction or re- laxation is produced. But we always represent what we intend to do before doing it. Indeed, this is essential to every intelligent voluntary act (§ 202). ^ Now as there is necessarily an antecedent mental image of the movement, on which idea attention more or less intense is bestowed, it would seem that here also the direct exercise of will is to give attention, and that the physical movement is mediately j^roduced. But the nexus of the mental effort and the sub- sequent physical change is unknown. The action passes beyond the sphere of consciousness, and reappears in the sphere of observation. 1 See especially the note, on the impulse to realize an idea. On voluntary locomotion, see § 105. The view here taken of objective control, that atten- tion to the idea of the physical action is the immediate act, and that the physical action itself is remote, is confirmed by the fact that should the latter fail entirely {e.g. through unknown paralysis), the volition or action of the will is nevertheless complete (§ 275). ITS ELEMENTS. 313 CHAPTER II. ITS ELEMENTS. § 272. An analysis of an exercise of volition discovers five essential facts, which seem to be ultimate, as follows : — First: The idea of something to be done, of an act in order to an end. The act is conceived by the agent as possible, the end desirable ; e.g. making a bargain, or suppressing anger. This is an exercise of cognitive intelligence by means of attention.^ Second: An impulse urging the action. Conflicting im- pulses may co-exist. The one that prevails, or that with which the volition finally accords, is called the motive. This is an exercise of desire.^ The idea of an act and end, and the impulsion of the motive, are not elements of volition, but are necessary ante- cedents or conditions of its exercise. Third: A preference of the conscious ego for one line of action rather than another, or for non-action. This is the exercise of choice or election. Fourth : Intention, or the resolution upon choice to do this or that action, either instantly or in due time, according to opportunity. Fifth: A nisus or striving to effectuate the choice, con- straining a change of mental state only, or superinducing 1 The act is properly the object of volition ; the end is not properly the object, though often so called. In order to the effort the act must be con- ceived as possible ; e.g. a sane man cannot try to fly. In the healing of the withered hand (Mark 8 : 1-5) the effort showed faith. 2 The end is sometimes but improperly called the motive. We should clearly distinguish motive from final cause. 314 VOLITION. muscular motion. It is expressed by: I try. This is the voluntary effort. Choice, intention, and effort are the elements of volition.^ § 273. Choice or election is a phenomenon sui generis^ dis- coverable only within the domain of consciousness, and hav- ing no analogue in the material universe.^ There are two special conditions precedent, corresponding to the general conditions of volition already cited. These are : — First : Alternativity of possible actions, implying indepen- dence of objective control or causation.-^ ^ The schoolmen distixiguished three movements of will circa finem, — vel- leity, intention, fruition. Also three movements circa media, — consent or the approving the means, election or the choosing the fittest, and application or the using that elected. 2 Motives in their influence upon choice have been likened to weights in a balance. See Leibnitz in Letters between L. and Clarke, pp. 157 and 165 ; Bayle's Dictionaire, ad verb ; Edwards on Frcedum of the Will ; and Thum- mig, quoted by Hamilton in Held, pp. 610, 611, note. The illustration does not illustrate. It is misleading and false. The movement of a balance by a weight is a case of rigid causation. There is no alternative. The necessity is strict, absolute. Therefore, instead of likeness, there is extreme contrast, contrariety, in contradiction of the very essence of choice (if there be any such thing) which is liberty. It is " Hobson's choice." — Spectator, No. 509. Intelligence may fairly be likened to a balance, and reasons to the weights. Intellect deliberates (from de and librare. to weigh, from libra, a balance). It weighs the facts and the reasons with a view to choice or decision. But in using this metaphor we should be careful to observe that weights are causes or forces necessitating, whereas reasons are not at all causes or forces, and do not (except in case of rigid demonstration) necessitate the resulting judgment according to any fixed law. =' The outward action may be restrained or constrained. This, in legal phrase, is "positive duress." A man may be tied hand and foot, and so restrained from doing his will. See John 21 : 18. Or he may be overmas- tered, and so constrained to do what he would not. E.g. in taking prisoners during our war, a revolver well aimed was called jocosely "a persuader." But the subjective volition cannot be reached. There is a vulgar saying that "anybody can lead a horse to water, but all the world cannot make him drink." It contains a profound truth. The complete isolation of each will from every other is well wortliy of note. There is only one Being in the universe who can determine my will, and to do so would be destructive of His gift of liberty. ITS ELEMENTS. 315 Second : An equal plurality of impulses, counter-checking and restraining each other until a conclusion is reached, and the choice made. Over these conditions precedent, deliberative intelligence presides. It considers the alternatives, and gives judgment in favor of one rather than another, but does not necessarily determine the election. It is influenced, but not determined by the impulses. Its procedure is logical, ascertaining what is right, true, best, and therefore most desirable among the impelled actions. The choice made does not always corre- spond with the judgment rendered. That it do so is normal and natural, but not necessary or invariable. For example, shall I go or stay ? There may be many good reasons why I should stay, as my ease, my profit, my duty, and accordingly I judge it best to stay. But curiosity, perhaps, urges me to go, and so despite my judgment I choose to go. Familiar experience of this sort shows that the judgment and the choice are distinct, and that the one does not strictly deter- mine the other. Choice or election, let us repeat, is largely independent ; yet not entirely of judgment, which presumes to dictate it ; nor of an impelling desire, which conditions it; but, being variously conditioned, it is free, at liberty between the pos- sible alternatives. This is the essential notion of choice ; no choice, no freedom; no liberty, no choice. The question before us, in the subsequent chapter, is whether there be such a thing as choice or election. § 274. We have named intention as an element of volition. Observe the distinction between choice in abeyance, and choice made. In the former, I am vacillating under the in- fluence of opposed reasons and conflicting desires, and then choosing ; in the latter, the question concerning the alterna- tives is resolved, that is, I have resolved, my resolution is taken, I have determined what to do. This, the issue of choice, or completed choice, is intention. 316 VOLITION. Intention is static rather than dynamic. It is a state of mind lying between clioice and effort, between election and fruition. Its duration is indefinite. The effort and act often follow the choice without apparent interval, still we call them intentional. But often also, having resolved what to do when opportunity offers, my intention may continue for any length of time awaiting occasion. When this occurs, then, but not until then, the effort takes place, blindly it may be, that is, without further deliberation, and the thing is done. An act is intentional when it conforms to the election. ^ § 275. Effort is the remaining element of volition. It is characterized as a nisus or striving, and is the final and com- plete expression of the free personality or ego. It is conse- quent upon and subsequent to choice, effectuates intention, and is an ultimate fact of consciousness.^ As choice issues in intention, so intention issues in attention, whose effort is the immediate action. Voluntary effort strives to produce some definite change 1 We limit the term to the intention to do an act. Good usage speaks also of the intention with which it is done, i.e. the purpose of the agent. This generally is its legal sense. — See Austin's Jurisprudence, Lee. 19 sq. It is a common doctrine in Ethics that moral quality lies wholly in the intention. But are we not told : Thou shalt not covet ; and is it not wrong to deliberate between right and wi'ong ? The old nuuldle about the proper use of the words shall and icill has hardly been cleared up. It may prove helpful to point out that at bottom viU is active, shall passive. E.g. " I will go to-morrow," is an immediate expres- sion of my subjective activity in the choice or decision. Afterward my inten- tion, under which I am passive, is expressed by: "I shall go to-morrow." This principle solves many of the perplexities clearly. But see the tractate On Shall and Will, by Sir Francis Head. ■■^ In the consciousness of effort or strain, we have experience of cause producing effect. In no other case have we direct knowledge of the nexus of cause and effect. In the sphere of observation we liave only succession of phenonu'ua; but because of our experience of power in tlie effort causing change, we attribute to unconditional antecedents generally a producing power. See Mansel's Meta., p. 2.30 sq. ; and Calderwood's Moral Vliil., J). 184 sq. (viX. of 187l*) for di.scussion aud authorities ^r« and contra. ITS ELEMENTS. 317 of mental state only, or to superinduce muscular movement.^ Neither result may be attained, but in the effort the sub- jective voluntary action is complete, though the proposed consequents be imperfect or entirely null. 1 The immediate cause of the effort is not the precedent choice, nor the intention, but that impelling desire which hy choice has now become the motive (§§ 257, 272). It has already been pointed out that reasons are not causes or forces (§ 273, note). Desires, however, are causes or forces. But we must beware of mechanical notions, especially in view of the terms having a mechanical origin which are used to express this efficacy, as impulse, tension, etc. Con- flicting desires do not neutralize each other ; they do not disappear like oppo- site pressures ; they are merely a mutual restraint until a preference is allowed. When one thus becomes a motive causing the effort, it is not at all, as in mechanics, a composite resultant of the several forces, a sort of mental diagonal, but all others losing efficacy, the one, the motive of the effort and act, exerts its full energy. This is clearly manifest in persons having marked decision of character. 318 VOLITION. CHAPTER III. ITS FREEDOM. § 276. In respect of the exercise of volition there are two opposed doctrines, that of liberty and that of necessity, with modifications of each. Strict necessity is fatalism. This extreme doctrine philos- ophers of the necessitarian school generally reject. Some would prefer that their doctrine should be called determin- ism.i They do not wholly deny freedom, but they give it a special definition. They say the will is free when acting according to its nature, and that it is its nature to be deter- mined by desires. Every scheme of necessity or determinism represents desires as controlling the will, and voluntaiy acts as effects which follow from their mental causes as certainly and invariably as physical effects follow physical causes. The opposed libertarian doctrine presents a greater variety of modes. In general, however, it allows that desires influ- ence the will, but denies the determination. It exhibits the will as controlling the other faculties, including desires, which solicit and impel, but do not compel. Desires are merely occasions, not causes of volition. The outcome accords with the desire that prevails, but it prevails only by permission. Thus the doctrine represents the will as controlling desire, and not desire as determining the will. § 277. Am I free ? The question is very old ; it is the 1 Fatalism is a Mohammedan doctrine. On determinism, i.e. that will always is according to its antecedents, not that it must be, which is necessity, see Mill's Logic, bk. vi, ch. 2, and Ex. of Hamilton, ch. 20. ITS FREEDOM. 319 problem of the ages, says Hume.^ Its solution has engaged the attention of the best thinkers the world has known, and upon it a vast literature has accumulated. Yet it is a prob- lem unsolved, and seemingly hopeless. An apology, then, is needed for even the humblest attempt to throw light upon it. The apology is in its importance. Who, or rather what am I,. if not free ? I am not a person, but merely a thing. If not free, I originate nothing ; I am not the beginning, nor indeed the end of anything, but a mere channel. In that case, too, I am active only in the sense that a rolling stone or a climbing vine is active ; strictly speaking, I am wholly passive, tossed about as the winds may blow. I am not a creator, but a creature of circumstances. My conceptions are impressed upon me, my knowledge is not acquired but given, my emotions are tides, my impulses mere transmissions. Kant names the doctrine of freedom as one of the three great ends of philosophy. Does it not,, in an important sense, lie at the beginning of all philosophy ? For unless I be free, there is no pliilosophy. A power to discriminate the true and false is not enough ; there must also be ability to choose and use the true rather than the false. Unless there be this power of intelligent choice, there can be no search after truth ; for search implies freedom. Anything, then, beyond barren rudiments of knowledge is impossible, and all science, all philosophy is an idle dream. ^ Moreover, freedom is the postulate of ethics. Unless I be free, there is for me no right and wrong, no duty, no obliga- tion, no responsibility, no morality or virtue, no sin or crime, 1 " The most contentious question of metaphysics, the most contentious science:'' — Human Understanding, § 8. From the day of Pelagius the controversy has never ceased. 2 " The freedom of the will is so far from being, as it is generally consid- ered, a controvertible question of philosophy, that it is the fundamental postulate without which all action and all speculation, philosophy in all its branches, and human consciousness itself, would be impossible." — Mansel, Meta., p. 320. 820 VOLITION. no good or ill desert ; conscience is a chimera, religion a delusion, and Deity a myth.^ A question whose answer involves the answers to so many momentous questions, touching all that is noble and most cherished in ourselves and in our relations to others, is one that cannot be dismissed. It obtrudes on every thoughtful mind ; it will not down. If we would establish our claim to the dignity of personality, it must be answered. If we would have a through-going philosophy, it must be answered. If we would have a theory of morals to guide our conduct, it must be answered. One may be pardoned, then, for asking, " Am I free ? " and venturing to think about it. Let us think closely, moving slowly and carefully where so many have lost the way, assured that a single step in the right direction will be of value, and well worth our pains. § 278. An objection to our procedure might, perhaps, be raised at the outset. Has it not just been said that all search after truth implies freedom? If so, then your proposed search concerning freedom must presuppose it, and the at- tempt begs the question. The answer is easy. The logical presumption, as we shall immediately show, is decidedly in favor of liberty. The question is philosophical, tlie doubt is formal and speculative, not at all actual and practical, and occurs only in construct- ing a philosophical system. When the question arises, the libertarian, having the presumption, is not chargeable with petition in assuming the I'cality of libert}^ and proceeding upon this, as the condition of all investigation, to examine its logical grounds. The objection may, however, be retorted fairly upon the 1 "The only lihorty that T care a straw for," says Mr Huxley, "is the liberty or freedom to do rigiil. As for the freedom to do wroiij;, anybody is welcome to deprive me of that as completely as possible." This surely was meant for a serious jest, t'oi' it is a self-contradiction, a Imll. In order that ciuiduct ho morally ri.^ht, wrnni;- must be possible. ITS FREEDOM. 321 advocate of necessity. If the search after truth imply lib- erty, then you that deny liberty can support your denial only by virtue of the reality of this prior condition. You tacitly claim to be free in the attempt to disprove freedom. In denying it, you assume it. Your proffered argument, then, is an essential self-contradiction, absurd in the very under- taking, ah initio null, whatever be its content. § 279. It is a significant fact, admitted by all parties, that every man practically believes in the freedom of his own will, and consequently in that of all other men. The conviction is deep-seated, immovable, and universal, and is the under- lying basis of all human conduct, individual, social, and political. This gives a clear logical presumption in favor of the reality of libert}', and justifies speculation concerning it. The necessitarian pronounces the common conviction of men in this matter a delusion. The burden of proof, then, lies in the first instance on the advocate of necessity, and until his argument is fairly elaborated, there is no occasion for counter proof. Then the libertarian, having a presump- tion so strong and well founded, may be content with a dis- proving reply as sufficient to settle the question in favor of liberty. This logical situation is so far recognized by the necessita- rian, that at least he accepts the omis probamU, and as the attacking party, produces in the first instance the reasons for his doctrine. § 280. Let us, then, at once attend to the argument for necessitated or determined will, in opposition to its freedom, stated as simply, directly, clearly, and cogently as possible : — (1) Every change is caused; A volition is a change ; .•. A volition is caused. But like causes have like effects. Hence, whatever is caused is determined in kind and degree, or necessitated to be what 322 VOLITION. it is, by its cause. Taking this immediate inference as i major premise we have : — (2) Whatever is caused is necessitated; A volition is caused ; .*. A volition is necessitated. The first major premise : Every change (or event) is caused, is an intuitive necessary truth, known as the axiom of change. The second major is a direct inference from the intuitive necessary truth : Like causes have like effects, known as the axiom of uniformity in nature.^ The minor premise in (2) is the conclusion of (1). There remains the minor in (1) : A volition is a change. Who will question it? So then this process, being a simple and strictly logical deduction, mainly from the two axioms or law of cau- sation, claims to be a close demonstration that a volition is necessitated, or that no act of will is free. § 281. To the foregoing argument the advocates of liberty have made various rei^lies. Some blindly cut the knot, saying : Nevertheless, in spite of law and logic, I am free, for I am conscious of liberty .^ 1 Many necessitarians, especially the empiricists (§§ 125-6), do not admit any truth to be intuitively necessary ; nevertheless they hold the axioms here named to be irrefragable. 2 "Liberty is the consciousness of the ability to decide differently, to act differently. The human will in the consciousness of itself is exalted to the consciousness of liberty. We impute to ourselves in our consciousness liberty of willing. The impulses which operate on our wills present themselves to our consciousness not as coercive causes, but are rendered motives by the soul itself. Thus our willing and acting are to our consciousness free." — Ulkici. " Every man is conscious of a power to determine in things which he con- ceives to depend upon his determination." — 1\eii>. " The free agency of man cannot be speculatively proved, neither can it be speculatively disproved ; but wc may claim for it as a fact of actual reality, though of inconceivable possibility, the testimony of consciousness." " Man is conscious of his liberty to act." — Hamilton. "I desire to thrust out my arm in open space, and my desire is carried into effect. Here is the positive consciousness of freedom. I try to thrust it ITS FREEDOM. 323 If this were shown to be true, there is or ought to be un end of dispute. If freedom be a fact of consciousness, then it neither needs nor is capable of proof or disproof; but as original and certain, given in our very nature, it cannot be denied (§ 69). Those who take this high ground, however, are usually not content to rest there, but descend from it and enter with zeal into the controversy, thereby betraying a lack of confidence in their claim. And indeed the claim cannot be admitted, the statement is not true. I am conscious of a deep and ineradicable con- viction that I am free, but consciousness of a belief is easily and should be clearly distinguished from a consciousness of the object, of the liberty. The notion of liberty is a pure essential negative, the absence of constraint.^ Now I cannot be conscious of the absence of a thing, but only unconscious of its presence (§ 62). This unconsciousness of constraint proves nothing. Moreover, it is conceivable that constraint may unconsciously exist, I being determined by causes, as the necessitarian affirms, while under a delusion that I am free. But the conceivable possibility of delusion shows that this is not a fact of consciousness (§ 69). Let us scrutinize the point yet more closely. I represent through a wall and am resisted. Here is the positive consciousness of coer- cion. The idea of freedom is as positive as tliat of restraint, both being, at different times, presented in actual consciousness." — Mansel. "The almost overwhelming proof [of necessity] seems, however, more than balanced by a single argument on the other side — the immediate affirma- tion of consciousness in the moment of deliberate volition. It is impossible for me to think at such a moment that my volition is completely determined by my formed character, and the motives acting upon it. The opjiosite conviction is so strong as to be absolutely unshaken by the evidence brought against it. . . . Let us scrutinize this consciousness of freedom." — SlDGWICK. 1 "The conception of liberty is properly negative, as the substance of the conception is nothing more than the denial of causal necessity. We think simply the absence of all that hinders and limits." — Schopenhauer. So also Kant in Bechtslehre, p. 28 (ed. S. und R.), and Flchte in Kritik aller Off(')ihari(7ig, § 2, describe freedom as merely an absence of the feeling of compulsion. See § 251. 324 VOLITION. to myself two contrary courses, seemingly possible alterna- tives. I think and believe I can elect either. I am conscious of this judgment and conviction, but not of the ability, the power itself. Can is potential; the supposed election, if ever made, is future, is not yet existent, and so is not a fact of consciousness (§ 60). Having decided which to take, I am not conscious that I could have chosen the other, for the act is past; is no longer existent (§ 61).^ While actually and now deciding for this course rather than that, evidently I am. not conscious I might be choosing otherwise, since it, too, is non-existent.2 Therefore, "the power of contrary choice " (a famous phrase, which taken strictly is in itself absurd) is not, on any interpretation, a fact of consciousness. § 282. Other libertarians cut the knot openly. Allowing the law of causation to be positive dictum of intelligence, they find themselves compelled, in order to escape the conse- quences of this doctrine, to deny that the law, though uni- versal in form, should be allowed as universal in fact. Admitting its application to other mental modes, they would exempt volition. They hold volition to be a cause that is not an effect, an uncaused cause, a free cause, an absolute beginning, a power of absolute origination. This they grant is wholly inconceivable ; that by a necessity of thought every so-called origination is only an apparent, not a real, com- mencement; that we cannot conceive an absolute beginning; that we cannot, therefore, conceive a free volition. Never- theless, volition is free.^ 1 " In the idea that instead of the prevailinc; impulse another might liave determined the will lies the consciousness of lilKTty." — Windt. 2 " Telle est la nature de ma voluntfi qu'en faisant une chose elle a la conscience de pouvior faire le contraire." — Cousin. 8 " Will is that kind of causality attributed to living agents, in so far as they are possessed of reason ; and freedom is such a property of that causal- ity as enables them to originate events independently of foreign causes deter- mining it We can tliink of but two kinds of causality with respect to that which happens, — causality according to nature, and causality derived ITS FREEDOM. 325 Upon what ground they thus subordinate the law of causa- tion to the doctrine of liberty does not appear. To derogate, in the interest of the latter, from the strict universality of the former, seems quite arbitrary, a rather violent exercise of freedom. But to exempt the phenomena of volition from causality cannot be valid, for this represents mind itself as a complement of contradictions. Moreover, the law, as neces- sary axiomatic truth, is essentially and strictly universal, and to affirm an exception to an axiom is to affirm, not what is merely incomprehensible, but what is self-contradictory and absurd.^ § 283. Another proposed escape from the grip of the logic of necessity admits that mental states are caused, but insists that the law is modified in its application to mental phe- nomena, more particularly to volition. We are told that while causation operates both in the sphere of matter and of mind with certainty and unvarying uniformity, yet in its mode of exercise in the two spheres there is a wide difference. In this difference is discovered a modification of the law, and such a modification as provides for freedom.^ from liberty. By liberty I understand the ability to originate of our- selves. . . . Reason gives the idea of a spontaneity which can of itself begin to act, without needing the precedence of any other cause to determine it to action in accordance with the law of causal connection. On this transcen- dental idea of liberty is grounded the practical notion of it, and the transcen- dental creates in the practical that precise element of difficulty which has always surrounded the question whether liberty is possible." — Kaxt. 1 " A free will would then be one which is not determined by grounds, is consequently determined by nothing whatever, and whose individual acts originate in itself absolutely and in a completely original way. But all clear thinking is quenched by this conception, the conception of the liherum arbitrium indifferentice, and yet this is the only clearly defined, fixed, and decided conception of what is styled liberty of will. To maintain that to a particular man, in a particular set of circumstances, two conflicting modes of acting are possible is perfectly absurd." — Schopenhauer. 2 " It has been tacitly assumed that if the will is free, in the sense of being superior to motives, it must be so by superiority to the law of causality also, although such a view really violates the nature of the problem, and that to 326 VOLITION. I would be glad to see a statement of the law in its modi- fied form. I must confess I do not understand what may be meant by a modified axiom. One may be variously expressed, but in substance it is- adamant, or else not an axiom. Nor do I understand any better what may be meant by a modified application of an axiom. Wherein it applies, it must apply in like manner to all. Within its sphere, it is not only unal- terable but universal, else it is not intuitive truth. It is freely granted that mental phenomena are Avidely different from physical phenomena ; but do they not undergo change ? Is not a volition a change, an event, something that happens or occurs or takes place? If so, then volition is caused. There seems no escape from this conclusion. No juggling with words, or twisting of the axiom will avail beyond mak- ing a temporar}^ cuttle-fish darkness. But it is the law of uniformity especially that is thought to be inapplicable strictly to mind. It is alleged that the exercise of volition is very variable, sometimes amounting to mere caprice ; that while volition is truly caused, it is not true of it that like causes always produce like effects ; that under the influence of different circumstances like causes produce in volition various effects. To this we reply that any circumstance which has any influence whatever is a part the extent of making it irrational. For whatever be the nature of the prob- lem, it certainly does not stand thus : Is volition an uncaused event '• Are there facts in consciousness which cannot be attributed to any cause ? " " The theory [of necessity] must be tested by an examination of the facts of consciousness, with the view of ascertaining the laws of exercise applying to mental causes or forces. And when we thus pass from the physical to the mental, we at once recognize a complete difference in the laws of exercise governing the forces of the two spheres. There is much which is common to both. Effects ' certainly and invariably ' follow their causes in both spheres. In both, causes are as invariable in their nature, and as certain in their results. But there is an essential difference between the mental and the physical. There is in the mental world an adjustment of forces, which is not found in the material world, except wlicn man interposes to make the adjustment. . . . There are facts which go to show that causality in mind is not exactly analogous with causality in matter." — Caldekwoou. ITS FREEDOM. 327 of the cause, and the varying effect is due to variety in the cause. If like causes do not always produce like effects, then we must give up our axiom. Shall we do so ? Is it not far more rational to conclude that the lack of uniformity in volition is only apparent, and that a thorough investiga- tion of the causes affecting it would bring to liglit a perfect uniformity of exercise? Why or how volition should be exempt from the law in all its rigidity and universality is hard to see. In external nature there is a similar apparent lack of uniformity in complex cases, but the physicist proceeds with unwavering faith, or rather with clear certainty, upon the principle of uniformity, to evolve simplicity out of com- plexity, and to reduce multiplicity and variety to scientific unity. Unless the same process be applicable to human nature, if to be free is to be lawless, a science of mind would seem impossible. § 284. There remain two extreme views to be noticed. The first would escape the argument for necessity by deny- ing that the law of causation is applicable at all to mental phenomena. It is said that causation belongs to the material universe, spontaneity to the spiritual universe. Spontaneity is described, not as obscure causation, but as an acting from internal rather than from external force, as a property which accounts for changes arising under influence perhaps, but not caused. It is contrasted Avith uniform play of fixed law in the physical world. Causation is the law of connection be- tween phj^sical facts ; spontaneity is the ground of connection between mental facts. These two sets of facts are as distinct in their dependencies as in the fields in which they occur, and the law governing the one is not to be transferred to the other.i i"All pure intellectual action is spontaneous, beyond causation, and ready to be played upon by the will. The feelings, intellectual and spiritual, are also spontaneous, that is, referable to powers of mind and not to phys- ical forces. . . . The actions of the mind, though free, first through its spontaneous powers, and second through its choices, none the less stand in 328 VOLITION. With reference to this denial that causation applies to the mental sphere, let us ask: Is not the rap of a gavel the cause of attention ? Is not light the cause of vision ? And on the other hand : Is not grief the cause of tears ? Is not anger the cause of strife ? It would seem here beyond ques- tion that a physical force causes a mental state ; and on the other hand, that a mental state causes physical change. Causation, then, connects the two spheres, and if in the one case a mental state is an effect, and in the other a cause, how can it be said that causation does not apply to mind ? Can it be true that causation enters in upon mind, and departs from mind, and yet does not apply within mind ? Does not the thought of St. George cause me to think of the dragon ? Is not pleasure a cause of love ; pain a cause of aversion ? If these be not causal relations, I know not what to call them, or what law regulates them ; for the law of spontaneity, as distinguished from causation, has not, so far as I know, been formulated. It is freely granted that mental forces and physical forces are very widely different species, but they seem to be of the same genus ; they are all forces, for to their action are attributed changes, and that is the meaning of force.i That a mental impulse causes mental change is determinate constitutional relations, and remain to be operated under i,lieir appropriate laws. . . . There is order that is not causal order, to wit, thought order, emotional order. . . . "Will is germinant, the only germinant thing in the universe ; all else is flow. Liberty is spontaneity exercised in choice. Spontaneity is self-centered power as opposed to transmitted power. On spontaneity rests the potential — what can be as opposed to what uuist be." — Bascom. "The human will, as the power of self-manifestation, self-assertion, and self-determination, is simply the highest grade of that spontaneity which pertains to every living being." — Ulrici. "Personality, the metaphysical ego, possesses a spontaneous originating force, and accepts or declines the motions suggested by desire or impulse, substituting for them its own autocratic veto or t'o?o." — West. Bev., -Tuly, 1882, p. 64. 1 " La force proprement dite, c'est ce qui rfigit les actes, sans rfigler les voluntes." — Comte. ITS FREEDOM. 329 hardly less true than that a physical impulse causes physical cliange. It should be observed in general, and very suitably in this connection, that in perception an objective fact is known only by virtue of a subjective phenomenon. The change within us is attributed to a cause without us precisely for the reason that we know the change must have had a cause, and we know of none within producing it. When successive subjective phenomena, as for example the effects on me of lightning and thunder, seem to have no subjective causal connection, we posit an objective causal connection between the objective facts. When successive subjective phenomena seem related as cause and effect, we do not seek an external explanation, and do not call the act perception. Hence mental phenomena are the primordial, fundamental phe- nomena, and perhaps in strictness the only plienomena. Subjective changes alone are known immediately ; all others are inferred from these. It follows that the law of causation applies originally and primarily to mind, and if there be any transference of it, this does not take place from the physical to the mental sphere, but rather from the mental to the physi- cal, and it is a law of mind that is applied in explaining the facts of the external world. § 285. At an opposite extreme from the foregoing is the view of those who grant the causal relation throughout all mental activities, and seek to save liberty and responsibility by the definition that he is free who is not hindered or pre- vented from acting according to his nature.^ This is called free agency as distinguished from free will. In a free 1 u • By freedom or liberty in an agent is meant being free from hindrance or impediment in the way of doing or conducting, in any respect, as he ^ills."_ Edwards. Tliis definition is used also by some of the most rigid necessitarians ; e.g. "By liberty we can only mean a power of acting, or not acting, according to the determination of the will." — Hume. "Liberty is the absence of all the impediments to action that are not contained in the nature and intrinsical quality of the agent." — Hobbes. 330 VOLITION. agent, desires are motives which cause or excite volition. An object awakens a desire which, as a motive, arouses voli- tion, and an action is the result. When desires conflict, the strongest prevails. Self-determination is a conception which is self-contradictory. Liberty and necessity are not opposed to each other, but may coexist. We have here a definition of liberty different from that under which we have been working. It is, indeed, justified by usage. We say that the emancipated slave is free, that an unbridled horse is at liberty, that a plant grows freely in its native wilds, and that a machine is free to move when the stay is withdrawn. That I am, ordinarily, in this sense, free, no one can deny. It is, however, a freedom not from antece- dent determinants, but from subsequent impediments ; not a subjective, but an objective liberty ; a liberty not found in the internal exercise of the will, but in its external exercise, in the carrying-out its intent ; a merely functional liberty which it has in common with the automaton. Such liberty is entirely consistent with causal necessity.^ But the liberty which is essential to j)ersonality and responsibility is quite another thing. It is not the absence of restraint, but the absence of constraint ; not the absence of subsequent hindrance or prevention, but the absence of antecedent compulsion or coercion. Those who advocate the scheme of free agency allow causal constraint or compulsion, and are content with functional liberty. They invert or per- vert the definition of liberty as applied to the human will ; for a free-will, as distinguished from the bond-will of the necessitarian, is not a will free to act according to its nature, 1 Objective freedom is the absence of objective preventing cause. Subjec- tive freedom is the absence of subjective constraining cause. Tlie compromising sclieme of free agency fails to save the responsibility of the agent. Liberty to do what I intend, or hindrance, may indeed involve the re.sponsibility of another who lets, provided he be thoroughly free ; but it cannot involve mine, since my act, as to its moral quality, i.s complete subjectively in my intention. If this be necessitated, I am not responsible, the act has no moral quality. ITS FREEDOM. 331 that is, free from impediments in accomplishing its intent, but a will whose nature it is to act freely, that is, free from determinants in forming its intent. The question in dispute is whether, in this sense, I am free. Functional freedom is granted, of course, as prerequisite ; but am I free from causal constraint or determination ? ^ The scheme of free agency is manifestly the scheme of necessity in disguise. It accepts the necessitarian logic as conclusive, but by means of a modified definition it appropri- ates the libertarian terminology. This merely verbal inver- sion avails nothing. It leaves the causal ai'gument for neces- sity unscathed, untouched.^ 1 The following definition of liberty, by the prince of modern necessita- rians, is unexceptionable : " That being alone can be called free which exists solely from the necessity of its nature, and is determined by itself alone to action." — Spixoza. The term "necessity" here means merely functional necessity, which is properly only a limitation, not a constraint or coercion. That is to say, every being in its normal action is limited to the performance of its natural functions. Necessity in this sense is not inconsistent with causal liberty, as shown in the following: "Absolute liberty consists with absolute necessity. In God we can think of no act which does not proceed from the internal necessity of His nature. Such an act also is the original one of man's self -consciousness ; it is absolutely free, for it is determined by nothing external to the ego ; it is absolutely necessary, for it proceeds from the internal necessity of the nature of this ego. . . . That only is free which acts in accordance with the laws of its own essential nature, and is deter- mined by nothing else, either within itself or exterior to itself. Hence the individual act is the result of the free essential nature, and thus results of necessity." — Schelling. Let us add that functional necessity and func- tional liberty are the positive and negative views of one and the same limitation. It is causal necessity, or the presence of causal constraint, which is denied by the advocates of free-will. It is inconsistent with and in strict opposition to causal liberty, or the absence of causal constraint. Its definition is fairly stated in the following : ' ' That being is necessitated or coerced which is determined by another as to a definite mode of its existence and action." — Spinoza. Much confusion in the controversy has arisen from a neglect of the dis- tinction between the functional and the causal. 2 Relative to this famous scheme of Jonathan Edwards, we would refer to the counter treatise of Roland G. Hazard, of Rhode Island, and especially to that of Albert T. Bledsoe, formerly of the University of Virginia. 332 VOLITION. § 286. The Alps cannot be overturned. Tlie axioms of change and uniformity are steadfast and eternal. The ar- gument for necessity is impregnable at these points, and so far is demonstrative. Yet it seems that libertarians have constantly tried either to set aside or to undermine these intuitive truths.^ For our part, we shall not break a lance against their iron front. Let us seek elsewhere a point of attack. On looking at the first minor premise in the necessi- tarian argument as stated in § 280, we observe that it is not an axiom. It reads : A volition is a change. Clearly this is not an intuitive truth, though it seems obviously, palpably true, and is usually at once admitted as quite unquestion- able. But perhaps here is a joint in the harness. Let us examine it; for if the argument be vulnerable, it is vulner- able only here. A volition or complete act of will consists, by general con- sent, of at least two clearly distinct elements, choice and effort. As these are not mutually conditioned, but each is operative alone, it is evident that they should be used in tlie argument, not conjointly, but separately. If we ask, then, respecting effort, considered not as a force, but as a conscious act, a phenomenon : Is it a change ? the answer that it is consciously a change or event seems the only one that can be given. It follows that it is caused, and so necessitated, or not fi-ee. Hence liberty is not to be found in this component of volition. Let us settle at once the causal relations involved. The effort is obviously the cause directly of voluntary attention, and more remotely of muscular motion ; but the cause of the effort is not quite so clear. Setting aside certain physical strivings, which, though mere reflex physical acts, are often ^ The empiricists are commonly necessitarians ; the Intuitionists, liberta- rians. The former could consistently be libertarians by denying the univer- sality of the axioms and claiming freedom to be an exceptional experience. But how can the intuitionist consistently avoid being a necessitarian, holding, as he does, to the strict universality of intuitive truth ? ITS FREEDOM. 333 spoken of as involuntary efforts, and limiting ourselves to effort as implying mental determination, we observe that it is caused directly, immediately by the prevailing desire or motive (§ 257). This becomes apparent when we consider that the appetites often operate instinctively and blindly, that is, without hesitation, consideration, or deliberation, im- pelling towards gratification, causing an effort to appropriate their satisfying objects. Such acts are unintelligent. Let us particularly remark the absence of any intelligent choice, the guide being natural instinct or ingrained habit. Again, we observe that higher desires conditioned on intelligence, such as anger or curiosity, sometimes act as instinctive impulses, directly causing a strenuous effort to attain their objects, without any pause of deliberation, without any note of an alternative, ^^ithout any exercise of choice. There are many cases, then, which agree only in the presence of ante- cedent desire and subsequent effort. On the other hand, we observe that whenever there is strictly no desire, there is no effort. Hence, by the double method of agreement and dif- ference, we may inductively infer that desire is the cause, and the only cause, of effort.^ Desires whose gratifications are inconsistent restrain each other until preference is given (§ 275, note). And when alternative means to a desired end are contemplated, the effort is thereby suspended until choice of the means is made. But when the desire is not hindered, its direct effect is voluntary effort. § 287. We will now attend to the other element of voli- tion, choice. Making this the minor term of the first syllo- gism in § 280, we have : Choice is a change, or event ; and must conclude : Choice is necessitated. But let us consider for a moment the character of the notion choice, that is, the election of one of two available alternatives (§ 273). Its very essence is freedom. A free choice is a pleonastic phrase ; a constrained choice is a 1 For the method, see Mill's Logic, bk. ill, ch. 8, § 4. 334 VOLITION. contradiction in terms. No liberty, no choice ; no choice, no liberty. The question is not whether I am free in choos- ing, which is a confusion of words, but whetlier there be really such a thing as choice. It is conceded that if there be liberty, it is to be found only in this residue, for all other mental states are caused. But is there a residue? Is not what we call choice only a delusive notion? Is choice real? To grant that it is, is to grant liberty. To deny liberty, is to deny choice. Now the argument against liberty should not grant in a premise what it proposes to disprove ; it should not say that choice is a change, thereby admitting that there is such a thing as choice and liberty. It should premise hypothetically, thus : If there be choice, it is a change ; and conclude thus : If there be choice, it is necessitated ; and then add : But this consequent is absurd ; choice cannot be necessitated, and therefore choice is not, there is no such thing. This logical form is unexceptionable, but the truth of the conclusion depends upon the truth of the j^remise : If there be choice, it is a change. This premise we nov/' deny, say- ing : Though there be choice, it is not a change. If we can establish this denial, the stubborn argument for necessity becomes worthless because of a false premise, and its boasted conclusion falls away unproved. Moreover, a proof that a choice is not a change will place choice wholly outside the category of causation, entirely beyond the reach of any causal argument whatever. Unless this be done, there is no escape from the logic of necessity. § 288. To avoid confusion we must distinguish the act from the fact, the doing from what is done. The distinction is nice, but real. In what is called choosing, a mental mode appears in, and then disappears from, consciousness ; it is a psychical phenomenon. As a mental act, then, a choice is a change, is an event, and therefore is caused, is necessitated. That is to say, I am caused to choose. In all cases wherein ITS FBEEDOM. 335 a supposed alternative is presented, that fact necessitates that there be a choice, though not at all what the choice shall be, not at all which alternative shall be elected. Not always between two positive contrary alternatives am I necessitated to choose ; I may reject both ; but between every positive and its contradictory negative lies an alternative must. I must go or stay, I must accept or decline, I must turn aside or not, I must act or not act ; there is no middle between A and non-A. So the mere presence of recognized alternatives determines that I must choose. Even " not to decide is to decide," as Bacon says; that is, I practically choose to let things take their own course .^ But between this constrained act of choosing and the sub- sequent effort to realize it, lies the choice as made, the intention. Evidently the choosing as an act is to be dis- tinguished from the choice as a fact. That I decide is an act ; that my decision is to do this rather than that is merely a fact. I must decide, must elect, but whether my election shall fall on this or that is quite another thing. The mak- ing an election is a movement forward under causal in- fluence ; the election itself is not a movement forward, but merely the determination in which one of two lines the movement shall be made. This is the very essence of choice, and the question now before us is whether the determination in choice be self-determination, or rather, an uncaused fact, or whether it be caused and so necessitated. § 289. Now can we say of a choice that it is a change ? Change from what to what ? Two roads lie before me. On 1 It is said that the Owenites make use of the following argument : — Whoever necessarily goes or stays is not a free agent ; But every one necessarily either goes or stays ; Therefore, no one is free. Whately would call this Fallacia compositionis, the term, " goes or stays," being used first divisively and then collectively. Obviously, to say that one must go, or that he must stay, is very different from saying that he must do one of the two ; hence, ambiguous middle. 33G VOLITION. reaching the fork, shall I take the right or the left ? I take the left. The taking the left is an event ; the solution of the question is an event; but the mere preference of the left instead of the right is not an event, is not in itself a change from something prior, which is not this, to this. I have not at all altered my course. In the line of progress every step is an event ; but when there are alternative paths, my prefer- ence for one while believing that I could take the other is not, in itself alone considered, an event. The change from indecision to decision is caused by the presence of alterna- tives between which I must choose ; but the decision in favor of A rather than B is not a change fi-om B to A, nor from non-A to A, for by the very terms themselves the state imme- diately prior was one of indecision. Comparing the states of mind before and after, evidently there is a change ; but com- I)aring the choice exclusively with its conceivable alternative, evidently there is no change. Choice cannot be defined, since the notion is sui generis., simple and ultimate. We cannot analyze its content, and thereby show that it bears no mark of change. We can only dwell attentively upon the notion as formed from certain conscious activities, and ask ourselves whether it be in har- mony with, or in opposition to, the notion of change. A change implies an event, and an event may be fairly defined as what was not and has begun to be. Noav su2)pose that some opportunity for action occurs. Shall I act or not act? I elect inaction. In this election there is no change, nothinor €omes into being. Should I elect action, still in this election there is no change from that to this, no alteration, but only a decision in favor of this rather than that. We repeat that the passing from indecision to decision is a change ; but that the decision for this rather than for that is not a chancre. The latter is a choice, and therefore a choice is not a change. § 290. If upon this showing it be granted that choice is not a change, we may proceed one ste]) beyond. Let us ITS FREEDOM. 337 invert the axiom : Every change is caused, or is an effect, to: Every effect is a change. This is not admissible as a formal logical conversion, but the latter proposition is nevertheless true ; for it is an analytical judgment a priori., the predicate merely unfolding what is contained in the subject. An effect, to be an effect, implies a change, else nothing would be effected. Taking this as a major, we have the following simple reasoning : — Every effect is a change ; Choice is not a change ; .-. Choice is not an effect ; or, is not caused. By this, choice is taken entirely out of the category of causation, and, like space, time, unity, identity, infinity, etc., it stands apart, alone, peculiar, a summum genus, wholly dis- tinct in kind from all things else, and must therefore be investigated, not comparatively, but as an independent and original fact. By the discovery of a false premise in the necessitarian argument, it is completely invalidated, and so, for aught that appears, choice and liberty may be real. By the discovery that the fact called choice does not lie in the category of causation, we are enabled to reach a further conclusion. Choice being uncaused, it is eo ipso unconstrained. Freedom is the absence of causal constraint. Hence choice is free. In other words, we have found an unconstrained, uncaused fact in the election of one of two available alternatives. We have found freedom in the fact called choice. Therefore choice is real, and human liberty is real, and I am free. § 291. To the foregoing discussion we add a very brief consideration of two important points. It has already been indicated that freedom is a postulate of ethics (§ 277). It is co7iditio sine gua non (not causa essendi) of responsibility. Without subjective freedom in action, there can be no re- sponsibility for action. On the other hand, responsibility is 338 VOLITION. the logical condition (^causa cognoscendi) of freedom. If one be responsible for his conduct, we know he must be free in determining his conduct. There must be liberty of choice between available alternatives, otherwise the moral law would be a tyrannical imperative, an expression of injustice by demanding the impossible. Whoever admits moral qual- ity in action, must admit freedom in determining the action, and for those who hold to intuition of moral law the argu- ment is a demonstration, though indirect, and not an expla- nation of freedom. Any proof that there is right and wrong in human conduct is also a proof of human liberty. § 292. It might fairly be asked whether choice, in its freedom from causal constraint, be independent of antece- dents. Not at all. A desire for each available alternative is prerequisite. A motiveless choice would be only casual- ism, and the free act of an indifferent would be, morally and rationally, as worthless as a preordained activity, or rather as a passion of a determined will. But the desire is merely conditio sine qua non (not causa essendi^ of the choice. Moreover, election occurs only in view of reasons. Mere caprice — that is, choice and action without regard of any reason — is unknown to the human mind. In instinctive action there is no exercise of choice, but in intelligent ac 'ion there is choice, and deliberating intelligence furnishes the ground of the choice (§§ 269, 273). Influenced greatly by desire, the reason for the choice may be a very poor reason, a very weak reason, a very stupid or even absurd reason, yet it stands as the reason why I choose this rather than that. The reason does not determine the election in a causal sense, but merely furnishes ground or occasion for the determina- tion and action. Thus it is that choice has necessary though not determining antecedents. INDEX. The number refers to the page. For general topics, see Table of Contents. Absolute identity, doctrine of, 141. Abstraction vs. attention, 83. — the process of, described, 218. Action at a distance, 117. Affection or love, definition of, 300. Altruism vs. egoism, 30(i. Ambition, an appetence, 300. Anatomy of the brain, 31, 32 n. _Apperception, modern use of, 79 n. — definition of, 85 n. Appetence, the word how used, 298, 295 n. Appetite, its meaning, 296. A priori and a posteriori, 48 u. Aquinas, Thomas, on here and now, 88 n. — definition of truth, 232 n. Area of consciousness, 64. Argument for necessity, 321. — for liberty, 332, 337. Aristotle, on the sense of touch, 19 n. — on a priori and a posteriori, 48 n. — on principles, 48 n. — on definition of mind, 51 n. — on subject and object, 53 n. — on habit, 55 n. — quoted under consciousness, 57 n. — ■ on similarity, 61 n. — on certainty, 112. — tabula rasa, 118. — on substance, 133 n. — on seat of the soul, 148 n. — on preference, 186 n. — on recollection, 195 n. — on Platonic ideals, 214 n. — on common notions, 227 n. — • on definition of truth, 232 n. — on the feeling of belief, 247 n., 248 n. Aristotle, on pleasure and pain, 250. — on expression of feeling, 254 n. — on sympathy, 275 n. — on the ludicrous, 281 n. — on condition of desire, 290 n. — oh end of philosophy, 292 n. — on definition of happiness, 307. Arnold, on sweetness and light, 240 n. Association, law of, 179. Attention, definition of, 79. — etymology of, 79 n. — as a faculty, 80 n. — expectant, 82. — plural, 83. Augustine, on recollection, 195. — on utility, 282. Automatic muscular action, 28. Bacon, on classification of error, 237 n. — on value of truth, 238. — on humility, 287 n. Bain, on mental and bodily states, 44 n. — on law of relativity, 60 n. — on materialism, 140 n. — on concomitance, 143 n. — on monism, 144 n. — on retention, 190. — on brain action, 204 n. — on pleasure and pain, 250 n., 251 n. — on the caress, 261 n. — on sweetness, 262 n. — on expression of joy, 273 n. — on the tender affection, 274 n. — on the ludicrous, 281 n. Baldwin, on apperception, 85 n. — on the idea of space, 101 n. Bascom, on spontaneity of volition, 327 n. 339 340 INDEX. Beauty, a sensuous sentiment, 277. — detiuitious of, 279. Belief, the doctrine of, 247. — opposite of doubt, 248, 283 n. Bell, Sir Charles, on nerves, 27 n. — on expression of the ludicrous, 282 n. Berkeley, his idealism, i;i4. — on vision of distance, 172 n. — on symbolic thought, 230 n. Bernstein, on objects of perception, 15 n. Binaural audition, experiment on, 9. Binocular vision, experiment on, 12. Blackie, Four Phases, 7 n. Boschovich, on substance, 133 n. Bowne, on materialism, 137. Brain, the object of perception, 15. — anatomy of, 31, 32 n. Brown-Scquard, on pain, 200. Buliier, on primary truth, 112 n. Calderwood, on idealism, 130 n. — on will and causation, 325 n. Capacity, a power to be changed, 55. Cardaillac, on area of consciousness, 05 n. Carpenter, on muscular sense, 22 n. — on a case of reflex action, 28 n. — on unconscious cerebration, 34 n. — on attention, 82 n. — on correlation of nerve and mind force, 141 n. Cause and effect, their nexus, 31G n. Cerebral nerves, 27. — hemispheres, the cortex, 32. Cerebration, unconscious, .33. Cerebro-spinal system, 2(). Certainty as a criterion of truth, 70, 234 n. — the feeling of, 247. Change, a condition of consciousness, (iO. Characteristics of pure intuitions, 110. Choice, its essential character, 333. — its conditioning antecedents, 314, 338. — not a change, 335. Cicero, on the meaning of faculty, 55 n. — (Ill the beau ifleal, 214 n. — III! the ludicrous, 281 n. Cicero, on appetite, its wide sense, 290 n. Classification, the process of, 223. Clifford, on the organ of sight, 15 n. — on the wide meaning of feeling, 239 n. Cognition, definition and distribution of, 73. — • general discussion of, 77. ■**^ — condition of other faculties, 79. -/O — correlative to feeling, 239. • — law of the correlation, 241. Coleridge, on expectant attention, 82. — on sensation and perception, 92 n. — on fancy as a source of error, 2.38 n. Color-blindness, 12 n. t' Comparison the basis of jiidgment, 78. Comte, definition of forc^^8 n., 328 n. — on idealism, 135. Conation, the meaning of, 72 n. Conception, the process of, 219. Condillac, sensationalism, 119 n. Conditio essendi et cognoscendi, 128 n., 338. Condition, definition of, 59 u. Conscience, definition of, 308. Consciousness, its etymology, 56 n. 4 — its content, 57. — definitions of, 58 n. — its conditions, 59. — its limitations, 02. — area of, CA. — modes of, 72. — ancient distriliution, 73 n. — of self, a feeling, 245. — of freedom of will, 322. Control of feelings, 252. Cousin, on consciousness, 56 n. — on pure reason, 130 n. — on the beau ideal, 214 n. — on illegitimate success, 292 n. — on consciousness of liberty, 324 n. Criterion of pure truth, 113, 2;U n. Crucdty, a malevolence, 304. Curiosity, an appetence, 2J)9. Cycle, the historical, 220 n. Darwin, on expression of emotion, 2.%n. — on expression of the liuHcrous, 282 n. — on expression of ((intciupt, 285 u. INDEX. 341 Delboeiif, on psycho-physics, 39. Denioeritus, on the sense of touch, 18 n. Denomination or naming, 221. Descartes, on mind and matter, 45 n. — on thought and extension, 51 n. — on the true, 112 n., 114 n. — on origin of ideas, 122. — his idealism, 133. — on seat of the soul, 149 n. — on imagination, 200 n. — on dreaming, 206 n. — on criterion of truth, 2'M n. — his enthymeme modified, 246 n. — on pleasure and pain, 251 n. Desire, defined and distributed, 74, 289. — cause of voluntary effort, 317 n., 332. Determinism, doctrine of, 318. — vs. necessity, 318 n. Difference, shock of, 61, 243. Diffusion of feeling, 253. Disposition, its varieties, 267. Distraction vs. attention, 82. Doubt, negative of belief, 248. — a painful feeling, 283 n. Dualism, the doctrine of, 144. — argument in favor of, 146. Edwards, scheme of free agency, 329. — definition of liberty, 329 n. Ego vs. non-ego, 52. Egoism vs. altruism, 306. Empirical science, 48. Empiricism, the doctrine of, 118. — reply to, 120. Envy, a malevolence, 304. Error, its primary cause, 236. Experience and experiment, 95 n. Extension given in vision, 13. — opinions of Miiller and others, 13 n. — and intension, law of, 222. External reality perceived, 96. Facts of consciousness, 68. — their importance, 71. Faculty, a power to change, 55. Faith, its elements stated, 285. Familiarity, the basis of memory, 244. Faraday, on humility, 287 n. Fatigue, the sensation of, 260. Fear, a painful emotion, 270. Fear, its organic effects, 271. Fechner's law of sensation, 39. Feeling, defined and distributed, 74, 256. — extent of meaning, 239 n. — law of correlation, 241. Ferrier, D., on blindness, 11 n. — on functions of brain, 33 n. — on mind and brain, 138 n. — on duality of brain, 147 n. Fichte's nihilism, 135 n. Free agency, scheme of, 329. Freedom, the sentiment of, 284. — a postulate of philosophy, 319. — a postulate of ethics, 319, 337. — presumption in favor of, .321. — objective vs. subjective, 330. — argument in favor of, 332, 337. Fritsch and Hitzig, experiments of, 33 n. Gassendi, illustration of retention, 191 n. Generalization, process of, 219. General truth, of three kinds, 115. Generic powers, scheme of, 72. Genesis of mediate perceptions, 159. George, Dr. L., on temperaments, 266 n. Gibbon, on Julian's attention, 84 n. Gmelin, on odors, 2 n. Goclenius, on sensoriura, 34 n. Goethe, in illustration of consciousness, 77 n. — on multiplicity of suggestion, 182 n. — on fancy, 208 n. — on wonder, 270 n. Gratitude, a moral sentiment, 288. Gray and white nerve substance, 31. Gurney on hallucination, 203 n., 207 n. Habit, law of, 55 n., 85. Hall, Dr. Marshall, on reflex action, 29 n. Hamilton, on the object perceived, 15 n. — on touch, its modifications, 18 n. — on sul)Stance, 51 n., 133 n. — on consciousness and extension, 51 n. — on subject and object, 53 n. — on definition of consciousness, 58 n. — on latent activities, 66 n. 842 INDEX. Hamilton, on facts of consciousness, 68 n., 247 n. — on content of consciousness, 71 n. — on division of faculties, 73 n. — on plural attention, 84 n. — on immediate ijerceptiou, 99 n., 145 n. — on externality, 102 n., 103 n. — on innate forms, 124 n. — on idealism, 136 n. — on mind and matter, 138 n. — on seat of the soul, 149. — on representation, 151 n. — on association, 178 n. — on retention, 190 n. — on imagination v><. memory, 199. — on conception and naming, 221. — on criterion of truth, 234 n. — on tedium, 242 n. — on feeling and desire, 245. — on pleasure and pain, 249 n. — on distribution of feelings, 256 n. — on the sublime, 280 n. — on the ludicrous, 281 n. — on cognition vs. conation, 289 n. — on will as a balance, 314 n. — on consciousness of liberty, 322 n. Happiness, definition of, 306 n., 307. Hartley, on law of transference, 181 u. — on association, 186 n. Hartmanu, on the unconscious, 66 n. Hearing, its organ and excitant, 7. — its percept, sound, 8. — its percept intercranial, 9. — analogous with seeing, 14. Helmholtz, on nervous rate, 36, 40. — on native and empirical, 101 n. Helvetius, illustration of preference, 185 n. Herbart, on thought, 217 n. — on pleasure and pain, 251 n. Hering, on psycho-physics, 39. H(irscliel, on external reality, 130 n. Hobbes, example of suggestion, 180 n. — on cliange of sensation, 242 n. — on the ludicrous, 281 n. — on definition of liberty, 329 n. Honor and dishonor, sentiments of, 285, 2m. Horace, on wonder, 269 n. Horace, on sympathetic feeling, 276 n. Houdin's automatic skill, 30 n. Humboldt, on delicacy of smell, 3 n. Hume, on idealism, 134. — on external reality, 158 n. — on tlights of imagination, 210 n. — on the question of freedom, 319. — on definition of liberty, 329 n. Humility, the sentiment of, 287. Hunger, the typical appetite, 297. Huxley's materialism, 141 n. — on freedom to do right, 320 n. Idea, note on the word, 154 n. Idealism, various forms of, 133. — self-contradictory, 1.35. Illusion and delusion, 161 n. Imagination, definition of, 198. — distinguished from memory, 199. Immediate perception, 96. Individual, definition of, 228 n. Inference (\s. intuition, 79. Inhibition of emotion, 268. Innate truth, 122. Instincts, the physical, 29. — the psycho-i)hysical, 253. — the psychical, 294. Intension, the law of, 222. Interest vs. duty, 305. Introspection, the power of, 106. Intuition, kinds of, 87. — derivation of the word, 87 n. Intuitionism, 122. — extreme view of, 124. — prevalent view, 125. — self-contradictory, 126 n. — preferred view, 12(). Irving,' Washington, on sorrow, 272 n. Janet, on error of Benthamites, 307 n. Jealousy, a malevolence, 303. Johnson, Dr., on tlie ludicrous, 281 n. JoiifTroy, on attention, 84 n. Joy and sorrow, tlieir expression, 272. Judgments, of two kinds, 224. Kant, sensus fixus et vagus, 1. — on a priori et a posteriori, 48 n. — on noumena and plienomena, 49 n. — on division of faculties, 73 n. INDEX. o4o Kant, on motion, 102 n. — oil strict universality, 114. — ou forms of cognition, 123. — on substance, 133 n. — on idealism, 134. — ou Hume, 134 n. — on seat of the soul, 149. — ou errors of sense, IGl n. — on Plato's imagination, 210 n. — on criterion of truth, 233. — on intelligent questions, 233 n. — on knowing and feeling, 241 n. — on pleasure and pain, 250 n., 251 n. — on distribution of feelings, 256 n. — on the ludicrous, 281 n. — on desires as i^ains, 291 n. — on the will as the ego, 309 n. — on volition as a free cause, 324 n. Kirehmanu, on the ego, 53 n. Ladd, on physiological psychology, 35 n. — on psycho-physics, 40. — on introspection, 46. — on seeing depth, 1G5 n. Language of feeling, 255 n. Latent activities of mind, 65. Le Conte, on retinal inversion, 168 n. Leibnitz, on mind and matter, 45 n. — on area of consciousness, 65 n. — on certainty of consciousness, 70 n. — on reply to Locke, 122. — on innate truth, 123. — on substance, 133 n. — on symbolic thinking, 230 n. Lewes, on dynamical presence, 149 n. Liberty, argument in favor of, .3.32, .3.37. Limitation, law of, 80. Limits of consciousness, 62. Local signs, Lotze on, 19 n. Localization of sense-centres, 32. Locke, on substance, 50 n. — on sources of knowledge, 118. — ou limits of imagination, 200 n. Longet, on dreams of sweets, 262 n. Longinus, on recollection, 195 n. Lotze, on local signs, 19 n. — ou apperception, 79 n. — on spirit as an entity, 147 n. — on localizing percepts, 176 n. — on self-consciousuGss, 24(1 n. Lotze, on temperament, 266 n. Love and jealousy, emotions of, 273. — or affection, definition of, 300. Lustre, the sensation of, 265. Macaulay, on creative ability, 203 n. Magliabecchi's memory, 196 n. Malebranche, on attention, 86. — on truth, 2.37. — on pursuit of truth, 284 n. Mausel, on the object perceived, 15 n. — on forms of cognition, 124. — on the individual, 228 n. — on symbolic thought, 231 n. — on freedom as a postulate, 319 n. — on consciousness of liberty, .322 n. Materialism, the doctrine of, 136. Matter and mind, logically defined, 50. McCosh, on mind and matter, 45 n. — on self-evidence, 129 n. Mediate cognition and inference, 150 n. Mediate percej^tion, 92, 158. — genesis of, 159. Memory defined, 187. Mill, J. S., on consciousness, 58 n. — on latent activities, 66 n. — ou consciousness and philosophy, 71 n. — his power of attention, 83 n. — on action and passion, 97 n. — on empiricism, 119, 122 n. Milton, cited, 149 u., 154 n. — on phantasy, 204 n. — on reason vs. fancy, 227 n. Mind, logically defined, 50. — derivation of the word, 50 n. — defined a posteriori, 51. — a unit, 75. Misanthropy, a malevolence, .304. Mitchell, Dr., on the lAautom limb, 174 u. Mnemonics, 197. Modes of consciousness, distribution of, 72. Montaigne's memory, 196 n. — on opinion, 249 n. Mood vs. temperament, 267. Motive, as eflScient cause of effort, 293. — its meaning, 293 n. — as final cause, 313 n. 344 INDEX. Motive, as weight in a balance, 314 n. Miiller, on causes of sensation, 15 n. — sketch of, 'M'). — on externality, 101 n. — on retinal inversion, 168 n. — on physical effects, 205 n. jVIuscular sense, its percept, 20. — illustrations of, 21. — action, control of, 312. Nativism vs. experience, 101 n. Necessity, of two kinds, 113 n. — modified view of, 129. — doctrine of, 318. — argument in favor of, 321. Nervous circuit, 28. Nihilism of Hume, 134. — ofTFichte, 135 n. Non-ego consciously perceived, 97-99. Observation and reflection, 81. Occam's law of parcimony, 80 n. Owenite argument for necessity, 335 n. Pain and pleasure, 249. Parcimony, Occam's law of, 80 n. Pascal, on distraction, 82 n. — on materialism, 138 n. — on imagination causing error, 236 n. Passivity of perception, 94. Patriotism a benevolence, 302. Percept, the, an external reality, 96. Perception, defined, 91. — vs. sensation, 92 n. — passivity of, 94. Peripatetic division of faculties, 73 n. Person, definition of, 309 n. Phantasy, dreams, 203. Phantom limb, 174. Plienonienon defined, 49. Philanthropy, a benevolence, 303. Physical effects of feeling, 253. Physiological jjsychology defined, 35. — its value estimated, 42. — vs. pure psychology, 44. Physiology of tlu^ l)rain, .H3 n. Pity, the sentiment of, 285. Plato's theory of ideas, 214 n. — definition of truth, 232 n. — view of pleasure and pain, 250 n. Plato's definition of beauty, 279. Pleasure and pain, 249. — appetence for, 299. Plural attention, 83. Porphyry, on the individual, 228 n. Porter, on the idea, 157 n. Power and poteutial,*55. Powers, scheme of generic, 72. — scheme of specific, 75. Pre-existence of the .soul, 194 n. Preference, law of, 184. Presentation, definition of, 87. — vs. representation, 88, 150. Priestly, on association, 180. Principles, philosophic meaning of, 48 n. Psychology, pure and mixed, 44. — defined, 47. Psychological judgment vs. inference, 79. Psychometry, 40. Psycho-physics, 37. Pure intuition or reason, 108. Pure pain, 24, 259. Pursuit, pleasure of, 283, 292. Qualities of body, 100. Rate of nervous propagation, 40. Rational psychology, 49 n. Reason, pure, 108. Reflection, 107. Reflex action, 28. — vs. diffusion of feeling, 253. Reid, on the object perceived, 15 n. — on immediate perception, 145 n. — on consciousness of liberty, 322 n. Relativity, law of, 60. Representation vs. presentation, 88, 150. Repetition, theory of, 187. Retention, theories of, 189. Ril)ot, on German psj'chology of to-day, 36 n. — on psycho-physics, 40. — on physiological psychology, 43. Richelieu's power ol attention, 86 n. Sand, George, on maternity, 301 n. Schelling, on liberty and necessity, 331 n. INDEX. 345 ■Scheme of generic powers, 72. — of specific powers, 75. — of feelings, 257. — of desires, 21)5. Sclioolmeu, on consciousness, 57 n. — on area of consciousness, 65 n. SL-hopenliauer's idealism, 135. — on liberty a negative notion, 323 n. — on will as undetermined, 325 n. Science defined and divided, 47. Scott, his power of attention, 81 n. — on true valor, 270 n. — on sorrow, 272 n. .Scottish philosophy, 97 n. Seat of the soul, 148. Seeing and hearing analogous, 14. Self-perception defined, 105. Seneca, on idea and image, 154 n. Sensation vs. perception, 92, 240, 258. Senses, distribution of, 1. Sensor and motor nerves, 27. Sensory vs. sensorium, 34. — the object immediately perceived, 15. Sensus Jixus and vagus, 1. — vagus, 23, 258. —fixus, 2G0. Sentiment, its mark, 277. Shakspeare cited, n., 55 n,, 142 n., 153 n., 185 n., 195 n., 203 n., 204 n., 205 u., 206 n., 207 n., 208 n., 212 n., 242 n., 271 n., 274 n., 275 n., 276 n., 284 n., 292 n., 300 n., 303 n., 306 n.- Shall and will, 316 n. Shelly, on memory and hope, 199 n. Shock of difference and similarity, 61, 243. Sidgwick on consciousness of liberty, 323 n. Sight, its organ, its objectivity, 10. — its primary percept, 11. — its secondary percept, 13. • — its analogy to hearing, 14. — its octave of colors, 14 n. .Similarity, shock of, 61, 243. — law of, 178. Smell, its organ and excitant, 2. — Valentin and Humboldt on, 3 n. — proximate cause of, 4. — classification of, 261. .Sociality an appetence, 300. Space, apprehension of, 13 n., 19 n. — origin of the notion of, 101 n. Specific powers, scheme of, 75. Spencer, on touch, 19 n. — on substance, 51 n. — on external reality, 96 n. — critical of Mill, 119 n. — on concomitance of mind and brain, 143 n. — on mind as motion, 144 n. — on organized memory, 192 n. — on perception vs. memory, 206 n. — on pleasure and pain, 251 n. — • on tlie ludicrous, 281 n. Spinal cord and nerves, 27. Spinoza, on sulistance, 50 n. — on aflirmation, 60 n. — on absolute identity, 142 n. — on liberty and necessity, 331 n. Spontaneity in voluntary action, 327 n. Stewart, definition of consciousness, 58 n. — on idealism, 136 n. — on names, 222 n. SubcoDscious activities, 65. Subject vs. object, 53. Substance, scholastic definition of, 50 n. — a necessary idea, 132. Sympathetic system, 26. Sympathy and compassion, 274. Tactile corpuscles, 17 n. Tangibility, the tactile percept, 18. Taste, its organ and excitants, 5. — its delicacy, 6 n. — its analogy to smell, 7. — its classification, 262. Temperament, mood, disposition, 266. Temperature, sense of, 24. Thompson, Prof. S. P., on audition, 10 n. Thomson, Dr. Wm., on criterion of truth, 2;J4 n. Thought, defined and discussed, 216. Tieck, on the regnant ego, 53 n. Time of nervous propagation, 40. — of psychic action, 41. Touch, its organ, 17. — its primary percept, 18. — its secondary percept, 19. — its sensation, 261. 340 INDEX, Ti'cndeleiibiirjj, cited on scienoe, 48 n. Truth, detinitioiis ol', 'iol, 'I'M ii. — the seutiment of, 282. Turcot, on Innate ideas, 127 ii. Tyndall, on nund and matter, 45 n. — on concomitance, 142 n. Unconscious cerebration, 33. — activities, G5. Unconsciousness not j^rovable, 63. Uh-ici, on consciousness oi: liberty, 322 n. — on spontaneity ol volition, 328 n. Unity of mind, 75. Utility vs. beauty, 281. Varigny, on physiology of brain, 31 n. Vibrations of luminiferous ether, 14 n. Volition, ol)ject and elements of, 75, 313. — special function of, 83, 311. — or will, defined, 309. — as an uncaused cause, .324. — its freedoiu defended, 318, .332. Volney, on a case of couching, 165 n. Weber, on circles of sensation, 17 n. — on muscular sense, 22 n. — on sense of tonperature, 24 n. — on pure pain, 24 n. ' Weber, liis experiments, •'><). — his law formulated, 37v Wheatstone, on unity in vision, 164 n. — on vision of distance, 170 n. White and gray nervous matter, 31. WiU or volition, special function of, 85, 311. — defined, 309. — its isolation, 314 n. Wish vs. desire, 290 n. Wolf, on psychology, 49 n. — on criterion of truth, 234 n. Wordsworth, on immortality, 194 n. — on imagination, 209 n. Wonder, an emotion, 269. Wundt, on sight, 7 n. — on local signs, 20 n. — his wide research, 37. — on Fechner's law, 39. — on the conception of soul, 52 n., 132 n. — on consciousness, 58 n. — on the unconscious, OG n. — on apperception, 79 n. — on innervation, 102 n. — on vision of direction, 167 n. — on thought, 216 n. — on temperament, 267 n. — on consciousness of liberty, 324 n. 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