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 <f>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«<o°-
CHAPTER I.
THE CEPHALIC SENSES.
§ 1. -Certain physiological facts, together with inferences
from them, form a proper introduction to psychology. As
man consists of a body and mind in essential relation, neither
can rightly be studied apart from the other. Psychology,
the science of mind, involves, therefore, a study of the body
as it affects or is affected by mind. Physiology, a science of
organized body, considers at large the function of organs;
but human physiology, in its direct relation to mind, is con-
cerned only with the organs of sense, and the nervous sys-
tem in general. These are directly correlated with mental
states, and their influence in determining experience is a
primary consideration. We begin, then, with a brief exami-
nation of the several senses, followed by a sketch of the
nervous system, indicating, as we proceed, the results of both
observation and experiment.
§ 2. For orderly discussion the following logical arrange-
ment is adopted. The senses in general are of two classes,
the sensus fixus, that having local organs, and the sensus
vagus, the mobile or diffused sense, sometimes called the
vital sense.i The sensus fixus is divided into the cephalic
and the somatic senses. The former are so named because
1 Kant, Anthropologic, § 15.
2 INTRODUCTION.
their several organs are located exclusively in the head.
They are smelling, tasting, hearing, and seeing. In smell
and taste sensation predominates ; in hearing and sight per-
ception predominates ; hence a subdivision of the cephalic
senses into the two subjective and the two objective senses.
The somatic senses are so named because their organs are
distributed over all parts of the body. They are touch and
the muscular sense. The former is on the whole the more
objective or percipient; the latter, the more subjective or
sensuous. The sensus vagus, or vital sense, need not be sub-
divided here. It is almost wholly subjective or sensuous.
The cephalic senses will now be examined in the order
of increasing objectivity.
§ 3. The organ of smell lies above the n^^strils in vaulted
chambers between the eyes. The mucous membrane lining
this cavity is supplied with a great number of delicate olfac-
tory fibres which pass up to the overlying brain through sieve-
like perforations in the bony cribriform plate that roofs the
vaults. Their further connection with the nerve centres is
called the first pair of cerebral nerves, or the olfactoiy
nerves. But these are not clearly traceable, and the olfac-
tory fibres seem rather to be direct processes of the cerebral
hemispheres.^
Effluvia and certain gases and vapors, soluble in the moist-
ure of the mucous lining, excite the enclosed olfactory
fibres, and produce a sense-perception of odor.^
1 It is very desirable that tlie reader sliould have a knowledge of the anat-
omy and physiology of the organs of sense, and of the nervous system
generally, far beyond what would be proper, or even possible, to give in the
present treatise. Nothing but the barest outline statement being admissible
here, he is earnestly reconnnended to inform himself more fully by perusing
on these points some good handbook of physiology. To this end T have
used satisfactorily with my pupils Huxley's Lesso7is in Elementart/ Pfnjsiol-
ogy, published by IMacmillan & Co.
2 All volatile organic compounds, says Gmelin, are odoriferous. The
substances causing pleasant odors are chiefly hydrocarbons, as the ethers.
Substances repulsive frequently contain sulphur, as sulphydric acid ; but
THE CEPHALIC SENSES. 3
§ 4. In the ordinary exercise of the sense of smell the
agreeable or disagreeable feeling is a marked experience, and
greatly predominates over the knowledge it gives of its
object. As compared with the other senses, the feeling or
sensation in smell is at a maximnm, whereas the accom-
panying knowledge or perception is at a minimum. That is
to say, smell is the most highly sensuous and most feebly
perceptive of the fixed senses. Yet its perceptive power is
remarkably acute, and in some cases it surpasses the spec-
troscope in detecting the presence of minute particles.^ By
attentive exercise its power of discrimination may be greatly
improved.^ But by just so much as its perceptive or objec-
tive power increases, does its naturally sensuous or sub-
jective character decrease, so that it may even cease to be a
source of pleasure or pain, all odors becoming subjectively
indifferent.^
the most offensive have arsenic for their base, as chloride of kakodyle.
Odorous matter is such as in general can readily be acted on by oxygen,
and unless oxygen passes into the nostrils along with it, no smell is caused.
1 The perceptive power of this sense to detect the presence of odoriferous
particles is marvellous. Sulphydric acid in the atmosphere, in the pro-
portion of one to a million, is distinctly perceptible. Valentin has calculated
that it can perceive about the three hundred millionths (0.00000003) of a
grain of musk. Another chemist estimates that two and a half billionths
(0.0000000025) of a grain of camphor is perceptible. So minute a particle is
quite imperceptible otherwise; no microscope can bring it within the reach of
vision; and even the spectroscope, which can detect the fifteen millionths
(0.000015) of a grain, is far surpassed in delicacy by the organ of smell. It
furnishes extreme examples of the di^asibility of matter.
- The blind are guided by it with facility and accuracy. Humboldt says
that the Peruvian Indians, in the night, can not only perceive by scent the
approach of a stranger while yet far distant, but can say whether he is an
Indian, a European, or a negro. The Arabs of the Sahara recognize the
smell of fire thirty or more miles away. The Spice Islands of the Indian
Archipelago are recognized far out at sea. Nearer home, our tobacco buyers
determine differences of value by faint differences of odor quite indistinguish-
able by the uneducated. The word sagacious, meaning primarily keen-scented,
is often used to denote high intelligence or power of discrimination.
3 This is true of the blind, who rely on it. To the dog, whose sagacity is
proverbial, all odors seem subjectively indifferent.
4 INTRODUCTION.
§ 5. The combined sensation and perception, or sense-
perception, of smell is a mental state. The object perceived,
the percept, is an odor. By the common judgment of men,
odor is a quality of body, an external material cause of the
mental state ; it is attributed to body as a quality inherent
in its substance. The philosophic correctness of this judg-
ment in its general form will be subsequently considered
and maintained. Its truth is, for the present, assumed, and
we proceed at once to the question: What body has the
quality odor ; or what is the material thing that directly
excites the sense-perception of smell ?
It is universally allowed that I have immediate knowl-
edge or am conscious of the odor. Now, according to the
foregoing assumption, I am therein conscious of the material
thing that excites in me this special sense-perception. But
the object immediately known in perception must be one
which is the proximate cause of the conscious affection ; for
a remote cause can be known only by inference, and this is
always mediate knowledge.^
What, then, is the proximate cause of this affection ? Of
what external thing am I conscious ? Certainly not of the
rose that I hold in my hand, nor of its effluvium ; for evi-
dently these are quite remote causes. Nor am I conscious
of the outer organ of smell. Its function undoubtedly is to
receive, modify, and transmit the impressions of effluvia.
But of this I know nothing consciously. The existence and
functions of the outer organ become known to me only as
the result of observation and inference. Moreover, its
existence is not essential to the percept; for if it be cut
away by the surgeon's knife, and an electric shock be passed
through the cribriform plate, a sense-perception of odor is
experienced. It is evident, then, that the outer organ is
only one link in a chain of remote causes, which proceeds
1 Mediate, not in the logical, but in the psychological sense. That is to
say, a remote cause can be known only through a representation, wliich is,
psychologically, mediate knowledge.
THE CEPHALIC SENSES. 5
into the brain. Hence tlie proximate cause of the sense-
perception is some interior cerebral movement, some brain
cliange, a certain special excitement of the inner sensory,
perhaps limited to a detinite part which constitutes the inner
organ or centre of smell.
We reach, then, the unquestionable and very important
conclusion that in smell the object external to mind, the
object of which I am conscious, is a brain change, and nothing
beyond ; that the inner sensory itself, excited in a special
manner, is. the proximate cause of the sense-perception, and
therefore the brain itself, or probably some part of it, is the
percept, the object immediately perceived when I experience
the presence of odor.
§ 6. The sense of smell gives the existence of body as hav-
ing this one quality, odor. It does not give body as having
either extension or place. It does not localize its percept
either in the cranium, where it is, or in the nostrils, where it
is not. When by aid of other faculties we have ascertained
that some remote thing, as a rose, is a cause of the sense-
perception, we attribute the odor to it as its inherent quality ;
and because of the habitual use of the nostrils as the recog-
nized and recognizing instrument, we locate the conscious-
ness in them, and seem to experience the odor there. But
the foregoing slight analysis shows that both these localiza-
tions are acquired and erroneous notions, and identifies the
body possessing this quality, this special power of directly
affecting me, with the inner sensory, the brain itself.
The subsequent examination of the other forms of the
sensus fixus will show that these conclusions are general.
§ 7. The organ of taste lies in the mucous membrane
which covers the tongue, especially its back part, and the
hinder part of the palate. The papillce of this membrane
receive nervous filaments chiefly from the ninth pair of cere-
bral nerves, called the glosso-pharyngeal, but also from a
Q INTRODUCTION.
branch of the fifth pair, the trigeminal, this branch being
called the gustatory nerve. The gustatory nerve mostly
supplies the front of the tongue, the glosso-pharyngeal its
back part and the adjacent part of the palate.^ These nerves
are partly motor, but they are mainly sensor, and it is believed
that somewhat different taste sensations arise from each.
The excitant of taste is sapid matter dissolved in the
moisture of the mucous membrane. Insoluble solids are
insipid, solubility being a condition of sapidity. But not all
soluble matter is sapid.^
Taste is highly subjective, the sensation being strongly
marked as agreeable, or disagreeable even to disgust, while
the percept is proportionately faint.^ Still it is an acute and
important means of information, and susceptible of great
improvement in delicate discrimination.'*
§ 8. The impression we usually call taste is, however,
quite complex, involving not only smell, but touch, muscular
sense and temperature, besides stomatic sensations. It is
consequently difficult to distinguish and analyze pure taste.
But there can be no doubt that its percept, savor, though
greatly obscured by this complication, is a simple and ulti-
mate enorganic affection. What was said of odor in the
preceding section, may be said of savor. It is merely an
excited state of an intercranial sensory, and what is immedi-
1 The latter seems to be more especially the nerve of taste. Animals in
•whom it has been severed devour food mixed with the bitterest ingredients.
2 It should be observed, however, that electricity excites taste. Hence
the taste of metals, e.g. of zinc and copper.
3 To taste means to test, to try. " Taste your legs, Sir ; put them to
motion.'" — Ticelfth Night, A. 3, sc. 1. Primarily, to test by touch. Note
the extended use of the word in aesthetics, and also the secondary meaning
of di.sgust.
* The tongue can recognize the acidity of a drop of solution consisting of
one part of sulphuric acid in 10,000 parts of water, and the bitterness of one
of sulphate of quinine in 33,000 of water, quantities too small to be detected
by chemical tests. The skilled wiTie-tastcr, it is said, can tell the vineyard
of a choice wine, and the year of its vintage.
THE CEPHALIC SENSES. 7
ately perceived is not something in the mouth, but some-
thing in the sensorium.
§ 9. Smell and taste are analogous. The outer organs of
both lie in the mucous membrane, and require the solution of
their excitants. These seem to be foreign particles acting
chemically on the nerve fibres, whereas in hearing and sight
the excitement seems due to motion, the vibration of foreio-n
particles; hence the two former are sometimes called the
chemical senses ; the two latter, the mechanical senses.^
Both smell and taste are highly sensuous and feebly per-
ceptive ; hence the sensation is much more easily and dis-
tinctly remembered than the perception.^ There is great
sympathy between these two senses, so that what is agreeable
or disagreeable to one is likely to be so to the other, smell
thus acting as a preparatory test and safeguard to taste .-^
The similarity of their impressions is such that the words
Jlavor and savor often interchange meanings.
§ 10. The organ of hearing is very complex, and the spe-
cific function of certain parts is not known. For the present
purpose it is sufficient to observe that the vibrations of a
sonorous body, as a bell, are communicated to the air, and
through this medium to the outer membrane of the tympanum
or drum of the ear ; that they thence pass through a chain of
small bones, and then through a fluid to certain cells of audi-
tory epithelium, where peripheral filaments of the auditory
nerve are stimulated ; that this stimulus is propagated along
the trunk nerve into the sensorium, there causing an excite-
ment or disturbance of the sensory, probably at some aural
centre. The consciousness of this final sensorial excitement
is the sense-perception of sound.
1 Wundt classes sight as a chemical sense.
2 It is because of this subjective character, perhaps, that they have baffled
so far all attempts to measure their intensity.
3 Socrates, in a dialogue with Aristodemus, discourses of this relation as
an evidence of design. — See Blackie's Four Phases, p. 78, Am. ed.
8 INTEODUCTION.
§ 11. The sense of hearing is more perceptive or objective
than sensuous or subjective. The mere sensuous feeling is
ordinarily of low intensity, a single sound or synchronous
sounds giving little pleasure or pain. If, however, a sound
be very loud, acute, harsh, or discordant, the sensation becomes
painful, and the percept loses proportionally its vividness.
The enjoyment of music is but slightly sensuous. Sweet or
pleasing sounds are perhaps essential, but the enjoyment
arises chiefly from the variety and harmonious relations of
the sounds. The recognition of this is intellectual, and the
pleasant feelings attending it are not properly sensations, but
emotions and sentiments.
On the other hand, the perceptive power of hearing is very
comprehensive and discriminating. The number of musical
tones that can be distinguished by pitch alone is several hun-
dred, and if their intensity and timbre be taken into account,
the number is incalculable. Yet to these must be added an
innumerable variety of articulate vocal sounds, and to these
again an even greater variety of mere noises.
§ 12. The percept of hearing is sound. Hearing is a SY>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 <i Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to
behold the sun."— Eccl. 11 :7.
THE CEPHALIC SENSES. 11
aesthetic, with very little that is strictly sensuous. The pleasure
arising from form without regard to color, as of a statue or
a line engraving, is still less sensuous.
On the other hand, the perceptions of sight are remarkably
clear and distinct. The almost infinite variety of shades and
hues distinguishable indicates the wide range and acute dis-
crimination of vision. It is the most keenly percipient of
the senses, and hence, as a source of information, it is by far
the most useful sense.
§ 17. The primary percept of sight is color, including
under this term not only all hues, but also white and black,
and every variety of light and shade. Seeing is a specific
sense-perception, a state of mind ; color is its primary object,
the thing perceived. I am conscious of the color.
What, now, is color psychologically considered ; that is, as
perceived? It is not a quality inherent in the luminous
object ; for a white rose in the beams of the prismatic spec-
trum will assume any of its hues, and in the dark all roses
are colorless. It is not the light itself; for while many
things seem to emit white light, there is no such thing as
a white ray, but the impression white is the subjective
effect of the combined prismatic colors. Moreover, light
is not essential, for with closed eyes I may still perceive
phosphenes, due to retinal excitement, displaying many
colors.! It is not the retinal picture ; nor the retina itself,
of which I am conscious ; for if the eyeballs be removed,
and the remains of the optic nerve be irritated, a vision of
colors will still be experienced.^ The retina serves to receive,
1 They may be rendered quite vivid by pressing on the eyeballs. A blow
on the head causes one to " see stars." These percepts are evidently not due
to ethereal vibrations, but to mechanical disturbance of the retina. An atten-
tive contemplation of phosphene ;s, especially if projecting them into space be
avoided, will enable one to apj eciate more satisfactorily the fact that the
percepts are enorganic.
2 Moreover, one who has becoi le blind by loss of the eyeballs alone, can
still vividly image colored scenes; but "the destruction of the sight centre
\<\ ^
12 INTRODUCTION.
modify, and transmit in modified form through the optic nerve
the sight-producing vibrations ; but I am unconscious of the
part it plays, or even of its existence. I am conscious only
of a result, which has been ascertained to occur at a sight
centre far within the cerebrum, and I call it a color.
We thus trace this percept, as the others, into the nervous
centres, and find that color, too, is a phenomenon of brain.
It is not that we perceive the sight centre to be colored in
the manner that we seem to see outward objects colored; but
it is that the sight centre is the immediate object, the mate-
rial thing, that directly causes the conscious impression of
color in the mind, and therefore it is the material object im-
mediately known or perceived.
We commonly attribute color to external objects, and think
of it as residing on their surfaces.^ We regard light as some-
thing beyond ourselves, filling space. There is, hypotheti-
cally, a vibrating ether filling space, which causes the phe-
nomenon ; but there is no brightness beyond ourselves out
in space, nor any color, blue, yellow, or red, residing on the
surface of bodies. Colors are wholly the phenomena of one's
brain, caused by the supposed vibrations ; so that, were there
no eye to see, the sun would not be bright, the moon and
stars would not shine, the sky would have no tints, the land-
scape no hues, no shades, and absolute darkness would reign
throuGfhout the universe.
§ 18. That color is an intercranial phenomenon finds
further proof in a fact of binocular vision. Put two pieces
not only makes the individual blind presentatively, but blind also representa-
tively or ideally, and all cognitions into which visual characters enter in part
or whole become mangled and imperfect, or are utterly rooted out of con-
sciousness." — I). Fkruier's Functions of the Bmhi, p. 259.
1 That it does not is confirmed by the remarkable defect, generally con-
genital, called color-blindness. It is never entire, but in part it is quite
common, about one person in twenty being nive or less color-blind, and the
inability to distinguish red being most frequ at. Nevertheless, the subject
sees the object, though of a different Ime from ^ /hat we regard as its real color.
Was not Homer merely color-blind ? The Iliad, like a steel engraving, is
colorless. <
THE CEPHALIC SENSES. 1
Q
of paper, one yellow, the other blue, in the separate compart-
ments of a stereoscope. On lookmg through the lenses, the
percept is green. Now, where is this green ? It is not in
either eye, for it is physically certain that the picture on one
retina is yellow, and on the other blue. The percej^t green
cannot be short of the optic chiasm, where the optic nerves
partially decussate, and probably it lies much deeper in the
cerebrum. This is a physical demonstration by experiment,
that in vision of color the object consciously known by this
phenomenon is not the retina, and that it is intercranial, an
excited cerebral sight centre.^
§ 19. Beside color, sight is cognizant of extension. On
looking at the starry heavens, the luminous points I see are
numerous. The points of imjDression being numerous and
simultaneous, must be apart in space, and herein is a con-
sciousness of extension.
This extension is not that of the heavens themselves ; for
evidently I cannot be conscious of their extension. It is
commonly supposed to be that of the retinal picture, the
minute chart of the heavens which the pencils of light depict
on my retina, mentally projected out, beyond and above me,
and thought into a sky. But what I see, and my retinal pic-
ture, do not exactly correspond. Moreover, as has already
been indicated, the retinal picture is out of consciousness.
How, then, shall we interpret this fact of consciousness, the
consciousness, in sight, of extension? The true statement
seems to be this : The retinal picture determines a complex
impression on the inner sight centre, not only of colors, but
also of their expanse ; and this combined impression consti-
tutes a field of view, consisting of colored figures.^
1 The experiment is parallel to that on sound, § 14. It is not new, being
found in Brewster's Optics in a different form. The psychological inference,
stated above, has not previously, so far as I know, been drawn.
2 That sight is cognizant of extension in two dimensions, length and
breadth (but not depth), is generally conceded. Hamilton argues for it, but
unsatisfactorily, 3Ma., Lee. 28. Psychologists of to-day hold it on other but
1-1 IMTKODUVTION.
Accordingly, we take color, since it is the condition of
visible extension, to be the primtuy, and its extension, or
figure, to be the secondary, but equally immediate, percept
of sight. This consciousness of colored figure is an empiri-
cal occasion for the pure idea, or intellectual discernment of
space. Also in the changing of visible figure we inmiediately
perceive, or are conscious of, motion.
§ 20. The external conditions of hearing and seeing are
analogous, being in both cases a vibrating body, sonorous or
luminous, and a pulsating medium conveying the movement
to the outer organs of sense. The organs, though in appear-
ance very dissimilar, are essentially alike in being fitted to
receive, modify, and transmit vibrations. Both have nerve
ramifications, impressible by vibrations of certain degrees of
intensity, and are insensible to others.^ Moreover, both
these senses are highly perceptive and feebly sensuous. The
various gi-ounds. The fact being granted, how shall it be interpreted ? The
various hypotheses have been classed by Helmholtz as native and empirical.
Of the former, the doctrine of Mtiller is called the hypothesis of subjective
identity. "The retina," says he, "feels its own extension and position.
Even when not in the least affected by the world without, it feels them as
darkness before the eyes." Also there is the hypothesis of projection, main-
tahied especially by Volkuiann, which teaches that " the retina is capable of
projecting its impressions outward in given lines of direction or of sight."
These hypotheses have been variously modified to suit the facts, but are now
generally regarded as unsatisfactory. The leading representative of the
empirical class is Helmholtz, he holding to the genesis of visual space from
experience alone. The peculiar views of Lotze and Wundt on the genesis
of the notion of space will be noticed under the head of Touch.
The interpretation given above in the text may fairly be classed as nativ-
ist. A number of facts favor it ; e.g. there is a blind spot on the retina, but
no corresponding dark spot in the field of view.
1 Aerial vibrations fewer than 8 per sec. are inaudible, and at least 16 per
sec. are requisite to produce a musical tone. Vibrations of more than 38,000
per sec. are inaudible, but painful if intense. Ethereal vibrations fewer than
3U!) trillions per sec, the extreme red, do not excite vision ; nor do those of
more than 8.31 trillions per sec, the extreme violet or lavender. Thus while
the range of the ear is a little more than eleven octaves, that of the eye is-
little more than one octave.
THE CEPHALIC SENSES. 15
sensations are similar in being susceptible of harmony and
discord.^ The perceptions are similar in the power which
they acquire of giving information respecting remote objects.
They have also a remarkable power of analysis, hearing divid-
ing time, and sight dividing space, almost infinitesimally.
§ 21. From the foregoing view of the cephalic senses it
clearly appears that the immediate percept of each is an
excited sensory. The same will on examination be found
true of the percepts of the somatic senses. Indeed, the fact
is general, true of all those percepts commonly known as the
secondary qualities of body, they being in reality affections
of the organism, and having no resemblance to any attribute
inhering in extra-organic bocUes. This important fact is not
new in physiology .^ It has not, however, been fully appre-
ciated by psychologists.^ In view of it we are enabled to
1 The subjective analogy between hearing and seeing is illustrated by the
following words of Taylor : " You look around the room as you enter. The
whitewash dazzles you. A scarlet geranium in bloom on the \Yindow sill
startles you like a trumpet blast amid all this silence of white."
■^ Says Mtiller : ' ' External agencies can give rise to no kind, of sensation
which cannot also be produced by internal causes exciting changes in the
condition of our nerves." — Elem. of. Phys., p. 1059. And, later, Bernstein
says : " It is clear that we really have no sensations [perceptions] of objects
of the external world themselves, but only of the changes which occur in the
sensorium." — Five Senses of Man, Int., p. 5.
3 Reid held that in looking at the sun we are immediately conscious of it.
Hamilton in one place defends this view (Meta., pp. 158-9). In another he
says: " Nothing could be more absurd" (p. 357). lie holds that "the ex-
ternal object in perception is always in contact with the organ of sense"
(p. 375). "Through the eye we perceive nothing but the rays of light in
relation to and in contact with the retina " (p. 358). Mansel, his pupil, says :
" The presented object is on the surface of the retina " {Meta., p. 75). That
is, the retinal picture. But elsewhere (p. 65) he says: "Our own sensitive
organism is the only kind of matter that is immediately cognizible by the
senses." President Porter says : " The mind does not see the image on the
retina" (Hum. Intel!., p. 132). Professor Clifford says: " It is more coi-rect
to say that we see with a certain part of our brains, than to say that we
see with our eyes." It would be still more rigidly correct to say that we see
a certain part of our brains.
16 INTRODUCTION.
formulate an answer to the general question : What is the
material thing which each sense immediately perceives ? See
§ 5. The answer, which we shall hold to be an established
proposition, is : The brain itself is the immediate object in
perception.
This proposition is very important, and therefore its claim
of acceptance should be carefully considered. The doctrine
of immediate perception, in its usual form, has encountered
many objections, which, if our proposition be allowed, are
avoided. We shall find hereafter that an escape from ideal-
ism, or the doctrine that a non-ego does not exist, can be
accomplished only on the ground that extra-organic objects
are not immediately perceived. If immediate perception be
allowed only to intra-organic objects, we shall be better
enabled to establish the distinction between mind and matter,
and so, on the other hand, escape the meshes of materialism,
or the doctrine that matter only exists. The brain being
the matter in opposition to mind, the two being in no sense
identical, we can hold the doctrine of two substances, inter-
acting, co-ordinated, mutually dependent, and yet entirely
distinct. •
No doubt there is a difficulty in conceiving one's brain as
the immediate object perceived. But we must separate our-
selves from the usual view, that of looking with the eyes on
the thing, and consider merely the subjective impression the
thing makes upon us, and observe that it is a knowledge,
first, of its existence as something distinct from self, and
secondly, as something made known to us by virtue of a
single special quality. This wholly subjective view of the
brain as an existing, qualified thing, taken by the psycholo-
gist, is very different from the wholly objective view of the
brain, taken by the anatomist and phj^siologist ; but that it
is identically the same thing that presents these different
aspects is unquestionable.
THE SOMATIC SENSES. 17
CHAPTER II.
THE SOMATIC SENSES.
§ 22. The organ of the sense of touch is the skin. It
consists of a superficial layer, the epidermis, and a sub-
jacent layer, the dermis, in which capillary nerves terminate.
"Where the sense is delicate, as at the finger tips, the dermis
rises into many small, close-set, conical papillse, whose apexes
come near the outer surface of the epidermis. Eacb of these
cones is supplied with a tactile nerve and corpuscle.^ Super-
ficially the skin is subdivided into small tracts presenting
the appearance of network, and varying in size, being small
at the finger-tips and many times larger on the back. Each
tract is supplied with the capillaries of a single nerve fibre,
and capable of imparting only a single sense-perception.^
The epidermis is an intermediary, the impact that stimu-
lates the nerve being transmitted through its horny sub-
stance to the subjacent ends of the nerve. The thickness or
extent of the intermediary seems less important than its
capacity for transmitting impulses. The finger nail drawn
over a surface affords a most delicate test of its smoothness.^
1 At the finger tips about one hundred of these corpuscles may be counted
in an area j\ inch square. Elsewhere they are more sparse.
- E. H. "Weber, who made many experiments determinative of the relation
of sense-perception to its excitant, found that two points can be distinguished
by the tongue when only J^ inch apart ; by the finger tips when only Jg inch
apart ; while they may be one inch apart on the cheek, and even 2\ inches
apart on portions of the back, and yet seem single. The areas, having these
distances for diameters, Weber calls "circles of sensation."
3 This was the ancient statuary's test of the smoothness of his marble.
Horace uses it figuratively to express perfection : " Ad unguem f actus homo."
— Iter Brun., 1. 30. The phrase came from the Greeks : eh 6vvxol. We some-
times say, ' perfect to a nail.'
18 INTRODUCTION.
With a rod in hand, one is able to judge very well of the
irresfularities in an unseen surface. In this case the inter-
mediary is vastly increased without proportionally diminish-
ing the delicacy and accuracy of the perceptive power. Some
intermediary is necessary ; for if the epidermis be removed
and contact occur with the naked nerve, the sensation is one
of pure pain merely, very different from tactile sensation.
§ 23. The skin in certain places where perception is feeble
is highly sensitive, as on the cheek ; and where perception
is acute, as at the finger tips, the sensation is commonly
obtuse. The sensation is a familiar titillation, usually agree-
able though unobtrusive in its gentler forms, as the feel of
velvet; but it may become disagreeable and painful, as in
tickling.^
The percept is tangibility, or that quality of body which
excites the sense-perception in us by impact or contact. This
does not imply area ; e.g. a pin point or knife edge. The
finger tips lightly tapped with a card give pure tangibility .^
To this must be added the modified forms, roughness and
smoothness. If the card be drawn along the finger tips, we
experience one or the other. To produce these forms, motion
of the surface touched is essential ; but of the motion, touch
does not inform us.^
1 It should be observed here that there are other cutaneous sensations, as
clamminess, temperature, and others. They belong to the sensus vcKjits, § 20.
Also, that even at the finger tips the sensation may become predominant, as
in touching a revolving grindstone.
2 A drop of water falling on the palm, or the breath blown on the fingers,
also excite the tactile sense-pcrce])tion. Any motion of the fingers, hand,
or arm, in what is called "active touch," or any perceptible pressure, con-
fuses the tactile with muscular sense-perception, and with volition. In no
treatise I have seen are these properly discriminated. Incomplete analysis
causes doctrinal confusion. Hamilton even says : " The organ of touch [the
fingers] requires, as a condition of its exercise, the movement of the volun-
tary muscles." — Metd., p. ;378.
3 " I would establish," says Hamilton, "as a fundamental position of the
doctrine of immediate perception, the opinion of Democritus [the Atomist,
THE SOMATIC SENSES. 19
§ 24. An impact, say on the finger tips, excites the fibres
of the tactile nerves ; these convey the impression to the
intercranial sensory, and consciousness ensues. The impres-
sion is attended by a vague sense of locality. Hence, analo-
gous to sight, the percept of touch is primarily a special
sensorial excitement, tangibility, with its modes roughness
and smoothness, and secondarily, extension implied in the
sense of locality. The extension herein given belongs to my
own nervous organism. The locality on the periphery, the
exact place touched, is not consciously given, but subse-
quently inferred from experience and observation.^
in his work ^/cp6s Atd/cocr/ios, 420 b.c, rejected by Aristotle in De Sensu et
Sensili, cli. iv.] that all our senses are only modifications of touch; in
other words, that the external object of perception is always in contact with
the organ of sense." —Meta., p. 375. Herbert Spencer says : " Not only do
the conclusions of the physicists support the doctrine which Democritus
taught, but the conclusions of the biologists do the Uke. The organs of the
special senses are every one of them developed from the dermal system, are
modifications of that same tissue in which the tactile sense in general is
seated. Nor is this all. It is a remarkable fact that the eye and the ear
are, in their types of structure, morphologically identical with the vibrissce,
or most perfect organs of touch." — Pj-m. Psyc, § 139, and Prin. Bio., § 295.
The reduction, if correct, seems of little consequence.
1 Here again we hit upon the difficult question of the genesis of the appre-
hension of space. See § 19. That touch, as well as sight, is cognizant of
extension is generally admitted, but explanations greatly differ. The view
proposed in the text, that touch originally gives as a secondary percept a
vague sense of locality, is so far nativist. That a more exact knowledge of
the locality on the periphery is obtained only as the result of education,
belongs rather to the genetic or empirical doctrine. But it must be added
that the native cognizance of extension of body by both sight and touch is
an empirical occasion for the pure intellectual apprehension of the notion
of space. This point will be more fully expounded hereafter.
Lotze transformed the strictly empirical hypothesis into one more meta-
physical and elaborate, called the hypothesis of local signs. Each feeling-
point of the body, each "circle of sensation" on the skin, each sensitive
point on the retinal expanse, has its local sign. This implies no original
localization or cognizance of extension, but simply that each tactile or visual
impression presents a peculiar character (^nuance) that serves later to localize
it at a certain point of the body. At first these impressions are purely inten-
sive, and effect no special determination of any kind. j:,ater the mind, by
20 INTRODUCTION.
§ 25. Besides the percepts just indicated, touch is com-
monly held to give us knowledge of many other qualities of
matter, and to tell us much about the external world. Also
it is described as the instructor of the other senses, and the
corrector of their aberrations. This arises from a confusion
of touch with the muscular sense and voluntary locomotion.
When closely interrogated apart, touch is silent concerning
any qualities of body other than those named, and concern-
ing even the existence of an extra-organic world. Nor is
touch capable of certain lines of education commonly attrib-
uted to it, the acute perceptions of the blind being dependent
rather on an educated muscular sense.
§ 26. The sensor nerves of the muscles constitute the
ortran of the muscular sense. The terminal fibres of a dis-
tinct set of sensor nerves, more sparse than those of touch,
are distributed to and penetrate the muscles.^ The terminal
fibres of the motor nerves also penetrate the muscular tissue.
These motor nerves, generally under the influence of the will,
cause muscular contraction, and thereby the enclosed sensor
nerves are subjected to pressure. The pressure, whether
produced thus or by the action of an exterior body, stimu-
lates the sensor nerves, causing a neural disturbance which
is propagated to the brain, and a sense-perception of physical
solidity is the result.^
§ 27. Tn order to observe the pure muscular sense-percep-
virtue of laws peculiarly its own, transforms these intensive data into exten-
sive quantities, and produces "a reconstruction of space." — Ribot, p. 100.
"Wundt accepts this hypothesis of local signs, but deems it insuthcient.
He rejects the a priori laws of mind in the case, and adds that the different
impressions being accompanied by voluntary movement, there attends tlieiu
a feeling of innervation, i.e. of the nervous discharge that attends voluntary
effort. These two elements, local signs and movement, explain localization.
Neither alone would give it, but the two, by a psychological synthesis, form
a combination which is, on occasion, the notion of space.
1 Demonstrated by Sachs in 1874.
2 Tor historical notices of the muscular sense, see Hamilton in lieid, p. 867.
THE SOMATIC tiENSJES. 21
tion, some care is requisite that it be not mixed with that of
touch, or modified by voluntary effort and movement. The
weight of a limb freely hanging gives the simple and pure
muscular sense-perception.^
The sensation is clearly marked as pleasurable or painful.
The pleasure of physical exercise arises mostly from muscular
sensations, and also the pleasant feeling in stretching. Fatigue
is perhaps an increased degree of the feeling that accompanies
all muscular exertion, and when moderate is not unpleasant.
In straining and in cramp the violent contraction of the mus-
cles causes an extremely painful pressure on the nerves.
The percept is physical solidity or impenetrability, one of
the defining qualities of body. To this must be added its
modifications arising from gravity, known as heavy and light,
and from cohesion, known as hard and soft. As immecUately
perceived, these are affections of the excited sensory, which
we learn to attribute to external bodies, meaning that they
have power to cause these sensorial states in us.
In different parts of the general organ, as in case of touch,
sensation and perception vary inversely. In many parts the
perceptive power is very acute, is a most important means of
information, and is susceptible of high education.
It must be noted that the skin under pressure, as when
slightly pinched, gives quite the same sense-perception, and
so far coincides with muscular sense. But, let it be observed,
this impression is very different from the tactile impression
proper, one point of difference being that the latter is acute,
the former the massive; the one has intensity, the other
quantity.
§ 28. As the muscular sense is sometimes overlooked or
not sharply discriminated even in scientific treatises, we will
add some illustrations of its special importance.
1 Neither Hamilton nor Mansel attribute any special percept to the mus-
cular sense apart from voluntary locomotion. This seems to be very generally
true of both psychologists and physiologists.
22 INTRODUCTION.
One's knowledge of the posture of his body, as standing,
sitting, or reclining, and of the position and motion of his
limbs, is dependent on this sense. All balancing of the body,
though usually assisted by the eye, is largely due to the mus-
cular sense, and this alone proves sufficient in the dark. In
the feats of a tight^rope dancer, we see it highly educated.
Also in the skilful handling of tools. In general, the vary-
ing pressures on the muscular sensor nerves furnish intima-
tions that enable us to control our movements intelligently.^
The soles of the feet are higlily sensitive to touch, and but
feebly perceptive ; while, on the contrary, the muscular
sensation caused by their pressure under the Aveight of the
body is unobtrusive, and the percej^tive power remarkably
acute. The tactile sense-perception is largely eliminated by
wearing shoes, and it is by the muscular sense that we take
knowledge of the ground we step upon. Its importance in
walking is evident.
Our estimate of the weight of a body held in the hand is
muscular and quite delicate.^ The small muscles moving the
eyeballs greatly assist us, by their various tensions, to judge
of the direction, distance, and size of visible objects. The
tongue is not only the organ of taste, and exceedingly sensi-
tive to touch and to temperature, but it is also a very delicate
muscular organ. By a distinct set of sensor nerves we are
enabled to know the posture of the tongue, and to adjust it
1 ' ' The effort needed for the support of the body is ordinarily kept np by
the muscular sense. But if the sensor nerve of the leg be paralyzed, the
contraction of its muscles cannot be sustained by the strongest effort of the
will unless sight be made to replace the lost feeling. The existence of this
partial paralysis may sometimes be recognized by the persistent looking
downward of those who suffer from it ; for if whilst walking thej'' were to -
withdraw their eyes from their feet, their legs would give way under them."
— Dk. Carpenter, Mental Phijmology, § 192. See also § 80.
2 The estimate is determined by two considerations, — the pressure on the
muscles underlying it, and the tension of those of the arm. By the former
alone Weber found he could distinguish between 14] and 15 oz. ; but when
the weight was lifted, exciting the muscles of the arm, he could then distin-
guisli between 19] and 20 oz.
THE SOMATIC SENSES. 23
at will. Upon this fact largely depends the power of articu-
late speech.
Habitually, by an act of will, we fix certain muscles in a
state of tension, and then trust them without further thought
or volition, though we are probably conscious, obscurely and
continuously, of their tension. Thus the muscles of the fore-
arm keep the pen lightly held by the fingers while one is
thinking what to write, the eyes remain open, the mouth
closed, and the muscles of the back keep the body erect,
without attention. A muscle thus fixed, like a soldier at an
appointed post, does not relax until the order from head-
quarters is withdrawn or a new one given. There is hardly
a waking moment when many muscles are not thus at ap-
pointed service, and but for their faithfulness when not under
the eye of attention we should be incapable of our most ordi-
nary occupations. When sleep overcomes us, will resigns,
these tensions relax, and the system finds relief and repose.
§ 29. An observation on the sensus vagus^ the vital or
organic sense, may be inserted here. It might be subdivided
into a number of special senses pertaining to the nutritive
and other vital functions, and concerned with health and dis-
ease. They are highly, almost wholly, subjective, appearing
in visceral sensations, marked as agreeable when normal and
healthful, but in case of disorder, strongly marked as dis-
agreeable and often painful. In many cases they are diffused
through the system, as restlessness, faintness, and the idio-
pathic sensations generally.
A number of organic senses are classed as desires under the
name of appetites, as hunger, thirst, drowsiness, etc. This is
the case when to the sensation is superadded a want, a long-
ing for some physical alterative. These will be considered
more specifically in their proper place under the head of
Desires.
The sensations of heat and cold, being felt acutely by the
skin, have commonly been attril)uted to touch. But the
24 INTE OB UCTION.
cheeks are more sensitive to temperature tlian the lips,^ and
the palms than the linger tips ; so that sensitiveness to tem-
perature does not correspond to tactile sensibility. The
nerves exciting a sense of temperature constitute probably a
system distinct from the tactile nerves. Certain minute areas
of the skin, called " temperature spots," and these only, re-
spond to thermal stimulus. Pricking them does not give
pain, nor tactile sensation, but only a sense of heat or cold.
For some of these minute areas, the " cold spots," are sensi-
tive to cold only ; others, the " heat spots," to heat only.
They are very irregularly distributed, but where the skin is
most sensitive to either temperature, the corresponding kind
of spot is most numerous. These facts, and the fact that the
sense of temperature is more percipient than the vital senses
generally, suggest that it might fairly be classed as a sensus
fixus?
All overstrained sensations are painful. But there is a
form of physical pain which may be distinguished from all
others ; it is the pain attendant on lesion. Since it is unac-
companied by any perceptional phase, it may be called pure
pain.3 We are wholly occupied with the subjective state,
and perception seems reduced to zero. The distinction be-
1 The cheeks burn with a blush. A laundress usually tests her smoothing-
iron by holding it near her cheek. The elbow is very sensitive to tempero/-
ture, and the German mother tests the baby's bath with it rather than with
her hand.
2 Weber found that by the finger he could perceive a difference of about
1° F., which is less than that marked on common thermometers. We call
a body cold when it draws heat from us, and warm when it imparts heat.
The human zero is about 98° F. That of cold-blooded animals must be
lower.
3 Weber observes that if we place the edge of a sharp knife gently on the
skin, tactile sensation is experienced, and perception attributes to the edge
tangibility. But if we press on it and cut the skin, the feeling is one differ-
ing not merely in degree, but distinctly in kind. We feci pure pain, a feeling
not attributed to tlie knife by any accompanying perceptional power ; for the
knife is recognized as the cause quite indirectly, only through the senses-
proper.
THE SOMATIC SENSES. 25
tween pure pain and that attending sense-perceptions is in
many cases obscure, especially in the idiopathic sensations of
numbness, nervousness, shuddering, and the like ; but in
general it may be described as the pain attending lesion, dis-
order, disorganization, and death.
Physiologically and pathologically the senstts vagus is of
the highest interest, but its study has added little to the
knowledge of mind.
§ 30. If the foregoing views be correct, it is evident that,
were we limited to the perceptions of sense, we would be shut
up from a knowledge of the outer world, for no one of the
senses, nor any combination of them, reveals to us aught be-
yond certain states of our own nervous organism. It will be
hereafter explained that it is the power of voluntary locomo-
tion, combined with sense-perception, that gives knowledge
of external body, and introduces us to the outer material
universe.
20 INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER III.
THE NERVOUS ORGANISM.
§ 31. Having spoken of the senses specially, we proceed to
examine the sentient or nervous organism generally, in order
that we may better understand the relation of consciousness
to our physical changes.
Physiologists distinguish two nervous systems, — the sym-
pathetic and the cerebro-spinal. The former consists chiefly
of a double chain of nervous ganglia lying at the sides and
in front of the spinal column, and connected vnth. one
another and with the spinal nerves by commissural cords.
From these ganglia nerve trunks are given off, which are
distributed in filaments for the most part to the vessels
of the body. Accordingly, this sympathetic system is re-
lated especially to the viscera. It influences the muscles
of the vessels generally, those of the heart, of the intestines,
and others. The action of these muscles is beyond the reach
of volition, and normally not attended by consciousness.
Hence we may omit any special consideration of the sympa-
thetic system.
§ 32. The cerebro-spinal system consists of the cerebro-
spinal axis, and the nerves branching from it. The axis con-
sists of the brain and the spinal cord. The nerves are of
two sorts. First, the afferent nerves, which convey influences
from the periphery toward the centre of ramification, and
are mostly sensor nerves exciting the brain, and so causing
sense-perceptions. Secondly, the efferent nerves, which
convey influences from the centre of la mi neat ion toward the
THE NERVOUS ORGANISM. 27
periphery, and are mostly motor nerves contracting the
muscles.^
§ 33. There are twelve pairs of cerebral nerves. The
first pair, the olfactory nerves, seem to be direct processes
of the cerebral hemispheres or upper lobes of the brain.
The second pair, the optic nerves, are traceable through
the central organs, called t|ie optic thalami, into the cere-
bral hemispheres. The rest seem to emanate from the
medulla oblongata, the lowest member of the brain. The
peripheral terminations of eight of these are distributed, some
to the skin of the face, and to the cephalic sense organs,
others to the related muscles. Some are afferent sensor
nerves ; others are efferent motor nerves. The two remain-
ing pairs of cerebral nerves pass into the trunk.
§ 34. The s^^inal cord is a column of soft gray and white
neural substance, extending down from the medulla oblon-
gata, with which it is continuous, nearly to the second lumbar
vertebra, where it tapers off. It is divided longitudinally by
deep fissures into two lateral halves connected by a narrow
bridge.
There are thirty-one pairs of spinal nerves. They branch
off in two lateral series, one from each half of the cord. Each
trunk nerve has two distinct roots connecting it with the
cord, one afferent and sensor, the other efferent and motor.
After some continuity the trunk nerve subdivides ; one por-
tion, the motor, after many further ramifications, is distributed,
in minute nervous filaments, to the voluntary muscles ; the
other portion, the sensor, after similar subdivisions, is ulti-
mately distributed for the most part to the skin. Every
voluntary muscle of the trunk and limbs is penetrated
throughout its mass by filaments of the motor nerves, and
the entire area of the skin has underlying it a complexus
^ The distinction between sensor and motor nerves was discovered and
demonstrated by Sir Charles Bell in 1821, followed by Magendie. This dis-
covery marks the most important epoch in neurological science.
28 lyTRODUCTION.
of filaments of sensor nerves so complete and close that it
can nowhere be punctured by a needle without irritating-
them.
§ 35. When the skin, say of the foot, is touched, the ter-
minations of sensor nerves immediately beneath are affected.
The molecular disturbance thus begun is propagated at a slow
rate (about 111 feet a second) along the tactile filaments to
the nerve trunk, and along that through its posterior sensor
root to the spinal cord ; then along that to the brain and
sensory, when consciousness ensues, a sense-perception of
contact. This continuous neural connection is requisite to
the normal excitement of the sensory, and the excitement of
the sensory is essential to sense-perception.
Now, under the influence of will, another disturbance may
begin, which proceeds from the brain down the spinal cord,
out through an anterior motor root, into and along the trunk,
then through the nerve filaments that jDenetrate the muscles,
say of the calf of the leg, which muscles thereupon contract,
and the foot is moved. This continuous connection between
brain and muscle is essential to voluntary locomotion.
§ 36. The circuit may take place differently. If the sole
of the foot be touched with a feather, in an instant the mus-
cles of the leg contract, and the foot is jerked away. Con-
sciousness occurs, but too late for the action. The thing is
done before the will has time to act.^ If the spinal cord
have suffered lesion about the middle of the back, so great
as to cut off communication between the lower limbs and the
brain, the same action occurs, but without consciousness.^
In either case the action is involuntary, instinctive, auto-
matic.
1 This movement is made by a sleeping person. The hand of a babe asleep
will close upon a coin as quickly and firmly, in proportion to its strength, as
th(! hand of a vigilant miser.
'■^ This case actually occurred with Dr. Jolm Hunter, who asked his aston-
islied patient if he felt the tickling. "No, sir," said he, "but you see my
legs do." — CAKrENTKii, Mental J'/tijsiolo(/y, § 08.
TUE NERVOUS ORGANISM. 29
The interpretation is that a molecular disturbance is prop-
agated centripetally from the sole of the foot along afferent
nerves to ganglia of the spinal cord, and that it there arouses
a comparatively vast amount of molecular activity, which is
propagated centrifugally througli efferent fibres to the mus-
cles of the leg. This is called neural reflex action, which, in
general, may be defined to be the direct conversion, at a
ganglionic nerve centre, of afferent into efferent impulses,
without the intervention of will, or even of consciousness.^
Many muscular activities are due to reflex action. Some
are determined by the spinal ganglia, as swallowing, vomit-
ing, shuddering; others, by the brain (which comprises
ganglionic centres), as winking, and the facial grimace at a
bad smell. In a number of cases the involved sensor and
motor nerves are partly cerebral and partly spinal, as in
breathing, shrinking from a blow, and starting at a sound.
All native reflex actions, being involuntary and automatic,
are strictly physical instincts .^
§ 37. A form of activity originally voluntary may by fre-
quent repetition become involuntary and purely automatic,
1 The reflex action of the nervous system was discovered by Dr. Marshall
Hall, and announced in Philosophical lyansactions for 1833. It is evidently
not a mere rebound, as the phrase (first used by Astruc) suggests, of the
afferent impulse into an efferent channel, but rather as if an order were given
along the afferent nerve to a ganglionic centre, and executed by it often with
a vast expenditure of force. An unexpected whisper from behind, in the ear
of a nervous person, is a very slight impulse, which passes along the afferent
auditory nerve to the medulla oblongata, and there causes a kind of explosion
which affects the majority of the motor nerves of the whole body, manifest
in a violent convulsive start, to which is added perhaps a scream, all this
enormously disproportioned result being involuntary, instinctive reflex action.
2 In the winking that moistens or guards the eye, the optic nerves are the
afferent, and the facial nerves the efferent, channels. In the grimace at a
bad smell, the olfactoiy nerves are the afferent, and the facial nerves again
the efferent, channels. All these nerves are cerebral. Other examples are
the contraction of the iris under the stimulus of strong light, the contraction
of the ciliary muscle in the adjustment of the eye to distinct vision, and the
muscular adjustment of the tension of the tympanic membrane of the ear to
sounds of various intensity. The flow of saliva excited by a sapid body, and
30 INTRODUCTION.
the activity being then determined wholly by the reflex
action of the nervous system. In the process there is
a gradual and more or less complete transfer from mental
ao-ency to physical agency. This is muscular education, the
acciuisition by repetition of a physical habit or muscular
dexterity. Examples are, learning to walk, to dance, to
write, to handle tools, to play a musical instrument. Such
actions are never performed with ease, grace, and skill, until
they have become largely mechanical, and the performer an
automaton. An act of volition is usually requisite to start
the series of movements, which then continues automatically
by mere reflex action. Being obscurely conscious of the
series as a whole, without distinguishing its members, we
superintend its course, and are ready at any instant to inter-
fere by volition, and so check, modify, or suspend the
action.^
It is evident that in reflex action we have a complete
the flow of tears excited by a mote in the eye, are remarkable as reflex action
on glands instead of muscles.
In many cases the nerves belong partly to the cerebral and partly to the
spinal series. For example, the sucking of an infant. Cold on the face, as
from the action of a fan, stimulates respiration. When one's toes are trod
upon there is a sudden, instinctive, involuntary outcry and a wry face.
Warding off a blow, and all instinctive gesticulation are cases in point.
It should be observed that the reflex action upon the voluntary muscles
can be more or less completely inhibited by the will of the patient. If he
anticipates the consequence of- the impression, he can in most cases prevent
its occurrence by a resolute resistance. E.g. writhing, jerking, and laughing,
the natural effects of tickling, may all be restrained, and (juiet maintained
under it. The inhibition in many cases may become habitual, and the mus-
cles cease to respond to the excitation.
1 In walking, the reflex action is sustained by the successive pressures of
the feet on the ground, each of these exciting the next movement. Numerous
instances are on record of a soldier continuing to march although fallen
asleep.
Houdin practised juggling with balls until he could keep in the air four
balls at once. He then accustomed himself, still keeping the balls going,
to read without hesitation or distraction. — Autobioffraphy, p. 2(5. I myself
have seen a pianist reading a novel placed on the music desk while i)ractising
intricate finger exercises.
THE NEEVOUS ORGANISM. 31
explanation of acquired skill, dexterities, and habits, without
recourse to a theory of obliviscence, or to one of latent voli-
tions or other unconscious modes of mind. It is an exjolana-
tion now universally approved, and transfers the further
consideration of these phenomena from psychology to physi-
ology.
§ 38. The anatomy of the brain is intricate, and the func-
tions of its members are obscure. The lowest part is the
medulla oblongata, into which the spinal cord passes insen-
sibly. In rear of its upper portion is a laminated spheroidal
mass called the cerebellum. Above and in front of these
stands the cerebrum, consisting of two symmetrical halves,
called the cerebral hemispheres, connected by a voluminous
commissure. Each hemisphere presents a central mass and a
peripheral envelope, which last is marked superficially by
numerous and intricate convolutions.^
§ 39. The neural matter of the organism in general is of
two sorts, — the white and the gray matter. The white matter
is fibrous in structure, even where it lies in masses ; the gray
matter is cellular. The nerve fibres and trunks consist of
white matter. The spinal cord and the medulla consist of
both, the white outside, the gray within. The cerebellum
and the cerebral hemispheres also consist of both, but with
them the gray is outside, and the white within. The central
mass, which presents a number of distinct organs, consists of
the two kinds of matter variously intermixed. Apparently
the function of the white fibrous matter is to transmit impres-
sions ; that of the gray cellular matter, to receive, transform,
and emit impressions.
The peripheral or outer organs of sense and of motion are,
1 "Les difBcultgs que prgsente I'etude de la physiologie cerebrale sont
grandes. II n'y a pas seulement divergence d'hypotheses ; les faits eux-
memes ne sont point certains, et les contradictions abondent. C'est dire
que la base sur laquelle doit s'elever I'edifice fait encore defaut." — M. de
Vakigny, in Bevue des Deux Mondes, Oct. 15, 1880. The article reviews
especially Dr. David Ferrier's investigations.
V
32 INTBODUCTION.
with two exceptions (sight and smell), connected by white
fibres with the medulla. This again is similarly connected
with the various organs which constitute the central mass of
each cerebral hemisphere. The fibres penetrating these organs
are probably in communication Avith their gray cellules. From
these cellules start out other white fibres, directed towards
the cortex of the hemispheres, in such vast numbers that the
white matter of each hemisphere presents the appearance of a
solid mass. These fibres terminate probably in the gray cel-
lules of the cortex. The central organs thus seem interposed,
in the course of the cerebral fibres, between their common
receptacle, the medulla, and their central terminations in the
outer coating of the brain.
§ 40. This anatomical disposition seems to indicate that
the central organs of the hemispheres are not, as has been
supposed, the place where sensitive impressions terminate
and in which motor incitations originate. Rather the pe-
ripheral convoluted envelope or cortex of the hemispheres
would seem to be the seat of those molecular changes which
are attended by consciousness, and transform sensor into
motor influence. This is the doctrine which now tends to
prevail among physiologists. Recent observations and experi-
ments have rendered it at least highly probable that specific
superficial tracts of the hemispheres are in their functions
essential to specific sense-perceptions, others to voluntary
muscular action, and yet others to specific modes of intelli-
gence. Dividing the hemispheres into three zones by nearly
vertical planes, sense-perception has been attributed to the
cortex of the posterior zone, and the sight centres definitely
located; motor powers have been attributed to the middle
zone, and intellectual powers to the anterior zone.^
1 Until quite recent times the central mass was the chief object of study,
and the convolutions were neglected. Hippocrates saw in them only a gland ;
so also Malpighi and Vli'ussfns. liuysoh, struck with their vascularity, con-
sidered them a simple laris saiujuin ; Boerhaave and Ilallcr adopted this
THE NERVOUS ORGANISM. 33
§ 41. There is a reasonable supposition tliat the various
centres of the brain operate and interact, in a manner akin to
the reflex action already described, at times when the mind's
activity is temporarily suspended or engrossed by other impres-
sions ; and that the results of this brain work, of which at the
time we may be wholly unconscious, become manifest subse-
quently in an increased facility of mental exercise in certain
directions, in new suggestions, and even in elaborate intel-
lectual products. This is the hypothesis of unconscious cer-
ebration. It serves to explain a number of phenomena which
otherwise are obscure. The invigorating influence of rest and
sleep is no doubt due to the restoration of nervous waste, and
a readjustment of functional powers. The refreshment found
conclusion. Vicq d'Azyr was the first to examine their structure ; since
tlien Baillarger, Ehrenberg, Purkinje, Meynert, Luys, Betz, and Charcot
have made them precisely known. So much for the anatomy.
As for the physiology, Gall maintained that intelligence is a function of
the convolutions ; Desmoulins, that it is in direct proportion to their number
and depth ; which, indeed, seems to have been affirmed by Erasistratus, the
grandson of Aristotle. In 1861, Broca, taking the notions and facts of Dax
and Bouilland, and adding his own views, announced the first-known localiza-
tion, that of articulate speech or word-forming ijower, in the third frontal
convolution of the left hemisphere.
In 1870 two German savans, Eritsch and Hitzig, passed a current of
electricity across the head behind the ears, and observed that it deter-
mined the movement of the eyes. This was an epoch-making discovery.
By varying the experiments it was established that in the periphery of the
brain there is a part appropriate to the production of movements, i.e. a motor
region ; and another where excitation does not pi'ovoke any exterior manifes-
tation, i.e. a non-motor region. Moreover, the motor region is stibdivided
into a certain number of small tracts, each of which presides over the motion
of a particular group of muscles, and of this group only. Such is the point
of deijarture of the theory of cerebral localization.
David Eerrier advanced beyond these conclusions, and it appears to result
from his investigations that the convolutions, both in man and in brutes, are
divided into three regions, as stated above in the text. See his Functions
of the Brain. Of late the matter has been much discussed, and authorities
greatly differ. Adhuc sub judice lis est. The literature is abundant. The
reader may profitably consult Ladd's Outlines of Physiological rsychology
(1891), chs. 8 and 9. Also Am. Journal of Psychology, April, 1891 ; article
iii., on Cerebral Localization.
34 IN TE OD UCTION.
in passing from one mental occupation to another is due to
the employment of a different set of organs, giving the others
time for renewal. It seems, therefore, no very violent suppo-
sition that the brain, apart from all consciousness, may evolve
actual products which afterward come into mind, and startle
us as strange, unsought, unexpected.
We have seen that conscious voluntary exercise of the
muscles becomes by repetition involuntary and automatic,
and is performed under nervous influences with a minimum
of consciousness, or perhaps unconsciously. Similarl}', the
brain may fairly be supposed to acquire habits, and to operate
with facility along certain lines of preferred activity inde-
pendently of consciousness. This analogy goes to support
the hypothesis of automatic brain action, or unconscious
cerebration.!
§ 42. In psychology proper or pure, which is altogether
subjective, being concerned only with the facts of conscious-
ness, there is no need to determine the functions of the vari-
ous brain organs, or to fix upon distinct sensor and motor
centres, or to ascertain what work the brain does apart from
mind. These interesting and important questions belong
rather to physiological psychology. There is no doubt that
the cerebral hemispheres are the seat of physical powers essen-
tial to the phenomena of consciousness. This general fact of
neurology is sulhcient for psychology ; and so, when occasion
requires the reference, we shall continue, as heretofore, to
designate in an indefinite way, the brain organ, or complexus
of organs, whose functional exercise is attended by conscious-
ness, as the sensory, and the place within the cranium where
this exercise occurs, as the sensorium.^
1 See Dr. Carpenter's Mental Phijsiolof/fj, ch. 13, for arguments and
striking illustrations.
" Seiisoriuni is a place, not an organ. "Bene multi barbarum scholastico-
runi, qui interduin sunt siniia; GnBCorum, tlicunt AiffOrjrripLov. Ex quo illi
fecerunt sensitorium pro sensorio, id est, organum sensationis." — Goclenils,
Lexicon Philosophicum, ad verb. Leibnitz emphasizes this.
PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY. 35
CHAPTER IV.
PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY.
§ 43. It is evident that the facts considered in the preced-
ing chapters are in the main physiological, and that the
inferences have been made from this objective standpoint.
The neural functions, especially relative to sense-perception,
have been briefly treated, and some important general conclu-
sions reached respecting the relation of physical to subjective
or psychical states. The whole of this introductory part,
might, therefore, be included under the title of Physiological
Psychology, which has been widely described as " psychology
approached from the physiological side or point of view," and
more accurately defined as " the science of the phenomena of
human consciousness in their relations to the structure and
functions of the nervous system." ^
But the phrase may be fairly, and indeed is commonly,
understood to refer specifically to certain researches with
their results which have been prosecuted with great zeal of
late years. The investigator, starting with physiological
facts, and seeking to discover what elementary psychological
facts are connected with them, adds external experiment to
internal observation. He begins without and seeks to pene-
trate within experimentally. The method consists in varying
the external conditions that are necessary to produce the in-
ternal phenomena, the former being a doorway to the latter.
Moreover, he proposes, as far as practicable, to measure the
quantities of the phenomena, and thus elevate psychology,
from a science of classification and description, to the rank of
1 Ladd's Outlines, p. 5. See also his more elaborate Elements of Physio-
logical Psychology.
36 INTRODUCTION.
an exact science in which determined quantities are super-
added to observed qualities. ^ Tlie avowed end is to con-
struct a new psychology on a new basis, the means being
physiological. This is Physiological Psychology in the nar-
rower sense. Accordingly, under this title, we now propose
to give a brief sketch of the work done and the results
attained, together with an estimate of their value.^
§ 44. Johann Miiller, the famous physiologist of Berlin
University, in metaphysics a disciple of Kant, is the founder
of this branch of psychology. In his great work on physi-
ology^ he pays much attention to psychological questions,
and endeavors to assign an objective basis to the subjective
forms in intuition. He transformed, for example, the Kan-
tian doctrine of space, claiming that the retina has a native
feelinsr of its extension.
Subsequently each kind of sensation became an object of
research, the qualitative and intensive differences being care-
fidly estimated. E. H. Weber, of Leipsic (1840), first sub-
jected consciousness to methods of exact experiment. He
published the results of nearly twenty years of the most
painstaking observations on the effects of touch and pres-
sure, in a Latin monograph, and wrought out the first form
of the psycho-physical law, the exact application of which
is now reduced to narrow limits chiefly by the labors of
Fechner.
Helmholtz, the physicist of Berlin, having measured the
rate of nervous propagation, was followed by Donders, wlio
attempted to determine the duration of psychic acts. Sensa-
1 Certain scientists, pliysicists especially, are disposed to claim that no
complement of knowledge can i^roperly rank as a science until it has become
quantitative. We cannot assent to this. Science is primarily and essentially
qualitative classification. See § 50.
2 See Ribot's German rsycholomi of To-day, to which I am indebted for
many points. A fair sketch of Experimental Psycholor/n, by Professor, now
President, G. Stanley Ilall, will be found in Mind for April, 1885.
3 Ilandliirh der Physioloijir dcs ^fens<•hc)l, 2 vols., 1841-44.
PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY. 37
tion was siDecially studied, and inferences made to other
mental activities.
Besides the savans already named, Herbart, Duhois-Rey-
mond, Volkmann, Lotze, Delbceuf, Exner, Wundt, Zeller,
Hall, and many others, have contributed to this branch of
psychology, most of them being distinguished in other
departments of scientific research.
Wundt of Leipsic is perhaps the most eminent living rep-
resentative of experimental psychology. He alone, says
Ribot, has treated it in all its area. He alone has made a
complete and systematic study of its problems from this
standpoint. The unity of his work arises from his method.
It is based on the data of physiology. It deals directly with
sensation, which he distinctly considers the basis of all psy-
chology, and further with involuntary movement, language,
and the natural expression of feelings; indirectly it deals
with the will, attention, complex notions of space and time,
the general notion, the aesthetic and the religious feeling.
When physiology fails, recourse is had to anthropology,
ethnography, history, or statistics. To introspection, which
cannot be set aside, it adds external observation and experi-
ment, seeking where possible to apply quantitative measure-
ment. This is physiological psychology in its widest sense.
§ 45. We shall now attempt a brief sketch of the subordi-
nate branches psycho-physics and psychometry, in order that
the reader may have a more definite conception of the
methods and results of physiological psychology.
Weber inferred inductively, from his experiments on
length, weight, sound, etc., a general law. Its formula is :
"Sensation grows with equal increments, when the excita-
tion grows with relatively equal increments." By relatively
equal increments is meant a constant fraction of the succes-
sive excitations.
From this starting point Fechner pursued his studies
whose results were published in 1860 under the title Ele-
38 INTEOBUCTION.
ments of Psycho-physics. He says : " I understand by psycho-
physics an exact theory of the relations of soul and body,
and in a general way of the physical world with the psychi-
cal world." But though he thus proposes to give a general
theory, his experimental research bears definitely on a single
point — the relation of excitation and sensation. To deter-
mine this, he spent years in experiment and calculation. His
object is to measure sensation, passing from mere quality to
exact quantity. For sensations obviously have both quality
and intensity or quantity. Thus red, blue, green, are quali-
ties marking kinds of color, but each varies in intensity. So
every sensation has a quantitative value. Now what better
means for estimating this value of a sensation can be found
than the external movement from which the sensation arises?
The excitation is not only the most direct, but perhaps the
only possible measure of sensation. It is the intensity of the
cause used to estimate the intensity of the effect.
To measure the differences in intensity of a given sensa-
tion, Fechner applied his "method of smallest perceptible
differences." 1 If an imperceptible difference between two
weights be caused to grow, it will at last become just percep-
tible. This minimum difference he adopted as a unit of sen-
sation. Having obtained it, by numerous experiments, for
sensations of pressure, of temperature, and of sound, he con-
cluded, in order that each of these sensations shall increase
by its smallest perceptible difference, the excitation must
increase by one-third of its intensity .^
In order to construct a scale of magnitudes, besides the
unit of division, the zero point must be ascertained. Evi-
dently in these cases the zero is where the incipient sensation
arises. The quantum of excitation requisite to produce this
1 Fechner supplemented this method by two others, " the method of true
and false cases," and "the method of nieiiu errors," all leading by different
routes to the same end.
2 He found that light requires an increase of only a hundredth part of its
intensity, in order to cause a perceptible difference.
PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY. 39
beginning of sensation was called by Herbait the value of
the threshold of the stimulus or excitation (^Reizschivelle).
It was needful, therefore, to determine, if possible, by a series
of observations and experiments, the exact threshold value
for each kind of sensation. Accordingly, it was determined
for pressure on various parts of the body, for temperature,
for sound, and for light.
The zero of each being fixed, and the scale constructed, a
comparison of scales revealed a uniformity which Fechner
formulated into his now famous Law of Psycho-physics.
One expression is : The excitation must grow in geometrical
progression in order that the sensation shall grow in arith-
metical progression. One more exact is : The sensation
varies as the logarithm of the excitation.
§ 46. How shall we estimate the value of this law ? By
the fierceness of the contention which has arisen about it?
Then surel}^ it is of very great weight. Hering of Prague
attacked psycho-physics at all points, denying the conclu-
sions of Fechner, especially that the logarithmic law follows
from Weber's law, and that it has any wide generality. His
is the severest assault that the partisans of the doctrine have
had to meet. Delboeuf defends Fechner on some points, but
will not allow the mathematical form which his work assumes.
In short, he rejects a part of the doctrine, and modifies what
he does not reject. To his denial that the smallest perceptible
difference is constant, Wundt replies that it is necessarily so ;
for "• if the change of either of the two sensations compared
were greater or less than the other, it would be therein
greater or less than the perceptible minimum, which is con-
trary to the hypothesis." But while defending this funda-
mental point, Wundt does not accept the entire doctrine, he
having original views respecting the measurement of psychic
facts. Zeller argues the impossibility of their absolute meas-
urement, and Wundt replies that by similar reasoning it
mig-ht be maintained that no external natural phenomena are
^-5^-^ OF THS ^«
40 INTRODUCTION.
measurable. The discussion has been wide, profound, and
seems interminable. " Fechner, " says Delboeuf, " has against
him both his declared adversaries and his more or less faith-
ful disciples." To this Fechner replies: "The Tower of
Babel was not finished because the workmen could not agree
as to the method of constructing it; my psycho-physical
monument will remain because the workmen cannot agree as
to the method of destroying it."
"The most that can be said," Professor Ladd concludes,
"is this: The law summarizes many facts reasonably well
within a certain range of sensations lying near the middle of
the scale of quantity, and for certain of the senses." Ribot
sums up the results of criticism thus : " First, that under its
mathematical form the law of Fechner cannot be accepted.
Second, that observation and experiment show that, gener-
ally speaking, sensation grows more slowly than excitation.
Thirdly, that though it be verified within certain limits
for visual and auditory sensations, it is contested for pressure,
and does not hold for the other sensations."
§ 47. Experiments have been made to determine the time
occupied by certain mental acts, and the results given under
the title Psychometr}^ It has always been a common belief
that some time, however short, is required to think, to re-
member, and even to feel. Measurements of this time were
made, especially by Bonders, followed by Exner of Vienna,
Wundt, Kries, and many others, from 18(50 to 1880, with fair
chronoscopic accuracy.
In 1850 Helmholtz, incited by the views of Dubois-Rey-
mond on the electric properties of nerves (1849), ascertained
by experiment the time of the transmission of neural action
through a definite nerve length.^ Other scientists renewed
1 He excited the nerve near the muscle on which it acts, and noted the
time between the excitation and the contraction. 'PhtMi rcpeatinj^ the experi-
ment at a point more distant from tlie nuiscle, he found tlie time to be
greater. Tlie difference of distance iu the difference of time gives the rate.
PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY. 41
the investigation, and the average of results is given by Her-
mann (1874) as 83.9 metres, or about 111 feet a second.^
This being settled, suppose a patient to receive a slight
electric shock in his finger-tip, and to respond as promptly as
possible by a tap with a finger of the other hand. The total
interval, called the reaction time, is found to be about 0.15
of a second. Now it is evident that this period consists of
three parts : first, the time of transmission from the finger-
tip to the brain along a sensor nerve ; second, that from the
brain along a motor nerve to the muscle moving the other
finger, these two together being called the physiological
time ; and third, an interval occupied by sense-perception
and volition, called the psychological or psychic time. Now
subtracting the physiological time from the total or reaction
time, 0.15 sec, we have the psj^chic time, equal to about
0.08 sec.^ The experiment has been performed a great many
times, and modified for the different senses.
Efforts have been made to analyze the psychic interval into
the time of sense-perception and the time of volition. It
is concluded that the duration of volition depends chiefly on
the more or less direct connection between the sensor and
motor centres. When this mechanism, and also the natural
quickness and habits of the patient, these last constituting
his " personal equation," are favorable, the time for the
volition is much diminished. It should be added that the
expectation of the patient, and the degree of his attention,
as well as the intensity of the stimulus, shorten the reaction
time.
Various methods have been employed to measure the dis-
1 The rate of this propagation is comparatively slow, being only about yV
that of sound waves in the air, which is 1120 ft. per sec. at 60° F. Its nature
is unknown. Clearly it is not electric. It may perhaps prove to be electro-
lytic, or analogous to electrolysis, whose rate has not, I believe, been deter-
mined, though it would seem easy to measure the retardation, if any, of the
electric current through an electrolyzed medium.
- It would be better to call this psycho-physical time, because during this
interval the central physical changes in the cerebrum also take place.
42 INTRODUCTION.
cernment time, i.e. how long it takes to distinguish one of
two impressions of sense. In one methpd the patient is
Avarned to expect one of two colors named, but is not told
which. He is to decide which appears, and to signal the
instant the discrimination is effected. The mean time, from
many experiments by this method, was found to lie between
0.047 and 0.086 of a second. Combining it with the results
of other methods, the discernment time is found to vary,
when the conditions are of the simpler sort, from 0.1 to 0.03
of a second or less.
Similar investigations on the time required to reproduce
ideas by memory conclude in general : first, that the repro-
duction takes longer than the original production ; second,
the time depends largely on the degree of attention given to
the original production, and also to that given to the repro-
duction.
Finally, the time requisite to a logical process, say the
subordination of a species under its genus, has also been a
matter of experiment. It is found that the time is shortest
when the subject is concrete and the predicate a narrow
class, e.g. lions are cats ; and longest when the subject is
abstract and the predicate a notion of wide generality, e.g.
holiness is the sum of perfections. This is what might be
expected from the comparative difficulty of the thoughts.
The experiments result in an average of about one second.^
§ 48. Thus in the most elementary manner we have tried to
give a glimpse of what has been done and is doing in physi-
ological psychology. It is obviously a bare beginning on a
new line, and what may come of it no one can say. But
the limitations to which it is necessarily subject forbid
the notion that it can ever occupy a chief position in the
.science of mind. The possibly measurable (^[uantities in the
case are only intensity and duration. The measurement of
intensity is rendered very doubtful l)y tlie questionable char-
1 Baldwin's Handbook of Psycholof/y, p. 112.
PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY. 43
acter of the unit of sensation employed. And how may we
hope to find units for the measure of higher feelings ? Meas-
urement of duration does not encounter this difficulty. But
is not the so-called psychic interval due to the cerebral move-
ments on which the mental process is conditioned ? If so,
then this is a neural and not a mental measurement. Aside
from these points, it is evident that the microscopic character
of the work, the variations due to individual differences, and
to other unavoidable causes, limit reliable experiment to the
simplest cases, and in these prevent results of more than an
average and tentative value.
Moreover, when we take into consideration the impossi-
bility of even approaching the higher powers of mind by
such experimentation, our esteem for the method greatly
diminishes. All the higher processes which constitute the
rational, emotional, and volitional life of man are out of
its reach. Ribot, an extreme partisan of the " new psy-
chology," himself says, " In all that concerns these phe-
nomena, experimental research is necessarily useless." Yet
these are of pre-eminent interest, and constitute the great
ends of psychological science.
It may therefore fairly be asked, when all the patient,
tedious, minute labor demanded by this method in its narrow
field is done, and results apparently so insignificant attained,
are they worth their cost ? It is impossible to say. Let us
remember the lesson, so often taught in the history of
scientific investigation, that no one can forecast what may
come of a search in the dark, and that any fact well estal>
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.'<t, ghastly, and gas are
from a root meaning air ; and the Ileb. nephesh, soul, and ruach, spirit, are
from a root which means to breathe. Cf. Gen. 2:7: "breathed into his
nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul."
2 Substance (sub and sto, stans, that standing under) has in scholastic
philosophy two distinguishable meanings : —
1st. Ens per se snhsistens, ovala. It is conceived as apart from all qualities,
as merely existing. Spinoza says: '■'Per suhstnntiiim iiitclligo id quod in
se est, et per se concipitur ; hoc est id cujns conceptus nan indiget conceptii,
alterius rei a quo formari dchent.'''' — Ethics, Def. 3.
2d. Id quod suhstnt accidentibus, vivharacTLS, inroKelixtvov, i.e. the substratum
in which qualities inhere, and which is their bond of union. Says Locke :
"Tlie idea which we have to which we give the name substance is nothing
PEELIMINABY DEFINITIONS. 51
Matter is the substance in which material or physical qvialities
inhere. Mind is the substance in which mental qualities
inhere.^ Since there is no common quality, the presence of
any one is distinctive. Some qualities, however, are essential,
others accidental. Extension, being an ever-present quality
of matter, is considered essential, and taken as its defining
quality. Consciousness, being characteristic of all mental
phenomena, is considered essential, and taken as the defining
quality of mind.^
Mind, then, is conscious substance, or better, is the con-
scious subject. But this logical definition a priori is of little
advantage, the notion being so nearly ultimate. It is more
satisfactory, since we know mind only in its phenomena, its
conscious acts and affections, to explain the meaning of the
word and the nature of the thing by stating them summarily,
thus : Mind is that which knows and feels, desires and wills.
This is sometimes called the definition a posteriori, but is
rather a logical division of the mental powers.^
but the supposed but unknown support of those qualities we find existing,
which we imagine cannot exist sine re siihstante, without something to sup-
port them. We call that support substantia.''''
"In the former meaning,"- says Hamilton, "substance is considered in
contrast to and independent of its attributes; in the latter, as conjoined with
these, and affording them the condition of existence." — Meta., p. 105.
Herbert Spencer defines the substance of mind as " that which undergoes
a modification producing a state of mind." He adds: "Consequently, if
every state of mind is some modification of this substance of mind, there can
be no state of mind in which the unmodified substance of mind is present."
Hence unmodified substance of mind is unknowable. — Principles of Psy-
chology, § 59.
1 Whether these be two distinct substances or only one, a common,
substance is a question which just now is disregarded. An examination of
it will be found in a subsequent chapter on Mind and Matter.
2 Descartes said : " Thought is the essence of spirit, extension the essence
of matter. The one is known by consciousness, the other by perception."
This is, at least, badly stated. Bather, this: "Consciousness is to mind
what extension is to matter. Both are phenomena, but both are essential
qualities ; for we can neither conceive mind without consciousness, nor body
without extension." — Hamilton, Meta., p. 109.
3 Aristotle, in De Anima, ii. 1, gives an a priori definition of the soul,
52 CONSCIOUSNESS.
It will be better, however, to exclude all consideration
of substance, and use the word mind to stand merely for a
complement of activities. Its substantial essence is a meta-
physical theme that does not concern us at present, and would
hinder rather than promote our strictly psychological inquiries.^
§ 51. The most thoroughgoing distinction in psychology is
the antithesis between the ego and the non-ego, between self
and not-self. The ego is identical with- my mind; the non-
ego is any and everything else. All the material universe, all
human beings, except myself, are non-ego. My body is mine,
but is not I myself. It may be mutilated ; I am still entire.
Even the innermost organ of my brain is non-ego. The ego
is I myself who stand in conscious opposition to the non-ego.
I can conceive myself to exist apart from every organ, but I
cannot conceive myself to exist apart from consciousness.
This or that mode may not be necessary, but in some mode it
is necessary that I be conscious in order to be. I, the ego,
therefore am essentially a conscious being, and my true char-
acter is that of an intelligence served by organs.^
^ux'7) which has been much discussed. It is : " The soul is the first entel-
echy of a physical, potentially living and organic body." This is cited by
Leibnitz as an illustrious example of obscurity. In ii. 2, Aristotle gives his
a posteriori definition of tpvxv: " The soul is the principle by which we live
and move, perceive (or feel, aiadavoixai) and understand."
1 Wundt says there are only two ways of conceiving the soul, either as a
substance or as an act. To the first conception belong all theories according
to which psychic facts are manifestations of a liypothetical substratum, a
substance material or immaterial. According to the latter the psychic is
pure actuality, immediately given in the manifestations of the mental life.
Hume, Kant, Fichte, and Hegel are representatives of the theory of actuality.
Psychology does not, like the physical sciences, attach itself to a metaphysi-
cal conception outside the fact of internal perception, or allow itself to be
embarrassed by an hypothesis of substance, not needed in the explanation.
Thus we have, despite its etymology, " psycliology without a soul."
^ Throughout this treatise, the pronouns I, mine, me, are used generically,
meaning the ego as it is in every person, single in each, but common in
character. They should be taken to mean the reader, rather than the
writer.
PEELIMINABY DEFINITION !S. 53
There is a further distinction between the ego and its con-
scious modes. I distinguish myself from my thoughts. They
are manifold and various ; I, on the contrary, am one and the
same. Their change is sometimes determined by me, some-
times by that different from me, and because of this changing
I can distinguish myself from my thoughts. But I am a
permanent being, an enduring subject, of whose existence
these thoughts are only conscious modes or phenomena.^
§ 52. Another thoroughgoing antithesis, very similar to
but not strictly identical with the preceding, is that between
subject and object. The subject (the mind, the ego) is that
in which the phenomena of consciousness inhere.^ The sub-
jective is that which belongs to or proceeds from or directly
relates to the subject. The object is that about which the
subject is conversant. The objective is that which belongs
to or proceeds from or directly relates to an object.^
The subject knows ; the object is known. They are essen-
tial correlatives ; no subject, no object ; no object, no subject.
All consciousness involves a subject and an object, the one
determined, the other determining. The subject is conscious
only in being affected by an object ; an object is known only
as affecting the subject. The whole science of mind is little
1 ' ' Consciousness comes from the firmly founded relation of the mental
modifications, a founding which implies a something relatively in repose,
which transcends in force the simple modifications. This thing of relative
repose is the ego." — Kirchmann.
' ' "Was ist doch tiberhaupt das Ich ? Warum sagen wir immer so leicht :
mein Geist, meine Seele, als wenn noch ein andrer Regent hoher iiber diesen
Regierenden in uns stjinde." — Tieck.
2 The word subject is pretty much the same as substance, but psychology
has usurped it to itself, so that currently in philosophical writings the con-
scious subject and the subject (unqualified) mean the same thing and are
equivalents of mind.
3 This distinction between subject, id in quo, and object, id circa quod,
corresponds pretty nearly with Aristotle's distinction between to. vfxiv, things
in us, and to, (pijaeL, things in nature. See Hamilton in Reid, note B, § 1, 6,
footnote (p. 806), for a discussion of the liistory and nature of the distinction.
54 CONSCIOUSNESS.
else tlian an exposition of these opposites in tlieir mutual
relations.^
When the object is immediate and a present non-ego, that is,
something external to the mind and yet within the sphere of
consciousness, it is called simply the object, in a specific sense.
But while the subject is always the ego, the immediate object
is not always a non-ego. Very often a present mental state
itself is objectified, or becomes an object of cognition. For
example, a mental image, as of the moon, being a mode of the
mind itself, is in that respect subjective ; as a thing known,
it is objective, an object of knowledge. Although really iden-
tical with the ego, the mind distinguishes it as a mode from
self. It projects, as it were, this subjective phenomenon from
itself, objectifies it, and views it as a non-ego. Hence it is
distinguished as a subjective object, or subject-object.
The mental image, the subject-object, immediately repre-
sents some remote object, as the moon itself. It is remote in
the sense of being now beyond the sphere of consciousness,
or not here and now present and consciously known. This
remote object is something either real, as the moon, or at least
logically possible, as a centaur. It is called by way of dis-
tinction, an objective object, or object-object.
In cognitive states the subjective is that pertaining to the
mind as observant or reflective ; the objective is that pertain-
ing to the thing on which the mind's attention is fixed. But
by its definition, the objective means not only what belongs to
or proceeds from an object, but also what directly relates to it.
1 Some illustrative examples may be heli)ful. The extended landscape
before nie is an object; my enjoyment of it is subjective. 1 liear a sweet-
toned bell ; the bell and its tones are objects or objective; the hearing and
the sweetness are subjective. To be convinced is subjective ; to convict is
objective. Certainty, as a state of mind, is subjective ; as a character of
proof, it is objective. Benevolence is subjective ; beneficence is objective.
That suicide is a crime is an objective fact ; that Cato tliinks otherwise is a
subjective fact. A code of morality that allows a man to fix his own standard
of ri^ht and wronj,' is subjective ; but tlie moral law is said to have objective
authurity, an authority belonging to itself, apart from the opinions of men.
PRELIMINABY DEFINITIONS. 55
Hence those modes of mind which are immediately conversant
with an object, as perception, are called objective modes.
§ 53. Power is the possibility of change. Possible mental
changes, known from experience, are classified as powers of
mind. Primarily we have two classes, the active powers or
faculties, and the passive powers or capacities. A faculty
is a power to change, a capacity is a power to be changed ;
the one is a power to impart, the other to receive. This dis-
tinction is of some value in marking relations, but it is not
essential, any power being active or passive according to the
relation in which it is viewed. An uncaused act of will is
an exception, being absolutely active.
Potential or virtual existence is that which at some future
time cau be ; actual existence is that which now is. Patti is
a singer when silent, not in actu, but in posse, or virtually ;
she can sing. Power, faculty, capacity, disposition, habit, are
expressions for potential or possible mental modes. Act,
operation, energy, exercise, denote actual modes. Affection
and passion denote a present suffering.^
It is a very simple inference from observing what the mind
does, to conclude that it has a power or faculty of doing it.
But of the power when not in exercise, as of the substantial
mind itself, we are utterly unconscious. We are conscious
only of mental action and of reaction in suffering. It would
be better, therefore, if our psychological nomenclature were
so constructed as to confine our attention to the actual phe-
nomena of which we are conscious, and we should endeavor
to represent the facts as actual rather than potential.
1 FacuUas is the same asfacUitas, from facilis, facere, and means ability
todo. " Facilitates sunt, aut quihus facilins fit, aut sine qidhus aliquid coiifici
non potest.'' — Cicero, Invent., ii. 40. Faculties and capacities are natural
powers; disposition is a natural tendency. "Habit, ?|is, is discriminated
from disposition, Siddea-is, in this, that the latter is easily movable, the
former of longer duration and more difficult to be moved." — Aristotle,
Catagorice, viii. Habit is the effect of repetition or custom. "For use
almost can change the stamp of nature." —Hamlet. Its law may be stated
thus : Our powers acquire strength, facility, and a permanent tendency by
repetition of the same exercise.
56 CONSCIOUSNESS.
CHAPTER II.
GENERALITY OF CONSCIOUSNESS.
§ 54. The primary and fundamental truth of psychology,
that indeed from which all other truths arise, is the simple
judgment, I am conscious. This proposition is incapable of
proof, and needs none, for it is evidently true on the slightest
self-inspection. It is requisite, however, to know what is
meant by the concrete term conscious, and its abstract form
consciousness.^
The complete generality of consciousness is the most impor-
tant point to be noted. Having examined the various mental
modes and abstracted their common qualit}^ we call that con-
sciousness. Every mental state, then, is a conscious state, or
consciousness is the name of a quality characteristic of every
mental state. As matter in all of its modes is extended, so
mind in all of its modes is conscious.^
Actual consciousness is always concrete in some particular
1 Consciousness, conscientia, joint knowledge, from con, together, and
scire, to know. Etymologically the word is the same with conscience ; but
while the latter is narrowed in usage to an ethical sense, the former is greatly-
widened in meaning, and must not be bound by its etymology. The ancient
Greeks had no term for consciousness. The Greek Platonists and Aristote-
lians of the Christian era adoi)ted the term crvvai(r6r}ffLs, which properly denotes
the self-recognition of sense and feeling, and extended it to mean conscious-
ness in general. TertulHan (a.d. 100-220) was the tir.st to use conscientid in
its psychological sense, but prior to Descartes it only occasionally occurs.
- Consciousness is mental life. " It is," says Cousin, "the interior light
which illuminates everything that takes place in the soul ; it is the accompani-
ment of all our faculties, and is, so to speak, their echo." — /list, of Mod.
Phil., t. i, p. 247. It would be more accurate to say that whatever takes place
in the soul is self-luminous ; that consciousness does not attend, but per-
meates and informs all our faculties, and is, not their echo, but their voice.
GENERALITY OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 57
state of mind, as perceiving, or remembering, or thinking, or
feeling. Each of these is a mode of consciousness, and there
is no unmodified consciousness. Its abstract, comprehensive,
generic relation is merely logical.
Because of its complete generality, consciousness cannot be
logically defined. There is no higher genus to which it can
be referred. It is the summum genus of the mental series.
We must be content, therefore, to have it merely indicated ;
e.g. when one is falling asleep, he is losing consciousness, etc.
§ 55. Since we cannot refer consciousness to any higher
notion, let us look down its logical series, consider its content,
and thus render the notion distinct. The modes of conscious-
ness are knowing and feeling, desiring and willing.
When I am knowing a thing I know that I am knowing it,
or more properly, I am conscious of knowing it, or am con-
sciously knowing it. But these phrases convey the impres-
sion that the knowing a thing, and the consciousness of
knowing it, are distinguishable facts, which is not true. Also
they waste words ; for knowledge is merely and in itself a mode
of consciousness, and in saying simply I know, I say that I am
conscious. So also of feeling. Desiring and willing also are
severally and essentially conscious activities.^
I may, however, accurately say I know that I feel, or that
I desire, or will. But when this is strictly correct, the feel-
ing, the desiring, or the willing has been objectified, has
become a subject-object of cognition. This is not feeling, or
desiring, or willing, but knowing. It is self-perception, a
mode of cognition. The state is commonly and faii'ly ex-
pressed thus : I am conscious of feeling, etc. Hence many
have been led to regard consciousness in general as a kind or
mode of knowledge, the knowledge of self, as distinguished
from the knowledge of an external object. Others, enlarg-
1 Said the schoolmen: '■'-Non sentimns, nisi sentiamus nos sentire ; non
intelliiiiruHs, nisi intplligamus nos intelligere.''^ But Aristotle had said: ovk
58 CONSCIOUSNESS.
ing the view, hold consciousness to be the immediate knowl-
edo-e of any object. But both these subordinate consciousness
to knowledge, define it, and so deny to it the complete gener-
ality and supremacy that belongs to its nature.^
Does the reality justify and require the more extended
meaning of the term consciousness ? Is each of the several
activities in itself a conscious activity ? Desires and volitions
are not commonly considered as in themselves conscious
activities, but that they are so is evident ; for, when cogni-
tion and feeling are constant, the intensity of consciousness
varies with the intensity of desire, or of volition.
1 Nearly all writers on psychology offer a definition of consciousness.
Stewart says: "It is the immediate knowledge which the mind has of its
sensations and thoughts, and, in general, of all its present operations." This
makes it a special faculty cognizant of self, which, indeed, was the doctrine
of Stewart, and of Reid, Royer-Collard, and Adolphe Gamier. Hamilton on
one page renounces any attempt to define it, and on the next says: "It
is the recognition by the mind or ego of its acts and affections. " — il/e to. ,
pp. 132, 133. This is the mere conscia sibi. So Porter, Htim. Intel, §§ 67,
75. Elsewhere Hamilton has: "Consciousness and Immediate knowledge
are terms mutually convertible ; and if there be an immediate knowledge of
things external, there is consequently the consciousness of an outer world."
— Discussions, p. 57. This is better. But still better: "Consciousness is
the fundamental form, the generic condition of all the modes of mental
activity." — Id., p. 54. Cf. Meta., p. 126. Says Mill : " A feeling and a state
of consciousness are equivalent expressions. Feeling is a genus, of which
sensation, emotion, thought, and volition are subordinate species." — Zof/ic,
bk. i, ch. 1, §§ 3, 5. The extent here given to consciousness is just ; but not
that given to feeling. They should not be identified.
Wundt's view is not unlike that taken in the text. He holds that per-
ception, representation, idea, feeling, volition, form a continuity called con-
sciousness, of which only tautological definitions can be formulated. Its
fundamental characteristic, given in experience, is unity ; its condition, that
mental facts be united and co-ordinated according to law. The physiological
basis of the unity of consciousness is the continuity of the nervous system,
and this excludes the possibility of diverse kinds of consciousness. Con-
sidered in its psychological aspect, consciousness is a unification, an activity
that essentially unites and combines all mental phenomena as their common
characteristic.
CONDITIONS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 59
CHAPTER III.
CONDITIONS OF CONSCIOUSNESS.
§ 56. The constitution of mind and brain being given as a
primary condition, we may discover still two other conditions
of consciousness, the first a condition of its existence, the
second of its continuance.^
Opj)osition conditions the existence of consciousness.
Primarily an opposition between the ego and a non-ego is
requisite.^ This non-ego must be not merely different from
the ego, but also in direct opposition to it ; it must through
some channel of sense enter in upon and forcibly impress the
ego, otherwise consciousness can never be. The first awak-
ening, the first moment of consciousness is due doubtless to
the impression of a non-ego through the tactile or muscular
sense. Thereafter throughout life our various senses are
almost constantly in exercise. Their objects are continually
assailing the ego, and by virtue of such opposition there is
consciousness.
Moreover, opposition between coexisting states of mind
excites consciousness. Opposition occurs between sense-
perceptions, memories, imaginings, and thoughts, between
feelings of pleasure and pain, between conflicting desires,
between the alternatives of .choice, between an effort of the
will and the resistance it encounters. Thus within each of
the departments of mind, as well as by their contrasts with
1 A condition (conditio sine qua non) is something that must be in order
that something else may be.
2 The contrast between existence and non-existence is insufficient, for I
cannot be conscious of the non-existent. The non-ego opposed to self, de-
spite the negative form of the word, must be a positively existing thing.
60 CONSCIOUSNESS.
each other, the conclition is fulfilled, and all are self-luminous
with consciousness.
§ 57. Change conditions the continuance of consciousness.
We have spoken of coexisting states ; we are now to speak
of successive states.
It is a constitutional fact that consciousness awakened in
any one mode does not long continue. It directly begins to
subside, and in most cases subsides rapidly. The tactile
impression, for example, must be continually renewed in
order to be maintained. And this is true in all departments
of mind. An unvarying impression soon ceases to affect
us, and consciousness of it soon sinks to zero. But, on the
other hand, changes of impression maintain full conscious-
ness, and rapid changes excite intense consciousness. For
example, the irregularity of motion in a stage-coach, and the
clangor of a bell.
§ 58. The condition change is subordinate to opposition,
for change is only the introduction of some new opposition,
bringing about successive states unlike, and therefore opposed
to each other. Hence we may comprise the two under a single
formula, the Law of Relativity : Every mode of consciousness
subsists by virtue of an opposition. This is a primary law
of mind. In respect of experience, it is universal. Every
experience is tAvofold. All feeling, all knowing, is double.
The doctrine that contraries are congenital, that they are pro-
duced together and necessarily coexist, is illustrated by the
multitude of correlative terms in every language, as straight
and crooked, knowledge and ignorance. Every afifirmation
is, therefore, also a negation, and the knowledge of tlie abso-
lute is impossible.^
1 Omnis affinnalio est negatio. — Si-iJiosA.. On the law, with many ilhis-
trations, see Bain, Mind and Body, ch. 4 ; and Senses and Intellect, p. ?21.
The absolute is that which has no relation.
CONDITIONS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. HI
§ 59. In the awakening of any mode of consciousness, and
in each subsequent modification, we experience a shock of
difference. Both the opposition in coexisting states and the
change in successive states are attended by this feeling, itself
the beginning or the revival of the mode of consciousness.
Hence the most elementary, the most fundamental movement
of mind implies a discrimination, a comparison, a contrast, and
without this neither the most elaborate nor the most refined
and transient mood is possible. I could not know even my
own existence did not some other existence press in upon me,
and in the shock of difference make me conscious that I am.
By a familiar logical law no two things are absolutely dif-
ferent, they must in some respect be similar; nor are there any
two things absolutely similar, they must in some respect be
different. A consciousness of the difference implies a con-
sciousness of the similarity ; for by the law of relativity
itself there can be no consciousness of the one except by
virtue of an opposed consciousness of the other. They are
psychological correlatives.^ All knowledge, then, resolves
ultimately into a consciousness of similarity in the midst of
contrariety. A definition, for example, is a perfected expres-
sion of knowledge, and to define a thing is to state its agree-
ment with some things (^emts), and its disagreement with
others (^differentia').
1 In Nic. Mh., vi, 1, Aristotle adopts the principle of similarity as the
basis of all knowledge.
62 CONSCIOUSNESS.
CHAPTER IV.
LIMITS OF CONSCIOUSNESS.
§ 60. Consciousness is subject to limitations. First, it is
only of the actual, not of the potential (§ 53). I know the
alphabet, I can sa}^ it. This is potential knowledge, but not
actual, not conscious knowledge, the thing not being just now
present in consciousness. I can suffer pain, but just now am
conscious of none. Conscious pain must be actual. I am not
at all conscious of any of my powers, except when in actual
exercise. I may be conscious of a belief in my power to do
this or that, but this confidence is not a consciousness of the
ability, of the faculty itself.
§ 61. Secondly, consciousness is only of the present. I can-
not be conscious of the past, for it has ceased to be, or of the
future, for as yet it is not. I cannot be conscious of what
does not exist. Nor can I be conscious of what is absent, for
virtually it is non-existent. I am conscious only of what is
present in time and space, of what is now and here.
Hence what is consciously known is immediately and not
mediately known, for that which is now and here does not
need, does not admit, a medium, but is Avithin the sphere of
consciousness. Memory, for example, is a conscious act,
a mode of consciousness. In it my present mental image of
a past event is immediately, consciously known, for it is now
and here witliin consciousness ; but the past event itself is not
consciously, but mediately, known through the mental image.
A belief concerning a past event is often called a conscious-
ness of it ; for example, I am conscious of having done wrong.
Obviously this is mere belief. I am conscious of the convie-
LIMITS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 63
tion, but not of the wrong-doing itself, for it has passed
away.
§ 62. A third limitation is that consciousness is only of the
positive, not of the negative. Though I cannot be conscious
of an absent thing, may I not be conscious of the absence
of a thing? We say, I am conscious of silence, i.e. of the
absence of sound, a pure negative. But this means only that
I am not conscious of sound. A consciousness of ignorance
means only an unconsciousness of knowledge. When a thing
is absent from consciousness, we speak of its absence as if
that were itself a thing. But it is a nothing, a void, a mere
negation of the thing, and so there is merely unconsciousness
of it. It were absurd to say, I am conscious of unconscious-
ness.
§ 63. Certain other conceivable limitations are questioned.
First. Are we conscious always? Since consciousness varies
in intensity, does it not sometimes sink to zero ?
Though we often speak of being wholly unconscious, it
cannot be proved that there is ever such a state. We can-
not observe directly the consciousness of another, much less
an unconsciousness. When his external senses are com-
pletely torpid, and all communication thereby closed, how
can we judge of his inner state ? That we can find no
external signs of consciousness does not prove unconscious-
ness.
Nor can one testify to his own unconsciousness. On arous-
ing from complete torpor, I can say only that I remember
nothing. That there seems no interval of time between
before and after is merely no memory. Having no memory
of consciousness does not prove unconsciousness.
The supposition that consciousness, in its varying intensity,
may sometimes reach zero, is fairly balanced by the supposi-
tion that there may be a minimum for consciousness short
of zero.
G4 CONSCIOUSJ\'J£Sti.
Therefore it cannot be said that there is ever a dreamless
sleep. But the fact that the mind is often awake and dream-
ing while the senses are asleep is established ; whereas that
it sometimes sleeps along with them is unproved. Hence it
is admissible to suppose that it is always awake, is always
conscious. This justifies the definition of mind as conscious
substance, and has been the common opinion of psychologists.^
§ 64. Second. Are we conscious of more than one thing
at a time ? A slight consideration will show that we are
usually conscious of many things simultaneously. Cognition,
feeling, desire, and volition are distinct conscious activities,
and all are constantly in exercise. My cognitive conscious-
ness is never exclusively occupied with a single object.
Many colors, many sounds, are simultaneously perceived.
All the senses may be at once in action, and each on a vari-
ety of objects. Memory is never of one thing alone, but of
many together, and the same is true of thouglits. Yet I
perceive, remember, and think, all in the same instant.
Along with these cognitions are many sensations and emo-
tions. Surprise, mirth, admiration, vexation, belief, are all
compatible in consciousness. Even opposites may coexist.
I may, while hoping for one thing, despair of another ; while
courageously meeting a danger, dread its possible conse-
quences. There is often a conflict of emotions, and also of
desires, not a duel, but a battle between hosts.
Whoever will examine any ordinary state of his mind
must soon discover that he is conscious, not of one, nor of a
few, but of a multitude of things at once. It should be
1 Plato affirms the continuous energy of intellect. Aristotle is undecided.
Cicero says : ^'■Nunqnam animus agitatione et niotu vacuus potest esse." —
De Div. ii, 02. So also Auj;ustinc. Descartes made thought the very essence
of mind, which therefore always thinks. Locke maintained the contrary. —
Essay, bk. ii, ch. 1. Leibnitz opposed Locke's views, showing them incon-
clusive, but did not himself affirm. — None. Ess., lib. ii, ch. 1. Kant affirms.
— A nthropoUxjip, §§ oO, o(5. Hamilton affirms with some hesitation. — Mcta.,
Lee. 17. Joui'froy affirms decidedly. — Mchinijes, p. 290 sq.
LIMITS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 65
remarked, however, that of this multitude very few are in
clear consciousness ; the great majority, though distinguisha-
ble, are indistinct, actually but only obscurely present. ^ It
is the function of attention to bring an object already present
in cognitive consciousness, though obscure and confused with
others, out into clear and distinct consciousness. It operates
according to the following law of limitation : The extension
of our knowledge is in inverse ratio to its intension. That is
to say, the more intently we consider an object, the fewer or
less clear will be the other objects present in consciousness ;
and, on the other hand, the greater the number of objects to
which our consciousness is simultaneously extended, the
smaller is the intensity with Avhich it is able to consider any
one. When consciousness takes hold on and attends to one
object in disregard of others, then the intensity of conscious-
ness relatively to it is acquired at the expense of the vivid-
ness of the other objects, they becoming confused, obscure,
and many perhaps passing entirely out of consciousness.
Thus the intension limits the extension.
§ 65. Third. Are we conscious of all mental activities ?
Are there not certain mental activities of which we are un-
conscious ?
Quite a number of facts in the history of mental experi-
ence are hardly explicable upon commonly admitted psycho-
logical principles. To explain them, an hypothesis of
unconscious activities has been proposed. It supposes that
simultaneously with our conscious activities there is a con-
tinuous series of activities out of consciousness, either of an
intensity too low to excite a consciousness of them, or of a
1 Says Leibnitz : "We must observe that we think of a great many things
at once, but take heed only of those thoughts that are the more prominent."
— Nouv. Ess., lib. ii, ch. 1. Cardaillac recognized the importance to psychol-
ogy of this doctrine. See his Etudes Element, de Philos., t. ii, ch. 5. The
scholastics earnestly discussed the question : " Possetne intellectus noster
plura siinul mtelligere.'' The widely comprehensive area of consciousness
is now generally admitted.
66 CONSCIOUSNESS.
nature that excludes them from consciousness. It supposes
that these latent or sub-conscious activities are important fac-
tors of conscious life, so that states of which we are conscious
often originate in and are determined by activities of which
we are unconscious. The hypothesis is not new, but has
grown into new favor of late, and been expanded into a
philosophy of the unconscious.^
But sub-conscious activities can only be inferred to exist
as causes of unexplained effects, those causes being otherwise
utterly unknown. Now, logical law condemns an hyj)othesis
of a cause which is not vera causa (a cause otherwise known
to be), especially in the absence of proof that no other
hypothesis can account for the facts. The present hypoth-
esis fails on both points, and therefore stands condemned. ^
Further investigation may perhaps refer the unexplained
facts to known causes. This has been the case in several
1 Leibnitz held the doctrine, but not clearly. Hamilton in one place says :
"The rise or awakening of a mental modification is also the rise or awak-
ening of consciousness." — Meta., p. 242. Nevertheless, with characteristic
inconsistency, he explicates Leibnitz's view, and founds his doctrine of
memory upon it. His " demonstration " (Meta., p. 243 sq.) begs the ques-
tion by assuming that a cause too feeble to awaken consciousness (e.g. a ray
of light) excites an activity, which therefore is out of consciousness. In an-
other view it is Fallacia divisionis. Thus: Since the two halves of a mini-
mum visibile taken together cause activity, therefore each taken separately
Causes activity. In his Examination of Sir William Hamilton'' s Philosophy,
ch. 8, Mill severely criticises these views.
The hypothesis is still in vogue, and has been worked up by Hartmann into
a Philosophij of (he Unconscioits. Among many others, AVundt seems to
hold it. He says : " A full-grown science tends to unity. And observation
conducts to unity in psychology. But the agent of this unity is outside of
consciousness, which knows only the results done in the unknown laboratory
beneath it. Suddenly a new thought springs into being. We know no
whence it comes, for the conditions which have produced it have already
disappeared. Ultimate analysis of psychical processes shows that the uncon-
scious is the theatre of the most important mental phenomena. The con-
scious is always conditioned on the unconscious." — P/i^s. Pstjc, Int., p. 8.
If, as is probable, by " the agent of this unity " he means the cortex of the
brain, then we waive objection.
■^ Sec Mill's Lof/ir, bk. iii, ch. 14, § 4.
LIMITS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 67
instances. More especially we observe that our acquired dex-
terities and liabits which have been referred to unconscious
mental action, are now fully explained phj^sically by reflex
action (§§ 36, 37). Moreover, the spontaneous ordering of
thoug'lits may fairly be referred to unconscious cerebration
(§ 41), which reference to.another hypothetical cause, at least
transfers the question to physiology. Again, the phenomena
of spontaneous memory may fairly be referred to obscure
consciousness (§ 64). When we are startled by some un-
sought remembrance, it is sufficiently explained as the result
of interaction in obscure consciousness, and so does not
require the hypothesis of unconscious activities.
When we observe that the variations of consciousness and
activity are concomitant, intense consciousness attending
high activity, and feeble consciousness attending low activity,
in dii'cct proportion throughout, we rightly conclude that, if
consciousness and activity are to be regarded as distinct facts,
then they are related either as cause and effect, or as the
effects of a common cause. If the former, then the presump-
tion is that the cessation of either is attended by the cessa-
tion of the other. If the latter, then the presumption is that
a cause too feeble to arouse consciousness is too feeble to
arouse activity. It follows that activity and consciousness
come into existence together, and cease together, and there
are no sub-conscious activities.
But why regard activity and consciousness as distinct
facts? Is it not better to identify them? Let us say that
all consciousness is mental activity, and that all mental
activity is conscious activity. Thus it is opposed to physical
activity, to unconscious material energy. In this vicAV, the
phrase " unconscioi,:^s mental activities " is self-contradictory
and absurd.
68 CONSCIOUSNESS.
CHAPTER V.
FACTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS.
§ 66. The conditions being fulfilled, what, within the
limits indicated, is given by consciousness? What are facts
of consciousness ? Whatever I immediately know, whatever
I feel, or desire, or will respecting myself, or respecting an
object present to consciousness, is a fact of consciousness.
My own existence in some distinct mode, or in other words,
the existence of my present mental state, is a general fact of
consciousness. That I see, that I remember, that in thinking
I abstract and generalize, that I feel pain, that I desire hap-
piness, and make efforts to attain it, these, as present mental
modes, are special facts of consciousness. In perception, the
existence of the object also is given as a fact; I not only
consciously know, but also am conscious of the thing known.
In short, whenever I can trul}^ say, I am conscious of this or
that, the fact, in so far, is a fact of consciousness. ^
The phrase, I am conscious of this or that, is often loosely
used of matter not trul}^ within consciousness. Should one
say, I am conscious of the warmth of the sunshine, we may
grant him conscious of warmth, but that it is of the sunshine
is an inference, and is not given or affirmed by consciousness.
To reach a sound basis for our speculations, we must analyze
the mental content, and abstracting from all derived matter,
make clear the fact or facts of conscious] * ss.
1 " Whenever, in our analysis of the intellectual ])henomena, we arrive at
an element which we cannot reduce to a generalization from experience, but
■which lies at the root of all experience, and which we cannot, therefore, re-
solve into any higher principle, this we properly call a fact of consciousness."
— Hamilton, il/efa., p. 187.
FACTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 69
§ 67. A fact of consciousness, since it lies at the beginning
of a mental combination, is primary ; being incapable of analy-
sis into constituent facts, it is simple ; being in itself not sus-
ceptible of explanation, it is ultimate ; and being merely given
as an existing distinct fact, it is original and not derived.^
Moreover, since the data of consciousness constitute the
ground of proof of all other facts, they themselves are incap-
able of proof. But they do not need any. They have the
light of truth in themselves. They are self-evident. No
appeal can weaken or strengthen them. They are firmly
established by their self-evidence, and by that alone. ^
§ 68. A fact of consciousness is merely given, but it is, as
it were, forcibly given. It cannot be refused, its self-evidence
cannot be disregarded, it must be accepted. In my conscious-
ness that a thing exists, it is implied that I am constrained
to accept this existence as real. For example, I hear a loud
continuous sound, let us say a locomotive whistle. Of the
sound, I am truly conscious. I may question its direction,
its cause, and many other things respecting it, but its ex-
istence and my sense-perception of it, I cannot doubt for
an instant. I cannot contradict this affirmation of conscious-
ness. The acceptance of it is enforced upon me ; and this
is implied in saying that I am conscious of the sound.
This constraint attends consciousness only. The existence
1 Consciousness merely reveals that it is, not how or why it is. For if
the how or why were given, then it would be a derived or secondary, and not
an original and primary datum. An inference as to its exciting cause or
occasion is a rational but not a conscious explanation.
It is simple as a fact, is the last fact attainable by analysis. We shall
hereafter find that every fact of consciousness is capable of resolution into
essential elements, empirical and pure. But since these elements can have
no separate existence in consciousness except as mere logical abstractions,
they are not properly facts of consciousness, and so we refuse them that title.
2 Each one must discern the facts for himself in the depths of his own
consciousness. We can only help him to find them. The process of disclos-
ing them may involve proof ; but once disclosed, no proof can be offered in
support of them.
70 CONSCIOUSNESS.
of a thing not within consciousness is not assertive, but prob-
lematical. How can I affirm it to be ? I may believe very
strongly that it is, as I believe the sun to be in the sky. I
may accumulate logical proof. I may remember that it
was within consciousness a moment ago. But now that it
is not within consciousness, it may possibly or conceivably
have ceased to be. Its existence, not being a fact of con-
sciousness, is questionable.
§ 69. The consciousness of reality involves a feeling of
certainty. When I am conscious of the existence of a thing
I feel certain of it. The certainty is pure, strict, positive,
absolute. In the consciousness that I am, for instance, there
is, together with the cognition of my existence, a certainty
of the fact, a faith in it, that has no limit. Indeed, to pro-
fess a doubt of a fact of consciousness is the -highest form of
self-contradiction. Should one say, I doubt my own exists
ence, we ask him, who doubts ? There can be no delusion or
illusion in what is given by consciousness. Its facts stand
high above the reach of skepticism.^
It is very important to discriminate clearly the facts of
consciousness from other facts. Their strict certainty may
serve as a criterion. If it be possible in any manner or
measure to doubt a fact without self-contradiction, then it
falls short of certainty, and is not immediatel}', consciously,
given, but is inferred, mediate, and represented. But if even
the form of doubt be impossible, then the feeling reaches
strict certainty, the fact is a fact of consciousness, is immedi-
ately, consciously given, is an intuition, a presentation.
One limitation is needful. A demonstration, proceeding
logically from intuitive principles, carries their certainty
1 Says Leibnitz : " There may be intelligible reason for error in our medi-
ate and external perceptions ; but if our immediate, internal experience could
possibly deceive us, there could no longer be for us any truth of fact (rente
de fait), nay, nor any truth of reason (rerite de raisuu).'''' — Nonv. Ess., lib.
ii, ch. 27, § 13. The untenable notion that possibly my conciousness may in
some respect deceive me, is noticed in a subsequent chapter.
FACTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 71
along with it, yet its result is not a fact of consciousness ;
for it is not original, but derived. Hence tlie criterion reads
thus : A fact of consciousness is certain and original.
§ 70. The facts of consciousness constitute the subject-
matter of psychology. Having ascertained them, and
accepted them without retrenchment, distortion, or addition,
we proceed to generalize and classify them, and to formulate
accordingly the ultimate laws of mind. When this is
thoroughly done, we have a true science of mind.^
But their importance is more manifest when we consider
that they alone are given to man to know : any further truth
he must win by thinking on and from them. They alone,
with what may be strictly demonstrated from them, are
certain; all other truth is, in a higher or lower degree,
merely probable. They are the ultimate ground, not only of
all the sciences, but of all knowledge whatsoever. Their
study, then, is of the highest dignity. We are searching the
oi'iginal and immovable grounds of all truth, of all faith.
Science in its perfection is knowledge of myself, of the world,
and of God. This is its beginning, its mean, and its end.
The great problem is : Given self, to find God.
1 Hamilton says : " Psychology is only a developed consciousness ; that is,
a scientific evolution of the facts of which consciousness is at once the guar-
antee and revelation, a systematic evolution of the contents of consciousness
through the instrumentality .of consciousness." — Discussions, p. 91.
J. S. Mill says : " All theories of the human mind profess to he interpre-
tations of consciousness ; the conclusions of all of them are supposed to rest
on that ultimate evidence, either immediately or remotely. What conscious-
ness directly reveals, together v?ith what can be legitimately inferred from
its revelations, composes, by universal admission, all that we know of the
mind, or indeed of any other thing. When we know what any philosopher
considers to be revealed in consciousness, we have a key to the entire char-
acter of his metaphysical system." — Ex. of Hamilton's Philos., oh. 8.
7 2 CONSCIO USNESS.
CHAPTER VI.
MODES OF CONSCIOUSNESS.
§ 71. Consciousness is the universal and fundamental phe-
nomenon of mind, all whose modes are conscious modes.
These modes are first divided into those that are modes of
consciousness and nothing more, and those that are con-
sciousness and something more. This something more is an
endeavor, and hence the modes differentiated by it are called
conations.^ In modes that are consciousness merely, we are
knowing and feeling ; in conation we are consciously wanting
and doing. This indicates a subdivision into subjective and
objective modes. The objective mode of consciousness is
cognition or knowledge ; its subjective mode is feeling or
sensibility. The subjective mode of conation is desire ; its
objective mode is volition. These generic relations are
conveniently exhibited in the following : —
SCHEME OF THE GENERIC POWERS.
Consciousness.
, A .
(Feeling. Cognition. "»
)■ Objective.
Desire. Volition, j
Conation.
Consciousness, in its most general sense, we have called
the fundamental phenomenon. Consciousneas in the nar-
rower sense and conation may be called the primary powers.
^ Conation (conari, ronntu!<) means an efforl, a nisus, a strivinp, an en-
deavor, and must be taken hero to include the impulse and the determmation
or choice that gives direction to the effort.
MODES OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 73
Coo-nition and feelin^, desire and volition, we shall call the
generic powers ; their subdivisions, the specific powers.^
Coo-nition and feeling cannot exist apart, nor, if taken
strictly, can desire and volition. Moreover, conations are
conditioned on the modes of consciousness, that is, without
a present cognition and feeling, a conation cannot be.
Hence the subjacent position of conation in the scheme .^
§ 72. Cognition is consciousness of an object. To cognize
is to know. Obviously we cannot know without knowing
something, and that something is the object. The specific
powers of cognition are determined by specific differences in
the objects known. Knowledge is accordingly of two kinds,
immediate or intuitive or presentative, and mediate or
representative.
The immediate cognition of a non-ego or object proper, is
perception ; the immediate cognition of a subject-object is self-
perception. These are specific presentative powers. They
are both empirical intuitions. But actual cognition involves
also a pure or non-empirical element, not cognized by sense,
but by intellect, and tliis immediate knowledge is attributed
1 The Peripatetic division is into the gnostic and oretic powers, famltates
cognoscendi et appetendi, which survives in the speculative and active powers,
or the understanding and will. It confuses desire and will, and omits feeling.
Kant {Critique of Judgment) made feeling co-ordinate, thus : thought, feeling,
striving, Denk, Gefiihl, Bestrebungsverm'ogen, the latter including desire and
will. This trichotomy, opposed in Germany but adopted in France, prevails
in England and with us under the modified form: intellect, sensibilities
(including desire), and will. Hamilton followed Kant, thus: cognition, feel-
ing, conation. We have adopted a dichotomous division and subdivision as
more strictly logical, and more in accord with the natural relations and
mutual dependence of the phenomena.
2 It may be permitted to note that this distribution is most ancient.
" When the woman saw that the tree was good for food [cognition, a percep-
tion and a judgmenf], and that it was pleasant to the eyes [feeling, a sensa-
tion and a sentiment'], and a tree to be desired to make one wise [desire or
velleity, xcith final causeT], she took thereof and did eat [volition, including
choice, intention, and effort with fruitiony — Gen. 3 : 6.
74 CONSCIOUSNESS.
to a third special presentative faculty called pure intuition or
reason.
A remote object, one beyond the sphere of consciousness,
can be known only mediately, that is, through some repre-
sentative. The specific powers thus cognizing a remote
object, an object-object, are called the representative powers,
and their exercise, representation. They are nmnori/, imagi-
nation, and thought.
§ 73. Feeling or sensibility, in the most general view, is
consciousness of self, of the subject. In every state of con-
sciousness there is essentially an objective and a subjective
element ; there is both a consciousness of an object as distin-
guished from self, a cognition, and a consciousness of self as
distinguished from an object, a feeling. These are psycho-
logical correlatives, existing only as they coexist ; they con-
dition and complement each other; they are the poles of
consciousness. • Hence, as cognitions are modes of objective
consciousness, so feelings are modes of subjective conscious-
ness ; and consciousness is distributed as the cognitive con-
sciousness and the sensitive consciousness.^ Relatively to
each other, the feelings fall into two classes, states of pleasure
and pain. Relatively to the coexistent cognitions, there are
three classes, — sensation, correlative to perception, emotion
and sentiment, correlative to intellect.
§ 74. Desire is the subjective element in conation, correla-
tive to volition, the objective element. These complement
and condition each other. As feeling has the modes pleasure
and pain, so desire has the similar modes, desire proper and
aversion. In general we have a desire for what gives pleas-
ure, and an aversion for what gives pain. Desires are also
1 A fuller justification of this view will be given when we come to treat
specifically of the feelings, Part IV. The essential and important distinction
between feeling and desire, so commonly disregarded, will also be subse-
i|ucntly treated, Tart V.
MODES OF CONSCIOUSNESS. 75
divided into the physical, as the appetites, which correspond
to sensations, and the psychical, as the affections, which cor-
respond to sentiments.
§ 75. Volition or will, the objective mode of conation, has
for its direct, immediate object an action. There are at least
two elements : first, choice, or the preference given to one
action over another; and, second, the effo7't to perform that
action. The immediate issue of choice is intention ; the
immediate issue of effort is attention. The latter determines
both mental and muscular action.
§ 76. The foregoing analysis of the mental powers, in their
co-ordination and subordination, gives rise to the follow-
ing:—
SCHEME OF THE SPECIFIC POWEKS.
I. Consciousness.
1. Objective consciousness, or Cognition.
A. Presentation, or Intuition.
(1) Perception. I g^^^^^^
(2) Self -perception. J
(3) Pure Intuition.
B. Representation.
(4) Memory. J> 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 .'<ur PEntendcmrnt Ilnmain.
* In a letter to Wn vVimi, a.d. 1710.
ORIGIN OF PURE TRUTH. 123
He means to say that the intellect itself is a source of knowl-
edge, in accordance with the much lauded brocard : " Cogni-
tio nostra omnis a mente primam originem, a sensibus exordium
pri7num, Jiahetr ^
This doctrine denies the tabula rasa of Locke. " We have
ideas," says Leibnitz, '' that are native to the mind (mentis
insitls}, that arise from the profundities of the intellect,^
though they do not come into actual being until sense pre-l
sents an occasion for their appearance. The truths of pure
mathematics, for instance, have principles the proof of which
does not depend on examples, and consequently not on the
evidence of sense ; howbeit that without the senses we should
never have found occasion to call them into consciousness."
So also of logic, and metaphysics, and ethics. In speak-
ing of the power by which we know such truths, he says :
" It is not a naked faculty, which consists in the mere possi-
bility of understanding them ; it is a disposition, an aptitude,
a preformation, which determines our mind to elicit them,
and which causes that they be elicited." ^
§ 128. In the system of Kant the pure intuitions are dis-
tinguished as " forms of cognition." The form is that which
the mind itself contributes as the condition of knowing, and
which it imposes on the matter of its knowledge. They are,
then, wholly subjective, having nothing objective correspond-
' 1 Patricius ; see Hamilton, Meta., pp. 285, 515.
2 Nouv. Ess., I, i, § 11. In illustration he says : " Let us make use of the
simile of a block of marble which has veins, rather than of one wholly uni-
form, or of blank tablets ; for if the mind resembled these blank tablets,
truths would be in us as the figure of Hercules is in a piece of marble when
the marble is altogether indifferent to the reception of this figure, or of any
other. But if we suppose that there are veins in the stone which would mark
out the figure of Hercules by preference to other figures, the stone would be
more determined thereunto, and Hercules would exist there innately, in a
certain sort ; although it would require labor to discover the veins, and to
clear them by polishing, and the removal of all that prevents their manifes-
tation. It is thus that ideas and truths are innate in us, like our inclina-
tions, dispositions, natural habitudes or virtualities, and not as actions."
124 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
ing to them. He says : " That which in the phenomenon
corresponds to the sensation, I term its matter, but that
which effects that the content of the phenomenon can be
arranged under certain relations, I call its form. . . . The
matter of all phenomena is given to us a posteriori ; the form
must lie ready a priori for them in the mind." See § 50, note.
'"'■ There are two pure forms of sensuous intuition, as prin-
ciples of knowledge a priori, namely, space and time. . . .
Space is nothing else than the form of all phenomena of the
external sense, that is, the subjective condition of the sensi-
bility, under which alone external intuition is possible. . . .
Time is not something which subsists of itself, or which
inheres in things as an objective determination. Time is
nothing else than the form of the internal sense." ^
In general, then, in the words of ]\Iansel, '' If there are in
every act of consciousness certain invariable elements, which
no change of consciousness can ever obliterate or alter, which
no effort of thought can get rid of or conceive as absent, and
without which consciousness itself cannot be imag-ined as
possible, these may be conjectured to owe their existence to
the constitution of the subject, which remains one and un-
changed in successive acts, while the changeable features
which distinguish one mode of consciousness from another
are probably due to the different constitutions of the several
things of which the subject is successively conscious. The
former may therefore be distinguished as constituting the
form or subjective ingredient of consciousness, the latter as
constituting the matter or objective ingredient." ^
This is the extreme of intuitionism. Those who hold with
Kant this doctrine of transcendental knowledge in pure ideas
must go with him into formal or critical idealism, and thence
logically with Fichte into absolute idealism, and further into
nihilism.^
^ Critique of Pure Heason, p. 21 sq. ^ Metaphysics, p. 55.
3 Hamilton, dominated by Kant, accepts the doctrine of innate forms, and
then sees only one escape from idealism, which is to admit both an empirical
ORIGIN OF PURE TRUTH. 125
§ 129. The intuitionism now widely prevalent among phil-
osophical thinkers is essentially that of Leibnitz and Kant.
It may be restated succinctly thus : —
An empirical intuition is adventitious to the mind, and
strictly sensuous. Being a posteriori or logically subsequent
to, and in consequence of, the exercise of its powers of obser-
vation, it is, therefore, acquired and contingent. The matter
is given to consciousness. A pure intuition is native to the
mind, and strictly intellectual. Being a priori, or a logical
antecedent, a condition and not a result of the exercise of
its powers of cognition, it is, therefore, original and neces-
sary. The form is given by consciousness.
That pure truths are native to the mind, or innate, does
not mean that they are congenital in the sense of being
born with and in us, and in conscious possession of the
mind from the moment of birth. It means rather that
the power of supplying such truth is provided for in the
constitution of the mind, so that, when an occasion is pre-
sented by experience, it is then born of the mind, it then
"arises from the profundities of the intellect," and com-
plements its empirical occasion so as with it to constitute
a cognition, somewhat as a lamp furnishes from within oil
which rises to meet the inflowing air, and the two combine,
giving light.
Pure ideas and principles are thus the conditions of knowl-
edge, having a source and origin wholly subjective. They
are formed in and by consciousness, which is constitutionally
predisposed to this end. They are elicited or evoked by
sense, yet are not the effects of sense, but are self-developed.
As the condition of its intelligent exercise, they are logically
but not chronologically prior.
Their criterion, necessity, is also viewed as wholly subjec-
and a pure knowledge of space and time. He holds, therefore, that they are
" both real forms of thought and conditions of things." — Hfeta., p. 647 ; see
also pp. 346, 401. This is very curious, and savors more of eclecticism than
of parcimony.
126 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
tive in its origin. Necessity is usually defined, negatively,
as the impossibility of conceiving the contrary ; positively,
as the absolute subjective constraint to think and believe thus
and so. Consequently, it is made to appear that pure ideas
and principles, instead of being in their own nature irrever-
sible and authoritative, owe this character to the peculiar
constitution of mind, to the imbecility or the constraint of
intellect. They are truths to us merely because our nature
is such that we must think and believe them.^
§ 130. It seems possible to take and maintain a view of the
origin of necessary truths more in accord Avith the approved
principles of jDsychology, and with the common judgments of
men, possible to adopt a course which will carry us clear of
both the Scylla of idealism and the Chary bdis of materialism.
This view is that mind is constituted with powers to know
both itself and things other than itself, the conditions of their
being, as well as their relations to each other; and not con-
stituted with things or ideas of things implanted to be known,
and with a predisposition to know them. Our cognitive con-
stitution is such as fits us, not only for the empirical, but also
for the pure intuition of objective reality. Consciousness in
the presence of some adventitious, empirical matter perceived
by sense, external or internal, has, beside and along with
1 That intuitionism logically and historically results in idealism, or that
empiricism leads to materialism, is not an argument against either, but merely
a warning to the student of philosophy. We have offered some logical objec-
tions to empiricism ; let us here note one against the extreme intuitionism
just described. We accuse it of bald self-contradiction. The necessary idea,
of space for instance, is, according to Leibnitz, innate, and therefore, accord-
ing to Kant, wholly subjective, having no corresponding objective reality.
Nevertheless, according to both, I must think it real. Now look this in the
face. I must think tliat real, which I prove to be unreal. I must believe
that true, which 1 hold to be false. What I cannot possibly doubt, I do
actually doubt. Is there any escape from this absurdity ? It would seem
to be merely an identical proposition that the reality and truth of what i&
necessarily conceived and believed to be real and true cannot be sincerely
questioned or doubted.
ORIGIN OF PURE TRUTH. 12T
sense, an intellectual power to discern in the total fact an
essential element, equally adventitious, but not at all sen-
suous. This is the power of pure reason. That element of
the total which is not the object of sense, is the object of
reason ; and both elements are objective and real in the total
thing known. Our capacity to know, though limited, is a
capacity to know that which really is, though now we know
only in part, yet that part truly. '•''Nam neque decipitur ratioy
nee decipit unquam.^^ ^
For example : A series of events is observed to occur.
That they are plural is not known by sense, but by intellect,
the plurality not being imposed by me on them, but existing
in the total datum, and discerned by pure reason. Let us
suppose that the events are a series of thoughts ; the time
that is discerned as involved in the conscious succession is
not a form imj^osed by me on the fact, but the form or rather
condition of the fact itself ; it is not an idea born of me, but
an idea given to me by that and of that which actually and
really exists in the fact, and is discerned by my power of
pure intuition. Again, in reflecting that these events, these
changes that occur, are not detached but grow out of each
other, one producing another, I discern the necessary relation
of cause and effect, a pure intuition of a reality existing in
the relations of the things themselves ; not imposed by me
on them, but discerned by me as existing in them. Such
ideas and principles, then, are not native or innate, do not
originate in mind, but are adventitious, originating in the
object, and mind has only a native or natural power to know
them. 2
According to this view, pure truth is objectively real.
Time, space, causation, and the rest, are entities and facts, as
truly so as matter and events. Their real existence does not
^ Manlius, ii, 131.
2 "Ni nos idees, ni nos sentiments, ne sont inngs, mais ils sont naturels,
fondes sur la constitution de notre esprit et de notre ame, et sur nos rapports
avec tout ce que nous environne." — Tuegot, CEuvres, t. iv, p. 308.
128 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
depend at all on mind either to originate or to apprehend
them, and they would continue to be, should all mind cease
to be. Nor are they dependent upon things like qualities,
which inhere in things, but, on the contrary, things are de-
pendent on them. They stand thus prior to things in the
relation of condition to conditioned. They must be, in order
that things may be ; the former necessary, the latter contin-
gent. Thus time is a condition of events, space a condition
of body, cause a condition of change, substance a condition of
quality, non-contradiction a condition of thought, right a
condition of obligation, etc. If a thing be real, its condition
must be real.^
§ 131. Pure truth is primarily and immediately discerned
in a presentative fact of consciousness. By abstraction it is
contemplated logically apart from the accompanying empiri-
cal elements, and afterward this abstract object alone may be
recalled to mind. Then and then only is it properly a pure
idea.
An idea, whether pure or empirical, whether abstract or
concrete, is always representative. The pure idea of time,
for example, represents the objective reality. My idea of
Mt. Blanc is an image representative of an objective reality,
and by abstraction my idea of the space it occupies, and of
the infinite space that surrounds it, is also representative
of an objective reality. I cannot, however, form an image of
that which is strictly pure, an image being always sensuous.
T'he pure representative idea is entertained in like manner as
I entertain other abstract cognitions ; it is enabled to repre-
1 While observing that the pure element is objectively a condition of the
existence of a thing, conditio essendi, it should be noted that subjectively the
case is reversed, and the empirical element or sensuous experience which
occasions the pure intuition is the condition of my discerning it, conditio
cofjnoscendi. E.g. sjiace must bo, in order that body may be ; but an expe-
rience of body must be, in order that a discernment of space may be. This
corresponds to the logical condition or reason. E.tj. if body is, tlien space
must be.
ORIGIN OF PURE TRUTH. 129
dent its object by virtue of some image of which it is the
condition or which symbolizes it. Thus our complement of
pure ideas and principles, originally adventitious, and ac-
quired on the occasion of an exercise of sense, is retained by
memory as a complement of abstractions, representative of
objective and concrete realities.
§ 132. Furthermore, necessity is recognized as the efficient
and sufficient criterion of pure truth, but not at all as its
ground, or as explanatory of its nature. Instead of exjjlaining
the nature of the idea by subjective necessity, we explain
subjective necessity by the nature of the idea. We hold pure
truth to be in its own nature essentially irreversible. That
it is to us self-evident, adds nothing to its authority, but is
merely the recognition of an authority which is inherent.^
That a thing cannot both be and not be, that space is a real
objective condition of body, that every change is caused, that
love is a duty, are truths self-evident, authoritative, regu-
lative, simply because in and of themselves true ; subjectively
necessary, because objectively real. Since I consciously and
constrainedly know that things exist (§ 68), I am necessitated
to conceive the existence of their essential conditions. I know
certainly that body is, therefore I know necessarily that space
is. So long as things are, their conditions must be. Pure
principles are not true because we must believe them, but we
must believe them because they are true. Their contraries
I cannot conceive even as logically possible, because to do so
I must first annihilate in thought the existing order of things
with their conditions, and then, out of pure negatives, construct
an inverted cosmos, which I freely confess myself unable to do.
1 Dr. McCosh, like Father Buffier, takes self-evidence to be the primary
characteristic of intuitive truth (see § 117, note). He shrinks, he says, from
maintaining that a proposition is true because we must believe it, and adds :
" I would not ground the evidence on the necessity of the belief, but I would
ascribe the irresistible nature of the conviction to the self-evidence. — Intui-
. tions of the Mind, p. 32.
130 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
Along with necessity is given universality. When I
abstract the conditioning fact, its strict universality immedi-
ately appears. For example, when I discern cause as con-
ditioning a change, this is to discern it as conditioning
chano-e in the abstract, and what is this but to think cause
as conditioning change always and everywhere? This is
not to generalize it, but merely to recognize a universality
that is inherent. Generalization is a subjective fiction ; uni-
versality is an objective fact. It is incapable of conceivable
limitation, because to assign a limit would be to conceive
beyond the limit an inverted order that is confessedly incon-
ceivable.^
§ 133. But does not this recoil from the Leibnitzio-Kantian
view of the origin of pure truth carry us back into empiri-
cism ? Not so far. Do we give up pure intuition ? Not at
all. We hold that in addition to, or rather along with, per-
ception and self-perception, there is intuition of truth that is
both pure and real. The Lockian empiricism declares sense
and reflection alone to be the sources of knowledge. We
find a source also in pure reason. The knowledge is adven-
titious, but not sensuous. It is not an experience, nor given
1 The general doctrine here proposed accords with the common sense of
mankind, and is not wholly new in philosophy. Cousin says: "Conscious-
ness is only a witness, it makes what is appear, it creates nothing. It is not
because consciousness says to us that pure reason is constrained to admit
such or such a truth, that this truth exists ; it is because it exists that it is
impossible for reason not to admit it. The truths that reason attains are
absolute truths; reason does not create them, it discovers them. Absolute
truths, are, therefore, independent of experience and consciousness, and at
the same time they are attested by experience and consciousness. On the
one hand, these truths declare themselves in experience ; on the other, no
experience explains them." — Trvr, BemitifuJ, and Good, p. 49.
Sir John Herschel says sturdily : "The reason why we apprehend things
as without us is that they are without us. We take it for granted that they
exist in space, because they do so exist, and because such existence is a mat-
ter of direct perception, which can neither be explained in words nor con-
travened in imagination ; because, in short, space is a reality." — Review of
Whewell, Essays, p. 202,
ORIGIN OF PURE TRUTH. 131
by experience, but in or along with experience. Empiricism
declares that what we call a pure truth is merely an induc-
tion, a generalization from sensuous experience ; we hold
that its strict universality cannot possibly be reached by
induction, and is not generalization at all. While we deny
that a pure idea or principle is a priori, in the sense of
native, we affirm that it is a priori in the more accurate
sense of a condition, and that the empirical element is a
posteriori, not as adventitious, but as conditioned.
§ 134. In the examination of pure ideas and principles, we
have passed from psychology into the domain of philosophy,
the science of principles. That the laws of thought are
laws of things, is a metaphysical thesis. To discover the
relation that exists between sensible phenomena and super-
sensible entities, to determine the relation between the sub-
jective necessities of thought and the objective necessities of
things, to ascertain the relation of self-evidence to reality,
are problems that have engaged the closest attention of the
profoundest thinkers. But no approved and established
solution of them having been reached, the controversy still
goes on. The hope that it shall end is a hope for a solution,
for these questions cannot be dismissed. They represent
the deepest needs of human intellect. They lie on the
threshold of the science that searches for freedom, immor-
tality, and God. For while psychology is merely a system of
natural order, and ethics a system of natural jurisprudence,
metaphysics, in its full conception, is a system of natural
theology.
132 IMMEDIATE EyOW LEDGE.
CHAPTER VIIL.
]\nND AND MATTER.
§ 135. Thus far we have constantly endeavored to look
upon mind as merely a complement of powers in exercise,
that is, as a series of subjective phenomena, the thought-
series let us call it, distinct from the objective or material
phenomena, the thing-series. AVe have not allowed our
examination of mind to be burdened and embarrassed by any
theory as to its ultimate nature, and have made no inferences
from the character or relations of the substratum underlying
subjective phenomena.^ There are, however, important ques-
tions respecting this substratum, questions that press for an
answer, and that lead to grave consequences whatever an-
swer they receive. We propose, therefore, in this supplemen-
tary chapter, to present briefly the principal ^dews which are
held by philosophers on the subject.
There are those who consider the substratum underlying
phenomena, inasmuch as it is not an object of sense, to be
merely imaginary and hypothetical. More generally, how-
ever, it is considered to be real, by empiricists as well as by
intuitionists. The latter hold it to be necessary in thought.
Substance is certainly not an object of sensuous perception,
1 There are only two ways, says Wundt, of conceiving the mind, as an
act and as a substance. According to the first, tlie psychic is pure actuality,
immediately given in the manifestations of the mental life. Hume, Kant,
Fichte, Hegel, and Wundt himself, give prominence to this view. To the
second conception belong all theories according to which psychic facts are
manifestations of a substratum, a substance material or immaterial. Most
philosophers discuss this view subordinately.
MIND AND MATTEB. 133
but is discerned by reason, by the insight of pure intellect.^
In everything which I perceive or can imagine as existing, I
distinguish two parts, qualities which are multiple and vari-
able, and a being which is one and identically permanent.
The former are perceived, the latter is a pure intuition.
These two elements of a cognition are so united that I can
separate them only logically. I cannot even imagine either
one as truly existing apart from the other. There is no
quality, property, attribute, mode, or activity which is not
of necessity the quality or activity of some being, and this
being having the quality or activity is substance. Each of
the thought-series, each of the thing-series, must be referred
to a basis, to an underlying substratum, to a being of which
it is the manifestation, and which gives unity to each series.
Mind or the ego is commonly viewed as the permanent basis
of the thought-series, and matter as the permanent basis of
the thing-series.
Now the difficult and weighty question arises : Are the
two series manifestations of one and the same substance, or
of two diverse substances ? Monism is the doctrine of one
substance. It has taken three specific forms, idealism, ma-
terialism, and absolute identity. Dualism is the doctrine
that mind and matter are two distinct substances. Of these
now, in their order.
§ 136. Idealism teaches that mind is the only substance.
The existence of things in space is either doubtful and
undemonstrable, or false and impossible. The first is the
problematical idealism of Descartes. It admits the strict
1 See it mentioned at the close of § 1 14. See especially § 50, and the notes.
" Substance is a term for the substratum we are obliged to think as under-
lying mode, state, quality, etc." — Hamilton. "It is the abiding which
changes only in its affections." — Aristotle. It involves existence, perma-
nence, and active power or causality. "Die Substanz in Eaume kennen
wir nur durch Krafte." — Kant. " Substance is action." — Leibnitz. Bos-
chovich reduces quality to force, and substance to centre of force.
134 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
certainty of only one empirical proposition, to wit : I am ;
alleging an inability to prove, on this exclusive basis, by
means of immediate experience, the existence of anything
besides self and its modes, and so leaving objective reality
in doubt and improbable. The second is the dogmatical
idealism of Berkeley. It maintains that neither space nor
the things of which it is the inseparable condition, are real,
but are mere products of imagination. I have sensations and
ideas ; these alone exist, all else is unreal ; the existence
of an external world being an illusion which philosophy
corrects.
Hume, accepting the principles of the then prevailing
philosophemes, by a cogent logic drove idealism into nihil-
ism. ^ This brought about a clearing up (^AufMiirung^ in
philosoph3^ Kant awoke from his " dogmatic slumber," and
founded the critical philosophy. He gives a " refutation of
idealism " whicli concludes : " The consciousness of my own
existence is at the same time an immediate consciousness of
the existence of other things without me." ^ Thus he affirms
objective reality, but he denies any possible knowledge of
things in themselves, noumena, maintaining that we know
only phenomena. Hence his doctrine becomes at last a
formal, or critical, or transcendental idealism.
The Kantian doctrine was apodeictically resolved by Fichte
and Jacobi into absolute idealism, in which this form of
1 "The celebrated David Hume was one of those geographers of human
reason who beheve that they have given a sufficient answer to all questions
raised by pure reason, by declaring them to lie beyond the horizon of our
knowledge, a horizon which, however, Hume was unable to determine. Yet
he was perhaps the ablest and most ingenious of all sceptical philosophers,
and his writings have, undoubtedly, exerted the most powerful influence
in awakening reason to a thorough investigation into its own powers." —
C. P. R., pp. 462-4.
2 Critique of Pure Benson, p. 10() sq. Subsequently, he says that this is
"The only possible demonstration of the reality of an external world." See
note by Hamilton, Discussions, p. 07, and Meta., p. 648, Am. eds.
MIND AND MATTER. 135
monism at once culminated and broke down.^ Thereupon
Comte mercilessly exposed the fruitlessness of speculation,
and contemptuously dismissed metaphysics to make room for
the positive philosoph}'.^ Still idealism lingers in Germany,
especially in the modified form of which Schopenhauer was
the apostle. " The world," says he, " is merely my represent-
ation (^Dle Welt ist meine Vorstellung').'''' He reduces all
existence to force, and this to will; "reality is only an
infinitely varied impulse of will," and "the world is one vast
will constantly rushing into life (^der Wille zum Leben). "
With this he associated the now popular doctrine of pessi-
mism.3
§ 137. Further mention of idealism will be made subse-
quently (§ 146). Just here we add only that a self-contra-
diction is chargeable, not perhaps on the doctrine itself, but
upon its advocates. The most authoritative with candor
admit that we of necessity, by the very constitution of our
nature, do believe in the existence of external reality.*
1 See close of § 128. The dogmatism of Fichte finally reached nihilism,
which is scepticism of all existence. "The sum total," says he, "is this:
There is absolutely nothing permanent either without me or within me, but
only an unceasing change. I know absolutely nothing of any existence, not
even of my own. I myself know nothing, am nothing. Images (Bilder)
there are ; they constitute all that apparently exists ; images that pass and
vanish without there being aught to witness their transition. I myself am
one of these images ; nay, I am not even thus much, but only a confused
image of images. All reality is converted into a marvellous dream without a
life to dream of, and without a mind to dream ; into a dream made up only
of a dream. Perception is a dream ; thought — the source of all the existence
and all the reality which I imagine to myself of my existence, of my power,
of my destination — is the dream of that dream."
2 See Buckle, Hist, of Civ., p. 113 ; and Comte's treatise, translated by
Harriet Martineau.
3 " Qu'est-ce que I'homme ? Son savoir n'est qu'ignorance, sa grandeur
que bassesse, sa force qu'infirmite, son plaisir que douleur. J'avais lu cela
dans Schopenhauer, qui I'avait lu dans Heraclite." — Mounier. Cf. Pascal,
Pensees, pt. i, art. 7.
* See Berkeley and Hume,. quoted by Hamilton, Meta., p. 201 ; and many
others in Reid, note A, § 1.
136 ni MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
They maintain, however, that possibly, or certainly, we are
deceived in this by the false testimony of consciousness.^
That is, what they do believe, they do not believe. To say
that " what I am constrained to regard as not me, is only a
modification of me, wliich I, deluded by my nature, mistake,
and must mistake, for something different from me," is
obviously self-contradictory .^
§ 138. Materialism, the second form of monism, teaches
that matter is the only substance. It originated in the fifth
century, B.C., with the atoraists. The Epicureans adopted
it. It was advocated by Lucretius.^ It has had adlierents
ever since, though never rising to the dignity of a philoso-
pheme. In modern times the sensualism of Hobbes and
Locke has given a materialistic tendency to English thought,
but excepting Priestly hardly any of note have been out-
spoken materialists. In Germany, thorough-going materialism
was first avowed by Moleschott in 1852, followed very soon
by Vogt and Biichner.*
1 See § 102. Calderwood says: "The testimony of consciousness cannot
be denied without self-contradiction. He who doubts it relies on the testi-
mony of consciousness for the affirmation of his doubt." — Moral Phil.,
Int., § 7.
2 Hamilton well says : "To doubt whether what we necessarily think in a
certain manner, actually exists as we conceive it, is nothing less than an
endeavor to think the necessary as not necessary or the impossible, which is
contradictory." — Logic, p. 382. See § 129, note.
" The belief which accompanies consciousness," says Stewart, " as to the
present existence of its appropriate phenomena (and this has never been
questioned) rests on no foundation more solid than our belief of the existence
of external objects. The only account that can be given of this belief is that
it forms a necessary part of our constitution, against which metaphysicians
may easily argue so as to perplex the judgment, but of which it is impossible
for us to divest ourselves for a moment, either in the business of life or in
the pursuit of science." — Phil. Essays, in H'oyA-.s, vol. v, p. 57.
3 In his poem, De Rernm Natura, first century, b.c.
* The latter is its popular exponent. His work. Matter and Force, which
was first published in 185(5, has run through many editions, and lias been
translated. Its point of departure, its basic principle, is : "No matter with-
out force, and no force without matter."
MIND AND MATTER. 137
The following may be taken as its creed : " Instinct,
passion, thought, are the acts of organized substance. All
causes are material causes. In material conditions I find the
origin of all religions, all philosophies, all opinions, all vir-
tues, all spiritual states and influences, in the same manner
that I find the origin of all diseases and of all insanities
in material conditions and causes. I am a creature of
necessity ; I claim neither merit nor demerit. I feel that
I am as completely the result of my nature, and impelled to
do what I do, as the needle to point to the north, or the
puppet to move according as the string is pulled. I can-
not alter my will, or be other than Avhat I am, and cannot
deserve either reward or punishment." ^
§ 139. The most refined and subtile form of the doctrine is
as follows : " Mind is merely the consequence of a certain
mode of material organization. It is not a distinct substance,
but merely a series of phenomena which are as truly phe-
nomena of matter as the physical phenomena. Sundry brain
centres have the function of producing consciousness, or
rather, of manifesting the phenomena of consciousness, while
manifesting physical phenomena. In these centres the physi-
cal series and the psychical series always appear together,
the one objectively, the other subjectively ; that is to say, the
matter constituting a centre has two sides or faces, the
objective or physical, and the subjective or psychical. These
are in no sense commutable, for the psychical series is merely
a subjective shadow that attends the objective physical
series.
" A molecule that undergoes a certain chemical change,
experiences a sensation. As the one is a mode of motion,
so is the other, or rather, they are two distinct manifestations
of the same motion. Mental movement of any sort is not at
all due to self-determination, but is a movement of the ner-
1 From a work by H. G. Atkinson and Harriet Martineau.
188 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
vous mechanism as to its subjective face. Perception, mem-
ory, and reasoning are only the mental side of changes in the
brain, and a change of ideas means that the corresponding
physical states have been displaced by others." ^ According
to this doctrine, brain itself is I.
§ 140. Mind and matter are made known to us b}' two
widely distinct series of phenomena, which we have called
the thought-series and the thing-series. The seeming incom-
patibility of these to inhere in one substance is not sufficient
ground for rejecting the materialistic hypothesis. Though I
may be unable to conceive of conscious matter, it may never-
theless be actual. The question is not to be settled by my
preconceived notions of what may or may not be, but by a
philosophical and logical treatment of the facts. If they can
be explained on the hj^pothesis of one substance, then, by
the law of parcimony, that entities are not to be multiplied
without necessity, this hypothesis is preferable to the dual
hypothesis.^
1 From Professor Bowne's lecture on " Some Difficulties in Modern Mate-
rialism." — Christian Philosophy Quarterly for October, 1881.
We may at once observe that materialism, approaching mind from the
outside, and interiireting the facts of psychology in the language of physi-
ology, seeks to replace terms of mind by terms of brain. It proposes to
identify mental with cerebral functions, and to reduce intellectual action to
molecular motion. David Ferrier, an authority in physiology, and a favorite
with the materialists, says: "No purely physiological investigation can
explain the phenomena of consciousness. We may succeed in determining
the exact nature of the molecular changes which occur in the brain-cells
when a sensation is experienced, but this will not bring us one whit nearer
the exi)lanation of the ultimate nature of that which constitutes a sensation.
The one is objective, the other subjective, and neither can be expressed in
terms of the other. We cannot say that tliey are identical, but only that tlie
two are correlated." — Functions of tin' Brain, § 89.
2 See § 100 and § 82, note. Pascal says: " Quand on pr6tendrait que
nous fussions simplement corporal, cela nous exclurait de la connaissance
<les choses, n'y ayant rien de si inconceivable (]ue de dire que la matiere
puisse se connaitre soi-memc." — Pcnsi'cs, pt. i, art. 7, § 2(i.
II;Miiiltnii snvs: " W'c know nothing whatever of niiiul ami iiialtei' con-
MIND AND MATTER. 139
All ground for the objection disappears when we find that
the conception is not, in some aspects, impossible, nor indeed
very difficult. That a living molecule which is warm should
feel warm, seems not hard to conceive, especially when we
consider that the first is objective, a manifestation to an
observer, the other subjective, a manifestation to itself. It
would seem harder to conceive that this molecule both
attracts and repels at once an adjacent molecule, yet no one
questions the fact.
§ 141. Further mention of materialism will be made subse-
quently (§ 147), but we remark here, in passing, some objec-
tions having greater weight than that just considered. The
hypothesis assumes the substantial existence of matter, and
reduces to it the phenomena of mind. It entirely ignores the
prior and hard problem of philosophy which questions the
existence of external reality. At the outset it assigns sub-
stance to the thing-series, and so makes an unwarranted
assumption.
If we allow that the two series of phenomena are given in
equipoise, then the materialist must show whj^ the thing-
series should have preponderance. His reasons do not appear.
Primarily, in a monist scheme, it would seem as reasonable
to claim that the thing-series is an objective phase of mind,
as that the thought-series is a subjective phase of matter.
But, indeed, it is more reasonable ; for objects are known
only by their opposition to a subject, the material phenomena
only through the mental. The facts of consciousness being
sidered as substances ; they are known to us only as a two- fold series of
phenomena ; and we can justify, against the law of parcimony, the postulate
of two substances only on the ground that the two series are reciprocally so
contrary and incompatible that one cannot be reduced to the other, nor both
be supposed to inhere in one common substance." — In Beid, note A, § 2.
See also Meta., p. 97. President Mark Hopkins in his Lowell Lectures takes
the same ground ; and many others. A hundred years ago Dr. Priestly refuted
this dualist argument in his work, MatrriaJism. See also Herbert Spencer's
sweeping and eloquent rebuke in his Principles of Fsychology, § 268 sq.
140 niMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
known to us immediately and in themselves, and the facts of
the external world being known, not in themselves, but
mediatel}^ through the facts of consciousness, surely if one
series is to exj^lain the other, the thought-series should be
applied to explain the thing-series. Hence, in assigning a
substratum, it is evident that the thought-series, being first
in order of knowledge, has the first claim ; and so, in a
monist scheme, the logical presumption is in favor of ideal-
ism. The materialistic philosophy must, therefore, first
dispose of idealism, then, by the law of parcimony, it can
claim the logical presumption against dualism. It makes no
pretence, however, to any such process, and consequently
lacks logical and philosophical warrant.
Materialism assumes that all forces are physical forces,
that all causes are material causes. This begs the whole
question. For if, by the doctrine of the conservation of
energy, each physical antecedent is entirely exhausted by
its physical consequent, then each physical consequent is
fully explained by its physical antecedent. This shuts spirit
out of the circle, allows it no link in the chain of cause and
effect, and simply denies its separate substantial existence.
But what fact of nature or principle of science forbids the
supposition that there are psychical as well as physical forces ?
In the acknowledged phenomena of the thought-series we
have at least as much evidence of the existence and play of
force, as in the phenomena of the thing-series. Moreover, it
is also a fact of consciousness that certain of the thoug-ht-
series are the unconditional antecedents or causes of certain
changes of the thing-series, and vice versa. The claim that
force is only of one kind is arbitrary. The assumption -is
unwarranted.^
1 Bain, in a somewliat rhetorical passage, quoted approvingly by Ferrier,
says : " It would be incompatible with everything we know of cerebral action
to suppose that the physical chain ends abruptly in a physical void occupied
by an immaterial substance ; which immaterial substance, after working
alone, imparts its results to the other edge of the physical break and deter-
HIND AND MATTER. 141
Let us add to these philosophic objections, that the logical
consequence of materialism is extreme agnosticism. It
involves the doctrine of a necessitated will, and reduces man
to an irresponsible automaton.
§ 142. The third form of monism is absolute identity. It
appears that a unitarian scheme, starting with the subjective
fact of self-existence, and accepting that only as original and
genetic, can never get beyond self, and develops into ideal-
ism ; and on the other hand, starting with the objective fact of
material existence, and accepting that only as original and
genetic, can never by this path discover self, and develops
into materialism. But there are monists who admit the tes-
timony of consciousness to the equipoise of the mental and
mines the active response — two shores of the material with an intervening
ocean of the immaterial." — 3Ii.nd and Body, p. 131 ; Functions of the Brain,
§ 88. But by onr theory mind and brain act concomitantly, § 143.
Huxley, in his lecture " On the Hypothesis that Animals are Automata,"
says: "Molecular changes in the brain are the causes of all states of con-
sciousness. Is there any evidence that these states of consciousness may, con-
versely, cause those molecular changes which give rise to muscular motions ?
I see no such evidence. If there be none, it follows that our mental condi-
tions are simply the symbols in consciousness of the changes which take
place automatically in the organism ; and that, to take an extreme illustra-
tion, the feeling we call volition is not the cause of a voluntary act, but the
symbol of that state of the brain which is the immediate cause of that act."
He allows that the thing-series causes the thought-series (though not in the
sense of expending energy upon it), but not the reverse.
Carpenter may be quoted in reply : ' ' There is just the same evidence of
correlation between nerve-force and that primary state of mental activity we
call a sensation, that there is between light and nerve-force ; each antecedent
being followed by its corresponding consequent. The like correlation may
be shown to exist between mental states and the form of nerve-force which
calls forth motion through the muscular apparatus. That mental antece-
dents can thus call forth physical consequents is just as certain as that
physical antecedents can call forth mental consequents ; and thus the cor-
relation between mind-force and nerve-force is shown to be complete both
ways, each being able to excite the other." — Mental Physiology, §§ 11, 12.
The evidence of correlation between mental and neural forces is stronger
than that of correlation between physical forces ; for the latter is deduced
from observation, while the former is within consciousness.
142 UIMEUIATE nyowLKDi.::.
material phenomena, and do not attempt to reduce mind to
matter, or matter to mind. They reject, however, the evi-
dence of consciousness to their antithesis in existence, and
maintain that mind and matter are only phenomenal modifi-
cations of the same common substance. This is the doctrine
of absolute identity.^
§ 143. The advocates of this doctrine rely for proof upon
the admitted thorough-going concomitance of mental and
material phenomena. There is no mental action, even that
commonly reckoned as at furthest remove from physical
action, such as a discernment of pure intellect or a gentle
monition of conscience, without a corresponding movement
of neural matter and a waste of nervous energy; and, on
the other hand, there is no normal nerve-stimulus without
its corresponding consciousness. This correspondence is also
in degree, the increased or diminished intensity of the one
being attended by a like change in the other.^ Moreover,
mind and brain develop together. Sensation, reflection,
moral sensibility, are gradually evolved, growing as the
nerves grow, and as the brain takes shape and organs.^
1 Spinoza expresses it pantheistically thus: "Matter and spirit have no
sepai-ate existence ; there is only one substance in the universe, of wliich
extension and thought are the corresponding attributes or phenomena, each
correspondent to each." So also Fechner, in Phys. und Phil., p. 258 sq.
2 " We believe," says Tyndall, "that every thought and every feeling has
its definite mechanical correlative, that it is accompanied by a certain break-
ing up and remodelling of the atoms of the nervous organism." Bain says:
"For every mental shock, every awakening of consciousness, every mental
transition, there must be a concomitant nervous shock ; and as the one is
more or less intense, so mu.st be the other." — Mind and Body, p. 42.
This admitted concomitance is in opposition to the excessive spiritualizing
tendencies of the Platonic school, and of those theological schools that con-
sider the body as a clog, a fetter, a prison-house of mind, and it calls for a
modification of both psychological and theological doctrine. Its evidence is
to be found in a multitude of observed facts which cannot here be cited.
3 "For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and hulk ; but as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the niiiul and soul
Grows wide withal." — Ilamlct, A. 1, sc. 3.
MIND AND MATTER. 143
The refined monist infers from tliis concomitant variation
identity of substance. But logic teaches that when phenom-
ena vary concomitantly, it is proof either that they are related
as cause and effect, or as effects of a common cause, and it
adds that by this method alone we cannot determine which.^
Accordingly, since the subjective and objective phenomena
vary together, there is a bond of causation between them, yet
a doubt remains. But our refined monist does not allow the
doubt. On this inductive method alone, holding it to be the
only one applicable to the case, he affirms the phenomena
to be the effects of a common cause.^ He goes further, with-
out proof, and affirms that the common cause is the only sub-
stance in the case. Had he proved the common cause, the
oneness of substance would not follow. The oceanic varies
with the atmospheric tide ; are they one in substance with
their common cause ? The admitted concomitance of mind
and brain is insufficient ground for holding the identity of
substance. It would be hard to find in sober science another
example of such an unwarranted, illogical inference.
§ 144. When we examine this doctrine historically, we find
that it is a position of unstable equilibrium. Those who have
endeavored to maintain it from a subjective standpoint, have
eventually resolved all existence into mind and ideas, and
become pronounced idealists. Those who have tried to main-
tain it from an objective standpoint, have gravitated into a
refined materialism.^ Indeed, it does not seem of consequence
1 See Mill, Logic, bk. iii, cli. 8, § 6.
2 See Bain, Mind and Body, ch. 3. Its title is: "The connexion viewed
as correspondence, or concomitant variation." Cf. Spencer, quoted below.
3 The most illustrious advocates of the doctrine in modern times are Schel-
ling, Hegel, and Cousin. They endeavor to maintain it from the subjective
standpoint, but eventually resolve all existence into mind and ideas, and
are known as idealists.
Spencer declares that "the truth is not expressed either by spiritualism
or by materialism, however modified and however refined" ; and concludes
that "it is one and the same ultimate reality which is manifested to us sub-
jectively and objectively. For while the nature of that which is manifested
144 IMMEDIATE KXOWLEDGE.
by what name we call the one substance. If one, it is one
that manifests both mental and material phenomena. But it
is impossible to maintain their equipoise ; for the unavoidable
necessity of explaining one through the other brings about a
preponderance that quickly reduces the scheme, either to
idealism or to materialism.
§ 145. Dualism teaches that mind and matter, specifically
brain, are two co-ordinated but distinct substances, widely
differing in kind, indeed, having no quality in common.
Matter is the substance in which physical phenomena, those
of the thing-series, inhere. Mind is the substance in which
physical phenomena, those of the thought-series, inhere. In
short, matter is extended substance ; mind is conscious sub-
stance (§ 50) .1
under either form proves to be inscrutable, the order of its manifestations
throughout all mental phenomena proves to be the same as the order of its
manifestations throughout all material phenomena." — Principles of Psy-
chology, §§ 272-3.
Bain's conclusion is similar. He says : " The arguments for the two
substances have, we believe, now entirely lost their validity ; they are no
longer compatible with ascertained science and clear thinliing. The one
substance with two sets of properties, two sides, the physical and the mental,
a double-faced unity, would appear to comply with all the exigencies of the
case. We are to deal with this, as in the langnage of the Athanasian creed,
not confounding the persons, nor dividing the substance." — Mind and Body,
p. 196.
But again the position has proved unstable, and gravitates in these cases,
on the other hand, into materialism. Bain himself calls it " a guarded or
qualified materialism, saving the contrast of mind and matter." — Id., p. 140.
Spencer, however, denies that he identifies mind with matter, saying, " I do
no such thing ; I identify mind with motion, and motion is inconceivable by
us as in any sense material." Hut motion is only an accidental property of
body, manifest by change of place. That is, mind is a property of matter.
1 The philosophic doctrine of dualism, or spiritism, originated in the ideal-
ism of riato. Gradually becoming more and more refined by constant dis-
putation, it culminated in the speculations of the scholastic Tliomas Aquinas,
1225-74. He maintained that the human soul is a imit and a spirit, in the
strictest sense immaterial, the distinction between mind and matter being
thorough-going and inerasible. His views received the dogmatic sanction of
the Council of Vienna in 1311, they were adopted and enforced by Calvin,
and have since prevailed in theology.
MIND AND MATTER. 145
Dualism opposes monism primarily on the ground that no
hypothesis of unity has explained or can explain the facts,
and secondarily, because in every form it leads, logically and
historically, to revolting consequences. Holding that an
hypothesis of plural entities is necessary to the explanation,
it does not violate, but is in accord with the law of parcimony.
Inasmuch as the scheme of absolute identity reduces inevi-
tably either to idealism or to materialism, we may omit fur-
ther notice of it, and confine our attention to these. Some
objections to both have been offered already. We now pro-
pose to supersede them by citing evidence in favor of dualism.
§ 146. Beginning, as we must, with a datum of conscious-
ness, we find that the Cartesian "I am" is but a part of
the primum cognitum} the complete fact of consciousness
consisting of essential correlatives, the full dualistic formula
being: Both I and another exist. The conclusion reached
at the close of § 101 is only another statement of the same
principle. If it be accepted as established, the earlier forms
of idealism, which it contradicts, are refuted.^
1 See § 114, note 2.
2 Reid, as well as Kant, was roused by the scepticism of Hume (§ 136).
He also allowed Hume's logic to be irrefragable, and found that philosophy
could be saved only by a reformation of its generally admitted principles.
This he applied himself to bring about, and on subjecting them to a new and
rigorous criticism, enounced the doctrine of the immediate perception of
external reality, or the consciousness of the non-ego.
Hamilton, the best exponent of this cardinal doctrine of the Scottish
philosophy, seemingly the only means of escape from idealism, states it thus :
"In the act of sensible perception, I am conscious of two things ; of myself
as the perceiving subject, and of an external reality, in relation with my
sense, as the object perceived. Of the existence of both these things I am
convinced ; because I am conscious of knowing each of them, not mediately
in something else, as represented, but immediately in itself, as existing. Of
their mutual independence I am no less convinced ; because each is appre-
hended equally and at once, in the same indivisible energy, the one not pre-
ceding or determining, the other not following or determined ; and because
each is apprehended out of, and in direct contrast to, the other." — In Beid,
note A, § 1.
146 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
But this, the usual statement of the doctrine immediate
perception, is insufficient. It does not save us from the hiter
forms of idealism with their consequences (§ 136). It must
also be established that I immediately perceive body in its
essential and objectively existing characters, extension and
impenetrability; that it possesses these in the same manner
as they are perceived by me ; that thus and so far I know
the thing in itself; that thus and so far noumena become
phenomena. Such is the conclusion reached at the close of
§ 104. If it be accepted as established, all forms of idealism
are refuted.
§ 147. Materialism, as opposed to dualism, remains to be
considered. In §§ 99, 101, it is maintained that in perception,
in our consciousness of material phenomena, in the action of
the object and passion of the subject, there is an opposition
of existence. If I am truly conscious of this opposition of
an object, then I, the subject, and that object are two distinct
beings, and I immediately perceive or am conscious of the
existence of a positive non-ego. This conclusion, reached
from the subjective or psychological standpoint, is exj^ressed
in the proposition : The immediate object in perception is
consciously not I.
In §§ 5, 21, it is maintained that the material object of
consciousness in perception is enorganic ; that it is the excited
sensory or brain itself. For the immediate object of percep-
tion must be its proximate cause. Tracing the chain of cause
and effect inward, we discover that the final physical effect
antecedent to consciousness is a certain excited state of the
sensory, and we conclude this to be its proximate cause, and
iience the object immediately perceived. This conclusion,
reached from an objective or physiological standpoint, is
expressed in the proposition: Brain itself is the immediate
object in perception.
Now combining the subjective fact with the objective fact,
we have : The immediate object in perception is consciously
MIND AND MATTER. 147
not I ; but brain itself is the immediate object in perception ;
hence, brain itself is consciously not I,
If this conclusion, which necessarily follows from the prem-
ises, be true, then materialism is false ; for it concludes that
brain, the material substance last in the chain of physical
causes, and so standing nearest to consciousness, is a non-ego.^
From this, further, it is an immediate inference that I
myself am not matter, or, in other words, that subjective
phenomena are the phenomena of an immaterial substance.
If this be allowed, dualism is established.^
1 Might it not be said that some centre or organ of the brain is ego (see
close of § 139), while others are non-ego, or that certain molecular centres
constitute the ego, while adjacent molecules are the non-ego ? Hardly ; for
how there could be that " extreme contrast or antithesis " (Bain), that " dif-
ference transcending all other differences" (Spencer), between one mass or
molecule of neural matter, and another mass or molecule of neural matter,
is out of reason. Yet this seems the only alternative hypothesis.
The opposed views, materialism and dualism, may be crudely illustrated
as follows: "We figure to ourselves "a double-faced unity" as having its
sides, subjective and objective, concave to each other, thus : (s. o.) ; but a
single- faced duality requires an antithesis or opposition of faces, faces con-
vex to each other, thus : s.) (o., and so, necessarily, faces of a duality.
2 Philosophers quite generally rely upon the unity of mind (see § 77) in
consciousness, as Apposed to the plurahty of material things, for proof of
dualism. E.g. Lotze says : " The fact of the unity of consciousness compels
us, in the explanation of the mtellectual life, to put in the place of visible
substance a supersensuous essence as supporter of the phenomena, and to
suppose that there is a completely indivisible unity in the subject which
exercises the comprehending activity of consciousness." — Mikrokosmus, i,
72, et al.
In this connection let us quote from Ferrier, as follows: "The brain, as
an organ of motion and sensation, or presentative consciousness, is a single
organ composed of two halves ; the brain as an organ of ideation, or repre-
sentative consciousness, is a dual organ, each hemisphere being complete in
itself. When one hemisphere is removed or destroyed by disease, motion
and sensation are abolished unilaterally, but mental operations are still
capable of being carried on in their completeness through the agency of the
one hemisphere. The individual who is paralyzed as to sensation and
motion, by disease of the opposite side of the brain, is not paralyzed men-
tally, for he can still feel and will and think, and intelligently comprehend
with the one hemisphere. If these functions are not carried on with the
148 IMMEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
§ 148. jNIind and brain, then, are two distinct substances,
having no quality and no law in common, yet in our present
state they are so connected and correlated that neither is
capable of its functions without the other, actual consciousness
being known to us only in this concrete relation.^ In sense-
perception, or in the presentative consciousness in general,
the cerebral or sensorial excitement is the cause of the men-
tal excitement ; for in this case I am consciously a patient.
In voluntary memory, imagination and thought, or the
representative consciousness, the mental is the cause of the
sensorial excitement ; for in this case I am consciously
the agent. The sensorium, then, is the place where physical
force directly causes certain states of consciousness, and
where mental energy enters the physical sphere.
§ 149. The mind cannot be assigned to any bodily organ
as its seat. The famous expression " seat of the soul " is
utterly meaningless to any but a materialist.^ Locality can
same vigor as before, they at least do not appear to suffer in respect of com-
pleteness." — Functions of the Brain, § 88. Brown-Sequard even more fully
and emphatically maintains that we are possessed of two distinct brains. See
his article in Tlie Forum for Aug. '90. This opinion of eminent physiologists,
compared with the generally admitted unity of mind in consciousness (^e.g. the
inability to carry on two distinct trains of reasoning on different subjects at
once), disfavors their hypothesis of materialism, and favors that of a single,
regnant, spiritual entity.
1 See § 143. It may be asked : Then, at, and after death, what? Psy-
chology has no answer to that question. Philosophy, perhaps, has grounds
on which to conjecture an after life. Revelation only brings life and immor-
tality to light. It is conceivable that disembodied spirit may be enabled to
perform its proper functions, but it should be observed that, at the resurrec-
tion, " God giveth it a body even as it pleaseth him, and to each seed a body
of its own. ... It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body." —
1 Cor. 15:30,44.
2 Aristotle taught that the soul is " all in the whole and all in every part."
— De Anima, i, 6, 31. Probably he means, without reference to body, that
the entire soul thinks, feels, and wills (see § 78), a strong expression of its
essential unity ; for in the same treatise he excludes place and motion from
the exercises of mind. The formula was adopted, however, by the Neo-
MIND AND MATTER. 149
no more be attributed to mind than extension ; either re-
duces mind to matter. Mind in itself bears no rehition
whatever to space. To ask where the soul is, or to say that
it is here, or there, or that it pervades the brain, or the
nervous system, is sheer nonsense. If it have place either
it is a mathematical point, or it has shape, divisibility, and
size ; length, breadth, and thickness ; in short, is matter.
Hamilton says very rightly : " It has not always been no-
ticed, even by those who deem themselves the chosen cham-
pions of the immateriality of mind, that we materialize mind
when we attribute to it the relations of matter. Thus we
cannot attribute a local seat to the soul without clothing it
with the material properties of extension and place, and
those who suppose this seat to be but a point only aggravate
the difficulty."
platonist Plotinus to express the relation of mind to body. See Ueberweg,
Hist. Phil., §§ 68, 88. It was so used by Augustine : " in toto tola est.'" — •
De Trinitate, vi, 6. This application is approved by Hamilton and others.
Meta., pp. 272, 356 ; Mansel, Meta., p. 86. See an allusion to it in Milton,
Samson Agonistes, line 90 sq. Thus interpreted, the formula affirms the
omnipresence of mind in body, and has been adopted in theology as descrip-
tive of the omnipresence of the Deity.
Others affirm a "dynamical presence " in the entire organism. So Lewes :
"The position of the centre of gi-avity is a continually shifting point. The
attitude of the personality is similar, a personal centre." — Problems of Life
and Mind, 3d series. Anticipated by Chalybaus, in Zeitschr. von Ficlite,
XX, 69.
Others, again, regard mind or the soul as difiused throughout the ner-
vous system, pervading it. So Fischer, Metaphysik, Sitz der Scele, § 8 ; and
Porter, Hum. IntelL, § 129. This is the old ghost notion belonging properly
to the primitive races, by whose crude thinking the notion of a strictly imma-
terial spirit was unattainable. See Taylor, Primitive Culture, vol. i, p. 387.
Descartes held "the seat of the soul" to be the pineal gland. — De Pas-
sionihus Anima, art. 31 sq. Cf. Meditationes, ch. 6. Laromiguiere takes a
similar view, and compares the soul to a spider at the centre of its web. —
LeQons, t. ii, p. 251 sq. Descartes elsewhere says: "I have no need of
place." — On 3Iethod. pt. iv. Says Kant: "The soul is an absolute iinit,
and as it is no object of outer sense, it is immaterial ; and, though it is
present and operates in space, it does not occupy space, and has no special
place in body." — Vorlesungen ilber Metaphysi/c, p. 133.
PART THIRD. ■
MEDIATE KNO^ATLEDGE,
CHAPTER I.
KEPKESENTATION.
§ 150. Representation is mediate cognition, or more fully
it is knowledge of one or more remote objects through a present
medium which resembles, or otherwise stands for them.
In presentation there is but one object or thing known,
and this object is intuitive. In representation there are
two objects ; the proximate representing medium intuitively
known and the remote represented object-object mediately
known. The medium is either some external object, or a
mental image, a subject-object. In either case this medium
or representing object, considered irrespectively of what it
represents, is itself an intuitive presentative object. Rep-
resentation, then, is a presentation with something super-
added, namely, the reference to a remote object. ^
In the presentative consciousness, a thing is known in it-
self. This knowledge involves the fact of the existence of the
1 See § 92 sq. Immediate and mediate cognition should not be confused
with immediate and mediate inference. The one is psycliological, the other
logical. Mediate cognition is through a presented representing medium,
mediate inference is through a middle term to a conclusion. Yet the results
of logical inference are always entertained representatively, so that whatever
is inferred is also mediately cognized. The direct rtference of an object to
a class, a logical process, is sometimes called mediate knowledge, since the
object then becomes known through or by means of its relation to other
objects. Tills, too, should be set clearly apart.
150
EJ^PRESENTATION. 151
object. In the representative consciousness, a thing is known
in or through something not itself. This knowledge involves
only the possibility of its existence. The presented object
is, therefore, always real, the represented object may be real
or ideal, but must at least be logically possible, ens rationis,
that is, must involve no contradiction.
In presentation the object is present to me here and now,
in representation the object-object is not present but remote.
The one is knowlege of what is present in time ; the other,
of what is past. An immediate, conscious knowledge of what
is past is impossible ; for to know the past immediately, it
must be known in itself, and therefore as now existing; but
the past is a negation of the now existing.
Presentative knowledge, being of the really existing here
and now, is original and certain ; representative knowledge,
being of the past, or the possible, the not here or not now
existing, is derived and uncertain. The degree of assurance
or belief in a representation may be any but the liighest ; it
can never attain the certaintj^ of intuition, of consciousness.
Finally, in presentation the object is always an individual,
either an external thing perceived, or a state of mind self-
perceived. In representation the remote object may be either
an individual, or a plurality of individuals united in a class,
and known by means of a concept or general notion.^
§ 151. Representative cognition is distributed into three
special modes. When the medium represents some object
1 Our science is indebted to Hamilton for tlie first clear and distinct state-
ment of this fundamental and important distinction. See especially in Beid,
note B, § 1. In the Leibnitzian and subsequent philosophemes of Germany,
the term representation (Vurstellung, which is, rather, presentation) is used
with vague generality for any cognitive act considered in relation to the thing
known. By Kant it is used to include, as species, intuition, perception, and
even sensation, as well as memory and thought. His ambiguities and obscur-
ities arise largely from lack of the stated distinction. Hamilton, however,
went so far, on the other hand, as to identify representation with imagi-
nation, thus excluding even memory. See Meta., Lee. 32. In accord with
good authority, we take it to be generic, inclusive of memory and thought.
162 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
previously known, which is thus recognized, the act is called
a memory. When the medium is a factitious mental image
representing what is logically 2:)ossible but merely ideal, the
act is called an imagination. When the medium represents
an abstract unity, or a plurality reduced to unity in a general
notion or concept, the act is called a thought.
From what has been said it is evident that representation
is conditioned on presentation. We add that each of the
specific powers of rei^resentation conditions that following
it in the order named; memory conditions imagination, and
imagination conditions thought; and all are conditioned on
pure reason. But let us recall that no given total mental act
or state consists of any one of these alone (§ 78). It is always
an intricate complexus, in which these several specific activi-
ties may be distinguished as factors, and comprises, moreover,
feeling, desire, and volition.
The distinction between the presentative and the represent-
ative faculties is not identical with the familiar distinction
between sense and intellect. The intellectual faculties in-
clude pure reason, sometimes called pure intellect, vov<;, and
this we have classed under presentation.^
§ 152. As the medium is the characteristic feature of rep-
resentative states, let us consider it more particularly. It
may be either an object perceived, or a mental image of an
object of perception.
That objects perceived are often representative is an obvious
and familiar fact. The portrait of my friend represents him,
and serves as a medium by and through which I contemplate
his actual appearance. All jiictures are thus representative;
so also the drama, and the fine arts generally, indeed whatever
is imitative.^ It is not that an imitation is merely suggestive,
1 See § 7G. Intellect, from inter, among, between, and legere, ledum,
to gather, to collect, to read. It apprehends more than is seen ; it reads
between the lines.
- The literal observance by the Saracens of the second commandment gave
REPllESENTATION. 153
and on the principle of association directs our thoughts. It
does this no doubt in the first moment; but instantly it be-
comes representative, and tlu'ougli it we contemplate a remote
object. Again in studying geometry, we di-aw a figure on
the blackboard. The proposition demonstrated by means of
the figure is true, not of the thing perceived, but of what it
represents, that is, of all conceivable figures of that kind ; for
in the demonstration we use only such properties as are com-
mon to all. We contemplate in the figure perceived these
properties, and through it we think what is true of all mem-
bers of the class. This mode of representation may be called
the mimetic or exemplar.
But in order to representative cognition it is not necessary
that the medium should resemble the object it represents ; it
may be merely symbolic.^ The national flag represents one's
country or government, and excites patriotic feeling. A
crown represents royalty, a sceptre authority, a throne power,
a triangle the Trinity. Algebraic symbols and signs repre-
sent certain quantities and their relations. Words, either
seen or heard, symbolize things, and through the word we
think the thing. So also signals of all kinds. There is a
wide difference between portraiture or descriptive art, and the
symbolic art which produces, for example, a painting of Jus-
tice or a statue of Psyche ; but it is plain that each equally
furnishes media for representative cognition.
rise to a style of decorative art not representative, and called, after them,
the arabesque. Like music, it does not mean anything, but is in itself
beautiful.
That is simply negative ; but what is to misrepresent ? Shylock, posed
as a tyi^ical, representative Jew, is a misrepresentation. So say the Jews.
The portrait is not a likeness. It was drawn by the master when there were
no Jews in England. It was the outcome of tradition, .spite, and tyranny.
Shakespeare never saw a Jew. In like manner they denounce Isaac of York
as a misrepresentation. They claim Sir Moses Montefiore and Baron Hirsck
as true representatives of the modern race.
1 Ophelia's flowers were representative; but Peter Bell's primrose "a
yellow primrose was to him, and nothing more."
154 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
§ 153. The medium in representation may also be, and
usually is, a mental image, an idea. The power which mind
has of forming- mental images of its past experiences has often
been mentioned. It belongs to the essential constitution of
mind, is an element in all intellectual exercise, and a thor-
ough knowledge of it is of the highest importance in psy-
chology. The power is unique, peculiar, and therefore inde-
finable and indescribable, but every one is familiar with it in
his own consciousness.
I see a book lying before me, and apprehend it merely as.
an object of perception. Now I shut my eyes. I no longer
literally see the book, it is not now depicted on my retina,
but I have a mental image of it, I still see it with " my mind's
eye." Yesterda}^ I was angry. To-day I muse, I meditate
upon my anger. I form an image of it which I contemplate.
I have just read a vivid description of the battle of Waterloo.
I reflect upon it, and have formed by aid of the description
an image of the scene, its exact military movements inter-
weaving with its noisy confusion and horror. Our minds are
constantly occupied, or rather engaged, with such images
or ideas representative of remote objects.-^
The mental image has no existence apart from the mental
1 The word idea, introduced into philosophy by Plato, worthy of all honor
because of its own soft beavity, its rich setting, its antiquity and its paternity,
has been and is greatly abused, being most frequently mispronounced by the
vulgar, and constantly misapplied by the specialist. See its lamentable
history detailed by Hamilton, in lieid, note G, p. 025 sq. ; and in Discnssio)is,
p. 75, note. Cf. Trench, EnriJish Past and Present, p. 154. Hamilton pro-
nounces it unlitted for scientific use. But we cannot spare it, and shall
use it legitimately, as strictly synonymous with mental image, and so repre-
senting an individual. Let it not be confused with the concept, which also
is representative, but is a general notion, i.e. applicable to a plurality of
individuals.
Seneca marks the distinction between i54a and eUos thus : When a sculp-
tf)r hews a statue of Venus, she is his idia ; the statue is the eiSos, the idol, or
marble image. The I8^a is out of and before the work, the eJSos is in the
work. — Epist. 58, §§ 15-18. So Milton :
" God saw liis works were good,
Auswering hie fair ideu."
REPRESENTATION. 155
act. I image a centaur. What is this centaur? It has no
externally real, but only an ideal existence. It is only an
image, and as such is an indivisible mode of mind. The
cognition and its object are in fact identical. As relative to
the mind knowing, it is called a cognition, an act of knowl-
edge, an exercise of the imaging power, etc. ; as relative to
the externally unreal but conceivable possibility which it
represents, it is called a representation, a subject-object, an
image, an idea, etc. But the act and the object are the
same.
§ 154. We say these images are formed by the mind, are
of the mind, etc. To say, as is quite common, that they are
in the mind is misleading. We are very apt to think of them
as literal images, as little miniatures or models or pictures
of the things they represent, very like them on a small scale,
and located in the mind or brain, entirely apart from their
originals. Images, however, being mental modes, neither
shape, nor size, nor place can be attributed to them. The
shape, size, and place they seem to have are identical with
those of the thing represented. Where is my image of the
book on which I shut my eyes ? Out there on the table.
Where is my image of Waterloo? In Belgium. Where is
my image of the celestial sphere ? In the heavens, and as
vast as they. Where is my image of yesterday's anger?
Nowhere. It is referred to past time, but not to place,
since no mental affection can have locality. It is obvious
that figure, size, place, etc., are qualities of the thing imaged
and not of the image itself. They are merely represented,
as truly so as the color, material, etc., of the originals. We
might as well say that the image has actual color, as to say
that it has actual place.
§ 155. Mental images are always sensuous, that is, they
represent objects of sense, external or internal, given in
some former experience. They consist of, or are con-
156 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
structed, so to speak, from materials collected by experience.
In this view, we may say that the image re-presents, that
is, presents again, what has already been given or presented ;
so that what was formerly cognized is now recognized. I
cannot image what I never experienced. Even the most
bizarre imaginings are combined, like the centaur, out of
fragments of experiences. I cannot image a logical absurd-
ity. A biangular figure is non-sense.^
Moreover, a thing is always represented as the object of the
sense originally perceiving it. The sound of a trumpet we
represent as assailing the ear; its brazen color, as dazzling
the eye ; its surface, as smooth to the touch, etc. These
images of various percepts combine, however, in one com-
plex image, in a single representation of a thing. It should
be noted that though visual images are so constantly present
and so vivid that the language of this subject is largely
derived from them, yet we form as well images of sounds, of
tastes, of odors, of tactile and muscular impressions, of vis-
ceral pleasure and pain, and of oljjects of self-perception.-
§ 156. Images are always representative. An absolute
image is a contradiction, for the image is essentially relative.
It always stands for, or is vicarious of, a remote object, one
either real, or at least logically possible.
Representation by an image, like representation by an
object, has two modes ; the image is either an imitation or a
symbol. I can represent a horse by an image of one stand-
ing before me, an image of myself as an observer being per-
haps always a part of the total representation. I can image
a triangle representing primarily a real figure, and second-
i At first glance these statements may seem inconsistent •with the theory
of pure ideas already discussed at length, pt. ii, chs. 0, 7. Hut it should he
observed that by pure idea is meant an idea of a pure or non-sensuous
object, e.g. space. Such an object can be entertained only symbolically,
through or by means of some sensuous, representative, mental image or idea.
See especially § 1.'>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 <pavTaaia to designate both, but modern usage distin-
guishes them. Wordsworth, in the preface to his Lyrical Ballads, marks
clearly the difference. See also Trench, Study of Words, ad verb. Previously
Addison confused them. — Sjwct. No. 40. Afterward Coleridge went to the
opposite extreme, affirming that "fancy and imagination are two distinct
and widely different faculties." — Biog. Lit., ch. 4.
2 Shakspeare strikingly marks this triple gi-adation in the famous and
familiar speech of Theseus in Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 5, so. 1.
Fancy finds play not only in literature, but in all the fine arts. It conde-
scends to a lower plane, and appears in conversation, in dress, and in the
decorative arts. It revels in associations that are remote, arbitrary, and
capricious, and so indulges in whimsical conceits and prettiuess. Cowley's
genius was fanciful, Milton's imaginative, Shakspeare was lord of both
realms. The Midsummer Xiglit's Dream is a perfect example of the fanci-
ful, wlierein imagination moves on a wing as light as Ariel's. Fancy is
always more nimble than strong, more gentle than bold, more witty than wise.
The goddess of wisdom sprang from the head of Jupiter. A little song in
Shakspeare asks : —
"Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in tl)o heart, or in the head ?
How begot, how nourished ?
Reply, reply."
Goethe answers: "Fancy is the ever-movhig, ever-new, Jove's loveliest
daughter, child of his heart."
IMA GIN A TION. 209
§ 199. The higher degree of the artistic imagination is
called the poetic imagination. The word poetic must be
here understood as excluding the merely fanciful, and as
including much of prose fiction and of mimetic fine art.^ Gov-
erned by laws of taste more exacting, more nearly connected
with reason, the poetic imagination is closely observant of
nature, heedful of truth, and submissive to logical sequence.^
It is popularly supposed to disregard or even defy logic ;
whereas it is strictly logical. Throughout every poem must
lun a continuous thread of logical sequence, however con-
cealed, to give it cohesion and unity, and in the truly great
poems there is a reason assignable, not only for every word,
but for the place of every word, just as there is likewise one
for every curve in a statue, for every hue in a painting, and
for every passing note in a sonata.
§ 200. Next in the approach toward the real, is the reflec-
tive imagination. It is so called because it especially relates
to thought in the search for knowledge. Herein imagination
1 Poetry aud music coalesce in song, and it is admissible to say that the
symphonies of Beethoven are tone poems, that the Cupid and Psyche of
Canova is a marble lyric, and that the Vatican frescoes of Raphael are the
«pic of the Church.
2 Both fancy and the poetic imagination are creative. "Imagination, in
the sense of the poet," says Wordsworth, "has no reference to images that
iire merely a faithful copy, existing in the mind, of absent external objects,
but is a word of higher import, denoting operations of the mind upon these
objects, and processes of creation or composition governed by fixed laws." —
Preface to Lyrical Ballads.
The German calls a poet a thinker (Dichter, related to DenJcer), and poet-
ical power the power of thought (Dic)itungskraft). Some one has said that
high art is deep metaphysics. Whether it be in poetry or music, in painting
or sculpture, the triumph of the artist lies, not in presenting us with a tran-
script of things that may be seen or heard or handled in the world around us,
but in carrying us across the gulf which separates the real from the ideal,
and placing us in the presence of the truly beautiful, and surrounding us
with an atmosphere more pure than that which the sun enlightens. "For,
with the exception of the self-existent Being," says Rousseau, "there is
nothing beautiful but that which is not.' '
210 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
submits to yet closer bonds. Regardless of sentiment, it
seeks neither the beautiful nor the sublime, but harnessed by
logic, and driven by desire to know, it labors after truth,
which when ascertained it strives to represent with clearness
and fulness.
Reflective imagination, like the artistic, has two degrees.
The first let us call the philosophic or scientific imagination.
This is largely occupied in representing the hypotheses of
thought in its tentative excursions. It images conceivable
possibilities relative to the question in hand, which thought
scrutinizes and adopts or rejects according to the facts ; as
Huygens' hypothesis of a vibrating luminiferous ether filling
space was adopted in place of Newton's emission hypothesis.
Moreover, when thought reaches its conclusion, imagination
pictures it in full, filling up the outlines, supplying accordant
circumstances, enlarging perhaps beyond the strict limits of
ascertained truth.i
1 The geometrician figures before his mind's eye an original construction
to which his theorem applies, and then varies its proportions from limit ta
limit, and combines it with others, thus testing its consistency and its appli-
cations. D'Alembert says that, of all the great men of antiquity, Archimedes
is, in respect of imagination, best entitled to a place beside Homer. The
historian reasons on the circumstances of an event, and depicts the results in
a detailed description. Macaulay's fine historic imagination renders his style
autoptic. The astronomer discovers a new law, and in applying it, perfects
by imagination his knowledge of the mechanism of the heavens. The human
body, by the power of imagination, becomes transparent to the eye of the
anatomist ; the frame of the earth, to the eye of the geologist.
Unless held under severe clieck, the philosophic is very liable to return
into the poetic imagination. The most illustrious example is Plato, whom
Panoetius calls the Homer of philosophy. Aristotle pronounces his system
of ideas a collection of poetical metaphors. "Abandoning the world of
reasoning, because of the narrow limits it sets to the understanding, he ven-
tured," says Kant, "upon the wings of ideas beyond it, into the void space
of pure intellect." — C. P. /?., Int. § 3. "Nothing is more dangerous to
reason," says Hume, "than flights of imagination, and nothing has been the
occasion of more mistakes among philosopliers. Men of bright fancies may,
in this respect, be compared to those angels whom the Scriptures represent
as covering their eyes with their wings." — Treatise of Human Nature, bk. i,
pt. iv, § 7.
IMA GIN A TION. 211
§ 201. The second degree of the reflective imagmation
corresponds pretty closely with what Aristotle calls "the
deliberative imagination." It is still more confined than the
first, representing in a concrete image merely and strictly
the attributes that constitute a thought, and thus operating
to embody the thought while testing its logical possibility.
Its importance is inestimable. Its special consideration is
postponed to the next topic, Thought, with which it is so
intimately related (§ 214).
§ 202. Still nearer to the reality stands the practical imag-
ination. The bounds are here greatly narrowed. Phantasy
is checked only by the bare necessities of intellect ; fancy is
more orderly ; the higher poetic imagination still more closely
conforms to nature ; philosophic imagination represents what
is moreover regarded as true ; but practical imagination is
confined to what may also become actual fact. These wide
extremes, the possible idea, and the possible fact are the
bounds of imagination.
In the practical imagination, also, we distinguish two varie-
ties. The first forms ideas of actions ; the second, ideal
standards of actions. Of these in their order.
The first variety bears a special relation to volition. It is
that mode of voluntary imagination which has for its object
voluntary activity tending directly to realization. Every
outward activity requires that we should previously construct
its image. I cannot pick up a pin, or stick one in my dress,
or take a seat in a chair, or reach for a book, without a prior
image of myself as doing these acts. So in all things small
and great, from the plucking of an apple, to an Alexandrine
conquest. This variety of the practical imagination is im-
plied in all provision ; it is prerequisite to every desired end,
to every step of prudence, to every act of duty.^
1 I cannot pen a syllable without first imagining that syllable, and myself
as writing it ; then my pen traces on the paper the form which imagination
has already imprinted there. The mechanic who invents a machine must
212 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
A sharp limit is set to this exercise of imagination by a
certain judgment and belief. Any one may easily imagine
himself leaping over a house, but knowing that he cannot,
believing it impracticable, this is merely a bizarre fancy, and
not the practical imagination. To be the latter, the action
imagined must be regarded as possible. I cannot even at-
tempt what I judge and believe to be impracticable. An
insane man might try to leap over a house, but it is impossi-
ble for a sane man to try. No matter how intense may be
my wish that it Vv^ere possible for me to do a thing, I must
not only imagine the doing it, but also must believe, rightly
or not, at least that perhaps I can do it, before I can make
the effort. An actual effort, unsustained by this judgment
and belief, is a psychological impossibility .^
construct it in imagination before he can realize it in wood and iron. If a
mountain is to be tunnelled, the engineer must devise the means ; if a river is
to be bridged, he has already marked the progress of the work while yet the
timber is in the forest and the metal in the mine. The merchant in his
counting-room plans distant voyages ; the general in his solitarj^ winter
quarters maps out the next summer's campaign. The artist who paints a
fresco, or carves a statue, or builds a temple, has devised mentally before he
produces manually ; his representative ideas exist before they are embodied
in representative things.
" Such tricks bath strong imagination,
That if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy."
— Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 5, bc. 1.
The work presupposes, first, the artistic imagination to compose, then the
practical imagination to. devise, and then the manual skill to execute. If
any one of the three is defective, the work is marred. In general, the ability
to frame practical images of what one would do, to plan one's conduct and
action, is the mark of an efficient character ; to do so promptly on euu-rgency
is presence of mind. Executive talent is little else than another name for
practical imagination. He who has none, or does not exercise what he has,
blunders along through life, and is the victim of accidents. He leaves his
teaspoon standing .in his cup, sets down a coal-bucket at the head of the
stairs, packs his trunk on the assumption that it is to continue right side up
throughout his journey, is too late for the train, demands his dinner in less
than five niiimtes, and neglects to write proper names, especially his own,
with absolute plainness.
1 The belief that I can do a thing may be a delusion, but while the dclu-
IMAGINATION. 213
§ 203. The second variety of the practical imagination is
the forming of ideals. We have spoken of the ideal sphere
of cognition in opposition to the real, and of all objects of
imagination in general as ideal objects (§ 190). But the noun
ideal has acquired a specific sense. It designates an idea
proposed by the mind for imitation or attainment, a paradigm
or standard or model of perfection in things or actions which
invites realization. We frame an ideal of whatever is capa-
ble of various degrees of excellence by collecting' in one the
best elements of many, thus representing the highest extreme
of an idealized perfection. This then affords a standard
towards which we strive, and by which we measure the real-
ized fact.
In its psychological character an ideal seems to hover
between an idea and a concept. That it is a representation
of something which we endeavor to make real, marks it as a
product of practical imagination. That it is constituted of
sion lasts I can try. But if in fact the thing is easy, yet my delusion now is
that I can't do it, then it is impossible for me to try. The child at school
who says, " I can't," and believes it, says true, no matter how easy the task
may be ; and it is sheer cruelty to enforce a simulated effort. The ineffi-
ciency of a hopeless disposition is proverbial. We exhort youth to attempt
great things. The words are idle, unless he is convinced that to him great
things are possible. " Possunt posse quia videnter." — Virgil. The under-
estimate of one's powers by just so much retrenches efficiency ; whereas some
overestimate, which is likely to be corrected by failure, will bring out their
full strength.
Another psychological fact should be here noted. All the ideal within the
described limit strives to cross the opposite limit, and pass into the real. It
lies deep in human nature that whatever is vividly conceived, it strongly
tends to produce. Imagination reacts to strengthen desire, which urges
realization, and we are impelled to accomplish in fact what we image in
vision. Looking down a precipice suggests so forcibly the idea of falling,
that an effort of self-control is requisite to keep one's self from acting it out.
Cherishing merely the thought of a crime will bring forth the crime. Brood-
ing on the idea hatches the thing. If virtue be teachable, it is here. Inflame
imagination with its charms, and it will become a hfe. Fill the mind with
great thoughts, and they will become great deeds. The subjective evolves
the objective. The human mind represents a Utopia, and struggles to realize
it. The Divine Mind conceived a kosmos ; the universe appeared.
214 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
qualities abstracted from various sources, which collected in
one have an application more or less general, assimilates it
to a product of thought. Hence we may properly be said
to conceive an ideal ; whereas we do not properly conceive,
but frame or form an imaefe or idea.
An artist selects and assembles in one whole the beauties
and perfections which are found in different individuals,
excluding everything defective or unseemly, so as to form a
type or model of the species. His artistic imagination pro-
poses some particular composition, but his practical imagina-
tion has already conceived something higher, towards which
he strives, to which he would make his production conform.
This is the hemi ideal., in a sense critical and aesthetic, a tj'pe
of the beautiful in hypothetical perfection.^
Perhaps every man forms ideals of character and conduct.
We set before us standards of personal attainment, physical,
1 In illustration of the Platonic meaning of TrapdSeiy/jia, or an ideal, Cicero
tells us that Zeuxis had five of the most beautiful women of Crotona as
models, from whom to make up his picture of a perfect beauty. — Z)e Inven-
tione, ii, 1. Thus he hoped to realize his ideal. Elsewhere Cicero observes
that there is nothing so fair but that a fairer may be conceived. We can, for
example, conceive of statues more perfect than those of riiidias. " Nor did
this artist, when he made his statue of Jupiter or of Minerva, contemplate
any one individual from whom to take a likeness ; but in the depth of his
soul resided a perfect type of beauty, on which he gazed, and which guided
his hand and skill — ad iUius siinnUudiiiem artem et manum dirigebat.''^ —
De Oratore, ii, 9. "Thus his ideal is the artist's object of passionate con-
templation. Assiduously and silently meditated, unceasingly purified by
reflection and vivified by sentiment, it warms genius and inspires it with an
irresistible need of seeing it realized and living." — Colsin, DuVrai, du Bcmi,
et du Bien, 8me le§on.
It can hardly be doubted that the Platonic theory of ideas originated in
the contemplation of these natural products, the ideals of the human mind.
For an account of their historical genesis, see Aristotle, 3Ieta., i, 0, 9. To
whatever niay receive a common name, there is posited an answering idea ;
or, as Aristotle says : " Plato places an idea to every class of being." — Meta.,
xii, 3. Notwithstanding this generality, the Platonic idea is an individual,
eiSos, formed of the essence of individual things. iEsthetically and ethically
it is perfect, and to it the corresponding realities, erSwXa, remain perpetually
inferior. It is the archetype or pattern, TrapdSeiytxa, to which things conform,
IMA GIN A TION. 215
intellectual, or moral. The early visions of hope and the
romance of reverie build ideals of excellence towards which
we longingly struggle, to which we aspire to conform.
What a man most admires in character is a sure index, if
not of what he is, at least of what he would become. If his
ideal be pure and true, then it is his guardian angel, ever
leading him to something higher and better.
The ideal of the artist once conceived, all his works,
though increasingly beautiful, are mere idols ; that is, rude
images of a superior beauty which they fail to realize. So
also, tell me of a noble action, and I will instantly imagine
one still more noble. The ideal is ever higher than achieve-
ment. It flies before the real like a shadow, never to be
overtaken ; it is the unattained and unattainable paradise
of our despair. " Continually receding as we approach, it
expands at last to the infinite, to God ; for the true, the
absolute and the complete is God himself. L'ideal, viola
I'echelle mysterieuse qui fait monter Tame du fini a I'infini ! "
by which they are realized, toward which they ascend. The individual things
have necessarily a participation, fi^de^is, in, or are an imitation, fiifi-rjcns,
ofioiixjffLs, of the idea. The idea, though existing independently, aiirb KdO'
avTo, has also a certain community, KOLvujvLa, with things. It is in some sense
present, irapova-ia, in them, but yet complete in itself. See JSophistes, 256 a ;
and Parmenides, 132 b.
216 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
CHAPTER VI.
THOUGHT.
§ 204. Thought is representation by means of a notion.
Thus by thinking I form a general notion to which I give the
name lily, and this notion is representative of many individ-
ual lilies. In another aspect to think is to determine a
logical subject. Thus when I see a lily, I consider that its
needs are all supplied, that it toils not, neither does it spin,
that it is gloriously arrayed, etc. Here the subject, lil}-, is
in several respects determined. By these considerations I
know it more intimately, by these it is distinguished from a
great many other things. All that can be said of the sub-
ject is but a continuation of this process ; and each affirma-
tion or denial is a thought.^
1 Even in scientific treatises the words thought, to thinli, etc., are com-
monly used very widely, not to say loosely. In Descartes, for example, cogi-
tatio or pensee denotes "all that in us of which we are immediately con-
scious. Thus all the operations of the will, of the imagination, and senses,
are thoughts." — Kesp. ad Sec. Obj., p. 85, ed. of 16G3. Cf. Hamilton in
Reid, p. 222, note. So Wundt. With him thought, Gedanke, is a state of
consciousness in general ; but he regards every such state as reducible to a
single fact, i.e. to reasoning or inference, Schliessen. This is his fundamen-
tal position. See his Physiologische Psychologie, p. 714. Without offering
here any opinion respecting this doctrine, we restrict thought by definition,
and treat it as a distinct faculty or activity.
It has a variety of synonyms ; e.g. discursive faculty or discursive reason,
as opposed to pure reason (Plato, Kant; see § 113, note), comparative fac-
ulty, faculty of relations, elabnrative faculty (Hamilton), faculty of compre-
hension, faculty of understanding ( VcrMand, Kant), for one understands a
thing when he makes it stand under a class.
We prefer the word thought, Anglo-Saxon theaht, N. II. Ger. Bedacht, Ge-
danke, a mental putting or bringing together of things, from deiileii, to think,
related to dkhlen, to compose, and so to dkht, compact, and dick, thick.
THOU GUT. 217
The word 7iotio7i occurs in the foregomg definition. We
use it generically to designate products of thought, and these
only, and therefore as ox:)posed to the idea or image. Notions
are either marks or concepts. ]\Iarks are the various quali-
ties or attributes of an object analyzed by thought. A
concept is the result of the act of conception, or the act of
grasping together into one the various marks which charac-
terize an object.^
§ 205. It is obviously a primary condition of thought that
there should be an object or objects presented or represented
by the subsidiary faculties. These must furnish the crude
material out of which thought elaborates the concept. In
this exercise three elements or operations or movements are
logically distinguishable, — abstraction, generalization, and
conception.
Abstraction is simply withdrawing the mind from other
objects l)y fixing attention on one. Thus, if I consider a
personal action, and observing that it is generous, fix my
attention on that, thereby withdrawing my mind from all
concomitant attributes, consciousness is abstracted from these
by concentrating upon the one, the generosity. Abstraction
Thus think comes from the same original root as thicl; tlie n (not found in
thowjM) being merely casual. In thinking we thicken by uniting many in
one.
1 Both psychology and logic treat of thought ; the former treats of it
inter alia; the latter exclusively. Yet these sciences taken strictly do not
intersect ; each has its special point of view. Psychologj- views the act and
product of thought in their relation to mind. It inquires a posteriori into
the phenomena of thought, seeking their explanation and laws. Logic views
the product of thought without reference to the producing mind. Starting
with axioms, it demonstrates a priori the laws that govern the process,
and whose violation nullifies thought. Psychology is the natural history
of thought. Logic is the theory of thought. See Mansel, Prolegomena
Logica, ch. 9. Herbart says: "Die ganze reine Logic hat es mit Verhiilt-
nissen des Gedachten zu thun ; aber iiberall nirgends mit der Thatigkeit des
Denkens, nirgends mit der psychologischen Moglichkeit desselben." — Psy-
chologie als Wissenschaft, th. ii, § 119.
218 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
then is the act whereby consciousness is withdrawn from
other qualities of an object, or from other objects, by concen-
trating upon one.
It has already been pointed out (§ 87) that attention and
abstraction are psychological correlatives, the one the positive,
the other the negative, aspect of the same act. In the psy-
chological and negative view, we are understood to abstract
or draw away the mind from certain features of objects pre-
sented, absfrahere mentem a differentiis. In the logical and
positive view, we are said to abstract certain portions of a
total cognition from the remainder, ahstrahere differentias.
Mental dissection differs from abstraction. Abstraction
relates to qualities, dissection to quantities. It separates a
whole into its quantitative or mathematical parts, as head,
trunk, and limbs. It seems to be a movement of imagination
rather than of thought. Quantitative parts, however, may be
and often are viewed as qualities, and then are thoughts, as
vertebrate and invertebrate.
§ 206. The process of abstraction is analytical, and the
result is the separation of a quality or attribute of a thing or
of an event from those with which it is really or in fact con-
comitant. This product, which truly has no independent
existence whatever, is viewed mentally as though it were in
itself an independent thing. Hence a simple abstract notion
is a mark considered as a thing.
The name of a quality in the concrete is an adjective noun,
and is always grammatically dependent ; as, Solomon the
wise. The name of a quality in the abstract is a substantive
noun, and may be the subject or the object of a proposition ; as.
Wisdom is the principal thing, therefore get wisdom. Such
abstract notions are primarily thought of as peculiar, and may
or may not be generalized. Particular marks or qualities
are individua sir/nata., belonging to this one thing and to no
other. Tliey may be taken abstractly, but are not susceptible
of generalization.
THOUGHT. 219
§ 207. The second function of thought is generalization.
Upon abstracting qualities from two or more objects we may-
be struck by the similarity of the qualities. If so, we simplify
and unify the cognitions by thinking the similar qualities to
be the same. For example, this paper, the wall, chalk, and
snow are each of them white. Similar qualities are those that
stand in similar relation to our organs and faculties. When
the similarity is complete, the effects which they determine
in us are indistinguishable. What we cannot distinguish are
to us virtually the same, that is, they are subjectively to us
precisely as if they were objectively identical. The same,
accordingly, we consider them to be, though really in different
objects. This act, to think the similar the same, to consider
a plurality a unit}^ is the essence of generalization and is a
fundamental fiction of thought. The several objects whosa
mark has been generalized, we comprehend under a common
concrete name ; e.g. white thing. The generality of this
name consists solely in that it is applicable indifferently to
any one of the objects it comprehends. Hence generalization
is the act of comprehending in one notion several objects
agreeing in some quality which we abstract from each of
them, and which the common name serves to indicate.
§ 208. The third operation of thought is conception. It
may occur immediately upon abstraction ; that is, without
generalization. When a number of marks have been ab-
stracted they may be collected by thought into one notion.
This is the act of conceiving or of conception, and the com-
plex notion thus obtained is the concept. A concept, then,
is a union of marks in one notion; or, we may say, a concept
is a bundle of marks.^
Every object presented to the mind has an indefinite plu-
rality of marks. Observation can make many known to us,
1 To conceive, from eon-caper e, to grasp together ; Ger. hegreifen, Begriff,
allied to Eng. grip, grab, grasp, group. " A collection of attributes, united by
a sign, and representing a possible object of intuition." — Mansel.
220 MEDIATE EyOWLEDGE.
but our knowledge, though constantly increasing in fulness
and complexity, can never become complete. Indeed, the
limited powers of the mind cannot take in at once all those
marks Avhose presence is known. A representation becomes
confused when we attempt to grasp or comprehend in one
notion more than a very few of them. Giving up the attempt,
we form a concept of the thing, embracing comparatively few
of its ascertained marks, making selection of such as are dis-
tinctive and essential. This is a singular or particular con-
cept. It is complex, but not general. To it we may apply
Esser's definition : A concept is the representation of a thing
through its distinctive marks. ^
The particular concept is potentially general,^ and may
become actually so by being generalized.^
On the other hand, if instead of particular marks I have
a number of common marks, that is, marks each of which has
already been generalized, these may likewise be conceived
together, and constitute at once a complex general notion,
general by virtue of the factitious generality of each one
of its constituents.*
1 In this way one forms a notion of historical characters, e.g. of Socrates,
of Csesar. In like manner every man forms a notion of himself, often
altogether erroneous.
2 Unless it involve a peculiar mark, as Cfesar, the conqueror of Pompey.
But even in such case there is no logical objection to the ancient supposition
that the whole history of mankind is constantly repeated from recurring
epochs, and so the name and actions of Csesar or Achilles will be found in
several individuals at corresponding periods of every cycle. See Virgil,
Eclogue, iv, 34 sq. , and Eccl. 1 : 9 ; also Mansel, Proleg. Logica, p. 70, and
Mill, Logic, p. 250, Am. eds.
3 For example : If I consider the several marks of the apple which I hold
in my hand, that it is vegetable, seed-bearing, edible, sugary, spherical, etc.,
and, grasping these marks in one notion, thus form a notion of this apple,
then I have a particular concept of it. Afterward I observe that a similar
bundle of marks may be formed from other apples ; also from an orange, a
peach, a pear, a cherry, etc. Consequently, I consider these several similar
concepts to be the same, i.e. I generalize, and call this complex general notion
by the common name fruit.
* For example : I take the following marks, each of which I have separ-
THOUGHT. 221
The general notion, perfected as to its content, is the ulti-
mate product of thought. Hence to think is to conceive, is
to form concepts, and a concept is a mental combination, or
reduction to unity of the similar qualities or marks of objects
of thought. It is true that it involves the representation of
a part only of the various marks, attributes, or characters of
which the individual object is the sum, and therefore affords
only a one-sided and inadequate knowledge of things. This
inadequacy is a consequence of the limited jDOwer of mind,
which must accept a small part as the whole of a thing, and
so resort to a fiction in order to comprehend, even in an im-
perfect manner, a plurality of things.^
§ 209. A process subsidiary to thought is denomination or
naming. The uniformities of things embraced in concepts
would quickly escape us, if we did not fix and ratify them by
sensuous signs.^ " A sign is necessary to give stability to our
intellectual progress, to establish each step in advance as
a new starting-point for our advance to another beyond.
A country may be overrun by an armed host, but it is only
conquered by the establishment of fortresses. Words are the
fortresses of thought. In tunneling through a sandbank it
is impossible to succeed unless every foot, nay, almost every
inch, in our progress be secured by an arch of masonry, before
we attempt the excavation of another. Now language is to
the mind precisely what the arch is to the tunnel. The power
of thinking and the power of excavating are not dependent
ately thought as common to many individual things : self-laminous, spark-
ling, celestial, very distant, relatively fixed, etc., and form a concept of star.
This complex notion is applicable to a host of things, for of many individuals
each has all of these marks. The notion is, therefore, general by virtue of
the generality of its several constituents.
1 See Hamilton, Logic, § 21.
2 See Mill, Logic, bk. iv, ch. 3. A uniformity is a notion of resemblance ;
hence general names or terms, the signs of general notions, have been called
termini similitudinis. Every common noun, as man, tree, fruit, star, is a
.sign and expression of a concept.
222 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
on the word in the one case, nor on the mason-work in the
other ; but without these subsidiaries, neither process could
be carried on beyond its rudimentary commencement." ^
§ 210. An important subsidiary fact is that every concept
comprehends, on the one hand, a number of attributes or
marks, and, on the other, extends to a number of objects or
things. Thought reduces many marks to unity, comprising
them in one product, and many things to unity, including
them under that product, the concept.^ The sum of the
marks connoted is the intension of the concept ; the sum of
the things denoted is its extension. Hence the concept has
a kind of two-fold quantity : first, the number of marks con-
stituting its connotation, comprehension, intension, qua7ititas
complexus, or depth, jBdOo'^ ; secondly, the number of things
constituting its denotation, extension, quantitas ambitus, or
breadth, TrXaro?.
It is evident that if the number of marks in a concept be
diminished, it will extend to a greater number of things ;
and if the marks be increased, it will extend to fewer things.^
When we think marks in, we think things out, and vice
versa. Hence the general law. The greater the intension,
the smaller the extension; and the smaller the intension,
1 Hamilton, Logic, § 23. See also Brown, Fhil. of Hum. Mind, Lee. 47.
" Without the use of such signs," says Stewart, "our knowledge must have
been confined to individuals, and we should have been perfectlj^ incapable
both of classification and of general reasoning." But the thought must
be before the word. Advanced thuikers exploring the unknown must be
independent.
" Words are but the under agents in their hands ;
When they are grasping willi their greatest strength,
They do not breathe among them."
2 Thus my notion man comprehends the marks rational, sentient, organ-
ized, existing ; and contains under it Aristotle, Ca;sar, Kant, Napoleon, and
all individual men.
8 Thus the concept bird connotes the marks feathered, winged, biped,
etc., and denotes and is predicable of many individual things ; whereas the
concept swan has more marks, as, web-footed, etc., but denotes fewer
individual things.
THOUGHT. 223
the greater the extension. Or, more briefly ; the two quan-
tities of the concept are in inverse ratio.
§ 211. We are now prepared to observe that generalization
is classification. By thinking a mark as common to several
individuals, we thereby constitute a class containing them.
Indeed, every common noun is the name of a class of things,
and concepts are often and properly called class notions.
We do not, however, stop at a first generalization. On
comparing two or more given class notions we reject their
differences to form still another more general concept.^ The
operation is repeated until we arrive at an absolute limit in
the notion of being or thing, which connotes only one mark,
existence, and denotes everything. This process is called
par excellence^ generalization, but since it is the forming of
genera by uniting species, it is also called generification.
Reversing the process, we restore the differences and pro-
ceed towards the individual, which is the limit, connoting an
unlimited plurality of marks, and denoting only one thing.^
This process is called division or determination, and since
we are herein forming species by subdividing genera, it is
also called specification.
Thus it is that thought forms classes of things and of
events. The systems thereby elaborated are wholly subjec-
tive, existing only in the mind of the thinker, and are deter-
mined chiefly by the purpose he has in view, and the utility
of certain relations for certain ends.^ Thought is constantly
1 Thus by abstracting from the different while retaining the similar marks
in the several general notions, bird, beast, fish, reptile, man, and thinking
the similar the same, I form the concept animal. This genus has fewer
marks than any one of the species, but it contains under it a greater number
of individual things.
2 Taking the concept animal, for instance, we bring in the mark rational,
which throws out all animals except man. Then suppose we bring in the
mark born in Virginia. This excludes the bulk of mankind, and we have
the concept Virginian. Now bring in pater patrm, and we have Washington.
3 In civil affairs one would never divide mankind iiito horsemen and foot^
men, but from a military point of view this distributiion is imix)rtant. Cejtain
((USI7BRSIT71
224 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
and exclusively occupied with the discovery of the relations
of things or of events, and with the arrangement of them in
classes. Observed uniformities in things give genera, ob-
served uniformities in events are formulated as laws. The
perfection of a system of classes is the perfection of knowl-
edge.
§ 212. Let us now examine the process and product of
thought under a different aspect, and with a somewhat varied
terminology. It has already been noted that every act of
cognition involves the shock of similarity and difference,
that this is essentially comparison, and that the issue of com-
parison is a judgment (§§ 59, 80). Hence every movement of
the cognitive consciousness, from the primitive affirmation
that I am, to the most fully elaborated cognition, is a judg-
ment.
Judgments are of two kinds, intuitions and inferences.
The intuitive judgment is original, the other is derived. In
the intuitive judgment the matter is given already deter-
mined. An inference determines its matter. The one is the
psychological, the other the logical judgment. The latter
only is a thought.
The striving of thought has two directions. It strives
either to attain universal judgments respecting things and
events, or, on the contrary, to bring these under such compre-
hensive notions as may have been already attained. Hence
inferences, or logical judgments, or simply judgments, are of
two kinds, inductions and deductions.
An induction is a generalization from and beyond experi-
natural relations give order to tlie classes of objects for purposes of natural
•science ; but the only strictly necessary principle of distinction between
objects is the numerical diversity of individuals, all other divisions being, in
some sense, arbitrary and artificial. The naturalist may class man and the
ape together as having hands ; the moralist will place them far asunder as
rational and irrational, responsible and irresponsible. But no system can
possibly make Socrates the same individ\ial as Plato, or regard an act of
yesterday as nununically one with an act of t(.)-day.
THOUGHT. 225
ence, whereby I bring in (in-duco) unobserved facts, and
class them with observed facts. Thus I attain universal
judgments based upon experience. But this wide generality
is precarious ; exceptions may always conceivably occuro
This characteristic uncertainty is spoken of as the hazard of
induction (§ 121).
Having attained universals, thought proceeds to deduce
from them judgments either equally or less general. Deduc-
tions are of two kinds, immediate and mediate or reasoning.
The development of their forms belongs to Logic.
The a priori sciences, as pure mathematics, proceed from
intuitive universals or pure principles, and employ deduction
only. The a posteriori or empirical or inductive sciences, as
physics, chemistry, etc., proceeding from facts of observation
and experiment, attain universals by induction, and then
employ deduction, inferring from these universals special or
particular cases.
§ 213. It will be well to remark here the relation in which
judgment and conception stand to each other. A slight con-
sideration shows that they are essentially identical ; related
as merely different aspects of the same thing. When an
object is presented, I proceed to think it distinctly by analy-
sis and synthesis. I abstract. its qualities in succession; this
is analysis. I affirm of each that it is a mark of the thing ;
this is synthesis, and the affirmation is a judgment. If these
marks are collected and reduced to unity by an act of con-
ception, I therein affirm or judge that they are congruent,
and that this unity characterizes the thing. In generalizing,
I affirm a mark or a concept to be common to several objects.
Hence, each of the three movements in conceiving is a judg-
ment. So also in classification, when I am systematizing my
concepts. To think marks in is to affirm, to think them out
is to deny.
Every concept, then, is an implicit judgment. It is the
product of a foregone judgment or judgments recorded in a
226 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
word or sign, and it is amplified only by judging, by thinking
other attributes into it. On the other hand, every judgment
is an explicit concept. It is either the result of analyzing a
concept into its original components, an analytic judgment,
or the act by which a new attribute is for the first time
annexed, a synthetic judgment.^
§ 214. Having examined the two general aspects of the
process of thought, conceiving and judging, it is now needful
to consider the relation of thought to other powers.
It is sufficiently obvious that if the objects thought about
are not themselves present to sense, the thinking is conditioned
on memory. Thought limited to objects actually present has
very little range. Excepting this narrow case, memory fur-
nishes the materials for the elaboration of thought, and thus
becomes, in general, its condition.^
The relation of thought to imagination is less obvious. The
concept is representative of the objects of intuition from which
it was originally derived, and whose place it occupies in the
further processes of thought. " In one respect, indeed, con-
ception may be regarded as representative in a stricter sense
than imagination. Imagination, though representative, is
presentative also, and so far has a close affinity to sense. It
is presentative of the image, which is itself an intuitive ob-
1 For the Kantian distinction of judgments, as analytic and synthetic, see
Critique of Pure Reaso7i, Int., § 4.
Also observe that a mark is potentially a concept, and a concept is poten-
tially a mark. A concept is expressed by a substantive noun, a mark by an
adjective noun ; and the interchange of these grammatical forms is frequent,
e.g. man is a mortal, and man is mortal. The distinction consists in the use
made of the notion ; if used denotatively, it is a concept ; if used connota-
tively, it is a mark.
2 On the relation of these several activities it is noteworthy that in the
exercise of sensuous intuition, i.e. of perception, there is an affirmation of
distinct present existence (§ 98) ; in memory, the affirmation of past exist-
ence ; in imagination, of potential existence ; in thought, of relative existence ;
that is, on the hypothesis of the present, past, or possible existence of two
objects, thought affirms or denies the existence of a relation between them.
THOUGHT. 227
ject as well as representative of the object of sense. But the
concept, so far as its objects are concerned, is purely represen-
tative. It presents nothing on which the mind can rest as an
adequate object of consciousness, nothing which is not in its
nature incomplete and relative, nothing, in short, but the fact
of thinking. Pure thought, if by that expression is meant the
consciousness of general notions and of nothing else, is an
operation which perhaps may be possible to higher intelligence,
but which never takes place in the human mind." ^
Thought being thus purely representative, relies upon an
object, presented either by sense or imagination, which em-
bodies its conception. Imagination presents an image, and
it is this image on which the mind rests as an adequate object
of consciousness, and it is by virtue of this image that it is
enabled to elaborate and comprehend the concept. Thus
thought is conditioned also on imagination.^ The special
exercise of imagination in which it acts as a servitor of
thought we have ventured to call the deliberative imagina-
tion (§ 201).
§ 215. The concept itself cannot be imaged, for it is general,
and an image is always individual.^ How then does imagi-
1 Mansel, Metaphysics, p. 166.
2 So Aristotle: "Common notions, voy)tiaTa, are not without images, ovk
dvev (paPTaa-ndTuv.''^ — Ilepi ^vxv^, iii, 7. Cf. id. iii, 30. So also Milton: —
" In the Boul
Are many lesser faculties that serve
Reason as chief; among these Fancy next
Her ofBce holds; of all external things,
Which the five watchful senses represent,
She forms imaginations, airy shapes,
Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames
All what we affirm, or what deny, and call
Our knowledge or opinion." — Paradise Lost, v, 100 sq.
3 Psychologists now agree that the general notion cannot be imaged,
though Locke maintained the contrary. Essay, bk. iv, ch. 7, § 9. Indeed, the
supposition involves a contradiction. E.g. I have the notion triangle, a figure
of three sides. It is applicable to several species, among others to the equi-
lateral and to the scalene. Now should I propose to image triangle in its
generality, it must be at once equilateral and scalene. Here emerges the
228 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
nation enable thought to realize its products, how does it
serve to this end? It operates in two waj^s ; either by the
intuition of a case, or of a symbol. The exercise of thought
under the former mode is called intuitive thinking ; under
the latter, symbolical thinking.^
In intuitive thinking a concrete case or example of some
individual member of a class is imaged by the mind. This
individual, by embodying all the marks that constitute the
concept, is made to stand for or represent all members of the
class. Thus when thinking of triangle, I may image a par-
ticular triangle, and thereby hold in mind and together all
the marks that make up my general notion of triangle. In
doing this I disregard the non-essential marks of the triangle
imaged here and now, so that they may at any instant be
rejected in favor of those of any other. Or instead of that,
I may draw a triangle on paper, and then, by means of this
object of sense, without the aid of imagination, entertain and
elaborate my notion. So any object of sense may be contem-
plated with reference to its generic marks, and as representa-
tive of its class.^
contradiction that its sides must be all equal and all unequal. Hence such
an image is impossible.
The mind can hnage only those things which, in their elements at least,
have been actually experienced in presentative intuition. But the universe
of things consists of individuals. There is no general thing existing in the
external world. Generality is a fiction of thought (§ 207), and has no exist-
ence except as thought. Hence it cannot possibly be presented as an oViject
of adventitious experience, and so cannot be nnaged. Our experience is
exclusively of individuals, and therefore we can image only individuals.
An individual is " e?is indivisxan in se, et divisuin ah omni alio; . . . id
citpts proprietates alteri simul cnnvenire non possnntV — Porphyry. " What-
ever occupies a distinct portion of space is an individual object of external
intuition ; and vfhatever occupies a distinct moment of time, without exten-
sion in space, is an individual object of internal intuition. . . . The general
notion as such is emancipated from all special relation to space or timg. The
definition of triangle must not imply where it exists ; nor the definition of
anger when it takes place." — Mansel, Meta., pp. 37, 39.
' Spf §§ ir,2, 153, and 150.
■■' When 1 am looking at a rose, and say that it is a flower, 1 view it as
THOUGHT. 229
Intuitive thinking or conception, then, is that in which an
individual case or example, present to sense or imagination,
and embodying the attributes of a general notion, is regarded
as representing all members of its class.
§ 216. In symbolical thinking, an arbitrary sign or symbol,
either perceived or imaged, is used as expressive of the con-
cept. Instead of representative examples, we may have rep-
resentative signs, either presented to sense or imaged by the
mind. Language furnishes a system of such signs. All words
and combinations of words that we read or hear are sensible
signs representative of thought. Ntmiina sunt notionum tiotce.
When thinking of triangle, instead of an example I may
image merely the name of the thing, and thereby entertain
the thought.
By means of symbols we are enabled to grasp thoughts
beyond the reach of intuition. The notion civilization, for
instance, is too complex to be clearly represented by an exam-
ple, but we hold it fast by this word which is its sign. Thus
verbal signs supersede intuitive examples, and the process of
thinking becomes algebraic.^
representing the class. If I smell its perfume, and attend to that quality in
the sensation that marks the rose odors and distinguishes them from the
jessamine odors, then this sense-perception is a representative example of
rose odors. So, if I am listening to some one singing a ballad, I may think
of it as generically different from operatic or sacred song. There is no essen-
tial difference in the mode of thought, whether by percept or by image, by
object or by subject-object. There is a difference in degree of facility, some-
times in favor of one, sometimes of the other. Geometrical figures drawn
on the blackboard help a beginner; so also the famous "object lessons for
children." But the very narrow range of thinking by means of objects of
sense-perception is obvious.
' Investigation by the geometric method is intuitive thinking ; that by the
algebraic method is symbolic thinking. By the former, Newton expounded
the celestial system in the Principia; by the latter, Laplace elaborated
La Mecaniqtie celeste.
Why is it that the first step in school education, i.e. learning to read and
write, is so great a stride ? Why should it divide society by one of its sharpest
hnes? The illiterate think mostly by example; so far as they think sym-
230 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
Sj^mbolical thinking or conception, then, is that in which
an arbitrary sign or symbol, present to sense or imaged by the
mind, and associated with the attributes of a general notion,
is regarded as significant of all members of the class.^
§ 217. Being able to employ signs of thoughts in various
and changing relations without calling to mind the meaning
originally assigned to each,^ our thoughts gain in celerity and
flexibility, but they lose in distinctness, and are in danger of
being false.^ Consequently, it is needful at the end of a pro-
cess of thought, and even occasionally at intermediate stages,
to submit the result to the test of an example, and thus
■bolically, it must be chiefly by imagining the sounds of words, — a rather
obscure and difficult means. Perhaps the prime advantage conferred by the
humble acquisitions reading and writing is that they furnish a system of
visual signs available for symbolic thinking.
1 The distinction between intuitive and symbolic thinking was taken for
the first time in modern philosophy by Leibnitz in his Latin tract on ' ' Knowl-
edge, Truth, and Ideas," 1684, a translation of which is appended to Bayne's
English edition of the Port Eoyal Logic. According to Hamilton, this dis-
tinction superseded in Germany the whole of the bitter and even bloody
controversy between Nominalism and Conceptualism which agitated France
and England during several centuries. — Logic, § 30, pp. 127, 129. The dis-
tinction was elaborated by Wolf, a disciple of Leibnitz, in his Psijchologica
Empiricn, §§ o26, .329. I find, however, the same distinction taken sharply
and clearly by Aristotle in De Soph., i.
2 "It is not necessary," says Berkeley, " even in the strictest reasonings,
that significant names which stand for ideas [notions] should, every time
they are used, excite in the understanding the ideas they are made to stand
for. In reading and discoursing, names are for the most part used as lettoi's
are in algebra, in which, though a particular quantity be marked by each
letter, yet, to proceed rightly, it is not requisite that at every step each letter
should suggest to our thoughts that particular quantity it was appointt'd to
stand for." — Minute rhiJosnpher, Dialogue vii, § 8. Established and familiar
propositions are used, like algebraic formulas, without our looking into tlu'ir
meaning ; and words are combined into projiositions without our stopping to
weigh the significance of each in its new connections.
8 I may speak of a trilateral figure, and I can easily image one. I may
also speak of a bilateral figure, but when T try to image it, I find that it is
non-sense. So is it when one says: There is no rule without exceptions ; for
this is itself a rule, and if it have exceptions, there are rules without excep-
THOUGHT. 231
ascertain the possible coexistence of the attributes in a corre-
sponding object of intuition. The existence of a class is
possible only if the existence of the individual members is
possible ; hence symbolical cognition supposes intuitive cog-
nition, actual or possible, as its condition, and derives validity
from it. This testing process is a function of the deliberative
imagination.^
§ 218. The special function of thought is search for truth.
Truth is the abstract name of a quality, a contingent quality,
belonging to judgment. A judgment, or its expression, a
proposition, may or may not be true. It is true when the
affirmation or denial which it makes is in accord with the fact.
The usual definition is : Truth is the agreement of a cognition
with its object. That is : Truth is the correspondence between
tions. Said Voltaire: " Le superflu, c'est le vrai nScessaire." Pope has a
satirical " Song by a Person of Quality," beginning: —
" Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors,
Armed in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors,
Watering soft Elysian plains."
Campbell has a whole chapter on this point, Fhil. of Bhetoric, bk. ii, ch. 7.
See Mill's Political Economy, bk. iii, ch. 1, § 4 ; which work, by the way,
he introduces with a chapter of " Preliminary Remarks," in which, we may
understand, he takes a prospective review of the subject. See also Stewart's
Elements, ch. iv, § 4 ; Hume's Treatise of Human Nature, pt. i, § 7 ; and
Locke's Essay, bk. ii, ch. 22, § 7 et al.
1 See Mansel, Meta., p. 169 sq. ; and Proleg. Logica, pp. 36 and 52. He
says: "Like a bank-note, a symbol is representative of value without having
an intrinsic value of its own ; and, like the bank-note, its real worth depends
on the possibility of its being at any time exchanged for coin. But as the
note is treated in practice as if it were real money, so commonly we treat
symbolical knowledge as if it were itself the complete consciousness to which,
if valid, it may at any time be reduced." The test of symbolic thought is
thus the image or intuition of an example. We must individualize our con-
cepts, look them in the face, envisage them ; Ger. anschauen. This test is,
however, merely negative ; it does not determine the truth of the thought,
l3ut merely assures us of self-consistency. Still it is evident that intuitive
thought is a necessary, though only a negative, test of symbolic thought.
232 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
the representation we make of an object, in thought, and the
qualities presented by that object in intuition.^
The old question : What is truth ? seems to call for some-
thing more than a definition of the word.^ It seeks a univer-
sal and secure criterion of truth. Since thought is the highest
cognitive activity, the others being subservient, there is no
superior authority to which it should submit. Therefore it
must itself, by aid, if need be, of the subordinate powers, fur-
nish the criterion, the test of the truth of its own products,
if any such criterion there be.
It has just been stated that the test of symbolical thinking
is the intuition of an example. But this is merely a negative
criterion of the possible existence of an object of sense ; that
is, whatever cannot stand this test cannot be. Quite simi-
larly Logic presents us with negative criteria of truth in the
universal and necessary laws of thought. Whatever violates
these laws is false, because thereby thought contradicts itself.
But a thought may be perfectly accurate as to logical form,
and yet not be in agreement with its object. Consequently
1 Mansel, Meta., p. 145. riato's definition is: Truth is conformity with
tlie ideas. Aristotle's : Truth is the agreement of knowledge with reality,
T(? yap elfdi TO. TTpdy/jLa r) /nrj dX-qdris 6 X670S •^ feuSrjs Xiyerai. — Categ., ch. 12.
This dictum he particularizes, in Afeta., iv, 7, thus: "Affirming non-existence
of the existent, or existence of the non-existent, is error ; but affirming exist-
ence of the existent, or non-existence of the non-existent, is truth." His
doctrine, more fully stated by Ueberweg, is: "Truth in a logical judgment
is the correspondence of the combination of mental representations with a
combination of things, or, in case of the negative judgment, the correspond-
ence of a separation of representations in the mind with a separation of
things. Falsity [error] in judgments is the variation of the ideal combination
or separation from the real relation of the things to which the judgments
relate." — Hist. P/til., § 47. The scholastic definition is tantamount: " Veri-
tas est adequatio intellectus et rei, secundum quod intcllectus dicit esse, quod
est, vel non es.se, quod non est." — Aqcinas, Con. Gen., ill), i, oh. 59. On
truth and error, see Hamilton, Logic, §§ 90, 91.
- The Greeks used the question to push pretenders into a corner, forcing
them either to commit stupid sophisms, or to confess ignorance. The Romans,
in their profound skepticism, asked it in scorn, as a first yet unanswerable
question. See John 18: :IS.
THOUGHT. 23S
the merely logical criterion of truth, namely, the accordance
of the cognition with the universal laws of thought, is noth-
ing more than a conditio sine qua non^ or negative criterion
of truth. Further than this Logic cannot go, and of the
error which depends, not upon the form, but on the matter
or content of the cognition, it has no test to offer.
" Of the truth of our cognitions in respect of their matter,
no universal [positive] test can be demanded, because such a
demand is self -contradictory. For since truth is the agree-
ment of a cognition with its object, this object must be ipso
facto distinguished from all others. Now a universal crite-
rion of truth would be that which is valid for all cognitions,
without distinction of their objects. But it is evident that
since, in case of such criterion, we make abstraction of all
content of a cognition, and since truth relates precisely to
this content, it is absurd to ask for a universal and positive
mark of the truth of the content." ^
How, then, since we can have no universal and positive
.criterion of truth, are we to know that we know ? For, " to
know that we know what we know, and that we do not
know what we do not know, that is true knowledge." Giv-
ing up the universal criterion, we observe that all knowledge
originates in intuition ; that pure intuitions or principles are
necessary truths, we necessarily know them to be necessarily
true ; that empirical intuitions are necessary also in the sense
that we are constrained to know in them the existence of
their objects. So much is certain, out of reach of all ques-
tion. Now from these data exclusively we make logical
inferences. If the logic be good, the conclusion is equally
1 Kant, C. P. R., p. 51. In this connection he remarks : "To know what
question we may reasonably propose is in itself a strong evidence of sagacity
and intelligence. For if the question be in itself absurd and insusceptible of
a rational answer, it is attended with the danger — not to mention the shame
of him who proposes it — of seducing the unguarded hearer into making
absurd answers, and we are then presented with the ridiculous spectacle,
described by the ancients, of one milking a he-goat while another holds a
sieve."
234 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
■certain ; as, for example, in pure mathematics. But if the
.axioms be not strictly pure, or if the empirical facts be not
perfectly ascertained and justly appreciated, or if our infer-
ences be not strictly logical, we should doubt. To know
that we know, we must review and perfect these. Then we
have truth. If from the nature of the matter, purification
be impracticable, we should carefully entertain as to the
conclusion the full measure of doubt that belongs to the
premises, together with all that may have been gathered in
the logical process. Then we have only greater or less
probability. This, perhaps, is the meaning of Plato, when
he speaks of experience, wisdom, and reason as affording
conjointly a Kpinjpiov of truth.^
§ 219. The opposite of truth is error, a false judgment, the
disagreement of a cognition with its object.^ All primitive
or psychological judgments are true ; it is impossible to err
in a fact of consciousness (§ 69). Our senses never deceive
us (§ 160). Pure intuitions are certain and necessary (§§ 118,
119). Error, then, has no place in the presentative faculties.
1 Politica, 582 a, Step. Many criteria have been proposed. Descartes
affirmed: "All that is very clearly known and perceived is true." — Mccl, iii.
But he admits elsewhere the vagueness of this criterion. Wolf gives : " De-
terminabilitas prsedicati per notionum subjecti." But this applies only to
explicative propositions. Hamilton says: "The criterion of truth is the
necessity determined by the laws which govern our faculties of knowledge ;
and the consciousness of this necessity is certainty." — Logic, § 90. But
this, being a reference to the laws of pure logic, is merely negative, and so
too narrow. Thompson says: "Evidence is the sole means of establishing,
and therefore the sole standard for testing, the truth of any proposition."
This also is too narrow, since it relates only, on the other hand, to empirical
truth. Besides, it involves, as he says, "the whole science and rules of
evidence." — OrUliim of the Lairs of Thoyf/ht, § 114.
^ To escape confusion, let us distinguish veracity and falsehood from truth
and error. Veracity or truthfulness is characterized by a belief in the agree-
ment of the judgment with the proposition or expression. Falsehood or a
lie is a conscious ilisagTeement between the judgment and its expression.
Both are subjective ; whereas truth and error, as above described, are
objective.
THOUGHT. 235
Imagination, taken strictly, affirms only the congruity or
incongruity of images, and this, being a primitive judgment,
does not err. The primary judgment of memory is a fact of
consciousness, a primitive judgment, and therefore cannot
err ; its secondary judgment is an inference of thought from
given impressions, and so is liable to err (§§ 182, 183}. Only
logical judgment may be false, may involve error ; it is
thought alone that errs.
Why should thought err? In symbolic thinking we have
a test to discover incongruity (§ 217). The principles of
Logic furnish a criterion that saves us from self-contradic-
tion (§ 218). By these negative tests we may escape absurd-
ity, if not error ; we may at least be consistent, which is a
great gain. But, moreover, by a thorough investigation of the
principles on which a judgment rests, by pursuing them to
their original intuitive sources, we may determine positively
its truth or falsity, and in such case need not err. If this
thorough investigation of principles and process be beyond
our powers, still, in many cases, we may be able to go far
enough to estimate fairly the degree of probabilit}^ belonging
to the matter. If not, then we should suspend judgment,
and rest in .contented ignorance, which is wiser than pre-
sumptuous knowledge.
But to be content not to know is commonly too hard for
us. Impelled by instinct towards knowledge, we form, often
very hasty and crude, but almost always very decided opin-
ions about all sorts of matters. And so we blunder, and
stumble, and fall. Carelessness, • lack of love for truth,
indifference, lack of interest, and consequent thoughtlessness,
leave open the by-paths, and we wander. But none of these,
nor a neglect of the means in our power, can be called a
cause of error, for they are all negative, and there is no such
thing as a negative cause. The absence of a thing cannot
properly be accounted a cause. All causes are present and
positive.
No doubt our opinions are largely determined by our feel-
236 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
ings and desires. Things appear to be true or false according
as they please or displease, according to desire or aversion ;
for the will arrests attention npon the agreeable, and refuses
to consider the disagreeable. ^ But these several activities
are all conditioned on and subsequent to cognitive exercise,
and so, however influential, are not the primary causes of
"error.
§ 220. The question then recurs : Why should we err, and
that so frequently, so fatally ? We now bring the charge
against imagination, that it is the chiefest, perhaps the sole
direct source and cause of error.^ In the right adjustment
and exercise of our faculties imagination is the servant, the
handmaid of thought. But too often, proud in her queenly
beauty, and haughty in her fascinating power, she becomes,
by unnatural inversion, the mistress of thought, a mistress
lawless and tyrannical. All the illusions of sense are vain
images, and its delusions are false inferences induced by
imagination (§160). Again, we often believe that we remem-
ber circumstances which never in fact coexisted, and have
mistaken an act of imagination for an act of memory (§ 183).
In disguise it has deceived and misled us, and caused us to
1 " Ansi Tesprit marchant d'uue piece avec la voluntg, s'arr&te a regarder
la face qu'elle aime, et en jugeant par ce qu'il y voit, il regie insensiblement
sa croyance suivant rincliuation de la voluntij." — Pascal, Pensees, pt. i,
art. (3, § 13.
2 The indictment is not new. Says Pascal: " Cette superbe puissance,
ennemie de la raison, qui se plait a la controler et a la dominer pour montrer
combien elle pcut en toutes choses, a 6tabli dans riionime une seconde nature.
. . . Elle ue pent rendre sages les fous, niais elle les rend contents, a Penvi
de la raison. . . . Qui dispense la reputation, qm donne le respect et la
veneration aux personnes, aux ouvrages, aux grades, sinon I'imagination ?
Combien toutes les richesses de la nature sont elles insuffisantes sans son
consentement ? L' imagination dispose de tout ; elle fait la beautfi, la justice,
et le bonheur, qui est le tout du monde. . . . Cette maitresse d'erreur est
d'autant i)lus fourbe (ju'elle ne Test i^as toujours ; car elle serait re^le infailli-
ble de la v6rite, si elle I'fitait infaillible du mensonge. Mais, Ctant le plus
fausse, elle ne donne acunne marque de sa qualitfi, marquant de mume
caractfere le vrai et le faux." — H/id., § 3.
THOUGHT. 237
»
judge falsely. Again, when testing symbolic thought, the
deliberative imagination often presents an image so clear and
distinct, so congruous and consistent, as to impose upon us,
and in our unguarded weakness we accept this impression
as an evidence of truth. How often, too, does a brilliant
illustration carry captive our convictions in spite of sound
argument. A frequent, perhaps the most frequent, form of
error is an over-hasty generalization, a precipitate induction. ^
No induction is strictly certain, for its basis is empirical.
The numerous modifications which each of the physical
sciences has undergone furnish historic evidence of the fact.
But we often overlook this, and accept a mere induction,
perhaps a very weak and even a groundless induction, with
the confidence of intuitive truth. This can occur only
under the influence of imagination whose vivid representa-
tion disperses the shadow of doubt.^
In all men there is a natural, a necessary, a devotional
love of truth. They fail often to attain it because "it
hideth, and the labor of discovery is great, and the recom-
pense scanty ; while, at the same time, we are unceasingly
solicited, pressed, agitated by the imagination and the pas-
sions, whose inspiration and impulse it is always agreeable
to obey. Truth is a pure grace, but the understanding of
truth is a grace of such character that it must be merited by
1 The Psalmist corrects himself : "I said in my haste, all men are liars."
— Ps. 116: 11. He does well ; for the saying included himself, and therefore
should not be credited.
2 Bacon was the first philosopher who attempted a systematic and exhnust-
ive enumeration of the kinds of human error, and he ascribes tlieni all to
imagination. He made a quaint classification in four genera, under the sig-
nificant name of Idols (idola, eldos, an image), in the sense of illusions,
■described as if presented in a magic mirror. He says : " I do find, therefore,
in this enchanted glass four idols, or false appearances, of several distinct
sorts." The four are, Idola tribus, Idola specus, Idola fori, and Idola theatri.
— Nov. Organ., lib. i, sum. of pt. ii, aph. 38 sq. See also Hamilton, Logic,
Lee. 28 ; and Hallam, Lit. of Mod. Europe, pt. iii, ch. 3, §§ 58, 59.
238 MEDIATE KNOWLEDGE.
labor.^ But men love not labor, and so imagination usurps^
the throne of thought. Dazzling and complaisant in her
ready power, she wins the homage due to the truth she
feigns ; while truth, far removed in her severe simplicity, i&
prized chiefly through her brilliant substitute. " Truth may
perhaps come to the price of a pearl, that sheweth best by
day, but it will not rise to the price of a diamond that
sheweth best by varied lights. But howsoever these things
are thus in men's depraved judgments and affections, yet
truth, which only doth judge itself, teacheth that the inquiry
of truth, which is the love-making or wooing of it, the knowl-
edge of truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief of
truth, which is the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of
human nature."
1 Malebranche, Traite de Morale, pt. i, ch. 5, § 5. " It is a mere sophisma
pigrum, and (as Bacon hath said) the arrogance of pusillanimity, which lifts
up the idol of a mortal's fancy, and commands us to fall down and worship
it as a work of divine wisdom, an ancile or palladium fallen from heaven."
— Coleridge, Biog. Lit., ch. 8. For the final quotation see Bacon, Essay, i.
On Truth.
PART FOURTH.
FEELING.
CHAPTER I.
CHARACTERISTICS.
§ 221. We are now to consider the second class of the
generic powers, the feelings. ^ These are modes of self-con-
sciousness, or subjective consciousness, in logical opposition
to cognitions, wliich are modes of objective consciousness
(§§ 71, 73). Feeling and cognition are psychological correla-
tives, existing only in coexistence. The state of conscious-
ness that is objectively a cognition is subjectively a feeling.
Every cognition implies a feeling, and every feeling implies
a cognition. They are logically distinguished as merely
different aspects of the same actually indissoluble mental
mode, as really inseparable as the convex and concave sides
1 The word feeling was originally the name of the tactile sensation only,
but has been extended in common usage to all states of consciousness marked
by pleasure or pain. The cognate term Gefuhl in German has had a like
expansion of meaning. The same may be said of the Greek ata-e-rja-is ; and
also of the Latin sensus, sensatio, with their derivatives in the modern
Romanic languages.
Brown extended the meaning to an identity with consciousness. — PML
of Hum. Mimh Lee. 11. Also J. S. Mill. See him quoted in § 55, note. So
also Bain and Spencer, and associationists generally. Says Clifford: "It
means thought or emotion or volition or sensation of any kind ; anything that
goes on in the mind may be called a feeling." — Seeing find TlnnJdng, p. 88.
This violates usage, and confuses modes that are clearly distinguishable.
See § 97 and its note.
239
240 FEELIl^G.
of a circular arc. Looked at on the subjective side, that is,
rehxtively to the subject, the mode is a feeling; looked at
on the objective side, that is, relatively to the object, it is a
cognition, the obverse and reverse of the same state. As
experienced they are the combined, simultaneous, or rather
the single consciousness of the ego and non-ego in their
essential antithesis.
That a cognition is objective means that consciousness is
therein relative to something distinct from the conscious
subject. A feeling is subjective in that consciousness is
therein limited to the pleasure or pain experienced by the
conscious subject. Specifically, perception is a kind of
cognition, and sensation a kind of feeling. Perception is
the consciousness by sense of the qualities of an object
known as distinct from self. Sensation is the consciousness
of the subjective feeling, pleasant or unpleasant, which
accompanies that act of knowledge. In the complete state,
which we call a sense-perception, perception is the objec-
tive element, sensation the subjective element (§ 97). This
contrast or opposition of perception and sensation is 'an
obtrusive, but still only a special example of the law that
universally divides the generic phenomena of knowledge
and feeling. They always correlatively coexist.^
It is sometimes said that the external object causes the
sensation alone, which then causes or occasions the percep-
tion, thus making sensation antecedent to perception. On
the other hand, in case of intellectual states, it is said that
tlie cognition is the cause or occasion of the concomitant
feeling. 15 ut in fact neither is the chronological, or the
psychological antecedent of the other. There is, for exam-
ple, no more ground for holding that sensation precedes
perception, than the reverse. Indeed, feeling and cognition
1 See Hamilton, Meta., p. 335. Matthew Arnold revived a phrase originally-
used by Swift in his "Battle of the Books," and made it stand as a mark
of culture — "sweetness and light," a union of kindly fooling and briglit
intolloct.
CHARACTERISTICS. 241
in general are equally original and complementary, and can
be distinguished only logically.
§ 222. But though always correlatively coexistent, cogni-
tion and feeling are not directly proportional. On the con-
trary, feeling, when it rises above a certain degree of
intensity, obscures cognition, because of the concentration
of consciousness in the subjective affection; and, on the
other hand, an acute, intense cognition draws consciousness
away from the feeling, which thereby sinks to a lower
intensity and becomes faint. The rise of one is at the
expense of the other.
Moreover, in some special sense-perceptions, as in sight,
the perceptive power is normally very acute, while the sen-
sation is so faint as to be hardly discernible; in others, as
in smell, the perception is quite obscure, while the sensation
is very decided. Hence, the stronger the sensation, the
weaker the perception, and vice versa. But the law is gen-
eral, thus : Cognition and feeling exist only as they coexist,
and are in inverse ratio. ^
§ 223. While thus observing the relation of cognition
and feeling, it will be well to recall that change has already
been noted as a condition of consciousness in general (§ 57).
More specifically we now remark that change is necessary to
continuity of feeling. We soon become unconscious of
unremitted impressions. The degree of feeling is propor-
tional to the change, and abruptness of transition enhances
the effect. 2 For example: When the temperature of the
body is uniform at about 98° F., we feel neither warm nor
cold ; a variation above or below this grade excites the sense
of temperature. It is only after want that we feel the
1 Says Kant: " Je starker die Sinne, bei eben demselben Grade des auf
sie geschelienen iMiiflusses, sich afficirt fiihlen, desto weniger leliren
sie. Uingekehrt, wenn sie viel lehreii sollen, miissen sie mas sig afficiren."
— Anthropologie, § 20.
- See Eain, Emotions and Will, p. 78.
242 FEELING.
blessing of plenty; only after sickness do we enjoy health;
only after war do we really feel the bliss of peace. The
feelings that attend freedom and restraint, power and
impotence depend largely on the transition from one to the
other. The effect of novelty, of news of all sorts, is stim-
ulating; that bad, or even good news, should be broken
gradually is well known. ^
There is naturally a tendency to accommodate one's self
to any continuous condition, which is called the subordinate
1 "Sense, properly so called," says Hobbes, "must necessarily have in
it a perpetual variety of phantasms, that they may be discerned from one
another ; it being almost all one for a man to be always sensible of one and
the same thing, and not to be sensible at all of anything." So a variety of
viands at table is requisite to the enjoyment of taste ; imiformity disgusts.
A person having fetid breath has no sense of it, and yet is sensitive to fugi-
tive and delicate odors. In a smooth sailing ship we lose the sense of
motion, but not in a stage-coach. The contact of the still air with the skin
excites no tactile sensation, but a fitful breeze fanning the cheek keeps tac-
tile consciousness awake. The enormous pressure of the atmosphere on
our bodies is unfelt, unless a marked variation is caused, as by descending
in a diving-bell, or ascending in a balloon. We suffer much from our sudden
and extreme changes of weather ; whereas neither the Laps suffer from cold,
nor the Boers from heat. The effect of unvarying fortune is exemplified in
the insensibility of the rich, and the stolidity of the poor. Those who have
experienced opposite circumstances are they who feel.
Monotony produces tedium, emmi, and some variety is needful for a
healthy play of our energies. He who muses much, needs to be amused.
But, as Prince Hal says : —
" If all the year were playing holidays.
To sport would be as tedious as to work ;
But when they seldom come, they wished for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents."
— King Henry IV, pt. 1, A. 1, sc. 2.
" The feeling of tedium or e>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.
TIHIVBRSIT7]
14 DAY USE "**
RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED
This book is due on tBn^ aate stamped below, or
on the date to which renewed.
Renewed books are subject to immediate recall.
7 DAY USE
SUMMER
niiRiM
SESSIOL,
i
LD 21-50m-12,'61
(04796810)476
General Library
University of California
Berkeley
U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES
CDE^MflflTMb