y\r- i^y^ 
 
A 
 
 DICTIONARY 
 
 PHILOSOPHY 
 
 IN THE WORDS OF PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 EDITED, 
 
 Mitb an 3ntroMiction, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. RADFORD THOMSON, M.A. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN NEW COLLEGE, LONDON, 
 AND IN HACKNEY COLLEGE. 
 
 
 ;UHI71ESITr) 
 
 LONDON: 
 REEVES AND TURNER, 196 STRAND. 
 
 R. D. DICKINSON, FARRINGDON STREET. 
 1887. 
 
US60? 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The collection of passages from philosopliical writers which has formed the basis of 
 this Dictionary was made by a collator of experience. "When, at the request of the 
 Publisher, I examined the manuscript, it appeared to me that, whilst some authors 
 were too fully represented, there was an inadequate representation of several 
 important schools, and that some topics of moment were scarcely touched upon. 
 I felt it necessary, in editing the volume and preparing it for the press, to deal 
 somewhat freely with the material placed in my hands. 
 
 Passages of undue length have in many instances been cut down. On the 
 other hand, very many new quotations have been introduced from writers of 
 recognised merit and influence. More particularly, a fair representation has been 
 secured of the teaching of (i) the physiological and evolutional psychologists of 
 our own time, and (2) the ' rational idealists ' who have of late years taken so 
 prominent a position in British Philosophy. The material has also been completely 
 re-arranged. 
 
 In carrying out this work I have been efficiently assisted by the Rev. Alfred 
 Goodall, who has, under my guidance, made extracts comprising a large portion 
 of the passages contained in this volume. He has also aided me in verifying 
 quotations, and in reading the proofs ; and the Indexes are entirely his work. To 
 him accordingly my appreciative acknowledgments are due. 
 
 The revived and extended interest in philosophical studies leads to the hope 
 that a Dictionary upon the plan of this work may be acceptable and useful. The 
 leading topics of psychological, metaphysical, and ethical interest will be found 
 elucidated in this volume by passages from authors of acknowledged position, but 
 belonging to very various schools of thought. The quotations are, for the most 
 part, taken from the works of modern writers, and from books in the English lan- 
 guage. At the same time, many passages are inserted which have been taken from 
 translations into English of classical works, and of works by modern French and 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 German authors. That learned readers who may consult this volume will find 
 many books and even authors omitted that it would have been desirable to include, 
 may be expected. Yet in this modest attempt, the endeavour has been, consistently 
 with the limits of space, to give a fair, impartial, and comprehensive representation 
 of different schools and tendencies of thought. 
 
 In a comparatively small number of cases the full references have not been 
 given. Usually the references are, in the case of standard works, to book and 
 chapter, or to lecture or essay. But in the case of works where one edition may 
 be expected to be commonly consulted, the references are to volume and page. In 
 this matter many difficulties have been encountered. A few quotations have been 
 allowed to stand which have a literary rather than a strictly philosophical bearing; 
 and interest. And in some cases it has been thought more useful to present th& 
 opinions of a writer in the summary of an historian than in the language of the 
 writer himself 
 
 It is hoped that the copious Indexes appended to this book will render it 
 useful to students. The Alphabetical arrangement would have been altogether 
 impracticable ; but by referring to the Indexes the reader may gain all the advan- 
 tages of consulting a Dictionary arranged upon the ordinary plan. 
 
 The Introduction has been written for the sake of beginners in philosophical 
 studies, with the view of affording to such readers a general survey of the field of 
 thought before them. 
 
 It is hoped that no apology is needed for the copious use here made of the 
 works of several living authors, both British and American. Some readers may, I 
 trust, be led, by consulting this Dictionary, to undertake the study of writers the 
 quality of whose mind they have tasted in these pages. 
 
 J. R. T. 
 London, March 1887 
 
,, , '^ OP THR "^ 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I. THE DEFINITION OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Few words are more ambiguous than the word ' Philosopliy.' It comes to us 
 from the Greeks, by whom it was at first used in its etymological sense as signi- 
 fying the love of wisdom. The general designation ' Philosophy ' was deemed by 
 the Stoics to include the three sciences : Logic, the science of Thought ; Physics, 
 the science of Nature ; and Ethics, the science of Conduct. 
 
 In modem times the term ' Philosophy' has been and is employed in several 
 different significations. It is popularly used to denote practical wisdom and self- 
 command ; as when a man is said to bear misfortune with ' philosophic calmness,' 
 or ' like a philosopher.' It is also applied in cases where science would be more 
 suitable ; as when persons speak of ' the philosophy of growth,' or ' the philosophy 
 of the tides.' Usage sanctions a similar employment of the term in the phrase 
 ' natural philosophy,' which designates a certain department of physical science. 
 Such applications as these may be dismissed as altogether loose and unimportant. 
 
 Bacon divided all human knowledge into revealed theology and philosophy, 
 including under the latter natural theology and natural philosophy, — the latter 
 comprising both physics and metaphysics. A very extensive application of ' philo- 
 sophy ' is still common, as may be seen in the classification of books in libraries. 
 
 But the tendency has long been to employ this term in a more restricted 
 sense. The most usual definition of Philosophy is ' the study and knowledge of 
 first principles.' First principles may be taken as equivalent to unity amidst 
 diversity, — to the causes or origins of all things, — to the universal, the necessary, 
 the ultimate. 
 
 In the apprehension of some thinkers, this definition is too vague. Thus 
 Mr. Herbert Spencer endeavours to define philosophy more exactly as ' knowledge 
 of the highest degree of generality;' 'Science is partially unified knowledge;' 
 ' Philosophy is completely unified knowledge.' 
 
 The Comtists or Positivists reject Philosophy, except as Anthropology or the 
 science of man, and for them this science is twofold, including Biology and 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Sociology. If man is to be studied otherwise than as a bodily organism, he must, 
 according to this doctrine, be studied as he exists in society. 
 
 At the other extreme from the Comtists are the Hegelians, in whose view 
 the history of Philosophy is Philosophy. According to this school, the successive 
 stages of systematised human thought form a philosophical unity; an organic 
 whole has been, and is, developing and revealing itself in the long history of the 
 philosophical evolution of intellectual humanity. 
 
 There is a disposition among many contemporary writers to limit the term 
 Philosophy to what is ordinarily called Metaphysics, to set the philosophical in 
 antithesis to the scientific. Some Psychologists axe very anxious to avoid,— at all 
 events to appear to avoid,— all philosophical controversy ; with what success every 
 reader can judge. It does not appear practicable altogether to separate between 
 the observations and generalisations of Psychology and the wider and higher 
 truths or speculations of Philosophy in the sense of Metaphysics. 
 
 It seems well in defining Philosophy to avoid the two extremes : on the one 
 hand, to avoid including in this study the sum of human knowledge ; on the other 
 hand, to avoid limiting Philosophy to Metaphysics. If we were to define it to be 
 the study of the principles of liuman knowledge and conduct, it might seem that 
 we were limiting Philosophy to Psychology and Ethics ; but such a definition, 
 liberally interpreted, would surely include far more than these studies. 
 
 Since, in order to understand what is known, we must to some extent 
 understand the nature that knows, Philosophy investigates the laws of the human 
 intellect, with whatever is subordinate to, or connected with it. Since we cannot 
 be satisfied with knowing facts, but are constrained to ascend to generalisations 
 and explanations, to bring what we know into relation of harmony, mutual 
 dependence, and unity. Philosophy aims at discovering in the intelligible universe 
 those mental bonds of system and causation, which give meaning and consistency 
 to what would otherwise be incomprehensible. Since human life is in our view 
 even more important tlian science. Philosophy investigates its hidden springs in 
 the very structure of our nature, in our intuitions of right and of duty, in the 
 constitution and relations of society. It has been well said : ' The business 
 of Philosophy, in the true sense of the word, is to answer three questions — 
 (l.) What can I know? (2.) What ought I to do? (3.) What may I hope 
 for ? These are the highest questions which can interest human beings.' 
 
 It may be objected that such a description of Philosophy makes it almost 
 conterminous with science and with practice. This may be admitted, with the 
 important qualification that there is a philosophical side to every intellectual 
 pursuit, and even to all practical systems ; and that it is open for the student to 
 determine how far he will concern himself with the scientific, how far with the 
 philosophical aspect of the study which he cultivates. It is certain that our 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 intellectual and practical life suggests at every point questions which Science — 
 iu the more limited sense of the term — does not profess or attempt to answer, 
 which yet possess an interest for many minds, and a fascination for some. It 
 cannot be overlooked, further, that knowledge and action alike prompt the mind 
 to inquiry and to speculation, with regard to the Wisdom which is infinite, and 
 the Righteousness which is unchanging and eternal. 
 
 11. THE DIVISIONS OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Premising that no system of terminology will meet with universal approval, 
 we will endeavour to distribute the topics of philosophical study into several 
 departments, designating them by terms more or less generally accepted. 
 
 Psychology is the study of the natural history of mental phenomena, and 
 of the generalisations which they yield. This designation has of late been much 
 in favour. It is said that if studies of the class under consideration are to be 
 prosecuted, this must be done upon a scientific and not upon a scholastic method. 
 There are those who object to all metaphysics, who yet are ready to admit that 
 anthropology, in order to be complete, must comprise more than a scientific 
 description of man's bodily organs and functions. Anatomy and Physiology are 
 only a part of the science of man ; a true Biology must comprise the mental and 
 moral life of humaaity. Even those who regard man as only the most highly 
 organised of animals, and thought as a function of the brain, will grant as much 
 as this. It is then agreed that the special functions by which men are diffe- 
 rentiated from brutes shall be studied, shall where possible be traced downwards 
 to their roots in the cruder forms of animal life and sentience, and upwards to 
 their highest developments in civilised and cultivated society. The knowledge 
 thus reached may fairly be regarded as scientific, and its scientific character is not 
 invalidated because it is enriched by observations upon man's social life in its 
 varying phases. Psychology thus understood skirts the province of physiology ; 
 for, in explaining the raw material of feeling and of knowledge, and the mech- 
 anism of human activity, it is necessary to study the structure and function of 
 nerve, both at the centres in spinal cord and encephalon, and at the periphery, 
 especially as differentiated into the special senses. 
 
 Whilst speculative or metaphysical philosophy has in many quarters been 
 disparaged, the physical sciences have, during the present century, developed 
 their stringent methods of inquiry and of verification, and have surprised the 
 world by their results. There has been, at the same time, a growing disposition 
 to study the phenomena known as psychical, and to apply to this study the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 metliods which have been so successful elsewhere. In France, Auguste Comte, 
 who scornfully repudiated metaphysics, nevertheless, by his great treatises, gave 
 an impulse to the study of sociology, i.e., of human nature as traceable by its 
 manifestations in the common life of humanity. In Germany, the most careful 
 and delicate observations have been made, especially in elucidation of the pheno- 
 mena of sensation and of movement. The modern German text-books on Psy- 
 chology abound in generalisations thus attained, which, in some instances, are 
 expressed in the form of mathematical laws. In our own country several 
 manuals of Psychology have appeared, embodying the results of German research, 
 and adding the fruits of independent observation. Similar manifestations of 
 intellectual activity have not been wanting in the United States, in our Colonies, 
 and in our Indian possessions. 
 
 It is maintained by some writers on Psychology that it is possible to treat 
 their theme without making metaphysical assumptions, or yielding to metaphysical 
 predilections. Their treatises, however, furnish conspicuous examples of the 
 unreasonableness of their professions, for they constantly involve metaphysical 
 doctrine. Divided as is opinion upon questions of vital importance, it is natural 
 that many Psychologists should desire to prosecute their observations, and to 
 formulate their doctrines, without taking a side in controversy. The same prin- 
 ciple actuates university examiners, who are anxious to test the knowledge of 
 candidates, whilst steering clear of questions and difficulties which some regard as 
 insoluble, and which others profess to solve by opposed methods and with con- 
 flicting results. The consequence necessarily is that stress is laid upon matters 
 of minor interest, and that matters of deep and permanent concern are kept in 
 abeyance. Both writers and examiners sometimes lose sight of the fact that to 
 ignore controversy is in some cases equivalent to taking a side. It is observable, 
 however, that Mr. Ward, in his article in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and Mr. 
 Sully, in his Outlines, proceed upon the assumption of the mind's existence. 
 
 At the same time that the prevalent tendency is to restrict the scope of 
 Psychology, there appears to be a disposition in some quarters to enlarge its 
 scope, and to make it a most comprehensive study. Thus Hamilton considered 
 that Ontology or Metaphysics proper might be designated Inferential Psychology, 
 and Mansel supposed a Eational Psychology which should frame definitions 
 exhibiting the essential nature of the soul, &c. If such expansions be admitted, 
 it is questionable whether any real advantage will attend the use of the term 
 ' Psychology,' whether it will not be equally ambiguous with the familiar terms 
 ' Metaphysics ' and ' Philosophy.' 
 
 Logic is, by general consent, reckoned among the philosophical sciences. 
 Its aim is to lay down the laws of the ratiocinative or discursive intellect. The 
 processes of reasoning engaged the attention of the Greek thinkers ; and the main 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 features of deductive Logic, as known and taught to-day, were traced, with some- 
 thino- like completeness, by the master-hand of Aristotle. As a valuable discipline 
 of the mind, testing closeness of attention and keenness of intellectual discrimina- 
 tion, Logic has continued to hold its place in the academic curriculum. Its 
 territory lies, as it were, within a ring fence, and its compactness and succinctness 
 have made it especially useful for the purpose of education. 
 
 There was no doubt a time when Dialectic was over- rated. Logic has often 
 been treated as an Art of disputation, and victory over an antagonist in argument, 
 whether in law, religion, or opinion, is sure to be highly prized by minds of a 
 certain order. But in the ratio in which truth is valued above victory, will 
 dialectical skill be depreciated, and methods of discovery be cultivated in its 
 place. If, however, Logic be regarded, as it should be, as an analysis of the 
 mental processes involved in passing from judgment to judgment, its value is 
 seen to be, not adventitious, but real. Certainly, the intellectual processes which 
 Logic reveals in their formal simplicity, must ever be an interesting and valuable 
 theme of study. 
 
 But as knowledge is gained, not only by proceeding downwards from prin- 
 ciples to facts, but by proceeding upwai-ds from facts to principles, it is evident 
 that deductive Logic needs to be supplemented by a Logic which can deal with 
 the processes of scientific discovery. Since the ancient and haphazard methods 
 of investigating nature have been discarded, in favour of the strict methods of 
 observation and experiment, of hypothesis and verification, discontent with the 
 Aristotelian syllogism has been very common ; and the mistake has frequently 
 been made of blaming that form of reasoning for not sufficing to ends which 
 it does not contemplate. It has been said that the Logic of consistency is one 
 thing, and the Logic of truth, of discovery, another and a different thing. 
 Whether any kind of reasoning can dispense with the syllogistic principle, may 
 be questioned. But it is certain that, in the formation of general laws and in 
 the construction of major premises, there is need of a system specially adapted to 
 this purpose, — a purpose which, to many scientific investigators, is all-important. 
 
 From the time of Bacon a Logic has been desiderated which should serve 
 the purpose of the Inductive student. In our own time, much has been done 
 towards supplying this deficiency. Hitherto, scientific men have gone their own 
 way, often trusting to the spontaneous guidance of acquired experience, and often 
 scarcely able to explain the reasons of their successes and failures ; whilst logicians 
 have gone their own way, heedless of the altered requirements of modern science, 
 and incurring as a consequence the neglect of those who ought to be fellow- 
 labourers in the same cause, — the establishment of sound and scientific knowledge. 
 
 This reproach has now been rolled away, and that very largely through the 
 genius and the patient diligence of English philosophers. The science of Inductive 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Logic is the creation of our own age. If there is apparent incongruity in the 
 combination of Deductive and Inductive methods of reasoning in the same treatise, 
 there is satisfaction in knowing that by this combination much has been done to 
 harmonise human knowledge, and to bring the various processes of the human 
 intellect under the sway of acknowledged laws. Probably great advances have yet 
 to be made in this direction. The incongruity referred to may disappear when a 
 completer theory of the mutual relations of nature and intelligence is attained, when 
 all knowledge is more clearly apprehended as the transcription by the human 
 mind of the thoughts of the universal and Divine Intellect. Certain it is, if we 
 may judge by the large number of able works on Logic which have been produced 
 in recent years, that the study of Logic, as amended and amplified, as applied to 
 the several realms of knowledge, is regarded with far more interest and respect 
 than was the case a generation or two ago. 
 
 Metaphysics is a term almost as ambiguous as is ' Philosophy ' itself. 
 Originally used to designate the subjects treated by Aristotle 'after Physics' 
 (to. jueTo. TO. <pv(TiKa), i.e., the Science of Being as Being, it has been employed 
 in a variety of acceptations. Usage has sometimes sanctioned the extension of 
 the term to include all studies distinct from those that are physical, — i.e., all that 
 have to do with the mental and the moral ; whilst sometimes it has been employed 
 to designate the facts and laws of the intellect alone, what is often termed ' Intel- 
 lectual Philosophy.' 
 
 But the modern tendency is decidedly towards restricting the application 
 of the term ' Metaphysics ' to the ultimate and necessary principles of intelli- 
 gence, and perhaps of morals (as in Kant's ' Metaphysic of Ethics '), and further, to 
 existence, as it is in itself, and as distinguished from the phenomenal. 
 
 Such being the common application of the term, it is not surprising that, in 
 the view of empirical and agnostic Psychologists, all that is Metaphysical should 
 be dismissed into the limbo appointed by modern Science for effete superstitions. 
 But even amongst upholders of man's spiritual nature and students of Theology, 
 there obtains great difference of opinion with regard to metaphysical inquiries. 
 There are those who would treat all metaphysical ideas as inferences from the 
 positive data of the understanding. The immortal soul, the eternal God, the 
 realm of Being, are by them regarded as provable by evidence furnished by 
 Psychology. On the other hand, there are Transcendental Philosophers who 
 regard experience of all kinds as incapable of yielding such results, and who 
 hold that mind is gifted with a power of Intuition, which assures of realities 
 altogether above the grasp of experiential faculties. These several tendencies 
 are exemplified in schools of philosophic thought which have taken prominent 
 positions, both in England and upon the Continent of Europe, during the present 
 century. 
 
IXTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 The term Epistemology is sometimes used for the study of knowledge as 
 such. According to the bent of the student's mind, such a study must partake 
 more or less of a metaphysical character. 
 
 By Ontology is understood (if the word is allowable in such a connection) 
 the Science of Being, — the most abstract of all studies which have engaged the 
 human intelligence. It has been common for English Psychologists altogether to 
 ignore ontological speculation ; and although there has been during the last few 
 years a marked change in this matter, still it is observable that those who culti- 
 vate this abstruse department of study are usually under the influence of German 
 theories and systems. It should not be overlooked that one of the most brilliant 
 thinkers and fascinating writers whom Scotland has produced in this century. 
 Professor Ferrier, designated his chief work, ' The Institutes of Metaphysic, or tlie 
 Theory of Knowing and of Being.' Since Ferrier's time, the British Hegelian 
 school have familiarised the reader of philosophical literature with their doctrine 
 of the relation between knowledge and existence. There seems no likelihood that 
 speculation upon the ultimate mystery of knowledge and of existence will ever 
 cease. The agnosticism favoured by many men of science seems of necessity to 
 evoke a reaction in the direction of what has been called Gnosticism, or the 
 doctrine that these ultimate problems are by no means insoluble, but that their 
 solution is the perfect satisfaction of the mind, and the master-key to all human 
 knowledge. 
 
 Ethics or Moral Philosophy is the name given to the science which 
 theorises upon human conduct and life. Such a study has a definitely practical 
 bearing, which imparts to it an interest more general and profound than attaches 
 to those previously mentioned. It is sometimes represented that morals are con- 
 cerned, not with what is, but with what ought to be ; not with the actual, but 
 with the ideal. On the other hand, it is objected that, if this representation be 
 just, the claims of Ethics to be regarded as a science are so far invalidated ; inas- 
 much as it is presumed that science is actual knowledge, which must be of fact. 
 However this may be, it is certain that, by general consent of the educated and 
 thoughtful, not to say the virtuous, no study has an interest so deep as that 
 which centres in the moral character, conditions, and actions of mankind. 
 
 To take the lowest view of the subject, it is undeniable that the happiness 
 of individuals, and the prosperity of communities, are bound up with the moral 
 principles and rules generally accepted and acted upon. Moral goodness and 
 moral evil cannot be regarded with indifference, even by those who care little for 
 theories of perception and for categories of thought. Accordingly, the questions, 
 What is virtue ? What are vice and crime ? What is the authority of conscience ? 
 What are the foundations of Moral Law ? are questions of perennial interest, 
 which will never be heard with indifference or studied with apathy. And these 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 questions, to all who take a just and exalted view of man's being and capacities, 
 who believe in his Divine origin and immortal prospects, do and must possess an 
 importance far above any that can be conferred by their connection with material 
 and earthly interests. 
 
 Even with regard to matters of practical concern, as to what men ought to 
 do and what they ought to refrain from doing, there is often room for difference 
 of opinion. But when the reasons for right conduct come to be considered, there 
 at once arises controversy of a kind philosophically vital. Since men are bound 
 to act, not merely upon habit, but upon reason, it is evident that Philosophy 
 must be engaged upon the foundations of human virtue, upon the ultimate ideals 
 towards which human nature should aspire. As a matter of fact, from the times 
 of Greek speculation, debate has prevailed upon these great questions. Nor did 
 the introduction of Christianity by any means put an end to ethical controversy. 
 As the ancients had their Stoics and their Epicureans, so we have our Intui- 
 tionists and our Utilitarians, our Transcendentalists and our Naturalists ; we have 
 among us those who trace all moral authority to the physical constitution of man, 
 those who derive all obligation from political law and physical punishment, and 
 those who base all human duty upon our relations to the paramount law, the 
 eternal reason and righteousness of the Deity. 
 
 The science of Ethics has always taken something of its tone from the 
 changing conditions of human society. The city in ancient Hellas, the empire of 
 Rome, the polity and comity of modern European states, could none of them be 
 without influence upon the form in which moral questions have been apprehended 
 and treated, whilst it is well known how powerfully the Church and its organisations 
 afiected mediaeval morals. Deeper than political and ecclesiastical distinctions 
 are those religious differences which have, often insensibly, but always mightily, 
 affected the moral life and consequently the moral theories of men. There have 
 been states of society in which religion and morals have been all but disconnected ; 
 and there have been periods in which religion has penetrated and saturated, for 
 good and for evil, the individual and social life. Christianity itself has been at 
 some times predominatingly an institution, at other times predominatingly a 
 spirit. How the moral life and habits of Christendom have been affected by 
 the priesthood and the confessional, how casuistry became the most prominent 
 development of Ethics : — this is known, not only to the student of Church history, 
 but to the student of morals. It is instructive to see how the modern attempt to 
 construct society upon the basis, not of religious loyalty, but of common pleasures, 
 and of mutual services to this end, has coloured the ethical doctrine and the moral 
 standards of recent generations. 
 
 The student will find in this department the utmost variety of treatment ; 
 and he will do well to be upon his guard against the arrogant assumptions, too 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 common in all schools of tliouglit, which would deter him from a comprehensive 
 and catholic survey. It may be questioned whether he will find any department 
 of literature which has, more than this study of morals, evinced and illustrated 
 the intellectual powers of the human race. Our own nation has, in the province 
 of Ethics, abundantly sustained its reputation, not only for literary ability but for 
 originality in speculation and in constructive thought. 
 
 Whilst some philosophers would make Morals a development from Psychology, 
 others, especially in recent times, have tended to deduce ethical laws from the 
 relations of human society. 
 
 Sociology is the name now applied to designate the study of mankind in 
 their social conditions and relations. Much attention has of late been given to 
 the institutions and usages of men in less advanced states of society, and even to 
 those of savage tribes. Some have expected that research into the habits and 
 customs of so-called primitive man will cast light upon the genesis of moral ideas 
 and sentiments. But apart from such expectations, it is important that human 
 conduct should be studied under all possible conditions. And probably those who 
 have favoured the use of the term ' sociology ' have for the most part done so in 
 the belief that Ethics must prove to be a science based upon observation, and 
 yielding ' laws ' which partake of the character of empirical generalisations rather 
 than of authoritative counsels and precepts. 
 
 Political Philosophy studies men as federated into communities, whether 
 tribal or more especially national, and describes the relations involved in, and the 
 mutual duties springing from such federations. The State is, among all civilised 
 communities, regarded with interest, and with a measure of veneration, both as a 
 development of social human nature, and also as a power immensely affecting the 
 general well-being. Still, whilst there are those who esteem the political life of 
 a nation as among the most august and sacred realities, and who conceive 
 national authority as possessing organic character and force all its own, there are 
 others in whose view government is little more than police. 
 
 It has always been common for the treatment of Ethics and Politics to be 
 conjoined. In Plato's 'Eepublic' no attempt was made to separate the two; 
 whilst Aristotle regarded his ' Ethics ' as introductory to his ' Politics.' The 
 reader of modern English literature upon morals may be reminded that Paley 
 includes in the same treatise Moral and Political Philosophy, and that Bentham's 
 best known work is denominated ' Principles of Morals and Legislation.' Those 
 who hold that Morals have their very foundation in political life and organisation, 
 naturally treat the two as almost inseparably allied in exposition. On the whole 
 however, the tendency is to separate the two studies in treatment, however they 
 may be conceived as radically united. 
 
 Natural Theology or Religion, termed by the French Theodicce, is 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 properly a province of Pliilosopliy. Its aim is to rise to that knowledge of God 
 which is possible apart from Revelation, and which is the complement and the 
 crown of human knowledge. However Theists may differ in their estimate of the 
 comparative validity of the sevei-al lines of argument by which we establish the 
 existence, the attributes, and the rule of God, they are agreed in referring the 
 conception of Deity to a mental power, and in completing that conception by the 
 consideration of moral convictions and sentiments. To Agnostics such processes 
 may seem to have little actual importance ; but all believers in God hold natural 
 as distinct from revealed Theology to be based upon the very constitution and 
 natural activity of the mind. Monotheists and Pantheists of varying shades agree 
 that the Deity underlies and explains both human knowledge and cosmic order, 
 and that the denial of God is the subversion of Philosophy. The justice is 
 obvious of assigning all belief in the Infinite Power, — which is Wisdom, Righte- 
 ousness, and Love, — to metaphysical rather than to physical data. In this the 
 adherent of Scottish philosophy is at one with the Hegelian, who would identify 
 our higher nature with the spiritual principle that pervades the universe, and 
 makes it intelligible. It may be remarked that speculation has lately been very 
 active in studying the nature and character of the ultimate Power in the universe. 
 Whilst there is among the educated very little bare atheism, there are to be met 
 with doctrines, or rather theories, regarding the supreme Power and Cause, of 
 every degree of divergence from the orthodox Christian faith. 
 
 III. THE ORIGIN OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In a fairly peaceful and settled state of society, when urgent bodily wants 
 are supplied, the opening intelligence of men directs itself to inquiries which 
 their condition and their nature alike suggest. Solitary meditation, and the 
 contact and friction 'of mind with mind, awaken thought, and thought occupies 
 itself with those themes which experience assures us possess a perennial interest. 
 
 In the first instance the thinker exercises his powers upon the vast universe, 
 of which every movement reveals to him some fragment, some aspect ; which, by 
 the avenue of every sense, addresses itself to his observation ; and which, by its 
 ever-varying surprises, arouses his curiosity. Nature, in all its manifold and 
 mysterious aspects, appeals to the understanding. To become acquainted with 
 the multitudinous phenomena of the universe, is the ambition of the alert and 
 inquisitive mind. But such knowledge in itself does not satisfy ; there is an 
 intellectual impulse urging to comprehend, to explain, to harmonise what is 
 known. Hence the speculations, partaking more or less of the nature of science, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 wliicli characterise the dawn of Philosophy. With the advance of human know- 
 ledge the province of physical science is more clearly mapped out, and the rigidly 
 scientific mind endeavours to confine its interest within the boundaries of l\ict 
 and law, of uniformities in coexistence and sequence. Still, ever and anon, there 
 arises in the ranks of the cultivators of physical science, an ardent investigator 
 who is at the same time a bold speculator, who cannot content himself within the 
 limits generally accepted. Mystical and pantheistic theorists study Nature as 
 the garb, the language of Spirit ; for them this view of Nature is the only 
 enriching and satisfying view. The critic must be very short-sighted who believes 
 that the world has seen the last of theorists such as these. 
 
 The thinker, however, comes, perhaps gradually, to distinguish himself from 
 the universe, of which, in a sense, he forms a part. By an almost irresistible 
 impulse he is thrown back upon his own intellectual and moral being and charac- 
 ter, — as surpassing in interest, even the dazzling splendours, the half-comprehended 
 order, the bafiling perplexities of the material world. The distinction between 
 human conduct and all cosmical processes, thrusts itself upon the attention of the 
 reflective. Self-consciousness bears a witness which can neither be silenced nor 
 perverted. Every man feels and knows himself to be a mirror of nature and a 
 centre of force. The mystery of his own being urges him to the study of that 
 self which remains the same amidst the utmost diversity of experience. It is in 
 vain that the man is assured that he is but a speck, a mere breath, in the vast 
 encompassing universe, that as such he is unworthy even of attention, in comparison 
 with the wonders of the world, its illimitable forces, its revolving cycles, — that he 
 is only the creature of a day, whilst the universe has neither bounds, beginning, 
 nor end. They who so reason are themselves unconvinced by such sophisms. 
 The majesty of man is superior to such attacks. There is doubtless a sense in 
 which man is a microcosm corresponding with the macrocosm of the universe. 
 Yet it remains unquestionable that mind masters matter ; it can do more than 
 control, direct, and constrain it ; it can perceive and apprehend it. It is the glory 
 of intellect that it gives to all things material their meaning, and indeed their 
 very reality. All attempts to construe mind as material have failed ; but matter 
 is unknown and non-existent save in terms of mind. Whether or not reflection 
 can cast any light upon the origin, the substance, of mind, it is certain that men 
 will not cease to study its working," its processes, and powers. As Socrates is 
 commonly said to have brought Philosophy down to man, so in every age of 
 thought and culture, man proves his sense of his own nobility, by making his 
 inner nature and life the topic of meditation and inquiry. Let men be psycholo- 
 gists, or social philosophers, or moralists ; in any case it may be taken for granted 
 that, as surely as they think at all, they must think of what is distinctively and 
 pre-eminently human. 
 
 b 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 But the movements now described do not exhaust the philosophic impulse. 
 It has been proved, by the long experience of humanity, that the mind is not 
 satisfied to reflect only upon the material universe and upon its own powers and 
 operations, its own capacities and prospects. There is a deep desire to reach a 
 higher unity, an all-comprehending cause, — in a word, to know God. It must 
 be acknowledged that there are many, even amongst thoughtful students, to whom 
 this tendency of intellectual man seems to be the offspring of illusion, which can 
 never issue in any solid, satisfactory result. There are those who say that the 
 spontaneous invention of deities, — so common among men in certain stages of 
 development, — is merely the projection of their own personality into the realm of 
 nature, and is accounted for by well-known psychological laws. There are those 
 who argue that, as we have no method of verifying our supposed knowledge of the 
 supernatural, we must relegate the Divine to the province of imagination and of 
 emotion, for there can be no place found for it in the province of understanding, — 
 which comprises only the human and the physical, and whatsoever is amenable to 
 observation and experiment. These objections have, in our own time, been syste- 
 matised and presented in a scientific guise ; and are the foundations of so-called 
 Agnosticism. This doctrine confines our knowledge to the sensible and the phe- 
 nomenal, and dismisses all else to the category of the unscientific and imaginative. 
 
 There is an obvious explanation of the favour with which agnostic doctrines 
 have been received by a large school of scientific thinkers in our own days. But 
 it is enough here to note the fact, and to repeat that, as a matter of history, it 
 has ever been a sign of the philosophic impulse deep-seated in human nature, 
 that men have sought a super-sensible Power, the explanation and source, the 
 unity and the illumination of all existence. 
 
 IV. A BRIEF SKETCH OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 It has been usual to refer the origin of Philosophy to the genius of the Hellenic 
 race. Owing to the modern tendency to enlarge the scope of inductive inquiry, 
 and to pursue the scientific method of comparison, there has recently been a 
 disposition to include Oriental speculation among the sources of philosophical 
 life and activity. There can be no doubt that the Hindu mind has always 
 evinced peculiar aptitude for the subtleties of metaphysical thought. Indian 
 religion and Indian philosophy have been, broadly speaking, identical. The 
 Vedas and Vedantas, which constitute the literary treasure of Brahman priests 
 and philosophers, contain in abundance speculation and reflection upon the 
 mystery of Being. In fact, it is the problem of existence rather than that of 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 cognition which has the strongest attraction for the Hindu intellect. And lor 
 the Hindu mind the intellectual and moral elements of philosophy are less 
 discriminated than for ourselves. The great rival systems of the East, Brah- 
 manism and Buddhism, profoundly as they differ, are alike in this : they aim at 
 offering a speculative and practical solution of the perplexities of human thought 
 and the difficulties of human life. 
 
 The Hellenic tribes were, intellectually and aesthetically, the most gifted 
 people of antiquity. They produced the most perfect forms of architecture and 
 of sculpture ; by swift steps they brought the drama to its highest point ; they 
 wrought with master-hand in every form of literature, both historical and imagin- 
 ative. It is not surprising, then, that in pure thought they should not merely 
 have excelled all nations, but should have fashioned the very moulds into which 
 the intellect of all other nations should be compelled to run and to take shape. 
 It has been pointed out by Zeller that the Greek religion was of a peculiarly 
 idealistic character, and was distinguished by the absence both of a professional 
 hierarchy and of theological dogmatism ; and that these characteristics largely 
 contributed to the freedom of Greek thinking. The rich and varied aspects of 
 national life among the Greeks are so many manifestations of a spirit — bold, 
 energetic, and original — which could scarcely fail to attempt the task of explain- 
 ing and unifying all the phenomena which address the observation and excite 
 the curiosity and speculation of mankind. 
 
 Cosmology was anticipated in a mythologic form by the early poets, especially 
 by Hesiod ; practical morality was embodied in sayings attributed to the sages of 
 Greece; and reflections upon human nature abounded in Homer. But the 
 earliest development of what is strictly called Philosophy is to be looked for 
 among the lonians of Asia Minor. Our knowledge of their speculations is but 
 vague. Yet we can see that their great theme of study was Nature, — this universe, 
 which awakens in all observing and reflecting minds questionings which even the 
 wisest in our own day can but partially satisfy, and which these Ionian sages, six 
 centuries before Christ, sought each in his own way to resolve. Thus Tliales of 
 Miletus regarded water as the principle or ground of all existing things ; Anaxi- 
 mander deemed the undefined — perhaps unformed, chaotic matter — as the ultimate 
 principle of Nature ; whilst Anaximenes assigned this all-important position and 
 power to air. These thinkers were evidently working upon the same lines, all of 
 them in a way we should regard as utterly unscientific. It is not their conclu- 
 sions which interest us, but their aim, — which was to find unity in diversity, to 
 employ the mind in unravelling the mysterious secret of Being. 
 
 This first movement of Greek Philosophy was like the opening of a wondering 
 childhood to that which impresses the senses, but which has not yet power to 
 unfold the imagination or to inspire the reason. Nature to these thinkers was 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the all. They cannot strictly be called materialists, for the distinction between 
 the spiritual and the material had not yet consciously emerged. But succeeding 
 stages of speculation reveal a more developed mode of thinking. 
 
 The lonians were followed by the Pythagoreans. So far as they were cosmo- 
 logists, their tenets may be summed up in the statement that for them number 
 was the essence and substance of all things. The marvellous properties of num- 
 ber, and the marvellous results which arithmetic achieves, may well lead mathe- 
 maticians to attribute to it a virtue and importance of the highest order. But 
 Pythagoras seems to have regarded number as the explanation of all things, as 
 the very substance of the Universe. This exaggerated view led him into many 
 fanciful absurdities, which are so remote from reason that it is difficult to feel 
 great interest in them. 
 
 In the view of many students the Pythagorean school is still more important 
 in the history of Philosophy because of its ethical and religious tendencies. The 
 adherents of this school practised not only virtue but asceticism. They probably 
 knew little of religion in our acceptation of the word, but they believed in the 
 transmigration of souls, — a tenet which seemed to them an incitement to a 
 virtuous life. 
 
 There were, however, among the early Greek thinkers those who, in contrast to 
 the materialism of the lonians and the mysticism of the Pythagoreans, took a more 
 purely intellectual view of the universe. The Eleatics were the true Idealists of 
 Greece. Of this school the leading representatives were Xenophanes, who is called 
 the theologian of the Eleatics, and Parmenides, who is deemed their metaphysician. 
 According to the latter. Thought and the object of Thought — thinking and being 
 — are one and the same. The school was continued by Zeno and Melissus. 
 
 At the other extreme from the Eleatics was Heracleitus ; for, whilst those 
 held a doctrine of Unity which led them to deny plurality, a doctrine of Being 
 which led them to deny becoming, this philosopher held that the one substance 
 is in perpetual movement and change. All things are in flux, and the perpetual 
 becoming is the law of Nature. Of this incessant change Fire is the apt symbol ; 
 from this element all things arise, to this all things return; pure fire is even the 
 substance of the soul. In much of this teaching we see an affinity between 
 Heracleitus and his Ionian predecessors. Yet he had points of sympathy with 
 the Eleatics : he believed in one substance, and in an all-pervading reason, — in 
 the government of a rational law. Heracleitus would seem to have been a philo- 
 sopher of a remarkably comj^rehensive mind : the fragments of his sayings which 
 remain give us a high idea of his wisdom. He is popularly remembered as the 
 ' weeping philosopher.' 
 
 Another great figure in these early days is the Sicilian philosopher, Empedocles. 
 In him we see the effect of both the tendencies above described. He treats of 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the four elements, but always as penetrated and governed by two principles, Love 
 and Hate. This curious combination gave rise to many fantastic speculations of 
 little interest. As a man he was impressive and imposing, and the end which is 
 assigned by tradition to his life — he is said to have leapt into the crater of yEtna 
 — harmonises poetically with his claim to Deity. 
 
 The Atomists were a school of great importance, and their general principles 
 were an anticipation of the atheistical materialism which sprang up in France 
 towards the close of the last century, and revived again in Germany in more 
 recent times. Leucippus is deemed the founder of the sect, and Democritus, the 
 ' laughing philosopher,' its chief expositor. They asked for no other first prin- 
 ciples than atoms and the void, and they endeavoured with no other assumptions 
 than these to account for the existing universe. Material and mechanical prin- 
 ciples were held sufficient to explain all things that are : — a curious parallelism 
 with fashionable doctrines of our own times. 
 
 At the same time that the materialists were endeavouring to show that matter 
 has within itself the formative power which issues in the universal order, and 
 which brings the mental — the spiritual — into existence, Anaxagoras arose to teach 
 a sounder and more reasonable faith. According to him. Mind is the power 
 which fashions and moulds all things, the true cause of motion and of order. 
 
 It may be noted that Zeller regards these last mentioned philosophers — 
 Heracleitus, Anaxagoras, Leucippus, and Democritus — as a second development 
 of Ionian speculation. 
 
 It thus appears that the early Greek philosophers occupied themselves with 
 the endeavour to understand the universe as a whole ; that they were students 
 of cosmology, trying to look behind physical facts, and to discover explanations, 
 whether materialistic or spiritual. There was a very inadequate basis of know- 
 ledge for their speculations, and the results of their philosophy were far from 
 certain. The time came when the most vigorous thinkers turned their attention 
 away from cosmical inquiries towards matters of human interest. The first 
 indication that this change was taking place appeared when the Sophists began 
 to attract the attention especially of the Athenian public. These were a class of 
 well-informed, clever, eloquent, and ambitious men, who seem to have thought 
 chiefly of their own advancement, — to be secured by a profession and public 
 practice of what they deemed philosophy. Very different estimates have been 
 formed of their merits. But there can be no question that they provoked inquiry 
 and spread knowledge, and that they advanced politics to a very prominent 
 position, training the wealthy and aspiring youth of Athens in the arts of disputa- 
 tion. ' The Sophists rendered general culture universal. Thus Protagoras was 
 celebrated as a teacher of morals, Gorgias as a rhetorician and politician, Prodicus 
 as a grammarian and etymologist, and Hippias as a polymath.' There is no doubt 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that the influence of the Sophists was in the direction of scepticism ; they under- 
 mined established beliefs, and in no way replaced them. 
 
 In the fifth century B.C. occurred the great crisis in Greek Philosophy. This 
 came with the public life and ' ministry ' of Socrates, concerning whose habits and 
 teaching we learn much from the pens of his disciples, Xenophon and Plato. 
 Socrates was the ideal wise man ; yet he ^vl■ote no books, delivered no set lectures, 
 but went about the city of Athens, conversing with all who were disposed to 
 listen to him and to answer his questions. Whether his companions were plain 
 citizens, young politicians, or famous sophists, they were all subjected to his acute, 
 ironical, and yet earnest questioning. His aim was to sift real knowledge from 
 pretence, to bring to birth the thoughts of those who had any power of thinking, 
 though little articulate. 
 
 Socrates brought philosophy down to earth, to man. He seems to have 
 interested himself very little in the problems which had engaged the attention of 
 his predecessors : to him human nature, human life, human virtues and vices, 
 human thought and knowledge were the ' chief concern.' It was not merely the 
 thing known that attracted him, it was the power of knowing. And with his 
 inquiry into knowledge was connected the inquiry into morals. He sought, by 
 examining the notions he found in himself and in his fellow-men, to discover the 
 reality of things, to penetrate through conventionality to truth. Ethics were to 
 Socrates of supreme importance, and the outcome of his investigations was the 
 identifying of virtue with knowledge. He was a true philosopher, a lover of 
 wisdom ; and a true moralist, who rose, in moral character, above the standard of 
 his day, who both exemplified and taught human virtue. He was not, in the 
 common sense of the term, a politician ; but he cherished a loyal afiection for the 
 State. And with regard to religion, it is unquestionable that his notions of the 
 Supreme Being were exalted, and that the charge of atheism brought against him 
 was only just in so far as he was confessedly above the popular polytheism, whilst 
 yet he did not yield to the irreligious influences to which so many of his contem- 
 poraries succumbed. If the life of Socrates was a true philosopher's life, his death 
 was worthy of the career it closed, and has ever been regarded as a noble martyr- 
 dom submitted to in the cause of Truth and Loyalty. And it is from Socrates, 
 as from a fountain-head, that the living streams of psychology and of ethics have 
 flowed down through the centuries of human history. 
 
 Leaving aside the Megaric school, we observe that two schools, known as the 
 ' one-sided Socraticists,' sprang from the teaching of the great sage. One of these, 
 the Cynic school, advocated and exemplified Asceticism. The Cynics — Antis- 
 thenes, Diogenes, and their followers — despised, not only luxury, but convention- 
 ality, and extolled the dignity of a severely virtuous and independent life. Op- 
 posed to these were the Cyrenaics, of whom Aristippus was the leader, who 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 regarded pleasure as the chief g-(xxl. The tendencies of mind and habits of life, 
 observable in these schools, have reappeared again and again in both ancient and 
 modern society. Intellectual speculation always leads to ethical systems, or, at 
 all events, to ethical maxims and practices, and these are usually found to incline 
 to one or other of the systems just described. 
 
 But, whilst the ' one-sided ' schools based their practical teaching on certain 
 characteristics of Socrates's teaching, the real continuators, especially of his intel- 
 lectual influence, were Plato and Aristotle. These are the two greatest names 
 among ancient philosophers, if not among the philosophers of the whole world, of 
 all ages. 
 
 Plato is the great Idealist. Not content to limit our knowledge to the 
 sensible and changing world, he held that Reason contemplates eternal truth. 
 His theory of ideas, of reminiscence, of the metaphysical good, are characteristic 
 in a special manner of Plato, and can only be understood by patient study of the 
 * Dialogues.' In Morality, it is observable that for Plato the State is of supreme 
 interest ; the individual is subordinate to the community, and the State presents 
 the sphere in which the several virtues are embodied and displayed. 
 
 If Plato was the sublimest, Aristotle was the most comprehensive intellect of 
 antiquity. As Plato was scholar to Socrates, so Aristotle was pupil of Plato, of 
 whom (even when dissenting from him) he speaks with deep respect, and of 
 whose influence his writings bear manifold tokens. The great Stagirite seems to 
 have acquired all knowledge at that time in the possession of men ; he wrote 
 on Physics and Metaphysics, on Logic and Rhetoric, on Ethics and Politics ; and 
 indeed was the founder of some of these realms of human knowledge. The dis- 
 tinctive characteristic of Aristotle's method is his habit of relying upon experi- 
 ence ; and it is in method rather than in result that the unity of Ai-istotle's philo- 
 sophy is to be found. It may be mentioned that, in the view of many students, 
 the Ethics of Aristotle are the most intrinsically valuable among the works which 
 have come down to us from classical antiquity. Aristotle was no Hedonist ; 
 the end of human action, according to him, is happiness, or rather welfare, and 
 this consists in the exercise of the distinctively human faculty, which is Reason. 
 The ideal is rational, even philosophical, activity, yet in circumstances not sordid, 
 not cramping to the exercise of an honourable and liberal nature. 
 
 In passing from the noble systems of Plato and Aristotle to the subsequent 
 philosophies of Greece, we are conscious of a narrowing of horizon, of interest, and 
 sympathy. With the earlier philosophers the chief aim had been the explanation 
 of the universe. Socrates and his great successors had dealt first and chiefly with 
 the nature and validity of knowledge. But the later schools turned away from 
 these vaster and profounder studies, and directed their attention to the individual 
 life. Hence they were more predominatingly moral than their predecessors. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 About 300 B.C. Zeno was lecturing in Athens, in tlie painted porch from 
 which his sect took their designation ' Stoics.' He and his successors, Cleanthes 
 and Chrysippus, wrought out a philosophy which for centuries exercised a vast 
 influence over men of a select type— both Greeks and Romans. The Stoics, like 
 the earlier thinkers, had their system of physics ; it has been called a ' panthe- 
 istic materialism:' 'the world is God's body, God the world's soul.' Their 
 system of morals harmonised with their belief that reason, order, and law are 
 present throughout the universe. The Stoics held that the moral life is that 
 which accords with nature, that, as reason governs all material things, it should 
 govern the soul, the life of man. They extolled virtue ; and, though they did not 
 go so far as the Cynics in despising all pleasure, yet they also conceived that 
 man should be independent of circumstances, and should find his well-being in 
 following nature and reason. It should be remarked that the Stoics were cele- 
 brated for their cultivation of Logic. 
 
 The rival sect of the Epicureans arose about the same time with the Stoics. 
 There is no doubt that Epicurus and his followers have been greatly maligned, 
 and that the founder of the school was a man of simple habits and reputable life. 
 Still, the Epicurean doctrine has been on the whole debasing. Physics were 
 studied in the school, but chiefly for the purpose of guarding against the super- 
 stitious terrors often inspired by natural calamities or portents. It was, however, 
 in morals that the influence of Epicurus was mainly felt ; he taught his followers 
 to seek the summum lonum in pleasure, to which he regarded virtue as the means. 
 The similarity is obvious between this doctrine and that of the modern Hedonist 
 and Utilitarian. Many virtuous and benevolent characters have been formed 
 under both systems. Yet the result of undermining the independent basis of 
 morality, and especially of doing this by substituting personal feeling for a law of 
 righteousness, cannot be other than corrupting. 'f^,i^, ^ 
 
 The four schools described : — The Academy, or Platonists ; the Lyceum, or 
 Peripatetics, followers of Aristotle ; the Stoics of the Porch ; and the Epicureans 
 of the Garden — continued to hold their position at Athens for several centuries. 
 There were, indeed, other sects, especially the Sceptics, of whom Pyrrho had been 
 the founder, and who at a later time were represented by ^nesidemus, Agrippa, 
 and Sextus Empiricus. 
 
 These Grecian Philosophies exercised great influence over the educated classes 
 among the Romans. But, whilst the Romans were great in arms, in laws, and 
 in good faith and piety, they did not share the Greek gift of speculation and 
 dialectic. They were content to receive lessons from their subjects. Carneades 
 the Academic, Critolaus the Peripatetic, and Diogenes the Stoic, are mentioned 
 as having introduced Grecian philosophy among the Romans. One great philo- 
 sopher was formed in the Epicurean school, Lucretius the poet, whose verse is 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 steeped in the doctrines of Democritus aud Epicurus. At least three great names 
 among the Eomans were associated with Stoicism ; those of Seneca, and, at a 
 later period, Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus. In the writings of these Roman 
 Stoics, the non-Christian morality may be said to have reached its highest pitch of 
 dignity and elevation. Yet the community at lai-gc was probably quite unaffected 
 by the beliefs and writings of these select philosophers. 
 
 Cicero, the most important of Latin writers on Philosophy, professed himself 
 a disciple of the New Academy, but had much sympathy with the Stoics. In his 
 writings we meet with much information regarding the philosophers of the age 
 preceding his own. 
 
 Christianity, which made all things new, could not but exert a transforming 
 influence upon the highest exercises of the human intellect. The religion of Jesus 
 was a morality, laying anew and deeper the foundations of ethical life, both indi- 
 vidual and social. But it is a very superficial view of Christianity to regard it 
 wholly as a moral power. It professes to be a revelation ; and the Incarnation 
 and Atonement are a Divine provision for bridging over the gulf between the 
 created and the Creator Spirit : God is declared to man, and man is harmonised 
 with God. Light of the most precious kind is cast upon Theology and Pneuma- 
 tology (as a complete Psychology has sometimes been termed). And if Cosmology 
 is less illuminated, still our Religion represents the world as the work and the 
 garb of God, and as the means appointed for the spiritual education of humanity. 
 
 Many of the great Christian Divines and Apologists of the early Christian 
 centuries came from the schools of Philosophy, brought with them philosophical 
 ideas, and learned to solve philosophical problems by the aid of Revelation. Justin 
 Martyr professes to have found in Christ what he had sought elsewhere in vain ; 
 and Clemens Alexandrinus, in a well-known passage, taught that, as the Law had 
 been a schoolmaster to the Jews, so Philosophy had been the schoolmaster provi- 
 dentially appointed for the Gentiles, to bring them to Christ. Among the Latin 
 Fathers, Augustine is pre-eminent for his knowledge of Philosophy, and for his 
 penetration with the philosophic spirit. With him, and with many other Chris- 
 tian theologians, Plato held a paramount position of authority among the ancient 
 masters of human philosophy. 
 
 The last effort of the philosophical spirit of antiquity was made by the Neo- 
 Platonists, who, from the third to the sixth centuries, sought to resuscitate at 
 Alexandria, Rome, and Athens, a purely intellectual and spiritual power, which 
 might contend with the growing energy of the Christian Religion. The names 
 of Plotinus and Porphyry are the most famous in the earlier development, those 
 of lamblichus and Proclus in the later. Against the prevalent scepticism the 
 Neo-Platonists strove with the weapons of mysticism. The intuition of absolute 
 truth, the vision of God by the purified and illumined soul, was to replace all the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 halting processes of psychology. If such is their ' epistemology,' or doctrine of 
 knowledge, their ' cosmology ' is no less abstract and transcendental. From the 
 One, — the Divine Being, — there emanate successively, reason, the world-soul, 
 and then the material world. Individual souls, partaking of both reasonable and 
 sensible nature, may, by mortification and asceticism, attain to communion and 
 union with the eternal, uncreated Deity. 
 
 The fall of the Eoman Empire and the spread of Christianity throughout 
 Europe, were events which filled centuries of human history. During this epoch 
 it cannot be said that Philosophy flourished ; in fact, it scarcely existed. With 
 the exceptions of Boethius, in the sixth century, who may be regarded as the 
 after-glow of the classic day, and of John Erigena, in the ninth century, who may 
 be considered the morning star heralding the twilight of scholasticism, no great 
 names occur to light up the ages which, philosophically, were ' dark ' indeed. 
 
 The period of Scholastic Philosophy lasted from Anselm in the eleventh cen- 
 tury to Wyclif in the fourteenth. During these three centuries Philosophy was 
 ' the handmaid of Theology,' being cultivated entirely by churchmen, and being 
 employed in the elucidation and defence of the orthodox faith. That great minds 
 in this epoch dealt with great questions, is not to be questioned. An acuter 
 logician than Abelard, a profounder mystic than Hugh of St. Victor, a keener 
 theologian than Peter of Lombardy, the Master of Sentences, a more universal 
 encyclopgedist than Albertus Magnus, a more dogmatic controversialist than 
 Thomas Aquinas, a subtler doctor than Duns Scotus, — the history of Christendom 
 does not tell of. Yet there is among Protestants a general notion that the 
 abilities and learning of the great Scholastics were largely wasted. The critical 
 and historical methods of modern theology are very remote from the medieval 
 definitions, deductions, and demonstrations. During the latter part of the period 
 in question, Aristotle's authority may be said to have been supreme ; though at an 
 earlier time many of Aristotle's writings were known only indirectly through the 
 labours of the Arabian scholars. At the same time, it is to be observed that of 
 the great Scholastics some were undoubtedly under Platonic influence. 
 
 The controversy between Eealists and Nominalists raged now and again 
 among these mediseval philosophers. Realism was the orthodox doctrine ; but it 
 was vigorously attacked. Roscellin, at the end of the eleventh century, was the 
 first to profess Nominalism ; and Occam, in the fourteenth century, did more than 
 any other to undermine the foundations of Realism. The doctrine of Abelard 
 upon this debated question was that Conceptualism which is intermediate between 
 the two extreme theories. 
 
 Reason gradually asserted itself against authority. Philosophy had, during the 
 Middle Ages, taken for granted the authority of the Church, and of the Scriptures 
 and the works of the Fathers which the Church guaranteed. The time came when 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the conditions of thinking were altered, and its long-endured restrictions were out- 
 grown. The revival of learning was accompanied by the revival of independent 
 thought, and was followed by the Reformation of Religion. The middle of tho 
 fifteenth century, when the learned Greeks came into Western Europe, and when 
 the art of printing was invented, was the commencement of this great movement. 
 The shackles of meditevalism were cast off, and the era of liberty began. The 
 study of Plato was, of literary influences, the strongest to help in overturning the 
 long dominant Aristotelianism. The investigation of nature led to many fanciful 
 interpretations, but also to revolutionary, and in some cases well-founded conclu- 
 sions upon astronomical and cosmical science. A general activity of intellect 
 insured attention and independent thought to the most dijQScult and the most 
 interesting of all themes. Thus it was that Modern Philosophy came to be born. 
 
 In England the first sign that a new era was beginning was the publication 
 by Lord Bacon of new methods of studying nature. Immature as these were, 
 they were nevertheless revolutionary, for they were a sign that the reign of 
 authority was passing away. But it was Descartes who was ' the father of the 
 experimental philosophy of the human mind.' He was, however, far more than 
 this. His doubt and his faith, his idealistic starting-point and his dualistic 
 system, account for the directions taken by many succeeding thinkers. Doubting 
 all things but his own existence (which he perceived so clearly that ho could not 
 doubt it), he reasoned from this one fact to the belief in God, and thence to the 
 belief in the world ; and laid down the doctrine, which has been so widely 
 accepted, that matter, as distinguished by extension, stands over against mind 
 characterised by thought, in an eternal antithesis. It was thus from Descartes 
 that the philosophy of Continental Europe received its bias. To bridge over the 
 chasm between mind and matter, Geulinx perfected the theory of ' occasional 
 causes,' and Malebranche elaborated his virtually idealistic doctrine that we see 
 all things in God. And it was the difficulty of the Cartesian dualism which 
 ultimately led to the monism, the pantheism of the great Spinoza. The simplicity 
 and profundity of Spinozism, its postulation of the one Substance, of which matter 
 and mind are conceived as modes, its assertion of absolute necessity in Morals, 
 have led to its revived study and adoption by many scientific thinkers of our 
 own century. 
 
 The course of Philosophy in Britain was different; the studies of British 
 thinkers were more psychological and less ontological. Indivichialism was their 
 keynote. Locke's ' Essay,' notwithstanding its diffuseness and its flagrant incon- 
 sistencies, took and long retained a leading position in not only English, but 
 European controversy. How far Locke was opposing Descartes, and how far Lord 
 Herbert of Cherbury, it would be hard to decide. But his appeal to plain men's 
 understanding and observation, his ' new way of ideas/ his reference of all ideas 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to sensation and reflection (the two modes of experience), as their source and 
 origin, his explanation of the several kinds of knowledge : however these may to 
 us seem superficial and unsatisfactory, fell in with the temper of Locke's country- 
 men in his own and in the succeeding age. Still, Locke prepared the way for 
 the scepticism which followed, and for which he would certainly have felt no 
 sympathy, Berkeley simply abandoned belief in material ' substance/ in which 
 Locke believed, though he had abandoned all ground for his belief, and ' knew 
 not' what it was that he believed. And Hume simply took the last step upon 
 the same road, and abandoned belief in spiritual as well as material substance. 
 As a philosopher, Hume was a pure phenomenist, and consequently a sceptic, 
 for whom the voice of Reason contradicted the voice of Nature. When Per- 
 sonality and Causation had gone, it was difficult to see that anything worth 
 contending for was left. 
 
 A movement, to some extent parallel with that above described, had taken 
 place in Ethical thought and theory. Hobbes had revolted from the old religious 
 basis and sanctions of morals, and had founded them upon personal interest and 
 upon the supreme power of the State, which he held sufficient to constitute right 
 and wrong. Locke, who traced knowledge to the feeling of the individual, 
 assigned a similar origin to morality. For him pleasure was the test of the 
 ethically good : taking this position he became the forerunner of the modern 
 Hedonists and Utilitarians. 
 
 Against the derivative morality of Hobbes and Locke, very powerful protests 
 were raised. It was taught that the right, the morally good, has an independent 
 foundation. Cumberland and More regarded Benevolence as a divinely-appointed 
 law and principle. Cudworth and Clarke asserted the eternity and immutability 
 of the moral law. Butler's great endeavour was to establish the supremacy of 
 conscience, its right to govern in preference to inferior principles. As an inter- 
 mediate theory, there was advanced in the eighteenth century the famous system 
 of the Moral Sense, connected with the names of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson; 
 and, in close connection with this system, Adam Smith's doctrine that Sympathy 
 is the all-sufficient explanation of morality. The ethics of Feeling are considered 
 to have reached their last development in Hume, who thus occupies a position in 
 morals very similar to that which he takes in Intellectual Philosophy. Hume's 
 great office in speculative thought seems to have been to carry to the extremest 
 limit the doctrines of the eighteenth century, and thus to prepare the way for 
 subsequent reaction. 
 
 In Germany the prevalent philosophy during the eighteenth century was that 
 of Leibnitz, as modified by Wolff. Leibnitz, dissatisfied with Occasional Causes, 
 as an explanation of the communion between mind and matter, invented his 
 famous doctrine of Pre-established Harmony, and of Monads, substituting, as 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Professor E. Caircl Las observed, ' one all-embracing miracle ' for the continuing 
 miracle. The same author designates the system of Wolff tlio ' unconscious revival 
 of Scholasticism,' 
 
 It was in Germany that the new movement commenced. Kant commenced 
 to teach upon the lines of the current dogmatism and optimism. But Hume 
 roused him from what he afterwards acknowledged was his ' slumber ; ' and he 
 could neither acquiesce in the routine scholasticism to which he had been accus- 
 tomed, nor accept the alternative of scepticism and intellectual nakedness. Thus 
 he was led to inaugurate a new era, in which his influence has been predominant, 
 though this influence has by no means been proved by a general acceptance of 
 his conclusions. 
 
 Kant's philosophy is known as Criticism, on account of his having undertaken 
 a criticism, both of the pure (or speculative) and the practical reason. His aim 
 was to establish the validity of human knowledge, and especially to show that 
 experience alone cannot account for knowledge, inasmuch as there are mental 
 conditions, forms, categories, &c., which are necessary in order that experience 
 itself may be possible. At the same time it must be borne in mind that Kant 
 consistently taught that all knowledge is relative, and that ' things in themselves ' 
 are unknown to us. Thus he held that, on grounds of pure reason, we can have 
 no knowledge of God and of immortality. It was, however, his aim to show 
 that our moral nature leads us in these directions further than we could other- 
 wise attain. Freedom, Duty, God, were to him the most sacred of all realities. 
 The command of conscience Kant held to be unconditionally binding and autliori- 
 tative. No one more resolutely opposed the Ethics of consequences. 
 
 A reaction against Hume's Scepticism took place in Scotland with a similar 
 intent as in Germany. Reid's philosophy of Common-sense has been very vari- 
 ously estimated ; but there is no doubt that he aimed at basing the ordinary 
 beliefs of men upon primitive intuitions and axioms and upon general consent. 
 In this aim he was seconded by Stewart. Hamilton endeavoured to give a 
 more philosophical complexion to the teaching of the Scottish school, and to com- 
 bine (somewhat inconsistently) a doctrine of Natural Realism or Dualism with 
 a doctrine of relativity of knowledge. 
 
 Turning again to France, it is curious to observe that the philosophical move- 
 ment most distinctive of that country in the eighteenth century, received its impulse 
 from England. The Sensationalism of Condillac does not historically derive from 
 Gassendi but from Locke. The second source of experience was dropped out of 
 sight, and it was sought to account by sense alone for all mental possessions, 
 whilst the very faculties or functions of the mind were represented as nothing 
 more than 'transformed sensations.' Of this extravagant doctrine yet more 
 extravagant developments were to follow, in the scepticism of the encyclopaDdists, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 in tlie gross materialism of De la Mettrie, d'Holbach, and Destutt de Tracy, and 
 in the selfisli morality of Helvetius. 
 
 The reaction against Materialism and Sensationalism in France took place in 
 the earlier part of this century, Maine de Biran worked his way out of the 
 slough of ' ideology,' until he found rest upon the rock of spiritualism. Cousin 
 was intellectually influenced by the Scottish Reid and the German Kant ; and his 
 philosophy was justly named Eclectic. JoufFroy and Royer Collard were among 
 the best known of this high-minded but somewhat rhetorical school. 
 
 The most distinguished French thinker of the middle of our century reverted, 
 in a measure, to the earlier type. Comte was the incarnation of the modern 
 scientific spirit. The Positive Philosophy (considered apart from the ' Religion 
 of Humanity') professes to found itself upon observation scientifically verified. 
 It is, in fact, a classification of human knowledge, whilst its Psychology is Biology 
 combined with Sociology. 
 
 The English tendency during the present century has been to follow upon the 
 lines of Berkeley, and of Hartley and Hume ; although, for the most part, our 
 English psychologists have ignored the theological side of Berkeley's philosophy, 
 whilst they have offered no substitute for the explanation the great Idealist gave 
 of the order of the universe. And it may be added that, generally speaking, they 
 have not put forward the sceptical nihilism which gave in the writings of Hume 
 offence so serious to the British public. The peculiarities of this school have been 
 its attention to Empirical Psychology, and the stress laid by it upon the principle 
 of Association. This principle, received from Hartley and Hume, has been 
 applied by the two Mills and Bain to the solution of all the problems of Psy- 
 chology, and is supposed by them to render unnecessary the assumption of any 
 innate faculty of mind. 
 
 The application of Evolution to mind and morals is the work of our own 
 time, and is touched upon in the following section of this Introduction. 
 
 The course of philosophy in Germany since the time of Kant has been very 
 remarkable, but is very difficult thoroughly to trace. The following are, how- 
 ever, the chief developments: — (i.) German Idealism advanced with very rapid 
 strides. It is common to say that Fichte's subjective Idealism was followed by 
 the objective Idealism of Schelling, and that by the absolute Idealism of Hegel. 
 But such a description can convey no meaning to the ordinary reader. (2.) In 
 reaction from this tendency was the modern German materialism, expounded by 
 Moleschott, Vogt, and Biichner, — a modification of the ancient atomism, accord- 
 ing to conceptions of modern science. (3.) A development of one side of Kant's 
 philosophy was the Pessimism of Schopenhauer and Yon Hartmann. According 
 to the former of these the absolute existence which Kant held to be unknown is 
 Will, whilst the latter lays the greatest stress upon the Unconscious. These 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 thinkers are, however, better known for their theory of human life, of which bot h 
 take a gloomy and despondent view. (4.) Herbart by no means accompanied 
 the progress of the post-Kantian Idealists; he is characterised by Schwegler as 
 ' extending the monadology of Leibnitz.' (5.) Ulrici and Lotze may be taken as 
 examples of German philosophers who hold by the spiritual interpretation of 
 human nature. 
 
 V. REVIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF BRITISH PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 There has, during the last half century, been a marked revival of interest in 
 philosophy, both in the national seats of learning and among the educated and 
 reading public. Several causes have concurred to bring about this intellectual 
 movement. Its commencement may be traced to Sir William Hamilton, whose 
 lectures in the University of Edinburgh and whose contributions to the Edin- 
 hurgh Bcvicw certainly excited a widespread interest both in the history of 
 philosophy and in the investigation of metaphysical and logical problems. The 
 amazing and brilliant progress made in many of the physical sciences acted in 
 two ways. It no doubt led to the concentration of many able minds upon 
 strictly scientific study. Yet, on the other hand, it aroused a new interest in 
 those deeper questions which no processes of observation and experiment have 
 ever been able to solve or even to touch, and prompted speculation upon the 
 foundations of our deepest and most permanent beliefs, — in our personal and 
 spiritual existence, in the objective universe, in the being and providence of God. 
 Another cause may be found in the ' Oxford revival,' which proved stimulative 
 of historical research, but even more of independent thought upon themes of vital 
 interest and of momentous and many-sided importance. Increased intercourse 
 with the great literary nations of the Continent of Europe has, during the present 
 century, established a fellowship of thought which has affected philosophy fully 
 as much as other departments of mental activity. German works, representing 
 every school of thought — transcendental and empirical, pessimist, materialistic, 
 and Christian, — have been translated into English, evidently in response to a 
 not inconsiderable demand. America, too, sends us the writings of philosophical 
 professors who are carrying on the movement which originated in Scotland, upon 
 the principles of ' common sense,' and masterly and original treatises in exposi- 
 tion, expansion, and criticism of the distinctively English doctrine of Evolution 
 elaborated by Wallace, Darwin, and Spencer. And our Indian and Colonial 
 Empire asserts fellowship with the mother-country, not only in political and 
 commercial relations, but in the less interested relations of philosophy. English 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 students have cordially welcomed the handbooks of Professors Clark Murray and 
 Jardine as evidence that the vigorous and independent thought characteristic of 
 our countrymen bears transplanting to other and distant climes. 
 
 An unmistakable sign of increased interest in Philosophy is afforded by the 
 space occupied in our periodical literature of the highest grade by the discussion 
 of metaphysical and ethical as well as psychological questions. We have indeed 
 no pretension to vie in this respect with France and Germany. And for many 
 years the only philosophical review in our language was published in a Western 
 city of the United States of America. Since, however, the appearance of Mind 
 under the able editorship of Professor G. Groom Robertson, of University College, 
 London, this reproach has been removed. And the quarterly, and more espe- 
 cially some of the monthly reviews, have freely admitted articles upon Philosophy, 
 and articles of this class have often been the most prominent and attractive items 
 in their contents. 
 
 There is among English students at the present time a tendency — which has, 
 no doubt, been fostered over a large area by the Examinations of the University 
 of London — to substitute Psychology for the broader study of Philosophy. The 
 motive of this tendency is to be found in the agnosticism of the day, in a disposi- 
 tion to regard all ontology as futile, and all metaphysical problems as insoluble, 
 and accordingly unworthy of human attention and energy. It is endeavoured to 
 treat what was formerly called ' mental philosophy ' as a branch of natural his- 
 tory — of anthropology — by the methods of observation and experiment, bringing 
 to light and then classifying the phenomena which are expressive of the distinc- 
 tively human nature and character. At the same time, the attempt is made to 
 leave the existence of the mind an open question. This and other metaphysical 
 data are relegated to another study. Philosophy proper, of which it is represented 
 that Psychology is perfectly independent. Whilst it is impossible to treat 
 Psychology without either asserting or presuming philosophical doctrines, it is 
 quite possible to give attention mainly to those mental co-existences and sequences 
 which are regarded as peculiarly scientific knowledge. And it is admitted that 
 conclusions of interest and value have been reached by the method in question. 
 The observations of Wundt (PhysiologiscJie Psychologie), of Waitz {Lchrluch der 
 Psychologie), of Volkmann {Lehrhuch der Psychologie) have been a rich mine to 
 our English students of the natural history of perceptive and intellectual man. 
 E. H. Weber's experiments upon the power of discriminating points by means of 
 touch, and Fechner's law of the relation between stimulus and the corresponding 
 sensation, have long been familiar to readers of our text-books. M. Taine's work 
 on 'Intelligence' has been translated from the French, and as a manual of 
 psychological facts, and of theories recommended by their originality as well as 
 by the style in which they are expressed, has made for itself no ordinary position 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 in literature of this class. And Mr. Sully has made a position as a psychologist 
 by his works on ' Sensation and Intuition,' and on ' Illusions,' quite as much as 
 by his more recent ' Outlines of Psychology.' 
 
 The advance which has in our time been made in the sciences of anatomy, 
 physiology, and pathology, has naturally led to a closer study of the connection 
 between mental processes upon the one hand, and changes in nerve aud brain 
 upon the other. No student of the human mind can do other than rejoice in the 
 establishment of connections of this kind, however he may resent some of the 
 conclusions which he may conceive to be unwarrantably deduced from the premises. 
 Dr. W. B. Carpenter's ' Mental Physiology ' is perhaps the most popular treatise 
 on the subject which has appeared amongst us ; but Dr. H. Maudsley's ' Physiology 
 ..of Mind ' also abounds with interesting facts. Dr. Ferrier's work, ' The Functions 
 of the Brain,' in its successive editions, has rather offered material for theorisers 
 than propounded particular doctrines. Dr. Calderwood, in his ' Eelations of Mind 
 and Brain,' has handled the facts with a view of exhibiting them in a light friendly 
 to spiritual philosophy. Dr. Bastian's able work, ' The Brain as the Organ of 
 Mind,' proceeds upon a purely physiological method, and regards mind, under 
 which unconscious nervous action is included, as a function of the brain and 
 nervous system. This may be fairly called materialism. The work in question 
 contains a succinct, excellent, and classified account of those phenomena of lost 
 memory of words popularly known under the designation, ' Aphasia.' 
 
 Perhaps the form of Philosophy just now most prevalent among general 
 readers, as distinct from students, is evolutional agnosticism. Whilst the Psy- 
 chologists simply profess to record and classify facts, and to abstain from all 
 deliverances upon strictly philosophical questions, the Agnostics declare that we 
 are incapable of knowing anything which lies outside of the realm of experience. 
 The Positivists, or followers of Auguste Comte, — at all events those who follow 
 him in his former, but not in his later steps, — reject all theology and metaphysics. 
 Mr. Herbert Spencer, on the other hand, maintains that we are constrained to 
 believe in the existence and action of the ' Unknowable,' as accounting for all 
 things that are : subject and object, and God Himself, exist, but are unknown. 
 He speaks of the unknown ' plexus ' which unites together the qualities of body 
 or matter known in experience, and the unknown ' plexus,' which conjoins our 
 sensations, conceptions, &c., in the unity commonly designated mind. The facts 
 of which we are conscious are in this philosophy represented as manifestations of 
 the Unknowable. How anything knowable is to be known otherwise than by its 
 manifestations we are not told, and probably most persons will be found content 
 with such knowledge as manifestations afford, and will believe that of anything 
 not manifested it is allowable to doubt its existence. In fact, however, the philo- 
 sophy of Mr. Spencer is more interesting as evolutional than as agnostic ; the 
 
 c 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 positive element is more important than the negative. So far as it is philosophy, 
 it consists in the higher generalisation of the conclusions of science. A law, of 
 which no explanation is given, and which is not attributed to the wisdom of a 
 Divine Intelligence, is represented as the ultimate principle or reason of all the 
 processes of nature and of mind. No attempt is made to bridge the chasm between 
 the material and the mental; Mr. Spencer is an ardent defender of realism, 
 though he seems to misapprehend the rival theory of idealism. The dualism is 
 postulated as the twofold manifestation of the Unknowable. But matter and 
 mind alike are subject to the supreme law of evolution and dissolution. And in 
 the comprehension beneath this rhythmic law of all the movements of bodies, 
 animate as well as lifeless, of all the activities of mind, of all the forms and changes 
 of society, the evolutionists find philosophy, which thus becomes the science of 
 sciences, the summmn genics of all knowledge. 
 
 Mr. G. H. Lewes, who wrote the ' Biographical History of Philosophy ' in 
 order to prove the vanity of philosophical studies, wrote five volumes, dealing with 
 ^ Problems of Life and Mind,' with a view to prove that psychology is simply a 
 development of biology, and to exhibit what he termed the ' physical basis ' of 
 mind. This accomplished writer was under two chief influences, that of Comte 
 in his earlier and scientific stage, and that of Darwin and Spencer, — the promul- 
 gators of the Evolution theory. 
 
 The chief American expositor of the philosophy of evolution is Mr. Fiske, 
 who, however, is by no means, like his English master, an agnostic. The ' Cosmic 
 Philosophy ' may be regarded as the ablest illustration which has reached us from 
 beyond the Atlantic of the hold which Evolution has taken upon scientific men. 
 
 It is in conformity with that rhythmic principle which appears so characteristic 
 of the movements of the human intellect, that the extremes of physiological psy- 
 chology and of evolutional agnosticism on the one hand, should evoke an opposite 
 and contrary tendency on the other. As Professor Eraser has put it, we have 
 Agnosticism and Gnosticism side by side, competing for the suSi-ages of the 
 studious. Provoked by the complacent professions of human ignorance, some of 
 the noblest and acutest minds in our generation have asserted our possession of 
 absolute truth. The Eational Idealism of the English and Scottish post-Kantians 
 or Hegelians is something utterly different from the subjective, yet theological, 
 idealism of Berkeley, and still more so from the sensational idealism of Messrs. 
 Mill and Bain, which, although lineally descended from Berkleianism, repudiates 
 its theological implications, and attaches itself rather to the scepticism of David 
 Hume. It may be traced, no doubt, to the absolute idealism of Hegel ; yet it is 
 a distinct type of philosophy, having special reference to English rather than to 
 German antecedents, especially in its polemical aspects. The doctrines of Hume 
 have been accepted by many of those English students of science who have 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 interested themselves in the theory of knowledge. If Professor Huxley's work on 
 Hume, and occasional utterances on philosophical questions, may be taken as a 
 fair specimen, such students are quite unaffected by the revulsion from Hume's 
 phenomenism and empiricism, which has been very general both in this country 
 and upon the Continent of Europe. It seems still to be supposed by some that 
 knowledge consists of sensations unrelated except by a power of habit or associa- 
 tion, that experience, in the most limited sense of that term, i.e., impressions and 
 their copies or images, constitute the whole of our intellectual possessions, and 
 that belief in personality, human or Divine, is an effete superstition. Our modern 
 rational or idealist school set themselves to show the utter fallacy of this belief. 
 The late Professor Green, in his Introduction to Hume's philosophical works, 
 and in his posthumous ' Prolegomena to Ethics,' has shown, it may be said con- 
 clusively, that experience cannot account for that which alone makes experience 
 possible, — the native and constitutive energy of mind itself; that intellectual 
 relations, and not sense-impressions, are the constituents of reality. At the 
 same time, he and others of the same school of thought have exhibited with 
 great force the complete dependence of matter upon mind. Their idealism 
 is subversive not only of sensationalism, but also of that materialism which in 
 varying aspects of inconsistency has exerted in our time so great an influence 
 over the popular mind. This modern idealism has been cultivated, not only in 
 the University of Oxford, where Professors Wallace and Green have familiarised 
 the minds of the younger generation of philosophical students with Hegelianism 
 in an English garb, but in the University of Glasgow, where Principal Caird and 
 Professor Edward Caird have done much to counteract the popular sensationalism 
 and empiricism. Before the time of these distinguished thinkers, much had been 
 done to check sensationalism by the bold speculations and confident teaching of 
 Professor Ferrier of St. Andrews. Dr. Hutchison Stirling has the credit not 
 only of being among the first to introduce the ' Secret of Hegel ' to the British 
 reader, but also of offering a conclusive reply to the somewhat flimsy materialism 
 of the day. Professor Herbart's ' Realistic Assumptions of Men of Science 
 Examined ' contains closely reasoned and powerful argument, and has done good 
 service in exposing some very prevalent and mischievous fallacies. 
 
 The extreme opinions above described are not, however, allowed to divide 
 between them the field of philosophical thought. The Scottish school is not 
 extinct, — the school which boasts that it proceeds upon the sober method of 
 observation, and distrusts the to imori method of absolute idealism, whilst, at the 
 same time, it contests the sensationalist empiricism which finds favour with not 
 a few Englishmen of science. Professor Eraser, of Edinburgh, the editor of 
 ' Berkeley,' has, in his writings, rather criticised the work of others than pro- 
 pounded original doctrines of his own. But he has given abundant evidence 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that his position is that of an advocate of spiritual philosophy. Good service has 
 been rendered to intuitional morality and to non-materialistic psychology by 
 Professor Calderwood. And Professor Setli has very ably vindicated the Scottish 
 claim on behalf of Reid, — as having furnished a reply to Hume in some respects 
 equal, if not superior, to the more scholastic criticism of the great sage of 
 Konigsberg. 
 
 Although Dr. M'Cosh long ago transferred his services from Belfast to 
 Princeton, he cannot be regarded as either Irish or American ; he is, in his 
 literary, religious, and philosophical affinities, a thorough Scot. His work on 
 ' The Scottish Philosophy ' is a proof of his wide and careful reading in the 
 metaphysical literature of North Britain ; he has explored even untrodden paths. 
 In the course of his lengthened career. Dr. M'Cosh has not only vindicated the 
 truths of natural religion, and assailed with vigour several forms of error which 
 have met with a partial and temporary popularity ; he has attempted, in his 
 ' Intuitions of the Mind,' a work of philosophical constructiveness. Both by his 
 polemical writings and by his text-books on ' Psychology ' and ' The Emotions,' 
 he has honourably maintained the reputation of the school in which he was 
 trained, and which he has never deserted. Dr. Noah Porter, President of Yale 
 College, occupies a somewhat similar philosophical position ; his work has been 
 less controversial, and in his ' Human Intellect ' he has furnished a valuable 
 contribution to the stores of psychological knowledge. 
 
 The position of Dr. Martineau is peculiar. Trained in the school of Hartley, 
 Priestley, and Bentham, he came to break the fetters in which he had been early 
 bound. Finding for himself the means of spiritual liberty, he led others into the 
 joys of the same freedom. After his philosophical conversion, he ceased to carry 
 into philosophy the inapplicable assumptions of physical science; and, abandoning 
 the principle of determinism as inconsistent with the deliverances of the moral 
 consciousness, he found the inappropriateness of physical law to the cognitive and 
 esthetic as well as to the moral side of life. ' The metaphysic of the world,' he 
 says, ' had come home to me, and never again could I say that phenomena, in 
 their clusters and chains, were all, or find myself in a universe with no categories 
 but the like and unlike, the synchronous and successive. The possible also is, 
 whether it happens or not ; and its categories of the right, the beautiful, the 
 necessarily true, may have their contents defined and held ready for realisation, 
 whatever centuries lapse ere they appear. To do this is the work, not of objec- 
 tive science, but of self- reflection.'* 
 
 If Logic be regarded in the old and Aristotelian light, little need be said in 
 explanation of its present position. Old text-books have been republished, and 
 new text-books have been written, very much upon the old lines. Dean Mansel 
 * ' Types of Ethical Theory,' preface. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ah] J investigated the foundations of all reasoning in his ' Prolegomena Logica.' 
 The most noticeable addition which has in recent times been made to the theory 
 of Deductive Logic, is the doctrine of the Quantification of the predicate, discovered 
 by Hamilton, and expounded by his pupil, Mr. T. Spencer Baynes, in his ' New- 
 Analytic of Logical Forms,' Professor De Morgan was also a discoverer of this 
 doctrine. It was presented in the guise of new formulae by Archbishop Thomson in 
 his ' Laws of Thought.' This doctrine is not, however, generally regarded as any- 
 thing more than a logical curiosity. The late Professor Stanley Jevons elucidated 
 the regular and formal nature of the ordinary logic by his teaching, in the ' Sub- 
 stitution of Similars,' that all reasoning consists in the equivalence and inter- 
 changeability of terms ; and even more strikingly by the mechanical contrivances, 
 the logical abacus and the logical machine, by which conclusions are drawn from 
 given premises with the same precision which distinguishes the operations of the 
 calculating machines as applied to numbers. 
 
 In the Science of Inductive Logic great progress has been made through the 
 learned labours of Whewell, Mill, and Jevons. Many definite laws have been 
 established for the guidance of observers and investigators ; and Induction is no 
 longer guess-work, — is no longer at the mercy of empirics. 
 
 The present state of Moral Philosophy in Great Britain is, equally with that 
 of Intellectual Philosophy, one of controversy between schools of thinkers divided 
 upon fundamental questions. The questions raised by Ethics are many, and are 
 mutually complicated : — What is the chief good ? What the law of life ? What 
 the standard of right conduct ? Does goodness lie in dispositions, or in actions ? 
 Do we judge of moral quality by reason, or do we pronounce upon it according to 
 our feelings ? Is the moral faculty or conscience a simple or a compound faculty ? 
 Is it capable of education, or not ? Is it innate or acquired ? Is it anything 
 more than a reflection of external, i.e., social or political authority ? Is morality 
 possible apart from religious belief, religious sanctions ? Is pleasure the supreme 
 test of the right ? Is an excess of pleasure over pain within the general reach 
 of human beings, or hopelessly beyond it ? If pleasure cannot be enjoyed in a 
 measure to compensate pain, is life worth living ? Is morality to proceed upon 
 the assumption that man is merely a sensitive organism, or upon the belief that he 
 is the child of the Eternal Father ? Is Christianity necessary to the full develop- 
 ment of morals ? Shall we accept the ethics of evolution, of naturalism ; or shall 
 we regard moral beings and moral law as above nature ? 
 
 All these are vital questions, debated among our own countrymen and in our 
 own day. It is an encouraging sign of the times that questions so profoundly 
 affecting the highest life of man should be studied with eagerness and discussed 
 with earnestness. There is a general conviction among students of Ethics that 
 the connection is very close between moral philosophy and the foundations of 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 religion. No doubt there are those who have no suspicion of the danger to 
 religious convictions and a religious life which lurks in what have been called 
 ' the ethics of naturalism.' But it is becoming growinglj evident that there are 
 two alternative theories of human nature and human life, which diverge from each 
 other, and, proceeding in different directions, can never meet in reconciliation. 
 Either man is a mere animal, with a higher organisation than other inhabitants 
 of this earth, an animal whose larger range of susceptibility to pleasure and pain 
 renders him more amenable to remoter impulses, in which case morality is merely 
 a factor in evolution ; or he has the prerogative of reason and conscience, and is 
 responsible to a Divine Lawgiver in virtue of his voluntary constitution, in which 
 case the phenomena of feeling are altogether subordinate, and his true life is 
 interpreted by righteousness, by duty, and by love. 
 
 That modern variety of Hedonism, which is known as Utilitarianism, is largely 
 maintained by the adherents of the empirical philosophy of our day. The bare, 
 bald Hedonism of Bentham has been outgrown, but various qualifications and 
 modifications of the doctrine have taken its place. Mr. Mill's Utilitarianism has 
 met with much acceptance, as on the one hand based upon what seems to many 
 the common sense doctrine of ' the greatest happiness of the greatest number,' and 
 as on the other hand disclaiming Bentham's paradoxical doctrine that pleasures 
 are to be estimated, not by their character, but only by their volume. Yet this 
 last mentioned position of Mill is evidently inconsistent with pure Hedonism, 
 whilst the test of ' greatest happiness ' is evidently one difficult, if not utterly 
 impossible, to apply. Various modifications of this universalistic Hedonism have 
 been advocated by Mr. Sidgwick, by Mr. Leslie Stephen, and others. But the 
 most interesting and scientific development of the principle is that of Mr. Herbert 
 Spencer, termed by its author Eational Utilitarianism. Whereas Bentham and 
 Mill propose to calculate the results of actions, and in this way to determine their 
 Tightness or wrongness, it is maintained by Mr. Spencer that such a method of 
 proceeding is empirical rather than scientific, and that moral science must proceed 
 upon a method which recognises the universality of causation. Accordingly, 
 dealing with the question in his usual manner, upon the several planes — physical, 
 biological, psychological, and sociological — Mr. Spencer seeks to establish the 
 principle that evolution is the true test of morality, and that conduct is right so 
 far as it promotes the ' complete living ' of all in a perfectly developed condition 
 of human society. His discussion of the relative importance of the two principles 
 of ' egoism ' and ' altruism ' is of great interest ; it is shown that neither can be 
 dispensed with, except at the peril of dissolving society ; yet on the whole Spencer 
 depicts the future victory of ' altruism.' Among the paradoxes which it is endea- 
 voured to establish in ' The Data of Ethics/ none is more remarkable than the 
 prediction that evolution will be destructive of obligation ; it is, however, only 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 just to remember that, like Professor Bain, Mr. Spencer regards obligation as the 
 product of that fear of punishment, from either earthly or heavenly authority, 
 which seems so unreasonably exaggerated in importance by most of those who 
 advocate the morality of consequences. 
 
 The ' Positivist ' school have their ethical doctrine, and, generally speaking, 
 may be said to have accepted the principle of their master, and to have applied 
 that principle to individual and to national life. ' Live for others ' is the moral 
 motto, and ' Altruism ' is the designation of the doctrine. It is evident that 
 such a rule cannot be taken as absolute, although it is valuable as tempering 
 human selfishness. It is obviously inferior to the Christian law of social life, 
 ' Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself' A protest against selfishness is 
 valuable ; but the Positivist habit of representing Christianity as a religion of 
 selfishness is so evidently uncandid, that the Positivists are perhaps not credited 
 with such merit as really belongs to them. Their English leaders are known for 
 many a brave protest against the rapacity and love of aggrandisement which 
 are too characteristic of enterprising and vigorous nations. 
 
 Utilitarians are, however, by no means keeping the field of Moral Philosophy 
 to themselves. Among the most vigorous opponents of the system may be 
 mentioned the late Professor F. D. Maurice, who, in his work on ' Conscience,' 
 singled out Professor Bain's theory of moral obligation as peculiarly deserving of 
 reprobation. According to Bain, Conscience is merely the efiect of education and 
 habit, consolidating the repeated fears awakened by threats and experiences of 
 punishment into a principle of action and restraint ; in a word, the mirror within 
 of authority without, and authority inflicting punishment and arousing dread. 
 The baseness of this \dew of man's moral nature is admirably and effectively 
 exhibited by Maurice ; and, so far as criticism and controversy are concerned, he 
 carries the judgment of his readers with him. Who can help sympathising with 
 a protest against a system which, if consistently carried out, resolves the highest 
 impulses to virtue and heroism into the fear of punishment and suffering, and 
 which utterly breaks down the distinction between Might and Eight ? 
 
 The more fundamental doctrine of Hedonism, its assertion that pleasure is 
 the standard of morality, has been assailed with great force from various quarters. 
 Not to mention such incidental assaults as that of Mr, Lecky in his ' History of 
 European Morals,' we may refer to the learned and powerful refutation of Utili- 
 tarianism by the late Professor Grote, who has also elaborated a constructive 
 system in his work on ' Moral Ideals.' He is opposed to the habit, necessary to 
 the Hedonist position, of looking at morality in the view of results, as thougli 
 something to be attained and enjoyed (acquircndmn) were the matter of chief 
 importance; he lays more stress upon the exercise of the powers (faciendum), 
 and upon the ideal aim which is truly to consecrate and govern their use. 
 
xl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 From the more modern standpoint of what is sometimes called ' Oxford 
 Hegelianism,' Professors Green and Bradley have in their works shown a more 
 excellent way than that adopted by Hedonistic schools. The radical difference 
 between Mr. Green and Mr. Mill is that, according to the former, man is not a 
 part of nature, but is a subject in whom the eternal consciousness reproduces 
 itself, and as a knowing substance is a free cause. The will is neither intellect 
 nor desire, nor both combined, but is the man himself, carrying his own self to 
 realise the idea of its good. Green agrees with Kant in laying all stress upon a 
 good will. The morally good, which for the Utilitarian is pleasure, is for the 
 Idealist something at once less definite and more satisfactory. Individual perfec- 
 tion and social progress are represented as ideals present to a divine consciousness, 
 reproduced more or less completely in the mind of the individual man. Moral 
 goodness is devotion to the moral end or ideal. Green, like Martineau, lays more 
 stress upon the motive than upon the result of an action as determining its moral 
 quality; he denies that the effect can constitute moral goodness, but holds that, 
 so far as the effect is considered, it is not pleasure so much as perfection that 
 is to absorb our regard. 
 
 The whole question between the ethics of the ideal and the ethics of conse- 
 quence is treated with great ability and knowledge by Mr. Sorley in his ' Ethics 
 of Naturalism,' in which are exhibited the unreasonableness and untenableness of 
 the philosophy which regards man as a product of natural forces amenable to 
 natural laws. 
 
 Dr. Martineau, as a moralist, stands very much apart. The theory which he 
 sketched in his ' Essays ' has been carefully wrought out in his later work, ' Types 
 of Ethical Theory.' He is opposed to those who deem morality to lie in those 
 results of actions which are of the nature of pleasure and pain. But instead of 
 regarding man as endowed with a faculty of intuitively perceiving this action 
 to be right, and that to be wrong, he regards man as deciding among motives in 
 their various grades, and places virtue in the rejection of lower and the adoption 
 of higher motives. On this account the system is known as the ' Preferential ' 
 theory of Ethics. The author has drawn up a scale of motives in regular ascend- 
 ing degree of dignity ; and actions are estimated according as they are prompted 
 by this desire or principle or by that. Justice consists in the preference and 
 adoption of the higher rather than the lower motive. 
 
 The intuitional theory of morals has in our own time been defended by men of 
 great learning and ability. Dr. Whewell was a champion of the native powers of 
 mind in both the cognitive and the ethical realms. In Scotland, Professor Calder- 
 wood has written a ' Handbook of Moral Philosophy,' which, though not altogether 
 a model of lucid method, contains sound thinking and able discussion. It is 
 an exposition of rational morality, i.e., of the doctrine that the foundations of 
 
IXTRODUCTION. xli 
 
 moral law are laid in tlie nature of things, in eternal and uncliangoable relations, 
 which must be discerned by the reason alone. This doctrine is opposed, not only 
 to all forms of Hedonism, but also to the ethics of feeling or sentiment. The 
 method of this philosophy is intuitional, the intellect being deemed capable of 
 discerning immediately the relations and distinctions which obtain ainnngst moral 
 actions, and between such actions and the laws to which they conform or which 
 they violate. The Duke of Argyll, in his ' Unity of Nature,' has also vigorously 
 upheld the independence of morality, and especially the ' idea, conception, or 
 sentiment of obligation,' in which he discerns ' a meaning which is incapable 
 of reduction.' 
 
 From the above review it appears that, at the present time, there are amongst 
 us two distinct and opposed schools of ethics. On the one hand, we have the 
 doctrine that man is a part of nature, that he is governed in his actions by 
 motives which when analysed are simply modes of sensitiveness, i.e., by pleasure 
 and pain, that he is accordingly what he is, and does what he does, of necessity. 
 On the other hand, we have the doctrine that man is a spiritual and rational being, 
 capable of apprehending and reverencing Divine law, of accepting or rejecting 
 motives, of realising his own independent personality, and consciously and volun- 
 tarily aiming at a moral ideal. This latter doctrine is no doubt differently 
 represented, the difference being of a metaphysical order; the strictly Scottish 
 school laying stress upon individuality, and the ' Hegelian ' school somewhat 
 merging that individuality in the universal and eternal consciousness. But fi-om 
 one quarter as much as from the other, a protest is raised against the so-called 
 scientific doctrine that man is merely natural, and governed, like material objects, 
 by mechanical and irresistible ' law.' 
 
LIST OF PEINCIPAL WORKS QUOTED, 
 
 WITH THE EDITIONS REFERRED TO. 
 
 {WorJcs quoted only once or twice are not, as a rule, inserted here.) 
 
 Adamson, Robert. On the Philosophy of Kant. Edinburgh. 1879. 
 
 Fichte (' Blackwood's Philosophical Classics'). Edinburgh. 1881. 
 
 Allen, Grant. Physiological Esthetics. London. 1877. 
 
 Ancillon, Essais Philosophiques. 
 
 Arthur, William. On the Difference between Physical and Moral Law. London. 
 
 1884, 
 Austin, John. Lectures on Jurisprudence. London. 1869. 
 
 Bacon, Lord. Works (Bohn's Library). 
 
 Bain, A. Logic, Deductive and Inductive. London. 1870. 
 
 The Senses and the Intellect. London. 
 
 The Emotions and the Will. London. 1865. 
 
 Mental and Moral Science. London. 1884. 
 
 ■ Mind and Body. London. 1874. 
 
 Barry, Alfred. The Manifold Witness for Christ. London. 1880. 
 
 Bastian, H. C. The Brain as an Organ of Mind. London. 1884. 
 
 Bentham, Jeremy. Introduction to the Principles of Mox-als and Legislation. Claren- 
 don Press. 1879. 
 
 Berkeley, Works of. Edited by A. C. Eraser. 4 vols. London. 187 1. 
 
 Bernstein, J. The Five Senses of Man. London. 1876. 
 
 Birks, T. R. First Principles of Moral Science. London. 1873. 
 
 Bowen, F. Modem Philosophy. London. 1877. 
 
 Bradley, F. H. Ethical Studies. London. 1876. 
 
 Brown, T. Lectures on Ethics. Edinburgh. 1846. 
 
 BiJCHNER, L. Force and Matter (translated by J. F. Collingwood). London. 1870. 
 
 BuNSEN, Baron. God in History (translated by S. Winkworth). 3 vols. London. 
 1868-1870. 
 
 Butler, Joseph. The Analogy of Religion and Sermons (Bohn's Standard Library). 
 London. 
 
 ■ , Samuel. Reflections on Reason. 
 
xliv LIST OF PRINCIPAL WORKS QUOTED. 
 
 Caird, E. The Philosophy of Kant. Glasgow. 1877. 
 
 Hegel. Edinburgh. 1883. 
 
 Calderwood, H. Philosophy of the Infinite. 1861. 
 
 Handbook of Moral Philosophy. London. 1881. 
 
 Relations of Mind and Brain. London. 1879. 
 
 Capes, W. W. Stoicism. London. 1880. 
 
 Carpenter, W. B. Principles of Mental Physiology. Fourth edition. London. 1876. 
 
 Challis, Jajies. The Scriptural Doctrine of Immortality. London. 1880. 
 
 Christlieb, Th. Modern Doubt and Christian Belief. Fourth edition. Edinburgh. 
 1879. 
 
 Coleridge, S. T. The Friend. 3 vols. London. 1837. 
 
 Aids to Reflection. Sixth edition. London. 1 848. 
 
 CoMTE, Aug. Traite de la Legislation. Paris. 
 
 Positive Philosophy (translated by Harriet Martineau). 2 vols. London. 1875. 
 
 System of Positive Polity (translated). 4 vols. London. 1875-7. 
 
 CoxDER, E. R. The Basis of Faith. London. 
 
 Courtney, W. L. Studies in Philosophy. London. 1882. 
 
 Cousin, V. History of Modern Philosophy (translated by Wright). 2 vols. New 
 York. 1852. 
 
 Lectures on the True, the Beautiful, and the Good (translated). Edinburgh. 
 
 1854. 
 
 Crawford, T. J. The Scripture Doctrine of the Atonement. Second edition. Edin- 
 burgh. 1874. 
 
 Crooks and Hurst. Theological Encyclopaedia and Methodology. New York. 1884. 
 
 Dale, R. W. Lectures on Preaching. London. 1877. 
 
 Darwin, C. The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals. London. 1872. 
 
 The Descent of Man. London. 1883. 
 
 Delitzsch, F. System of Biblical Psychology. Second edition. Edinburgh. 1875. 
 Descartes. Method, Meditations, &c. (translated by Yeitch). Edinburgh. 1881. 
 Dictionary of Christian Antiquities (Cheetham & Smith). 2 vols. London. 1875. 
 
 Edwards, Jonathan. An Inquiry into the Prevailing Notions of the Freedom of the 
 
 Will. London. 1855. 
 Ellicott, C. J. The Destiny of the Creature. Second edition. London. 1862. 
 Ely, R. T. French and German Socialism. New York. 1883. 
 ENCYCLOP^aiDTA Britannica. Ninth edition. Edinburgh. 
 Epictetus. Translated by George Long, Bohn's Classical Library. London. 1877. 
 
 Fairbairn. a. M. The City of God. London. 1883. 
 Ferrier, David. The Functions of the Brain. London. 1876. 
 
 , Jajies F. Institutes of Metaphysics. Edinburgh. 1834. 
 
 FiSKE, J. Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy. 2 vols. London. 1874. 
 
 Fleming, W. The Yocabulary of Philosophy. Second edition. London. 1858. 
 
 Flint, R. Anti-Theistic Theories. Edinburgh. 1879. 
 
 Fowler, T. John Locke (English Men of Letters). London. 1880. 
 
LIST OF PRINCIPAL WORKS QUOTED. xlv 
 
 ^o^^'LER, T. Shaftesbury and Ilutcheson. London. 1S82. 
 Fraser, a. C. Selections from Berkeley. Clarendon Press. 1874. 
 
 Galtox, F. Inquiries into Iluman Faculty, London. 1883. 
 George, H. Social Problems. London. 1884. 
 
 Progress and Poverty. London. 1884. 
 
 Godwin, J. H. Active Principles. London. 1885. 
 Grant, Sir A. The Ethics of Aristotle. London. 1885. 
 Green, T. H. Philosophical Woi'ks. 2 vols. London. 1885. 
 
 Prolegomena to Ethics. Oxford. 18S3. 
 
 Grote, George. Aristotle. London. 1880. 
 
 History of Greece. 12 vols. London. 1869. 
 
 , John. Examination of Utilitarian Philosophy. Cambridge. 1870. 
 
 Moral Ideals. Cambridge. 1876. 
 
 Hall, Joseph. "Works. 10 vols. Pratt's edition. London. 1808. 
 Hamilton, Sir W. Lectures on Metaphysics. 2 vols, Edinburgh. 1859. 
 
 Lectures on Logic. 2 vols. Edinburgh, i860. 
 
 Discussions on Philosophy and Literature. London. 1852, 
 
 Hakdt, R S. Eastern Monachism. London. 1850, 
 
 Hartley, D, Observations on Man. Bath. 18 10. 
 
 Hartmann, E. von. Philosophy of the Unconscious (English and Foreign Philosophical 
 
 Library), 3 vols, London. 1884. 
 Hay, D. R. The Science of Beauty. London. 1856. 
 
 Heard, J. B, The Tripartite Nature of Man. Fifth edition. Edinburgh. 1882. 
 Hodgson, Shad worth H. Time and Space. London. 1865. 
 Hume, D. Philosophical Works. Edited by T. H, Green and T, H. Grose, 4 vols. 
 
 London. 1875. 
 HuTCHESON, F. System of Moral Philosophy. London. 1755. 
 Huxley, T. H. Hume (English Men of Letters). London. 1S79. 
 
 Irons, W. J. On the Whole Doctrine of Final Causes. London. 1836, 
 IvERACH, J, Is God Knowable ? London, 1884. 
 
 Janet, P, Final Causes (translated), Edinburgh. 1883, 
 
 Theory of Morals (translated), Edinburgh, 1884. 
 
 Jardine, B. Psychology of Cognition. London. 1884. 
 
 Jevons, W, S, Lessons in Logic. Fourth edition. London. 1874, 
 
 The Principles of Science, Third edition, London. 1879, 
 
 Jouffroy, T. S, Introduction to Ethics (translated), 1838. 
 
 ELames, Lord Henry H, Elements of Criticism, 2 vols, 1788. 
 
 Kant, Em, The Critique of Pure Reason (translated by Professor Max Muller, with 
 Historical Introduction by Ludwig Noir6). London. 188 1. 
 
 The Metaphysic of Ethics (edited by Dr, H. Calderwood). Edinburgh. 1871. 
 
 Theory of Ethics (translated by J. K. Abbott). London. 1883. 
 
 Killick, a, H, Student's Handbook to Mill's Logic. London, 1880. 
 
xlvi LIST OF PRINCIPAL WORKS QUOTED. 
 
 Lange. History of Materialism. 3 vols, (translated). London. 187 7-1 881. 
 Laveleye, E. de. Socialism of To-day. London. 1884. 
 
 Lecky, W. E. H. History of European Morals. 2 vols. Second edition. London. 1869. 
 Lewes, G. H. History of Philosophy. 2 vols. London. 1880. 
 
 Comte's Philosophy of the Science (Bohn's Philosophical Library). London. 
 
 Problems of Life and Mind. London. 18 74-1 8 79. 
 
 LiGHTFOOT, J. B. Epistle to the Philippians. Second edition. London. 1869. 
 Locke, John. Philosophical Works. 2 vols. Bohn's edition. 1877. 
 Lotze, R. H. Microcosmus. 2 vols, (ti-anslated). Edinburgh. 1885. 
 LuTHARDT, C. E. The Fundamental Truths of Christianity. Edinburgh. 1873. 
 The Moral Truths of Christianity. Edinburgh. 1873. 
 
 Mackintosh, James. Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy. Edinburgh. 
 
 1833- 
 Maine, Sir H. S. Ancient Law. London. 1861. 
 Maitland, Brownlow. Theism, or Aposticism. London. 1878. 
 Malebranche. Traitd de Morale. 
 Mansel, H. L. The Limits of Religious Thought Examined. Second edition. London. 
 
 1858. 
 
 Prolegomena Logica. Second edition. Oxford, i860. 
 
 ■ Metaphysics. Second edition. Edinburgh. 1866. 
 
 Martensen, H. Christian Ethics, 3 vols. Edinburgh. 18 73-1 882. 
 Martineau, James. Types of Ethical Theory. 2 vols, London, 1866. 
 
 A Study of Spinoza. London. 1883. 
 
 Modern Materialism. London. 1876. 
 
 Masson, D, Recent British Philosophy. London. 1877. 
 
 Maudsley, H. Physiology of Mind. London. 
 
 Maurice, F. D. Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy, 2 vols. London, 1873. 
 
 The Conscience. London. 1868. 
 
 Life. By his son. London. 1884. 
 
 M'CosH, J. The Intuitions of the Mind. Third edition. London. 1882. 
 
 The Method of Divine Government. Edinburgh. 1850. 
 
 The Emotions. London. 1880. 
 
 An Examination of Mr. J. S. Mill's Philosophy. London. 1866. 
 
 Mill, James. Analysis of the Human Mind, Second edition. 187 1. 
 Mill, J. S. A System of Logic. 2 vols. Sixth edition. London. 1865. 
 
 Utilitarianism. Seventh edition. London. 1879. 
 
 An Examination of Sir W. Hamilton's Philosophy. Third edition. London. 1867. 
 
 MoNCK, W. H. S. Sir W. Hamilton (English Philosophers). London. 1881. 
 MoRELL, J. D. An Historical and Critical View of the Speculative Philosophy of Europe 
 
 in the Nineteenth Century. Second edition. London. 1847. 
 
 An Introduction to Mental Philosophy on the Inductive Method. London. 1862, 
 
 MiJLLER, J. The Christian Doctrine of Sin. Edinburgh. 1877. 
 
 Murphy, J, G. The Human Mind. Belfast. 1882. 
 
 Murray, J. Clark. Handbook of Psychology. London. 1885. 
 
 PiCTON, J. A. The Mystery of Matter. London. 1873. 
 
LIST OF PRINCIPAL WORKS QUOTED. xlvii 
 
 Pollock, F. Spinoza. London. 1880. 
 
 Pope, W. B. Compendium of Christian Theology. 3 vols. Second edition. London. 
 
 1877. 
 Porter, Noah. The Human Intellect. London. 1S72. 
 
 Agnosticism. London. 1882. 
 
 PusEY, E. B. The Minor Prophets. Oxford. 1869. 
 
 Eae, J. Contemporary Socialism. London. 1884. 
 Eamsay, G. Analysis and Theory of Emotions. Edinburgh. 1848. 
 Eeid, T. Words edited by Sir W. Hamilton. Edinburgh. 1863. 
 RiBOT, Th. Contemporary English Psychology. London. 1873. 
 
 Diseases of Memory. London. 1882. 
 
 RusKiN, J. Modern Painters. 5 vols. 1851-1860. 
 
 The Seven Lamps of Architecture. 1 849. 
 
 Rtland, J. Students' Handbook of Psychology and Ethics. Lond 
 
 on. 
 
 Saxdersox, B. Lectures on Conscience and Human Law. Wordsworth's edition. 
 
 London. 1877. 
 Schopenhauer, A. The World as Will and Idea (English and Foreign Philosophical 
 
 Library). 3 vols. London. 1883-1886. 
 Schwegler, Albert. History of Philosophy. Translated by Stirling. Edinburgh. 
 
 1868. 
 SiDGWiCK, H. The Methods of Ethics. Second edition. London. 1S77. 
 
 Outlines of the History of Ethics. London. 1886. 
 
 Smith, Adam. Theory of Moral Sentiments. Bohn's edition. London. 
 Smith, Sydney. Sketches of Moral Philosophy. London. 1866. 
 Spencer, Herbert. First Principles. London. 1884. 
 
 The Principles of Psychology. 2 vols. Third edition. London. 1881. 
 
 The Data of Ethics. Second edition. London. 1879. 
 
 Sociology. Third edition. London. 1885. 
 
 Stephen, Leslie. The Science of Ethics. London. 1882. 
 
 Stewart, D. Works. Sir W. Hamilton's edition. Edinbiu-gh. 1855. 
 
 Stirling, J. H. The Secret of Hegel. 1885. 
 
 As Regards Protoplasm. Edinburgh and London. 1869. 
 
 Sully, J. Outlines of Psychology. Second edition. London. 1885. 
 
 Pessimism. London. 1877. 
 
 Illusions (International Scientific Series). London. 1881. 
 
 Taine, H. On Intelligence (translated by T. D. Haye). London. 187 1. 
 
 Taylor, Isaac. Elements of Thought. 1833. 
 
 Taylor, Jeremy. Works. 10 vols. Eden's edition. London. 1864. 
 
 Tennemann. Manual of the History of Philosophy (Bohn's Philosophical Library). 
 
 London. 1852. 
 Thomson, Wm. An Outline of the Necessary Laws of Thought. London. 1864. 
 
 T'^eberweg, F. History of Philosophy. 2 vols. London. 18S0. 
 
 System of Logic and History of Logical Doctrine. London. 1S71. 
 
xlviii LIST OF PRINCIPAL WORKS QUOTED. 
 
 Vaughax, R. a. Hours with the Mystics. Third edition. London. 
 YiiRON, Eugene. Esthetics (Armstrong's translation). London. 1879. 
 
 Wage, H. Christianity and Morality. Fourth edition. London. 1S78. 
 Wallace, W, Logic of Hegel. 1874. 
 
 Epicureanism. London. 1880. 
 
 Ward, W. G. On Nature and Grace. London, i860. 
 
 Westcott, B. F. The Gospel of the Resurrection. London. 1879. 
 
 Whately, R. Elements of Logic. Nmth edition. London. 1865. 
 
 Elements of Rhetoric. Seventh edition. London. 1865. 
 
 Whewell, Wm. The Elements of Morality. Fourth edition. Cambridge. 1864. 
 
 The Philosophy of Discovery, i860. 
 
 The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences. 2 vols. 1840. 
 
 Wilberforce, R. J. The Doctrine of the Holy Eucharist. London. 1853. 
 Wyld, R. S. The Physics and Philosophy of the Senses. London. 1875. 
 
 Zeller, E. History of the Greek Philosophy from the Earliest Period to the Time of 
 Socrates (translated). London. 1881. 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 I. 
 
 DESIGNATIONS, DEFINITIONS, AND DIVISIONS. 
 
 I. PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Etymological Definition. 
 
 Philosopliy is a term of Greek origin — 
 a compound of c^iXog, a lover ov friejid, and 
 ffo^/'a, icisdom — speculative wisdom. Philo- 
 sophy is thus, literally, a love of icisdom. — 
 Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' i. 45. 
 
 General Definitions. 
 
 Ancieiit. 
 
 In Greek antiquity there were in all six 
 definitions of philosophy which obtained 
 celebrity. 
 
 The first of these definitions of philo- 
 sophy is, ' the knowledge of things existent, 
 as existent.' 
 
 The second is, ' the knowledge of things 
 divine and human.' These are both from 
 the object matter ; and both were referi'cd 
 to Pythagoras. 
 
 The third and fourth, the two definitions 
 of philosophy from its end, are, again, both 
 taken from Plato. Of these the third is, 
 * philosophy is a meditation of death ; ' 
 the fourth, ' philosophy is a resembling of 
 the Deity in so far as that is competent to 
 man.' 
 
 The fifth, that from its pre-eminence, 
 was borrowed from Aristotle, and defined 
 philosophy, ' the ai-t of arts, and science of 
 sciences.' 
 
 Finally, the si.xth, that from the etymo- 
 log}% was, like the first and second, carried 
 up to Pythagoras^— it defined philosophy 
 ' the love of wisdom.' — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 physics,' i. 51, 52. 
 
 Modern. 
 
 Philosophy is the science of principles. — 
 Ueherweg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' i. i. 
 
 The knowledge of effects as dependent 
 on their causes. — Hamiltov, ' Metaphudcs,' 
 i-58. 
 
 Philosophy is reflection, the thinking 
 consideration of things. — Schwegler, ' Hist, 
 of Phil., ^ p. I. 
 
 Philosophy is the attainment of truth hy 
 the way of reason. — Ferrier, 'Institutes of 
 Metaphysics,' p. 2. 
 
 It is the systematisation of the concep- 
 tions furnished by science. It is l^iarniMn 
 Wiarri'ichv. As science is the systematisa- 
 tion of the various generalities reached 
 through particulars, so philosophy is the 
 systematisation of the generalities of gene- 
 ralities. In other words, Science furnishes 
 the Knowledge, and Philosophy the Doc- 
 trine. — Lewes, 'Hist of Phil.,' Proleg. xviii. 
 
 Philosophy is the explanation of the 
 phenomena of the universe. — Comte, ' Phi- 
 losophy of the Sciences,' p. 18. 
 
 Philosophy is completely unified know- 
 ledge. — Spencer, ' First Princix)le!<,' ^. 134. 
 
 Theoretical and Moral Philosophy Distin- 
 guished. 
 The object of one is to answer the ques- 
 tion, What conditions on the part of con- 
 sciousness are implied in the fact that there 
 is such a thing as knowledge, or that a 
 ' cosmos ' arises in consciousness ? Of the 
 other to answer the question, What are the 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 conditions on the part of consciousness 
 implied in the fact that there is such a 
 thing as morality ? — Green, ' Pldlosopidcal 
 Wurks,^ ii. 84. 
 
 Objects and Divisions of Philosophy. 
 
 Science does not include its own end, but 
 is pure knowledge, whose end is something 
 external to itself, while philosophy is car- 
 ried on for the sake of the learning and 
 knowing alone which it involves. — Hodgson, 
 '■Time and Space,' p. 13. 
 
 Philosophy has three objects, viz., God, 
 nature, and man; as also three kinds of 
 rays — for nature strikes the human intel- 
 lect with a direct ray, God with a refracted 
 ray, from the inequality of the medium 
 betwixt the Creator and the creatures, and 
 man, as exhibited to himself, with a re- 
 flected ray ; whence it is proper to divide 
 philosophy into the doctrine of the Deity, 
 the doctrine of nature, and the doctrine of 
 man. — Bacon, 'Adv. of Learn.,' bk. iii. ch. i. 
 
 The whole of philosophy is the answer 
 to these three questions : i. What are the 
 facts or phenomena to be observed ? 2. 
 "What are the laws which regulate these 
 facts, or under which these phenomena 
 appear 1 3. What are the real results, not 
 immediately manifested, which these facts 
 or phenomena warrant us in drawing ? — 
 Hamilton, 'Metaphysics,' i. 121. 
 
 II. PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Nature of the Science. 
 
 Definition and Explication. 
 
 Psychology, strictly so denominated, is 
 the science conversant about the pheno- 
 mena, or modifications, or states of the 
 mind. The term is of Greek compound, 
 signifying discourse or doctrine treating 
 of the human mind. — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 physics,' i. 129, 130. 
 
 Psychology is the analysis and classifica- 
 tion of the sejitient functions and faculties, 
 revealed to observation and induction ; com- 
 pleted by the reduction of them to their 
 
 conditions of existence, biological or sociolo- 
 gical. — Lewes, * Prohlems of Life and Mind,' 
 third series, i. 6. 
 
 Psychology is the science of the hiunan 
 soul. The appellation is of comparatively 
 recent use by English writers, but has been 
 familiar in its Latin and German equi- 
 valents — PsychoJorjia and Psychologie — to 
 writers on the Continent for more than two 
 centuries. It is now generally accepted 
 and approved among us as the most appro- 
 priate term to denote the scientific know- 
 ledge of the whole soul, as distinguished 
 from a single class of its endo^vments or 
 functions. The terms in frequent use — 
 mental p)hilosophy, the philosophy of the 
 mind, ijitellectual philosopjhy, &c. — can be 
 properly applied only to the power of the 
 soul to know, and should never be used for 
 its capacity to feel and to will, or for all its 
 endowments collectively. — Porter, 'Human 
 Intellect,' p. 5. 
 
 An Old Study. 
 
 The name may be new, but the stvidy 
 is old. It is recommended in the saying 
 ascribed to Socrates — "Know thyself. " The 
 recommendation is renewed in the Cogito 
 ergo sum of Descartes ; and in the wiitings 
 of ]\Ialebranche, Arnauld, Leibnitz, Locke, 
 Berkeley, Hume, psychological inquiries 
 held a prominent place. Still further pro- 
 minence was given to them by the followers 
 of Kant and Eeid, and psychology, instead 
 of being treated as an introduction to logic, 
 to ethics, and to metaphysics, which all 
 rest upon it, is now treated as a separate 
 department of science. — Fleming, ' Vocab. 
 
 of Phil.,' p. 41 T. 
 
 Materials of it. 
 
 The facts or materials with which psy- 
 chology has to do are derived from two 
 sources — consciousness and sense-percep- 
 tion. Consciousness is the source from which 
 these materials are directly derived, and it 
 is the facts of consciousness which psycho- 
 logy primarily and almost exclusively seeks 
 to arrange in a scientific method and to 
 explain by scientific principles. But, in- 
 
PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 directly, sense-perception comes to the aid 
 and support of consciousness, as physiology 
 furnishes that knowledge of the functions 
 and states of the body which prepare the 
 objects of the sense-perceptions, and are the 
 essential conditions of the development and 
 the activity of the soul. The facts of this 
 class are attested by the senses and inter- 
 preted by induction, and are in all respects 
 subject to the laws and methods of the 
 other sciences of matter. Both these classes 
 of facts must be considered in conjunction, 
 must be observed with attention, must 
 be analysed into their ultimate elements, 
 must be compared, classed, and interpreted 
 according to the methods which are common 
 to it and the other inductive sciences. — 
 Porter, '■Human Intellect,'' p. 51, 52. 
 
 Method of Psychological Study. 
 
 As there is an anatomy of the body, so 
 there is an anatomy of the mind. The psy- 
 chologist dissects mental phenomena into 
 elementary states of consciousness, as the 
 anatomist resolves limbs into tissues, and 
 tissues into cells. The one traces the de- 
 velopment of complex organs from simple 
 rudiments ; the other follows the building 
 up of complex conceptions out of simpler 
 constituents of thought. As the physiolo- 
 gist inquires into the way in which the 
 so-called * functions ' of the body are per- 
 formed, so the psychologist studies the 
 so-called ' faculties ' of the mind. Even a 
 cursory attention to the ways and works of 
 the lower animals suggests a comparative 
 anatomy and physiology of the mind ; and 
 the doctrine of evolution presses for appli- 
 cation as much in the one field as in the 
 other. — Huxley, *■ Uume,^ p. 50. 
 
 Division into two Parts. 
 
 The psychology of the human mind con- 
 sists of two parts, which have not been 
 sufficiently distinguished. There is first of 
 all what may be called Abstract Psychology, 
 which establishes the final classification of 
 mental phenomena, and formulates the 
 general laws of their sequence and combina- 
 
 tion as observable in the course of individual 
 mental development, and with the assistance 
 of direct subjective reflection. Secondly, 
 subordinate to this first, there is the depart- 
 ment of Concrete Psychology, which dis- 
 cusses the growth of specific and individual 
 varieties of idea and emotion, applying the 
 general laws of mental change to certain 
 orders of elementary facts and their com- 
 binations. Under this bi-anch there should 
 fall the discussion of all such subjects as 
 the origin of the belief in the external 
 world, and the processes by which the moral 
 sentiments and other emotions reach their 
 present forms. — Sulhj, ' Setisation,' &c., pp. 
 II, 12. 
 
 Psychology has been divided into two 
 parts — I. The empirical, having for its 
 oliject the phenomena of consciousness and 
 the faculties by which they are produced. 
 
 2. The rational, having for its object the 
 nature or substance of the soul, its spiri- 
 tuality, immutability, &c. — Fleming, ' Vucab. 
 of Phil.,' p. 413- 
 
 Its Province. 
 
 There are three things to which the 
 psychologist may successively attend — i. 
 To the phenomena of consciousness. 2. To 
 the faculties to which they may be ref eired. 
 
 3. To the Ego, that is, the soul or mind 
 in its unity, individuality, and personahty. 
 These three things are inseparable ; and 
 the consideration of them belongs to psy- 
 chology. — Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 
 413- 
 
 Psychology inquires into the operations 
 of the mind of man, with the view of dis- 
 covering its laws and its faculties. The 
 founder of this science is undoubtedly 
 Aristotle in ancient times. Locke may be 
 described as its second founder in modern 
 times. It is a science throughout of facts 
 and the co-ordination of facts. As a whole, 
 it has made a gradual progress since its 
 origin in Greece, and its second rise in the 
 seventeenth century. — M'Cosh, ^Intuitions 
 of the Mind,' p. 356. 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Relation of Psychology to 
 Physiology. 
 
 Psychology is the science of mind. This 
 science may seek — and I follow those who 
 think it ought to seek— important means of 
 investigation in the laws of physiology; 
 just as physiology itself must seek import- 
 ant aids in chemistry and physics. But as 
 an independent branch of inquiry, its results 
 cannot be amenable to physiological canons ; 
 their validity cannot be decided by agree- 
 ment or disagreement with physiological 
 laws. To cite an example : Psychology 
 announces that the mind has different 
 faculties. That fact seems established on 
 ample evidence, and is valid in psychology, 
 although hitherto no corresponding fact in 
 physiology has been discovered. — Leioes, 
 'Physiology of Common Life,' i. 2, 3. 
 
 There is a close and intimate connection 
 between psychology and physiology. No 
 one doubts that, at any rate, some mental 
 states are dependent for their existence on 
 the performance of the functions of par- 
 ticular bodily organs. There is no seeing 
 without eyes, no hearing without ears. If 
 the origin of the contents of the mind is 
 truly a philosophical problem, then the 
 philosopher who attempts to deal with that 
 problem, without acquainting himself with 
 the physiology of sensation, has no more 
 intelligent conception of his business than 
 the physiologist who thinks he can discuss 
 locomotion Avithout acquaintance with the 
 principles of mechanics, or respiration -with- 
 out some tincture of chemistry. — Huxley, 
 'Hume,' p. 50. 
 
 The fields of inquiry belonging to physio- 
 logy and psychology are so related, that 
 neither science can adequately interpret its 
 own facts without reference to the other. 
 Those phenomena of consciousness known 
 as sensation and pei-ception expressly require 
 physiological aid for their explanation. And 
 the physiology of nerve and brain needs no 
 less the testimony of consciousness in order 
 to interpret ascertained facts. In one 
 respect the pathology of nerve and brain 
 comes even more closely into contact with 
 
 psychology, as all diseased or disordered 
 action of physical organism throws in upon 
 consciousness forms of experience otherwise 
 unknown. This holds true in the widest 
 and most important sense of the brain, 
 which is distinctively the organ of mind or 
 self. All the facts connected with a dis- 
 ordered brain are thus fitted to cast im- 
 portant light on the action of mind as 
 related to the action of brain. Hence the 
 peculiar value to mental philosophy of all 
 scientific investigation as to the experience 
 of the insane. — Caldericood, 'Moral Philo- 
 sophy,' p. 10, II. 
 
 Life and the functions of our organised 
 body belong to physiology; and, although 
 there is a close connection between soul 
 and body, and mutual action and reaction 
 between them, that is no reason why the 
 two departments of inquiry should be con- 
 founded, unless to those who think the 
 soul to be the product or result of bodily 
 organisation. Broussais said he could not 
 understand those philosophers who shut 
 their eyes and ears in order to hear them- 
 selves think. But if the capacity of think- 
 ing be anterior to, and independent of, 
 sense and bodily organs, then the soul 
 which thinks, and its faculties or powers 
 of thinking, deserve a separate considera- 
 tion. — Fleming, * Vocah. of Phil.,'' p. 412. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 Logic throws us back on psychology, and 
 on an inductive psychology, not indeed to 
 justify the laws of thought, but to discover 
 them. Not that psychology and logic are 
 identical, or that they should be mixed up 
 with one another. Psychology, in treathig 
 of the operations of the mind generally, 
 will meet with thought, and will seek by 
 classification to discover the faculties of 
 thought, and these are specially the com- 
 parative or correlative powers. It will seek 
 even to discover in a general way the laws 
 involved in thought. But when it has gone 
 so far in this direction, it will stop. It 
 does not make a very minute analysis of 
 these laws, it does not seek to present them 
 in all possible forms, it does not make an 
 
PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 application of them to discnrsive investiga- 
 tion. It leaves this to logic as its special 
 province. — M'Cosh, ' ItifuitioJi^ of the Mind,' 
 p. 358. 
 
 Metaphysics. 
 
 Does psychology tend to separate itself 
 from metaphysics ? Instead of deciding 
 this qiTestion, I prefer to place certain 
 facts before the reader. In the seventeenth 
 century the science of the soul was called 
 metaphysics. There is no other word 
 in Descartes, Malebranche, and Leibnitz. 
 Locke and Condillac employ the same lan- 
 guage. Nevertheless, the word psychology, 
 invented by the obscure Goclenius, was 
 used by Wolf as the title of a work. The 
 Encyclopajdists, while continuing to use the 
 term metaphysics, limited its sense. The 
 Scotch employ it with reserve, and prefer 
 the expression * philosophy of the human 
 mind.' In short, the word psychology is 
 coming into current use, and is common in 
 France, Germany, and England. It may 
 be further observed, that in the two last- 
 named countries psychology is cultivated as 
 an independent science, and expurgated of 
 metaphysics. — Rihot, '■English Psychology,'' 
 P- 23. 
 
 Psychology must have metaphysical as- 
 sumptions. — Psychology, like every science, 
 like physics, chemistry, physiology, contains 
 ultimate, transcendental questions, — ques- 
 tions of principles, of causes, of substances. 
 What is the soul 1 Whence does it come ? 
 Whither is it going ? These are purely 
 philosophical discussions. — Rihot, * English 
 Psyclwlogy,' p. 15. 
 
 Ethics. 
 
 In the intellectual department of mental 
 science, psychology deals with the facts of 
 our experience belonging to morals, as with 
 all the facts of consciousness, but simply to 
 determine their nature as mental facts. In 
 the ethical department of mental science, 
 psychology ascertains the nature of mental 
 facts only as a preliminary step for deter- 
 mining their moral significance. 
 
 The psychology of ethics is completed 
 
 only by constructing a philosophy of all 
 that belongs to our personality as moral 
 beings. Each characteristic must be looked 
 at, not only apart, but also in relation to 
 other features of our moral nature. ' The 
 value of every ethical system must ulti- 
 mately be tested on psychological grounds,' 
 Hansel's Prolegomena, Pref. — Calderwood, 
 'Moral Philosophy,' p. 16. 
 
 The Practical Sciences, 
 All the practical sciences which aim at 
 guiding or influencing our thoughts, feel- 
 ings, or actions, have their footing in 
 psychology. Thus the prmciples of oratory, 
 of legislation, and so on, are based on a 
 knowledge of the properties and laws of 
 the human mind. These relations may be 
 roughly set forth as follows : — 
 
 (A.) Psychology, as a whole, supplies the 
 basis of education, or the practical 
 science which aims at cultivating 
 the mind on the side of Knowing, 
 Feeling, and Willing alike. 
 (B.) In its special branches, psychology 
 supplies a basis to the following 
 practical sciences : — 
 Psychology of Knowing. — Logic, or the 
 regulation of reasoning processes; together 
 with the allied arts, rhetoric, or the art of 
 persuasion, and that of forming opinion. 
 
 Psychology of Feeling. — Esthetics, or the 
 regulation of feeling according to cei-tain 
 rules or principles — to wit, the admirable 
 or beautiful. 
 
 Psychology of Willing. — Etliics, or the 
 determination of the ends of action and the 
 regulation of conduct by principles of right 
 and wrong ; together with the allied arts 
 of politics and legislation. — Sully, ' Outlines 
 of Psychology,' pp. 15, 16. 
 
 How Psychology may be affected by the 
 Evolution Theory. 
 
 First of all, it leads one to view all succes- 
 sive manifestations of individual mind as one 
 continuous phenomenon, and to seek for the 
 antecedent of any habit or emotion just as 
 easily in the psychical life of some remote 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 parental race, as in the experiences and 
 impressions of the same individual develop- 
 ment. And, secondly, the evolutionist, in- 
 stead of carrying on jj^arz j^cissu the process 
 of subjective observation, and that of ob- 
 jective inquiry into the visible actions of 
 other minds and the nervous conditions 
 of their intelligence, has to confine his re- 
 searches through a large part of his field 
 to the objective side of the phenomena, the 
 appeal to subjective knowledge being clearly 
 precluded ia dealing with the ideas and 
 feelings of the lower animals. — Sully, '■Sen- 
 sation,'' &c., p. I. 
 
 Ill LOGIC. 
 
 Various names whicli have been given 
 to it. 
 (a.) It has been called the Architectonic 
 Art, by which is meant that it occupies the 
 same position with regard to the sciences 
 and arts in general that architecture does 
 to the labours of the carpenter, the mason, 
 the pavior, the plumber, and the glazier. 
 {h.) By the followers of Aristotle it was 
 called the Instrument (or Organon) and the 
 Instrument of Instruments. Other names 
 which establish the pre-eminence of Logic 
 over the real sciences are (c.) the Art of 
 Arts, {d. ) the System of Systems, (e. ) the Key 
 of Wisdom, (/.) the Head and Crown of 
 Philosophy. As it offers rules for seeking 
 after truth, it has been called [g.) Zetetic, 
 or the Art of Seeking ; as these rules are 
 not given in vain, we may regard it also 
 as {h.) Heuristic, or the Art of Discovering 
 Truth. As it cures the mind of prejudice 
 and errors, it is called {i.) Medicina mentis, 
 and {Jc.) the Cathartic of the Mind. As 
 teaching the right use of the faculties in 
 the discussion of any question, it is called 
 (/.) Dialectic. — From Thomsons 'Laws of 
 Thowjlit; pp. 54-57. 
 
 Definitions of Logic. 
 The Art of Reasoning. — Aldrich. 
 The Science and Art of Reasoning. — 
 Whately. 
 
 The Science of the Laws of Thought as 
 Thought. — Hamilton. 
 
 The Science which expounds the opera- 
 tions of the Intellect in its pursuit of Truth. 
 —Mill. 
 
 The Science of the Laws of Thought. — 
 Thomson, following Kant. 
 
 The Science of the regulative Laws of 
 human knowledge. — Uehericeg. 
 
 The Science of Reasoning. — Jevons. 
 
 I. Inferexce. 
 Defined. 
 
 Inference in the widest sense is the 
 derivation of a judgment from any given 
 elements. — Ueberweg, ' Logic,' -p' 225. 
 
 We are said to infer whenever we draw 
 one truth from another, or pass from one 
 proposition to another. — Jevons, ' Logic,' 
 p. 81. 
 
 To infer is nothing but by virtue of one 
 proposition laid down as true, to draw iii 
 another as true, i.e., to see or suppose such 
 a connexion of the two ideas of the inferred 
 proposition. Tell a country gentlewoman 
 that the wind is south-west, and the weather 
 lowering and like to rain, and she will 
 easily understand it is not safe for her to 
 go abroad thin clad in such a day, after a 
 fever ; she clearly sees the probable con- 
 nexion of all these, viz., south-west wind, 
 and clouds, rain, wetting, taking cold, re- 
 lapse, and danger of death. — Locke, 'Human 
 Understanding,' bk. iv. ch. xvii. § 4. 
 
 Various Vieivs. 
 
 Inference indicates the carrpng out into 
 the last proposition what was virtually 
 contained in the antecedent judgments. — i 
 Hamilton, ' Logic,' i. 279, 
 
 Ttie question. What is Inference ? is in- 
 volved, even to the present day, in as much 
 uncertainty as that ancient question, What 
 is Truth ? Inference never does more than 
 explicate, unfold, or develop the informa- 
 tion contained in certain premises or facts. 
 Neither in deductive nor inductive reason- 
 ing can we add a tittle to our implicit 
 
LOGIC. 
 
 knowledge, which is like that contained in 
 an unread book or a sealed letter. — Jecons, 
 ^Principles of Science,' p. ii8. 
 
 Most of the propositions, whether affirm- 
 ative or negative, universal, particular, or 
 singular, which we believe, are not believed 
 on their own evidence, but on the ground 
 of something previously assented to, from 
 which they are said to be inferred. To infer 
 a proposition from a previous proposition or 
 propositions; to give credence to it, or 
 claim credence for it, as a conclusion from 
 something else ; is to reason, in the most 
 extensive sense of the term. There is a 
 naiTOwer sense, in which the same reason- 
 ing is confined to the form of mference 
 which is termed ratiocination, and of which 
 the syllogism is the general type. 
 
 In some cases the inference is apparent, 
 not real. This occurs when the proposi- 
 tion ostensibly inferred from another ap- 
 pears on analysis to be merely a repetition 
 of the same, or part of the same, assertion 
 which was contained in the first. — Mill, 
 'Logic; i. 178 »i. 
 
 An inference is a proposition which is 
 perceived to be true, because of its con- 
 nection with some known fact. There are 
 many things and events which are always 
 found together, or which constantly follow 
 each other ; therefore, when we observe 
 one of these things or events we infer that 
 the other also exists, or has existed, or will 
 soon take place. If we see the prints of 
 human feet on the sands of an unknown 
 coast, we infer that the country is in- 
 habited ; if these prints appear to be fresh 
 and also below the level of high water, we 
 infer that the inhabitants are at no great 
 distance ; if the prints are those of naked 
 feet, we infer that these inhabitants are 
 savages ; or if they are the prints of shoes, 
 ■we infer that they are in some degree 
 civilised. — Taylor, 'Elements of ThoughV 
 
 Forms of Inference. 
 
 Mediate and Immediate. 
 
 Derivation from a single notion or from 
 a single judgment is Immediate Inference, 
 
 or immediate consequence. Derivation 
 from at least two judgments is Mediate 
 Inference, or inference in the stricter sense. 
 — Uehei'iceg, 'Logic; p. 225. 
 
 In some cases we are unable to decide 
 that the terms of the question agree with 
 or differ from one another, without finding 
 a third, called the middle term, with which 
 each of the others may be compared in 
 turn. This is Mediate Inference. If one 
 suspects that ' this liquid is poison,' it may 
 be impossible to convert the suspicion into 
 certainty, until one has found that ' it 
 contains arsenic ; ' ' containing arsenic ' will 
 then be the middle term, which will be 
 compared in a judgment with each of the 
 others in turn, and the whole argument 
 will run, ' This liquid contains arsenic ; 
 and everything that contains arsenic is 
 poisonous; consequently this liquid is.' 
 
 But sometimes, instead of a third term, 
 differing entirely from the other two, the 
 pi'emise only need contain the two terms 
 of the conclusion, or some modification 
 of them. Thus, from ' All good rulers are 
 just,' we infer that ' No unjust rulers can 
 be good,' a judgment introducing, indeed, 
 no new matter, i.e., making us acquainted 
 with no new facts, but still distinct from 
 that from which we drew it. This is Im- 
 mediate Inference. — Thomson, ^ Laws of 
 Tliought; p. 145 sq. 
 
 Liductive and Deductive. 
 
 Inference, according to Aristotle, has two 
 forms, the syllogism, which descends from 
 the universal to the particular, and induc- 
 tion, which rises to the universal from a 
 comparison of the single and particular. — 
 Ueherweg, 'Hist, of Phil.; i. 152, 
 
 The Great Rule of Inference. 
 
 The fundamental action of our reasoning 
 faculties consists in inferring or carrying 
 to a new instance of a phenomenon what- 
 ever we have previously kno^vn of its like, 
 analogue, equivalent, or equal. Sameness 
 or identity presents itself in all degrees, 
 and is known under various names, but the 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 great rule of inference embraces all de- 
 grees, and affirms that so far as there exists 
 sameness, identity, or likeness, what is true 
 of one thing will be true of the other. — 
 Jevons, ' Principles of Science,^ p. 9. 
 
 Distinguished from Proof. 
 
 He who infers proves, and he who proves 
 infers ; but the word ' infer ' fixes the 
 mind first on the premiss and then on the 
 conclusion ; the word ' prove,' on the con- 
 trary, leads the mind froin the conclusion 
 to the premiss. Inferring and proving are 
 not two different things, but the same thing 
 regarded in two different points of view ; 
 like the road from London to York, and 
 the road from York to London. One might, 
 therefore, define Proving, ' the assigning 
 of a reason or argument for the support of 
 a giveii proposition,' and Inferring, ' the 
 deduction of a Conclusion from given Pre- 
 -W} lately, ^ Logic, ^ p. 173. 
 
 2. Deduction. 
 
 The Process. (See Induction.) 
 
 Deduction is the process of deriving facts 
 from laws, and effects from their causes, 
 e.g., if from the general principle that all 
 bodies tend to fall towards the earth, we 
 argue that the stone we throw from our 
 hands will show the same tendency, we 
 deduce. — Thomson, ' Laics of Thouglit,'' p. 
 216. 
 
 Deduction is i-easoning from the whole 
 to its parts. — Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' ii. 
 338. 
 
 In deduction we are engaged in develop- 
 ing the consequences of a law. We learn 
 the meaning, contents, results, or inferences 
 which attach to any given proposition, — 
 Jevons, 'Principles of Science,' p. 11. 
 
 In Deduction there is the application of 
 a general proposition to a particular case 
 coming under it. The following is a deduc- 
 tion : — ' All arsenic is poison ; now this 
 substance is arsenic, therefore this sub- 
 stance is poison.' In other words. Deduc- 
 tion is the application or extension of 
 Induction to 7ieiv cases. By the help of the 
 
 inductive methods we are satisfied that 
 ' iron is a magnetic substance,' and we 
 apply the proposition, as occasion requires, 
 to individual specimens of iron. It is the 
 deductive process that has been developed 
 into the forms of the syllogism. — Bain, 
 'Logic, Deduction,' pp. 17, 40. 
 
 The General Problem of Deduction. 
 
 This may be stated as follows : — From 
 one or more propositions called premises to 
 draw such other propositions as will neces- 
 sarily be true when the premises are true. 
 By deduction we investigate and unfold the 
 information contained in the premises. — . 
 Jevons, ' Principles of Science,' p. 49. 
 
 The Axiom of Deduction. 
 
 The Axiom or First Principle at the basis 
 of Deduction is expressed in a variety of 
 forms, which are reducible substantially to 
 two : — 
 
 (i.) Whatever is true of a whole class 
 is true of what can be brought under the 
 class. 
 
 (2.) Things co-existing with the same 
 thing co-exist with one another. 
 
 The first form is the one suitable to the 
 exposition of the syllogism. The second 
 form can be shown to be equivalent to the 
 first. — Bain, 'Logic, Deduction,' p. 18. 
 
 The Deductive Method. 
 
 The full scope of the Deductive Method 
 comprises three operations : — 
 
 1. There must be certain pre-established 
 Inductions. [See Induction, last section.] 
 
 2. Deduction proper, which involves two 
 stages of complexity, {a.) The simple exten- 
 sion of an inductive law to a new case, and 
 (h.) The combination of several laws in a 
 conjoint result, involving processes of com- 
 putation. Supposing that the inductive 
 proposition, ' all matter gravitates,' has 
 been formed upon solids and liquids, shall 
 we apply it to gases ? This depends upon 
 whether gases are matter. If they possess 
 the properties of matter the proposition is 
 extended to them. The more difficult em- 
 
LOGIC. 
 
 ployment of Deduction is in the concurrence 
 of different agents to a combined result, 
 as when we deduce the path of a projectile 
 from gravity, the force of projection, and 
 the resistance of the air, or the tides from 
 the united action of the sun and the moon. 
 3. The Deductive process is completed by 
 verification. This is done by actual obser- 
 vation of cases. In Astronomy, verification 
 has been most thoroughly worked. Up- 
 wards of fifty observatories are incessantly 
 engaged in watchmg celestial phenomena. 
 — Bain, ^ Logic, Induction,' pp. 95-101. 
 
 The Results of Deduction. 
 
 We must by no means suppose that, when 
 a scientific truth is in our possession, all its 
 consequences will be foreseen. Deduction 
 is certain and infallible, in the sense that 
 each step in deductive i-easoning will lead 
 us to some result, as certain as the law 
 itself. But it does not follow that deduc- 
 tion will lead the reasoner to every result 
 of a law, or combination of laws. What- 
 ever road a traveller takes he is sure to 
 arrive somewhere, but unless he proceeds 
 in a systematic manner it is unlikely that 
 he will reach every place to which a net- 
 work of roads wiU conduct him. Many 
 phenomena were never discovered until acci- 
 dent or systematic empirical observation 
 disclosed their existence. — Jevons, * Prin- 
 cijAes of Science,' p. 534. 
 
 3. Induction. 
 
 What it is and is not. 
 
 Defined. 
 
 Induction is the inference from the in- 
 dividual or special to the universal. — Ueher- 
 weg, 'Logic,' p. 476. 
 
 Induction is the arriving at general 
 propositions by means of observation or 
 fact. In an induction, there are three 
 essentials ; — (i.) The result must be ajoro- 
 position — an aflfirmation of concurrence or 
 non-concurrence — as opposed to a notion. 
 {2.) The proposition must be genercd, or 
 applicable to all cases of a given kind. 
 
 (3.) The method must be an appeal to 
 observation or fact. — Bain, 'Logic, Induc- 
 tion,' p. I. 
 
 Induction may be defined as the opera- 
 tion of discovering and proving general 
 propositions. Induction, therefore, is that 
 operation of the mind by which we infer 
 that what we know to be true in a particu- 
 lar case or cases, will be true in all cases 
 which resemble the former in certain 
 assignable respects. In other words, in- 
 duction is the process by which we conclude 
 that what is true of certain individuals of 
 a class is true of the whole class, or that 
 what is true at certain times will be true 
 in similar circumstances at all times. — Mill, 
 'Logic,' i. 316, 321. 
 
 Induction is the mental operation by 
 which, from a number of individual in- 
 stances, we arrive at a general law. — 
 Monck, 'Sir JF. Hamilton' p. 181. 
 
 It is a synthetic process. 
 
 Having discovered by observation and 
 comparison that certain objects agree in 
 certain respects, we generalise the qualities 
 in which they coincide, — that is, from a 
 certain number of individual instances we 
 infer a general law ; we perform an act of 
 induction. This induction is erroneously 
 viewed as analytic ; it is purely a synthetic 
 ])rocess. — Hamilton, 'Metaphysics,' i. 101. 
 
 ' Inductions improperly so called.' 
 
 Induction, as above defined, is a process 
 of inference : it proceeds from the known 
 to the unknown ; and any operation involv- 
 ing no inference, any process in which what 
 seems the conclusion is no wider than the 
 premises from which it is drawn, does not 
 fall within the meaning of the term. Yet 
 in the common books of logic we find this 
 laid down as the most perfect, indeed the 
 only quite perfect, form of induction. If 
 we were to say, All the planets shine by the 
 sun's light, from observation of each sepa- 
 rate planet, or All the Apostles were Jews, 
 because this is true of Peter, Paul, John, 
 and every other apostle, — these, and such 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 as these, would, in the phraseology in ques- 
 tion, be called perfect, and the only perfect, 
 induction. This, however, is a totally dif- 
 ferent kind of induction from ours ; it is 
 not an inference from facts known to facts 
 unknown, but a mere short-hand registra- 
 tion of facts known. — Mill, ' Logic,' i. 321. 
 On this point there is great difference of 
 opinion. Sir W. Hamilton held that ' the 
 process of induction is only logically valid 
 when all the instances included in the law 
 are enumerated.' See below on 'perfect 
 and imperfect induction.' 
 
 The Doctrine of Induction as held by 
 various Philosophers, 
 
 First introduced hy Socrates. 
 
 We read in the Metcqilujsics of Aristotle 
 (xiii. 4) that Socrates introduced the method 
 of induction and definition (which sets out 
 from the individual and ends in the defini- 
 tion of the general notion). The field of 
 investigation in which Soci'ates employed 
 this method is designated by Aristotle as 
 the ethical. These statements are fully 
 confirmed by Plato and Xenophon. — Uehtr- 
 loeg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' i. 85. 
 
 Inductive Method of Socrates. 
 
 Proceeding from some concrete case, the 
 philosopher contrived, ever comparing par- 
 ticular with particular, and so gradually 
 separating and casting out what was con- 
 tingent and accidental, to bring to con- 
 sciousness a universal truth, a universal 
 discernment, that is, to for7n notions (uni- 
 versals). To find, for example, the notion 
 of justice, of fortitude, departure was 
 taken from several particular examples of 
 justice, of fortitude, and from them the 
 universal nature, the notion of these virtues, 
 was abstracted. [This is induction only in 
 a very limited sense, i.e., the generalisation 
 of notions.] — Schwegler, 'Hist, of Phil.,' 
 p. 50. 
 
 Aristotle. 
 
 In induction we conclude from the 
 observation that a more general concept 
 includes (several or) all of the individuals 
 
 included under another concept of inferior 
 extension, that the former concept is a 
 predicate of the latter. Induction leads 
 from the particular to the universal. The 
 Greek term for induction suggests the 
 ranging of particular cases together in files, 
 like troops. The complete induction is the 
 only strictly scientific induction. — Ueberweg, 
 'Hist, of Phil.,' i. 156. 
 
 Bacoji. 
 
 That induction which Aristotle and the 
 scholastics taught. Bacon describes as in- 
 ductio per enumerationem simplicem ; and 
 adds that it lacks the methodical character 
 (which Bacon himself rather seeks than 
 really attains). Together with the positive 
 instances, the negative instances must be 
 considered, and differences of degree should 
 be marked and defined; cases of decisive 
 importance are as prerogative instances to 
 receive special attention ; from the particu- 
 lar we should not at once hurry on, as if 
 on wings, to the most general, but should 
 advance first to the intermediate proposi- 
 tions, those of inferior generality, which 
 are the most fruitful of all. The theory 
 of induction was materially advanced by 
 Bacon, although not completely and purely 
 developed. — Ueberweg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 
 38. 
 
 The essential part of the service rendered 
 by Bacon to science was his protest in 
 favour of basing generalities on a patient 
 collection and accurate comparison of facts. 
 — Bain, ' Logic, Induction,' p. 403. 
 
 Wheioell. 
 
 Induction is not the same thing as ex- 
 perience and observation. Induction is 
 experience or observation consciously looked 
 at in a general form. This consciousness 
 and generality are necessary parts of that 
 knowledge which is science. — 'Philosophy 
 of Discovery,' p. 245. 
 
 According to Whewell, the business of 
 the discoverer, after familiarising himself 
 Avith facts, is to compare them with con- 
 ception after conception, in the view of 
 
LOGIC. 
 
 finding out, after a longer or shorter pro- 
 cess of trial and rejection, what conception 
 is exactly ' appropriate ' to the facts under 
 his consideration. When the investigator 
 has at length, by a happy guess, hit upon 
 the appropriate conception, he is said to 
 ♦ colligate ' the facts, to * bind them into a 
 unity.' — Bain, 'Logic Indiiction,' p. 411. 
 
 John Stuart Mill. (See p. 9, * Lndudions 
 improperlf/ so called.') 
 
 Sfaiilcij Jevojis. 
 
 Induction is the inverse operation of 
 deduction, and cannot be conceived to exist 
 without the corresponding operation. The 
 truths to be ascertained are more general 
 than the data from which they are drawn. 
 Given events obeying certain unknown 
 laws, we have to discover the laws obeyed. 
 Induction is the deciphering of the hidden 
 meanmg of natural phenomena. Any laws 
 being supposed, we can, with ease and cer- 
 tainty, decide whether the phenomena obey 
 those laws. But the laws which may exist 
 are infinite in variety, so that the chances 
 are immensely against mere random guess- 
 ing. The only modes of discovery consist 
 either in exhaustively trying a great num- 
 ber of supposed laws, a process which is 
 exhaustive in more senses than one, or else 
 in carefully contemplating the effects, en- 
 deavouring to remember cases in which 
 like effects followed from known laws. In 
 whatever manner we accomplish the dis- 
 covery, it must be done by the more or less 
 conscious application of the direct process 
 of deduction. — ' Principles of Science,' pp. 
 121, 125. 
 
 The Ground of Induction. 
 
 The statement of this varies as one or 
 other doctrine of induction is held. Ac- 
 cording to — 
 
 Mill. 
 
 There is an assumption involved in every 
 case of induction. This is an assumption 
 with regard to the course of nature and the 
 order of the universe, namely, that there 
 are such things in nature as parallel cases ; 
 
 that what happens once, will, under a suffi- 
 cient degree of similarity of circumstances, 
 happen again, and not only again, but as 
 often as the same circumstances recur. If 
 we consult the actual course of natui-e, we 
 find that the assumption is warranted. — 
 ' Logic,' i. 343. 
 
 Fleming. 
 
 This principle is involved in the words 
 of the wise man, ' the thing that hath been, 
 it is that which shall be ; and that which 
 is done, is that which shall be done ' (Eccles, 
 i. 9). In nature there is nothing insulated. 
 The same effects produce the same causes. 
 — 'Vocah. of Pliil.,' p. 254. 
 
 Bain. 
 
 Hence the sole evidence for inductive 
 truths is universal agreement. What is 
 found true wherever we have been able to 
 carry our observations, is to be accepted as 
 universally true, until exceptions are dis- 
 covered. — 'Logic, Liduction,' p. 7. 
 
 The great foundation of all possible in- 
 ference is stated in many forms of language. 
 ' Nature repeats itself,' ' the future will 
 resemble the past,' * the universe is governed 
 by laws,' ' the uniformity of natvire is the 
 ultimate major premise of every inductive 
 inference.' — 'Logic, Induction,' p. 8. 
 
 Stanley Jevons. 
 
 I hold that in all cases of inductive in- 
 ference we must invent hypotheses, until 
 we fall upon some hypothesis which yields 
 deductive results in accordance with expe- 
 rience. We can only argue from the past 
 to the future, on the general principle that 
 what is true of a thing will be true of the 
 like. So far then as one object or event 
 differs from another, all inference is im- 
 possible ; particulars as particulars can no 
 more make an inference than grains of 
 sand can make a rope. We must always 
 rise to something which is general or same 
 in the cases. — 'Principles of Science,' p. 
 22S. 
 
 Some writers have asserted that there is 
 a principle called the uniformity of nature, 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 which enables us to affirm that what has 
 often been found to be true of anything 
 will continue to be found true of the same 
 sort of thing. If there be such a principle 
 it is liable to exceptions. Thus there was 
 a wide and unbi-oken induction tending to 
 show that all the satellites in the planetary 
 system went in one uniform direction round 
 their planets. Nevertheless, the satellites 
 of Uranus when discovered were found to 
 move in a retrograde direction, or in an 
 opposite direction to all satellites previously 
 known, and the same peculiarity attaches 
 to the satellite of Neptune more lately 
 discovered. — ' io^z'c,' p. 217. 
 
 The Conditions of Legitimate Induction. 
 Two at least are requisite. 
 
 1. In the first place, it is necessary. That 
 the particular judgments out of which the 
 total or general judgment is inferred be all 
 of the same quality. For if one even of 
 the particular judgments had an opposite 
 quality, the whole induction would be sub- 
 verted. For example, the general assertion, 
 All dogs bark, is refuted by the instance of 
 the dogs of Labrador or California (I forget 
 which), — these do not bark. 
 
 2. The second condition required is. That 
 a competent number of the individual 
 objects from which the induction departs 
 should have been observed, for otherwise 
 the comprehension of other objects under 
 the total judgment would be rash. What is 
 the number of such objects which amounts 
 to a competent induction, it is not possible 
 to say in general. In some cases the ob- 
 servation of a very few particular or indi- 
 vidual examples is sufficient to warrant an 
 assertion in regard to the whole class ; in 
 others, the total judgment is hardly com- 
 petent until our observation has gone 
 through each of its constituent parts. — 
 Hamilton, ^ Logic,' ii. 168 sq. 
 
 J. S. Mill's Canons of Lidudive Method. 
 The Method of Agreement. 
 I. If two or more instances of the 
 phenomenon under investigation have only 
 
 one circumstance in common, the circum- 
 stance in which alone all the instances 
 agree, is the cause (or effect) of the given 
 phenomenon. 
 
 The Method of Difference. 
 
 2. If an instance in which the pheno- 
 menon under investigation occurs, and an 
 instance in which it does not occur, have 
 every circumstance in common save one, 
 that one occurring only in the former ; the 
 circumstance in which alone the two in- 
 stances differ, is the effect, or the cause, or 
 an indispensable part of the cause, of the 
 phenomenon. 
 
 The Lndirect Method of Difference or the 
 Joint Method of Agreement and Dif- 
 ference. 
 
 3. If two or more instances in which the 
 phenomenon occurs have only one circum- 
 stance ia common, while two or more in- 
 stances in which it does not occur have 
 nothing in common save the absence of 
 that cii'cumstance ; the circumstance in 
 which alone the two sets of instances differ, 
 is the effect, or the cause, or an indispen- 
 sable part of the cause, of the phenomenon. 
 
 Tlie Method of Residues. 
 
 4. Subduct from any phenomenon such 
 pai't as is known by previous inductions to 
 be the effect of certain antecedents, and 
 the residue of the phenomenon is the effect 
 of the remaining antecedents. 
 
 The Method of Concomitant Variations. 
 
 5. Whatever phenomenon varies ia any 
 manner whenever another phenomenon 
 varies in some particular manner, is either 
 a cause or an effect of that phenomenon, or 
 is connected with it through some fact of 
 causation. — '■Logic,' bk. iiL ch. viii. 
 
 The Use of Induction. 
 
 It is engaged in detecting the general 
 laws or uniformities, the relations of cause 
 and effect, or in short all the genei'al truths 
 that may be asserted concerning the num- 
 
LOGIC. 
 
 '3 
 
 berless and veiy diverse events that take 
 place in the natural woi-ld around us. The 
 greater part, if not, as some philosophers 
 think, the whole of our knowledge, is ulti- 
 mately due to inductive reasoning. — Jevons, 
 ' Logic,' p. 2 12. 
 
 In a certain sense all knowledge is in- 
 ductive. "We can only learn the laws and 
 relations of things in nature by observing 
 those things. But the knowledge gained 
 from the senses is knowledge only of par- 
 ticular facts, and we require some process 
 of reasoning by which we may collect out 
 of the facts the laws obeyed by them. 
 Experience gives us the materials of know- 
 ledge ; induction digests those materials, 
 and yields us general knowledge. — Jevons, 
 ^Principles of Science,' p. n. 
 
 "Perfect " and " Imperfect " Induction. 
 
 An induction is called perfect when all 
 the possible cases or instances, to which the 
 conclusion can refer, have been examined 
 and enumerated in the premises. If, as 
 usually happens, it is impossible to examine 
 all cases, since they may occur at future 
 times or in distant parts of the earth or 
 other regions of the universe, the induction 
 is called imperfect. The assertion that all 
 the months of the year are of less length 
 than thirty-two days is derived from perfect 
 induction, and is a certain conclusion be- 
 cause the calendar is a human institution, 
 so that we- know beyond doubt how many 
 months there are, and can readily ascertain 
 that each of them is less than thirty-two 
 days in length. But the assertion that all 
 the planets move in one direction round 
 the sun, from west to east, is derived from 
 imperfect induction ; for it is possible that 
 there exists planets more distant than the 
 most distant-known planet, Neptune, and to 
 such a planet of course the assertion would 
 apply. — Jevons, '■ Logic ^ p. 212, 213. 
 
 The Problem of Inductive Logic. 
 
 Why is a single instance, in some cases, 
 sufficient for a complete induction, while 
 in others, myi-iads of concun-ing instances, 
 
 without a single exception known or pre- 
 sumed, go such a very little way towards 
 establishing a universal proposition ? Who- 
 ever can answer this question knows more 
 of the philosophy of logic than the wisest 
 of the ancients, and has solved the problem 
 of induction. — Mill, '■Logic,' i. 352. 
 
 How the Certainty of an Imperfect Induc- 
 tion may be Estimated. 
 
 Four Rules. 
 
 Induction is more certain (i) in propor- 
 tion to the number and diversity of the 
 objects observed; (2) in proportion to the 
 accuracy with which the observation and 
 comparison have been conducted ; (3) in 
 proportion as the agreement of the objects 
 is clear and precise ; (4) in proportion as 
 it has been thoroughly explored, whether 
 there exist exceptions or not. — Esser, 
 'Logik,' § 152. 
 
 By a Calculation of Probabilities. 
 
 Our inferences always retain more or 
 less of a hypothetical character, and are so 
 far open to doubt. Only in proportion as 
 our induction approximates to the character 
 of perfect induction, does it approximate to 
 certainty. The amount of uncertainty 
 corresponds to the probability that other 
 objects than those examined may exist and 
 falsify our inferences; the amount of pro- 
 bability corresponds to the amount of 
 information yielded by our examination ; 
 and the theory of probability will be needed 
 to prevent us from over-estimating or under- 
 estimating the knowledge we possess. — 
 Jevons, '■Principles of Science,' p. 229. 
 
 Induction and Deduction Compared. 
 
 Induction is the process of discovering 
 laws from facts, and causes from effects; 
 and deduction that of deriving facts from 
 laws, and effects from their causes. — Thom- 
 son, 'Laws of ThougJd,' p. 215. 
 
 Deduction consists in passing from more 
 general to less general truths ; induction is 
 the contrary process from less to more 
 
14 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 general truths. In deduction we are en- 
 gaged in developing the consequences of a 
 law. Induction is the exactly inverse pro- 
 cess. Given certain results or consequences, 
 we are required to discover the general law 
 from which they flow. — Jevons, ^Principles 
 of Science," p. ii. 
 
 Note. — The limits of this work do not 
 admit of a detailed treatment of locric. 
 
 IV. METAPHYSICS— ONTOLOGY. 
 
 The name metaphysics is a creation of 
 the Aristotelian commentators. Plato's 
 word for it was dialectics, and Aristotle 
 uses instead of it the phrase ' first (funda- 
 mental) philosophy.' The relation of this 
 first philosophy to the other sciences is 
 defined by Aristotle as follows. Every 
 science, he says, selects for investigation a 
 special sphere, a particular species of being, 
 but none of them applies itself to the no- 
 tion of being as such. There is a science 
 necessary, therefore, which shall make an 
 object of inquiry on its own account, of 
 that which the other sciences accept from 
 experience, and, as it were, hypothetically. 
 This is the office of the first philosophy, 
 which occupies itself, therefore, with being 
 as being, whereas the other sciences have 
 to do with special concrete being. Meta- 
 physics constituting, then, as this science 
 of being and its elementary grounds, a pre- 
 supposition for the other disciplines, are, 
 naturally, first philosophy. — Schioegler, 
 ' Hist, of Phil.' p. 98. 
 
 Changes in Meaning. 
 
 Among the various changes which the 
 language of philosophy has undergone in 
 the gradual progress of human knowledge, 
 there is none more remarkable than the 
 different significations which, in ancient 
 and modern times, have been assigned to 
 the term metaphysics, — a term at first 
 sight almost equally indefinite in its etymo- 
 logical signification and in its actual use. 
 As given to the writings on first philo- 
 sophy, by Aristotle, it signifies nothing 
 more than the fact of somethina: else havina: 
 
 preceded. The title, thus indefinite in its 
 etymological signification, does not at first 
 sight appear to admit of more precision 
 with reference to its actual application. 
 Dugald Stewart notices ' the extraordinary 
 change which has gradually and insensibly 
 taken place, since the publication of Locke's 
 Essay, in the meaning of the word meta- 
 physics, — a word formerly appropriated to 
 the ontology and pneumatology of the 
 schools, but now understood as equally 
 applicable to all those inquiries which have 
 for their object to trace the various branches 
 of human knowledge to their first principles 
 in the constitution of our nature.' — 3Ia7i- 
 sel, ' Metaphysics,'' pp. 1-3 (abridged). 
 
 Nature of the Science. 
 
 Definition and Division. 
 
 Metaphysics is the science which in- 
 quires into the original or intuitive con- 
 victions of the mind, with the view of 
 generalising and expressing them, and also 
 of determining what are the objects revealed 
 by them. — 3PCosh, ^Intuitions of the Mind,^ 
 p. 320. 
 
 The term metaphysics has been at diffe- 
 rent times used in two principal senses : 
 (i.) As synonymous with ontology, to de- 
 note that branch of philosophy which 
 investigates the nature and properties of 
 Being or Reality, as distinguished from 
 phenomenon or appearance. (2.) As syn- 
 onymous with psychology, to denote that 
 branch of philosophy which investigates 
 the faculties, operations, and Jaws of the 
 human mind. These two sciences may be 
 regarded as investigations of the same pro- 
 blem from opposite points of view. Meta- 
 physics will thus naturally divide itself into 
 two branches, — Psychology, or the science 
 of the facts of consciousness as such ; and 
 Ontology, or the science of the same facts 
 considered in their i-elation to realities ex- 
 isting without the mind. — Mansel, ' Meta- 
 physics, ' pp. 23, 26. 
 
 Pure metaphysics or ontology is the 
 knowledge of being in its universal prin- 
 ciples. — Fraser, ^Selections,' &c., p. 7. 
 
METAPHYSICS— ONTULOG Y. 
 
 15 
 
 The science which considers what is uni- 
 versal in the objects of all the sciences. — 
 Trendelenburg. 
 
 The humorous yet profound definition 
 of Professor De Morgan may be added : 
 ' The science to which ignorance goes to 
 learn its knowledge, and knowledge to learn 
 its ignorance. On which all men agree 
 that it is the key, but no two upon how 
 it is to be put into the lock.' — ' Memoirs of 
 August us De Morgan.^ 
 
 Tlie division of Wolff and Kant. 
 
 Wolff divides metaphysics into ontology, 
 which treats of the existent in general ; 
 rational psychology, which treats of the 
 soul as a simple, non-extended substance ; 
 cosmology, which treats of the world as a 
 whole ; and rational theology, which treats 
 of the existence and attributes of God. — 
 Uehericeg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 116. 
 
 The whole system of metaphysic con- 
 sists of four principal paiis : — (i) Ontology; 
 (2) Rational Physiology; (3) Rational Cos- 
 mology ; (4) Rational Theology. — Kant, 
 ' Gritique of Reason,'' ii. 727. 
 
 In the Wolfian school, which proposed 
 to systematise the scattered j^hilosophy of 
 Leibnitz, metaphysics w^as asked to deal 
 ^vith three grand topics, — God, the world, 
 and the soul, — and should aim to construct 
 a rational theology, a rational physics, and 
 a rational psychology. Kant takes up this 
 view of metaphysics, but labours to show 
 that the speculative reason cannot construct 
 any one of these three sciences. The only 
 available metaphysics, according to him, is 
 a criticism of the reason, unfolding its a 
 jn'iori elements. He arrives at the conclu- 
 sion that all the operations of the specula- 
 tive reason are mere subjective exercises, 
 which imply no objective reality, and ad- 
 mit of no application to things ; and he 
 saves himself from scepticism by a criticism 
 of the practical reason which guarantees 
 the existence of God, freedom, and immor- 
 tality. 
 
 In the schools which ramified from Kant, 
 metaphysics is represented as being a sys- 
 
 tematic search after the absolute, — after 
 absolute being, its nature, and its method 
 of development. — M'Cosh, 'Intuitions of the 
 Mind,' p. 317, 318. 
 
 The Problem of Metaphysics. 
 
 The problem of metaphysics, as con- 
 ceived by Plato and Aristotle, may be 
 perhaps cleai'ly stated in modern language 
 as follows : ' To determine the relation that 
 exists between the subjective necessities 
 of thought and the objective necessities of 
 things^' In mathematical demonstration, 
 for example, we start from certain axio- 
 matic principles, of which, as mathema- 
 ticians, we can give no other account than 
 that they are self-evident ; that is to say, 
 we are compelled by the constitution of our 
 minds to admit them. But this opens a 
 further question. What is the relation of 
 self-evidence to reality ? Is the necessity, 
 of which I am conscious, of thinking in a 
 certain manner, any sure guarantee of a 
 corresponding relation in the objects about 
 which I think 1 In other words, are the 
 laws of thought also laws of things ; or, 
 at least, do they furnish evidence by which 
 the laws of things can be ascertained ? 
 Is thought identical with being, so that 
 every mode of the one is at the same time 
 a mode of the other ? Is thought an exact 
 copy of being, so that every mode of the 
 one is an adequate representative of some 
 corresponding mode of the other ? Or, 
 finally, is thought altogether distinct from 
 being, so that we cannot issue from the 
 circle of our ideas, to seize the realities 
 which those ideas are supposed to repre- 
 sent ? Does anything exist beyond the 
 phenomena of our own consciousness ? and 
 if it does exist, what is the path by which 
 it is to be reached ? — Mansel, ' Metaj'h gsics,' 
 p. 12, 13. 
 
 The Province of Metaphysics. 
 
 Metaphysics is a collection of truths out- 
 side and above all demonstration, because 
 they are i he foimdation of all demonstration; 
 it is neg.-^tively determined by the collective 
 
i6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 action of all the sciences, which eliminate 
 everything that outruns them. — Ribot, 
 '■ English Psychology,'' Tp. 12. 
 
 The province allotted to metaphysics is 
 quite a defined one. It is not the science 
 of all truth, but it is the science of an im- 
 portant department, — it is the science of 
 fundamental truth. It should not venture 
 to ascertain the nature of all knowledge, 
 divine and human ; it should be satisfied if 
 it can find what are the original knowing 
 powers of man. It should not pretend to 
 settle the nature of all being, or the whole 
 nature of any one being, but it would try 
 to find what we can know of certain kinds 
 of being by intuition. It should not pre- 
 sume to discover all causes, — which are to 
 be discovered only partially by all the 
 sciences, — but it should expound the nature 
 of our original conviction regarding causa- 
 tion. It should not start with the absolute, 
 and thence derive all dependent existence ; 
 but it is competent to prove that our con- 
 victions, aided by obvious facts, lead us to 
 believe in an Infinite Being. It has a field 
 in which it is perfectly competent to discover 
 truth. The body of truth thus reached 
 constitutes, in a special sense, philosophy ; 
 and ' philosophical ' is an epithet which 
 may be applied to every inquiry which 
 reaches it in the last resort, or which be- 
 gins with it and uses it. — 3PCosh, ^In- 
 tuitions,'' p. 321. 
 
 Metaphysics is the substitution of true 
 ideas — that is, of necessary truths of reason 
 —in the place of the ovex-sights of popular 
 opinion and the errors of psychological 
 science. — Ferrier, 'Institutes,' p. 34. 
 
 Relation to Psychology. 
 
 Metaphysics evolves the original concep- 
 tions which appear in all science, and the 
 ultimate relations which are assumed in 
 the language and inquiries of all the special 
 philosophies. But what are these original 
 conceptions, these prime relations, these 
 categories, of which every particular asser- 
 tion and every actual belief is only a special 
 exemplification ? Psychology only can an- 
 
 swer, as, by her analysis, she shows that 
 man jierforms processes and achieves results 
 in which he necessarily originates and ap- 
 plies these conceptions and relations. By 
 studying the mind we discover the laws by 
 which both mind and matter can be studied 
 aright. By studying the mind we unveil 
 and evolve the necessary conceptions and 
 primary beliefs by which the mind itself 
 interprets, or under which it views the 
 universe of matter and spirit. It is then 
 through psychology that we reach the very 
 sciences to which psychology itself is sub- 
 ject and amenable. Psychology is the 
 starting-point from which we proceed. 
 Psychology is also the goal to which we 
 must return, if we retrace the path along 
 which science has led us. In synthesis we 
 begin, in analysis we end, with this mother 
 of all the sciences. — Porter, 'Human Intel- 
 led,' p. 15. 
 
 Doctrine of Being. — Ontology. 
 
 Every man is cognisant of absolute exist- 
 ence when he knows — himself and the ob- 
 jects by which he is surrounded, or the 
 thoughts or feelings by which he is visited ; 
 every man is ignorant (in the strict sense of 
 having no experience) of all absolute exist- 
 ence except this — his own individual case. 
 But a man is not ignorant of all absolute ex- 
 istences except himself and his own presen- 
 tations, in the sense of having no conception 
 of them. He can conceive them as con- 
 ceivable, that is to say, as non-contradictory. 
 He has given to him, in his own case, the 
 type or pattern by means of which he can 
 conceive other cases of absolute existence. 
 Hence he can affirm, with the fullest as- 
 surance, that he is surrounded by absolute 
 existences constituted like himself, although 
 it is impossible that he can ever know 
 them as they know themselves, or as he 
 knows himself. — Ferrier, 'Institutes,'' pp. 
 508- 509- 
 
 Absolute existence is the synthesis of 
 the subject and object — the union of the 
 universal and the particular— the concre- 
 tion of the ego and non-ego ; in other 
 
ME TA PH YSICS—ON TOL OGY. 
 
 17 
 
 words, the only true, and real, and inde- 
 pendent existences are minds together 
 with that which they apprehend. — Fcrrier, 
 'Institutes,' p. 500. 
 
 Ontological Proof of the Existence of 
 God. 
 
 All absolute existences are contingent 
 except one; in other words, there is One, 
 but only one, Absolute Existence which is 
 strictly necessary ; and that existence is a 
 supreme, and infinite, and eternal Mind in 
 synthesis with all things. 
 
 In the judgment of reason there never 
 can have been a time when the universe 
 was without God. That is unintelligible 
 to reason ; because time is not time, but is 
 nonsense, without a mind ; space is not 
 space, but is nonsense, without a mind ; 
 all objects are not objects, but are non- 
 sense, without a mind ; in short, the whole 
 universe is neither anything nor nothing, 
 but is the sheer contradictory, without a 
 mind. And, therefore, inasmuch as we 
 cannot help thinking that there was a 
 time before man existed, and that there 
 was space befoi-e man existed, and that 
 the universe was something or other be- 
 fore man existed ; so neither can we not 
 help thinking that, before man existed, a 
 supreme and eternal intelligence existed, in 
 S}Ta thesis with all things. — Ferriev, ' Insti- 
 tutes; pp. 511, 512. 
 
 Value of the Study of Metaphysics. 
 
 In regard to other departments of know- 
 ledge. 
 
 The difficulties of metaphysics lie at the 
 root of all science ; those difficulties can 
 only be quieted by being resolved, and 
 until they are resolved, positively whenever 
 possible, but at any rate negatively, we are 
 never assured that any human knowledge, 
 even physical, stands on solid foundations. 
 — Mill, ^Examination of Hamilton; p. 2. 
 
 When people in general regard meta- 
 physics as a curious puzzle, in which 
 arguers give reasons for things which have 
 
 nothing to do with nature or common 
 sense, but entirely belong to an artificial 
 speciality created by an understanding 
 among themselves, they should be reminded 
 sometimes of the fact that everybody is a 
 metaphysician, and cannot help being one. 
 ]\[etaphysics could not possibly have had 
 any existence except there had been some 
 great leading ideas in man's mind upon the 
 foundation of which they had arisen. Thus, 
 take the first idea of this class that occurs 
 to one — the idea of infinity. This is a 
 metaphysical idea ; it arises out of our own 
 minds; it is not a copy from nature, as 
 many images in our minds are. We never 
 saw any object or extent that was infinite; it 
 would be a contradiction to say that we had. 
 Is this metaphysical idea an idea without 
 reality, without interest ? On the contrary, 
 it is an idea which appeals vividly to our 
 imagination ; it is an actual attribute of 
 this material world. Everybody then is a 
 metaphysician, just as everybody is a poet. 
 — Mozley, in ' Faith and Free Thought; pp. 
 2-4. 
 
 Li Theology. 
 
 Metaphysics, without entering theology, 
 may lend it some aid. 
 
 1. It may show that the difficulties and 
 mysteries which meet us in theology are 
 the same as those which come up in meta- 
 physics, being those which arise from the 
 limitation of our faculties and the imper- 
 fection of our knowledge. ' No difficulty,' 
 says Sir W. Hamilton, ' emerges in theo- 
 logy, which has not previously emerged in 
 philosophy.' The difficulties of revealed 
 religion chiefly congi-egate round the doc- 
 trines of the Trinity, of the decrees of God, 
 and original sin. Metaphysics are com- 
 petent to demonstrate that no man can 
 deliver himself from these dilliculties by 
 fleeing from Christianity to what may be 
 represented as a rational theism. 
 
 2. Metaphysics may furnish not a few 
 evidences in favour of Chi'istianity. Thus 
 it supplies the main elements in the proof 
 of those great doctrines which the Word of 
 God presupposes, such as the existence of 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the infinity and unity of God, and the im- 
 mortality of the soul, and a judgment-day — 
 truths very much lost sight of in heathen- 
 ism, and the pi-ominence given to which in the 
 Jewish Scriptures is a proof of their being 
 divinely inspired. All works of natural 
 theology, properly constructed, have a ten- 
 dency to strengthen the foundations of 
 
 Christianity. In particular, the inductive 
 investigation of the moral faculty in man 
 may yield a number of evidences in favour 
 of the divine origin of our religion. 
 
 3. Metaphysics can give a philosophic 
 method and manner to the treatment of 
 theological topics. — HP Cosh, ^Intuitions of 
 the 3Ii7id,' pp. 467-470. 
 
 II. 
 
 MIND. 
 
 I. MIND. 
 
 The Noblest Object of Study. 
 
 Considered in itself, a knowledge of the 
 human mind, whether we regard its specu- 
 lative or its practical importance, is con- 
 fessedly of all studies the highest and the 
 most interesting. ' On earth,' says an 
 ancient philosopher, ' there is nothing great 
 but man ; in man there is nothing great 
 but mind. ' No other study fills and satisfies 
 the soul like the study of itself. No other 
 science presents an object to be compared 
 in dignity, in absolute or in relative value, 
 to that which human consciousness fur- 
 nishes to its own contemplation. What is 
 of all things the best, asked Chilon of the 
 Oracle. *To know thyself,' was the re- 
 sponse. This is, in fact, the only science in 
 which all are always interested, for while 
 each individual may have his favourite 
 occupation, it still remains true of the 
 species that 
 
 * The proper study of mankind is man.' 
 
 -Hamilton, ' Metaph 
 
 1. 24. 
 
 Various Definitions of Mind. 
 
 The Scottish School. 
 
 Mind can be defined only from its mani- 
 festations. What it is in itself, that is, 
 apart from its manifestations,^ — we philoso- 
 phically know nothing, and, accordingly, 
 what we mean by miad is simply that which 
 
 perceives, thinks, feels, wills, desires, &c. — 
 Hamilton, ^ Metajihi/sics,' i. 157. 
 
 By the mind of a man, we understand 
 that in him which thinks, remembers, 
 reasons, wills. The essence both of body and 
 of mind is unknown to us. — Eeid, ' Works,' 
 p. 220. 
 
 The Idealists. 
 
 Besides all the endless variety of ideas 
 or objects of knowledge, there is likewise 
 something which knows or perceives them 
 and exercises divers opei-ations, as willing, 
 imagining, remembering, about them. This 
 perceiving, active being is what I call 7nind, 
 spirit, soul or myself. By which words I 
 do not denote any one of my ideas, but a 
 thing entirely distinct from them, wherein 
 they exist, or, which is the same thing, 
 whereby they are perceived — for the exis- 
 tence of an idea consists in being perceived. 
 — Berkeley, ' Principles of Human Knoio- 
 ledge,' Part I. 2. 
 
 The Empirical and Associational School. 
 
 What we call a mind is nothing but a 
 heap or collection of diffei-ent perceptions, 
 united together by certain relations, and 
 supposed, though falsely, to be endowed 
 with a perfect simplicity and identity.— 
 Hume, ' Works' i. 495. 
 
 My mind is but a series of feelings, or, 
 as it has been called, a thread of conscious- 
 ness, however supplemented by believed 
 
MIND. 
 
 ^9 
 
 possibilities of consciousness which are not, 
 though they might be, realised. — 3Iin, ^Ex- 
 amination of Hamilton,' p. 236. 
 
 If mind, as commonly happens, is put 
 for the sum total of subject-experiences, 
 we may define it negati^'ely by a single fact 
 — the absence of extension. But as object- 
 experience is also in a sense mental, the 
 only account of mind strictly admissible in 
 scientific psychology consists in specifying 
 three properties or functions — feeling, 
 will or volition, and thought or intellect — 
 through which all our experience, as well 
 objective as subjective, is built up. This 
 positive enumeration is what must stand 
 for a definition. — Bain, ^ Modal Science,' 
 pp. I, 2. 
 
 Classifications of the Mind. 
 
 Aristotle. 
 
 Soul is to organised body as form to 
 matter, as actualiser to the potential ; not 
 similar or homogeneous, but correlative ; 
 the two being only separable as distinct 
 logical points of view in regard to one and 
 the same integer or individual Aristotle 
 recognises many different varieties of soul, 
 or rather many distinct functions of the 
 same soul, from the lowest or most uni- 
 versal to the highest or most peculiar and 
 privileged; but the higher functions pre- 
 suppose or depend upon the lower as con- 
 ditions, while the same principle of relativity 
 pervades them all. ' The soul is in a cer- 
 tain way all existent things, for all of them 
 are either perceivables or cogitables ; and 
 the cogitant soul is in a certain way the 
 matters cogitated, while the percipient soul 
 is in a certain way the matters perceived.' 
 The percipient and its x^fi^'cpta—ihe cogi- 
 tant and its cugitata — each imj)lies and 
 correlates with the other : the percipient 
 is the highest form of all percepta ; the 
 cogitant is the form of forms, or the highest 
 of all forms, cogitable or perceivable. The 
 percipient or cogitant subject is thus con- 
 ceived only in relation to the objects per- 
 ceived or cogitated, while these objects again 
 are presented as essentially correlative to 
 
 the subject. The realities of nature arc 
 particulars, exhibiting form and matter in 
 one, though for purposes of scientific study 
 — of assimilation and distinction — it is 
 necessary to consider each of the two ab- 
 stractedly from the other. — Grote's ' Aris- 
 totle,' pp. 493, 494. 
 
 Thomas Aquinas. 
 
 I. Powers preceding the Intellect. 
 I, Vegetative : (a.) Nutrition ; (h.) 
 Growth ; (c.) Generation. 2. 
 External senses — five. 3. Inter- 
 nal senses : (a. ) Common sense ; 
 (h.) Imagination; (c.) Memory 
 (including Reminiscence). 
 II. The Intellect. 
 
 I. Memory (the retention or conser- 
 vation of species). 2. Reason. 
 3. Intelligentia. 4. Practical 
 and speculative reason. 5. Con- 
 science. 
 
 GassencU. 
 I. Sense. 
 II. Phantasy. 
 III. Intellect : i. Apprehension. 2. Re- 
 flection. 3. Reasoning. 
 
 Thomas Reid. 
 
 I. Intellectual Powers. 
 
 I. External senses. 2. Memory. 3. 
 Conception. 4. Abstraction. 5. 
 Judgment. 6. Reasoning. 7. 
 Taste. 
 II. Active Powers. 
 
 I. Mechanical principles of action : 
 (a.) Instinct; \h.) Habit. 2. 
 Animal principles : (a.) Appe- 
 tites; (b.) Desires; (c.) Ajffec- 
 tions. 3. Rational principles : 
 (a.) Self-love; {h.) Duty. 
 
 Dugald Stoicart. 
 
 I. Intellectual Powers. 
 
 I. Consciousness. 2. External per- 
 ception. 3. Attention. 4. Con- 
 ception. 5. Abstraction. 6. 
 Association of ideas. 7. Memory. 
 8. Imagination. 9. Reasoning. 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 II. Active Powers. 
 
 I. Instinctive principles of action : 
 (a.) Appetites; (b.) Desires; (c.) 
 Affections. 2. Rational and go- 
 verning principles of action : (a.) 
 Prudence ; (b.) Moral Faculty ; 
 (c.) Decency; (d.) Sympathy; 
 (e.) The ridiculous; (/) Taste. 
 
 TJiomas Broion. 
 
 L External Affections. 
 
 I. Sensation. 2. Organic states. 
 II, Internal Affections. 
 
 I. Intellectual states. 2. Emotions. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 I. Phenomena of our cognitive facul- 
 ties, or faculties of knowledge. 
 II. Phenomena of our feelings, or of 
 pleasure and pain. 
 
 III. Phenomena of our conative powers, 
 
 or of will and desire. 
 
 Alexander Bain. 
 I. The Senses. 
 
 1. Muscular feelings. 2. Sensation. 
 3. Appetites. 4. Instincts. 
 
 II. The Intellect. 
 
 Primary attributes are — i. Differ- 
 ence. 2. Agreement. 3. Reten- 
 tiveness. 
 
 III. The Emotions. 
 
 I. Novelty, surprise, wonder. 2. 
 Terror. 3. Love, admiration, 
 reverence, esteem. 4. Self-com- 
 placency. 5. Power. 6. Anger. 
 7. Plot-interest. 8. Sympathy. 
 
 lY. The Will. 
 
 I. Voluntary power. 2. Self control. 
 3. Motives. 4. Deliberation, 
 resolution, effort. 5. Desire. 
 6. Belief. 7. Moral habits. 8. 
 Prudence, duty. 9. Liberty and 
 necessity. 
 
 These divisions are formal for purposes of 
 study. 
 
 Although we divide the soul into several 
 powers and faculties there is no such divi- 
 
 sion in the soul itself, since it is the whole 
 sold that remembers, understands, wills, or 
 imagines. Our manner of considering the 
 memory, understanding, will, imagination, 
 and the like faculties, is for the better 
 enabling us to express ourselves in such 
 abstracted subjects of speculation, not that 
 there is any such di\ision in the soul itself. 
 — Addisoii, ' Spectator,^ No. 600. 
 
 Connection of Mind and Body. (See also 
 ' Materialism,' Sec. xiii. 8.) 
 
 Mutual dependence. 
 
 Mind and body constitute a unity in the 
 life of a single person. They are not inde- 
 pendent of each other, yet each can perform 
 a different part, for which the other is 
 incompetent. They are inter-dependent, if 
 I may use the term, as the only one which 
 adequately conveys the mutual dependence 
 which subsists, along with the power of 
 acting independently. But the inter-de- 
 pendence varies in the course of personal 
 history, the dependence of mind upon body 
 being greatest at the early stages of life ; 
 the dependence of body upon mind being 
 greatest at the advanced stages. . . . 
 
 Professor Bain has said that ' one sub- 
 stance 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.' A substance with 
 two sets of properties, and these directly 
 antagonistic, as represented by voluntary 
 and involuntary actions, seems an unwar- 
 rantable hypothesis. Man represents more 
 than sensori-motor apparatus, working an 
 elaborate muscular system by means of 
 stores of nerve energy. That which is 
 highest in him Ls not nerve force, and the 
 further his ' higher nature ' is developed 
 the more obvious does this become. — Col- 
 der wood, 'Relation of Mind and Brain,' pp. 
 314, 315- 
 
 There is an intimate connection between 
 mind and body, as is shown by the physical 
 expression of emotion. 
 
 The feelings possess a natural language 
 
MIND. 
 
 or expression. The smile of joy, the puck- 
 ered features in pain, the stare of astonish- 
 ment, the quivering of fear, the tones and 
 glance of tenderness, the frown of anger — 
 are united in seemingly inseparable asso- 
 ciation with the states of feeling that they 
 indicate. . , . Not merely are the grosser 
 forms of feeling thus linked with material ad- 
 juncts; in the artist's view, the loftiest, the 
 noblest, the holiest of the human emotions 
 have their marked and inseparable attitude 
 and deportment. In the artistic conceptions 
 of the Middle Ages more especially, the most 
 divine attributes of the immaterial soul had 
 their counterpart in the material body ; the 
 martyr, the saint, the Blessed Virgin, the 
 Saviour Himself, manifested their glorious 
 nature by the sympathetic movements of 
 the mortal framework. So far as concerns 
 the entire compass of our feelings or emo- 
 tions, it is the universal testimony of 
 mankind that these have no independent 
 spiritual subsistence, but are in every case 
 embodied in our fleshly form. — Bain, 'Alind 
 and Bodi/,' pp. 6-8. 
 
 77^6 effects iiroduced on mental states hij 
 bodily changes, and vice versa. 
 
 As to the influence of bodily changes on 
 mental states, we have such facts as the 
 dependence of our feelings and moods upon 
 hunger, repletion, the state of the stomach, 
 fatigue and rest, pure and impure air, cold 
 and warmth, stimulants and drugs, bodily 
 injuries, disease, sleep, advancing years. 
 These influences extend not merely to the 
 grosser modes of feeling, and to such fami- 
 liar exhibitions as after-dinner oratory, but 
 also to the highest emotions of the mind 
 — love, anger, aesthetic feeling and moral 
 sensibility. Intellectual faculties have no 
 exemption from the general rule. The 
 memory rises and falls with the bodily 
 condition ; being vigorous in our fresh 
 moments, and feeble when we are fatigued 
 or exhausted. 
 
 The influence of mental changes upon 
 the body is supported by an equal force of 
 testimony. Sudden outbursts of emotion 
 derange the bodily functions. Fear para- 
 
 lyses the digestion. Great mental depres- 
 sion enfeebles all the organs. — Bain, ' Mind 
 and Bod I/,' pp. 9-1 1. 
 
 T/ie hindrance to mental j^^'OQrcss hj 
 
 sense. 
 
 The human mind is so much clogged and 
 borne downward by the strong and early 
 impressions of sense, that it is wonderful 
 how the ancients should have made even 
 such a progress, and seen so far into intel- 
 lectual matters, without some glimmering 
 of a divine tradition. Whoever considers 
 a parcel of rude savages left to themselves, 
 how they are sunk and swallowed up in 
 sense and prejudice, and how unqualified 
 by their natural force to emerge from this 
 state, will be apt to think that the first 
 spark of philosophy was derived from 
 heaven. — Berkeley^ * Siris,' ' Worlis,' ii. p. 
 481. 
 
 Theories as to the Nature of the Con- 
 nection. 
 
 TJieory of occasional causes or divine 
 assistance. 
 
 The following theory was held by the 
 older followers of Descartes, especially 
 Geulinx, and by the older adherents of the 
 Scottish philosophical school : — 
 
 The mind and the body are two entirely 
 different substances possessing entirely 
 different qualities. The mind has been 
 brought into connection with the body, in- 
 habits the body, and uses the body as its 
 instrument of carrying out its purposes anil 
 communicating with the external world ; 
 but they are in nature so entirely different, 
 that there is, and can be, no truly causal 
 connection between the phenomena of the 
 one and those of the other. An impression 
 upon an organ is only an occasion on which, 
 by some mysterious power, a sensation is 
 produced in the mind. So the occurrence 
 of a volition or determination in the mind 
 is only an occasion on which, by divine in- 
 terference, a movement is excited in some 
 of the muscles of the body. The connec- 
 tion between the mind and body is only 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 accidental, and might have been otherwise. 
 The one is now inhabiting and employing 
 the other, but has an existence really inde- 
 pendent of the other ; and our knowledge 
 of the one cannot be increased to any mate- 
 rial extent by a study of the other. — Jar- 
 dine, ^Psychology of Cognition,'' p. lo. 
 
 The brain does not act immediately and 
 really upon the soul ; the soul has no direct 
 cognisance of any modification of the brain ; 
 this is impossible. It is God Himself who, 
 by a law which He has estabHshed, when 
 movements are determined in the brain, 
 produces analogous modifications in the 
 conscious mind. In like manner, suppose 
 the mind has a volition to move the arm ; 
 this volition is, of itself, inefl^icacious, but 
 God, in virtue of the same law, causes the 
 answering motion in our limb. The body 
 is not, therefore, the real cause of the mental 
 modifications ; nor the mind the real cause 
 of the bodily movements. God is the neces- 
 sary cause of every modification of body, 
 and of every modification of mind. The 
 organic changes, and the mental determina- 
 tions, are nothing but simple conditions, 
 and not real causes ; in short, they are oc- 
 casions or occasional causes. This doctrine 
 IS involved in the Cartesian theory, but it 
 was fully evolved by De la Forge and 
 Malebranche. Dr. Reid inclines to it, and 
 it is expressly maintained by Mr. Stewart. 
 — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,^ i. 301, 302. 
 
 Theory of pre-established harmony. 
 
 Leibnitz reproaches the Cartesians with 
 converting the universe into a perpetual 
 miracle and degrading the Divinity by 
 making Him act like a watchmaker, who 
 having constructed a timepiece would still 
 be obliged himself to turn the hands, to 
 make it mark the hours. He denies all 
 real connection, not only between spii^itual 
 and material substances, but between sub- 
 stances in general; and explains their 
 apparent communion from a previously 
 decreed co-arrangement of the Supreme 
 Being, in the following manner : — ' In the 
 infinite variety of possible souls and bodies, 
 it was necessary that there should be souls 
 
 whose series of perceptions and determina- 
 tions would correspond to the series of 
 movements which some of these possible 
 bodies would execute; for in an infinite 
 number of souls, and in an infinite number 
 of bodies, there would be fou.nd all possible 
 combinations. Now, suppose that, out of a 
 soul whose series of modifications correspond 
 exactly to the series of modifications which 
 a certain body was destined to perform, and 
 of this body whose successive movements 
 were correspondent to the successive modi- 
 fications of this soul, God should make a 
 man, — it is evident, that between the two 
 substances which constitute this man, there 
 would exist the most perfect harmony. 
 The soul and the body are thus like two 
 clocks accurately regulated, which point to 
 the same hour and minvite, although the 
 spring which gives motion to the one is not 
 the spring which gives motion to the other. 
 This harmony was established before the 
 creation of man; and hence it is called 
 the pre-established harmony.' — Hamilton, 
 ' Metaphysics,' i. 303. (See also Sec. xiii. 3.) 
 
 Theory of Materialism. 
 
 It is held by Comte, G. H. Lewes, and 
 others, that the mind is a function of the 
 brain. In order to understand this, we 
 must bear in mind the relation between 
 function and organ in the vegetable and 
 animal kingdoms. An organ is a constitu- 
 ent part of an organised body which has 
 some definite duty or function to perform. 
 The function of the leg of an animal is to 
 walk or run ; that of the wing of a bird is 
 to beat the air so as to enable the bird to 
 fly. The stomach is a large internal organ 
 of the body, whose function it is to contain 
 the food which we swallow, until it has 
 been prepared for being taken into the 
 blood. The liver is another organ, whose 
 function it is to secrete bile, which is poured 
 into the stomach to assist in the digestion 
 of our food. Every organ has got some 
 special work or function to perform in the 
 body to which it belongs. In the same 
 way, it is argued, the brain has a function 
 to perform in the animal system, and that 
 
MIND. 
 
 23 
 
 is to produce the various mental phenomena 
 of which we are conscious. — Janliue, * Psi/- 
 chology of Cognition,^ p. 8. 
 
 We know ourselves as body-mind ; we 
 do not know ourselves as body and mind, 
 if by that be meant two co-existent inde- 
 pendent existents ; the illusion by which 
 the two aspects appear as two reals may be 
 made intelligible by the analysis of any 
 ordinary proposition. For example, when 
 we say ' this fruit is sweet,' we express facts 
 of feeling — actual or anticipated — in ab- 
 stract terms. The concrete facts are these : 
 a coloured feeling, a solid feeling, a sweet 
 feeling, &c., have been associated together, 
 and the coloured, solid, sweet group is sym- 
 bolised in the abstract term * fruit. ' But 
 the colour, solidity, and sweetness are also 
 abstract terms, representing feelings asso- 
 ciated in other groups, so that we find 
 'fruit' which has no 'sweetness,' and 
 * sweetness ' in other things besides ' fruits,' 
 Having thus separated ideally the ' sweet- 
 ness ' from the ' fruit ' — which in the con- 
 crete sweet-fruit is not permissible — we 
 easily come to imagine a real distinction. 
 This is the case with the concrete living 
 organism when we cease to consider it in 
 its concrete reality, and fix our attention 
 on its abstract terms — Body and Mind. — 
 Lewes, * Problems of Life and Mind,' 2d 
 series, p. 350. 
 
 The Truth is, the Exact Nature of the 
 Conditions is Unknown. 
 The sum of our knowledge of the con- 
 nection of mind and body is this, — that the 
 mental modifications are dependent on cer- 
 tain corporeal conditions ; but of the nature 
 of these conditions we know nothing. For 
 example, we know, by experience, that the 
 mind perceives only through certain organs 
 of sense, and that, through these different 
 organs, it perceives in a different manner. 
 But whether the senses be instruments, 
 whether they be media, or whether they be 
 only partial outlets to the mind incarcerated 
 in the body, — on all this we can only theo- 
 rise and conjectui-e. — Hamilton, ' Metaphy- 
 sics,' ii. 128. 
 
 How the immaterial can be united with 
 matter, how the unextendcd can apprehend 
 extension, how the indivisible can measure 
 the divided, — this is the mystery of myste- 
 ries to man. — Hamilton, ' Ilcid's Works,' p. 
 880. 
 
 Man is to himself the mightiest prodigy 
 of nature. For he is unable to conceive 
 what is Body, still less what is Mind, and, 
 least of all, how there can be united a body 
 and a mind. — Pascal. 
 
 The Action of Body and Mind is Eecip- 
 rocal. 
 That the two have been so constituted as 
 that the bodily organism acts on mind, 
 while mind is also capable of operating on 
 the organism, this seems to me to be the most 
 satisfactory as it is certainly the simplest 
 account which can be given of the con- 
 nection. But let us properly understand 
 what, on such a supposition, is the precise 
 cause. It is a complex one in every case ; 
 it is the mind and the body in a particular 
 relation to each other. The co-existence of 
 the two is necessary to any effect being 
 produced, and the effect is the result of the 
 two operating and co-operating. Thus in 
 all perception through the senses there is a 
 cerebral power and there is mental power, 
 and without both there will be no result, 
 no object pei'ceived. There seems also to 
 be a duality in the effect : there is certainly 
 a mental effect, for the mind now perceives ; 
 and the cerebral mass, in the very act of 
 producing mental action, may undergo a 
 change ; thus there seems to be a fatigue 
 and exhaustion produced in the organism 
 by the very act of perceiving an immense 
 number of objects within a brief time, as 
 when we travel a great distance by railway, 
 and this can be accounted for by supposing 
 that the organism is affected by the action 
 which has taken place. — M'Cosh, ^Intui- 
 tions,' p. 191. 
 
 Mind is the Originating Power. 
 
 Matter cannot originate anything, while 
 mind may. Matter, being the seat of 
 
24 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 force, acts according to necessity in the cir- 
 cumstances in wliich it is placed ; and its 
 different species, being brought into juxta- 
 position, will go through a definite series of 
 combinations, resolutions, and alterations, 
 corresponding with the accidents in which 
 their properties come into contact, and 
 calculable by a mind competent to dis- 
 cern their several natures and conditions. 
 Hence it merely develops its fixed potencies 
 and capacities, without originating any- 
 thing new. Mind, on the other hand, be- 
 ing a seat of power — that is, of potency 
 governed by intelligence and choice — may 
 call into existence new circumstances, laws, 
 necessities, and forces, to the utmost extent 
 of its inherent ability. — Murphy, 'Human 
 Mind,' p. 1 8. 
 
 II. THE INTELLECT. 
 
 Definition of Intellect, as a Primary Divi- 
 sion of Mind. 
 
 Thought, Intellect, Intelligence, or Cogni- 
 tion, includes the powers known as Per- 
 ception, Memory, Conception, Abstraction, 
 Eeason, Judgment, and Imagination. — 
 Bain, ' Menial Science,' p. 2. 
 
 The term Intellect is derived from a verb 
 {i7itelli(jo), which signifies to understand : 
 but the term itself is usually so applied as 
 to imply a Faculty which recognises Prin- 
 ciples explicitly as well as implicitly ; and 
 abstract as well as applied ; and therefore 
 agrees with the Reason rather than the 
 Understanding ; and the same extent of 
 signification belongs to the adjective intel- 
 lectual. — Wheivell, 'Elements of Morality,' 
 p. 25. 
 
 The Primary Attributes of Intellect, as 
 stated by 
 
 Bain. 
 
 The primary attributes of Intellect are : — 
 ( I.) Consciousness of Difference. This is an 
 essential of intelligence. If we were not 
 distinctively affected by different things, 
 as by heat and cold, red and blue, we 
 should not be affected at all. The begin- 
 
 ning of knowledge, or ideas, is the dis- 
 crimination of one thing from another. 
 Where we are most discriminative we are 
 most intellectual. (2.) Consciousness of 
 Agreement. Supposing us to experience for 
 the first time a certain sensation, as red- 
 ness ; and, after being engaged with other 
 sensations, to encounter redness again ; we 
 are struck with the feeling of identity or 
 recognition ; the old state is recalled at 
 the instance of the new, by the fact of 
 agreement, and we have the consciousness 
 of agreement in diversity. All knowledge 
 finally resolves itself into Differences and 
 Agreements. (3.) Retentiueness. This at- 
 tribute has two aspects or degrees, (a.) 
 The persistence or continuance of the 
 mental agitation, after the agent is with- 
 drawn. When the ear is struck by the 
 sound of a bell there is a mental aAvakening, 
 termed the sensation of sound ; and the 
 silencing of the bell does not silence the 
 mental excitement ; there is a continuing, 
 though feebler consciousness, which is the 
 memory or idea of the sound. (6.) There 
 is a further and higher power, — the 
 recovering under the form of ideas, past 
 and dormant impressions, without the 
 originals and by mere mental agencies. 
 It is possible, at an after time, to be put 
 in mind of sounds formerly heard, with- 
 out a repetition of the sensible effect. 
 Every properly intellectual function in- 
 volves one or more of these attributes and 
 nothing else. — 'Mental Science,' pp. 82-84 
 (abridged). 
 
 Jevons. 
 
 The mental powers employed in the ac- 
 quisition of knowledge are probably three 
 in number. They are substantially as Pro- 
 fessor Bain has stated them : The Power of 
 Discrimination, the Power of Detecting Iden- 
 tity, the Power of Eetention, We exert the 
 first power in every act of perception. Con- 
 sciousness would almost seem to consist in 
 the break between one state of mind and 
 the next, just as an induced current of elec- 
 tricity arises from the beginning or the 
 ending of the primary current. Yet had 
 
THE INTELLECT. 
 
 25 
 
 we the powei" of discrimination only, science 
 could not be created. To know that one 
 feeling differs from another gives purely 
 negative information. It cannot teach us 
 what will happen. In such a state of in- 
 tellect each sensation would stand out dis- 
 tinct from every other ; thei'e would be no 
 tie, no bridge of affinity between them. "SVe 
 want a unifying jiower by which the present 
 and the future may be linked to the past ; 
 and this seems to be accomplished by a 
 different power of mind — the power of 
 identification. This rare property of mind 
 consists in penetrating the disguise of 
 variety and seizing the common elements 
 of sameness ; and it is this property which 
 furnishes the true measure of intellect. 
 Plato said of this unifying power, that if 
 he met the man who could detect the one 
 in the many, he would follow him as a god. 
 — ' Principles of Science,' pp. 4, 5. 
 
 Noah Porter. 
 
 The leading faculties of the intellect are 
 three : The presentative, or observing faculty ; 
 the representative, or creative faculty; the 
 thinking, or the generalising faculty. More 
 briefly, the faculty of experience, the faculty 
 of representation, and the fi cult y of intelli- 
 gence. Each of these has its place in the 
 order of intellectual growth and develop- 
 ment. Each has its appropriate products 
 or objects. Each acts under certain con- 
 ditions or laws. — ' Human Intellect,^ p. 77. 
 
 /. Sully. 
 
 The essential operation in all varieties 
 of knowing is the detecting of relations 
 between things. The most comprehensive 
 relations are difference or unlikeness and 
 agreement or likeness. All knowing means 
 discriminating one impression, object, or 
 idea from another (or others), and assimi- 
 lating it to yet another (or others). Hence 
 Discrimination and Assimilation have been 
 called properties or functions of intellect. 
 
 Another property of intellect, according 
 to Professor Bain, is Retentiveness. All 
 knowledge clearly implies the capability of 
 retaining, recalling, or reproducing past 
 
 impressions. But retentiveness occupies 
 a different place in knowing from that of 
 discrimination, Sic. It is rather the con- 
 dition of knowing, of coming to know, and 
 continuing to know than a part of the 
 active knowing process itself. — ' Outlines of 
 Psychology,' p. 26. 
 
 The several Powers of the Intellect co- 
 operate. 
 
 The several powers of the intellect act 
 together in the earlier stages of its growth, 
 and in both the earlier and later periods of 
 its history both aid and direct one another. 
 The action of a single power of the intellect 
 does not exclude the co-action of the other 
 powers. Yet, on the other hand, it is to 
 be remembered, that as the energy of the 
 whole soul is so far limited that one psy- 
 chical state is pre-emuaently a state of feel- 
 ing, another intellectual, and another volun- 
 tary, so, in the intellectual activities, one 
 is likely to be predominantly an act of 
 sense rather than an act of memoiy. — 
 Potter, ^ Humayi Intellect,^ p. 76. 
 
 The Work of the Intellect. 
 
 Besides our feelings, a careful analysis 
 shows us in our consciousness a second 
 element — that of relation. It is indefin- 
 able and exists only in the terms which 
 it unites. Take away the like things, and 
 the relation of likeness disappears also. 
 Relations are the product of the mind's 
 activity ; they are due to the mind, im- 
 posed by it on the sensations. This rela- 
 tioning is the work of the Intellect, it is 
 what we mean by Intellect. All opera- 
 tions of Thought are nothing else than the 
 becoming conscious of relations, the im- 
 posing of relations on things previously (for 
 us) out of relation. As Mr. Spencer puts 
 it, Reasoning is the classification of rela- 
 tion, just as ' classification,' in the ordi- 
 nary use of the word, is classification of 
 things. The process of thought is every- 
 where the same. But at each step rela- 
 tions, before only implicit, are rendered 
 explicit. The simple relations give rise 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to the higher — from Difference and Agree- 
 ment, Sequence, and Co-existence, we pro- 
 ceed to such complex bonds as Cause and 
 Effect, Reciprocal Action, Life, Conscious- 
 ness. — Rylands, ' Handbook of Psychology,^ 
 PP- 55» 56. 
 
 The Uses of Intellect. 
 
 It is by those powers and faculties which 
 compose that part of his nature commonly 
 called his intellect or understanding that 
 man acquires his knowledge of external 
 objects ; that he investigates truth in the 
 sciences ; that he combines means in order 
 to attain the ends he has in view; and 
 that he imparts to his fellow-creatures the 
 acquisitions he has made. — Stewart, ' Active 
 and Moral Powers,' introd. 
 
 Intellect is not merely the tool which 
 you will presently use for the business of 
 life. Intellect is the eye which may be 
 tutored accurately and truly to see truth ; 
 it is the faculty Avhich, quickened by ador- 
 ing love and sanctified by grace, is for an 
 eternity to have as its object the eternal 
 and infinite God. — Liddon, ' University 
 Sermons,' p. 45. 
 
 It is Perfected by Activity rather than 
 Knowledge. 
 
 * The intellect,' says Aristotle, ' is per- 
 fected not by knowledge but by activity ; ' 
 and in another passage, ' The arts and 
 sciences are powers, but every power exists 
 only for the sake of action ; the end of 
 philosophy, therefore, is not knowledge, 
 but the energy conversant about know- 
 ledge.' Scotus declares that a man's know- 
 ledge is measured by the amount of his 
 mental activity. — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,' 
 
 III. THE FACULTIES OF THE 
 INTELLECT. 
 
 Their Nature. 
 
 Defined and explained. 
 
 Faculty {facultas) is derived from the 
 obsolete 'La.Xinfacid, the more ancient form 
 of fucilis, from which again facilitas is 
 
 formed. It is properly limited to active 
 power, and therefore is abusively applied 
 to the mere passive affections of mind, 
 to which latter capacity is more properly 
 limited. — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,' i. 177. 
 
 A faculty, according to Hamilton, is not 
 anything in the mind, or any separable 
 portion of the mind, but is a general name 
 for the mind when acting in a particular 
 way. Similar mental acts are referred to 
 the same faculty; dissimilar acts to dif- 
 ferent faculties. — Monck, 'Sir W. Hamil- 
 ton,' p. 177. 
 
 Faculty is the ability of the mind to 
 behave in a certain way, either within it- 
 self or towards anything else. It displays 
 itself in voluntary, and therefore conscious 
 acts. Hence it is obvious that the faculties 
 are as numerous as the forms of activity 
 we discover in the mind. — MurjJiy, ' Human 
 Mind,' p. 20. 
 
 I am capable of feeling, of perceiving 
 external objects, of recollecting, of imagin- 
 ing, of desiring, of willing, of contracting 
 my muscles, and in this respect Peter, Paul, 
 and other men are similar to myself. These 
 qualities are capacities and faculties. More- 
 over, in addition to these capacities common 
 to all men, I have others special to myself ; 
 for instance, I am able to understand a 
 Latin book ; this porter can carry a weight 
 of three hundred pounds. Thus, faculty 
 and capacity are wholly relative terms ; 
 they are equivalent to power ; and, what- 
 ever be the power, that of a dog which can 
 run, that of a mathematician who can solve 
 an equation, that of an absolute king who 
 can cause heads to be cut off, the word 
 never does more than state that the con- 
 ditions of an event, or of a class of events, 
 are present. A power is nothing in itself, 
 except an aspect, an extract, a particularity 
 of certain events, the particularity they 
 have of being possible because their condi- 
 tions are given. — Taine, * Intelligence,' pp. 
 358-360. 
 
 They are not separafe organs. 
 We do not find that the soul is divided 
 into separate parts or organs, of which one 
 
THE FACULTIES OF THE INTELLECT. 
 
 27 
 
 m.iy bo active while the others are at rest. 
 The plant and the animal have distinct and 
 separate organs, of which each performs its 
 appropriate and peculiar function, which 
 none of the others can fulfil. The root, the 
 bark, the leaf, the flower, in the one, and 
 the stomach, the heart, the skin, and the 
 eye, in the other, each performs an office 
 which is peculiar to itself, and which it 
 shares with no other orsran. While one of 
 these organs is active, the others may be 
 as yet undeveloped or in a state of com- 
 parative repose. There is no evidence of 
 such a division of the soul into organs. The 
 whole soul, so far as we are conscious of 
 its operations, acts in each of its functions. 
 The identical and undivided ego is present, 
 and wholly present, in every one of its con- 
 scious acts and states. We can find no 
 part, we can infer no part, which is not 
 called into activity whenever the soul acts 
 at all. We can discover and conjecture no 
 organs, of which some are at rest while 
 others are in activity. — Porter, ' Human 
 Intellect,' p. 41. 
 
 If it be reasonable to suppose and talk 
 of faculties as distinct beings, that can act, 
 it is fit that we should make a speaking 
 faculty, and a walking faculty, and a dancing 
 
 faculty, ])y which those actions are produced, 
 which are but several modes of motion. — 
 Locke, ^ Human Understanding,' 11. xxi 17. 
 
 The words faculty, cajmcity, power, which 
 have played so great a part in psychology, 
 are only convenient names by means of 
 which we put together, in distinct compart- 
 ments, all facts of a distinct kind; these 
 names indicate a character common to all 
 the facts under a. distinct heading; they 
 do not indicate a mysterious and profound 
 essence, remaining constant and hidden 
 under the flow of transient facts — Taine, 
 '■Intelligence,' p. ix. 
 
 I feel that there is no more reason for 
 believing my mind to be made up of dis- 
 tinct entities, or attributes, or faculties, 
 than that my foot is made up of walking 
 and running. My mind, I firmly believe, 
 thinks and wills, and remembers, just as 
 simply as my body walks, and runs, and 
 rests. — Irons, 'Final Causes,' p. 93. 
 
 Their Classification. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 The best classification of the Intellectual 
 operations by Faculties is that of Sir W. 
 Hamilton {^Metaphysics,' ii. 17), who divides 
 them thus : — 
 
 I. 
 
 Presentative J 
 
 External 
 
 Perception (not mere Sensation alone) 
 
 
 Internal 
 
 Self-consciousness. 
 
 2. 
 
 Conservative = 
 
 INIemory 
 
 Retentiveness. 
 
 3- 
 
 Reproductive i 
 
 Without Will - 
 With Will 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Reminiscence. 
 
 4- 
 
 Representative - 
 
 Imagination. 
 
 
 5- 
 
 Elaborative = 
 
 Comparison = 
 
 Reasoning, Judgment, &c. 
 
 6. 
 
 Regulative = 
 
 Source of necessa 
 
 ry or a lyriori truths. 
 
 He is very careful to tell us that they 
 are mere classes of mental phenomena ; and 
 that between them there is only a formal 
 or logical distinction. — Rylands, "■ II andhooli , 
 dhc.,' p. 59. 
 
 These [Hamilton's], however, are pro- 
 perly the Cognitive faculties, and do not 
 include the Emotions and the Will. Con- 
 sciousness is not a Faculty, but includes all 
 the Faculties. — Monck, 'Sir W. Hamilton,' 
 p. 177. 
 
 Ka7it. 
 
 All the faculties of the soul, says Kant, 
 may be reduced to three, which three admit 
 not of being reduced to any other. They are 
 cognition, emotion, and will. For allthethree 
 the first contains the pi-inciples, the regulat- 
 ing laws. — Schwegler, ' Hist, of Fhil.' p. 2 1 7. 
 
 Their Relations to Intuitions. 
 
 The relation between the innate prin- 
 ciples, or the fundamental laws of the 
 
28 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 mind, on the one hand, and the faculties 
 of the mind, on the other, has seldom been 
 properly understood. The former seem to 
 me to be the rules of the operation of the 
 \a.tieT.—APCosh., ^Intuitions, d;c.,' p. 245. 
 
 Their Limitation of the Higher Faculties 
 is rather of Scope than of Power. 
 Nothing certainly in the human mind is 
 more wonderful than this : that it is con- 
 scious of its own limitations. Such con- 
 sciousness would be impossible, if these 
 limitations were in their nature absolute. 
 The bars which we feel so much, and 
 against which we so often beat in vain, are 
 bars which could not be felt at all, unless 
 there were something in us, which seeks a 
 wider scope. It is as if these bars were a 
 limit of opportunity, rather than a boun- 
 dary of power. No absolute limitation of 
 mental faculty ever is, or ever could be, felt 
 by the creatures whom it affects. Of this 
 we have abundant evidence in the lower 
 animals, and in those lower faculties of 
 our own nature which are of like kind to 
 theirs. All their powers, and many of our 
 own, are exerted without any sense of 
 limitation, and this because of the very 
 fact that the limitation of them is absolute 
 and complete. In their own nature, they 
 admit of no larger use. The field of effort 
 and attainable enjoyment is, as regards 
 them, co-extensive with the whole field of 
 view. Nothing is seen or felt by them 
 which may not be possessed. In such pos- 
 session all exertion ends, and all desire is 
 satisfied. This is the law of every faculty 
 subject to a limit which is absolute. — Diilie 
 of Argyll, * Contemj)orary Review,^ December 
 1880, p. 868. 
 
 IV. PERSONALITY— THE EGO. 
 
 Personality is Indefinable. 
 
 What is personality, is a question which 
 the wisest have tried to answer, and have 
 tried in vain. Man, as a person, is one, 
 yet composed of many elements ; — not 
 identical with any one of them, nor yet 
 
 with the aggregate of them all ; and yet 
 not separable from them by any effort of 
 abstraction. Man is one in his thoughts, 
 in his actions, in his feelings, and in the 
 responsibilities which these involve. It is 
 / who think, / who act, / who feel ; yet I 
 am not thought, nor action, nor feeling, nor 
 a combination of thoughts, and actions, and 
 feelings heaped together.— il/a?iseZ, ^Limits 
 of Religious Thought,'' p. 96. 
 
 This self- personality, like all other simple 
 and immediate presentations, is indefin- 
 able ; but it is so because it is superior to 
 definition. It can be analysed into no 
 simpler elements, for it is itself the simplest 
 of all ; it can be made no clearer by descrip- 
 tion or comparison, for it is revealed to us 
 in all the clearness of an original intuition, 
 of which description and comparison can 
 furnish only faint and partial resemblances. 
 — Hansel, ^ Prolegomena Logica,' ^. 138. 
 
 The Ego or Self is Revealed in Conscious- 
 ness, and depends upon this. 
 
 Of the ego itself we are directly conscious. 
 Not only are we conscious of the vai-ying 
 states and conditions, but we know them 
 to be ou,r own states ; i.e., each individual 
 observer knows his changing individual 
 states to belong to his individual self, or to 
 himself, the individual. The states we 
 know as varying and transitory. The self 
 we know as unchanged and permanent. 
 It is of the very nature and essence of a 
 psychical state to be the act or experience 
 of an individual ego. We are not first 
 conscious of the state or operation, and 
 then forced to look around for a something 
 to which it is to be referred, or to which it 
 may belong ; but what we know, and as we 
 know it, is the state of an individual per- 
 son. A mental state which is not produced 
 or felt by an individual self, is as inconceiv- 
 able as a triangle without three angles, or a 
 square without four sides. This relation of 
 the act or state to the self is not inferred, 
 but is directly known. — Porter, ' HumaJi 
 Intellect,'' p. 95. 
 
 The Self, the I, is recognised in every act 
 
PERSONALITY— THE EGO. 
 
 29 
 
 of intelligence, as the subject to which that 
 act belongs. It is I that perceive, I that 
 imagine, I that remember, I that attend, I 
 that compare, I that feel, I that desire, I 
 that will, I that am conscious. The I, 
 indeed, is only manifested in one or other 
 of these special modes ; but it is manifested 
 in them all ; they are all only the pheno- 
 mena of the I. — Hamilton, '■Metaphysics,' 
 i. 166. 
 
 Self is that conscious thinking thing, 
 whatever substance made up of (whether 
 spiritual or material, simj^le or compounded, 
 it matters not), which is sensible or con- 
 scious of pleasure and pain, capable of 
 happiness or misery, and so is concerned 
 for itself, as far as that consciousness ex- 
 tends. Thus every one finds, that whilst 
 comprehended under that consciousness, the 
 little finger is as much a part of himself as 
 what is most so. Upon separation of this 
 little finger, should this consciousness go 
 along with the little finger, and leave the 
 rest of the body, it is evident the little 
 finger would be the person, the same per- 
 son, and self then would have nothing to 
 do with the rest of the body. As in this 
 case it is the consciousness that goes along 
 with the substance, when one j^art is sepa- 
 rate from another, which makes the same 
 person, and constitutes this inseparable 
 self; so it is in reference to substances 
 remote in time. That with which the con- 
 sciousness of this present thinking thing 
 can join itself, makes the same person, and 
 is one self with it, and with nothing else ; 
 and so attributes to itself, and owns all the 
 actions of that thing as its own, as far as 
 that consciousness reaches, and no farther. 
 Personal identity consists, not in the 
 identity of substance, but in the identity 
 of consciousness. — Locke, '■ Huinan Under- 
 standing,'' II. xxvii. 17. 
 
 The idea of ourselves is comprised in all 
 our recollections, in almost all our previ- 
 sions, in all our pure conceptions or imagin- 
 ations. Moreover, it is called up by all 
 our sensations in any way strange or vivid, 
 especially those of pleasure or pain, and we 
 
 often forget the external world almost com- 
 pletely and for a considerable length of 
 time, to recall some agreeable or interesting 
 passage of our life, to imagine or desire 
 some great good fortune, to observe in the 
 distance, either past or future, some series 
 of our emotions. But this ourselves, to 
 Avhich, by a pei'petual recui-rence, we attach 
 each of our successive events, is far more 
 extensive than any one of them. It is 
 drawn out before our eyes with certainty 
 like a continuous thread, backwards, over 
 twenty, thirty, forty years, vip to the most 
 distant of our recollections, and further 
 still up to the beginning of our life, and. 
 it is drawn out too, by conjecture, for- 
 wards into other indeterminate and obscure 
 distances. — Taine, 'On Intelligence,' pp. 
 356-7- 
 
 Dawning of the Consciousness of the Ego. 
 
 The first step which the child makes 
 toward the cognition of self, is to distin- 
 guish its body from other bodies and other 
 persons. When it knows its name it 
 applies it first to its body, and usually 
 speaks of this self in the third person. It 
 is a great step forward when it can use the 
 pronoun I, a step not taken till the child 
 has developed decided wishes, and some 
 exhibition of character, in the form of 
 emotion, passion, or purpose. Jean Paul 
 Richter records of himself : ' Never shall I 
 forget the phenomenon in myself, never till 
 now recited, when I stood by the birth of 
 my o"vvn self-consciousness, the place and 
 time of which are distinct in my memory. 
 On a certain forenoon I stood, a very young 
 child, within the house-door, and was look- 
 ing out toward the wood-pile, as, in an 
 instant, the inner revelation, *I am I,' like 
 lightning from heaven, flashed and stood 
 brightly before me ; in that moment h d I 
 seen myself as I, for the first time and fop» 
 ever ! ' — Porter, 'Human Intellect,' p. loi. 
 
 " The baby, new to earth and sky, 
 
 What time his tender palm is pressed 
 Against the circle of the breast, 
 Has never thought that ' this is I.' 
 
3° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 But as he grows, he gathers much, 
 And learns the use of ' I ' and ' me,' 
 And finds ' I am not what I ses, 
 
 And other than the things I touch ; ' 
 
 So rounds he to a separate mind, 
 
 From whence clear memory may begin. 
 As thro' the frame that binds him in. 
 
 His isolation grows defined." 
 
 — Tennyson, ''In Memoriam,^ xliv. 
 
 Our Perception of Personality. 
 
 ( I.) JFe hiow self as having being, existence. 
 The knowledge we have in self-conscious- 
 ness, which is associated with every intel- 
 ligent act, is not of an impression, as Hume 
 would say, nor of a mere quality or attri- 
 bute, as certain of the Scottish metaphysi- 
 cians affirm, nor of a phenomenon, in the 
 sense of appearance, as Kant supposes, but 
 of a thing or reality, 
 
 (2.) We know self as not depending for its 
 existence on our observation of it. Of course 
 we can know self only when we know self ; 
 our knowledge of self exists not till we have 
 the knowledge, and it exists only so long 
 as we have the knowledge. But when we 
 come to know self, we know it as already 
 existing, and we do not look on its con- 
 tinued existence as depending on our re- 
 cognition of it. 
 
 (3.) We know self as beiiig in itself an 
 abiding existence. Not that we are to 
 stretch this conviction so far as to believe 
 in the self-existence of mind, or in its 
 eternal existence. We believe certainly 
 in the permanence of mind independent 
 of our cognition of it, and amidst all the 
 shiftings and variations of its states. Yet 
 this does not imply that there never was 
 a time when self was non-existing. For 
 aught this conviction says, there may have 
 been a time when self came into existence 
 — another conviction assures us that when 
 it did, it must have had a cause. It must 
 be added that this conviction does not go 
 the length of assuring us that mind must 
 exist for ever, or that it must exist after 
 the dissolution of the body. Intuition does 
 indeed seem to say that, if it shall cease to 
 exist, it must be in virtue of some cause 
 
 adequate to destroy it ; and it helps to pro- 
 duce and strengthen the feeling which the 
 dying man cherishes when he looks on the 
 soul as likely to abide when the body is 
 dead. But as to whether the dissolution of 
 the bodily frame is a sufficient cause of the 
 decease of the soul, — as to whether it may 
 abide when the bodily frame is disorganised, 
 — this is a question to be settled not alto- 
 gether by intuition, but by a number of 
 other considerations, and more particularly 
 by the conviction that God will call us into 
 judgment at last, and is most definitely 
 settled, after all, by the inspired declara- 
 tions of the Word of God. — M'Cosh, ' Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,'' pp. 149-152. 
 
 Characteristics of Personality. 
 
 It is indivisible. 
 
 All mankind place their personality in 
 something that cannot be divided, or con- 
 sist of parts. A part of a person is a mani- 
 fest absurdity. When a man loses his 
 estate, his health, his strength, he is still 
 the same person, and has lost nothing of 
 his personality. If he has a leg or an arm 
 cut off, he is the same person he was before. 
 The amputated member is no part of his 
 person, otherwise it would have a right to 
 a part of his estate, and be liable for a part 
 of his engagements; it would be entitled 
 to a share of his merit and demerit — which 
 is manifestly absurd. A person is some- 
 thing indivisible. — i?ez J, ' Works,' p. 345. 
 
 It supposes intelligence. 
 
 If the substance be unintelligent in which 
 the quality exists, we call it a thing or sub- 
 stance, but if it be intelligent we call it a 
 pe7-son, meaning by the word person to dis- 
 tinguish a thing or substance that is intelli- 
 gent from a thing or substance that is not 
 intelligent. — Tag I or, 'Apology of Ben Mor- 
 decai,' Letter i. p. 85. 
 
 It implies limitation and relation. 
 
 Personality, as we conceive it, is essen- 
 tially a limitation and a relation. Person- 
 ality is presented to us as a relation between 
 the conscious self and the various modes of 
 
PERSONALITY— THE EGO. 
 
 31 
 
 his consciousness. Personality is also a 
 limitation, for the thought and the thinker 
 are distinguished from and limit each other. 
 If I am any one of my own thoughts, I 
 live and die with each successive moment 
 of my consciousness. — Mansel, 'Limits of 
 Reliijious Tliought,' p. 59. 
 
 But limitation is the occasion, not the cause, 
 of Personality. 
 
 Is it in our own case the limitation of 
 self by the cosmical non-ego which is the 
 cause of our consciousness reflecting upon 
 itself, and thus becoming seZ/'-conscious or 
 personal, so that without the non-ego our 
 personality would cease to exist ? No, this 
 limitation is merely the occasion ; the origi- 
 nal cause of the self-reflection consists in 
 the peculiar constitution of the human sub- 
 ject as a spirit, which points to a primal 
 spirit -subject as its Creator. — Christlieh, 
 ^Modern Doubt,' p. 169. 
 
 Human personality has two necessary co7i- 
 ditions. 
 
 There remain two conditions which I 
 conceive as essential to my personal exist- 
 ence in every possible mode, and such as 
 could not be removed without the destruc- 
 tion of myself as a conscious being. These 
 two conditions are time and free agency. 
 The consciousness of any object, as such, is 
 only possible to human beings under the 
 condition of change, and change is only 
 possible under the condition of succession. 
 Succession in time is thus manifested as a 
 constituent element of my personal exist- 
 ence. Again, consciousness in its human 
 manifestation implies an active as well as 
 a passive element; — a power of attending 
 to the successive states of consciousness. 
 But in attention we remark, obscurely in- 
 deed, but certainly, the presence of the 
 power of volition. — Mansel, ' Metaphysics,' 
 p. 360. 
 
 Continuance of Personality. 
 
 The sense of it is indestructible. 
 Man thinks, he wills, he loves : there- 
 fore he is, and knows that he is. That 
 
 consciousness is simply indestructible. It 
 matters not that extending knowledge tells 
 him his infinite physical littleness. It 
 matters not that both science and experi- 
 ence show him how greatly his life is affected 
 bycircumstances, bodily constitution, human 
 influence. It matters not that, to his in- 
 finite wonder, he finds this treasure hidden 
 in a mere earthen vessel, always in decay, 
 liable at any instant to be shattered. In 
 some sense it matters not that conscious- 
 ness shows him his blindness of thought, 
 his weakness, or sinfulness of will. In 
 spite of all, the simplest child and the 
 wisest philosopher alike know that there 
 is in them a distinct individuality, armed 
 with these three great powei-s to think, to 
 will, and to love.— Barry, ' Manifold Wit- 
 ness,' p. 215. 
 
 All imagination of a daily change of that 
 living agent which each man calls himself 
 for another, or of any such change through- 
 out our whole present life, is entirely borne 
 down by our natural sense of things. Nor 
 is it possible for a person in his wits to 
 alter his conduct with regard to his health 
 or affairs, from a suspicion that though he 
 should live to-morrow he should not, how- 
 ever, be the same person he is to-day. — 
 Butler, ' Dissertation,' i. 
 
 Personality survives death. 
 
 The body is dissolved in death. How 
 can man still exist in his true nature and 
 personality ? The difliculty of answering 
 this question, and of conceiving a true per- 
 sonality in a disembodied soul — the mere 
 * shade ' (as ancient poetry has it) of its 
 former self — threw a gloom of vagueness 
 and darkness over the future world, which 
 prevented its being realised with any vivid- 
 ness of power ; and indeed, after an almost 
 grotesque device for putting off the per- 
 plexity by a notion of transmigration of 
 souls, often ended in the conception of an 
 absorption of the soul into the Anima vmndi, 
 perhaps to pass away altogether in respect 
 of individuality, perhaps to be sent forth 
 again into another cycle of earthly exist- 
 ence. Humanity waited for some clear, 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 unwavering light, which might scatter the 
 darkness of doubt. That longed-for light 
 was given by the declaration of the Resur- 
 rection in all its full meaning. For, first, 
 it brought the present spirituality of man 
 out of the region of mere speculation. Then, 
 as inseparable from this, came the certainty 
 of a future resurrection, brought again out 
 of speculation and hope to the plain light 
 of day. It showed distinctly that the body 
 was a part of our true self; that in the 
 future perfection of man it should have its 
 appointed place. — Barry, ^Manifold Wit- 
 ness,^ pp. 135-7 (abridged). 
 
 Practical Importance of the Fact of Per- 
 sonality. 
 
 A ground of belief in God. 
 
 It is important to observe that it is only 
 through the consciousness of personality 
 that we have any ground of belief in the 
 existence of a God. If we admit the argu- 
 ments by which this personality is anni- 
 hilated, whether on the side of Materialism 
 or on that of Pantheism, we cannot escape 
 from the consequence to which those argu- 
 ments inevitably lead, — the annihilation of 
 God Himself. — Mansel, ' Limits of Religious 
 Thouglit; p. 88. 
 
 Tlie first requisite of philosophy. 
 
 Personality is the first requisite for phi- 
 losophising. Where there is not self-con- 
 sciousness, or knowledge of Self, as possess- 
 ing power for self-direction, under conditions 
 of intelligence, there cannot be a philo- 
 sophy either of our own nature or of any 
 other form of being. — Caldericood, ' Morcd 
 Phil.,^ P- 14' 
 
 The basis of Morals. 
 
 Personality is the basis of Morality. 
 Where there is not knowledge of Self, as 
 the intelligent source of action, there is no 
 discrimination of motive, act, and end ; 
 and where such discrimination does not 
 exist, there is no morality. The knowledge 
 of moral distinctions, and the practice of 
 morality, are in such a case equally impos- 
 sible. — Calderwood, ^ Moral Phil,' p. 14. 
 
 Its influence in worlds of art. 
 
 In works which interest us the authors 
 in a way substitute themselves for nature. 
 However common or vulgar the latter may 
 be, they have some rare and peculiar way 
 of looking at it. It is Chardin himself 
 whom we admire in his representation of 
 a glass of water. We admire the genius 
 of Rembrandt in the profound and indi- 
 vidual character which he imparted to every 
 head that posed before him. —Biirger, 1863. 
 
 A Belief in our Personality is Irreconcil- 
 able with Pantheism. 
 Pantheism is inconsistent with the con- 
 sciousness of self, with the belief in our 
 personality. It may seem a doctrine at 
 once simple and sublime to represent the 
 universe as "Ev xa/ crai', but it is incon- 
 sistent with one of the earliest and most 
 ineradicable of our primary convictions. 
 If it can be shown that there are two or 
 more persons it follows that all is not one, 
 that all is not God. According to every 
 scheme of pantheism, I, as a part of the 
 universe, am part of God, part of the whole 
 which constitutes God. But in all con- 
 sciousness of self we know ourselves as 
 persons ; in all knowledge of other objects 
 we know them as different from ourselves, 
 and ourselves as different from them. 
 Every man is convinced of this ; no man 
 can be made to think otherwise. If there 
 be a God, then, as all His works proclaim. 
 He must be different from at least one part 
 of His works, — He must be different from 
 me. In the construction of his artificial 
 system of a 2Jriori forms, Kant most un- 
 foi-tunately omitted the knowledge of a 
 personal self, and thus speculation, in the 
 hands of his successors, was allowed to flow 
 out into a dreary waste of pantheism. 
 When we restore the conviction of the 
 separate existence of self, and the behef 
 in our continued personality to its proper 
 place, we are rearing an effective barrier 
 in the way of the possible introduction of 
 any system in which man can be identified 
 with God or with anything else. — M'Cosh, 
 ' Intuitions of the Mind,' p. 453. 
 
NATURE OF MAN. 
 
 33 
 
 V. NATURE OF MAN. 
 
 I. Is ]Max"s Nature Threefold or Two- 
 fold? 
 
 Arguments for the Tripartite Nature. 
 
 The early Christian Church inherited 
 the ancient philosophical Trichotomy, as 
 expounded by Plato. The soul was regarded 
 as the piinciple of animal life, common to 
 man and the lower orders, and the spirit as 
 added by the divine inbreathing to be man's 
 special prerogative : whether as a new sub- 
 stance or a new qualification of the soul was 
 never determined. But this distinction, 
 which is adopted for practical purposes by 
 St. Paul, was perverted to heretical ends. 
 Hence the healthier tone of Christian teach- 
 ing, especially in the West, found it needful 
 to hold fast the Dichotomy of human nature : 
 body and soul, flesh and spirit, being inter- 
 changeable expressions for the dual nature 
 of man. It will be obvious, however, to 
 those who weigh well the utterances of 
 Scripture, that the whole religious history 
 of man requires a certain distinction be- 
 tween soul and spii-it. — Pope, ' GJiristian 
 Theology; i. 435. 
 
 The only trichotomy which will stand 
 the test of our advanced school of physiolo- 
 gists is this, that the bodily organism, the 
 intellectual faculties, and that higher spiri- 
 tual consciousness by which we know and 
 serve God, are not separable natures, but 
 separate manifestations of the one nature. 
 That relation of the Persons of the Trinity, 
 which is called Sabellianism, is the best ex- 
 pression of that which we hold with regard 
 to the nature of man. However defective 
 such a theoi-y may be to express the rela- 
 tions of the Persons of the Triune Jehovah, 
 it is not objectionable to speak of the 
 three manifestations of one nature in man. 
 The will or personality, the original monad 
 or centre of force, has three forms of con- 
 sciousness — that of sense, of self, and of 
 God-consciousness, Man has not three 
 lives, but one life ; he is not three persons, 
 but one person. The will or the ego is at 
 one moment moi'e present to sense-con- 
 
 sciousness, and then again it passes into 
 self-consciousness, or into God-conscious- 
 ness, passing thus through the outer court 
 of the holy place into the holiest of all ; 
 but it is always one and the same will. 
 Our personality is the same, whether the"] 
 will acts through the body, the soul, or the 
 spirit. This is the difference, therefore, 1 
 between the Trinity and the trichotomy, 
 that in the one case the person is distinct, 
 as well as the work, in the other case not. 
 The Trinity is three persons in one nature 
 or substance — the trichotomy is three 
 natures in one person. — Heard, ' Tripartite 
 Nature of Man; p. 138. 
 
 Body, Soul and Spirit are the three com- 
 ponent parts of man's nature. Spirit and 
 soul together make up our incorporeal 
 nature. 
 
 (i.) The spirit is the higher side of our 
 incorporeal nature, — the mind, as it is 
 termed in Scripture, when contemplated 
 under its intellectual aspects, — the inner 
 man, as it is also denoted, when viewed in 
 its purely theological relations, in a word, 
 the moving, ruling, and animating principle 
 of our nature. It is also the medium of 
 our communication with, and the very 
 temple of the Holy Ghost. Thus the spirit 
 may be regarded more as the realm of the 
 intellectual forces, and the shrine of the 
 Holy Ghost. 
 
 (2.) The soul is the lower side of our 1 
 incorporeal nature, and the subject of the \ 
 spirit's sway. It may be regarded more \ 
 as the region of the feelings, affections, and 
 impulses, of all that peculiarly individual- 
 ises and personifies. But it should be 
 observed that Scripture often represents 
 the soul to us as almost necessarily involv- 
 ing and including the spirit. Thus the 
 Scripture never speaks of the salvation of 
 the spirit, but the salvation of the soul. 
 
 (3.) The body we know as the outward 
 tabernacle, the corporeal part of our 
 nature. 
 
 Lastly, these three parts are intimately 
 associated and united, and form the media 
 of communication, both with each other, 
 and with the higher and lower elements. 
 
 
 
34 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 As the body is the medium of communica- 
 tion between the soul and the phenomenal 
 world, so the soul is the medium of com- 
 munication between the body and the 
 spirit; and the spirit the medium between 
 the soul and the Holy Spirit of God. — 
 Ellicott, ' Destiny of the Creature, &c.\ pp. 
 120-4 (abridged). 
 
 Arguments for Duality of Human Nature. 
 
 The phrase, spirit, soul, body, is not a 
 mere rhetorical amplification, nor yet of 
 itself a proof of a trichotomy of human 
 nature, borrowed by Paul from Philo or 
 Plato. The phraseology of Scripture is 
 as exact as it is popular, but it does not 
 favour such a division. Sci-ipture distin- 
 guishes between the spirit and the soul, 
 but not necessarily as between constituent 
 2Mrts, substances, but as between two 7-eIa- 
 tions, sides, functions of the same essence, 
 according to its upward or downward direc- 
 tion. — Auberlen. 
 
 The Scriptures teach that God formed 
 the body of man out of the dust of the 
 earth, and breathed into him the breath of 
 life, and he became a living soul. Accord- 
 ing to this account, man consists of two 
 distinct principles, a body and a soul : the 
 one material, the other immaterial ; the 
 one corporeal, the other spiritual. The 
 Scriptural doctrine of the nature of man is 
 that as a created being he consists of two, 
 and only two, distinct elements or sub- 
 stances, matter and mind. Scriptural doc- 
 trine is opposed to Trichotomy, or the 
 doctrine that man consists of three distinct 
 substances, body, soul, and spirit. In op- 
 position to all forms of trichotomy, it may 
 be remarked : (i.) It is opposed to the 
 account of the creation of man as given in 
 Gen. ii. 7. (2.) It is opposed to the uni- 
 form usage of Scripture, seeing Soul and 
 Spirit designate one and the same thing, 
 and are constantly interchanged. (3.) We 
 may appeal to the testimony of conscious- 
 ness. We are conscious of our bodies, and 
 we are conscious of our souls, i.e., of the 
 exercises and states of each ; but no man 
 is conscious of the soul as different from 
 
 the spirit. Consciousness reveals the exist- 
 ence of two substances in the constitution 
 of our nature ; but it does not reveal the 
 existence of three substances, and there- 
 fore the existence of more than two cannot 
 rationally be assumed. — Hodge, ^Systematic 
 Theology,'' ii. 42-9 (abridged). 
 
 2. Body. 
 Distinguished from Matter. 
 
 Monboddo {'Ancient Metaphysics,' bk. ii. 
 chap, i) distinguishes between matter and 
 body, and calls body matter sensible, that 
 is WT.th those quahties which make it per- 
 ceptible to our senses. This leaves room 
 for understanding what is meant by a 
 spiritual body, of which we read in i Cor. 
 XV. 44. He also calls body, * matter with 
 form,' in contradistinction to ' first matter,' 
 which is matter without form. — Fleming, 
 ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 67. 
 
 An Essential Part of Man's Nature. 
 
 The body is an essential part of man's 
 entity — he is a corporeal, spiritual being. 
 Scripture describes tJie body as that which 
 first exists, which is fundamental. And it 
 still is so in the case of every individual 
 human being. With respect to his body, 
 man belongs to the corporeal world, and 
 forms its completion. His body is the 
 recapitulation of material nature, whose 
 various provinces are here repeated in a 
 higher grade, and united in a perfect living 
 organism. It is characteristic of the scrip- 
 tural view, that while it does not make the 
 body the very essence of man, it yet regards 
 it as an essential component of his entirety. 
 It thus occupies the middle ground between 
 the view which esteems the body as all in 
 all, so that life after death is degraded, as in 
 Homer, into a melancholy and shadow-like 
 existence ; and the spiritualistic view of 
 Plato, which regards the body as a prison 
 and a fetter, to be freed from which forms 
 the happiness of man — a doctrine whose 
 proximate consequence is the stoical wis- 
 dom of suicide. — Luthardt, ^Fundamental 
 Truths,^ p. 126. 
 
NATURE OF MAN. 
 
 35 
 
 Its Identity — How Dependent. 
 
 The identity of the body, even iu this 
 life, depends not on the mere material 
 particles, which are being dissolved and 
 renewed at every moment, but on the im- 
 press of individuality, which these changes 
 do not impair, and which gives to the body 
 a distinctive character in each one of the 
 countless millions of human kind. — Barry, 
 '■Manifold Witness, ctr.,' p. 139. 
 
 It is 
 
 Tlie organ for attaining knowledge. 
 
 It is through the bodily organism that 
 the intelligence of man attains its knowledge 
 of all material objects beyond. This is 
 true of the infant mind ; it is true also of 
 the mature mind. We may assert some- 
 thing more than this regarding the organ- 
 ism. It is not only the medium through 
 which we know all bodily objects beyond 
 itself, it is itself an object primarily known ; 
 nay, I am inclined to think that, along with 
 the objects immediately affecting it, it is 
 the only object originally known. Intui- 
 tively man seems to know nothing beyond 
 his own organism, and objects immediately 
 affecting it ; in all further knowledge there 
 is a process of inference proceeding on a 
 gathered experience. This theory seems to 
 me to explain all the facts, and it delivers 
 us from many perplexities. — M'Cosh, ^In- 
 tuitions of the Mind,' p. 103. 
 
 21ie agent of the spirit. 
 
 The entire spiritual life is rooted in this 
 corporeal soil, and uses the bodily organism 
 as its instrument. The spirit has no inde- 
 pendent agency; it acts only through and 
 in the body. It can manifest itself only 
 by means of its necessary instrument, the 
 body. Hence every disturbance of the body 
 ^vill produce, by reaction, a corresponding 
 disturbance in the mode in which the mind 
 is accustomed to manifest itself. What 
 we call mental disease, because the mind's 
 mode of manifestation seems disturbed, is 
 in fact a bodily disorder. It is the disorder 
 of its corporeal instrument which makes 
 
 the mind appear disordered. When the 
 sti-ings of the instrument are out of tune, 
 though the piece of music be correct, and 
 the player perform it with the greatest 
 accuracy, its execution will produce but 
 discord. It is thus that we must under- 
 stand the intellectual dulness of old age. 
 It is the bodily organism which refuses 
 its office, and the mind, thus hindered in 
 its extei-nal manifestations, retu-es into its 
 own secret world, and very little of it can 
 be seen through the veil of the body. All 
 that is at fault is the external manifesta- 
 tion and instrumentality of the bodily or- 
 ganism. — Luthardt, ' Fundamental Truths,' 
 p. 125-6. 
 
 It is adapted to the Soul. 
 
 The body is in general and particular 
 adapted to the habits and uses of the species 
 and of the individual soul with which it is 
 connected. This adaptation is so manifold 
 and complete as to indicate that the agent 
 that forms and moulds these peculiarities 
 is the same that uses and applies them. 
 The human body is unlike the body of every 
 other species of animals, not merely in its 
 external features of form and function, but 
 also in its special capacities to be the ser- 
 vant of the human soul. The hand is not 
 merely a more dexterous and finely moulded 
 instrument than the forefoot of the quad- 
 ruped and the paw of the monkey, but is 
 specially fitted to be used by the inventive 
 and skilful mind. Every other part of the 
 human body is also especially harmonious 
 to and congruous with the human soul, as 
 intellect, sensibility, and will. Not only is 
 there a general harmony between the body 
 and soul of the species as a whole, but there 
 is in individuals a special hai'mony between 
 the body and soul. The eye that is capable 
 of discerning the nicest shades of colour, 
 or tracing graceful outlines of form, is 
 usually conjoined with a special delight in 
 colour and form, as well as with a capacity 
 of hand to reproduce what delights both 
 soul and eye. The ear that is physically 
 refined in its discrimination of sounds and 
 musical tones, is usually attended by a spe- 
 
36 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 cial sensibility of the soul to the delights of 
 elocution and music, and with the physical 
 and psychical capacity to produce the sounds 
 which give it such pleasure. Quickness of 
 intellect is attended by organs that are 
 mobile and acute and a temperament that 
 is harmonious with both intellect and organ- 
 ism. — Porter, ^ Human Intellect,^ p. 37. 
 
 3. Soul and Spirit. 
 
 Soul and Spirit Defined and Distinguislied 
 from each other. 
 
 Soul and Spirit. 
 
 rb c7-vsD/>t.a is the spirit, the highest and 
 distinctive part of man, the immortal and 
 responsible Sotd, in our common parlance ; 
 3; -^u^^ is the lower or animal said, contain- 
 ing the passions and desires, which we have 
 in common with the brutes, but which in us 
 is ennobled and drawn up by the spirit, — 
 Alford, ' Greek Testament,' iii. 282. 
 
 The spirit is the spiritual nature of man 
 as directed upward, and as capable of living 
 intercourse with God. The soul is the 
 spiritual nature as the quickening power 
 of the body, as in animals ; hence excitable 
 through the senses, with faculties of per- 
 ception and feeling. — Auberlen. 
 
 Among modern philosophers in Germany 
 a distinction is taken between soul and 
 spirit. According to Professor Schubert, 
 a follower of Schelling, the soul is the in- 
 ferior part of our intellectual nature. The 
 sjnrit is that part of our nature which tends 
 to the purely rational, the lofty, and divine. 
 — Fleming, ' Vocab. 0/ Phil.,' p. 474. 
 
 The word soul differs fi'om spirit as the 
 species from the genus : soul being limited 
 to a spirit that either is or has been con- 
 nected with a body or material organisation ; 
 while spirit may also be applied to a being 
 that has not at present, or is believed never 
 to have had, such connection. — Porter, 
 ' Human Litelled,' p. 6. 
 
 The Soul is, indeed, the very counterpart 
 of the spirit. It is of similar nature with 
 the spirit, but not similar to it. The psy- 
 chical functions which are the types of the 
 
 spiritual, correspond to the spiritual func- 
 tions, but are not like to them : they are I 
 rather the broken rays of their colours. 
 The soul is no Ego, distinguishing itself 
 from the spirit. The self-consciousness 
 which forms the backgi-ound of its spirit- 
 copied functions, is that of the spirit from 
 which it has its origin. — Delitzsch, ^Biblical 
 Psychology,' p. 235. 
 
 The Existence of the Soul. 
 
 A necessary doctrine of religion. 
 
 The doctrine of the existence of the soul 
 is a necessary premiss of all religion, of all 
 morality, nay of every exalted and intellec- 
 tual view of human life. If man has no 
 soul, human life is equally without a soul, 
 —without the soul of poetry, the soul of 
 every exalted emotion, the soul of the fel- 
 lowship of hearts, of moral consciousness 
 and moral effort, and finally of life in and 
 for God. In short, the whole world is but 
 a flower-grown cemetery. We have, how- 
 ever, the direct assurance of our feelings 
 that we do possess a soul, — i.e., an inde- 
 pendent principle of spiritual life, inter- 
 woven, indeed, most intimately with the 
 bodily principle, yet neither identical with 
 it nor its mere manifestation. The notion 
 of the sovil is a universal one. It is found 
 among all nations and in all stages of 
 civilisation. It is, therefore, a necessary 
 and not an accidental notion. — Luthardt, 
 ^Fundamental Truths,' p. 128. 
 
 The phenomena of the soid are real. 
 
 It is important to remember, whatever 
 views we accept of the nature of the soul, 
 that its phenomena are as real as any 
 other, and that their peculiarities are 
 entitled to a distinct recognition by the 
 true philosopher. Whatever psychical 
 properties or laws can be established on 
 appropriate evidence, they all deserve to 
 be accepted as among the real agencies 
 and laws of the actual universe. Percep- 
 tion, memory, and reasoning are processes 
 that are as real as are gravitation and elec- 
 trical action. In one aspect, their reality 
 
NATURE OF MAN. 
 
 37 
 
 is moi-e -worthy of confidence and respect, 
 as it is by means of perception and reason- 
 ing that we knoAv gravitation and electri- 
 city. Their peculiar conditions, elements, 
 and laws, so far as they can be ascertained 
 and resolved, are to be judged by their ap- 
 propriate evidence, and to be accepted on 
 proper testimony. The evidence and testi- 
 mony which is pertinent to them, may be 
 as pertinent and con%-incing, though diffe- 
 rent in its kind, as that which can be 
 furnished for the facts of sense or the laws 
 of matter. If the soul knows itself, its 
 acts and products, by a special activity, 
 then what it knows ought to be confided 
 in, as truly as what it knows of matter by 
 a different process. — Porter, ' Human Intel- 
 led,'' p. 26. 
 
 The Nature of the Soul. 
 
 Ancient views. 
 
 They who thought that the soul is a 
 subtile matter, separable from the body, 
 disputed to which of the four elements it 
 belongs — whether to earth, water, air, or 
 fire. Of the three last, each had its par- 
 ticular advocates. Water had its cham- 
 pion in Hippo ; air in Anaximenes and 
 Diogenes ; fire in Democritus and Leu- 
 cippus. But some, like Empedocles, were 
 of opinion that it partakes of all the 
 elements ; that it must have something in 
 its composition similar to everything we 
 perceive ; and that we perceive earth by 
 the earthly part, water by the watery 
 part, and fire by the fiery part of the soul. 
 The most spiritual and sublime notion con- 
 cerning the nature of the soul to be met 
 with among the ancient philosophers I 
 conceive to be that of the Platonists, who 
 held that it is made of that celestial and 
 incorruptible matter of which the fixed 
 stars were made, and therefore has a 
 natural tendency to rejoin its proper ele- 
 ment. — Reid, * WorJcs,' p. 203. 
 
 Among the ancient philosophers the 
 atomists explained life by the fortuitous 
 mixture of atoms, acting by the mechanical 
 laws which were by them rudely conceived 
 
 and defined. A very large number, how- 
 ever, accounted for these phenomena by a 
 separate agent, called the soul, wliich, alike 
 in plants and animals, was thought to be 
 the cause of the organic structure and its 
 organic functions. In the higher forms of 
 being, as in man, this soul or vital prin- 
 ciple was supposed to attain to certain emo- 
 tional and intellectual functions. As the 
 capacity for the highest functions it received 
 another appellation, and in the opinion of 
 Aristotle, as he is generally interpreted, 
 this higher nature, the NoD;, was in some 
 way added to the lower forces, and qualified 
 to maintain a separate existence after the 
 destruction of the body. 
 
 Plato taught positively, though in myth- 
 ical language, that the soul is pre-existent 
 to the body, and immortal in its duration ; 
 that it is ethereal in its essence, opposite 
 in every respect to the matter to which 
 it is reluctantly subjected, and which soils 
 its purity, obscures its intelligence, and 
 weakens its energy. — Porter, ^ Human In- 
 tellect,' p. 29. 
 
 Modern views. 
 
 Discussions and controversies in respect 
 to the nature of the soul began in the 
 seventeenth century and were prosecuted 
 during the greater part of the eighteenth. 
 There was a conspicuous tendency to ma- 
 terialism. This materialism assumed a 
 variety of forms, and its positions were 
 urged in several distinct and almost incom- 
 patible lines of argument. The materialists 
 of the school of Hobbes were reinforced in 
 their confidence by the position taken by 
 Locke against the fundamental doctrine of 
 Descartes in regard to the essence of the 
 soul, — Locke asserting that there was no 
 inherent impossibility that matter should 
 be endowed with the power of thinking, as 
 against Descartes' axiom that the essence 
 of spirit is thought. The mechanical philo- 
 sophy common to Descartes and Newton 
 favoured their rea.sonings in some degree. 
 Many of the so-called Free Thinkers, or 
 Deists, were avowed Materialists. — Ueher- 
 weg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 371. 
 
38 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In modern philosophy, in consequence of 
 Platonic and Christian ideas, and under the 
 influence of the philosophy of Descartes, 
 the soul has been more sharply contrasted 
 with matter and extension in all its forms. 
 As a natural result, the soul, as the prin- 
 ciple and agent of the higher functions, 
 was separated from the agent of living, 
 organised matter, or the principle of life. 
 Under the influence of the new philosophy, 
 — the mechanical philosophy of Descai-tes 
 and of Newton, — the question, what is the 
 living principle, assumed a new interest. 
 With the progress of modern anatomy and 
 physiology, the mechanical structure of the 
 skeleton came to be more perfectly under- 
 stood, and the adaptation of the form and 
 adjustments of every one of its parts to 
 the communication of force and the direc- 
 tion of motion, familiarised and deepened 
 the conviction that the human frame, in its 
 structure and activities, may be explained 
 by mechanical relations and laws. 
 
 This theory is rejected as unsatisfactory 
 by very many eminent physiologists and 
 physiological chemists. They contend with 
 equal earnestness that the phenomena pecu- 
 liar to living beings cannot be explained 
 without the supposition of some additional 
 property or agent, which is essential to 
 their formation and preservation, as well 
 as to the performance of many of their 
 peculiar functions. — Porter, ^ Hu7nan Intel- 
 lect,' p. 30. 
 
 The soul is immaterial. 
 
 (a.) Arguments for the materiality of the 
 soul. The materialist urges — i. That we 
 know the soul only as connected with a 
 material organisation. Of a soul which 
 acts or manifests its acts apart from the 
 body, we have no experience. 2. The powers 
 of the soul are developed along with the 
 powers and capacities of this organised 
 structure ; they are unfolded as the body 
 is developed. Hence it would seem as 
 though what we call the soul is but a 
 name for the capacity to perform certain 
 higher functions which belong to a finely 
 organised and fully developed material or- 
 
 ganism. 3. The soul is dependent on the 
 body for much of its knowledge and many 
 of its enjoyments. It is through the eye 
 only that it perceives and enjoys colour, 
 and through the ear only that it appre- 
 hends and is delighted with sound. 4. The 
 soul is dependent on the body and on 
 matter for its energy and activity. The 
 capacity to fix the attention so as to per- 
 ceive clearly, to remember accurately and 
 to comprehend fully, varies with the condi- 
 tion of the stomach and the action of the 
 heart. A change in the structure or in the 
 functions of the brain may induce insanity. 
 When the organisation of the body is de- 
 stroyed the soul ceases to act, and, for 
 aught we can observe, it ceases to exist. 
 — Porter, ^ Human Intellect,' pp. 19-21 
 (abridged). 
 
 (6.) Counterarguments. The considerations 
 which may be urged in proof that the sub- 
 .stance of the soul is not material are the 
 following :— I. The phenomena of the soul 
 are in kind unlike the phenomena which 
 pertain to matter. All material phenomena 
 are discerned by the senses. Certain phe- 
 nomena of the soul, at least, are known by 
 consciousness, and, as thus known, ax-e 
 directly discerned to be totally unlike all 
 those events and occurrences which the 
 senses apprehend. 2. The soul distin- 
 guishes itself from matter. It knows that 
 the agent which sees and hears is not the 
 matter which is seen and heard It also 
 distinguishes itself and its inner states from 
 the organised matter — i.e., its own bodily 
 organs — by means of which it perceives and 
 is affected by other matter. 3. The soul is 
 self -active. Matter of itself is inert. The 
 soul is impelled to action from within by 
 its own energy. 4. The soul is not de- 
 pendent on matter in its highest activity. 
 To very many of the states of the soul no 
 changes or affections of the organism can 
 be observed or traced, as their condition 
 or prerequisite. What change or affection 
 of the material organism occurs, when the 
 soul, at the sight of a landscape images 
 another like it, calls up in memory a simi- 
 lar scene, or, by creative acts of its own, 
 
NATURE OF MAN. 
 
 39 
 
 constructs picture after picture that arc 
 more beautiful than any it ever saw ? — - 
 Porter, ' Human Intellect,^ pp. 22-25 
 (abridged). 
 
 Difference bettceen the human and the 
 brute soul. 
 
 The Holy Scriptures themselves attri- 
 bute to beasts a soul as the vital principle 
 of the corporeal organism. But in the 
 beasts we see the consciousness of a soul 
 unenlightened by any beam of the spirit, 
 obscure and incapable of forming the con- 
 ception of an Ego; in man, real self-con- 
 sciousness. In the beasts we have mere 
 natural impulses, directed towards the satis- 
 faction of material wants, and serving no 
 other purpose than the maintenance of the 
 genus, for which reason the individual beast, 
 as such, has no value; in man, we have 
 the moral consciousness of a perso7i who 
 possesses in himself the purpose of his ex- 
 istence, and is therefore of infinite value 
 and eternal significance. In short, in one 
 case there is a living but iiTational soul, in 
 the other, the rational, God-like spirit. — 
 Ghristlieb, 'Modern Doubt,'' p. 154. 
 
 The human soul differs from the soul of 
 the brute by its spiritual character, which 
 is founded in the higher energy of its 
 elementary faculties. — Beneke, in Ueberweg's 
 'Hist, of Phil. \ ii. 290. 
 
 The soul of the beast, which forms its 
 body, is so entirely incorporated with it, 
 that it may in the strictest sense of the 
 term be said, that the body of the wolf or 
 the lamb, for instance, the eagle or the 
 dove, is the creature's visible soul. But 
 the human soul is not one and the same 
 with his bodily frame; the first has an 
 inward infiniteness, an invisible amount of 
 resource, which does not come into view. — 
 Martenscn, ' Christian Ethics,' i. 85. 
 
 The Relation of the Soul to the Body. 
 
 7'he soul's action on the body limited. 
 
 Every one finds in himself that his soul 
 can think, will, and operate on his body in 
 the place where that Ls, but cannot operate 
 
 on a body, or in a place an hundred miles 
 distant from it Nobody can imagine that 
 his soul can think or move a body at 
 Oxford, whilst he is at London ; and cannot 
 but know, that, being united to his body, 
 it constantly changes place all the whole 
 journey between Oxford and London, as 
 the coach or horse does that carries him. — 
 Locke, ' Human Understanding,' ii, xxiii. 20. 
 
 The sold, moulds the body. 
 
 It is not by chance that a certain indivi- 
 duality of soul carries along with it a certain 
 bodily form, for it is the soul which fashions 
 the body. This old idea, which was main- 
 tained by G. F. Stahl [i 660-1 734], but 
 afterwards fell into disfavour, is now again 
 recovering its position, and can scarcely be 
 gainsaid if kept within its proper limits, if 
 by the soul we understand not merely the 
 self-conscious soul, but the soul antecedent 
 to consciousness in its indissoluble union 
 with the plastic power, or the power to 
 form its bodily frame. It is the soul which 
 appropriates the bodily to itself and fashions 
 it after its own schema. — Martensen, ' Chris- 
 tian Ethics,' i. 82. 
 
 The sold is manifested by the body. 
 
 The sudden influence of vivid conceptions, 
 or of excited feelings upon the muscular 
 activities, is an example of the power of 
 the soul over the body. The imagination 
 of a scene of cruelty and suffering makes 
 the flesh ci"eep, puts the limbs into attitudes 
 of defence and aversion, and awakens the 
 features to expressions of disgust or horror. 
 Terror induces fainting, convulsions, and 
 death. The capacity of the body in look, 
 gesture, and speech, to express the thoughts 
 and feelings of the soul, and the capacity of 
 the soul to interpret these bodily movements 
 and effects as language, and to look through 
 them into the soul within, by an impulse 
 and an art which could never he cither 
 taught or learned if nature itself did not 
 prepare the way — all these phenomena 
 which elevate the body itself almost to a 
 spiritual essence, are more easy of explana- 
 tion, if wo suppose that with the capacity 
 
40 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 for the psychical activities which are pecu- 
 liar to every individual, there are also con- 
 nected in oneness of essence those vital 
 powers which act in such fine and subtle 
 harmony with them. — Porter, '■Human In- 
 tellect,'' p. 38, 
 
 The soul is united to the body not as a 
 man in a tent, or a pilot in a ship, or a 
 spider in its web, or the image in the wax, 
 nor as water in a vessel, nor as one liquor 
 is mingled with another, nor as heat in the 
 fire, nor as a voice through the air : 
 
 ' But as the fair and cheerful morning light 
 
 Doth here and there her silver beams impart, 
 And in an instant doth herself unite 
 
 To the transparent air in all and every part. 
 
 ' So doth the piercing soul the body fill, 
 Being all in all, and all in part diffused.' 
 
 — Davies, in Ueberweg's '■Hid. of Phil.,'' 
 ii- 353- 
 
 The point in which it is most generally 
 acknowledged that the human frame is an 
 expression of the mental character, is the 
 physiognomy, especially of the face, in 
 which is perceived a visible index, not 
 merely of the intellectual, but also of the 
 moral being, the inherent qualities of the 
 individual, whether considered as character, 
 or only as individual capacity or possibility 
 of development in a certain direction. — 
 Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' i. 85. 
 
 ' For of the soul the body form doth take. 
 For soul is form, and doth the body make.' 
 
 — Spenser, ' Hijmn in Honour of Beauty.'' 
 
 The hodij reacts on the soul. 
 
 What is the relation of the soul, with 
 its transcendent powers and capacities, to 
 that body through which we are linked to 
 the material world ? Is the body a part of 
 our true self, or merely an imperfect in- 
 strument, a temporary vesture, of the soul? 
 The natural tendency in all who believed 
 in the spirituality and immortality of man 
 was to embrace the latter alternative. Many 
 religions and some of the noblest philoso- 
 phies held that even in Ufe the body was 
 but an encumbrance or a prison-house, 
 
 and accordingly, in any conception of the 
 hereafter, rejoiced to think that it had 
 mouldered into nothingness, and left the 
 soul naked and free. But the fuller investi- 
 gation in modern days of the complex being 
 of man — of the power of physical influence 
 over him, of the need of physical machinery, 
 not only for act and word but even for 
 thought, of the undoubted action and re- 
 action of body and soul on each other — soon 
 dispelled this first conviction. It showed 
 that the body is a part of man's true self. 
 — Barry, ^Manifold Witness,^ p. 135. 
 
 Certain it is that the body does hinder 
 many actions of the soul : it is an imperfect 
 body, and a diseased brain, or a violent 
 passion, that makes fools ; no man hath a 
 foolish soul ; and the reasonings of men 
 have infinite difference and degrees, by 
 reason of the body's constitution. From 
 whence it follows, that because the body 
 casts fetters and restraints, hindrances and 
 impediments, upon the soul, that the soul 
 is much freer in the state of separation. — 
 Taylor, * JForhs,' viii. 439. 
 
 But the soul may not be essentially de- 
 pendent on the organism. 
 
 It seems very easy to conceive the soul 
 to exist in a separate state (i.e., divested 
 from those limits and laws of motion and 
 perception with which she is embarrassed 
 here), and to exercise herself on new ideas, 
 without the intervention of those tangible 
 things we call bodies. It is even very pos- 
 sible to conceive how the soul may have 
 ideas of colour without an eye, or of sounds 
 without an ear. — ' Berkeley, Frasefs Life 
 and Letters 0/,' p. 181. 
 
 The Soul is Man's Essence and Glory. 
 
 There lives in us a spirit which comes 
 immediately from God, and constitutes 
 man's most intimate essence. As this spirit 
 is present to man in his highest, deepest, 
 and most personal consciousness, so the 
 giver of this spirit, God Himself, is present 
 to man through the heart as nature is pre- 
 sent to him through the external senses. 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS. 
 
 41 
 
 No sensible object can so move the spirit, 
 or so demonstrate itself to it as a true 
 object, as do those absolute objects, the 
 true, good, beautiful, and sublime, which 
 can be seen with the eye of the mind. We 
 may even hazard the bold assertion that we 
 believe in God because we see Him, although 
 He cannot be seen with the eyes of this 
 body. It is a jewel in the crown of our 
 race, the distinguishing mark of humanity, 
 that these objects reveal themselves to 
 the rational soul. "With holy awe man 
 turns his gaze towards those spheres from 
 which alone light falls in upon the darkness 
 of earth. — Jacohi, in Uehencegs ' Hist, of 
 Phil.' ii. 200. 
 
 VI. CONSCIOUSNESS. 
 Its Nature. 
 
 Is the term definable ? 
 
 Nothing has contributed more to spread 
 obscurity over a very transparent matter 
 than the attempts of philosoj^hers to define 
 consciousness. Consciousness cannot be 
 defined, — we may be ourselves fully aware 
 what consciousness is, but we cannot, with- 
 out confusion, convey to others a definition 
 of what we ourselves clearly apprehend. 
 The reason is plain. Consciousness lies at 
 the root of all knowledge. Consciousness 
 is itself the one highest source of all com- 
 prehensibility and illustration, — how, then, 
 can we find aught else by which conscious- 
 ness may be illustrated or comprehended 1 
 To accomplish this, it would be necessary 
 to have a second consciousness, through 
 which we might be conscious of the mode 
 in which the fii\st consciousness was pos- 
 sible. Many philosophers have defined 
 consciousness a feeling. But how do they 
 define a feeling ? They define, and must 
 define it, as something of which we are 
 conscious; for a feeling of which we are 
 not conscious is no feeling at all. Here, 
 therefore, they are guilty of a logical see- 
 saw, or circle. They explain the same by 
 the same, and thus leave us in the end no 
 wiser than we were in the beginning. In 
 
 short, the notion of consciousness is so ele- 
 mentary that it cannot possibly be resolved 
 into others more simple. It cannot, there- 
 foi-e, be brought under any more general 
 conception, and, consequently, it cannot be 
 defined. — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,'' i. 190, 
 191. 
 
 Meaning of the term. 
 
 The meaning of a word is sometimes best 
 attained by means of the word opposed to 
 it. Unconsciousness, that is, the want or 
 absence of consciousness, denotes the sus- 
 pension of all our faculties. Consciousness, 
 then, is the state in which we are when all 
 or any of our faculties are in exercise. It 
 is the condition or accompaniment of every 
 mental operation. — Fleming, ' Vocah. of 
 Phil.,' p. 109. 
 
 Consciousness is a word used by philoso- 
 phers to signify that immediate knowledge 
 which we have of our present thoughts and 
 purposes, and, in general, of all the present 
 operations of our minds. Whence we may 
 observe that consciousness is only of things 
 present. — Peid, ' WorJis,' p. 222, 
 
 Consciousness is the perception of what 
 passes in a man's own mind. — Locke, 
 ' Human Understanding,' ii i, 19. 
 
 Brown treats consciousness as equivalent 
 * to the whole series of states of the mind, 
 whatever the individual momentary states 
 may be,' and denies that there is a power 
 by which the mind knows its own states, 
 or that to this power the name of conscious- 
 ness is applied. — Ueherweg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' 
 ii. 411. 
 
 The word Consciousness has been ambigu- 
 ously employed, but we may specify two or 
 three main uses : — 
 
 (i.) It sometimes denotes only the recog- 
 nition by the mind of its own states (Self- 
 consciousness). 
 
 (2.) It sometimes is used to include all 
 mental phenomena, with or without ex- 
 plicit reference to the Ego, in so far as 
 these phenomena are not latent. Thus : — 
 ' Consciousness is the word which expresses, 
 in the most general way, the various mani- 
 
42 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 festations of psychological life. It consists 
 of a continuous current of sensations, ideas, 
 volitions, feelings,' &c. (Professor Eibot). 
 
 (3.) It sometimes is used as equivalent 
 to Immediate Knowledge (Intuition) — whe- 
 ther of the Ego or the Non-ego. Thus : — 
 * Consciousness and immediate knowledge 
 are terms universally convertible ' (Sir W. 
 Hamilton). 
 
 Hamilton uses the word in all three 
 senses ; so do many other psychologists. 
 There now seems a tendency to use the 
 word more exactly in the second sense dis- 
 criminated above. Taking the term in this 
 sense we at once see that it would be im- 
 possible to explain what it means to any 
 one who had it not. — Ryland, ' Handbook of 
 Psych.,' p. g. 
 
 MetcqyJiorical description of Consciousness. 
 
 Consciousness is often figuratively de- 
 scribed as the ' witness ' of the states of 
 the soul, as though it were an observer 
 separate from the soul itself, inspecting 
 and beholding its processes. It is called 
 the 'inner light,' 'an inner illumination,' 
 as though a sudden flash or steady radiance 
 could be throw^n within the spirit, revealing 
 objects that would otherwise be indistinct, 
 or causing those to appear which would 
 otherwise not be seen at all. Appellations 
 like these are so obviously figurative, that 
 it is surprising that any philosopher should 
 use them for scientific purposes, or should 
 reason upon, or use them with scientific 
 rigour. However they are intended, they 
 are liable to this objection, that they often 
 mislead the student by furnishing him a 
 sensuous picture, a pleasing fancy, or an 
 attractive image, when he needs an exact 
 conception or a discriminated definition. — 
 Porter, ' Human Intellect,'' p. 84. 
 
 ' Instead of attempting to conceive con- 
 sciousness as a distinct mental faculty, . , . 
 we will consider it under the analogy of an 
 inner illumination. ' ' The conception is not 
 of a faculty, but of a light ; not of an action, 
 but of an illumination ; not of a maker of 
 phenomena, but of a revealer of them as 
 already made by the appropriate intellec- 
 
 tual operation.' — Hiclwh, ^Empirical Psy- 
 chology,' Introduction, chap. iii. 2. 
 
 "We not only feel, but we k7iow that we 
 feel ; we not only act, but we knotv that we 
 act ; we not only think, but we hioio that 
 we think ; to think, without knowing that 
 we think, is as if we should not think ; and 
 the peculiar quality, the fundamental attri- 
 bute of thought, is to have a consciousness 
 of itself. Consciousness is this interior light 
 which illuminates everything that takes 
 place in the soul ; consciousness is the ac- 
 companiment of all our faculties ; and is, 
 so to speak, their echo. — Cousin, ^ Hist, of 
 Mod. Phil.,' i. 274. 
 
 Analysis of Consciousness. By 
 
 Sir IF. Hamilton. 
 
 Consciousness is, on the one hand, the 
 recognition by the mind or ego of its acts 
 and affections ; in other words, the self- 
 affirmation, that certain modifications are 
 known by me, and that these modifications 
 are mine. But, on the other hand, con- 
 sciousness is not to be viewed as anything 
 different from these modifications them- 
 selves, but is, in fact, the general condition 
 of their existence within the sphere of 
 intelligence. Consciousness thus expresses 
 a relation subsisting between two terms. 
 These terms are, on the one hand, an I or 
 Self, as the subject of a certain modi- 
 fication, — and on the other, some modifica- 
 tion, state, quality, affection, or operation 
 belonging to the subject. Consciousness, 
 thus, in its simplicity, necessarily involves 
 three things, — (i) A recognising or know- 
 ing subject ; (2) a recognised or known 
 modification ; and (3) a recognition or know- 
 ledge by the subject of the modification. — 
 ' Metaph ysics, ' i. 193. 
 
 Bain. 
 
 ' The word consciovisness signifies mental 
 life, with its various energies, in so far as 
 it is distinguished from the purely vital 
 functions, and from the conditions of sleep, 
 torpor, insensibility,' &c. It also indicates 
 that the mind is occupied with itself, in- 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS. 
 
 43 
 
 stead of being applied to the exterior world. 
 The primitive and fundamental attributes 
 of intelligence ave : — (i.) Conscioitme^s of 
 difference. This is the most primitive fact 
 of thought; it consists of seeing that two 
 sensations are different in nature or in 
 intensity. Consciousness is entirely pro- 
 duced by change. If we imagine in any 
 one a single and invariable sensation, there 
 is not yet consciousness. If there are two 
 successive sensations, with a difference of 
 nature between them, then we have more 
 or less clear consciousness. (2.) Conscious- 
 ness of resemblance. An impression which 
 constantly remains without variation, ceases 
 to affect us ; but if it produces another, and 
 this first impression retui'ns afterwards, 
 then we recognise it, we have conscious- 
 ness of resemblance. — Ribot, '•Contemporary 
 English Psychology,^ P- 214 (abridged). 
 
 Herbert Spencer. 
 
 To be conscious is to think ; to think is 
 to put together impressions and ideas ; and 
 to do this, is to be the subject of internal 
 changes. It is admitted on all hands that 
 without change consciousness is impossible : 
 consciousness ceases when the changes in 
 consciousness cease. To constitute a con- 
 sciousness, however, incessant change is not 
 the sole thing needed. If the changes 
 are altogether at random, no consciousness, 
 properly so called, exists. Consciousness is 
 not simply a succession of changes, but an 
 orderly succession of changes — a succession 
 of changes combined and arranged in special 
 ways. The changes form the raw material 
 of consciousness, and the development of 
 consciousness is the organisation of them. 
 
 We have seen that the condition on 
 which alone consciousness can begin to 
 exist, is the occurrence of a change of 
 state ; and that this change of state neces- 
 sarily generates the terms of a relation of 
 unlikeness. Consciousness mu.st be for 
 ever passing from one state into a different 
 state. In other words, there must be a con- 
 tinuous differentiation of its states. But 
 states of consciousness successively arising 
 can become elements of thought only by 
 
 being known as like certain before-experi- 
 enced states. If no note be taken of the 
 different states as they occur — if they pass 
 through consciousness simply as images 
 pass over a mirror ; there can be no in- 
 telligence, however long the process be 
 continued. Intelligence can arise only by 
 the classification of these states with those 
 of the same nature. In being known, 
 then, each state must become one with 
 certain previous states — must be integ- 
 rated with those previous states. That is 
 to say, there must be a continuous integra- 
 tion of states of consciousness. Under its 
 most general aspect, therefore, all mental 
 action whatever is definable as the continu- 
 ous differentiation and integration of states 
 of consciousness. — '■Principles of Psycho- 
 logy,^ ii. 291-301. 
 
 Conditions of Consciousness, 
 
 The special conditions of consciousness 
 are : — 
 
 (i.) It is an actual and not a potential 
 knowledge. Thus a man is said to know 
 that 7-h9=i6, thovigh that equation be 
 not, at the moment, the object of his 
 thought; but we cannot say that he is 
 conscious of this truth imless while actually 
 present to his mind. 
 
 (2.) Consciousness is an immediate not a 
 mediate knowledge. [Thus my remem- 
 brance of St. Paul's Cathedi-al is mediate, 
 my present mental representation of it 
 immediate knowledge.] 
 
 (3.) It supposes a contrast, — a discrimi- 
 nation, "We are conscious only so far as 
 we distinguish the thing from what it is 
 not. 
 
 (4.) It involves judgment, for it is im- 
 possible to discriminate without judging. 
 
 (5.) The fifth condition is memory, with- 
 out which our mental states could not be 
 compared and distinguished from each other. 
 — Hamilton, ^ Metajyhysics,' i. 201-5. 
 
 A little reflection would appear to show 
 that by actual, as opposed to potential 
 knowledge, Hamilton only means conscious 
 as opposed to unconscious knowledge ; and 
 
44 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 again. Discrimination seems to involve Con- 
 sciousness. The second condition alone 
 remains; and thus we come back to the 
 definition, that Consciousness is equivalent 
 to Immediate Eaiowledge. — B [/lands, ' Hand- 
 book of Philosophi/,' p. 12. 
 
 Two Kinds of Consciousness. 
 
 Consciousness, in its relation to the sub- 
 ject or person conscious, is of two kinds, or 
 rather is composed of two elements, (i.) 
 Presentative or intuitive consciousness, 
 which is the consciousness of an individual 
 ohject, that is, an object occupying a definite 
 position in space or time. I see a triangle 
 drawn on paper, without knowing that the 
 figure is called a triangle. I simply see a 
 figure. This is presentative consciousness 
 or intuition. (2.) Representative or reflec- 
 tive consciousness, which is the conscious- 
 ness primarily and directly of a general 
 notion or concept. Thus having once 
 seen a triangle I gather a general notion 
 of its figure, and this general notion is 
 representative of any number of possible 
 triangles, and is now actually exhibited in a 
 mental image. — Mansel, ' Mdapliysics,^ pp. 
 33-5 (abridged). 
 
 Consciousness is exercised in two forms 
 or species of activity, viz., the natural or 
 spontaneous, and the artificial or reflective. 
 They are also called by some writers tlte 
 primary and the secondary consciousness. 
 The one form is possessed by all men, the 
 other is attained by few. The first is a 
 gift of Nature and product of spontaneous 
 growth; the second is an accomplishment 
 of art and the reward of special discipline. 
 The natural precedes the reflective in the 
 order of time and of actual development. 
 But it does not differ from it in kind, only 
 in an accidental element, which brings its 
 results within our reach, and retains them 
 for our service. — Porter, ' Human Intellect,^ 
 p. 87. 
 
 Province of Consciousness. 
 
 Let us endeavour to ascertain its precise 
 province, (i.) In mental science it is the 
 
 observing agent. "We bend back the mental 
 eye and observe what is passing within as 
 it passes. (2.) It is the main agent in 
 examining the origin of ideas, by giving us 
 directly a knowledge of our own mental 
 operations, and indu-ectly an acquaintance 
 with those of others. It must ascertain 
 not only that certain ideas exist, but also 
 all that is in them. — M'Cosh, '■Examination 
 of Mill,' p. 30 et seq. (abridged). 
 
 Testimony of Consciousness. 
 
 To the ego and non-ego. 
 
 When I concentrate my attention in the 
 simplest act of perception, I return from 
 my observation with the most ii-resistible 
 conviction of two facts, or rather two 
 branches of the same fact ; — that I am, — 
 and that something different from me 
 exists. In this act, I am conscious of 
 myself as the perceiving subject, and of 
 an external reality as the object perceived. 
 — Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' i. 288. 
 
 As intelligent beings, we are conscious 
 of the recognition of two different classes 
 of phenomena, the one belonging to an ex- 
 ternal world, with which we are connected ; 
 the other belonging to the internal world 
 of mind, in which we are conscious of 
 our own personal existence, and where all 
 thoughts, feelings, and desires are regarded 
 as our own. This is the distinction between 
 self and not self, which is unmistakably the 
 first distinction involved in consciousness. 
 — Calderioood, ^Philosophy of the Infinite,' 
 P- 30- 
 
 The coexistence of subject and object is 
 a deliverance of consciousness, which, taking 
 precedence of all analytic examination, but 
 subsequently verified by analytic examina- 
 tion, is a truth transcending all others in 
 certainty. — Spencer, 'Principles of Psycho- 
 logy,' i. 209. 
 
 Its certainty. 
 
 According to all philosophers, the evi- 
 dence of consciousness, if only we can obtain 
 it pure, is conchisive. The verdict of con- 
 sciousness, or, in other words, our immediate 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS. 
 
 45 
 
 and intuitive conviction, is admitted on all 
 hands to be a decision without appeal. What 
 is called the testimony of consciousness to 
 somefJii'fuy bej/ond itself may be and is denied, 
 but what is denied has almost always been 
 that consciousness gives the testimony ; not 
 that, if given, it must be believed. — Mill, 
 ^ Examinatioii of Hamilton' ^^. 151, 166. 
 
 Of consciousness I cannot doubt, because 
 such doubt being itself an act of conscious- 
 ness, would contradict, and consequently 
 annihilate itself. — Hamilton, in Reid's 
 ' Works,' p. 129. 
 
 The facts of consciousness are the most 
 certain of all facts. The objects which 
 consciousness presents are, if possible, more 
 real and better attested than the objects of 
 sense. We can question whether the eye 
 and the ear do not deceive us ; whether the 
 sights which we see and the sounds which 
 we hear are not illusions. We ask, at 
 times, whether this entire sensible world 
 is not a succession of shifting phantasma- 
 goria; but we cannot doubt whether we 
 perform the acts of seeing and hearing. 
 We may question whether these objects 
 are what they seem to be, but not whether 
 certain acts are in reality performed. We 
 may doubt whether this or that object be 
 a reality or a phantasm, but we cannot 
 doubt that we doubt. Nothing in the uni- 
 verse is so certain, and deserves so well 
 to be trusted, as the psychical phenomena 
 of which each man is conscious. — Porter, 
 'Human Intellect,' p. 115. 
 
 Consciousness is to the philosopher what 
 the Bible is to the theologian. — Hamilton, 
 ' Discussions,' p. 84. 
 
 If oiu- immediate internal experience 
 could possibly deceive us, there could be no 
 longer for us any truth of fact, nay, nor 
 any truth of reason. — Leibnitz, ' Nouveaux 
 Essais,' ii 27, 13. 
 
 Consciousness is the Source of Mental 
 Philosophy. 
 
 All theories of the human mind profess 
 to be interpretations of Consciousness : the 
 conclusions of all of them are supposed to 
 
 rest on that ultimate eviilencc, either im- 
 mediately or remotely. What Conscious- 
 ness directly reveals, together with what 
 can be legitimately inferred from its reve- 
 lations, composes, by universal admission, 
 all that we know of the mind, or indeed of 
 any other thing. AVlien we know what any 
 philosopher considers to be revealed in Con- 
 sciousness, we have the key to the entire 
 character of his metaphysical system. — 
 Mill, ^ Examijiatioji of Hamilton,' p. 131. 
 
 All philosophy is evolved from conscious- 
 ness, and no philosophical theory can pre- 
 tend to truth except that single theoiy 
 which comprehends and develops the fact 
 of consciousness on which it founds without 
 retrenchment, distortion, or addition. — 
 Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' i. 285, 
 
 The Study of Consciousness. 
 
 Difficulties. 
 
 The difficulties in psychological observa- 
 tion are such as these : — 
 
 (i.) The conscious mind is at once the 
 observing subject and the object observed. 
 The mental energy is thus divided in two 
 divergent directions. In all states of strong 
 mental emotion the passion is itself to a 
 certain extent a negation of the tranquillity 
 requisite for observation, so that we ai'e 
 thvis impaled on the awkward dilemma, — 
 either we possess the necessary tranquillity 
 for observation, with little or nothing to 
 observe, or there is something to observe, 
 but we have not the necessary tranquillity 
 for observation. 
 
 (2.) Want of mutual co-operation. He 
 who would study the internal world must 
 isolate himself in the solitude of his own 
 thought. 
 
 (3.) No fact of consciousness can be ac- 
 cepted at second hand. In the science of 
 mind we can believe nothing upon autho- 
 rity, take nothing upon trust. Except we 
 observe and recognise each fact of conscious- 
 ness ourselves, we cannot comprehend what 
 it means. 
 
 (4.) The phenomena of consciousness are 
 not arrested during observation, — they are 
 
40 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 in a ceaseless and rapid flow, and can only 
 be studied through memory. 
 
 (5.) The phenomena naturally blend with 
 each other, and are presented in complexity 
 — e.g., pleasure, pain, desire slide into each 
 other. — Hamilto7i, '■Metaphysics,' i. 375-9 
 (abridged). 
 
 Facilities. 
 
 These are peculiar. There is indeed only 
 one external condition on which the study 
 is dependent, and that is language — a lan- 
 guage copious and pliable enough to express 
 its abstractions. The philosopher has no 
 new events to seek, no new combinations 
 to form. If he only effectively pursue the 
 method of observation and analysis, he may 
 even dispense with the study of philoso- 
 phical systems. This is at best only use- 
 ful as a mean towards a deeper and more 
 varied study of himself. — Eamilton, '■ Meta- 
 physics,'' i. 382, 
 
 Laics for. 
 
 There are three grand laws : — 
 
 (i.) That no fact be assumed as a fact 
 of consciousness but what is ultimate and 
 simple. 
 
 (2.) That the whole facts of conscious- 
 ness be taken without reserve or hesitation, 
 whether given as constituent, or as regula- 
 tive data. 
 
 (3.) That nothing but the facts of con- 
 sciousness be taken, or only such infei'ences 
 of reasoning as are legitimately deduced 
 from, and in subordination to, the im- 
 mediate data of consciousness. — Hamilton, 
 '■Metaphysics,^ i. 269. 
 
 2. Preconscious mental activity. 
 
 By tracing the evidences there are in 
 man of unconscious mental activity ; by 
 showing that we have instances of it in 
 the case of habits, secret associations of 
 ideas, mechanical and instinctive actions, 
 &c. ; by discovering, in this way, that the 
 intelligent principle within us is inde- 
 pendent of consciousness, and can operate 
 by its own laws, whether in the light of 
 consciousness or out of it : we are enabled 
 
 to carry the analogy up to a preconscious 
 era of our existence, and conclude that there 
 are mental activities analogous to these 
 going on even in this early period of our 
 being, out of which activities consciousness 
 itseK is at last evolved. — Morell, ' Litroduc- 
 tion to Mental Philosojjhy on the Inductive 
 Method,' pp. 53, 54. 
 
 3. Uiiconscious me7ital action. 
 
 Cerebral changes may take place uncon- 
 sciously if the sensorium be either in a state 
 of absolute torpor, or be for a time non- 
 receptive as regards those changes, its 
 activity being exerted in some other direc- 
 tion; or, to express the same fact psycho- 
 logically, that mental (?) changes, of whose 
 results ice subsequently become conscious, may 
 go on heloiv thej^lane of consciousness, either 
 during profound sleep, or while the atten- 
 tion is wholly engrossed by some entirely 
 different train of thought. — Carpentei; 
 ' Meiital Physiology,' p. 516. 
 
 Example of unconscious action. 
 
 When we have been trying to recollect 
 some name, place, phrase, occurrence, &c., 
 — and after vainly employing all the expe- 
 dients we can think of for bringing the 
 desiderated idea to our minds, have aban- 
 doned the attempt as useless, — it will often 
 occur spontaneously a little while afterwards, 
 suddenly flashing, as it were, into our con- 
 sciousness, either when we are thinking 
 of something altogether different, or on 
 waking out of profound sleep. Now it is 
 important to note, in the first case, that the 
 mind may have been entu^ely engrossed in 
 the meantime by some entirely different 
 subject of contemplation, and that we cannot 
 detect any link of association whereby the 
 result has been obtained, notwithstanding 
 that the whole ' train of thought ' which 
 has passed through the mind in the interval 
 may be most distinctly remembered ; and, 
 in the second, that the missing idea seems 
 more likely to present itself when the sleep 
 has been profound than when it has been 
 disturbed. — Carj)enter, ' Mental Physiology* 
 P- 519- 
 
CONSCIOUSNESS. 
 
 47 
 
 If we admit (what physiology is rendering 
 moreandmore probable) that our mental feel- 
 ings, as well as our sensations, have for their 
 physical antecedents particular states of the 
 nerves, it may well be believed that the 
 apparently suppressed links in a chain of 
 association really are latent ; that they are 
 not even momentarily felt, the chain of 
 causation being continued only physically, 
 by one organic state of the nerves succeed- 
 ing another so rapidly that the state of 
 mental consciousness appropriate to each is 
 not produced. — Mill, ' Examination of 
 Hamilton,' p. 341. 
 
 4. Suh-consciousness. 
 
 Two main questions arise as to the limits 
 of the sub-consciousness region, (i.) How 
 far does it extend in relation to the organism 
 and its processes ? Do all organic processes 
 modify it in some way ? (2.) To what extent 
 is it modified by past psychical activities ? 
 Do things long forgotten, yet capable of 
 being revived, somehow affect the whole 
 state of mind in the interval? Without 
 troubling ourselves about this difficult ques- 
 tion, we may say that at any time there 
 is a whole aggi-egate or complex of men- 
 tal phenomena, sensations, impressions, 
 thought, &c., most of which are obscure, 
 transitory, and not distinguished. With 
 this wide obscure region of the sub-conscious, 
 there stands contrasted the narrow luminous 
 region of the clearly conscious. An impres- 
 sion or thought must be presumed to be 
 already present in the first or sub- conscious 
 
 region before the mind by an effort of atten- 
 tion can draw it into the second region. To 
 adopt the metaphor of Wundt, the whole 
 mental region (conscious and sub-conscious) 
 answers to the total field of view present to 
 the eye in varying degrees of distinctness 
 at any moment when the organ is fixed in 
 a certain direction, the latter I'egion, that 
 of attention or clear consciousness, corre- 
 spond to that narrow area of ' perfect vision ' 
 on which the glance is fixed. — Sully, ' Out- 
 lines of Psychology,' p. 74. 
 
 Take the case of a player on the pianoforte 
 while still a learner, and before the succes- 
 sion of volitions has attained the rapidity 
 which practice ultimately gives it. In this 
 stage of progress there is, beyond all doubt, 
 a conscious volition, anterior to the playing 
 of each particular note. Yet has the player, 
 when the piece is finished, the smallest 
 remembrance of each of these volitions as 
 a separate fact ? In like manner, have we, 
 when we have finished reading a volume, 
 the smallest memory of our successive voli- 
 tions to turn the pages 1 On the contrary, 
 we only know that we must have turned 
 them, because without doing so we could 
 not have read to the end. Yet these voli- 
 tions were not latent ; every time we turned 
 over a leaf we must have formed a conscious 
 purpose of turning; but, the purpose hav- 
 ing been instantly fulfilled, the attention 
 was arrested in the process for too shoit a 
 time to leave a more than momentary re- 
 membrance of it. — Mill, ' Examinatio7i of 
 Hamilton,' p. 337. 
 
48 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 A._PSyCHOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY OF COGNITION. 
 
 Ill, 
 
 METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 The method of psychology is double: it 
 studies psychological phenomena, subjec- 
 tively, by means of consciousness, memory, 
 and reasoning ; objectively, by means of the 
 facts, signs, opinions, and actions which 
 interpret them. Psychology does not study 
 the facts of consciousness simply in the 
 adult state, it endeavours to discover and 
 to follow their development. It also has 
 recourse to the comparative method, and 
 does not disdain the humblest manifesta- 
 tions of psychical life. — Rihot, ' Contem- 
 porary English Psychology,' p. 323. 
 
 I. SUBJECTIVE METHOD- 
 INTROSPECTION. 
 
 Description of the Method. 
 
 Introspection is the turning of the Mind 
 round on itself so as to view its own states. 
 This power of internal observation we call 
 Self consciousness, the Internal Sense (Kant), 
 or Reflection (Locke). An Introspective 
 element seems to be present in all mental 
 states, though only implicitly, and this we 
 can develop by a special effort of attention, 
 e.g., I may develop the consciousness that I 
 see a house, into : I see a house, where the 
 thing that is chiefly dwelt on is the sensa- 
 tion of sight and not the object seen ; or 
 into : / see a house, where my own person- 
 ality is the thing chiefly, though not exclu- 
 sively, prominent. — Eylands, ' Handbook, 
 <^c.,' p. 2. 
 
 Its Use. 
 
 In the study of the human mind we use 
 self-consciousness or the internal sense just 
 as in the study of the material universe we 
 employ the external sense as the organ or 
 instrument. I certainly do not propose to 
 
 find out the intuitions of the mind by the 
 bodily eye, aided or vmaided by the micro- 
 scope, nor discover their mode of operation 
 by the blowpipe. They are in their nature 
 spiritual, and so sense cannot see them, or 
 hear them, or handle them, nor can the 
 telescope in its widest range detect them. 
 Still they are there in our mental nature ; 
 there is an eye of wider sweep than the 
 telescope, and more searching than the 
 microscope, ready to be directed towards 
 them. By introspection we may look on 
 them in operation ; by abstraction or analy- 
 ses we may separate the essential peculiarity 
 from the rough concrete presentations ; and 
 by generalisation we may rise to the law 
 which they follow. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of 
 the Mind,' p. 3. 
 
 Difficulties of the Subjective Method. 
 
 We have it not in our power to ascertain, 
 by any direct process, what consciousness 
 told us at the time when its revelations 
 were in their pristine purity. It only offers 
 itself to our inspection as it exists now, 
 when those original revelations are overlaid 
 and buried under a moimtainous heap of 
 acquired notions and perceptions. — Jlill, 
 ' Examination of Haynilton,' p. 171. 
 
 Consciousness, our principal instriunent, 
 is not sufficient, in its ordinary state ; it is 
 no more sufficient in psychological inquiries 
 than the naked eye in optical inquiries. 
 For its range is not great ; its illusions are 
 many and invincible ; it is necessary con- 
 tinually to test and correct its evidence, 
 nearly always to assist it, to present objects 
 to it in a brighter light, to magnify them, 
 and construct for its use a kind of micro- 
 scope and telescope. — Taine, ' On Intelli- 
 gence,' p. X. 
 
OBJECTIVE ME THOD—ODSER VA TION. 
 
 49 
 
 It needs therefore to be Supplemented. 
 
 In order to correct the narrowness of our 
 personal observations we must look to ex- 
 ternal quarters ; we must gather what are 
 the convictions of other men from their 
 deeds, ever passing under our notice, and 
 as recorded in history, and from their 
 conversation and their writings, as the ex- 
 pression of human thought and sentiment. 
 — jrCush, ^Examination of Mill,' p. 31. 
 
 But it is always Essential to Mental 
 Study. 
 Notwithstanding its drawbacks, Intro- 
 spection must have an important place in 
 any sj'stem of Psychology. It must be 
 remembered that we should not have any 
 notion of Mind at all if it were not for 
 Introspection, — Rijlands, ' Handbook, ^x.,' 
 p. 3. 
 
 Objection to the Use of Introspection in 
 Psychology. 
 To direct consciousness inwardly to the 
 observation of a particular state of mind is 
 to isolate that activity for the time, to cut 
 it off from its relations, and therefore to 
 render it unnatural. In order to observe 
 its own action, it is necessary that the mind 
 pause from activity, and yet it is the train 
 of activity that is to be observed. So long 
 as you cannot effect the pause necessary for 
 self -contemplation, there cannot be a suffi- 
 cient observation of the current of activity : 
 if the pause is effected, then there can be 
 nothing to observe ; there would be no con- 
 sciousness, for consciousness is awakened by 
 the transition from one physical or mental 
 state to another. This cannot be accounted 
 a vain and theoretical objection, for the 
 results of introspection too surely confirm 
 its validity : what was a question once is a 
 question still, and mstead of being i-esolved 
 by introspective analysis is only ' fixed and 
 fed.' — Maudsley, ' Pliysiology of Mind^ pp. 
 16, 17. 
 
 The Objection Answered. 
 
 If we would know what is within, how 
 shall we be satisfied but by looking within ? 
 
 Impossible, says an acute physiologist, tlie 
 thing cannot be done ; — if you turn atten- 
 tion on the current of thoughts and feelings 
 passing within you disturb the current, nay, 
 even break it, and so lose the thing for which 
 you are seeking. This much Dr. Maudsley 
 has borrowed from Comte, and to STuall 
 advantage. Every man is conscious of his 
 thoughts and feelings, that is, he knows 
 them as elements in his own experience. 
 The physician does not hesitate to ask liis 
 patient how he feels. lie does not apologise 
 for the question, as if it hazarded a sudden 
 termination of all experience save sudden 
 perplexity. Every one possesses the ability 
 to describe his own experience, and is well 
 aware that it is possible to concentrate 
 attention on a definite class of facts in his 
 experience without seriously disturbing the 
 current of his thoughts and attendant feel- 
 ings. If there is to be any regard to the 
 facts of personal experience, — and all phy- 
 siologists admit that attention must be given 
 to them, — it is impossible save by reference 
 to consciousness, and such reference involves 
 introspection. 
 
 On the other hand, it is impossible to 
 construct an adequate philosophy of mind 
 by use of introspection alone. Experience 
 does not carry its own explanation. There 
 is very much essentially connected with our 
 experience which nevertheless does not come 
 within experience. We must, therefore, 
 turn observation in other directions. And 
 he who grants the validity of observation, 
 when turned upon the inner sphere, will no 
 less freely grant its value when tm-ned upon 
 the outer. — Calderwood, ' Relations of Mind 
 and Brain,' pp. 6, 7. 
 
 II. OBJECTIVE METHOD— OBSERVA- 
 TION. (See also ExrEUiENCE.) 
 
 In what it Consists. 
 
 The objective method consists in study- 
 ing psychological facts from the outside, not 
 from the inside ; in the internal facts which 
 translate them, not in the consciousness 
 which gives them birth. The natural ex- 
 pression of the passions, the variety of lan- 
 
 D 
 
5° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 giiages, and the events of history are so 
 many facts which permit us to trace the 
 mental causes that have produced them : 
 the morbid derangement of the organism 
 which produces intellectual disorders ; 
 anomalies, monsters in the psychological 
 order, are to us as experiences prepared by 
 nature, and all the more precious as the 
 experimentation is more rare. Study of the 
 instincts, passions, and habits of the different 
 animals supplies us with facts whose inter- 
 pretation (often difficult) enables us by in- 
 duction, deduction, or analogy to reconstruct 
 a mode of psychological existence. In short, 
 the objective method, instead of being per- 
 sonal, like the simple method of reflection, 
 lends to facts an impersonal character; it 
 bends before them; it moulds its thrones 
 upon the reality. — Rihot, ^ English Psycho- 
 logy; p. 25. 
 
 Objective observation embraces not only 
 the mental phenomena of the individuals 
 who are personally known to us, old and 
 young, but those of others of whom we hear 
 or read in biography, &c. Also it includes 
 the study of minds in masses or aggregates, 
 as they present themselves in national sen- 
 timents and actions, and in the events of 
 history. It includes, too, a comparative 
 study of mind by observing its agreements 
 and differences among different races, and 
 even among different grades of animal life. 
 The study of the simpler phases of mind 
 in the child, in backward and uncivilised 
 races, and in the lower animals, is espe- 
 cially valuable for understanding the growth 
 of the mature or fully-developed human 
 mind. 
 
 Finally, the external or objective method 
 includes the study of mental phenomena 
 in connection with bodily and more par- 
 ticularly nervous processes. All external 
 observation of mental phenomena takes 
 place by noting some of their bodily accom- 
 paniments (movements of expression, vocal 
 actions, and so on). In addition to this, 
 psychology considers the actions of the ner- 
 vous system in so far as they aft'ect and 
 determme mental activity. — Sally, ' Out- 
 lines of Psychology; pp. 5, 6. 
 
 It is, however, valueless by itself. 
 
 M. Comte claims for physiologists alone 
 the scientific knowledge of intellectual and 
 moral phenomena. He totally rejects psy- 
 chological observations, properly so called, 
 the internal consciousness. He thinks 
 that we have to acquire our knowledge of 
 the human mind by observing others. 
 How we can observe and intei-pret the 
 mental operations of others without previ- 
 ously knowing our own, he does not tell 
 us. But he considers it evident that the 
 observation of ourselves by ourselves can 
 teach us only very little concerning feel- 
 ings, and nothing on the subject of under- 
 standing. " It is not necessary," says Mr. 
 Stuart Mill, "to refute a sophism at 
 length, whose most surprising part is, that 
 it should have imposed on any one." — 
 Ribot, ' English Psychology; p. 84. 
 
 Objective Psychology, so far as it relates 
 to inferior forms of life, is merely a field 
 for more or less probable conjecture,- in 
 which the basis of certainty diminishes the 
 further we depart from the human type. 
 Knowledge garnered from our own experi- 
 ences and those of our fellow-creatures 
 affords, as it were, the lamp wherewith we 
 seek to illuminate the dark places of animal 
 Psychology. — Bastian, ' The Brain, ^c.; 
 p. 168. 
 
 Whatever explanation the brain, nerves, 
 and physical forces may furnish of the rise 
 of certain states of mind, they can render 
 no account of peculiarly mental facts, such 
 as consciousness, intelligence, emotion, the 
 appreciation of beauty, and the sense of 
 moral obligation. These must ever be 
 studied by self-consciousness, and not by 
 any method of sensible observation, or of 
 weighing and measuring; and the results 
 reached by careful self-inspection can never 
 be set aside or superseded by any inquiry 
 into unconscious and imthinking forces. 
 In particular, physiology can never settle 
 for us the nature of intuition as an exer- 
 cise of mind, nor determine the ultimate 
 laws of thought and belief. — M'-Gosh, '■In- 
 tuitions of the Mind; p. 8. 
 
THE LOGICAL METHOD IN PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 5' 
 
 The Two Methods must be Combined. 
 
 Discussions between those who will ad- 
 mit nothing but interior observation like 
 Jouffrov, and tliose who recognise nothing 
 but exterior observation like Broussais, 
 resemble indecisive battles, after which 
 both the combatants claim the victory. 
 The former triumphantly produce their 
 analysis and defy their adversaries to 
 divine, without the aid of reflection, what 
 it is to feel, to desire, to wish, to abstract. 
 The latter reply that the dialogue of the 
 ego with the ego cannot last long, and that 
 they prefer to cultivate the fertile soil of 
 experience. On both sides the question 
 is only half imderstood. Each of these 
 systems has need of the other. They 
 complete each other reciprocally, the sub- 
 jective method proceeding by analysis, and 
 the objective method by synthesis ; the 
 .interior method being the most necessary, 
 since without it we do not even know of 
 what we are talking ; the exterior method 
 being the most fruitful, since the field of 
 its investigation is almost unlimited. — 
 Ribot, ' English Psychology,' p. 24. 
 
 To try to discover mental phenomena 
 and their laws solely by watching the ex- 
 ternal signs and effects of others' thoughts, 
 .feelings, and volitions, would plainly be 
 absurd. For these external manifestations 
 are in themselves as empty of meaning as 
 words in an unknown tongue, and only 
 receive theii- meaning by a reference to 
 what we ourselves have thought and felt. 
 On the other hand, an exclusive attention 
 to the contents of our individual mind 
 would never give us a general knowledge 
 of mind. In order to eliminate the effects 
 of individuality we must at every step 
 compare our own modes of thinking and 
 feeling with those of other minds. The 
 wider the area included in our comparison 
 the sounder are our generalisations likely to 
 be. — Sully, ' Outlines of Psychology,' ^^. 6, 7. 
 
 m. THE SOCIOLOGICAL METHOD. 
 
 The special resource of sociology is that 
 it participates directly in the elementary 
 
 composition of the common ground of our 
 intellectual resources. It is plain tliat this 
 logical co-operation of the new science is as 
 important as that of any of the anterior 
 sciences. Sociology adds to our other 
 means of research that which I have called 
 the historical method, and which will here- 
 after, when we are sufficiently habituated 
 to it, constitute a fourth fundamental 
 means of observation. But, though soci- 
 ology has given us this resource, it is more 
 or less applicable to all orders of scientific 
 specvilation. We have only to regard every 
 discovery, at the moment it is effected, as 
 a true social phenomenon, forming a part 
 of the general series of human development, 
 and on that ground subject to the laws of 
 succession and the methods of investiga- 
 tion which characterise that great evolu- 
 tion. — Comte, ' Positive Philos.,' u. 102, 
 
 Progress in intelligence, associated with 
 progress in language, has to be treated as 
 accompanying social progress ; which, while 
 furthering it, is furthered by it. From 
 experiences which accumulate, come com- 
 parisons leading to generalisations of simple 
 kinds. Gradually the ideas of uniformity, 
 order, and cause, becoming nascent, gain 
 clearness with each fresh truth established. 
 And while there has to be noted the con- 
 nection between each phase of science and 
 the concomitant phase of social life, there 
 have also to be noted the stages through 
 which, within the body of science itself, 
 there is an advance from a few, simple, in- 
 coherent truths, to a number of specialised 
 sciences forming an agreement of truths 
 that are multitudinous, varied, exact, co- 
 herent. — Spencer, ^Sociology,'' i. 430. 
 
 IV. THE LOGICAL METHOD IN PSY- 
 CHOLOGY: ANALYSIS AND SYN- 
 THESIS. 
 
 The respective values of these different 
 sources of knowledge (the Subjective and 
 the Objective) respecting psychical facts 
 will apjDear more plainly if we keep cleai-ly 
 in view the aim of psychology and the 
 logical ijae^^^lfe;t6ilBi?foUQwed. Briefly, we 
 
 ffi 
 
 Or 
 
 USIVERSIT7 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 may say that psychology has to classify 
 mental phenomena and to determine the 
 laws of their production, to show how 
 simple states combine in complex states. 
 Now this can be effected in one of two 
 ways. 
 
 (a.) We may proceed, first of all, from 
 effects to antecedent conditions, products 
 to factors. This mode of proceeding in 
 psychology is commonly spoken of as the 
 analytical method. It may also be called 
 the inductive method, since the general 
 laws respecting the aggregation and pro- 
 duction of mental states are in the first 
 instance reached in this way. 
 
 (b.) In the second place, we may set out 
 from elementary facts, and by help of cer- 
 tain laws of composition (reached by the 
 analytical way, supplemented if necessary 
 by hypothesis) reconstruct the successive 
 stages of psychical production. This is the 
 synthetical method in psychology. It may 
 also be called the genetic method. It is 
 deductive in so far as it reasons down from 
 laws reached by previous inductions or by 
 hypotheses. — Sully, ' Outlines of Psycliolorjy,^ 
 p. 684. 
 
 Repudiation by Ontology of Psychological 
 Method. 
 
 Psychology, or * the science of the human 
 mind,' instead of attempting to correct, 
 does all in her power to ratify, the inad- 
 vertent deliverances of ordinary thought, 
 — to prove them to be right. Hence psy- 
 chology must, of necessity, come in for a 
 share of the castigation which is doled out 
 and directed upon common and natural 
 opinion. It would be well if this could be 
 avoided ; but it cannot. Philosophy must 
 either forego her existence, or carry on her 
 operations corrective of ordmary thinking, 
 and subversive of psychological science. It 
 is, indeed, only by accident that philosophy 
 is inimical to psychology : it is because 
 psychology is the abettor and accomplice 
 of common opinion after the act; but in 
 reference to natural thinking, she is essen- 
 tially controversial. Philosophy, however, 
 is bound to deal much more rigorously and 
 
 sternly with the doctrines of psychology 
 than with the spontaneous judgments of 
 unthinking man, because while these in 
 themselves are mere oversights or inad- 
 vertencies, psychology converts them into 
 downright falsities by stamping them with 
 the countersign or imprimatur of a specious, 
 though spurious science. In the occasional 
 cases, moreover, in which psychology, in- 
 stead of ratifying, endeavours to rectify 
 the inadvertencies of popular thinking, she 
 only makes matters worse, by complicating 
 the original error with a new contradiction, 
 and sometimes with several new ones, of 
 her, own creation. — Ferrier, '■Institutes of 
 Metaphysics; pp. 32, 33. 
 
 V. ATTENTION. 
 Defined. 
 
 The same act of knowledge, with similar 
 objective conditions, may be performed with 
 greater or less energy. This greater or less 
 energy in the operation of knowing is called 
 attention; which word, as its etymology 
 suggests, is another term for tension or 
 effort, and was doubtless first transferred 
 to the spiritual operation from the strained 
 condition of the part or whole of the bodily 
 organism, which accompanies or follows 
 such effort. — Porter, ' The Human Intellect; 
 p. 69. 
 
 Attention may be defined as the concen- 
 tration of consciousness, or the direction of 
 mental energy upon a definite object or 
 objects. — ' Encycloj). Brit.; iii. 52. 
 
 Attention may be roughly defined as the 
 active self-direction of the mind to any 
 object which presents itself to it at the 
 moment. It is somewhat the same as the 
 mind's * consciousness ' of what is present 
 to it. The field of consciousness, however, 
 is wider than that of attention. Conscious- 
 ness admits of many degrees of distinctness. 
 I may be very vaguely or indistinctly con- 
 scious of some bodily sensation, of some 
 haunting recollection, and so on. To attend 
 is to intensify consciousness by concentrat- 
 ing or narrowing it on some definite and 
 
ATTENTION. 
 
 53 
 
 restricted area. It is to force the mind or 
 consciousness in a particular direction so 
 as to make the objects as distinct as pos- 
 sible. — Sully, ' Oiiilmes of Psi/cJiolo'j//,' p. 73. 
 
 Nature of Attention. 
 
 It is tmiaUy a coluntary act. 
 
 Attention is a voluntary act ; it requires 
 an active exertion to begin and to continue 
 it, and it may be continued as long as we 
 will — Reid, ' Worhs,^ p. 239. 
 
 But not always so. 
 
 "WTien occupied with other matters, a 
 person may speak to us, or the clock may 
 strike, without our having any conscious- 
 ness of the sound ; but it is wholly impos- 
 sible for us to remain in this state of uncon- 
 sciousness intentionally and with will. We 
 cannot determinatelyrefuse to hear by volun- 
 tarily withholding our attention; and we 
 can no more open our eyes, and by an act 
 of will, avert our mind from all perception 
 of sight, than we can, by an act of will, 
 cease to live. We may close our ears or shut 
 our eyes, as we may commit suicide; but 
 we cannot with our organs unobstructed, 
 wholly refuse our attention at will — 
 Haviilton, ' Iletaj^Jiysics,' i. 247. 
 
 It is 0/ three degrees or kinds. 
 
 The first, a mere vital and irresistible 
 act; the second, an act determined by 
 desire, which, though involuntary, may be 
 resisted by our will; the third, an act 
 determined by a deliberate volition. — 
 Hamilton, 'Metaphysics,^!. 248. 
 
 The hcginninys and development of atten- 
 tio7i. 
 
 From the condition of unconscious ac- 
 tivity the soul is aroused, when it begins 
 to attend either to its sensational condi- 
 tion, or to the responsive perceptional act. 
 The soul scarcely can be said to have 
 sensations even, till it is conscious of some 
 sharp or positive experience of pain or 
 pleasure. Much less can it be said to 
 perceive, till its attention is aroused, re- 
 peated, and fixed upon some single sensible 
 percept. We are not to suppose that the 
 
 attention is developed at a single l)ound, 
 or that its energy is attained by one spasm 
 of effort ; nor that the soul maintains itself 
 always in the attcnt condition w]iich it at 
 first occasionally attains. All analogies 
 from the states of our mature experience 
 would lead us to believe that the soul now 
 rises into a moment's fixed attention, and 
 then sinks again to blank inanition. Again 
 it is roused a second time by some earnest 
 and intruding solicitation, attends for an 
 instant, and relapses a second time into 
 the merely instinctive life. — Porter, 'The 
 Human Intellect,^ pp. 180, 181, 
 
 It is not a special faculty of the mind. 
 
 Attention is not a separate faculty, or a 
 faculty of intelligence at all, but merely an 
 act of will or desire, subordinate to a certain 
 law of intelligence. This law is that the 
 greater the number of objects to which our 
 consciousness is simultaneously extended, 
 the smaller is the intensity with which it 
 is able to consider each, and consequently 
 the less vivid and distinct will be the in- 
 formation it obtains of the several objects. 
 Such being the law it follows that, when 
 our interest in any particular object is 
 excited, and when we wish to obtain all 
 the knowledge concerning it in our power, 
 it behoves us to limit our consideration to 
 that object, to the exclusion of others. 
 This is done by an act of volition or de- 
 sire, which is called attention. — Hamilton, 
 'Metaphysics,' i. 237, 
 
 Its rdation to consciousness. 
 
 Attention is to consciousness, what the 
 contraction of the pupil is to sight; or 
 to the eye of the mind, what the micro- 
 scope or telescope is to the bodily eye. 
 Attention doubles all the efficiency of the 
 special faculties, and affords them a power 
 of which they would otherwise be destitute, 
 — Reid, ' Works,^ p. 941, 
 
 To view attention as a special act of 
 intelligence, and to distinguish it from 
 consciousness, is utterly inept. Conscious- 
 ness may be compared to a telescope, 
 attention to the pulling out or in of the 
 
54 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tubes in accommodatiBg the focus to the 
 object. Attention is consciousness, and 
 something more. It is consciousness volun- 
 tarily applied to some determinate object, 
 it is consciousness concentrated. — Hamilton, 
 ^Metaphysics,' i. 238. 
 
 Circumstances determining attention. 
 
 In the first place there are certain me- 
 chanical influences only partly subject to 
 the will, such are the force and vividness 
 of the impression, the interest attaching to 
 an object, the trains of associated ideas 
 exciting, or the emotions roused by its con- 
 templation. There is, secondly, an exercise 
 of volition employed in fixing the mind 
 upon some definite object ; this is a purely 
 voluntary act, which can be strengthened 
 by habit, is variable in different individuals, 
 and to which, as being its highest stage, the 
 name Attention is sometimes restricted. — 
 '• Encydo]). Brit.,' iii. 52. 
 
 Can we Attend to more than a Single 
 Object at once ? 
 
 Dugald Stewart holds that we cannot. 
 
 There is indeed a great variety of cases 
 in which the mind apparently exerts differ- 
 ent acts of attention at once ; but all this 
 maybe explained by the astonishing rapidity 
 of thought, without supposing those acts to 
 be co-existent. For example : in viewing 
 a mathematical figure, say of a thousand 
 sides, we view each side by a separate effort 
 of attentive regard, till we have passed 
 around the outline by successive acts of 
 perception. The eye and the mind do this 
 so rapidly, that when the outline is not 
 very complicated, they seem to grasp and 
 master the whole by a single and instan- 
 taneous act. So, in listening to a concert 
 of music, we think we hear — i.e., atten- 
 tively listen to — all the instruments and 
 separate parts together, whereas in fact we 
 can attend to but one. When we seem to 
 ourselves to listen to all, we, in fact, pass 
 so rapidly from one to another as to think 
 we attend to all together. — ' Works,' ii. 
 140-143 (abridged). 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton and others say ive can. 
 
 What are the facts in Stewart's example 
 of a concert? In a musical concert we 
 have a multitude of different instruments 
 and voices emitting at once an infinity of 
 different sounds. These all reach the ear 
 at the same indivisible moment in which 
 they perish, and, consequently, if heard at 
 all, much more if their mutual relation or 
 harmony be perceived, they must be all 
 heard simultaneously. This is evident. 
 For if the mind can attend to each mini- 
 mum of sound only successively, it conse- 
 quently requires a minimum of time in 
 which it is exclusively occupied with each 
 minimum of sound. Now in this minimum 
 of time, there coexist with it, and with it 
 perish, many minima of sound, which, ex 
 hypothesis are not pei'ceived, — are not heard, 
 as not attended to. In a concert, therefore, 
 on this doctrine, a small number of sounds 
 only could be perceived, and above this petty 
 maximum all sounds would be to the ear as 
 zero. But what is the fact ? No concert, 
 however numerous its instruments, has yet 
 been found to have reached, far less to have 
 surpassed, the capacity of mind and its 
 organ. Either then we can attend to two 
 different objects at once, or all knowledge 
 of relation and harmony is impossible. — 
 Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' i. 243. 
 
 The theory of Stewart labours under the 
 following difiiculties : — It excludes the pos- 
 sibility of comparing objects with one an- 
 other. In order to compare objects so as 
 to discern that they are alike or diverse, 
 they must be considered together — that is, 
 they must be attentively perceived in com- 
 bination. We cannot see that two surfaces 
 of colour are alike or unlike without per- 
 ceiving them both in connection, and perceiv- 
 ing them both by a single attentive act. 
 It is obvious that the mind can apprehend 
 more than a single object at once. If it 
 could not, it would be for ever and entirely 
 cut off from the most important part of its 
 knowledge, viz., the knowledge of relations, 
 which knowledge can only be attained by 
 the apprehension of at least two objects 
 
ATTENTION. 
 
 55 
 
 together. — Purfer, ' The Ilumcm Intelltxt,' 
 p. 208. 
 
 Sehleiermacher was able to carry on an 
 intellectual conversation, and at the same 
 time to see and hear all that occurred and 
 was spoken round about him, even at the 
 farthest side of the room, — Martensen, 
 * Cliristian Etlilcs,' ii. 41S. 
 
 Value of the Power of Attention. 
 
 The greater capacity of continuous think- 
 ing that a man possesses, the longer and 
 more steadily can he follow out the same 
 train of thought, — the stronger is his power 
 of attention ; and in proportion to his power 
 of attention wUl be the success with which 
 his labour is rewarded. When we turn for 
 the first time our view on any given object 
 a hundred other things still retain posses- 
 sion of our thoughts. But if we are vigorous 
 enough to pursue our course in spite of 
 obstacles, every step as we advance will be 
 found easier; the distractions gradually 
 diminish ; the attention is more exclusively 
 concentrated upon its object. Thus the 
 difference between an ordinary mind and 
 the miiid of a Newton consists principally 
 in this, that the one is capable of the appli- 
 cation of a more continuous attention than 
 the other, — that a Ne^vton is able without 
 fatigue to connect inference with inference 
 in one long series towards a determinate 
 end, while the man of inferior capacity is 
 soon obliged to break or let fall the thread 
 which he had begun to spin. This is, in 
 fact, what Sir Isaac, with equal modesty 
 and shrewdness, himself admitted. To one 
 who complimented him on his genius, he 
 replied that if he had made any discoveries 
 it was owing more to patient attention than 
 to any other talent. — Hamilton, ' ^letajjhy- 
 sics,' i. 255, 256. 
 
 Genius is nothing but a continued atten- 
 tion. — Ildvetius. 
 
 The power of applying an attention, 
 steady and undissipated, to a single object 
 is the sure mark of a superior genius. — 
 Giesterjield, ' Letters to his Son,' Ixxxix. 
 
 The discovery of truth can only bo made 
 by the labour of attention, because it is only 
 the labour of attention which has light for 
 itsreward. — Malehranche, ' TraitedeMurale,' 
 Pt. I. ch. vi. § I. 
 
 Without the labour of attention we shall 
 never comprehend the grandevir of religion, 
 the sanctity of morals, the littleness of all 
 that is not God, the absurdity of the pas- 
 sions, and of all our internal miseries. — 
 Malehranche, ' Traite de Morale,' Pt. I. ch. 
 V. §4. 
 
 Growth of Attention. 
 
 With the general progress of mental de- 
 velopment, the direction of the Attention to 
 ideas rather than to sense impressions, which 
 was at first difficult, becomes more and more 
 easy ; its continuous fixation upon one sub- 
 ject becomes so completely habitual that it 
 is often less easy to break the continuity 
 than to sustain it; and the time at last 
 arrives when the direction of that attention 
 is given by the individual's own will instead 
 of by the will of another. — Carpenter, 
 ^ 3Iental Physiol.,' pp. 136-37. 
 
 Non-Voluntary and Voluntary Attention. 
 
 When the mind is acted upon by the 
 mere force of the object presented, the act 
 of attention is said to be non-voluntary. 
 It may also be called reflex (or automatic), 
 because it bears a striking analogy to reflex 
 movement, that is to say, movement follow- 
 ing sensory stimulation without the inter- 
 vention of a conscious purpose. On the 
 other hand, when we attend to a thing 
 under the impulse of a desire, such as curio- 
 sity, or a wish to know about a thing, we 
 are said to do so by an act of will or volun- 
 tarily. — Sully, ' Oidlines of Ps/jchologi/,' 
 p. 80. 
 
 The contrast between the volitional and 
 the automatic states of Attention is parti- 
 cularly well shown in the effects of painful 
 impressions on the nervous system. It is 
 well known that such impressions as would 
 ordinarily produce severe pain, may for a 
 time be completely unfelt, through the ex- 
 
56 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 elusive direction of the attention elsewhere ; 
 and this direction may either depend (a) 
 upon the determination of the ego, or (6) upon 
 the attractiveness of the object, or (c, d, e) 
 on the combination of both. — Carpenter, 
 ^Mental Physiol.,'' p. 138. 
 
 The Nervous Concomitants of Attention. 
 The fact that attention is an act of the 
 mind would suggest that its nervous con- 
 comitants are certain processes in those 
 % motor centres which we know to be espe- 
 cially concerned in movement or action. 
 This conjecture is borne out by the fact that 
 the act of attention is commonly accom- 
 panied by muscular contractions. Among 
 these are the muscular actions which sub- 
 serve the intellectual operation, such as the 
 fixing of the eye on an object or the turn- 
 ing of the ear in the direction of a sound. 
 In addition to these there are other actions 
 which constitute the characteristic expres- 
 sion of attention. Attention is commonly 
 accompanied by a fixing of the eyes, head, 
 and whole body; and this fixity is main- 
 tained by an act of wilL In very close 
 attention, as in trying to recall something, 
 there are other bodily accompaniments, such 
 as the compression of the lips, frowning, 
 and so on. Finally, in all close attention 
 there is a feeling of tension or strain which 
 appears to indicate muscular effort. As 
 Fechner says, in looking steadfastly this 
 feeling is referred to the eye, in listening 
 closely, to the ear, in trying to ' think ' or 
 recollect, to the head or brain. — Sully, ' Out- 
 lines of Psychology,'' p. 77. 
 
 VI. REFLECTION. 
 Its Nature. 
 
 Defijiition. 
 
 Reflection is properly attention dii'ected 
 to the phenomena of mind. — Hamilton, 
 ^Metaphysics,'' i. 236. 
 
 It is in our power when we come to the 
 years of understanding, to give attention to 
 our own thoughts and passions, and the 
 various operations of our minds. And, 
 
 when we make these the objects of our 
 attention, either while they are present 
 or when they are recent and fresh in our 
 memory, this act of the mind is called 
 reflection. — Reid, ' Wor'ks,'' p. 232. 
 
 Reflection is not concerned with objects 
 themselves, in order to obtain directly con- 
 cepts of them, but is a state of the mind 
 in which we set ourselves to discover the 
 subjective conditions under which we may 
 arrive at concepts. — Kayit, ' Critique,'' vol. ii. 
 226. 
 
 As described by Locke. 
 
 By reflection I mean that notice which 
 the mind takes of its own operations, and 
 the manner of them ; by reason whereof 
 there come to be ideas of these operations 
 in the understanding. It is the perception 
 of the operations of our own mind within 
 us, as it is employed about the ideas it has 
 got ; which operations when the soul comes 
 to reflect on and consider, do furnish the 
 understanding with another set of ideas, 
 which could not be had from things without; 
 and such ai'e perception, thinking, doubting, 
 believing, reasoning, knowing, willing, and 
 all the different actings of our own minds ; 
 which we being conscious of and observing 
 in oui'selves, do from these receive into our 
 understandings as distinct ideas, as we do 
 from bodies affecting our senses. This 
 som-ce of ideas every man has wholly in 
 himself; and though it be not sense, as 
 having nothing to do with external objects, 
 yet it is very like it, and might properly 
 enough be called internal sense. — Loche, 
 ^ Human Understanding,^ II. i. 4. 
 
 Reflection, in Locke's meaning of the 
 word (and this is the more correct), is only 
 Consciousness, concentrated by an act of 
 Will on the phenomena of Mind — i.e., 
 internal attention. — Hamilton, in Reid's 
 ' Worlis,'' p. 420, note. 
 
 Among many English writers reflection 
 is freely used as the exact equivalent of 
 consciousness. It is the gi'eat and distinc 
 tive merit of Locke to have called attention 
 to it as a separate source of knowledge, and 
 
REFLECTION. 
 
 57 
 
 to have claimed for the knowledge which it 
 furnishes equal authority and certainty with 
 that which is received through the senses, 
 — Porter, 'Human Intellect,'' p. 86. 
 Dean Mansel, however, says — 
 The term reflection is unfortunately 
 chosen, as it natiu-ally suggests the notion 
 of a turning hack of the mind upon an 
 object previously existing ; and thus i-epre- 
 sents the phenomena of consciousness as 
 distinct from the act of reflecting upon 
 them. Understood in this sense, reflection 
 can have no other objects than the pheno- 
 mena of sensation in some one of its modes ; 
 for sensation and reflection are with Locke 
 the only recognised sources of knowledge, 
 and if reflection implies a previously exist- 
 ing operation of mind, that operation can 
 be none other than sensation. Interpreting 
 Locke in this sense, Condillac and his fol- 
 lowers were only carrying out the doctrine 
 to its legitimate consequences when they 
 maintained that sensation was the only 
 original source of ideas, and furnished the 
 whole material of our knowledge. — ' Meta- 
 physics,' pp. 143, 144- 
 
 It is a sustained act of the mind. 
 
 We can certamly repeat a mental state 
 again and again, allowing no other activity 
 to intervene. As we thus repeat the ac- 
 tivity in a series of similar acts, we present 
 to our consciousness substantially the same 
 object, and so secure an opportunity for 
 bestowing upon it that continuous or sus- 
 tained attention which is essential to exact 
 observation. What we fail to notice at 
 one look, we catch by another. What we 
 only faintly apprehend at the first sight, 
 we fix and confirm by the second. What 
 we observe incorrectly or partially in one 
 act, we discern truly and completely in the 
 act which follows. This retention or repe- 
 tition of the object becomes the condition 
 of the continuity of the act of conscious- 
 ness, and hence it is a distinguishing char- 
 acteristic of the philosophic consciousness. 
 It is because the mind does, as it were, 
 turn in upon itself, that this effort of 
 consciousness is termed reflection — i.e., the 
 
 bending back or retortion of the soul on 
 itself. It is because this repetition of tlio 
 object, or retortion in the act, is found to 
 be practically necessary, in order to any 
 accurate and successful observation of con- 
 sciousness, that consciousness the act, has 
 been supposed to be a remembrance, a sort 
 of second thought, and the power has been 
 resolved into memory. Second-thinking is, 
 indeed, necessary to reflective conscious- 
 ness ; and not only second-thinking, but a 
 sustained and continued application of the 
 attention to the continuously repeated act. 
 — Porter, 'Human Intellect,' p. 107. 
 
 It is the last of the mcntcd j^oicers to be 
 developed. 
 
 The power of reflection upon the opera- 
 tions of their o^vn minds does not appear 
 at all in children. Men must be come to 
 some ripeness of understanding before they 
 are capable of it. Of all the powers of 
 the human mind, it seems to be the last 
 that mifolds itself. From infancy, till we 
 come to the years of miderstanding, we 
 are employed solely about external objects. 
 And, although the mind is conscious of its 
 operations, it does not attend to them ; its 
 attention is turned solely to the external 
 objects, about which those operations are 
 employed. Thus, when a man is angry, he 
 is conscious of his passion ; but his atten- 
 tion is turned to the person who offended 
 him, and the circumstances of the offence, 
 while the passion of anger is not in the 
 least the object of his attention. Most 
 men seem incapable of acquiring the power 
 of reflection in any considerable degree. — 
 Beid, ' WorJis,' pp. 239, 240. 
 
 Poioer comes hy j^ractice. 
 
 Like all our other powers, reflection is 
 gi-eatly improved by exercise ; and until a 
 man has got the habit of attending to the 
 operations of his own mind, he can never 
 have clear and distinct notions of them, 
 nor form any steady judgment concerning 
 them. To acquire this habit is a work of 
 time and labour, even in those who begin 
 it early, and whose natural talents are 
 
58 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tolerably fitted for it ; but the difficulty 
 will be daily diminishing, and the advantage 
 of it is great. — Reid, ' Works,'' p. 240. 
 
 Its Function. 
 
 Reflection creates nothing — can create 
 nothing ; everything exists previous to re- 
 flection in the consciousness, but every- 
 thing pre-exists there in confusion and 
 obscurity ; it is the work of reflection in 
 adding itself to consciousness, to illuminate 
 that which was obscure, to develop that 
 which was enveloped. Reflection is for 
 consciousness what the microscope and the 
 telescope are for the natural sight ; neither 
 of these instruments makes or changes the 
 objects ; but in examining them on every 
 side, in penetrating to their centre, these 
 instruments Uluminate them, and discover 
 to us their characters and their laws. — 
 Cousin, '^ Hist, of Mod. Phil.,' i. 275. 
 
 Its Relation to Consciousness. 
 
 Reflection ought to be distinguished 
 from consciousness. All men are conscious 
 of the operations of their own minds, at 
 all times, while they are awake ; but there 
 are few who reflect upon them, or make them 
 objects of thought. — Reid, ' Works,' p. 239. 
 
 Locke nowhere in form defines the rela- 
 tion of consciousness to reflection. It never 
 seems to have occurred to him that they are 
 related, or that he ought to explain what 
 their relations are. The questions which, 
 since his time, have assumed so great in- 
 terest and importance, did not present them- 
 selves to his mind. From the use which 
 he makes of these terms, however, we are 
 fully authorised to derive the following as 
 a just statement of the opinions which he 
 would have expressed had his attention 
 been called to the relation of consciousness 
 to reflection : In order to gain ideas or 
 permanent knowledge of the mind, we must 
 use a certain power with reflection and 
 consideration. But the power itself is not 
 created or first exercised by or in such acts 
 or efforts. These are but exercises of this 
 power in a given way and energy. The 
 
 power itself is the capacity of the mind to 
 know its acts or states. This power is 
 consciousness, which Locke himself has de- 
 fined to be " the perception of what passes 
 in a man's own mind," and without which 
 man never thinks at all. When this power 
 is used in a peculiar way and with energy 
 or concentration enough to secure a certain 
 effect, it becomes reflection. Reflection is 
 therefore consciousness intensified by atten- 
 tion. Inasmuch, however, as the power is 
 rarely referred to except as giving the 
 results of actual knowledge, reflectioJi is the 
 word by which it is usually known. — 
 Porter, '■Human Intellect,' p. 87. 
 
 Transcendental Reflection (according to 
 Kant). 
 
 Transcendental Reflection is the act 
 whereby I confront the comparison of ideas 
 generally, with the cognitive faculty in 
 which the comparison is instituted, and 
 distinguish whether the ideas are compared 
 with each other as belonging to the pure 
 understanding or to sensuous intuition. — 
 Ueherweg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 173. 
 
 VII. INTUITION. (See Intuitions, 
 Innate Ideas.) 
 
 Defined and Described. 
 
 Intuition is used to denote the appre- 
 hension we have of self-evident truths — 
 the immediate consciousness of an object 
 — an insight. — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 127; 
 ii- 73- 
 
 Intuition is opposed to thought and its 
 various products. It is an immediate 
 knowledge or cognition of something in 
 space, in time, or both. Its object is some- 
 times said to be individual ; which is so far 
 true that the object of an intuition can 
 never be general ; but, on the one hand, 
 an intuition often consists of many separ- 
 able parts, and, on the other hand, in order 
 to recognise an individual object as the 
 same that we previously knew, we must 
 have at least two intuitions (a present and 
 a past one) and institute a comparison be- 
 
INrUITION. 
 
 59 
 
 tween tliem. — Monde, ^ Sir W. IlamiUoii,' 
 p. i8i. 
 
 Wliat we kiiow or apprehend as soon as 
 we perceive or attend to it, we are said to 
 know by intuition ; things which we know 
 by intuition cannot be made more certain 
 by arguments, than they are at first. We 
 know by intuition that all the parts of a 
 thing together are equal to the whole of it. 
 Axioms are propositions known by intui- 
 tion. — Taylor, ^Elements of ThougliV 
 
 In intuition we look into the object, we 
 discover something in it, or belonging to 
 it, or we discover a relation between it and 
 some other object. Intuitively the mind 
 contemplates a particular body as occupy- 
 ing space and being in space, and it is by 
 a subsequent intellectual process, in which 
 abstraction acts an important part, that 
 the idea of space is formed. Intuitively 
 the mind contemplates an event as happen- 
 ing in time, and then by a further process 
 arrives at the notion of time. The mind 
 has not intuitively an idea of cause or 
 causation in the abstract, but, discovering a 
 given effect, it looks for a specific cause. It 
 does not form some sort of a vague notion 
 of a general infinite, but, fixing its atten- 
 tion on some individual thing, — such as 
 space, or time, or God, — it is constrained 
 to believe it to be infinite. The child has 
 not formed to itself a refined idea of moral 
 good, but, contemplating a given action, it 
 proclaims it to be good or evil. The same 
 remark holds good of the intuitive judg- 
 ments of the mind ; that is, when it com- 
 pares two or more things, and proclaims 
 them at once to agree or disagree. I do 
 not, without a process of discursive thought, 
 pronounce, or even understand, the general 
 maxim that things which are equal to the 
 same things are equal to one another, but, 
 on discovei'ing that first one bush and then 
 another bush are of the same height as my 
 staff, I decide that the two bushes are equal 
 to one another. — M^Cosh, ^Intuitions of the 
 31 i nil,'' p. 27. 
 
 Intuition is the immediate knowledge 
 which we have of any object of conscious- 
 ness. Thus consciousness is coextensive 
 
 with intuition, and therefore it might ap- 
 pear that the term intuition was useless. 
 But it is convenient to have some word to 
 distinguish the knowledge given in con- 
 sciousness from the knowledge which is the 
 result of inference, and the word we have 
 used appears the best suited for that pur- 
 pose. Moreover, consciousness is more 
 properly applied to our knowledge of objects 
 or phenomena; whereas we have now to 
 bring into pi-ominence the relations between 
 objects. The simple objects of intuition are 
 identical with the objects of consciousness. 
 A sensation, an idea, an emotion, any phe- 
 nomenon of the mind, is given to us in an 
 intuition. — Jardine, ^Psychology,' p. 229. 
 
 Sometimes the mind perceives the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of two ideas imme- 
 diatly by themselves, without the inter^ 
 vention of any other ; and this I think we 
 may call intuitive knowledge. For in this 
 the mind is at no pains of proving or 
 examining, but perceives the truth as the 
 eye doth light, only by being directed 
 towai'd it. Thus the mind perceives that 
 white is not black, that a circle is not a 
 triangle, that three are more than two, and 
 equal to one and two. Such kind of truths 
 the mind perceives at the first sight of the 
 ideas together, by bare intuition, without 
 the intervention of any other idea; and 
 this kind of knowledge is the clearest and 
 most certain that human frailty is capable 
 of. This part of knowledge is irresistible, 
 and, like bright sunshine, forces itself 
 immediately to be perceived, as soon as 
 ever the mind turns its view that way. It 
 is on this intuition that depends all the 
 certainty and evidence of all our knowledge. 
 — Loclce, '' Human Understanding,'' iv. ii. i. 
 
 Some judgments are, in the proper sense 
 of the word, intuitions. Such are termed 
 axioms, first principles, principles of com- 
 mon sense, self-evident truths. — ^ Jleid, 
 Summarised by Ueberwey.' 
 
 Forms of Intuition according to Kant. 
 
 The forms of intuition are space and 
 time. Space is the foi-m of external 
 
6o 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sensibility; time is the form of internal 
 and indirectly of external sensibility. On 
 the d, priori nature of space depends the 
 possibility of geometrical, and on d priori 
 nature of time depends the possibility of 
 geometrical judgments. — Ueberioeg, ^ Hist, 
 of Phil.,' ii. 157. 
 
 The two Principal Modes of Religious 
 Intuition. 
 These are the Feeling of Dependence, 
 and the Conviction of Moral Obligation. 
 To these two facts of the inner conscious- 
 ness may be traced, as to their sources, the 
 two great outward acts by which religion 
 in various forms has been manifested among 
 men; Prayer, by which they seek to win 
 God's blessing upon the future; and 
 Expiation, by which they strive to atone 
 for the offences of the past. — MaTisel, 
 ^Limits of Religious Thotight,' p. 78. 
 
 VIII. COMMON SENSE. 
 The phrase is loose and ambiguous. 
 
 The phrase * common sense ' is an un- 
 fortunate, because a loose and ambiguous 
 one. Common sense (besides its use by 
 Aristotle) has two meanings in ordinary 
 discourse. It may signify, first, that 
 ■unacquired, unbought, imtaught sagacity, 
 which certain men have by nature, and 
 which other men never could acquire, even 
 though they were svibjected to the process 
 mentioned by Solomon (Prov. xxvii. 22), 
 and brayed in a mortar. Or it might 
 signify the communis sensus, or the per- 
 ceptions and judgments which are common 
 to all men. It is only in this latter sense 
 that the argument from common sense is 
 a philosophic one; that is, only on the 
 condition that the appeal be to convictions 
 which are in all men; and further, that 
 there has been a systematic exposition of 
 them, Reid did make a most legitimate 
 use of the argument from common sense, 
 appealing to convictions in all men, and 
 bringing out to view, and expressing with 
 greater or less accuracy, the piinciples 
 involved in these convictions. But then 
 
 he has also taken advantage of the first 
 meaning of the phrase ; he represents the 
 strength of these original judgments as 
 good sense. — JSP Gosh, ' Intuitions of the 
 Mind,'' p. 93. 
 
 Its various meanings. 
 
 The various meanings in which the term 
 Common Sense is met with, in ancient and 
 modern times, may, I think, be reduced to 
 four; and these fall into two categories, 
 according as it is, or is not, limited to the 
 sphere of sense proper. 
 
 1. As restricted to sense proper. 
 
 (a.) Under this head Common Sense has 
 only a single meaning. It was employed 
 by Aristotle to denote the Central or 
 Common Sensory, that is, the faculty in 
 which the various reports of the several 
 senses are reduced to the unity of a 
 common appei-ception. 
 
 2. As not limited to the sphere of sense 
 piroper, it comprises three meanings. 
 
 (&.) It denotes the complement of those 
 cognitions or convictions which we receive 
 from nature; which all men therefore 
 possess in common; and by which they 
 test the truth of knowledge and the 
 morality of actions. This is the meaning 
 in which the exj)ression is now emphati- 
 cally employed in philosophy, and which 
 may be, therefore, called its philosophical 
 signification. Thus employed, it does not 
 denote a peculiar sense, distinct from intelli- 
 gence, by which truth is apprehended or 
 revealed. 
 
 (c.) In the third signification, Common 
 Sense may be used with emphasis on the 
 adjective or on the substantive. In the 
 former case, it denotes such an ordinary 
 complement of intelligence, that if a person 
 be deficient therein, he is accounted mad 
 or foolish. In the latter case, it expresses 
 native, practical intelligence, natural pru- 
 dence, mother wit, tact in behaviour, 
 acuteness in the observation of character, 
 &c., in contrast to habits of acquired learn- 
 
COMMON SENSE. 
 
 6i 
 
 inc:, or of speculation away from the affairs 
 of^life. 
 
 (d.) In the fourth and last signification, 
 Common Sense is no longer a natural 
 quality ; it denotes an acquired perception 
 or feeling of the common duties and pro- 
 prieties expected from each member of 
 society — a sense of conventional decorum. 
 — Hamilton, in Eeid's ' Works,' Note a, pp. 
 756-59- 
 
 Eeid's conception of Common Sense was 
 indefinite and inconsistently conceived. 
 Common Sense was at one time appealed 
 to as the power of knowledge in general, 
 as it is possessed and employed by a man 
 of ordinary development and opportunities. 
 At another it was treated as the Faculty 
 of Reason — or the Source of Principles, 
 the Light of Nature, &c. &c. — Uehericeg, 
 'Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 396. 
 
 The following extracts may serve as illus- 
 trations of the varied use of this phrase : — 
 
 This phrase embraces the primary, 
 original, or ultimate facts of conscious- 
 ness, on which all the others depend. — 
 Monck, 'Hamilton,' p. 171. 
 
 It is by the help of an imiate power of 
 distinction that we recognise the differences 
 of things, as it is by a contrary power 
 of composition that we recognise their 
 identities. These powers, in some degree, 
 are common to all minds ; and as they are 
 the basis of our whole knowledge, they 
 may be said to constitute what we call 
 common sense. — Harris, * Philosophical Ar- 
 range.,' chap. ix. 
 
 The Stoics recognised notions which 
 all men equally receive and understand. 
 These cannot be opposed to one another ; 
 they form what is called common sense. — 
 Bouvier, ' Hist, de la Phil,' i. 149. 
 
 Dr. Beattie uses the phrase to denote 
 that power by which the mind perceives 
 the truth of any intuitive proposition. It 
 should be restricted to that class of intuitive 
 truths which I have called 'fundamental 
 laws of belief.' — Stewart, 'Life of Reid,' 
 p. 27. 
 
 Philosophy of Common Sense. 
 
 The Philosophy of Common Sense is 
 that which accepts the testimony of our 
 faculties as trustwortliy within their re- 
 spective spheres, and rests all human know- 
 ledge on certain first truths or primitive 
 beliefs, which are the constitutive elements 
 or fimdamental forms of our rational 
 natm-e, and the regulating principles of 
 our conduct. — Fleming, ' Vocah. of Phil.,' 
 P- 95- 
 
 To argue from common sense is nothing 
 more than to render available the pre- 
 sumption in favour of the original facts of 
 consciousness, — that tvhat is by nature neces- 
 sarily BELIEVED to he, truly is. Aristotle 
 thus enoimces the argument : " What ap- 
 pears to all, that we afiirm to he ; and he 
 who rejects this helief, will assuredly ad- 
 vance nothmg better worthy of credit." 
 The argument from common sense postu- 
 lates and founds on the assumption — that 
 our original beliefs be not proved self-con- 
 tradictory. — Hamilton, ' Discussiofis,' p. 88. 
 
 Principles of Common Sense. (Compare 
 Intuitions. ) 
 If there are certain principles, as I think 
 there are, which the constitution of our 
 natiu'e leads us to believe, and which we 
 are under a necessity to take for granted 
 in the common concerns of life, without 
 being able to give a reason for them, — 
 these are what we call the principles of 
 common sense. Such original and natural 
 judgments are a part of that furniture 
 which nature hath given to the human mi- 
 derstanding. They serve to direct us in 
 the common affairs of life, where our rea- 
 soning faculty would leave us in the dark. 
 They are a part of our constitution ; and 
 all the discoveries of our reason are 
 grounded upon them. — Beid, ' Works,' pp. 
 108, 209. 
 
 Province of Common Sense. 
 
 Its province is more extensive in refuta- 
 tion than in confirmation. A conclusion 
 drawn by a train of just reasoning from 
 
62 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 true principles cannot possibly contradict 
 any decision of common sense, because 
 truth will always be consistent with itself. 
 Neither can such a conclusion receive any 
 confirmation from common sense, because 
 it is not within its jurisdiction. But it is 
 possible that, by setting out from false prin- 
 ciples, or by an error in reasoning, a man 
 may be led to a conclusion that contradicts 
 the decisions of common sense. In this 
 case, the conclusion is within the jurisdic- 
 tion of common sense. — Meid, ' TFbrA's,' 
 p. 425- 
 
 Characteristics and Truths of Common 
 Sense. 
 Spontaneity, impersonality, and univer- 
 sality are the characteristics of truths of 
 common sense ; and hence their truth and 
 certainty. The moral law, human liberty, 
 the existence of God, and immortality of 
 the soul are truths of common sense. — 
 Jaqiies. 
 
 The Root of Philosophy. 
 
 Philosophy has no other root but the 
 principles of Common Sense ; it grows out 
 of them, and draws its nourishment from 
 them. Severed from this root, its honours 
 wither, its sap is dried up, it dies and rots. 
 — Beid, 'Works,' p. loi. 
 
 IX. EXPERIENCE. 
 Various Senses of the Term, 
 
 The word " experience " is a very uncer- 
 tain one, and may cover a number of very 
 different mental actions and affections, 
 (i.) Everything that has been within our 
 consciousness, all that we have seen or felt, 
 may be said in a vague general sense to 
 have fallen under experience. In this 
 sense, our intuitions of sense and conscious- 
 ness, our original beliefs and primitive 
 judgments all come within our experience. 
 But thus understood, experience can explain 
 nothing, can be the cause of nothing. The 
 thing experienced may, but not the experi- 
 ence ; that is, the mere consciousness or 
 feeling. As to the thing experienced, it 
 
 should not be called experience ; and as to 
 what it may produce we must determine this 
 by looking at the nature of the thing, and 
 not at our experience of it. (2.) In another 
 sense, experience means an induction of in- 
 stances to establish a general rule or law. 
 Such a gathered experience can generate a 
 strong conviction, such as the trust we put 
 in testimony, and our belief in the unifor- 
 mity or rather uniformities of nature. — 
 M'Cosh, 'Examination of Mill,' p. 41. 
 
 Experience, in its strict sense, applies to 
 what has occurred within 'a person's own 
 knowledge. Experience, in this sense, of 
 course, relates to the 2^(^st alone. Thus it 
 is that a man knows by Experience what 
 sufferings he has undergone in some dis- 
 ease ; or, what height the tide reached at a 
 certain time and place. More frequently 
 the word is used to denote that Judgment 
 which is derived from Experience in the 
 primary sense, by reasoning from that, in 
 combination with other data. Thus, a 
 man may assert, on the ground of experi- 
 ence, that he was cured of a disorder by 
 such a medicine — that that medicine is 
 generally beneficial in that disorder ; that 
 the tide may always be expected, under 
 such circumstances, to rise to such a 
 height. Strictly speaking, none of these 
 can be known hy Experience, but are con- 
 clusions derived from Experience. It is in 
 this sense only that Experience can be 
 applied to the fidure, or, which comes to 
 the same thing, to any ^e?^eraZ fact ; as, e.g., 
 when it is said that we know by Experience 
 that water exposed to a certain temperature 
 will freeze. — Whately, 'Logic,' p. 198. 
 
 Mr. Stuart Mill treats throughout of Ex- 
 perience as though it meant the proceeds 
 and results of individual acquaintance with 
 cosmical facts, Mr. Lewes explains it in a 
 larger sense as the inheritance of the whole 
 race. — Courtney, 'Studies in Philosophy,' 
 p. 96. 
 
 Experience is Claimed by Locke as the 
 Source of all Knowledge. 
 
 Whence comes the mind by that vast 
 store which the busy and boundless fancy 
 
EXPERIEXCE. 
 
 63 
 
 of man has painted on it with an almost 
 endless variety ? Whence has it all the 
 materials of reason and knowledge ? To 
 this I answer in one word, From experience ; 
 in that all onr knowledge is founded, and 
 from that it ultimately derives itself. Our 
 observation employed either about external 
 sensible objects, or about the internal opera- 
 tions of our minds, pei'ceived and reflected 
 on by ourselves, is that which supplies our 
 understandings with all the materials of 
 thinking. These two are the fountains of 
 knowledge from whence all the ideas we 
 have, or can naturally have, do spring. — 
 Locke, ' Human Understanding,' II. i. 2. 
 
 What isS given in experience — actual fact 
 — ^that their material {i.e., of the sciences) 
 is the material of philosophy also. — 
 Schicegler, 'Hist, of Phil.,' p. i. 
 
 But this Claim is Contested. 
 
 Because it does not account for self-evident 
 trutlis. 
 
 So far from experience being able to 
 account for innate principles, innate prin- 
 ciples are required to accovmt for the trea- 
 sures of experience. For how is it that 
 man is enabled to gather experience ? How 
 is he different in this respect from the stock 
 or the stone, from the vegetable or the brute, 
 which can acqmre no experience, at least 
 no such experience ? Plainly because he is 
 endowed with capacities for this end ; and 
 these faculties must have some law or prin- 
 ciple on which they proceed. From the 
 known man can discover the unknown, from 
 the past he can anticipate the future ; and 
 when he does so he must proceed on some 
 principle which is capable of exposition, 
 and which ought to be expressed. And if 
 man be capable, as I maintain he is, of 
 reaching necessary and universal truth, he 
 must proceed on principles which cannot 
 be derived from experience. Twenty times 
 have we tried, and found that two straight 
 lines do not enclose a space : this does not 
 authorise us to affirm that they never can 
 enclose a space, otherwise we might argue 
 that, because we had seen a judge and his 
 
 wig twenty times together they must there- 
 foi-e be together through all eternity. A 
 hundred times have I seen a spark kindle 
 gunpowder : this does not entitle me to 
 declare that it will do so the thousandth 
 or the millionth time, or wherever the spark 
 and the gunpowder are found. The gathered 
 knowledge and wisdom of man, and his 
 power of prediction, thus imply more than 
 experience, they presuppose faculties to 
 enable him to gather experience, and in 
 some cases involve necessary principles 
 which enable him, and justify him, as he 
 acts on his ability, to rise from a limited 
 experience to an unlimited and necessary 
 law. — M^Cosh, ' Intuitions of the Mind,' 
 p. 23. 
 
 Or Generalisations. 
 
 We may have seen one circle and inves- 
 tigated its properties, but why, when our 
 individual exjjerience is so circumscribed, 
 do we assume the same relations of all? 
 Simply because the understanding has the 
 conviction intuitively that similar objects 
 will have similar properties; it does not 
 acquire this idea by sensation or custom; 
 the mind develops it by its own intrinsic 
 force^it is a law of our faculties, ultimate 
 and universal, from which all reasoning 
 proceeds. — Mill, 'Essays,' p. 337. 
 
 It is contended that man has knowledge d 
 priori — knowledge which experience neither 
 does nor can give, and knowledge without 
 which there could be no experience — inas- 
 much as all the generalisations of experience 
 proceed and rest upon it. — Fleming, ' Vocab. 
 of Phil,' p. 178. 
 
 There are convictions which are as strong 
 in early youth, and in early stages of society, 
 as in later life and in more advanced com- 
 munities, and which allow of no limitation 
 or exception. As examples we may give 
 mathematical axioms, as that two straight 
 lines cannot enclose a space, and moral 
 maxims, as that ingratitude for favours 
 deserves reprobation. Our convictions of 
 this description spring up on the bare con- 
 templation of the objects, and need not a 
 wide collection of instances : and their neces- 
 
64 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sity and iiniversality cannot be accounted 
 for by a gathered experience. — M'Cosh, 
 ' Examination of Mill,' p. 43. 
 
 Or Causation. 
 
 I do not see that experience could satisfy 
 us that every change in nature actually has 
 a cause. In the far greatest part of the 
 changes in natm-e that fall within our obser- 
 vation the causes are unknown ; and there- 
 fore from experience we cannot know whether 
 they have causes or not. — Reid, ' Works,' 
 p. 456. 
 
 Or ivltat is necessary. 
 
 "We may know from experience what is 
 or what was, and from that may probably 
 conclude what shall be in like circumstances; 
 but with regard to what must necessarily 
 be, experience is perfectly silent. — Reid, 
 ' Works,' p. 521. 
 
 Without Induction it is useless. 
 
 Take away the light of the Inductive 
 principle and Experience is as blind as a 
 mole : she may, indeed, feel what is present, 
 and what immediately touches her, but she 
 sees nothing that is either before or behind, 
 upon the i-ight hand or upon the left, futui^e 
 or past. — Reid, ' Works,' p. 200. 
 
 Prof. Green's Criticism of Experience. 
 
 It is evident that the ground on which 
 we make this statement, that mere sensa- 
 tions form the matter of experience, war- 
 rants us in making it, if at all, only as a 
 statement La regard to the mental history 
 of the individual. Even in this reference 
 it can scarcely be accepted. There is no 
 positive basis for it but the fact that, so 
 far as memory goes, we always find ourselves 
 manij)ulatitig some data of consciousness, 
 themselves independent of any intellectual 
 manipulation which we can remember ap- 
 plying to them. But on the strength of 
 this to assume that there are such data in 
 the history of our experience, consisting in 
 mere sensations, antecedently to any action 
 of the intellect, is not really an intelligible 
 inference from the fact stated. It is an 
 
 abstraction which we may put into words, 
 but to which no real meaningcan be attached. 
 For a sensation can only form an object of 
 experience m being determined by an in- 
 telligent subject which distinguishes it from 
 itself, and contemplates it in relation to 
 othersensations, so that to suppose a primary 
 datum or matter of the individual's expe- 
 rience, wholly void of intellectual deter- 
 mination, is to suppose such experience to 
 begin with what could not belong to, or 
 be an object of, ex|3erience at all. — Green, 
 ^Prolegomena to Ethics,' p. 47. 
 
 X.— HEREDITY. 
 The Doctrine of Hereditary Transmission. 
 
 Statement of the law. 
 
 The law is that habitual psychical succes- 
 sions entail some hereditary tendency to such 
 successions, which, under persistent condi- 
 tions, will become cumulative in genera- 
 tion after generation. To external relations 
 that are often experienced dui'ing the life 
 of a single organism, answering internal 
 relations are established that become next 
 to automatic. Such a combination of 
 psychical changes as that which guides a 
 savage in hitting a bird with an arrow, be- 
 comes, by constant repetition, so organised 
 as to be performed almost without thought 
 of the processes of adjustment gone through. 
 Skill of this kind is so far transmissible, 
 that particular races of men become charac- 
 terised by particular aptitudes, which are 
 nothing else than partially organised 
 psychical connections. — Spencer, ^Principles 
 of Psychology,' i. 466. 
 
 Exposition of the Doctrine. 
 
 Hereditary transmission appKes to psy- 
 chical pecvdiarities as well as to physical 
 peculiarities. While the modified bodily 
 structure produced by new habits of life 
 is bequeathed to future generations, the 
 modified nervous tendencies produced by 
 such new habits of life are also bequeathed ; 
 and if the new habits of life become per- 
 manent the tendencies become permanent. 
 
HEREDITY. 
 
 65 
 
 Let us glance at the facts. We know that 
 there are warlike, peaceful, nomadic, mari- 
 time, hunting, commercial races — races 
 that are independent or slavish, active or 
 slothful ; we know that many of these, if 
 not all, have a common origin ; and hence 
 it is inferable that these varieties of dis- 
 position, which have evident relations to 
 modes of life, have been gradually produced 
 in the course of generations. The tenden- 
 cies to certain combinations of psychical 
 changes have become organic. — Spencer, 
 ^ Frinciples of Psychology,'' i. 422. 
 
 Each organism does not acquire all its 
 knowledge by ' experience ' through the 
 avenues of Sense — each inherits a complex 
 mechanism, already attuned during the 
 lives of a long line of progenitors to be 
 affected in certain ways and to act in 
 certain modes. Possibilities of intellectual 
 affection and action are bequeathed to an 
 organism in the already elaborated nervous 
 system which it inherits. Within this 
 nervous system lie latent the creature's 
 ' forms of Intuition,' or * forms of Thought,' 
 which need only the coming of appropriate 
 stimuli to rouse them into harmonious 
 action. — Bastian, '■The Brain, <&c.,' p. 
 193- 
 
 Every new individual possesses at birth 
 not only a certain type of organism but 
 probably also a number of predispositions 
 to certain habits of thought and action. 
 That a mental predisposition can be thus 
 inherited, will at once be allowed by all 
 who have clearly grasped the meaning of 
 the intimate connection of mind and body. 
 In respect to the lower regions of human 
 consciousness, the instincts and appetites, 
 no explanation is possible without a refer- 
 ence to the laws of organic descent. In 
 the higher regions of individual conscious- 
 ness, modes of feeling present them- 
 selves which appear to owe their origin 
 to some congenital peculiarities of the 
 cerebral structure. Thus there appear 
 to lie hidden, in all the more passionate 
 emotions, as love, terror, and anger, in- 
 gredients which cannot be traced to any 
 
 confluence of past sensations of the same 
 individual. It is desirable to mark off this 
 bequeathed part of the infant's mental 
 furniture from its own subsequent acquisi- 
 tions. — Sully, * Sensation, ^c.,' pp. 3, 4. 
 
 The human brain is an organised register 
 of infinitely numerous experiences received 
 during the evolution of life. The effects of 
 the most uniform and frequent of these 
 experiences have been successively be- 
 queathed, principal and interest ; and have 
 slowly amounted to that high intelligence 
 which lies latent in the brain of the infant 
 — which the infant in after life exercises 
 and perhaps strengthens or further com- 
 plicates — and which, with minute additions, 
 it bequeaths to future generations. And 
 thus it happens that the European inherits 
 from twenty to thirty cubic inches more 
 brain than the Papuan. Thus it happens 
 that out of savages unable to count up to 
 the number of their fingers, and speaking 
 a language containing only nouns and 
 verbs, arise at length our Newtons and 
 Shakespeares. — Spencer, ' Principles of 
 Psychology,' i. 471. 
 
 Arguments pjro and con. 
 
 The opponents of heredity quote facts 
 which appear to them conclusive : the 
 frequent absence of i-esemblance between 
 parents and children, and the frequent 
 mediocrity of the descendants of men of 
 genius. Pericles produced a Paralus and a 
 Xanthippus. The austere Aristides pro- 
 duced the infamous Lysimachus. The 
 powerful-minded Thucydides was repre- 
 sented by an idiotic Milesias and a stupid 
 Stephanos. Was the great soul of Oliver 
 Cromwell to be found in his son Richard ? 
 What were the inheritors of Henry IV., 
 and of Peter the Great ? What were the 
 children of Shakespeare and the daughters 
 of Milton? Wliat was the only son of 
 Addison ? An idiot. 
 
 The supporters of heredity retort upon 
 this argument by saying, What is the 
 meaning of these proverbial phrases, 'the 
 wit of the Montemarts,' 'the wit of the 
 Sheridans,' if one does not believe in trans- 
 
66 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 mission? Torquato Tasso was the son 
 of a celebrated father. We have the two 
 Herschels, the two Colmans, the Kemble 
 family, and the Coleridges. Finally, the 
 most striking example is that of Sebastian 
 Bach, whose musical genius was found, in 
 an inferior degree, among three hundred 
 Bachs, the children of very various 
 mothers. 
 
 We must take account of the disturbing 
 causes which explain the excej)tions. A 
 child may inherit from both parents, or 
 from one only. The aptitudes of the 
 parents may be different; the influence 
 of one of the two parents may destroy 
 that of the other, and, consequently, the 
 apparent exceptions to the law of heredity 
 
 may on the contrary confirm that law. — 
 Bibot, ^ Eng. Psych. ,'' p. 313. 
 
 Applications of the Doctrine. 
 
 The doctrine of ' Inherited Acquisition ' 
 is not only widely applicable in explanation 
 of the genesis of Mind in the animal series; 
 it suffices, moreover, to reconcile the adverse 
 doctrines of the ' Transcendental ' and the 
 ' Empirical ' schools of Philosophy. It 
 shows that the former were right in a 
 certain sense, in contending for the exist- 
 ence of ' innate ideas ; ' though, looked 
 at from a larger point of view, it strongly 
 tends to confirm the views of the experi- 
 ential school of philosophy. [See Innate 
 Ideas.'] — Bastian, ' The Brain, ^c./p. 187. 
 
 IV. 
 
 EXTERNAL SOURCES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 I. SENSATION. 
 Sensation Described. 
 
 What it is. 
 
 A sensation is defined as the mental 
 impression, feeling, or conscious state, re- 
 sulting from the action of external things 
 on some part of the body, called on that 
 account sensitive. Such are the feelings 
 caused by tastes, smells, sounds, or sights. 
 — Bain, ^Mental Science,' p. 27. 
 
 What we commonly mean, when we use 
 the terms Sensation or phenomena of Sen- 
 sation, are the feelings which we have by 
 the five senses, — smell, taste, hearing, 
 TOUCH, and sight. These are the feelings 
 from which we derive our notions of what 
 we denominate the external world ; — the 
 things by which we are surrounded : that 
 is, the antecedents of the most interesting 
 consequents, in the whole series of feel- 
 ings, which constitute our mental train, 
 our existence. — Mill, ' Human Mind,' i. 3. 
 
 Sensation proper does not occur alone or 
 apart. Pure sensation is simply an ideal 
 
 or imaginary experience. Its nature can 
 be determined only by laying out of view 
 certain characteristics which always attend 
 it. Though sensation always occurs with 
 perception, it may be clearly distinguished 
 from it. Sensation, thus considered, is 
 
 A subjective experience of the soul, as ani- 
 mating an extended sensorium, usually more 
 or less pleasurable or painful, and always 
 occasioned by some excitement of the organ- 
 ism. — Porter, ^ Human Intellect,'' p. 128. 
 
 Is Sensation Eesolvable into Simpler Ele- 
 ments ? 
 
 (a.) Many pihilosopiliers say, No. 
 It is allowed on all hands [?] that sen- 
 sation cannot be positively defined. This 
 arises from its being a simple quahty, and 
 there is nothing simpler into which to 
 resolve it. All we can do in the way of 
 imfolding its nature, is to bid every man 
 consult his consciousness when any bodily 
 object is affecting his senses or sensibility. 
 — 3PCosh, ^Examination of Mill,' p. 71. 
 
 A sensation is the feeling existing in the 
 
SENSA TION. 
 
 67 
 
 mind itself of a certain effect of another 
 thing from icithoiit, acting upon it through 
 :in organ and nerve of sense. The sensor 
 nerves connect the organs of sense with 
 the brain. If the nerve be affected at its 
 extremity, the cause is external to the 
 body. If at any intermediate point, the 
 cause is within the body, but still external 
 to the mind. The sensations in these two 
 cases are quite definite and distinct in their 
 character and in their origin. The same 
 applies to the sensations from the different 
 organs, as well as the various sensations 
 coming by the same organ. The elements 
 L now enumerated — the feeling of a certain 
 effect of another thing from without on the 
 organs of sense — constitute the bare sensa- 
 tion. Of the three elements, the effect 
 alone is apprehended by the sense, the 
 otherhood and the externality of its cause 
 by a quite different faculty, to be exammed 
 presently — namely intuition. From all 
 three we learn that a sensation is a look- 
 out. This makes it the groundwork of a 
 perception, which is a farther look-out. — 
 Murphy, ^ Human Mind,'' p. 28. 
 
 (&.) Some, Jioivever, maintain it is. 
 
 The resolution of sensations into simpler 
 elements is shown to be possible most 
 clearly with reference to the senses of 
 hearing and sight. In connection with 
 the former, every one is familiar with 
 what we call a musical sound. That this 
 sound is really a complex sensation is 
 shown in several ways, and amongst others 
 by experiments with the wheel of Savart. 
 This wheel is a flat circular steel plate, 
 having its circular edge cut to some depth 
 into fine elastic teeth, and made to revolve 
 with great rapidity upon an axle. * When 
 this wheel is turned at a uniform rate, its 
 teeth, which are at equal distances, strike 
 a bar in passing; and this regular succes- 
 sion of similar concussions excites a regidar 
 succession of similar sensations of sound. 
 Now, while the wheel turns sufficiently 
 slowly, the sensations, being discontinuous, 
 are distinct, and each of tliem being com- 
 pound is a soimd. But when the wheel is 
 
 set to turn fast enough, a neio sensation 
 arises, that of a musical note. It distin- 
 guishes itself from the remains of the 
 noises which still go on and continue dis- 
 tinct, and stands out as a fact of a different 
 kind ; among the different elementary sen- 
 sations which make up each sound, there is 
 one which the operation has separated ; and 
 this now ceases to be distinct from the 
 similar elementary sensation following in 
 each of the succeeding sounds. AM these 
 similar sensations noio combine in one long 
 continuous sensation — their mutual limits 
 are effaced ; experience, just as in a chemi- 
 cal analysis, has extracted an elementary 
 sensation from the complex group in which 
 it was included, has joined it to an abso- 
 lutely similar elementary sensation, and 
 formed a new compound — the sensation of 
 musical sound.' ^ Thus it is seen that a 
 particular sensation, that of a musical note, 
 is capable of being resolved into more 
 elementary sensations, each of which is 
 distinctly in consciousness. If we now 
 examine a sensation of light, we shall see 
 that it also is resolvable into more elemen- 
 tary sensations. The resolution of the 
 sensation is effected by the resolution of 
 its most important condition, the ray of 
 light. The prismatic spectrum compre- 
 hends a variety of distinct sensations which, 
 previous to the analysis, must have been 
 contained in the complex sensation of white 
 light. A well-known optical toy, consisting 
 of a disc of card- paper with the spectral 
 colours painted upon it, and made to re- 
 volve rapidly upon its axis, shows that 
 the sepai-ate sensations may, by rapidity 
 of succession, become blended together 
 again and form one complex sensation 
 more or less closely resembling the original 
 one.— Jardine, 'Psychology,' p. 49-Si- 
 
 Origin of Sensation, 
 
 It arises through external stimulation. 
 
 How does the Sensation arise ? * Odor- 
 ous particles which proceed from the object ' 
 roach the organ of smell, and, in some way 
 ^ Taine, ' On Intelligence,' p. 108. 
 
68 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to us unknown, make an impression on the 
 nerve, of which impression the sensation 
 in some way unknown is the consequent. 
 Or, as Hume says (Treat, on Hum. Nat. i. 
 I, 2), 'Sensations arise in the soul origi- 
 nally from unknown causes.' That the im- 
 pression is transmitted to the nerve-centre 
 in the brain is acknowledged. Beyond this 
 Physiology makes no averment. Every one 
 is able to tell from his own consciousness 
 when he. has a sensation of smell. — Caldei'- 
 wood, ^ Moral Philosophy,' p. 100. 
 
 Where does it exist ? 
 
 Are our sensations affections of mind, or 
 of body, or of both? On the one hand, 
 Consciousness, in all its modes, seems mani- 
 festly to be a state of mind. On the other 
 hand, sensitive consciousness appears with 
 the concomitant condition of extension, 
 which is an attribute of body. The gene- 
 ral voice of modern philosophers has pro- 
 noiuiced that sensations, as such, belong 
 to mind and not to body. — Mansel, ' Meta- 
 pJii/sics/ p. 90. 
 
 Sensation pertains properly to the soul, 
 as contradistinguished from material things 
 or corporeal agents. The sensation of touch 
 is not in the orange, the sensation of heat 
 is not in the burning flame, but both are 
 experienced by the sentient soul. The sen- 
 sation of sweetness is not in the sugar, that 
 of sourness is not in the vinegar. There 
 can be no music when orchestra and audience 
 are both stone-deaf. As all sensations per- 
 tain to the soul which experiences them, 
 they can properly be said to be subjective. 
 As the most of them are positively agree- 
 able or the opposite, they are nearly akin 
 to those emotions, as hope or terror, or 
 those passions, as anger and envy, which 
 are acknowledged by all to belong exclu- 
 sively to the spirit, and to involve no rela- 
 tion whatever to matter or the bodily organ- 
 ism. Such feelmgs are not infrequently 
 styled sensations, though improperly. 
 
 Yet the sensations, though subjective in 
 the sense already defined, are experienced 
 by the soul as connected with a corporeal 
 organism, and are directly distinguished in 
 
 this from emotions proper on the one hand, 
 and from perceptions proper on the other. 
 The soul has a subjective experience of heat, 
 hardness, sweetness, sourness, &c., but it 
 has this experience as an agent which is 
 connected with and animates an extended 
 sensorium. — Porter, ' Human Intellect,' p. 
 128. 
 
 Nature of Sensation. 
 
 Sensation is usually mingled loith experi- 
 ence. 
 
 It should be remembered that the mature 
 sensations are the product not only of the 
 present external stimulation, but also of the 
 individual's past experiences. It is impos- 
 sible to produce, and at the same time to 
 obtain an account of, what may be called a 
 virgin sensation, such as may be conceived 
 to be the impression of an infant mmd, if 
 indeed even this may be supposed to exist 
 pure from all accretions of transmitted as- 
 sociation. Subtly interwoven with all our 
 familiar sensations are ideas of past expe- 
 riences, so that it is a matter of extreme 
 difficulty to separate the net amount of 
 sensation from the rest of the momentary 
 impression. — Sully, ' Sensation, Sfc.,' p. 38. 
 
 Attention is a necessary factor in sensa- 
 tion. 
 
 Some measure of attention is a necessary 
 factor in every distinct sensation. No doubt 
 there are mp-iads of vague feelings con- 
 stantly flitting around the outer zones of 
 consciousness, which being unnoticed cannot 
 be recalled by memory. Yet even these are 
 scarcely to be dignified by the name of sen- 
 sations. They lack those elements of dis- 
 crimination and comparison, without which 
 no distinct mental state is possible. — Sully, 
 ' Sensation, c^c.,' p. 64. 
 
 Perception and Sensation distinguished. 
 (See under Perception.) 
 
 Perception is the knowledge of the object 
 presenting itself to the senses, whether in 
 the organism or beyond it. Sensation is 
 the feeling associated, — the feeling of the 
 organism. These two always co-exist. There 
 
THE BRAIN AND NERVOUS SYSTEM. 
 
 69 
 
 is never the knowledge without an organic 
 feeling; never a feeling of the organism 
 without a cognitive apprehension of it. 
 These sensations differ widely from each 
 other, as our consciousness testifies; some 
 of them being pleasant, some painful ; 
 others indifferent as to pleasure and pain, 
 but still with a feeling. Some we call ex- 
 citing, others dull ; some we designate as 
 warm, others avS cold ; and for most of them 
 we have no name whatever, — indeed they 
 so run into each other that it would be 
 difficult to discriminate them by a specific 
 nomenclature. The perceptions again are 
 as numerous and varied as the knowledge 
 we have by all the senses. Now these two 
 ever mix themselves tip with each other. 
 The sensation of the odour mingles with 
 the apprehension of the nostrils ; the flavour 
 of the food is joined with the recognition 
 of the palate ; the agreeableness or disagree- 
 ableness of the sound comes in with the 
 knowledge of the ear as affected ; and the 
 feeling organ which we localise has an asso- 
 ciated sensation. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the 
 3Ii)id,' p. 118. 
 
 Sensatiojis may become idealised. 
 
 If a clear bright light be kept for a short 
 time before the eye and then removed, the 
 sensation produced will persist for a time, 
 and at intervals perhaps be revived. The 
 same is the case with tastes, smells, and 
 other sensations. But the sensation, as 
 peisistent or revived, is not so clear and 
 vivid as it was originally — it has become 
 idealised. The appearance before conscious- 
 ness of idealised sensations is not fortuitous, 
 but takes place in certain regular and con- 
 nected series. — Jardine, ' Psychology,^ p. 58. 
 
 Functions of Sensation. 
 
 As a gateway of laiowledge. 
 
 The sensations, though they are not the 
 only and sufiicient gateways of knowledge, 
 are yet chief and indispensable elements ; 
 without these it is certain we could have 
 no acquaintance whatever, either with the 
 world, with our vital organism, nor, so far 
 as we can see, even with our existence. It 
 
 is the law of our being that the mind, though 
 it possesses wonderful powers, and is capable 
 of reaching truths which far transcend mere 
 bodily considerations, is destined to com- 
 mence its gi'owth by conceptions which have 
 reference merely to these sensations and the 
 objects which excite them. It is first roused 
 into a sense of its existence by impressions 
 made on the physical organism with which 
 it is connected ; nor can we easily conceive 
 how it could become conscious of its exist- 
 ence except through these ; for even when 
 it has attained maturity it is only conscious 
 of sensations, ideas, actions, passions, me- 
 mories, reflections, and never of itself. 
 These, and such as these, constitute all 
 the mind knows of its own being. — Wyld, 
 ' Physics a7id Philosojjhy of the Senses,' 
 p. 472. 
 
 As making iis acquainted with the external 
 world. 
 
 All knowledge through the senses is ac- 
 companied with an organic feeling, that is, 
 a sensation. Our immediate acquaintance 
 with the external world is always through 
 the organism, and is therefore associated 
 and combined with organic affections, pleas- 
 ing or displeasing. Certain sounds are felt 
 to be harsh or grating, others are relished 
 as being sweet or melodious or harmonious. 
 Some colours, in themselves or in their asso- 
 ciations, are felt to be glaring or discordant, 
 while others are enjoyed as being agreeable 
 or exciting. In short, every sense percep- 
 tion is accompanied with a sensation, the 
 perception being the knowledge, and the 
 sensation the bodily affection felt by the 
 conscious mind as present in the organism. 
 — APCosh, ' IntuitioJis of the Mind,'' p. 321. 
 
 n. 
 
 THE BRAIN AND NERVOUS 
 SYSTEM. 
 
 The Brain, general description. 
 
 Undei-neath the solid, hard covering of 
 the cranium, and enveloped within three 
 membranes, is the brain proper, or cere- 
 brum. Below this, and to the rear, are 
 gi-ouped three important though smaller 
 
7° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and subordinate subdivisions of the great 
 central mass, the cerebellum or little brain ; 
 the pons or bridge ; the medulla oblongata, 
 or elongated mass, in direct relation with 
 the upper part of the spinal cord. These 
 four taken together constitute the great 
 nerve centre, the brain proper being the 
 most important by far, not only larger but 
 much more complicated in structure. . . . 
 
 Of the three membranes which cover the 
 brain, the outermost (dura mater) is the 
 toughest and strongest. From this tough 
 covering,^strong bands, as the falx and ten- 
 torium, pass between different parts of the 
 encephalon. In this membrane are also 
 situated the channels or blood sinuses which 
 convey the venous blood from the brain. 
 Below this tough covering is the interme- 
 diate membrane {arachnoid mater), a much 
 more delicate structure, stretching I'ound 
 the whole brain, but without descending 
 into the various inequalities which are pre- 
 sented over its surface. Between the outer- 
 most and intermediate covering there is 
 a supply of serum, moistening the inner 
 surface of the tougher covering and the 
 upper surface of the more delicate mem- 
 brane. Below this second covering is a 
 third membrane {pia mater), which not 
 only encompasses the whole, as the others 
 do, but, keeping close to the surface of the 
 brain, descends into the variovis furrows 
 and conveys blood vessels into its substance. 
 These three coverings enclose the spinal 
 cord, as they enclose the brain. 
 
 Within this threefold covering lies the 
 brain, a large soft mass, in two halves or 
 hemispheres, of a reddish-grey tint, ar- 
 ranged in folds or convolutions which have 
 a definite position and direction. By means 
 of these convolutions there is a large ex- 
 posed surface within the narrow limits which 
 the skull affords, the soft mass being ar- 
 ranged alternately in ridges and in grooves 
 or furrows (sulci). — Calderivood, '■Relation 
 of Mind and Brain,'' pp. 10-12. 
 
 The Nervous System. 
 
 The brain is brought into relation with 
 the periphery by thirty-one pairs of spinal 
 
 and twelve cranial nerves. These nerves 
 or cords of communication are separable 
 into two great divisions, according to the 
 nature of the functions they perform. One 
 set carry impressions from the periphery 
 to the cord and brain, and are therefore 
 called afferent nerves ; while the other set 
 carry impulses from the brain and cord 
 to the periphery, and are therefore called 
 efferent nerves. The most prominent func- 
 tions performed by these nerves being the 
 conveyance of sensory impressions and 
 motor stimuli respectively ; the restricted 
 terms sensory and motor are frequently em- 
 ployed in lieu of the wider terms afferent 
 and efferent. 
 
 The spinal nerves are connected to the 
 spinal cord by two roots ; one of which, 
 the efferent or motor, arises from the an- 
 terior aspect of the cord; the other, the 
 afferent or sensory, is connected with the 
 posterior surface. After a short inde- 
 pendent course, and the development of a 
 ganglion on the posterior root, the two 
 unite to form one trunk, which is, there- 
 fore, a mixed nerve, containing both afferent 
 and efferent fibres. The nerve distributes 
 itself by minute ramifications in the recep- 
 tive and active organs at the periphery, 
 each filament remaining distinct in its 
 whole course. 
 
 The spinal cord consists of grey matter 
 and white conducting columns or strands. 
 The grey matter has the form of a double 
 crescent, with the convex surfaces joined 
 by commissures, in the centre of which the 
 central canal of the spinal cord is seen, 
 and the horns of the crescents are con- 
 nected respectively with the anterior and 
 posterior roots of the spinal nerves. — Fer- 
 rier, ^Functions of the Brain,' pp. 2, 3. 
 
 Functions of the Brain. 
 
 Functions of the Medidla Oblongata. 
 
 The medulla oblongata is a co-ordinating 
 centre of reflex actions essential to the 
 maintenance of life. If all the centres 
 above the medulla be removed, life may 
 continue, the respiratory movements may 
 go on with their accustomed rhythm, the 
 
SPONTANEOUS MOVEMENT. 
 
 71 
 
 heart may continue to beat, and the cir- 
 culation be maintained ; the animal may 
 swallow if food be introduced into the 
 mouth, may react to impressions made on 
 its sensory nerve, withdrawing its limbs 
 or making an irregular spring if pinched, 
 or even utter a cry as if in pain, and yet 
 will be merely a non-sentient, non-intelli- 
 gent, reflex mechanism. — Ferrier, ^Func- 
 tions of the Brain,' pp. 31, 32. 
 
 Ferrier' s Classification of the functions of 
 the Mesencephalon, the Pons Varolii, Corpora 
 Quadrigemina, and Cerehellum. 
 
 1. The function of equilibration, or 
 maintenance of the bodily equilibrium. 
 
 2. Co-ordination of locomotion. 
 
 3. Emotional expression. — ' Functions of 
 the Brain,' p. 46. 
 
 III. SPONTANEOUS MOVEMENT. 
 Reflex and Automatic Action. 
 
 Of the early movements which precede 
 voluntary ones, the first class is that kno^vn 
 as spontaneous, unprompted, or random 
 movements. These include all movements 
 which result from the excitation of motor 
 centres. They are not preceded by a con- 
 scious element, feeling, or desire, and have 
 no psychical accompaniment at all beyond 
 the muscular experience attending the car- 
 rying out of the movement. They appear 
 as altogether wanting in purpose, and so 
 are called ' random ' movements. They 
 are described as the spontaneous overflow 
 of energy locked up in the central motor 
 organs, as the result of the disposition of a 
 healthy and vigorous motor organ to fall 
 into a state of activity. Many of the spas- 
 modic and irregular movements of yoimg 
 animals and children soon after birth be- 
 long to this class. Such are movements of 
 the arms, legs, eyes, &c., which appear to 
 be due to no impression received from 
 without, and no internal feeling. — Sulbj, 
 ' Outlines of Psychology,' pp. 593-4. 
 
 Reflex Action of the Spinal Cord. 
 
 The spinal cord of the vertebrate ani- 
 mals . . . may be regarded as composed 
 
 of thirty-one connected segments, each of 
 which, with its pair of nerves, is a bilateral 
 repetition of the central ganglion witli its 
 aff'erent and efl'erent fibres. . . . The im- 
 pression on the sensory siu-face is conveyed 
 to the cord, and there originates an impulse, 
 which, travelling outwards along the effer- 
 ent nerve, excites the muscles to contrac- 
 tion. — Ferrier, ^Functions of the Brain' 
 pp. 16-17. 
 
 Illustrations of the above. 
 
 In the frog. — If the body of a frog be 
 divided transversely, the lower half will 
 still retain its vitality for a considerable 
 period. ... If the foot be irritated, the 
 muscles of the leg will be thrown into 
 action, and this will occur so long as the 
 grey matter of the cord is intact, and its 
 connections with the periphery are main- 
 tained. — Ferrier, ' Functions of the Brain,' 
 p. 17. 
 
 In man. — When, as the result of injury 
 or disease, there is a solution of the con- 
 tinuity of the cord at any point, all the 
 parts deriving their nervous supply from 
 the cord below the seat of lesion become 
 paralysed, both as regards volimtary motion 
 and sensation. If, however, the soles of 
 the feet be tickled, the legs will be thrown 
 into convulsive action, of which the indi- 
 vidual is not conscious, and which it is out 
 out of his power in the slightest degree to 
 control. — Ferrier, ' Functions of the Brain,' 
 p. 17. 
 
 Automatic Actions. 
 
 Some of these are primarily or origin- 
 ally automatic ; whilst others, which were 
 volitional in the first instance, come by 
 frequent repetition to be performed inde- 
 pendently of the will, and thus become 
 secondarily automatic. Some of the auto- 
 matic movements, again, can be controlled 
 by the will, whilst others take place in 
 opposition to the strongest volitional effort. 
 There is a large class of secondarily-auto- 
 matic actions which the will can initiate, 
 and which then go on of themselves in 
 
72 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sequences established by previous Habit, 
 but which the Will can stop, or of which 
 it can change the direction, as easily as it 
 set them going ; and these it will be con- 
 venient to term voluntary, as being entirely 
 under the control of the will, although 
 actually maintained automatically. — Car- 
 jjenter, '■Mental Physiology,^ p. i6. 
 
 Instances of Automatic Action. 
 
 Those movements of which the unin- 
 terrupted performance is essential to the 
 maintenance of life are primarily auto- 
 matic, and are not only independent of 
 the will, but entirely beyond its control. 
 The ' beating of the heart,' which is a 
 typical example of such movements, though 
 liable to be affected by emotional disturb- 
 ance, cannot be altered either in force or 
 frequency by any volitional effort. And 
 only one degree removed from this is the 
 act of Respiration ; which, though capable 
 in man of being so regulated by the will 
 as to be made subservient to the uses of 
 speech, cannot be checked by the strongest 
 exertion of it for more than a few moments. 
 If we try to * hold our breath ' for such a 
 period that the aeration of the blood is 
 seriously interfered with, a feeling of dis- 
 tress is experienced, which every moment 
 increases in intensity until it becomes ab- 
 solutely unbearable ; so that the automatic 
 impulse which prompts its relief can no 
 longer be resisted. So when a crumb of 
 bread or a drop of water passes ' the wrong 
 way,' the presence of an irritation of the 
 windpipe automatically excites a combina- 
 tion of muscular movements, which tends 
 to an expulsion of the offending particle 
 by an explosive cough. The strongest ex- 
 ertion of the will is powerless to prevent 
 this action, which is repeated in spite of 
 every effort to repress it luatil that result 
 has been obtained. — Carpenter, ' Mental 
 Physiology,'' p. i6, 17. 
 
 IV. INSTINCT. 
 Origin of Instincts. 
 
 Instinct is defined as untaught ability. 
 It is the name given to what can be done 
 
 prior to experience or education ; as suck- 
 ing in the child, walking on all fours by 
 the newly dropped calf, picking by the 
 bird just emerged from its shell, the 
 maternal attentions of animals generally. 
 — Bain, ^Mental Science,^ p. 68. 
 
 An instinct is a propensity prior to 
 experience and independent of instruction. 
 — Paley, '^ Natural Theology,^ ch. xviii. 
 
 Instinct is a term which does not admit 
 of rigid definition, because, as ordinarily 
 used, the meaning of the term is not rigidly 
 fixed. The nearest approach we can make 
 is perhaps the following : — Instinct is a 
 generic term comprising all those faculties 
 of mind which lead to the conscious per- 
 formance of actions that are adaptive in 
 character, but pursued without necessary 
 knowledge of the relation between the 
 means employed and the ends attained. — 
 Romanes, '■ Eiicyc. Brit.,'' xiii. 157. 
 
 Restricting the word to its proper signi- 
 fication. Instinct may be described as — 
 compound reflex action. I say described 
 rather than defined, since no clear Line of 
 demarcation can be drawn between it and 
 simple reflex action. That the propriety 
 of thus marking off Instinct from primitive 
 reflex action may be clearly seen, let us 
 take an example. A chick, immediately it 
 comes out of the egg, not only balances 
 itself and runs about, but picks up frag- 
 ments of food; thus showing us that it 
 can adjust its muscular movements in a 
 way appropriate for grasping an object 
 in a position that is accurately perceived. 
 This action implies impressions on retinal 
 nerves, impressions on nerves proceeding 
 from muscles which move the eyes, and 
 impressions on nerves proceeding from 
 muscles which adjust their lenses — implies 
 that all these nerves are excited simul- 
 taneously in special ways and degrees ; and 
 that the complex co-ordination of muscular 
 contractions by which the fly is caught, is 
 the result of this complex co-ordination of 
 stimuli. So that while in the primitive 
 forms of reflex action, a single impression 
 is followed by a single contraction ; while 
 
INSTINCT. 
 
 73 
 
 in the more developed forms of reflex action 
 a single impression is followed by a com- 
 bination of contractions ; in this which we 
 distingiiish as Instinct, a combination of 
 impressions is followed by a combination 
 of contractions; and the higher the Instinct 
 the more complex are both the directive 
 and executive co - ordinations. — Spencer, 
 ' Pgychology,' i. 432-4- 
 
 Instincts of Animals classified. 
 
 The principal instincts of animals have 
 been grouped by naturalists under three 
 heads : — 
 
 (t.) Those dependent, immediately or 
 remotely, upon incitations from the alimen- 
 tary canal {e.g., mode of seeking, capture, 
 seizing, storing, or swallowing of food; 
 and some cases of migration). 
 
 (2.) Those dependent upon incitations 
 from the generative organs {e.g., pairing, 
 nidification, oviposition, care of young; 
 and some cases of migration). 
 
 (3.) Those dependent upon more general 
 impressions, perhaps partly internal and 
 partly external in origin (hybernation and 
 migration. — Bastian, '■The Brain, <&c.,' 
 p. 227. 
 
 Origin of Instincts. 
 
 Through organised and inherited habit. 
 
 All instincts probably arose in one or 
 other of two ways, (i.) By the effects of 
 habit in successive generations, mental 
 activities which were originally intelligent 
 become, as it were, stereotyped into per- 
 manent instincts. Just as in the lifetime 
 of the individual adaptive actions, which 
 were originally intelligent, may by frequent 
 repetition become automatic, so in the life- 
 time of the species, actions originally in- 
 telligent may, by frequent repetition and 
 heredity, so write their effects on the 
 nervous system that the latter is prepared, 
 even before individual experience, to per- 
 form adaptive actions mechanically which 
 in previous generations were performed 
 intelligently. — Romanes, ' Encyc. Brit.,^ 
 xiii. 157. 
 
 Let it be granted that the more frequently 
 psychical states occur in a certain order, 
 the stronger becomes their tendency to 
 cohere in that order, until they at last 
 become inseparable ; let it be granted that 
 this tendency is, in however slight a degree, 
 inherited, so that if the experiences remain 
 the same, each successive generation be- 
 queaths a somewhat increased tendency; 
 and it follows that there must eventually 
 result an automatic connection of nervous 
 actions, corresponding to the external 
 relations perpetually experienced. Simi- 
 larly if, from some change in the environ- 
 ment of any species, its members are 
 frequently brought in contact with a rela- 
 tion having terms a little more involved ; 
 if the organisation of the species is so far 
 developed as to be impressible by these 
 terms in close succession, then an inner 
 relation corresponding to this new outer 
 relation will gradually be formed, and will 
 in the end become organic. And so on in 
 subsequent stages of progress. — Spencer, 
 ' Psychology; i. 439. 
 
 Through natural selection. 
 
 The other mode of origin consists in 
 natural selection, or survival of the fittest, 
 continuously preserving actions which, 
 althougli never intelligent, yet happen 
 to have been of benefit to the animals 
 which first chanced to perform them. 
 Thus, for instance, take the instinct of 
 incubation. It is quite impossible that 
 any animal can ever have kept its eggs 
 warm with the intelligent purpose of 
 hatching out their contents, so we can 
 only suppose that the incubating instinct 
 began by warm-blooded animals showing 
 that kind of attention to their eggs which 
 we find to be frequently shown by cold- 
 blooded animals. Thus crabs and spiders 
 carry about their eggs for the purpose of 
 protecting them ; and if, a.s animals 
 gradually became warm - blooded, some 
 species for this or any other purpose 
 adopted a similar habit, the imparting 
 of heat would have become incidental 
 to the carrying about of the eggs. Con- 
 
74 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 sequently, as the imparting of heat pro- 
 moted the process of hatching, those in- 
 dividuals which most constantly cuddled 
 or brooded over their eggs would, other 
 things equal, have been most successful 
 in rearing progeny ; and so the incubating 
 instinct would be developed without there 
 having been any intelligence in the matter. 
 — Romanes, ^ Encyc. Brit.,' xiii. 157. 
 
 Variability of Instinct. 
 
 As a matter of fact, instincts are emi- 
 nently variable, and therefore admit of 
 being modified as modifying circumstances 
 may reqmre ; their variability gives them 
 plasticity whereby they may be moulded 
 always to fit an environment, however con- 
 tinuously the latter may be subject to 
 gradual change. The view commonly en- 
 tertained as to the unalterable character 
 of instinct is erroneous. — Romanes, ^Encyc. 
 Brit.,' xiii. 158. 
 
 The most curious instance of a change 
 of instinct is mentioned by Darwin. The 
 bees carried over to Barbadoes and the 
 Western Isles ceased to lay up any honey 
 after the first year ; as they found it not 
 useful to them. They found the weather 
 so fine, and materials for making honey so 
 plentiful, that they quitted their grave, 
 prudent, and mercantile character, became 
 exceedingly profligate and debauched, eat 
 up their capital, resolved to work no more, 
 and amused themselves by flying about the 
 sugar-houses and stinging the blacks. The 
 fact is, that by putting animals in different 
 situations you may change and even reverse 
 any of their original pi-opensities. — Sydney 
 Smith, ' Moral Philosophy,' p. 246. 
 
 Purpose of Instinct. 
 
 In animals it serves solely for self-prreser- 
 vation. 
 
 All the wonderful instincts of animals 
 are given them only for the combination or 
 preservation of their species. If they had 
 not these instincts, they would be swept 
 off the earth in an instant. This bee, that 
 understands architecture so well, is as 
 
 stupid as a pebble-stone out of his own par- 
 ticular business of making honey ; and, 
 with all his talents, he only exists that 
 boys may eat his labours and poets sing 
 about them. Ut pueris placeas et clecla- 
 matio fias. A peasant girl of ten years 
 old puts the whole republic to death with 
 a little smoke ; their palaces are turned 
 into candles, and every clergyman's wife 
 makes mead-wine of the honey ; and there 
 is an end of the glory and wisdom of the 
 bees ! Whereas, man has talents that 
 have no sort of reference to his existence ; 
 and without which his species might re- 
 main upon earth in the same safety as 
 if they had them not. The bee works at 
 that particular angle which saves most 
 time and labour ; and the boasted edifice 
 he is constructing is only for his egg ; but 
 Somerset House, and Blenheim, and the 
 Louvre, have nothing to do with breeding. 
 Epic poems, and Apollo Belvideres, and 
 Yenus de Medicis, have nothing to do with 
 living and eating. We might have dis- 
 covered pig-nuts without the Royal Society, 
 and gathered acorns without reasoning 
 about curves of the ninth order. The im- 
 mense superfluity of talent given to man, 
 which has no bearing upon animal life, 
 which has nothing to do with the mere 
 preservation of existence, is one very dis- 
 tinguishing circumstance in this compari- 
 son. There is no other animal but man 
 to whom mind appears to be given for 
 any other purpose than the preservation 
 of body. — Sydney Smith, ' Moral Philos.' 
 
 Ill man it subserves intellectual progi'ess. 
 
 Man possesses in his instinct of imita- 
 tion perhaps the most efficacious of all 
 instruments for the realisation of the pro- 
 gress of which his cerebral construction 
 renders him capable. Every one must 
 have remarked the power of this instinct 
 among children, and those who have had 
 to bring them up know what an important 
 place it occupies among means of education. 
 Without it, the bare communication of 
 language would occupy an indefinite time. 
 — Yeron, 'Esthetics,' pp. 9, 10. 
 
INSTINCT. 
 
 75 
 
 Instinct and Reason. 
 
 Instinctive actions are very commonly 
 tempered with what Pierre Huber calls 
 ' a little dose of judgment or reason.' 
 But, although reason may thus, in varying 
 degrees, be blended with instinct, the dis- 
 tinction between the two is sufficiently 
 pi'ecise ; for reason, in whatever degree 
 present, only acts upon a definite and often 
 laboriously acquired knowledge of the rela- 
 tion between means and ends. Moreover, 
 adjustive actions due to instinct are simi- 
 larly pei-formed by all indi\nduals of a 
 species under the stimulus supplied by the 
 same appropriate circumstances, whereas 
 adjustive actions due to reason are variously 
 performed by different individuals. Lastly, 
 instinctive actions are only performed 
 under particular circumstances, which have 
 been frequently experienced dm^ing the 
 life-history of the species, whereas rational 
 actions are performed under varied circum- 
 stances, and serve to meet novel exigen- 
 cies which may never before have occurred 
 even in the life-history of the individual. 
 — Romanes, ' Encye. Brit.,' xiii. 157. 
 
 The most common notion now prevalent 
 with respect to animals, is, that they are 
 guided by instinct : that the discriminating 
 circumstance between the minds of animals 
 and of men is, that the former do what they 
 do from instinct, the latter from reason. 
 Now, the question is, is there any meaning 
 to the word instinct ? what is that mean- 
 ing ? and what is the distinction between 
 instinct and reason 1 If I desire to do a 
 certain thing, adopt certain means to effect 
 it, and have a clear and precise notion that 
 those means are directly subservient to 
 that end, — there I act from reason ; but, 
 if I adopt means subservient to the end, 
 and am unifoimly found to do so, and am 
 not in the least degree conscious that these 
 means ai-e subservient to the end, — there I 
 certainly do act from some principle very 
 different from reason ; and to which prin- 
 ciple it is as convenient to give the name of 
 instinct as any other name. Bees, it is well 
 known, construct their combs with small 
 
 cells on both sides, fit for holding their 
 store of honey, and for receiving their 
 yoimg. There are only three ^)0j«'.s7'Z;Ze 
 figures of the cells, which can make them 
 all equal and similar, without any useless 
 interstices : these are the equilateral tri- 
 angle, the square, and the regular hexagon. 
 It is well known to mathematicians that 
 there is not a fourth way possible, in which 
 a plane may be cut into little spaces, that 
 shall be equal, similar, and regular, with- 
 out leaving any interstices. Of the three, 
 the hexagon is the most proper both for 
 conveniency and strength ; and, accord- 
 ingly, bees — as if they were acquainted with 
 these things — make all their cells regular 
 hexagons. As the combs have cells on 
 both sides, the cells may either be exactly 
 opposite, having partition against parti- 
 tion, — or the bottom of a cell may rest 
 upon the partitions, between the cells, on 
 the other side ; which will serve as a but- 
 tress to strengthen it. The last way is the 
 best for strength ; accordingly, the bottom 
 of each cell rests against the point where 
 three partitions meet on the other side, 
 which gives it all the strength possible. 
 The bottom of a cell may either be one 
 plane perpendicular to the side partitions, 
 or it may be composed of several planes 
 meeting in a solid angle in the middle 
 point. It is only in one of these two ways 
 that all the cells can be similar without 
 losing room ; and, for the same intention, 
 the planes of which the bottom is composed 
 — if there be more than one — must be ex- 
 actly three in number, and neither more 
 nor less. It has been demonstrated also, 
 that, by making the bottom to consist of 
 three planes meeting in a point, there is a 
 saving of materials and labour by no means 
 inconsiderable. The bees, as if acquainted 
 with the principles of solid geometry, follow 
 them most accurately ; the bottom of each 
 cell being composed of three planes, which 
 make obtuse angles with the side parti- 
 tions, and with one another, and meet in 
 a point in the middle of the bottom ; the 
 three angles of this bottom being sup- 
 ported by three pai-titions on the other 
 
76 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 side of the comb, and the point of it by 
 the common intersection of those three 
 partitions. 
 
 One instance more of the mathematical 
 skill displayed in the structure of a honey- 
 comb deserves to be mentioned. It is a 
 curious mathematical problem at what pre- 
 cise angle the three planes which compose 
 the bottom of a cell ought to meet, in order 
 to make the gi-eatest possible saving, or 
 the least expense of materials and labour. 
 This is one of those pi^oblems belonging to 
 the higher parts of mathematics, which are 
 called problems of maxima and minima. 
 It has been resolved by some mathemati- 
 cians, particularly by Mr. Maclaurin, by a 
 fluxionary calculation, which is to be found 
 in the ninth volume of the Transactions of 
 the Royal Society of London. He has de- 
 termined precisely the angle required ; and 
 he found, by the most exact mensuration 
 the subject could admit, that it is the 
 very angle in which the three planes in 
 the bottom of the cell of a honeycomb do 
 actually meet. How is all this to be ex- 
 plained ? Imitation it certainly is not ; 
 for, after every old bee has been killed, 
 you may take the honeycomb and hatch 
 a new swarm of bees that cannot possibly 
 have had any communication with, or in- 
 struction from, the parents. The yoimg of 
 every animal, though they have never seen 
 the dam, will do exactly as all their species 
 have done before them. A brood of young 
 ducks, hatched under a hen, take to the 
 water in spite of the remonstrances and 
 terrors of their spurious parents. All the 
 great habitudes of every species of animals 
 have repeatedly been proved to be inde- 
 pendent of imitation. — Sydney Smith, 
 ^ Moral Philosophy^ pp. 234-36. 
 
 V. SENSIBILITY— MUSCULARITY. 
 
 Sensibility. 
 
 The mind's capacity of being acted upon 
 or affected by the medium of the stimula- 
 tion of a sensory nerve is called sensibility. 
 Sensibility is simply another name for the 
 mind's capability of having sensations. — 
 Sully, ' Outlines of Psychology,' p. 109. 
 
 Two Kinds of Sensibility. 
 
 All parts of the organism supplied with 
 sensory nerves, and the actions of which 
 are consequently fitted to give rise to sen- 
 sations, are said to possess sensibility of 
 some kind. But this property appears 
 under one of two very unlike forms. The 
 first of these is common to all sensitive 
 parts of the organism, and involves no 
 special nervous structure at the extremity. 
 The second is peculiar to certain parts of the 
 bodily surface, and implies special struc- 
 tures or organs. To the former is given 
 the name Common or General Sensibility; 
 to the latter. Special Sensibility. — Sidly, 
 ^ Outlines of Psychology,' -^T^. 109, no. 
 
 The Muscular Sense. 
 
 Our ordinary movements are guided by 
 what is termed the muscular sense; that is, 
 by a feeling of the condition of the muscles, 
 that comes to us through their own afferent 
 nerves. How necessary this is to the exer- 
 cise of muscular power may be best judged 
 of from cases in which it has been deficient. 
 Thus a woman who had suffered complete 
 loss of sensation in one arm, but who re- 
 tained its motor power, found that she could 
 not support her infant upon it without con- 
 stantly looking at the child ; and that if 
 she were to remove her eyes for a moment, 
 the child would fall, in spite of her know- 
 ledge that her infant was resting upon her 
 arm, and of her desire to sustain it. Here, 
 the Muscular sense being entirely deficient, 
 the sense of Vision supplied what was re- 
 quired, so long as it was exercised upon the 
 object ; but as soon as this guiding influence 
 was withdrawn, the strongest will could not 
 sustain the muscular contraction. — Carpen- 
 ter, ' Mental Physiology,' pp. 83, 84. 
 
 The views expressed at different times in 
 regard to the ' Muscular Sense,' and the 
 means by which we appreciate 'resistance,' 
 have been so various and contradictory as 
 to make it almost impossible to give the 
 student of this question any adequate notion 
 of the real problems requiring solution with- 
 out bringing together some historical notes 
 
THE SENSES. 
 
 77 
 
 illustrative of the varioiis opinions that 
 have been held on the subject. (These Dr. 
 Bastian gives in an Appendix, ^The Brain, 
 ^C' p. 691.) 
 
 We may much more reasonably and con- 
 veniently, in the face of all the disagree- 
 ments concerning the ' muscular sense,' 
 speak of a Sense of Movemerit, as a separate 
 endowment, of a complex kind, whereby we 
 are made acquainted with the position and 
 movements of our limbs, whei-eby we judge 
 of 'weight ' and 'resistance,' and by means 
 of which the brain also derives much un- 
 conscious guidance in the performance of 
 movements generally, but especially in 
 those of the automatic type. Impressions 
 of various kinds combine for the perfection 
 of this sense of movement • and in part its 
 cerebral seat or area coincides with that of 
 the sense of Touch. There are included 
 under it, as its several components, cutane- 
 ous impressions, impressions from muscles 
 and other deep textures of the limbs (such 
 as fascice, tendons, and articular surfaces), 
 all of which yield Conscious Impressions of 
 various degi-ees of definiteness ; and in ad- 
 dition there seems to be a highly important 
 set of ' unfelt ' Impressions, which guide 
 the motor activity of the Brain by auto- 
 matically bringing it into relation with 
 the different degrees of contraction of all 
 muscles that may be in a state of action. 
 
 Such impressions, in such groups, differ 
 from those of all other Sense Endowments, 
 inasmuch as they are ' results ' rather than 
 * causes ' of Movement, in the first instance ; 
 and are subsequently used only as guides for 
 promoting the continuance of movements 
 already begun. — Bastian, ' The Brain, ^c.,' 
 pp. 542-544- 
 
 VI. THE SENSES. 
 
 Classification of the Senses. 
 
 Tlie common enumeration is now held to 
 he defective. 
 
 The sensations ai'e classified according to 
 their bodily organs ; hence the division into 
 Five Senses. But the common enumera- 
 
 tion of the Five Senses is defective, Wlien 
 the senses are regarded principally as 
 sources of knowledge, or the basis of intel- 
 lect, the five commonly given are toler- 
 ably comprehensive ; but when we advert 
 to sensation in the aspect of pleasure and 
 pain, there are serious omissions. Hun- 
 ger, thirst, i-epletion, suffocation, warmth, 
 and the variety of states designated by 
 physical comfort and discomfoi-t, are left 
 out; yet these possess the characteristics 
 of sensation, having a local organ or seat, 
 a definite agency, and a characteristic mode 
 of consciousness. The omission is best sup- 
 plied by constituting a group of Oi'ganic 
 Sensations, or Sensations of Organic Life. 
 — Bain, * Mental Science,^ p. 27, 28. 
 
 The feelings, however, which belong to 
 the five external Senses are not a full enu- 
 meration of the feelmgs which it seems 
 proper to rank vmder the head of Sensa- 
 tions, and which must be considered as 
 bearing an important part in those com- 
 plicated phenomena which it is our princi- 
 pal business, in this inquiry, to separate 
 into their principal elements and explain. 
 Of these unnamed, and generally unre- 
 garded. Sensations, two principal classes 
 may be distinguished, — first, those which 
 accompany the action of the several muscles 
 of the body ; and, secondly, those which 
 have their place in the alimentary canal. 
 — James Jlill, 'Analysis, ^f.,' pp. 3, 6. 
 
 These various modes of sensibility seem 
 to be fitly grouped together under the com- 
 mon head of Sensations of Organic Life ; 
 their detail being arranged according to 
 the several organs, viz., the Alimentary 
 Canal, Lungs, Circulation, Nervous Sys- 
 tem, &c. These would make a sixth Sense 
 properly so called, or a department of 
 passive sensibility. — Baifi, Note on Mill, 
 ibid. 
 
 The Sensations are usually classified ac- 
 cording to their bodily organs. This clas- 
 sification seems to be immediate and innate, 
 not acquired by experience ; we cannot con- 
 found a sight with a sound. Psychology 
 merely recognises the old distinctions. 
 
78 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Thus we get the Five Senses. To them 
 we must, however, add the Sensations of 
 Organic Life, which are very important as 
 feelmgs (pleasure and pain), though of 
 small intellectual value. These last, which 
 are also called Systematic Sensations (the 
 older Sensus communis, Sensus vagus, &c.), 
 for the most part originate on the inner 
 surfaces of the body. They are thus dis- 
 tinguishable from Sensations of the Five 
 Senses, which originate on the exterior 
 surface, and from the Emotions, which do 
 not originate on the surface at all. — 
 Ryland, ^Handbook, Sfc.,' p. 22. 
 
 Tlie Organic Sensations. 
 
 As might be anticipated, the several kinds 
 of [organic] Sensation are not capable of 
 being very sharply distinguished, since the 
 feelings arise from nerves distributed on 
 surfaces placed at all gradations of depth. 
 
 Professor Bain gives the following classifi- 
 cation of the Organic Sensations : — 
 
 (i.) Organic Sensations of Muscle, Bones, 
 &c., e.g., those caused by wounds, cramp, 
 fatigue, &c. 
 
 ( 2 . ) Organic Sensations of Nervous Tissue, 
 e.g., neuralgia. 
 
 (3.) Feelings connected with Circulation 
 and Nutrition, e.g., thirst, starvation, not 
 hunger. 
 
 (4.) Feelings of the Respiratory Organs, 
 e.g., suffocation. 
 
 (5.) Feelings of Heat and Cold, connected 
 chiefly with the skin, though not exclusively. 
 
 (6.) Organic Sensations of the Alimentary 
 Canal — (not to be confounded with Taste 
 proper) — e.g., relish, hunger, nausea, dys- 
 pepsia. 
 
 (7.) Feelings connected with the Sexual 
 Organs, mammary and lachrymal glands, 
 e^c. — Ryland, ' Handhooh, ^c.,' p. 23. 
 
 Complete Classification. 
 
 Of Organic Life. ( ^' 
 
 Connected with the muscles, bones, tendons, &c. 
 Connected with the nervous system. 
 Connected with the circulation and nutrition. 
 Connected with the general state of organs, as heat, &c. 
 Connected with the respiration. 
 
 II. 
 
 Of Intellectual 
 Life. 
 
 \6. Connected with the digestion 
 Oi-ganico-Intellectual 
 
 2. Intellectual. 
 
 Smell. 
 Taste. 
 Touch. 
 Hearing. 
 
 Sight. 
 Jardine, ' Psycliology^ p. 24. 
 
 {I 
 
 General Psychological Characteristics of 
 the Five Senses. 
 In some the sensation so far predomi- 
 nates over the perception that the sense 
 manifests itself as a source of feeling rather 
 than of knowledge, and has often, though 
 erroneovisly, been regarded as consisting of 
 the former element only. In others the 
 reverse is the case ; the perceptive element 
 or cognition of an object, predominating 
 over the sensitive element or consciousness 
 of a personal affection. In this point of 
 view the senses of smell and taste may be 
 distinguished as especially subjective or sen- 
 
 sational ; those of hearing and sight as ob- 
 jective or perceptional. Touch has no special 
 organ, and is diffused in various degrees 
 over the various parts of the body. In 
 other words, smell and taste are chiefly 
 known as vehicles of the mental emotions 
 of pleasui'e and pain ; hearing and sight as 
 informing us of the nature of the bodily 
 attributes of sound and colour. Touch may 
 contribute to the one or the other end, 
 according to the part of the body in 
 which it resides, and the manner in which 
 it is brought into exercise. — Mansel, ' Meta- 
 physics,' p. 70. 
 
THE SENSES. 
 
 79 
 
 Veracity of the Senses. 
 
 The Eleatics looked upon the senses as 
 decehnng, and appealed to the reason as 
 discovering the abiding {rh ov) amid the 
 fleeting. The question arose : Since the 
 senses are delusive, what reason have we 
 for thinking that the reason is trustworthy ? 
 Heraclitus the Dark thought that the senses 
 give only the transient, and that man can 
 discover nothing more. Plato mediated 
 between the two schools, and thought that 
 there were two elements in sense-percep- 
 tion, an external and an mternal. This 
 theory has ever since been maintained by 
 a succession of thinkers, includiug the 
 school of Kant. Unfortunately they can 
 give us no rule to enable us to distinguish 
 between what we are to allot to subjective 
 and what to the objective factors. Pos- 
 sibly the following passage, affirming that 
 science is not in sensations, but in our rea- 
 soning about them, may have suggested the 
 theory of Ai'istotle, which has long divided 
 the philosophic world with that of Plato : 
 'Elf /Jbh asa roli 'nadrifJbccaiv ovx hi Vmarrifjbyi, 
 h di tSj TiBi iKsivu]/ cvWoyiOfMOj (107). 
 
 Aristotle, with his usual judgment and 
 penetration, started the right explanation 
 (see De Anima, Lib. iii. Chaps, i. iii. vi.) 
 He says that perception by a sense of 
 things peculiar to that sense is true, or 
 involves the smallest amomit of eiTor. But 
 when such objects are perceived in their 
 accidents (that is, as to things not fallmg 
 peculiarly under that sense), there is room 
 for falsehood, when, for instance, a thing 
 is said to be white there is no falsehood, 
 but when the object is said to be this or 
 that (if the white thing is said to be Cleon, 
 cf. III. i. 7), there may be falsehood. Ai-is- 
 totle saw that the difficulties might be 
 cleared up by attending to what each sense 
 testifies, and separating the associated ima- 
 ginations and opinions or judgments. The 
 full exjilanation, however, could not be 
 given till Berkeley led men to distinguish 
 between the original and acquired percep- 
 tions of the senses, by showing that the 
 knowledge of distance by the eye is an 
 acquisition. 
 
 In modern times, metaphysicians have 
 vacillated between the Platonic and Aris- 
 toteUan theories, some, as Kant and 
 Hamilton, making every perception partly 
 subjective, and others ascribing the sup- 
 posed deception to wrong deductions from 
 the matter supplied by the senses. The 
 Sensational School of France and T. Brown 
 make all external perception an inference 
 from sensations in the mind, and i^efer the 
 mistakes to wrong reasoning. The ques- 
 tion will be settled when it is determined 
 what are the original perceptions through 
 the senses. 
 
 On the supposition that what we intui- 
 tively perceive is our organism, and by the 
 muscular sense and sight the objects imme- 
 diately affecting it, we can explain most of 
 the phenomena of the senses, and give a 
 rational explanation of their apparent de- 
 ceptions. — M'Cotsh, ^Intuitions, Sfc.,' p. 
 123. 
 
 The Five Senses. 
 
 Touch. 
 
 The peculiarity of the skin by which it 
 recognises the form of an object, is called 
 the sense of touch; its peculiarity of esti- 
 mating the force with which the object 
 which it touches presses upon it, is called 
 the sense of pressure; the peculiarity of 
 recognising heat or cold, the sense of tem- 
 jierature. From the combination of these 
 three sensations is formed our faculty of 
 discovering the properties of an object to a 
 certain extent by touch alone. The tactile 
 sense of the skin is divided into these three 
 qualities, which are generally miited m a 
 simultaneous sensation. — Bernstein, ^ Five 
 Senses,' p. 13. 
 
 The course of the nerve between brain 
 and skin along which the excitement passes 
 can be followed anatomically with a certain 
 degree of exactness. A nervous fibre which 
 ends in the skin forms as far as its union 
 with the spinal cord or brain a long, fine, 
 continuous thread. The fibres which ter- 
 minate in the skin very soon unite in small 
 branches, and finally in thick nerve trunks, 
 
8o 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 before they enter the central organ of the 
 nervous system, but in no case do two nerve 
 fibres coalesce in these nerve branches. We 
 may, therefore, assume that every part of 
 the skin is provided with isolated connec- 
 tions with the centre of the nervous system, 
 which are united there just as telegraph 
 lines imite at a terminus. — Bernstein, '■Five 
 Senses,' pp. i8, 19. 
 
 Delicacy of the Sense of Touch — Weber's 
 Experiment. 
 
 Two persons are required for this experi- 
 ment, one of whom tests the sense of touch 
 of the other. For this purpose a pair of com- 
 passes are taken, whose points, somewhat 
 blunted, are placed at a certain distance 
 from one another on a part of the skin of 
 the other person. The latter must then 
 say, with closed eyes, whether he feels the 
 contact of two points, or whether both 
 points seem to be merged into one. 
 
 The result of this experiment upon the 
 less sensitive parts of the skin is very sur- 
 prising. If, for instance, the points are 
 placed on the forearm in the direction of 
 the length of the arm, at a distance of 
 about four centimetres (1.58 inch) apart, 
 the sensation is then evidently a double 
 one; but as soon as the distance between 
 the points is less than three centimetres 
 (1.18 inch) the contact is then felt as that 
 of a single point — that is to say, both con- 
 tacts are united into a single sensation. . . . 
 By this test the tip of the tongue is found 
 to be the most sensitive, for the two points 
 are distinguished when at a distance of only 
 a millimetre apart ('0394 inch). — Bernstein, 
 ^ Five Senses,' pp. 25, 26. 
 
 Sight. 
 
 The Organ of Sight. 
 
 The eye is a ball nearly spherical in 
 shape, the interior of which forms a dark 
 chamber like the photographer's camera 
 ohscura. The only aperture, by which light 
 can find admittance into this chamber, is 
 the pupil, which shows like a black spot in 
 consequence of the intense darkness of the 
 
 interior. This darkness is owing to a black 
 pigment in the internal lining of the eye : 
 otherwise the interior is perfectly pervi- 
 ous to light, being filled with transparent 
 humours. Of these humovirs the most im- 
 portant is called the crystalline lens. It 
 Hes directly behind the pupil, so that it re- 
 fracts every ray of light that enters the eye. 
 Being a convexo-convex lens, it brings to a 
 focus the rays of light radiating from ob- 
 jects in front of the pupil, and thus forms 
 an image of these objects on the internal 
 coat of the eye. This coat is called the 
 retina, because it is mainly a network of 
 minute fibres from the optic nerve. These 
 nerve fibres are excited by the rays of light 
 converging upon them, and visual sensation 
 is the result. — /. Clark Murray, * Handbook 
 of Psychology,' p. 54. 
 
 The Agent of Sight. 
 
 Physics teach us that light is transmitted 
 by the ether, a substance of extraordinary 
 tenuity, which extends throughout the 
 universe, penetrates all substances, exists 
 also in empty space, and that it is produced 
 by vibrations of the ether of extraordinary 
 rapidity. As these vibrations reach the 
 interior of the eye through its transparent 
 organs, they produce in us • a sensation of 
 light, and by means of the wonderful 
 formation of the eye, we are not only able 
 to perceive the impressions of light emitted 
 by bodies, merely as such, but also to per- 
 ceive their form, size, and nature. — Bern- 
 stein, ^ Five Semises,' pp. 48-9. 
 
 The rays of light which fall upon the 
 eye penetrate the cornea, the aqueous 
 humour, the crystalhne lens, and the 
 vitreous humour, before they reach the 
 retina, and on their way are refracted in 
 such a manner that they unite with a dis- 
 tinct picture upon the background of the 
 eye. — Bernstein, 'Five Senses,' p. 53. 
 
 The Perception of Colours. 
 
 The theory of Thos. Young and Helm- 
 holtz. 
 
 All the phenomena of the sensation of 
 colour may be explained on the supposition 
 
THE SENSES. 
 
 8i 
 
 that, in each point of the retina, three 
 kinds of nerve fibres terminate, one of 
 which is sensitive to red, another to green, 
 and the third to violet. 
 
 Exactly as white light is produced by 
 the combination of red, green, and violet, 
 all other shades of colours may be formed 
 by the combination of these primary 
 colours. If white light falls upon the 
 retina, then all these kinds of fibres, those 
 sensitive to red, gi-een, and violet, are 
 irritated, and this simultaneous ii'ritation 
 produces the sensation of white. If the 
 retiua is illuminated by red light, then the 
 fibre sensitive to red is ii-ritated most 
 strongly. It is, however, very probable 
 that the other two kinds of fibres are irri- 
 tated at the same time though in a less 
 degree ; first, the fibre sensitive to green, 
 because green lies nearer to the red in the 
 spectrum, and then that sensitive to violet. 
 
 According to this theory, yellow light 
 irritates equally the fibres sensitive to red 
 and to gi-een, and only slightly that sensi- 
 tive to violet. Yellow therefore is not a 
 primary colour, but, physiologically speak- 
 ing, a compound coloiu- ; because it is due 
 to a combination of the sensations of red 
 and green. 
 
 Green light irritates principally the 
 fibres sensitive to green, and very slightly 
 those sensitive to red and violet. 
 
 Blue light irritates simultaneously the 
 fibres sensitive to green and violet in an 
 equal degree, and very slightly those sensi- 
 tive to red. Blue, therefore, jjhysiologi- 
 cally considered, is also a compound colour. 
 
 Violet light irritates very strongly the 
 fibres sensitive to violet, and the other 
 two only slightly. — Bernstein, ' Five Senses,' 
 
 pp. 112, 113. 
 
 Hearing. 
 
 The Ear, the organ of hearing, is divisible 
 into (i) the External ear; (2) the Tym- 
 panum or Middle ear; and (3) the Laby- 
 rinth or Internal ear. 
 
 The two first divisions are appendages 
 or accessories of the third, which contains 
 the sentient surface. 
 
 The Outer ear includes the wing of the 
 ear — augmenting the sound by reflection, 
 and the passage of the ear, which is closed 
 at the inner end by the membrane of the 
 tympanum. 
 
 The Middle ear, or Tympanum, is a 
 narrow irregular cavity, extending to the 
 labyrinth, and communicating with the 
 throat, through the Eustachian tube. It 
 contains a chain of small bones, stretching 
 from the inner side of the membrane of 
 the tympanum to an opening in the laby- 
 rinth ; there are also certain very minute 
 muscles attached to these bones. The 
 inner wall of the tympanum, which is the 
 outer wall of the labyrinth, is an even 
 surface of bone, but chiefly noted for two 
 openings — the oval and the round — both 
 closed with membrane. It is to the oval 
 opening that the inner end of the chain of 
 bones, the stirrup bone, is applied. Of the 
 muscles, the largest is attached to the 
 outer bone of the chain (the malleus), and 
 is called tensor tympani, because its action 
 is to draw inwards, and tighten, the tym- 
 panum. Two or three other muscles are 
 named, but their action is doubtful. 
 
 The Internal ear, or Labyrinth, contained 
 in the petrous or hard portion of the 
 temporal bone, is made up of two struc- 
 tures, the bony and the membranous laby- 
 rinth. The bony labyrinth presents ex- 
 ternally a spiral shell called the cochlea, 
 and three projecting rings called the semi- 
 circular canals. The interior is hollow, 
 and filled with a clear Kquid secreted from 
 a thin lining membrane. It contains a 
 membranous structure corresponding in 
 shape to the tortuosities of the bony 
 labyrinth, hence called the membranous 
 labyrinth ; this structure encloses a liquid 
 secretion, and supports the ramifications 
 of the auditory nerve. — Bain, ' Mental 
 Science,'' pp. 51, 52. 
 
 Smell. 
 
 The action of the organ of smell is due 
 to a special nerve, the olfactory nerve, which 
 differs from the others, both in origin, posi- 
 tion, and extension. It has its origin in 
 
82 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the anterior portion of the cranium in a 
 bulbous swelling, the olfactory gangUo7i, 
 which is strongly developed in the lower 
 animals. Its fibres spread themselves out 
 in the base of the skull, and force their way 
 through the crihriform plate of the cribri- 
 form bone, which lies between the sockets 
 of the eyes, by a great number of small 
 apertures into the upper portion of the nose. 
 This part of the nostril is itself divided into 
 three mussel-shaped passages, which are 
 covered by a mucous membrane. 
 
 The inferior and partly the middle pas- 
 sage of the nostril serve principally for 
 inhaling and exhaling the air, and are, 
 therefore, called the respiratory region (regio 
 respiratoria). Like the other air-passages 
 in the windpipe and lungs it is covered with 
 cylindrical cells (epithelial cells), packed 
 closely together, and at their free extremity 
 provided with fine hairs, which by a sort of 
 waving motion propel outwards all mucous 
 secretion and dust. 
 
 The upper and partly the lower passages 
 of the nostril are occupied by the sensory 
 organ for the sensation of smell, and have 
 therefore been called the olfactory region 
 {regio olfadoria). It is distinguished from 
 the respiratory region by its yellow colour, 
 caused by pigments, and, unlike the latter, 
 is not covered with hairy epithelial cells, 
 but presents a different organisation upon 
 its svirface. — Bernstein, ' Five Senses,^ pp. 
 285, 286. 
 
 Taste. 
 
 The entire surface of the tongue is covered 
 with little elevations called gustative pa2nllce, 
 which are visible to the naked eye. Some 
 of them terminate in a bundle of fibres, and 
 others are broad and bushy on their surface. 
 At the root of the tongue a semicircle is 
 formed by larger papillae, each of which is 
 surrounded by a circular mound. Small 
 depressions have been observed surrounding 
 these circumvallate papillae. The papillae 
 stand in the depressions formed by the 
 mounds, and are filled internally with ob- 
 long cells, which are connected by prolonga- 
 tions with nerve-fibres. Similar organs 
 
 have been observed upon the other papillae 
 of the mucous membrane of the tongue, and 
 it is probable that in them we mixst look 
 for the true instruments of taste. It is 
 not so easy to decide whether there be a 
 special nerve of taste, as was the case with 
 the other senses. There is certainly a nerve, 
 the glosso-phary7igeal nerve, which must 
 without doubt be regarded as the most 
 important nerve of taste, but its gustative 
 fibres are connected with innumerable motor 
 nerves of the lower part of the head, whilst 
 the optic, auditory, and olfactory nerves are 
 entirely free from any foreign admixture. 
 When this nerve has been severed, it has 
 been obsei'ved that animals, after this opera- 
 tion, will devour food, even when mixed with 
 the bitterest substances, which an animal 
 in a normal condition would refuse to touch. 
 Besides the nerve named above, another 
 sensory nerve is found in the tongue, the 
 li7igual nerve, which provides it with a sense 
 of touch and with sensitiveness. It is still 
 uncertain whether it possesses gustative 
 fibres besides the ordinary sensitive fibres. 
 At any rate, it can certainly be excited by 
 sapid substances, when they are of a sharp 
 caustic nature, such as strong acids, alkali, 
 strong roots, &c. — Bernstein, ' Five Senses,^ 
 pp. 296, 297. 
 
 Localisation of Sensations. 
 
 When we experience a sensation we local- 
 ise it ; we refer such a pain, such a feeling 
 of heat, such a sensation of contact, to the 
 hand, to the leg, to such and such a part of 
 the body, such a sensation of smell to the 
 interior of the nose, such a sensation of 
 taste to the palate, to the tongue, to the 
 back of the mouth. But there is here an 
 ulterior operation engendered by experi- 
 ence ; a group of images has combined with 
 the sensation to attribute to it this posi- 
 tion ; this gi'oup gives it a situation which 
 really it has not, and in general places it 
 at the extremity of the nerve whose action 
 excites it. Sometimes again a second ope- 
 ration removes it to a still more distant 
 place ; sovmds and colours, which are sensa- 
 tions only, at present appear to us situated, 
 
KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 «3 
 
 not in our organs, but. at a distance, in the 
 air, 01- on the surface of external objects. — 
 Taine, ^ Intelligence,^ i[}. loo. 
 
 VII. LAWS OF SENSIBILITY. 
 
 Eveiy wave-impulse is irradiated and 
 propagated throughout the system. 
 
 Having stated the law, we must add that, 
 like the first Law of Motion, it is an ideal 
 eonst ruction, and not a transcript of objec- 
 tive observation. Just as the uniform rec- 
 tilinear motion never can be observed in 
 the real world of infinite motions which 
 deflect, accelerate, and retard each other, 
 so there can never be an irradiation through- 
 out the central tissue, because each wave- 
 impulse must be arrested and deflected, as 
 it is compounded with multitudinous im- 
 pulses from other sources. 
 
 Hence the second law : Every impulse is 
 restricted, and by its restriction a group 
 is formed. — Leioes, ' Problems of Life and 
 Mind,' 3d Series, pp. 44, 45. 
 
 Fechner's or Weber's Psycho-Physical Law. 
 In order that the intensity of a sensation 
 may increase in arithmetical progression, 
 the stimulus must increase in a geometrical 
 progression. — Sully, ' Outlines of Psycho- 
 logy; p. 114. 
 
 The Doctrine of Wundt. 
 
 Every stimulus must reach a certain in- 
 tensity before any appreciable sensation re- 
 
 sults. This point is known as the threshold 
 or liminal intensity. 
 
 "Wlien the stimulus is increased up to a 
 cox'tain point, any further inci-ease produces 
 no appreciable increase in the sensation. 
 Thus a very powerful sound maybe increased 
 without our detecting any difference. Simi- 
 larly in the case of a light stimulus. We 
 do not notice any difference in brightness 
 between the central and peripheral portion 
 of the sun's disc, though the difference of 
 light-intensity is enormous. Wundt calls 
 this upper or maximum limit the Height 
 of Sensibility of a Sense. The higher this 
 point in the scale the greater, according to 
 him, the Receptivity {Reiz-Empfcinglichlieit) 
 of the organ. 
 
 Finally, by taking together the Threshold 
 and Height we have what Wundt calls the 
 Range of Sensibility {Reiz-Unifcmg). The 
 lower the former or minimum limit, and 
 the higher the latter or maximum, the 
 greater the range of sensibility. That is 
 to say, the relative range is measured by 
 a fraction of which the numerator is the 
 Height, and the denominator the Threshold. 
 It is important to add that these aspects of 
 sensibility to stimulus do not vary together. 
 Fechner ascertained that parts of the skin 
 equal in respect of absolute sensibility to 
 pressure differed considerably in discrimi- 
 native sensibility. — Sully, ' Outlines of Psy- 
 chology,' p. 114. 
 
 KNO WLEDGE. 
 
 I. KNOWLEDGE (in General). 
 
 There is great difficulty in defining Know- 
 ledge. 
 
 We may suppose the question to be put, 
 What is Knowledge ? To this the reply 
 must be, that we cannot positively define 
 knowledge, so as to make it intelligible to 
 one who did not know it otherwise. Still 
 we can, by analysis, separate it from other 
 things with which it is associated, — such 
 
 as sensations, emotions, and fancies, — and 
 make it stand out distinctly to the view of 
 those who are already conscious of it. The 
 science which thus unfolds the nature of 
 knowledge may be called Gnosiology, or 
 Gnosilogy. — M'Cosh, ^Intuitions of the 
 Mind; p. 284. 
 
 No definition or description can convey, 
 to him who has never Imoion, the concep- 
 tion of what an act of knowledge is. All 
 definitions and descriptions presuppose that 
 
84 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the person to whom they are addressed 
 can understand their import and verify 
 their truth by referring to his own con- 
 scious acts. But we may not rest in this 
 general assent to the reality, nor in our 
 general impressions of the nature of know- 
 ledge. We require a more exact deter- 
 mination of its import and relations. 
 
 The nearer and more attentive considera- 
 tion of knowledge gives us the following 
 propositions : 
 
 1. To know, is an active operation. — To 
 know, is an operation of the soul acting as 
 the intellect, an operation in which it is 
 pre-eminently active. In knowing, we are 
 not so much recipients as actors. 
 
 2, Exercised under conditions. — The in- 
 tellect exercises its capacity to know under 
 certain conditions. Like every other agent 
 in nature, it is limited in respect to the 
 mode, energy, and results of its action, by 
 the occasions and circumstances under which 
 it acts. — Porter, ^ Human Litellect,' p. 6i. 
 
 Attempts at definition by — 
 
 TJie Platonists. 
 
 All knowledge is the gathering up into 
 one, and the indivisible apprehension of 
 this unity by the Knowing Mind, 
 
 The Stoics. 
 
 The Stoics defined Knowledge as the 
 certain and incontestable apprehension, 
 through the concept, of the thing known, — 
 Ueberweg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' i. 192. 
 
 Jo7m Locke. 
 
 Knowledge is nothing but the percep- 
 tion of the connexion and agreement, or 
 disgreement and repugnancy of any of our 
 ideas. — ' Human Understanding,' bk. iv. 
 ch. i. § 2. 
 
 Eeid. 
 
 Knowledge, I think, sometimes signifies 
 things known ; sometimes that act of the 
 mind by which we know them. — ' Works,' 
 p. 426. 
 
 What Knowledge implies. 
 
 Knowledge implies three things : ist, 
 firm belief; 2d, of what is true; 3d, on 
 
 sufficient grotmds. If any one, e.g., is in 
 doubt respecting one of Euclid's demonstra- 
 tions, he cannot be said to know the pro- 
 position proved by it ; if, again, he is fully 
 C07ivinced of anything that is not true, he is 
 mistaken in supposing himself to know it ; 
 lastly, if two persons are each fully confident, 
 one that the moon is inhabited, and the 
 other that it is not (though one of these 
 opinions must be true), neither of them 
 could properly be said to knoio the truth, 
 since he cannot have sufiicient proof of it. 
 — Wludely, 'Logic,' p. 165. 
 
 Knowledge supposes three terms : a 
 being who knows, an object known, and a 
 relation determined between the knowing 
 being and the known object. This relation 
 properly constitutes knowledge. — Fleming, 
 ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 281. 
 
 The ultimate distinction in human know- 
 ledge is that between thought and being. 
 This distinction is involved in all know- 
 -Trendelenburg. 
 
 Knowledge is of relations. 
 
 We have no scruple in accepting duly 
 verified knowledge as representmg reality, 
 though what is known consists in nothing 
 else than relations. ... No knowledge can 
 properly be called a phenomenon of con- ^ 
 sciousness. It may be of phenomena. ... ^ 
 A man's knowledge of a proposition in 
 Euclid means a relation in his consciousness 
 between certain parts of a figure determined 
 by the relation of those parts to other parts. 
 The knowledge is made up of those rela- 
 tions as in consciousness. . . . The system 
 of related facts, which forms the objective 
 world, reproduces itself, partially and gra- 
 dually, in the soul of the individual who in 
 part knows it. . . . The attainment of the 
 knowledge is only explicable as a reproduc- 
 tion of itself, in the human soul, by the 
 consciousness for which the cosmos of re- 
 lated facts exists, — a reproduction of itself, 
 in which it uses the sentient life of the 
 soul as its organ. — Green, '■Prolegomena to 
 Ethics,' pp. 24, 61, 62. 
 
KXOWLEDGE. 
 
 85 
 
 The Classification of Knowledge according 
 to its Source. 
 
 As Empirical and Philosophical. 
 
 We set up a broad distinction between 
 two kinds of knowledge, culling the one 
 empirical and the other philosophical ; the 
 one knowledge by observation, and the 
 other knowledge by principles or reasons. 
 We should remember, when we make this 
 distinction, that in the two there is but one 
 and the same mind which knows ; that 
 the same intellect observes and reasons upon 
 the same subject-matter. It follows that 
 the same mind uses two ways or processes 
 of knowing, and that these assist and cor- 
 rect each other. There must, then, be a 
 relation of dependence between the two. 
 The one must be subject to the other, in 
 the mind's own judgment, and according 
 to the ordinances of the mind's own con- 
 stitution. In other words, the mind that 
 observes, knows that, by thinking, it can 
 correct and aid its own observing, and that 
 the one method of knowing has a certain 
 authority over the other. Not that the 
 one can take place without the other, or 
 that the one can take place so as to dis- 
 pense with the other. This is contradicted 
 by the facts of the mind's own develop- 
 ment. It is refuted by the psychological 
 relation of the two processes. But while one 
 is psychologically necessary to the other, and 
 involved in the other, the one is subordinated 
 to the other in importance and trustworthi- 
 ness. — Porter, ' Humaii Intellect,'' p. 71. 
 
 A priori and a posterion. 
 
 Knowledge a posteriori is knowledge 
 acquired from experience. Knowledge d 
 priori, called likewise native, pure, or tran- 
 scendental knowledge, consists of native 
 cognitions, and embraces those principles 
 which, as the conditions of the exercise of 
 its faculties of observation and thought, 
 are consequently not the result of that exer- 
 cise. — Hamilton, ''Metaphysics,^ ii. 26. 
 
 Intuitive and Inferential. 
 
 Truths are known to us in two ways : 
 some are known directly and of themselves ; 
 
 some through the medium of other truths. 
 The former are the subject of Intuition or 
 Consciousness ; the latter of Inference. 
 The truths known by Intuition are the 
 original premises from which all others are 
 infei-red. Our assent to the conclusion be- 
 ing grounded on the truth of the premises, 
 we never could arrive at any knowledge by 
 reasoning, unless something could be known 
 antecedently to all reasoning. 
 
 Examples of truths known to us by im- 
 mediate consciousness are our own bodily 
 sensations and mental feelings. Examples 
 of truths which we know only by way of 
 inference ai-e occurrences which took place 
 while we were absent, the events recorded 
 in history, or the theorems of mathematics. 
 — Mill, ^ Logic,'' introd., sec. 4. 
 
 Nature of Knowledge. 
 
 As Mediate and Immediate, or Presenta- 
 tive and Representative. 
 
 A thing is known immediately or proxi- 
 mately, when we cognise it in itself ; 
 mediately or remotely, when we cognise it 
 in or through something numerically dif- 
 ferent from itself. Immediate cognition, 
 thus the knowledge of a thing in itself, 
 involves the fact of its existence ; mediate 
 cognition, thus the knowledge of a thing 
 in or through something not itself, involves 
 only the possibility of its existence. 
 
 An immediate cognition, inasmuch as 
 the thing known is itself presented to 
 observation, may be called a presentative ; 
 and inasmuch as the thing presented, is, 
 as it were, viewed by the mind face to face, 
 may be called an intuitive cognition, A 
 mediate cognition, inasmuch as the thing 
 known is held up or mirrored to the mind 
 in a vicarious representation, may be called 
 a representative cognition. — Hamilton in 
 Eeid's ' Works,' p. 804. 
 
 I call up an image of the Oatliodral. In 
 this operation, it is evident that I am 
 con^scious or immediately cognisant of the 
 Cathedral, as imaged in my mind ; so it is 
 equally manifest, that I am not conscious 
 or immediately cognisant of the Cathedral 
 
86 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 as existing. But still I am said to know 
 it ; it is even called the object of my 
 thought. I can, however, only know it 
 mediately, — only through the mental 
 image, which represents it to conscious- 
 ness. From this example is manifest, 
 what in general is meant by immediate 
 or intuitive, — what by mediate or repre- 
 sentative knowledge. — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 physics,'' ii. 68. 
 
 Philosophers have drawn the distinction 
 between Presentative and Representative 
 Knowledge. In the former the object is 
 present at the time ; we perceive it, we feel 
 it, we are conscious of it as now and here 
 and under our inspection. In Representa- 
 tive Knowledge there is an object now 
 present, representing an absent object. 
 Thus I may have an image or conception 
 of Venice, with its decaying beauty, and 
 this is now present, and under the eye of 
 consciousness ; but it represents something 
 absent and distant, of the existence of 
 which I am at the same time convinced. 
 When I was actually in Venice, and gazed 
 on its churches and palaces rising out of 
 the waters, there would be no propriety in 
 saying that I believed in the existence of 
 the city, — the correct phrase is that I 
 knew it to exist. — APCosh, ^Intuitions of 
 the Mind,' p. i68. 
 
 Application. 
 
 Practical and Speculative. 
 
 Knowledge is either practical or specu- 
 lative. In practical knowledge it is evi- 
 dent that truth is not the ultimate end ; 
 for in that case, knowledge is for the sake 
 of application. The knowledge of a moral, 
 of a political, of a religious truth, is of 
 value only as it affords the preliminary 
 or condition of its exercise. Speculative 
 knowledge is only pursued, and is only 
 held of value, for the sake of intellectual 
 activity. — Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' i. 9. 
 
 Symbolical arid Intuitive. 
 For the most part we do not view at 
 once the whole characters or attributes of 
 
 the thing, but in place of these we employ 
 signs, the explication of which into what 
 they signify, we are wont, at the moment 
 of actual thought, for the sake of brevity, 
 to omit. Thus when I think a chiliagon 
 (or polygon of a thovisand equal sides), I 
 do not always consider the various attri- 
 butes, of the side, of the equality, and of 
 the number a thousand, but use these 
 words (whose meaning is obscurely and 
 imperfectly presented to the mind) in lieu 
 of the notions which I have of them : — this 
 kind of thinking I am iised to call hlind 
 or symbolical : we employ it in Algebra 
 and in Arithmetic, but in fact universally. 
 But where we can think at once all the 
 ingredient notions, I call the cognition in- 
 tuitive. — Leibnitz, ' De Gogriitione, Veritafe, 
 et Ideis.' 
 
 Subject-Matter. 
 
 As Historical, Scientific, Philosophical, ^c. 
 
 We are endowed by our Creator with 
 certain faculties of observation, which en- 
 able us to become aware of certain appear- 
 ances or phenomena. The information that 
 certain phenomena are, or have been, is 
 called Historical knowledge; it is simply 
 the knowledge that something is. But 
 things do not exist, events do not occur, 
 isolated, apart, by themselves ; they exist, 
 they occur, and are by us conceived, only 
 in connection. We therefore set about 
 an inquiry into the causes of phenomena. 
 This knowledge of the cause of a pheno- 
 menon is called philosophical, or scientific, 
 or rational knowledge ; it is the knowledge 
 why or how a thing is. — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 physics,' i. 58. 
 
 Origin of our Knowledge. 
 
 This subject is discussed under the head 
 of Ideas. It may sufiice here to note, with- 
 out controversy. 
 
 The Main Sources of our Knowledge. 
 
 Man's knowledge is derived from Four 
 Sources : — 
 
 First, We obtain knowledge from sensa- 
 
KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 87 
 
 tion, or rather sense-perception. Such is 
 the knowledge we have of body, and of 
 body extended and resisting pressure, and 
 of our organism as affecting us, or as being 
 affected with smells, tastes, sounds, and 
 colours. 
 
 Secoiidh/, We obtam knowledge from 
 self-consciousness. Such is the knowledge 
 we have of self, and of its modes, actions, affec- 
 tions, — say, as thinking, feeling, resolving. 
 I am convinced that from these two 
 sources we obtain not all our knowledge, 
 but all the knowledge we have of separately 
 existing objects. We do not know, and 
 we cannot so much as conceive of a dis- 
 tinctly existing thing, excepting in so far 
 as we have become acquainted with it by 
 means of sensation and reflection, or of 
 materials thus derived. Here Locke held 
 by a great truth, though he did not see 
 how to limit it on the one hand, nor what 
 truths required to be added to it on the 
 other. For man has other sources of 
 knowledge. 
 
 Tliirdly, By a further Cognitive or Faith 
 exercise we discover Qualities and Rela- 
 tions in objects which have become know^l 
 by the senses external and internal. Of 
 this description are the ideas which the 
 mind forms of such objects as space, time, 
 the infinite, the relation between cause and 
 effect, and moral good. There is a wide 
 difference between this Third Class and 
 the Second, though the two have often 
 been confounded. In self - consciousness 
 we look simply at what is passing within, 
 and as it passes within. But the mind 
 has a capacity of discovering further quali- 
 ties and relations among the objects which 
 have been revealed to it by sensation and 
 consciousness. 
 
 FourtMy, The mind can reach truth 
 necessary and universal, that is, univer- 
 sally true. This may be regarded as know- 
 ledge, and it is knowledge which goes far 
 beyond that derived from the other sources. 
 We are certain that gratitude and holy 
 love, which are good here, must be good all 
 through the wide universe. — iT/' Cush, * In- 
 tuitions of the Mind,' p. 287. 
 
 Acquisition of Knowledge. 
 
 It is gained by mental activity. 
 
 Let us consider how knowledge is gained 
 by the mind. Knowledge is not acquiied 
 by a mere passive affection, but through 
 the exertion of spontaneous activity on 
 the part of the knowing subject. This 
 mental activity is an energy of the self- 
 active power of a subject one and indi- 
 visible. — H. Schniid, ' Versuch einer Meta- 
 physik des inneren Natur,' p. 231. 
 
 The eye by long use comes to see even 
 in the darkest cavern; and there is no 
 subject so obscure but w-e may discern some | 
 glimpse of truth by long poring over it. J 
 It is Plato's remark, in his Themtetus, 
 that while we sit still we are never the 
 wiser, but going into the river, and mov- 
 ing up and doAvn, is the way to discover 
 its depths and shallows. If we exercisel 
 and bestir ourselves we may discover some- 
 thing. — Berkeley, ' Siris,' 367,368. 
 
 And often perfected Inf communication to 
 others. 
 
 Communication of thought is conducive 
 to the perfecting of thought itself. For 
 the mind may be determined to more ex- 
 alted energy by the sympathy of society, 
 and by the stimulus of opposition ; or it 
 may be necessitated to more distinct, ac- 
 curate, and orderly thinking, as this is 
 the condition of distinct, accurate, and 
 orderly communication. ' It is maintained,' 
 says the subtle Scaliger, 'by Vives, that 
 we profit more by silent meditation than 
 by dispute. This is not true. For as fire 
 is elicited by the collision of stones, so 
 truth is elicited by the collision of minds.' 
 — Hamilton, 'Logic,' iv. 207. 
 Hindrances to its acquirement. 
 Some of the chief of these may be re- 
 ferred to the following heads : — 
 
 (i.) The imperfections of language, both 
 as an instrument of thought and a medium 
 of communication. 
 
 (2.) A disposition to grasp at general 
 principles, without submitting to the pre- 
 vious study of particular facts. 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 (3.) The difficulty of ascertaining facts. 
 
 (4.) The great part of life which is spent 
 in making useless literary acquisitions. 
 
 (5.) Prejudices arising from a reverence 
 for great names, and from the influence of 
 local institutions. 
 
 (6.) A predilection for singular and para- 
 doxical opinions. 
 
 (7.) A disposition to unlimited scepti- 
 cism. — Steicart, ' Works,' ii. 9. 
 
 The Jo?/ of acquisition. 
 
 The real animating power of knowledge 
 is only in the moment of its being first 
 received, when it fills us with wonder and 
 joy. That man is always happy who is in 
 the presence of something which he cannot 
 know to the full, which he is always going 
 on to know. — Rusliin, ^Stones of Venice,' 
 III. ch. ii. § 28. 
 
 The design of Tcnoioledge. 
 
 Knowledge is not a couch whereon to 
 rest a searching and reckless spirit, or a 
 terrace for a wandering and variable mind 
 to walk up and down with a fair prospect, 
 or a tower of state for a provid mind to 
 raise itself upon, or a fort or commanding 
 ground for strife and contention, or a shop 
 for profit or sale ; but a rich storehouse for 
 the glory of the Creator, and the relief of 
 man's estate. — Bacon. 
 
 Importance of systematic hiowledge. 
 
 There may be possessed by a man a great 
 deal of knowledge which can be of no use 
 whatever, in consequence of inability to 
 bring together into one view related facts, 
 to see their significance, and to give them 
 their proper place in the system of know- 
 ledge. Thus, the knowledge which many 
 possess, although very extensive, is a per- 
 fect chaos, a jvimble of confusion, and of 
 no practical use in the guidance of life. 
 To reason with a man frequently means 
 nothing more than to point out the rela- 
 tion between different things which he 
 already knows, and thus bring into order 
 Avhat was before confusion. There are to 
 every man hundreds of * open secrets,' facts 
 
 related in particular ways which relations 
 he cannot see ; and it is the function of 
 what is commonly called reasoning to con- 
 vert this chaos of confused facts into a 
 cosmos of order and harmony, so that men 
 may see clearly what has always been under 
 their eyes, and understand clearly the rela- 
 tions and significance of what they have 
 blindly perceived. — JarcZiVie, '■Elements of 
 Psychology; p. 235. 
 
 The goals of hiowledge. 
 
 There are two sorts of ignorance : we 
 philosophise to escape ignorance, and the 
 consummation of our philosophy is ignor- 
 ance ; we start from the one, we repose in 
 the other ; they are the goals from which 
 and to which we tend ; and the pu.rsuit of 
 knowledge is but a course between two 
 ignorances, as human life is itself only a 
 travelKng fi-om grave to grave. The high- 
 est reach of human science is the scientific 
 recognition of human ignorance. The grand 
 result of human wisdom is thus only a con- 
 sciousness that what we know is as nothing 
 to what we know not. — Hamilton, ' Dis- 
 cussions,' p. 601. 
 
 Who knows nothing, and thinks that be 
 knows something, his ignorance is two- 
 fold.—^ Habbi. 
 
 The Limits of Knowledge. 
 
 What are the limits of man's power of 
 acquiring knowledge ? The answer is, that 
 he cannot know, at least in this world, any 
 substance or separate existence other than 
 those revealed by sense and consciousness. 
 There may be, very probably there are, in 
 the imiverse, other substances besides mat- 
 ter and spirit, other existences which are 
 not substances, as Avell as space and time ; 
 but these must ever remain unknown to us 
 in this world. Again, he can never know 
 any qualities or relations among the ob- 
 jects thus revealed to the outward and in- 
 ward sense, except in so far as we have 
 special faculties of knowledge ; and the 
 number and the nature of these are to be 
 ascertained by a process of induction, and 
 by no other process either easier or more 
 
COGNITION. 
 
 89 
 
 difficult.— iU'6\w//, ' Intuitions of the MinJ,' 
 p. 294. 
 
 As young men, when they knit and shape 
 perfectly, do seldom grow to a further sta- 
 ture ; so knowledge, while it is in aphorisms 
 and observations, it is in gro^vth ; but when 
 it once is comprehended in exact methods, 
 it may perchance be further polished and 
 illustrated, and accommodated for use and 
 practice ; but it increaseth no more in bulk 
 and substance.— J?aco?i, 'Advancement of 
 Learning,'' bk. i. 
 
 II. COGNITION. (See Knowledge.) 
 The Term. 
 
 Its psiji^hological significance. 
 
 Cognition is a general name which we 
 may apply to all those mental states in 
 which there is made known in conscious- 
 ness either some affection or activity of the 
 mind itself, or some external quality or 
 object. The Psychology of Cognition ana- 
 lyses knowledge into its primary elements, 
 and seeks to ascertain the nature and laws 
 of the processes through which all our 
 knowledge passes in progressing from its 
 simplest to its most elaborate condition. — 
 Jardine, ' Elements of Psijcltology,' ]). i. 
 
 Its use in Logic. 
 
 The impression which any object makes 
 iipon the mind may be called a Presenta- 
 tion. Some presentations are admitted into 
 the mind without being noticed. A man 
 stares his friend in the face ^vithout recog- 
 nising him ; when his friend awakens his 
 attention, the recognition takes place. But 
 he knows that it is not the impression upon 
 his eye which begins at that j)oint of time, 
 but his attention to the impression. Pre- 
 sentations, then, are divided into Clear and 
 Obscure ; and the formei-, with which alone 
 Logic is concerned, may be called Notions 
 or Cognitions. — Thomson, '■Laicsof Thougid,' 
 p. 71. 
 
 It is often STjnonymoits with hnoivledge. 
 I frequently employ cognition as a syno- 
 n}Tn of knowledge. It is necessary to have 
 
 a word of this signification, which we can 
 use in the plui-al. Now the term laioiv- 
 ledges has waxed obsolete, though I think 
 it ought to be revived. We must, there- 
 fore, have recourse to the term cognition, 
 of which the plural is in common usage. — 
 Hamilton, '■ Metaphysics,^ \\. 19. 
 
 When dividing all mental states, how- 
 ever, into Cognitions, Feelings, and Cona- 
 tions, Hamilton uses the word Cognition 
 in its widest sense, to include all the pro- 
 ducts of intuition and thought— of the 
 senses and the intellect— thus including 
 both knowledge proper and Belief. In fact 
 belief is not often opposed to cognition, 
 though it frequently is to l-noicledge. — 
 Monch, 'Sir W. Hamilton,' p. 171. 
 
 Distinctions among Cognitions. 
 
 As emjnrical and noetic. 
 
 The principal distinctions of Empirical 
 and Noetic Cognitions are the following : — 
 I. Empirical cognitions originate exclusively 
 in experience, whereas noetic cognitions are 
 virtually at least before or above all expe- 
 rience, — all experience being only possible 
 through them. 2. Empirical cognitions 
 come piecemeal and successively into exist- 
 ence, and may again gradually fade and 
 disappear; whereas noetic cognitions, like 
 Pallas, armed and immortal from the head 
 of Jupiter, spring at once into existence, 
 complete and indestrvictible. 3. Empirical 
 cognitions find only an application to those 
 objects from which they were originally 
 abstracted, and, according as things obtain 
 a different form, they also may become 
 differently fashioned ; noetic cognitions, on 
 the contrai'y, bear the character impressed 
 on them of necessity, universality, same- 
 ness. — Esser, ' Logilc,' % 171. 
 
 As Confused and Distinct. 
 
 Cognitions or Clear Presentations are 
 subdivided into confused and distinct. 
 Where the marks or attributes wliich make 
 up the presentation cannot be distinguished, 
 it is confused ; where they can be distin- 
 guished and enumerated, it is distinct. For 
 
9° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 example, we have a clear notion of the 
 colour red, but we cannot tell by what 
 marks we identify it ; we could not describe 
 it intelligibly to another; and hence our 
 cognition is confused : again we have a 
 clear notion of house, but we can declare 
 its various marks, namely, that it is an 
 enclosed and covered building fit for habita- 
 tion, and therefore our notion is distinct. 
 — Tliomson, ' Laivs of Thought,' p. 72. 
 
 As a priori and a posteriori. 
 
 We understand by knowledge cb priori 
 knowledge which is absolutely independent 
 of all experience, and not of this or that 
 exj)erience only. Opposed to this is empiri- 
 cal knowledge, or such as is possible a 
 posteriori only, that is, by experience. 
 Knowledge a priori, if mixed up with 
 nothing empirical, is called pure. — Kant, 
 ' Critique,' vol. i. p. 399. 
 
 As draivii by Spinoza. 
 
 Spinoza distinguishes three kinds of cog- 
 nitions. By the first, which he calls opinio 
 or i'lnaginatio, he understands the develop- 
 ment of perceptions and of universal notions 
 derived from them, out of the impressions 
 of the senses through unregulated experi- 
 ence, or out of signs, particularly words, 
 which, through the memory, call forth ima- 
 ginations. The second kind of cognition, 
 called by Spinoza ratio, consists in adequate 
 ideas of the peculiarities of things. The 
 third and highest kind of cognition is the 
 intuitive knowledge which the intellect has 
 of God. Cognition of the first kind is the 
 only source of deception ; that of the second 
 and third teaches us to distinguish the true 
 from the false. — Ueherweg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' 
 iv. TS- 
 UI. INTUITIONS. (See Intuition, 
 Innate Ideas.) 
 Definitions. 
 
 Intuitions are perceptions formed by 
 looking in upon objects, they are native 
 convictions of the mind. These convic- 
 tions seem to be of the nature of percep- 
 
 tions, that is, something is presented to us, 
 and the cognition, belief, or judgment is 
 formed. — M'Cosh, ' Intuit io7is of the Mind,' 
 P- 25- 
 
 We class under the general denomina- 
 tion of Intuitions, all those states of con- 
 sciousness in which the actvial presence of 
 an object, within or without the mind, is 
 the primary fact which leads to its recog- 
 nition as such, by the subject; and from 
 these may be distinguished, under the 
 name of Thoughts, all those states of con- 
 sciousness in which the presence of the 
 object is the result of a representative act 
 on the part of the subject. In the former 
 case, the presence of the object is involun- 
 tary, in the latter it is voluntary. — Manset, 
 '■Metaphysics,'-^. 53. 
 
 Synonymous Terms, 
 
 ' They have been denominated xo/cai 
 rtooXri-^iic, Tiotva} hvoiai, (j^uffixai hvoiai, 'jr^uTai 
 iiivoiai, ciUiTo. vor^/MUTa ; naturce judicia, judi- 
 cia communibus hominum sensibus infixa, 
 notiones or notitice connatce or innatce, semina 
 scienticB, semina omnitcm cognitionum, semina 
 cefernitatis, zopyra (living sparks), prcecog- 
 nita necessaria, anticipationes ; first prin- 
 ciples, common anticipations, principles of 
 common sense, self-evident or intuitive 
 truths, primitive notions, native notions, 
 innate cognitions, natural knowledges (cog- 
 nitions), fundamental reasons, metaphysical 
 or transcendental truths, ultimate or ele- 
 mental laws of thought, primary or funda- 
 mental laws of human belief or primary 
 laws of human reason, pure or transcen- 
 dental or a priori cognitions, categories of 
 thought, natural beliefs, rational instincts, 
 &c. &c.' (Hamilton, Met. Lee, 38), — Porter, 
 ' Human Intellect,' p. 500. 
 
 Reality of their Existence. 
 
 There are in the mind such existences 
 and powers as primary perceptions and 
 fundamental laws of belief, but they are 
 very different in their nature from the 
 picture which is frequently given of them, 
 and they are by no means fitted to accom- 
 
INTUITIONS. 
 
 91 
 
 plish the ends to Avliich they have often 
 been turned in metaphysical and theological 
 speculation. I would as soon believe that 
 there are no such agents as heat, chemical 
 affinity, and electricity in physical nature, 
 as that there are no immediate perceptions 
 and native-born convictions in this mind of 
 ours. I consider the one kind of agents, 
 like the other, to be among the deepest 
 and most potent at work in this world, 
 mental and material ; and yet the one 
 class, like the other, while operating every 
 instant in soul or body, are apt to hide 
 themselves from the view. Indeed they 
 discover themselves only by their effects, 
 and their law can be detected only by a 
 careful observation of its actings; and it 
 should be added, that both are capable of 
 evil as well as good, and are to be carefully 
 watched and guarded in the application 
 which is made of them. — JSP Cosh, ' Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,' p. i. 
 
 That there are intuitive principles operat- 
 ing in the mind may be established by the 
 following propositions : — 
 
 1. Tlie mijid has something native or 
 innate. 
 
 Even on the supposition that it is like a 
 surface of wax or a sheet of white paper, 
 ready to receive whatever is impressed or 
 written on it, the soul must have something 
 inborn. If it has but a power of impres- 
 sibility, it has in this something innate. 
 The very wax and paper, in the inadequate 
 illustration referi'ed to, have capabilities, 
 the capacity of taking something on them, 
 and retaining it. But such comparisons 
 have all a misleading tendency. Surely the 
 mind has something more than a mere recep- 
 tivity. It is not a mere surface, on which 
 matter may reflect itself as on a mirror : 
 our consciousness testifies that, in compari- 
 son with matter, it is active; that it has 
 an original, and an originating potency. 
 
 2. This something has rules, lans, or py-o- 
 perties. 
 
 Matter, with all its endowments, inor- 
 ganic and organic, is regulated by laws 
 
 which it is the office of physical and phy.sio- 
 logical science to discover. All the powers 
 or properties of material substance ha\e 
 rules of action; for example, gravitation 
 and chemical affinity have appointed modes 
 of operation which can be expressed in quan- 
 titative proportions. That mind also has 
 properties is shown by its action ; and surely 
 these properties do not act capriciously or 
 lawlessly. There are rules involved in the 
 very constitution of its active properties, 
 and these are not beyond the possibility of 
 being discovered and expressed. The senses 
 indeed cannot detect them, but they may 
 be found out by internal observation. It 
 is true that this law cannot be discovered 
 immediately by consciousness any more than 
 the law of gravitation can be perceived by 
 the eye. But the operations of the mental 
 properties are under the observation of con- 
 sciousness just as those of gravitation are 
 under the senses ; and by careful observa- 
 tion, analysis, and generalisation, we may 
 from the acts reach the laws of the acts. 
 He who has reached the exact expression 
 of our mental properties is in possession of 
 a law which is native or innate. 
 
 3. TJie mind has original perceptions, 
 which mag be described as intuitive. 
 
 Every one will acknowledge that it has 
 perceptions through the senses, and it may 
 be shown that there are perceptions of the 
 understanding and of the moral faculty : 
 some of these perceptions are no doubt 
 secondary and derivative, but the secondary 
 imply primary perceptions, and the deriva- 
 tive original ones. Thus perception of dis- 
 tance by the eye may be derivative ; but it 
 implies an original perception, by the eye, 
 of a surface. It is by a process of reasoning 
 that I know that the square of the hypo- 
 thenuse of the right-angled triangle is equal 
 to the square of the other two sides; but 
 this reasoning proceeds on certain axiomatic 
 truths whose certainty is seen at once, as 
 that ' if equals be added to equals the wholes 
 are equal.' Let it be observed that we are 
 now in a region in which are loftier powers 
 than those possessed by inert matter ; still 
 
92 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 these higher have rules as well as the lower 
 or material properties. The original per- 
 ceptions by sense, or reason, or moral power, 
 all have their laws, which it should be the 
 business of psychology or of metaphysics to 
 discover and determine. These pei-ceptions 
 may be represented as intuitions, inasmuch 
 as they look immediately on the object or 
 truth. The rules or laws which they obey 
 may be described as intuitive ; and it is the 
 office of mental science to discover them by 
 a process of introspection, abstraction, and 
 comparison. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the 
 Mind,' pp. 20, 21. 
 
 How they Arise. 
 
 They are not perceived by sense-percep- 
 tion, nor felt by consciousness; they are 
 neither reproduced in memory nor repre- 
 sented or created by the phantasy; they 
 are not generalised by the power to classify 
 and name; they are neither proved by deduc- 
 tion nor inferred by induction. They are 
 developed and brought to view in connec- 
 tion with these processes, and are assumed 
 in them all. 
 
 It has been extensively taught and 
 believed that these original ideas and first 
 truths are discerned by direct insight or 
 intuition, independently of their relation to 
 the phenomena of sense and spirit. The 
 power to behold them is conceived as a 
 special sense for the true, the original, and 
 the infinite ; as a divine Reason which acts 
 by inspiration, and is permitted to gaze 
 directly upon that which is eternally true 
 and divine. The less the soul has to do 
 Avith the objects of sense the better — the 
 more it is withdraAvn from these the more 
 penetrating and clear will be its insight into 
 the ideas which alone are permanent and 
 divine. Such are the representations of 
 Plato, Plotinus, &c., among the ancients. 
 Similar language has been employed by 
 many in modern times who have called 
 themselves Platonists. Platonising theo- 
 logians have freely availed themselves of 
 this phraseology, and have seemed to sanc- 
 tion the views which this language signifies. 
 Thus the Platonising and Cartesian divines 
 
 of the seventeenth century, as Henry More, 
 John Smith of Cambridge, Ralph Cudworth, 
 and multitudes of others freely express them- 
 selves. Philosophers who Platonise in 
 thought or language have adopted similar 
 phraseology ; some have even pressed these 
 doctrines to the most literal interpretation. 
 Malebranche, Schelling, Coleridge, Cousin, 
 and others have allowed themselves to use 
 such language, and have given sanction to 
 such views more or less clearly conceived 
 and expressed. Those who combine with 
 philosophic acuteness the power of vivid 
 imagination and of eloqvient exposition, not 
 infrequently meet the difficulties which at- 
 tend the analysis and explanation of the 
 foundations of knowledge, by these half -poetic 
 and half -philosophical representations. 
 
 Whatever may be their real meaning, it 
 is manifest that the representations which 
 they give are not true when literally inter- 
 preted. It cannot be sviccessfully, scarcely 
 soberly maintained, that these ideas and 
 truths are discerned by the mind out of all 
 relation to actual beings and concrete phe- 
 nomena. It is so far fi'om being true that 
 the mind needs to be delivered from, or to 
 look away from the sensible in order to 
 discern the rational, that it should always 
 be remembered that it is only by means of 
 the sensible that permanent j^rinciples and 
 relations can ever be reached. No direct 
 inspection of primitive ideas and principles 
 is conceivable. It is not by withdrawing 
 the attention from, but by fixing it upon 
 the facts and phenomena of the actual world 
 that the truths and relations of the world, 
 which is ideal and rational, can be discerned 
 at sl\.— Porter, ^ Human Intellect,' pp. 499, 
 51S. 
 
 For further discussion, see Ideas (Origin 
 of). 
 
 Their Tests. 
 
 But how are we to distinguish a pi'imitive 
 conviction which do3s not need probation, 
 and which we may not even doubt, from 
 propositions which we are not required to 
 believe till evidence is produced % Are we 
 entitled to appeal, when we please and as 
 
INTUITIONS. 
 
 93 
 
 we please, to supposed first truths ? Have 
 we the privilege, when we wish to adhere 
 to a favourite opinion, to declare that we 
 see it to be true intuitively, and thus at 
 once get rid of all objections, and of the 
 necessity for even instituting an examina- 
 tion? \\lien hard pressed or defeated in 
 argument may we resoit, as it suits us, to 
 an original principle which we assume with- 
 out evidence, and declare to be beyond the 
 reach of refutation ? There can be tests 
 propounded sufficient to determine mth pi'e- 
 cision what convictions are and what con- 
 victions are not entitled to be regarded as 
 intuitive, and these tests are such that they 
 admit of an easy application, requiring only 
 a moderate degree of careful consideration 
 of the maxim claiming our assent. 
 
 1. The primary marlc of intuitive truth is 
 self-evidence. 
 
 It must be e%'ident, and it must have its 
 evidence in the object. The mind, on the 
 bare contemplation of the object, must see 
 it to be so and so, must see it to be so at 
 once, without requiring any foi'eign evidence 
 or mediate proof. That the planet Mars is 
 inhabited, or that it is not inhabited, is not 
 a first truth, for it is not evident on the 
 bare contemplation of the object. That the 
 isle of Madagascar is inhabited, even this 
 is not a primary conviction ; we believe it 
 because of secondary testimony. Nay, that 
 the three angles of a triangle are together 
 equal to two right angles, is not a primitive 
 judgment, for it needs other truths coming 
 between to carry our conviction. But that 
 there is an extended object before me when 
 I look at a table or a wall, that I who look 
 at these objects exist, and that two marbles 
 added to two marbles here will be equal to 
 two marbles added to two marbles there, — 
 these are truths that are evident on the 
 bare contemplation of the objects, and need 
 no foreign facts or considerations derived 
 from any other quarter to establish them. 
 
 2. Necessity is a second mark of intuitive 
 truth. 
 
 I would not ground the evidence on the 
 necessity of belief, or fix on this as the 
 
 original or essential chai'acteristic, but I 
 would ascribe the irresistible nature of the 
 conviction to the self -evidence. As the 
 necessity flows from the self-evidence, so 
 it may become a test of it, and a test not 
 difficult of application. 
 
 When an object of truth is self-evident, 
 necessity always attaches to our convictions 
 regaxxling it. And according to the nature 
 of the conviction, so is the necessity at- 
 tached. We shall see that some of our ori- 
 ginal convictions are of the nature of know- 
 ledge, others of the nature of belief, a third 
 class of the nature of judgments, in which 
 we compare objects kno^vn or imagined or 
 believed in. In the first our cognition is 
 necessary, in the second our belief is neces- 
 sary, in the third our judgment is neces- 
 sary. I know self as an existing thing : 
 this is a necessary cognition ; I must enter- 
 tain it, and never can be driven from it. 
 That space exceeds my widest imagination 
 of space : this is a necessary belief ; I must 
 believe it. That every effect has a cause : 
 this is a necessary judgment ; I must de- 
 cide in this way. Wherever there is such 
 a conviction, it is a sign of an intuitive 
 perception. Necessity, too, may be em- 
 ployed in a negative form, and this is often 
 the most decisive form. If I know imme- 
 diately that there is an extended object 
 before me in the book which I read, I can- 
 not be made to know that there is not an 
 extended object before me. If I must be- 
 lieve that time has had no beginning, I 
 cannot be made to believe that it has had 
 a beginning. Necessitated as I am to de- 
 cide that two parallel lines cannot meet, 
 I cannot be made to decide that they can 
 meet. Necessity as a test may thus as- 
 sume two forms, and we may take the one 
 best suited to our purpose at the time. In 
 the use of a very little care and discernment, 
 this test will settle for us as to any given 
 truth, whether it is or is not self-evident. 
 
 3. Catholicity may he employed as a ter- 
 tiary test. 
 
 By catholicity is meant that the con- 
 viction is entertained by all men, or at 
 
94 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 least by all men possessed of intelligence, 
 when the objects are presented. I am not 
 inclined to use this as a primary test. For, 
 in the first place, it is not easy to ascer- 
 tain, or at least to settle absolutely, what 
 truths may claim this common consent of 
 humanity ; and even though this were de- 
 termined, still it might be urged, in the 
 second place, that this does not prove that 
 it is necessary or original, but simply that 
 it is a native property, — like the appetite 
 for food among all men, — and would still 
 leave it possible for opponents to maintain 
 that there may be intelligent beings in 
 other worlds who accord no such assent, 
 just as we can conceive beings in the other 
 parts of the universe who have no craving 
 for meat or drink. But while not inclined 
 to use catholicity as a primary test, I think 
 it may come in at times as an auxiliary 
 one. For what is in all men may most 
 probably come from what is not only native, 
 but necessary ; and must also in all proba- 
 bility be self-evident, or at least follow very 
 directly from what is self-evident. CathoK- 
 city, when conjoined with necessity, may de- 
 termine very readily and precisely whether 
 a conviction is intuitive. 
 
 Important purposes are served by the 
 combination of these two tests, that is, 
 necessity and catholicity. By the first we 
 have a personal assu^rance which can never 
 be shaken, and of which no one can de- 
 prive lis. Though the whole world were 
 to declare that we do not exist, or that a 
 cruel action is good, we would not give vip 
 our own personal conviction in favour of 
 their declaration. By the other principle 
 we have confidence in addressing our fel- 
 low-men, for we know that there are grounds 
 of thought common to them and to us, and 
 to these we can appeal in reasoning with 
 them. By the one I am enabled, yea, 
 compelled, to hold by my pei'sonality, and 
 maintain my independence; by the other 
 I am made to feel that I am one of a large 
 family, every member of which has the 
 same principles of thought and belief as I 
 myself have. The one gives me the argu- 
 ment from private judgment, the other the 
 
 argument from common or catholic con- 
 sent. The concurrence of the two should 
 sufiice to protect me from scepticism of 
 every kind, whether it relate to the world 
 within or the world without, whether to 
 physical or moral truths. — 3PCosh, 'Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,'' pp. 31-33. 
 
 The essential notes or characters by 
 which we are enabled to distinguish our 
 original from our derivative convictions 
 may be reduced to four : — i. Their Incom- 
 prehensibility. A conviction is incompre- 
 hensible when there is merely given us in 
 consciousness that its object is ; and when 
 we are unable to comprehend through a 
 higher notion or belief. Why or how it is. 
 2. Their Simplicity. It is manifest that if 
 a cognition or belief can be analysed into 
 a plurality of cognitions or beliefs, that, as 
 compound, it cannot he original. 3. Their 
 Necessity Siud Absolute Universality. When 
 a belief is necessary it is, eo ipso, universal ; 
 and that a belief is universal is a certain 
 index that it must be necessary. 4. Their 
 Comparative Evidence and Certainty. As 
 Buflier says, they must be 'so clear, that 
 if we attempt to prove or to disprove them 
 this can be done only by propositions which 
 are manifestly neither more evident nor 
 more certain.' — Hamilton, in Reid's ' Works,' 
 P- 754. 
 
 Their Characteristics. 
 
 Theoretical. 
 
 (a.) Classified. 
 
 The intuitions may be considered, first, 
 as laws, rules, principles regulating the 
 original action and the primitive percep- 
 tions of the mind. Or, seco?idly, they may be 
 regarded as individual perceptions or con- 
 victions manifesting themselves in consci- 
 ousness. Or, thirdly, they may be contem- 
 plated as abstract notions, or general rules, 
 or Universal Truths elaborated out of the 
 individual exercises. We cannot have a 
 distinct or adequate view of our intuitions 
 imless we carefully distinguish these the 
 one from the other. The whole of the con- 
 fusion, and the greater part of the errors, 
 
INTUITIONS. 
 
 95 
 
 which have appeared in the discussions 
 about innate ideas and cl priori principles, 
 have sprung from neglecting these distinc- 
 tions, or from not carrying them out con- 
 sistently. In each of these sides the intui- 
 tions present distinct characters, and many 
 affirmations may be properly made of the 
 original principles of the mind under one 
 of these aspects, which would by no means 
 hold good of the others. For example : — 
 
 J,s' Zaw-y, Bales, or Principles guiding the 
 Mind. 
 
 1. They are native. Hence they have 
 been designated natural, innate, connate, 
 connatm-al, implanted, constitutional. All 
 these phrases point to the circumstance that 
 they are not acquired by practice, nor the 
 result of experience, bvit are in the mind 
 naturally, as constituents of its very being, 
 and involved in its higher exercises. In 
 this respect they are analogous to universal 
 giavitation and chemical affinity, which are 
 not produced in bodies as they operate, but 
 are in the very nature of bodies and the 
 springs of their action. 
 
 2. They are tendencies. The intuitions 
 operate on the appropriate objects being 
 presented to call them forth ; they fail only 
 when there has been nothing suitable to 
 evoke them. 
 
 3. Tlieif are regulative. They lead and 
 guide the deeper mental action, just as the 
 chemical and vital properties conduct and 
 control the composition of bodies and the 
 organisation of plants. 
 
 4. Tltey are catholic or conwion. That is, 
 they are in every human mind. Not that 
 they are in all men as formalised prin- 
 ciples ; under this aspect they come before 
 the minds of comparatively few. Some of 
 them are perhajis not even manifested in 
 all minds ; certainly some of them are not 
 manifested, in their higher forms, in the 
 souls of all. In infants some of them 
 have not yet made their appearance, and 
 among persons low in the scale of intelli- 
 gence they do not come out in their loftier 
 exercises, — just as the plant does not all at 
 once come into full flower, just as in un- 
 
 favouiublo circumstances it may never come 
 into seed at all. Still the capacity is there, 
 needing only favourable circumstances — 
 that is, the appropriate objects pressed on 
 the attention — to foster it into developed 
 forms.— .l/'Co67i, 'Intuitions of the Mind, ^ 
 PP- 35-37- 
 
 At the same time these are after all only 
 the diverse aspects of one great general 
 fact, and they have relations all to each 
 and each to all. There is first a mind with 
 its native capacities, each with its rule of 
 action. In due time these come out into 
 action, some of them at an earlier, and some 
 of them at a later date, on the appropiiate 
 objects being presented, and the actions are 
 before consciousness. As being before con- 
 sciousness we can observe them by reflec- 
 tion, and discover the nature of the law 
 which has all along been in the mind, and 
 in its very constitution. — M'Oosh, 'Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,'' p. 46. 
 
 {h.) Misapprehensions in regard to these. 
 
 Looking on the above as the properties 
 and marks of the intuitive convictions of 
 the mind, we see that a wrong account is 
 often given of them. 
 
 1. It is wrong to represent them as 
 unaccountable feelings, as blind instincts, as 
 unreasonable impulses. They have nothing 
 whatever of the nature of those feelings or 
 emotions which raise up excitement within 
 us, and attach us to certain objects and 
 draw us away from others. 
 
 2. It is wrong to represent man, so far 
 as he yields to these convictions, as being 
 under some sort of stern and relentless fatality 
 which compels him to go, without yielding 
 him light of any kind. No doubt they con- 
 strain him to acknowledge the existence of 
 certain objects, and the certainty of special 
 truths, but this, not by denying him light, 
 but by affording him the fullest conceiv- 
 able light, such light that he cannot pos- 
 sibly mistake the object or wander from 
 the path. 
 
 3. It is wrong to represent these self- 
 evident ti'uths as being truths merely to the 
 individual, or truths merely to man, or beings 
 
96 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 constituted like man. There are some who 
 speak and write as if what is truth to one 
 man might not be truth to another man ; 
 as if what is truth to mankind might not 
 be truth to other inteUigent beings. But 
 what we perceive by an original intuition 
 is a reality, is a truth ; we know it to be so, 
 we judge it to be so. And it is a reality, a 
 truth, whether others know and acknow- 
 ledge it or no. 
 
 4. It is wrong to represent all our intui- 
 tive convictions as being formed loitliin us 
 from our birth. — 31' Cosh, ' Intuitions of the 
 Mind,' pp. 46-48. 
 
 Practical. 
 
 From the theoretical characters there flow 
 some others of a more practical nature. 
 
 I. All men who have had their attention 
 addressed to the objects, are in fact led by 
 these spontaneous convictions, and this, tvhat- 
 ever be their professed speculative opinions. 
 This follows from the circumstance that 
 
 they are self-evident, and that men, all 
 men, must give their assent to them. The 
 regulative principles being essential parts 
 of man's nature, we find all human beings 
 under their influence. Being irresistible, 
 no man can deliver himself from them. 
 They are ever operating spontaneously, and 
 that whether men do or do not acknowledge 
 them reflexly. In this respect the philo- 
 sopher and the peasant, the dogmatist and 
 the sceptic, are as one. 
 
 2. These self-evident truths cannot be set 
 aside by any other truth, real or pretended. 
 They could be overthrown only by some 
 truth higher in itself, or carrying with it 
 greater weight. But there is no such truth, 
 there can be no such truth. — APCosh, ' In- 
 tuitions of the Mind,' pp. 49, 50. 
 
 Their Classification. 
 
 According to ivhrd they reveal. 
 We classify the intuitions according to 
 ' what they look at and reveal, as — 
 
 I. THE TRUE. II. THE GOOD. 
 
 Both True and Good 
 
 CONTAIN 
 I. PRIMITIVE COGNITIONS. II. PRIMITIVE BELIEFS. III. PRIMITIVE JUDGMENTS. 
 
 — M'Cosh, ' Intuitio7is of the Mind,' p. 81. 
 According to relations perceived. 
 
 The mind seems capable of noticing intuitively the relations of — 
 I. IDENTITY AND DIFFERENCE. V. QUANTITY. 
 
 n. WHOLE AND PARTS. VI. RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 III. SPACE. VII. ACTIVE PROPERTY. 
 
 IV. TIME. VIII. CAUSE AND EFFECT. 
 
 — M'Cosh, ^Intuitions of the Mind' p. 213. 
 
 According to their objects. 
 
 The intuitions may be divided into the 
 formed, the mathematical, and the real. The 
 formal are those which are necessarily in- 
 volved in the act of knowledge, whatever 
 be its objects-matter — whether they be real, 
 imagined, or generalised — whether they be 
 actually existing or purely mental creations. 
 They are essential to the form or process of 
 knowledge, and appear in all its objects or 
 products. The mathematical are those which 
 
 grow out of the existence of space and time 
 and suppose these to be realities. The rela- 
 tions included under this definition are not 
 exclusively used in the sciences of number 
 and quantity, but inasmuch as they are 
 fundamental to these sciences, we distin- 
 guish them by this epithet ; using mathe- 
 matical to designate all the time and space 
 relations and those which are dependent 
 upon them. The real are those which are 
 ordinarily recognised as generic and fu.nda- 
 
INTUITIONS. 
 
 97 
 
 mental to the so-called qualities and pro- 
 perties of existing things, both material 
 and spiritual. We do not, however, by 
 using the term real, imply or concede that 
 the formal and the mathematical are any 
 the less real — but that they are not limited 
 so exclusively to objects really existing. — 
 Porter, '■Human Intellect,^ p. 514. 
 
 Their Employment. 
 
 Metliod of it. 
 
 To justify the application of them in 
 philosophy, it is essential that their exact 
 nature, and precise law and rule, be care- 
 fully determined. 
 
 1. The spontaneous miist always precede 
 the reflex form. The generalised expres- 
 sion of them must always be later. We 
 cannot generalise them till we have observed 
 them, and we cannot observe them till they 
 are in exercise. 
 
 2. Tlie intuition, in its reflex, abstract, or 
 general form, is derived from, and is best 
 tested by, the concrete spontaneous conviction. 
 In order to the formation of the definition, 
 maxim, or axiom, we must have objects or 
 examples before us, and we must be careful 
 to observe them, and note what is involved 
 in them. 
 
 3. The expression of the abstract or general 
 truth is more or less easy, and is likely to be 
 more or less correct, according to tlie sim- 
 plicity of the objects to ichich the spontaneous 
 conviction is directed. It is evident that 
 some of the intuitive principles of the mind 
 are more difficult to detect and formalise 
 than others. Those which are directed to 
 sensible objects, and simple objects, will be 
 found out more easily, and at an earlier 
 date, than those which look to more com- 
 plex or spiritual objects. 
 
 4. In their spontaneous action the intui- 
 tions never err, jJ'f'operly sj)ealcing ; but there 
 may be manifold mistak'^s lurking in their 
 reflex form and ajiplication. I have used 
 the qualified language that properly speak- 
 ing they do not err in their original im- 
 pulses ; for even here they may carry error 
 with them. They look to a representation 
 
 given them, and this representation may be 
 erroneous, and error will appear in the re- 
 sult. The mind intuitively declares that 
 on a real quality presenting itself, it must 
 imply a substance. 
 
 5. The tests of intuitive convictions admit 
 of an application to the abstract and general 
 principle, only io far as the abstractiori and 
 generalisation have been properly performed. 
 — 3rCosh, ' Intuitions of the Mind,'' pp. 
 51-57- 
 
 Rules. 
 
 1. Those who appecd to first truths must 
 be prepared to shoto that they are first truths. 
 
 2. Those %cho employ intuitive p)rinciples 
 in demonstration, speculation, or discussion 
 of any kind, must see that they accurately 
 express them. 
 
 The two rules now laid down may seem 
 to some to be very hard ones; but they 
 are very necessary ones to arrest those con- 
 fused and confusing controversies which 
 abound to such an extent in philosophy, 
 in theology, and in other departments of 
 investigation as well. — M'Cosh, 'Intuitions 
 of the Mind,' pp. 64-67. 
 
 Their Relation to Experience. 
 
 I. Let us consider the relation of Ex- 
 perience to Intuition, considered as a body 
 of Regulative Principles. In this sense 
 intuition, being native and original, is 
 prior to experience of every kind, personal 
 or general. So far from depending on 
 what we have passed through, our intui- 
 tions are a powerful means of prompting 
 to the acquisition of experience; for, 
 being in the mind as natural inclinations 
 and aptitudes, they are ever instigating to 
 action. All of them seek for objects, and 
 are gratified when the proper objects are 
 presented. Just as the eye was given us 
 to see, and light is felt to be pleasant to 
 the eyes, so the cognitive powers were 
 given us in order to lead to the acquisition 
 of knowledge, and they are pleased when 
 knowledge is furnished. — M^Gosh, '■Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,' p. 299. 
 
 G 
 
98 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 IV. IDEAS. 
 The Fortune of the Word. 
 
 The fortune of this word is curious. 
 Employed by Plato to express the real 
 forms of the intelligible world, in lofty 
 contrast to the unreal images of the sen- 
 sible; it was lowered by Descartes, who 
 extended it to the objects of our conscious- 
 ness in general. When, after Gassendi, the 
 school of Condillac had analysed our highest 
 faculties into our lowest, the idea was still 
 more deeply degraded from its high original. 
 Like a fallen angel, it was relegated from 
 the sphere of divine intelKgence to the 
 atmosphere of human sense; till at last 
 Ideologie (more correctly Idealogie), a word 
 which could only properly suggest an d 
 priori scheme, deducing our knowledge from 
 the intellect, has in France become the 
 name peculiarly distinctive of that philo- 
 sophy of mind which exclusively derives 
 our knowledge from the senses. Word 
 and thing, ideas have been the crux philoso- 
 pliorum, since Aristotle sent them packing, 
 to the present day. — Hamilton, ^Discus- 
 sions,' p. 69. 
 
 Classes of Ideas. 
 
 Descartes affirms three sorts of ideas in 
 my mind, i . There are adventitious ideas, 
 which come to me from without, through 
 the agency of the senses. 2. There are 
 factitious ideas, constructed by myself out 
 of the materials furnished by sense. 3. 
 There are those which are native-born, 
 original or innate. — Bowen, ' Modern Philo- 
 sopJiy,'' p. 28. 
 
 Of ideas Berkeley recognises three sorts :^ 
 — (a) those ' actually imprinted on the 
 senses,' called sensations — as when what we 
 are conscious of is something coloured, or 
 hard, or odorous, &c. ; (h) ' passions or 
 operations of the mind ' — as when we are 
 conscious of anger, or of exerting ourselves 
 corporeally or intellectually; (c) mental 
 images (to which last the name idea is 
 popularly confined) — as when we remember 
 a scene we have witnessed, or contemplate 
 
 one of our o'wn creation, or universalise 
 what we thus imagine, in general or 
 scientific knowledge. — Fraser, ' Selections 
 from Berkeley,' p. 30, note. 
 
 It is a curious omission on Hume's part 
 that, while dwelling on two classes of ideas, 
 Memories and Imaginations, he has not, at 
 the same time, taken notice of a third 
 group, of no small importance, which are 
 as different from imaginations as memories 
 are ; though, like the latter, they are often 
 confounded with piu'e imaginations in 
 general speech. These are the ideas of 
 expectation, or as they may be called for 
 the sake of brevity. Expectations ; which 
 differ from simple imaginations in being 
 associated with the idea of the existence 
 of corresponding impressions in the future, 
 just as memories contain the idea of the 
 existence of the corresponding impressions 
 in the past. — Huxley, ^ Hume,'' p. 94. 
 
 Doctrine of Ideas, according to 
 
 Plato. 
 
 The Platonic philosophy centres in the 
 Theory of Ideas. The Platonic Idea is the 
 pure archetypal essence, in which those 
 things which are together subsumed under 
 the same concept participate, -^llstheti- 
 cally and ethically, it is the perfect in its 
 kind, to which the given reality remains 
 perpetually inferior. Logically and onto- 
 logically considered, it is the object of the 
 concept. The idea is kno^vn through the j 
 concept. The idea is the archetype, indi- 
 vidual objects are images. — Ueherweg, ' Hist. \ 
 of Phil.,' i. 115. 
 
 An idea, according to Plato, has always 1 
 place wherever a general notion of species 
 and genus has place. Thus he speaks of 
 the idea of a bed, of a table, of strength, 
 of health, of the voice, of colour, of ideas! 
 of mere relation and quality. In a word, 
 there is always an idea to be assmned 
 whenever a many is designated by the! 
 same appellative, by a common name ; or 
 as Aristotle has it, Plato assumed for every j 
 class of existence an idea. — Schwegler, ^ Hist, 
 of Phil.,' -p. 77. 
 
IDEAS. 
 
 99 
 
 In the Platonic sense, ideas wore the 
 ]iatterns according to which the Deity 
 fashioned the phenomenal or ectypal world. 
 Ilamilton. 
 
 ^ Descartes. 
 
 Of my thoughts some are, as it were, 
 images of things, and to these alone pro- 
 perly belongs the name idea; as when I 
 think [represent to my mind] a man, a 
 chimera, the sky, an angel, or God. — ' Mkli- 
 hdions,' iii. p. 117. 
 
 Locke. 
 
 Whatsoever the mind perceives in itself, 
 or is the immediate object of perception, 
 thought, or understanding, that I call idea. 
 The term stands for whatsoever is the 
 object of the understanding, when a man 
 thinks, whatever the mind can be em- 
 ployed about in thinking. — ' Human Un- 
 divstancling,^ bk. ii., i. and viii. 
 
 Berkeley. 
 
 By ' ideas ' Berkeley, like Locke, means 
 irJiatever we are directly conscious of — 
 ^^-hether a real sensation, a real passion 
 or operation of the mind, or a mental re- 
 presentation of either. — Fraser, 'Selections 
 from Berkeley,' p. 30, note. 
 
 There exist, says Berkeley, only spirits 
 and their functions (ideas and volitions). 
 There are no abstract ideas ; there is, for 
 example, no notion of extension without 
 an extended body, a definite magnitude, 
 lie. A singular or particular notion be- 
 comes general by representing all other 
 particular notions of the same kind. Thus, 
 for example, in a geometrical demonstra- 
 tion a given particular straight line repre- 
 M-nts all other straight lines. — Ueherweg, 
 'Hist of Phil.,' ii. 88. 
 
 James Mill. 
 
 Ideas are what remains after the sensa- 
 tions are gone. As our sensations occur 
 cither in the synchronous or successive 
 order, so our ideas present themselves in 
 either of the two. The preceding is called 
 
 the suggesting, the succeeding is called the 
 suggested idea. The antecedent may be 
 either a sensation or an idea, the conse- 
 quent is always an idea. — Ueherweg, ' Hist, 
 of Phil.,' ii. 423. 
 
 Eeid. 
 
 Dr. Beid takes idea to mean something 
 interposed between the mind and the ob- 
 ject of its thought — a tertium quid, or a 
 qtiartum quid, an independent entity dif- 
 ferent from the mind and from the object 
 thought of. — Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' 
 p. 226. 
 
 Origin of our Ideas, or Sources of Know- 
 ledge. (See Innate Ideas.) 
 
 Classification of Theories. 
 
 As to the origin of our ideas, the opinions 
 of metaphysicians may be divided into three 
 classes, i. Those who deny the senses to 
 be anything more than instruments con- 
 veying objects to the mind, perception be- 
 ing active (Plato and others). 2. Those 
 who attribute all our ideas to sense (Hobbes, 
 Gassendi, Condillac, the ancient sophists). 
 3. Those who admit that the earliest no- 
 tions proceed from the senses, yet maintain 
 that they are not adequate to produce the 
 whole knowledge possessed by the human 
 understanding (Aristotle, Locke). — Mill, 
 'Essays,' pp. 314, 321. 
 
 Importance in this investigation of the 
 sense attached to "idea." 
 
 The question of the origin of our ideas 
 is substantially the same with that of the 
 sources of our knowledge ; but, in discuss- 
 ing this second question, it is of all things 
 essential to have it fixed what is meant by 
 " idea." Plato, with whom the term origi- 
 nated as a philosophic one, meant those 
 eternal patterns which have been in or 
 before the Divine mind from all eternity, 
 which the works of nature participate in 
 to some ex-tent, and to the contemplation 
 of which the mind of man can rise by 
 abstraction and philosophic meditation. 
 Descartes meant Hby it whatever is before 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the mind in every sort of mental appre- 
 hension. Locke tells us that he denotes 
 by the phrase " whatever is meant by phan- 
 tasm, notion, species." Kant appHed the 
 phrase to the ideas of substance, totality 
 of phenomena, and God, reached by the 
 reason as a regulative faculty going out 
 beyond the province of experience and ob- 
 jective reality. Hegel is for ever dwelling 
 on an absolute idea, which he identifies 
 with God, and represents as ever unfolding 
 itself out of nothing into being, subjective 
 and objective. Using the phrase in the 
 Platonic sense, it is scarcely relevant to 
 inquire into the origin of our ideas ; it is 
 clear, however, that Plato represented our 
 recognition of eternal ideas as a high intel- 
 lectual exercise, originating in the inborn 
 power of the mind, and awakened by in- 
 ward cogitation and reminiscence. In the 
 Kantian and Hegelian systems the idea is 
 supposed to be discerned by reason ; Kant 
 giving it no existence except in the mind, 
 and Hegel giving it an existence both ob- 
 jective and subjective, but identifying the 
 reason with the idea, and the objective 
 with the subjective. Using the phrase in 
 the Cartesian and Lockian sense, we can in- 
 quire into the origin of our ideas. — M'Cosk, 
 ^Intuitions of the Mind,'' p. 289. 
 
 Tlie Experience Theory. 
 
 (a.) As held by Hobbes and Mill— Ml 
 knowledge grows out of sensations. After 
 sensation, there remains behind the memory 
 of it, which may reappear in consciousness. 
 — Hobbes, in Ueberweg's 'Hist, of Phil.,'' 
 ii. 39. 
 
 The sensations which we have through 
 the medium of the senses exist only by the 
 presence of the object, and cease upon its 
 absence. When our sensations cease, by 
 the absence of their objects, something 
 remains. After I have seen the sun, and 
 by shutting my eyes see him no longer, I 
 can still think of him. I have still a feel- 
 ing, the consequence of the sensation, 
 which, though I can distinguish it from 
 the sensation, and treat it as not the sen- 
 
 sation, but something different from the 
 sensation, is yet more like the sensation 
 than anything else can be ; so like, that I 
 call it a copy, an image of the sensation * 
 sometimes a representation or trace of the 
 sensation. Another name by which we de- 
 note this trace, this copy of the sensation, 
 which remains after the sensation ceases, 
 is IDEA. — Mill, ' Arialysis of the Human 
 Mind,' i. 51. 
 
 (b.) By Hume. — He distinguishes between 
 impressions and ideas or thoughts ; vmder 
 the former he understands the lively sensa- 
 tions which we have when we hear, see, feel, 
 or love, hate, desire, will; and under the 
 latter the less lively ideas of memory and 
 imagination, of which we become conscious 
 when we reflect on any impression. The 
 creative power of thought extends no fur- 
 ther than to the facidty of combining, 
 transposing, augmenting, or diminishing 
 the material furnished by the senses and 
 by experience. All the materials of thought 
 are given us through external or internal 
 experience; only their combination is the 
 work of the understanding or the will. All 
 our ideas are copies of perceptions. — Ueber- 
 weg, '^ Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 132. 
 
 (c.) Objections to this theory. — There are 
 three very flagrant oversights in the theory 
 of those who derive all our ideas from 
 sensation : — First, there is an omission of 
 all such ideas as we have of spirit and of 
 the qualities of spirit, such as rationality, 
 free will, personality. Secondly, there is a 
 neglect or a wrong account of all the further 
 cognitive exercises of the mind by which it 
 comes to apprehend such objects as infinite 
 time, moral good, merit, and responsibility. 
 Thirdly, there is a denial, or at least over- 
 sight, of the mind's deep convictions as 
 to necessary and universal truth. Sensa- 
 tionalism, followed out logically to its 
 consequences, would represent the mind as 
 incapable of conceiving of a spiritual God, or 
 of being convinced of the indelible distinc- 
 tion between good and evil; and make it 
 illegitimate to argue from the efi^ects in the 
 world in favour of the existence of a First 
 
IDEAS. 
 
 Cause. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the Mind,' 
 p. 291. 
 
 LocJi-e's Theory. 
 
 The fountains of knowledge, fi-om whence 
 all the ideas we have or can naturally have 
 do spring, are two. First, our senses, con- 
 versant about particular sensible objects, do 
 convej^ into the mind several distinct per- 
 ceptions of things, according to those various 
 ways whei-ein those objects do affect them : 
 and thus we come by those ideas we have, 
 of yellow, white, heat, cold, soft, hard, 
 bitter, sweet, and all those which we 
 call sensible qualities; which when I say 
 the senses convey into the mind, I mean 
 they from external objects convey into the 
 mind what produces there those perceptions. 
 This great source of most of the ideas we 
 have depending wholly upon our senses, and 
 derived by them to the understanding, I call 
 Sensation. Secondly, the other fountain 
 from which experience furnisheth the under- 
 standing mth ideas is the perception of the 
 operations of our mind within us, as it is 
 employed about the ideas it has got, which 
 operations, when the soul comes to reflect 
 on and consider, do furnish the understand- 
 ing with another set of ideas, which could 
 not be had from things without ; and such 
 are perception, thinking, doubting, believ- 
 ing, reasoning, knowing, willing, and all 
 the different actings of our o^vn minds, 
 which we being conscious of, and observing 
 in ourselves, do from these receive into our 
 understandings as distinct ideas as we do 
 from bodies affecting our senses. This 
 source of ideas every man has wholly in 
 himself ; and though it be not sense as hav- 
 ing nothing to do with external objects, yet 
 it is very like it, and might proper-ly enough 
 be called internal sense. But as I call the 
 other Sensation, so I call this Reflection, the 
 ideas it affords being such only as the mind 
 gets by reflecting on its own operations 
 within itself. — ' Human Understanding,' II. 
 i- 3> 4- 
 
 It is to experience and to our own reflec- 
 tions that we are indebted for by far the 
 
 most valuable part of our knowledge. — 
 Stewart, ' Woi'ks,' ii. 405. 
 
 Experience with Locke was simply the 
 experience of the individual. In order to 
 acquire this experience it was indeed neces- 
 sary that we should have certain ' inhei'ent 
 faculties.' But of these faculties he gives 
 no other account than that God has ' fur- 
 nished' or ' endued ' us with them. Locke's 
 system left so much unexplained that it was 
 comparatively easy for Kant to show that 
 the problem of the origin of knowledge 
 could not be left where Locke had left it. — 
 Folder, ' Locke,' -p. 143. 
 
 Kant's Tlieory. 
 
 (a.) Knowledge hegins with experience. — 
 That all our knowledge begins with expei'i- 
 ence there can be no doubt. For how should 
 the faculty of knowledge be called into 
 activity if not by objects which affect our 
 senses, and which either produce representa- 
 tions by themselves, or rouse the activity 
 of our luiderstanding to compare, to connect, 
 or to separate them ; and thus to convert 
 the raw material of our sensuous impres- 
 sions into a knowledge of objects, which we 
 call experience ? In respect of time, there- 
 fore, no knowledge within us is antecedent 
 to experience, but all knowledge begins with 
 it. — Ka7it, ' Critique,' vol. i. p. 398. 
 
 {h. ) But does not all arise out of experience. 
 — Although all our knowledge begins with 
 experience it does not follow that it arises 
 from experience. For it is quite possible 
 that even our empirical experience is a 
 compovmd of that which we receive through 
 impressions, and of that which our o\vn 
 faculty of knowledge (incited only by sen- 
 suous impressions) supplies from itself, a 
 supplement which we do not distinguish 
 from that raw material until long practice 
 has roused our attention, and rendered us 
 capable of separating one from the other. — 
 Kant, ' Critique,' vol. i. p. 398. 
 
 The negative scepticism of Hume stimu- 
 lated Kant to produce his great work, the 
 ' Kritik of the pure Reason.' He saw, as 
 Reid also did, that Locke's principle re- 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 garding the origin of knowledge naturally 
 led to Hume's conclusion. If all our ideas 
 are simply modified sensations, if all our 
 knowledge arises out of experience, many 
 of our most cherished and valuable beliefs 
 must be imdermined. Hence, Kant set 
 himself to show that, although 'all our 
 knowledge begins with experience,' yet ' it 
 by no means follows that all arises out of 
 our experience.' There are certain elements 
 of our knowledge which could not be de- 
 rived from experience. ' Experience, no 
 doubt, teaches us that this or that object 
 is constituted in such and such a manner, 
 but not that it could not possibly exist 
 otherwise. Now, if we have a proposition 
 which contains the idea of necessity in its 
 very conception, it is a judgment a pi'iori ; 
 if, moreover, it is not derived from any 
 other proposition, unless from one equally 
 involving the idea of necessity, it is ab- 
 solutely d priori. An empirical judgment 
 never exliibits strict and absolute, but 
 only assumed and comparative, univei^sa- 
 lity.' — Jardine, ' Psychologij of Cognition,^ 
 P- 153- 
 
 Tlie Intuitional Tlieory, as modified ly 
 M'Cosh. 
 
 The mind in its intelligent acts starts 
 with knowledge. But let not the statement 
 be misimderstood. I do not mean that the 
 mind commences with abstract knowledge, 
 or general knowledge, or indeed with 
 systematised knowledge of any description. 
 It acquires first a knowledge of individual 
 things, as they are presented to it and to 
 its knowing faculties, and it is ou.t of this 
 that all its arranged knowledge is formed 
 by a subsequent exercise of the understand- 
 ing. From the concrete the mind fashions 
 the abstract, by separating in thought a 
 part from the whole, a quality from the 
 object. Starting with the particular, the 
 mind reaches the general by observing the 
 points of agreement. From premises in- 
 volving knowledge, it can arrive at other 
 propositions also containing knowledge. 
 — 31' Cosh, ' Intuitions of the Mind^ p. 
 
 V. INNATE IDEAS. (See Intuitions.) 
 What is meant by Innate Ideas. 
 
 General Statement. 
 
 Innate ideas are such as are inborn and 
 belong to the mind fi-om its birth, as the 
 idea of God or of immortality. Cicero, in 
 various passages of his treatise De Natura 
 Deorum, speaks of the idea of God and of 
 immortality as being inserted, or engraven, 
 or inborn in the mind. In like manner, 
 Origen (Adv. Celsum, i. 4) has said, 
 " That men would not be guilty, if they did 
 not carry in their mind common notions 
 of morality, innate and written in divine 
 letters." — Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 
 259- 
 
 There are three senses in which an idea 
 may be supposed to be innate : (i) one, if 
 it be something originally superadded to 
 our mental constitution, either as an idea 
 in the first instance fully developed, or as 
 one undeveloped but having the power of 
 self- development ; (2) another, if the idea 
 is a subjective condition of any other ideas, 
 which we receive independently of the pre- 
 vious acquisition of this idea, and is thus 
 proved to be in some way embodied in, or 
 interwoven with the powers by which the 
 mind I'eceives those ideas ; (3) a third, if, 
 without being a subjective condition of 
 other ideas, there be any faculty or facul- 
 ties of the mind, the exercise of which would 
 sufiice, independently of any knowledge 
 acquired from without, spontaneously to 
 produce the idea. In the fii^st case, the idea 
 is given us at our first creation, without its 
 bearing any special relation to our mental 
 faculties ; in the second case, it is given us 
 as a form, either of thought generally or 
 of some particular species of thought, and 
 is therefore embodied in mental powers, by 
 which we are enabled to receive the thought; 
 in the third case, it is, as in the second, 
 interwoven in the original constitution of 
 some mental power or powers ; not, how- 
 ever, as in the preceding case, simply as a 
 pre-requisite to their exercise, but by their 
 being so formed as by exercise spontane- 
 
INNATE IDEAS. 
 
 103 
 
 ously to produce the idea. — Alliot, ' Psy- 
 clwloyy and Theology,^ p. 93. 
 
 Doctrine of Descartes. 
 
 I have never either thought or said that 
 the mind has any need of innate ideas 
 \idces natureUes\ which are anything dis- 
 tinct from its faculty of thinking. But it is 
 true that, observing that there are certain 
 thoughts which arise neither from external 
 objects nor from tlie determination of my 
 will, but only from my faculty of think- 
 ing ; in order to mark the difference be- 
 tween the ideas or the notions which are 
 the forms of these thoughts, and to dis- 
 tmguish them from the others, which may 
 be called extraneous or voluntary, I have 
 called them innate. But I have used this 
 term in the same sense as when we say 
 that generosity is innate in certain fami- 
 lies ; or that certain maladies, such as 
 gout or gravel, are innate in others ; not 
 that children born in these families are 
 troubled with such diseases in their mother's 
 womb, but because they are born with the 
 disposition or the faculty of contracting 
 them. — '(Euvres' (ed. Cousin), x, 71. 
 
 Descartes, the founder of modern philo- 
 sophy, laid down that there are in the mind 
 certain faculties or capacities for forming 
 thoughts which are born with a man. These 
 are not ideas, but powers to form ideas. 
 But Descartes explains that he does not 
 mean actual but potential ideas, latent 
 capacities for having ideas, which we cer- 
 tainly have. They are ' foi-ms of thought,' 
 which require elements dei'ived from sen- 
 sation before they become actual ideas. — 
 Eyland, ^Handbook of Psychology,' p. 97, 
 
 Doctrine of Leibnitz. 
 
 I do not maintain that Innate Ideas are 
 inscribed in the mind in such wise that one 
 can read them there, as it were, ad aper- 
 turam libri, on first opening the book, just 
 as the edict of the prretor could be read 
 upon his alhuvi, without pains and without 
 research; but only that one can discover 
 them there by dint of attention, occasions 
 
 for which are furnished by the senses. I 
 have compared the mind rather to a block 
 of marble, which has veins marked out in 
 it, than to a block which is homogeneous 
 and pure throughout, corresponding to the 
 tabula rasa of Locke and his followers. In 
 the latter case, the truths would be in us 
 only as a statue of Hercules is in any block 
 which is large enough to contain it, the 
 marble being indifferent to receive this 
 shape or any other. But if there were 
 veins in the stone, which gave the outline 
 of this statue rather than of any other 
 figure, then it might be said that Hercules 
 was in some sense innate in the marble, 
 though the chisel were necessary to find 
 him there by cutting off the superfluities. 
 Hence to the well-known adage of Aris- 
 totle, Nihil est in iiitellectu quod nan fvit 
 prius in sensu, I have added this qualifica- 
 tion, — nisi intellectus ipse. — Leibnitz. 
 
 The ideas of being, substance, identity, 
 the true, the good, are innate in the mind, 
 for the reason that the mind itself is in- 
 nate in itself, and in itself embraces all 
 these ideas. — Leibnitz. 
 
 Doctrine of Hume. 
 
 The word idea seems to be commonly 
 taken in a very loose sense by Locke and 
 others, as standing for any of our percep- 
 tions, our sensations, and passions, as well 
 as thoughts. But understanding by innate 
 what is original or copied from no prece- 
 dent perception, then may we assert that 
 all our impressions are innate, and our 
 ideas not innate. — 'Essay concerning Human 
 Understanding,' sec. ii., note. 
 
 Recent Statements. 
 
 We are prepared to defend the following 
 propositions in regard to innate idea-s, or 
 constitutional princijiles of the mind : — 
 First, — Negatively, that there are no innate 
 ideas in the mind — (i) as images or men- 
 tal representations ; nor (2) as alistract or 
 general notions; nor (3) as principles of 
 thought, belief, or action before the mind 
 
[04 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 as principles. But, second, — Positively, 
 (i) that there are constitutional principles 
 operating in the mind, though not before 
 the consciousness as principles ; (2) that 
 these come forth into consciousness as 
 individual (not general) cognitions or 
 judgments; and (3) that these individual 
 exercises, when carefully inducted, but 
 only when so, give us primitive or philo- 
 sophic truths. — M'Cosh, ' Metliod of Divine 
 Government,^ p. 508. 
 
 'Though the existence of God may be 
 proved from reason and from lights of the 
 natural order, it is certain that the know- 
 ledge of God's existence anticipated all such 
 reasoning. The theism of the world was 
 not a discovery. Mankind possessed it by 
 primeval revelation, were penetrated and 
 pervaded by it, before any one doubted of 
 it ; and reasoning did not precede, but 
 followed the doubt. Theists came before 
 philosophers, and Theism before Atheism, 
 or even a doubt about the existence of 
 God.' 
 
 This passage, as it seems to me, throws 
 light on the manner in which a priori 
 knowledge, or Innate Ideas, exist in the 
 mind, before they are developed by expe- 
 rience or distinctly recognised and expli- 
 cated by conscious exertion of the intellect. 
 Certainly we have reason to believe that 
 the ideas of a Divinity, of space, of time, 
 of efficient causation, of svibstance, of right 
 and wrong, and some others, are truly a 
 priori, or in some way innate ; that is, if 
 not absolutely born with us, they are native 
 to the mind, being inwrought into its in- 
 most structure, and necessary in order to 
 form the very experience which appears 
 to develop them. — Boioen, ' Modern Philo- 
 sophy,' p. 42. 
 
 By innate knowledge is meant that which 
 is due to our constitution as sentient, 
 rational, and moral beings. It is opposed 
 to knowledge founded on experience; to 
 that obtained by ah extra instruction ; and 
 to that acquired by a process of research 
 and reasoning. — Hodge, ' Syst. Theol.,' i. 
 19L 
 
 The Controversy as to the Existence of 
 Innate Ideas, 
 
 Locke s arguvient against them. 
 
 It is an established opinion amongst some 
 men that there are in the understanding 
 certain innate principles ; some primary 
 notions, characters, as it were, stamped 
 upon the mind of man, which the soul 
 receives in its very first being, and brings 
 into the world with it. 
 
 But this supposition is false. For ( i ) this 
 hypothesis of Innate Ideas is not required ; 
 men, barely by the use of their natural 
 faculties, may attain to all the knowledge 
 they have, without the help of any innate 
 impressions, and may arrive at certainty 
 Avithout any such original notions or prin- 
 ciples. (2) Universal Consent, which is 
 the great argument, proves nothing innate. 
 If there were certain truths wherein all 
 mankind agreed, this would not prove them 
 innate if the universal agreement could be 
 explained in any other way. But these so- 
 called innate propositions do not receive 
 universal assent; since (3) such ideas are 
 not perceived by children, but require rea- 
 son to discover them. To imprint anything 
 upon the mind, without the mind's per- 
 ceiving it, seems hardly intelligible. (4) 
 We are not conscious of them, and there- 
 fore they do not exist. — '■Human Under- 
 standing,' II. ii. (condensed). 
 
 The most eflfective perhaps of Locke's 
 arguments against this doctrine is his chal- 
 lenge to the advocates of Innate Principles 
 to produce themj and show what and how 
 many they are. Did men find such innate 
 propositions stamped on their minds, no- 
 thing could be more easy than this. ' There 
 could be no more doubt,' says Locte, ' about 
 their number than there is about the num- 
 ber of our fingers. 'Tis enough to make 
 one suspect that the supposition of such 
 innate principles is but an opinion taken 
 up at random ; since those who talk so 
 confidently of them are so sparing to tell 
 us which they are.' — Fowler, ^ Locke,' p. 
 130. 
 
INNATE IDEAS. 
 
 105 
 
 The question at issue. 
 
 The real question at issue is, whether 
 the mind is a tabula rasa, a perfectly blank 
 surface on to which sensations are pro- 
 jected ; or whether it has certain definite, 
 inherited methods of reacting when impres- 
 sions are felt. — Rijland, '^ Handbook of Psy- 
 chology,^ p. 98. 
 
 Setting aside, as irrelevant, those argu- 
 ments which are little better than quibbles 
 on the word innate, such as Locke's appeal 
 to the consciousness of new-born children, 
 the real point to be determined is this : — 
 Are there any modes of human conscious- 
 ness which are derived, not from the acci- 
 dental experience of the individual man, 
 but from the essential constitution of the 
 human mind in general, and which thus 
 naturally and necessarily grow up in all 
 men, whatever may be the varieties of 
 their several experiences 1 — Marisel, ' Meta- 
 physics,' p. 272. 
 
 The solution as offered by the Evolution 
 Theory. 
 
 The evolutionist teaches us that these 
 instinctive intellectual forms represent vast 
 numbers of ancestral experiences, namely, 
 such as have been uniform in their order 
 through long ages of racial development. 
 In this manner he is able to preserve for 
 these innate intuitions the superior dignity 
 previously accorded them, while he never- 
 theless assigns to them an origin in expe- 
 rience. — Sully, ' Sensation, ^-c.,' p. 20. 
 
 "V^Tiat are the ' Innate Ideas ' of the older 
 philosophers, or the Forms and Categories 
 of Kant, but certain tendencies of the mind 
 to group phenomena, the ' fleeting objects 
 of sense,' under certain relations, and regard 
 them under certain aspects ? And why 
 should these tendencies be accounted for in 
 
 any other way than that by which we are 
 accustomed to account for the tendency of 
 an animal or a plant belonging to any par- 
 ticular species, to exhibit, as it develops, 
 the physical characteristics of the species 
 to which it belongs 1 The existence of the 
 various mental tendencies and aptitudes, 
 so far as the individual is concerned, is, 
 in fact, to be explained by the principle of 
 hereditaiy transmission. But how have 
 these tendencies and aptitudes come to be 
 formed in the race ? The most scientific 
 answer is that which, following the analogy 
 of the theory now so widely admitted with 
 respect to the physical structvire of animals 
 and plants, assigns their formation to the 
 continuous operation, through a long series 
 of ages, of causes acting uniformly in the 
 same direction — in one word, of Evolution. 
 — Folder, ' Locke,' p. 145. 
 
 The general doctrine of evolution recon- 
 ciles the experience - hypothesis and the 
 intuition-hypothesis, each of which is par- 
 tially true, neither of which is tenable by 
 itself. In the nervous system certain pre- 
 established relations, answering to relations 
 in the environment, absolutely constant, 
 absolutely universal, exist through trans- 
 mission. In this sense there are ' forms of 
 intuition,' that is, elements of thought in- 
 finitely repeated until they have become 
 automatic, and impossible to get rid of. 
 These relations are potentially pi^esent be- 
 fore birth in the shape of definite nervous 
 connections, antecedent to and independent 
 of individual experiences, but not inde- 
 pendent of all experiences, having been 
 determined by the experiences of preceding 
 organisms. The human brain is an organised 
 register of infinitely numerous experiences 
 received during evolution, and successively 
 bequeathed. — Spencer, ' Principles of Psy- 
 cholugy,' i. 467-470 (summarised). 
 
io6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 VI. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE OF THE OUTER WORLD, OR PERCEPTION. 
 
 I. PERCEPTION. 
 
 Perception Described. 
 
 Perception is that act of consciousness 
 whereby we apprehend external objects. 
 
 In its %oider sense perception is nearly 
 equivalent to Intviition or Presentation. 
 The faculty of perception is that by which 
 ideas first enter the mind, and it has two 
 branches, External Perception and Internal 
 Perception — the former again including the 
 five senses. In a narrower sense perception 
 is opposed to sensation, and is limited to 
 the objective (as sensation is to the subjec- 
 tive) characteristics of the products of the 
 faculty of perception. In this sense it 
 seems to be exclusively applied to external 
 perception, and what Hamilton speaks of 
 as the various theories of perception are in 
 fact theories of external perception only. — 
 Monde, 'Sir W. Hamilton,' p. 187. 
 
 Perception is that act of consciousness 
 whereby we apprehend in our body, («.) 
 Certain special affections, whereof as an ani- 
 mated organism it is contingently suscep- 
 tible; and ib.) Those general relations of 
 extension under which as a material organ- 
 ism it necessarily exists. Of these Percep- 
 tions, the former is Sensation proper, the 
 latter is Perception proper. — Hamilton, 
 '■ Reid's WorTxs,^ p. 876. 
 
 Perception is limited to the apprehension 
 of sense alone. This limitation was first 
 formally imposed by Reid, and thereafter 
 by Kant. A still more restricted meaning, 
 through the authority of Reid, is perception 
 in contrast to sensation. He defines per- 
 ception simply as that act of consciousness 
 whereby we apprehend in our body. — 
 Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil., ^ p. 374. 
 
 Perception, or properly perceptivity, is 
 the faculty by which we perceive external 
 
 objects. A perception is a taking notice of 
 anything through the senses. That which 
 is perceived is called the percept, object, or 
 thing perceived. As the perceptive process 
 appears before the consciousness, it may be 
 described in such phrases as these — I see a 
 mountain; I hear a cataract; I smell a 
 rose; I perceive a man. This process is 
 really simple. — Murphy, ' Human Mind,^ 
 p. 44. 
 
 All perception or knowledge implies 
 mind. To perceive is an act of mind; 
 whatever we may suppose the thing per- 
 ceived to be, we cannot divorce it from the 
 percipient mind. To perceive a tree is a 
 mental act ; the tree is known as perceived, 
 and not in any other way. — Bain, 'Mental 
 Science,^ p. 197. 
 
 Perception is based on Sensation, from 
 which, however, it must be carefully 
 distinguished. 
 
 Sensation the basis of Perception. 
 
 Every Perception proper has a Sensation 
 proper as its condition. For we are only 
 aware of the existence of our organism, in 
 being sentient of it, as thus or thus affected. 
 — Hamilton's ' Reid,' p. 880. 
 
 Sensation and Perception distinguished. 
 
 Perception is only a special kind of 
 knowledge, and sensation only a special 
 kind of feeling. Perception proper is the 
 consciousness, through the senses, of the 
 qualities of an object known as different 
 from Self; Sensation proper is the con- 
 sciousness of the subjective affection of 
 pleasure or pain, which accompanies that 
 act of knowledge. Perception is thus the 
 objective element in the complex state — 
 the element of cognition ; Sensation is the 
 subjective element, — the element of feeling. 
 — Hamilton, 'Metaphysics,' ii. 98. 
 
PERCEPTION. 
 
 107 
 
 Sensation proper is the consciousness of 
 certain affections of our body as an ani- 
 mated organism. Perception proper is 
 the consciousness of the existence of our 
 body as a material organism, and therefore 
 as extended. — Mansel, * Metaphysics,' p. 68. 
 
 It is necessary to make a clear distinc- 
 tion between the simple Sensation and the 
 highly complex state called Perception, 
 which commonly goes along with the 
 simple Sensation. When I have certain 
 visual sensations — say a yellowish colour 
 and a roimd shape — I immediately perceive 
 an orange. But the act of Perception 
 embodies a great deal more than those 
 two Sensations : a number of ideas or 
 remembered Sensations, such as those of a 
 peculiar odour and taste, of a certain degree 
 of hardness and of weight, are called up ; 
 and I attribute these also to the object 
 which I infer to exist before me at a cer- 
 tain distance, in a certain direction, and 
 so on. It would have been quite possible 
 for me to have those two Sensations of 
 colour and form, and yet make a wrong 
 inference. Suppose a waxen orange had 
 been put on a plate to deceive me ; or that 
 owing to some disease of the optic nerves, 
 the feelings had been called up without any 
 external cause at all. In either case my 
 classification or inference would have been 
 wrong. — Ryland, '■Handbook, d'c.,' pp. 41, 
 42. 
 
 Tlie law of their relation. 
 
 The law is simple and univei'sal, and 
 once enounced, its proof is found in every 
 mental manifestation. It is this : — Per- 
 ception and Sensation, though always co- 
 existent, are always in the inverse ratio of 
 each other. As a sense has more of the one 
 element it has less of the other. Thus in 
 Sight, there is presented to us, at the same 
 instant, a greater number and a greater 
 variety of objects and qualities, than any 
 other of the senses. In this sense, there- 
 fore, perception, the objective element, is 
 at its maximum. But sensation, the sub- 
 jective element, is here at its minimvim ; 
 for, in the eye, we experience less organic 
 
 pleasure or pain from the impressions of 
 its appropriate objects (colours), than we 
 do in any other sense. On the other hand, 
 in Taste and Smell, the degree of sensation, 
 that Ls, of pleasure or pain, is great in 
 proportion as the perception, that is, the 
 information they afford, is small. — Hamil- 
 ton, ^Metaphysics,'' il 99-101. 
 
 Spencer's criticism of the law. 
 
 It would seem, not that Sensation and 
 Perception vary inversely, but that they 
 exclude each other with degrees of strin- 
 gency which vary inversely. AVhen the 
 sensations (considered simply as physical 
 changes in the organism) are weak, the ob- 
 jective phenomenon signified by them is 
 alone contemplated. The sensations, if not 
 absolutely exclvided from consciousness, pass 
 through it so rapidly as not to form appre- 
 ciable elements in it; and cannot be detained 
 in it, or arrested for inspection, without a 
 decided effort. When the sensations are ren- 
 dered somewhat more intense, the percep- 
 tion continues equally vivid — still remains 
 the sole occupant of consciousness ; but it 
 requires less effort than before to make 
 them the subjects of thought. If the in- 
 tensity of the sensations is gi-adually in- 
 creased, a point is presently reached at 
 which consciovisness is as likely to be occu- 
 pied by them as by the external thing they 
 imply, — a point at which either can be 
 thought of with equal facility, while each 
 tends in the greatest degree to draw atten- 
 tion from the other. When further in- 
 tensified, the sensations begin to occupy 
 consciousness to the exclusion of the per- 
 ception : which, however, can still be 
 brought into consciousness by a slight 
 effort. But, finally, if the sensations rise 
 to extreme intensity, consciousness becomes 
 so absorbed in them that only by great 
 effort, if at all, can the thing causing them 
 be thought about. — ' Principles of Psi/cho- 
 lorjy; ii. pp. 248, 249. 
 
 Perception and Conception contrasted. 
 In the act of Conception there are present 
 only ideas, or remembered impressions; 
 
io8 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 while in Perception there are present, in 
 addition to remembered impressions, at 
 least one or two actual impressions, that is, 
 Sensations. — Byland, ' Handhoo'k, Sfc.,' p. 
 8i. 
 
 Perceptions embody inferences. 
 
 All perceptions embody inferences. 
 ' Every complete act of perception implies 
 an expressed or unexpressed assertory judg- 
 ment ' (Spencer). In svich a case as the 
 perception that a building before us is a 
 cathedral, we have an immense number of 
 inferences, some implicit, some exphcit, but 
 all involving remembered sensations. The 
 position, size, shape, material, and hollow- 
 ness of the edifice, are all inferences, and 
 from these inferences we again infer its 
 ecclesiastical uses, and so on. — Ryland, 
 ^Handbook, ^r.,' p. 79. 
 
 Tlie Doctrine of Percejption is a cardinal 
 point in philosophy. 
 
 Perception, as matter of psychological 
 consideration, is of the very highest im- 
 portance in philosophy, as the doctrine in 
 regard to the object and operation of this 
 faculty affords the immediate data for de- 
 termining the great question touching the 
 existence or non-existence of an external 
 world; and there is hardly a pi'oblem of 
 any moment in the whole compass of philo- 
 sophy of which it does not mediately afi'ect 
 the solution. The doctrineof philosophymay 
 thus be viewed as a cardinal point of philo- 
 sophy. — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,'' ii. 43. 
 
 Relation of Subject and Object — Professor 
 Gi^een's Idealism. 
 
 All knowing and all that is known, all 
 intelligence and all intelligible reality, in- 
 differently consist in a relation between 
 subject and object. The generic element 
 in the true idealist's definition of the know- 
 able universe is that it is such a relation. 
 Neither of the two correlata in his view 
 has any reality apart from the other. 
 Every determination of the one implies a 
 corresponding determination of the other. 
 The object, for instance, may be known, 
 under one of the manifold I'elations which 
 
 it involves, as matter, but it is only so 
 known in virtue of what may indifi'erently 
 be called a constructive act on the part of 
 the subject, or a manifestation of itself on 
 the part of the object. The subject in vir- 
 tue of the act, the object in virtue of the 
 manifestation, are alike, and in strict cor- 
 relativity, so far determined. Of what 
 would other\vise be unknown it can now 
 be said either that it appears as matter, or 
 that it is that to which matter appears. 
 Neither is the matter anything without 
 the appearance, nor is that to which it 
 appears anything without the appearance to 
 it. The reahty of matter, then, as of any- 
 thing else that is known, is just as little 
 merely objective as merely subjective ; 
 while the reality of ' mind,' if by that is 
 meant the * connected phenomena of con- 
 scioiis life,' is not a whit more subjective than 
 objective. — Gi'een, ^Philosophical Works,^ 
 i. 387. 
 
 II. ILLUSION AND HALLUCINATION. 
 
 Illusion Defined. 
 
 An illusion, as the name implies, is a 
 state of consciousness, in which, though 
 apparently informed, one is not really so, 
 but is rather played ivith, made sport of, 
 befooled. — Murray, ' Hajidbook of Psy- 
 chology,' p. 241. 
 
 Sources of Illusion. 
 
 Illusory cognitions may be distinguished 
 according to the sources from which they 
 arise. These are three. Sometimes it is 
 the senses that are at fault in creating the 
 illusory impression. At other times the 
 mistake originates in an intellectual process 
 erroneously interpreting a normal impres- 
 sion of sense : while in a third class of 
 cases the error lies wholly in an irregular 
 intellectual process. To the first of these 
 mental states, the name hallucination is 
 often given by recent psychologists; the 
 third comprehends the fallacies commonly 
 described in logical text-books; while 
 for the second the term illusion is speci- 
 fically reserved. This distinction is one 
 
ILLUSION AND HALLUCINATION. 
 
 109 
 
 which cannot always be rigidly carried 
 out. The halhicinations, arising from the 
 abnormal activities of sense, merge imper- 
 ceptibly at times into the illusions which 
 imply a misinterpretation of sensuous im- 
 pressions ; and these again are often indis- 
 tinguishable from fallacious processes of 
 reasoning. — Murray, ^Handbook of Psy- 
 chology,' p. 242. 
 
 Illusion and Hallucination distinguished. 
 
 That there are differences in the origin 
 and source of illusion is a fact which has 
 been fully recognised by those writers who 
 have made a special study of sense-illusions. 
 By these the term illusion is commonly 
 employed in a narrow, technical sense, and 
 opposed to hallucination. An illusion, it is 
 said, must always have its stai'ting-point in 
 some actual impression, whereas an hallu- 
 cination has no such basis. Thus it is an 
 illusion when a man, under the action of 
 terror, takes a stump of a tree, whitened 
 by the moon's rays, for a ghost. It is an 
 hallucination when an imaginative person 
 so vividly pictures to himself the form of 
 some absent friend that, for the moment, 
 he fancies himself actually beholding him. 
 Illusion is thus a partial displacement of 
 external fact by a fiction of the imagina- 
 tion, while hallucination is a total dis- 
 placement. 
 
 It is to be observed, however, that the 
 line of separation between illusion and 
 hallucination, as thus defined, is a very 
 narrow one. In by far the largest number 
 of hallucinations it is impossible to prove 
 that there is no modicum of external agency 
 co-operating in the production of the effect. 
 It is presumable, indeed, that many, if not 
 all, hallucinations have such a basis of fact. 
 — Sully, '■Illusions,'' pp. 11, 12. 
 
 The Progress of Illusion towards Hallu- 
 cination. 
 In its lowest stages illusion closely 
 counterfeits correct perception in the 
 balance of the direct factor, sensation, and 
 the indirect factor, mental reproduction or 
 imagination. The degree of illusion in- 
 
 creases in proportion as the imaginative 
 element gains in force relatively to the 
 present impression, till in the wild illusions 
 of the insane, the amount of actual impres- 
 sion becomes evanescent. When this point 
 is reached, the act of imagination shows 
 itself as a purely creative process, oi- an 
 hallucination. — Sully, ^ Illusions,'' ^. 120. 
 
 Two Orders of Hallucination. 
 
 Hallucination, by which I mean the 
 projection of a mental image outwards 
 when there is no external agency answer- 
 ing to it, assumes one of two fairly distinct 
 forms ; it may present itself either as a 
 semblance of an external impression with 
 the minimum amount of interpretation, or 
 as a counterfeit of a completely developed 
 percept. Thus, a visual hallucination may 
 assume the aspect of a sensation of light 
 or colour, which we vaguely refer to a cer- 
 tain region of the external world, or of a 
 vision of some recognisable object. All of 
 us frequently have incomplete visual and 
 auditory hallucinations of the first order, 
 whereas the complete hallucinations of the 
 second order are compai-atively rare. The 
 first I shall call rudimentary, the second de- 
 veloped hallucinations. — Sully, ^Illusions,' 
 p. 113. 
 
 Examples of Illusion of the Senses. 
 
 A stick is plunged half-way into water ; 
 it seems bent, though it is straight. But 
 between the presence of the stick and my 
 perception there are several intermediaries, 
 the first of which is a pencil of luminous 
 rays. In the most common case, that is, 
 when the stick is wholly in the air or 
 wholly in the water, if the rays from one 
 half are inflected with reference to the 
 rays from the other half, the stick is actu- 
 ally curved ; but this is only the most 
 common case. When by exception the 
 straight stick is plunged into two unequally 
 refracting media, although it is straight, 
 the rays from one half will be inflected 
 with reference to the rays from the other 
 half, and I shall have the same perception 
 as if the stick were bent. 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 . . . Take the case of a person who has 
 lost a leg and complains of tinglings in the 
 heel. He actually experiences tinglings ; 
 but not in the heel he no longer possesses, 
 only the feeling seems to be there. . . . 
 Usually, when the sensation arises it is 
 preceded by peripheral disturbance, but 
 usually only. When by exception the 
 central extremity existing after amputation 
 enters into activity, the sensation will arise 
 though the heel is destroyed, and the pa- 
 tient will form the same conclusion as when 
 he still had his leg. — Taine, ' On Intelli- 
 gence,'' pp. 219, 220. 
 
 Example of Hallucination. 
 
 A man sees, with eyes closed or open, 
 the perfectly distinct head of a corpse three 
 
 paces in front of him, though no such head 
 is there. This means, just as in the previ- 
 ous instances, that between the actual pres- 
 ence of a corpse's head and the aflB.rmative 
 perception are a group of intermediaries, 
 the last of which is a particular visual sen- 
 sation of the nervous centres. Usually, 
 this sensation has as its antecedents a 
 certain molecular motion of the optic 
 nerves, a certain infringement of luminous 
 rays ; lastly, the presence of the real head 
 of a corpse. But it is usually only that 
 these three antecedents precede the sensa- 
 tion. If the sensation is produced in their 
 absence, the affirmative perception will arise 
 in their absence, and the man will see a 
 corpse's head which is not actually there. 
 — Taine, ' On Intelligence,' p. 220. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THEORIES OF KNOWLEDGE OF THE OUTER WORLD. 
 
 The Principal Point on which Opinions 
 Differ. 
 The principal point, in regard to which 
 opinions vary, may be stated in a few 
 words : — Is our perception or our conscious- 
 ness of external objects mediate or imme- 
 diate? Philosophers may be divided into 
 two main classes — those who do, and those 
 who do not, hold in its integrity the fact 
 that in external perception Mind and Mat- 
 ter are both given ; who do, or do not, hold 
 that the Existence of Matter is actually 
 given us by Intuition, and has not to be 
 inferred. — Hamilton, ^ Meta;pUydcs,' ii. 29, 
 i. 293 (condensed). 
 
 Two Points of View. 
 
 There are two distinct points of view 
 from which the student of the process of 
 perception may proceed in the examination 
 of his knowledge. It is difficult to find any 
 single unambiguous word which indicates 
 these points of view respectively, and there- 
 
 fore, without in the meantime naming 
 them, we shall proceed to describe them at 
 length. 
 
 (i.) Fi-om the first standpoint, the psy- 
 chologist regards the objects of the world 
 of sense as having an existence independent 1 
 of the mind ; and the phenomena of the 
 mind as having an existence independent 
 of material objects. The trees, and stones, 
 and other objects which we know, and as 
 we know them, exist away outside of us, 
 and the mind which knows exists some- 
 where within the body; and these two 
 things, the external material bodies and 
 the mind, are totally different in nature 
 and independent in existence. And the 
 problem of psychology is to determine how 
 it is that the mind knows the objects of 
 the material world, and what amount of 
 confidence is to be placed in this know- 
 ledge. This is what we might call the 
 standpoint of practical common sense. The 
 practical man, with his sensitive organism 
 completely matured and educated, sees ob- 
 
CLASSIFICATION OF THEORIES. 
 
 jects in the world around him apparently 
 existing independently of his mind ; and 
 when he becomes a philosopher his great 
 question naturally is how these objects, 
 which are extended, figui-ed, and distant, 
 can be perceived by his mind, which is an 
 unextended spiritual substance. Thus there 
 is assumed the existence of two worlds, 
 differing in nature and independent in 
 existence, and then the question is asked, 
 how does the one come to know the other, 
 how does mind know matter? For the 
 sake of distinctness, and for want of a 
 better name, we may call this the stand- 
 point of practical dualism. 
 
 (2.) Those who adopt the second point of 
 view assume nothing regarding the exist- 
 ence or nature of an external world, but 
 analyse all their knowledge into its original 
 elements, as found in consciousness; and, 
 beginning with the simplest facts given in 
 consciousness, seek to discover the manner 
 in which the sphere of our knowledge and 
 belief is gradually filled up. As a pre- 
 liminary to the adoption of this method, it 
 is necessary that nearly all our naturally 
 
 acquired beliefs regarding the existence and 
 nature of objects of sense should, for the 
 time, be given up. The object of the psy- 
 chologist is to determine the origin and 
 process of the acquisition of knowledge, 
 and, therefore, it is not legitimate to as- 
 sume anything regarding the existence and 
 nature of the objects of knowledge until it 
 is seen luno they have become ohjects. From 
 this, which we may call the philosophical 
 point of view, the student works his way 
 from within outwards, beginning with those 
 facts of consciousness, which, as far as he 
 can discover, are elementary, endeavouring 
 to discover what they reveal of the non-ego, 
 and how they are combined or modified, 
 and in no case assuming anything which 
 they do not give. — Jardinc, ^ rsi/cliolojy,' 
 pp. 94, 96. 
 
 I. CLASSIFICATION OF THEORIES. 
 
 Hamilton's Classificatiou of Theories. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton gives the following 
 classification of theories of Perception 
 {Metaphysics, i. 293-299) : — 
 
 A. Natural Dualists, or Natural Realists. 
 
 f a. Hypothetical Dualists. 
 I. Realists. < 
 
 I h. Monists. 
 
 B. 
 
 II. Nihilists. 
 
 i. Idealists. 
 ii. Materialists. 
 
 iii. Those who hold absolute 
 identity of mind and mat- 
 ter. 
 
 Natural Realists hold that the Exist- 
 ence of Matter is actually given us by In- 
 tuitions, and has not to be inferred. 
 
 Realists affirm that Matter or Mind, 
 one or both, exists. They are divided into 
 (i) Dualists, who affirm that Mind and 
 Matter are ultimately distinct and inde- 
 pendent, but that the existence of Matter 
 is known to us only by Inference or Hypo- 
 thesis; (2) Monists, who reject the tes- 
 timony of consciousness to the ultimate 
 duality of Subject and Object in Percep- 
 tion, but arrive at the assertion of their 
 unity in difi'erent ways. 
 
 Like all other schemes of this sort, this 
 
 classification sacrifices accuracy to clear- 
 ness and symmetry. Philosophic thought 
 does not grow up in straight lines. At 
 the same time, it will serve as a valuable 
 preliminary division, to help the beginner 
 in understanding the somewhat confusing 
 mutual relations of the different Theories 
 of Perception. — Ryland, '• Ilandbooli, (^c.,' 
 pp. 82-84. 
 
 Professor Masson's Classification. 
 
 The mere distribution of philosophers 
 into the two great orders of Realists and 
 Idealists does not answer all the liLstori- 
 cal requirements. Each order has been 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 subdivided, still on cosmological grounds, 
 into two sections. Among Realists, the 
 Materialists, or Materialistic Realists, have 
 been distinguished strongly from the Dual- 
 ist ic Realists, called also Natural Realists. 
 Similarly, among Idealists there has been 
 a large group of what may be called Co7i- 
 structive Idealists, distinguishable from the 
 Pure Idealists. But this is not all. Not 
 only by this subdivision of each of the 
 orders, still on cosmological grounds, into 
 two sects, are we provided with the four 
 sects of Materialists, Natural Realists, Con- 
 structive Idealists, and Pure Idealists ; but 
 (by bringing considerations into the classi- 
 fication which, I think, are not exclusively 
 cosmological) these four sects have been 
 flanked by two extreme sects, called respec- 
 tively Nihilists and Pantheists. The doc- 
 trine of these last is called also, in recent 
 philosophical language, the doctrine of Ab- 
 solute Identity. — Masson, ^Recent British 
 Philos.,' pp. 43, 44. 
 
 All possible forms of the representative 
 hypothesis are reduced to three, and these 
 have all been actually maintained. 
 
 1. The representative object not a modi- 
 fication of mind. 
 
 2. The representative object a modifica- 
 tion of mind, dependent for its apprehen- 
 sion, but not for its existence, on the act 
 of consciousness. 
 
 3. The representative object a modifica- 
 tion of mind, non-existent out of conscious- 
 ness ; — the idea and its perception only 
 different relations of an act (state) really 
 identical. — Hamilton, 'Discussions,' p. 56. 
 
 n. REALISM OR DUALISM. 
 Statement of the Theory. 
 
 As generally held. 
 
 Realism, as opposed to idealism, is the 
 doctrine that in perception there is an 
 immediate or intuitive cognition of the 
 external object, while according to Idealism 
 our knowledge of an external world is 
 mediate and representative, i.e., by means 
 of ideas. — Fleming, ' Vocah. of PhiV p. 422. 
 
 1. Sir W. Hamilton's Natural Realism. 
 We may lay it down as an undisputed 
 
 truth that consciousness gives, as an ulti- 
 mate fact, a primitive duality; — a knowledge 
 of the ego in relation and contrast to the 
 non-ego, and a knowledge of the non-ego 
 in relation and contrast to the ego. The 
 ego and non-ego are thus given in an origi- 
 nal synthesis ; we are conscious of them in 
 an indivisible act of knowledge together 
 and at once, — but we are conscious of them 
 as in themselves, different and exclusive of 
 each other. Again, they are not only given 
 together, but in absolute co-equality. The 
 one does not precede, the other does not 
 follow. Realism accepts this fact as given 
 in, and by consciousness in all its integrity. 
 — Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' L 292. 
 
 Hamilton's doctrine asserts that we have 
 a direct and immediate consciousness of the 
 external world as really existing, and are 
 not left to infer its existence from the sen- 
 sations which it is supposed to produce, or 
 from the ideas which are supposed to re- 
 semble (or represent) it, or even from a 
 blind faith in its existence, which says ' I 
 believe,' but can give no reason for believ- 
 ing. I believe that it exists, says Hamil- 
 ton, because I know it, I feel it, I perceive 
 it, as existing. According to him we have 
 a direct intuitive perception of the quali- 
 ties, attributes, or phenomena of matter, 
 just as we have of the qualities, attributes, 
 or phenomena of mind, the substances in 
 both cases being equally unknown. (See 
 Relativity op Knowledge). — Monck, 'Sir 
 W. Hamilton,' pp. 23, 25. 
 
 2. Herbert Spencer's ' Transfigured Real- 
 ism.' 
 
 In a long and elaborate argument Mr. 
 Spencer defends Realism, but endeavours 
 to ' purify ' it ' from all that does not belong 
 to it.' The result is what he calls ' Trans- 
 figured Realism ' — ' Realism contenting itself 
 with aifirming that the object of cogni- 
 tion is an independent existence.' He says, 
 • The Realism we are committed to is one 
 which simply asserts objective existence as 
 separate from, and independent of, subjec- 
 
THE CARTESIAN DOCTRINE. 
 
 "3 
 
 tive existence. But it .atiinns neither that 
 any one mode of this objective existence is 
 in reality that which it seems, nor that the 
 connections among its modes are objectively 
 what they seem. Thus it stands widely 
 distinguished from Crude Realism ; and to 
 mark the distinction it may properly be 
 called Transfigured Realism. — ' Principles 
 of Psychology,' ii. 494. 
 
 3. ^Reasoned Peal ism' of George H. Lewes. 
 
 It is a doctrine which endeavours to rec- 
 tify the natural illusion of Reason when 
 Reason attempts to rectify the supposed 
 illusion of sense. I call it Realism, because 
 it affirms the reality of what is given in 
 Feeling; and Reasoned Realism, because 
 it justifies that affirmation through an in- 
 vestigation of the grounds and processes of 
 Philosophy, when Philosophy explains the 
 facts given in Feeling. — ' Problems of Life 
 and Mind,' First Series, i. 177. 
 
 4. Intuitive Realism — 3PCosh. 
 
 "We know the object as existing or hav- 
 ing being. This is a necessary conviction, 
 attached to, or rather composing an essen- 
 tial part of, our concrete cognition of every 
 material object presented to us, be it of 
 our own frame or of things external to our 
 frame; whether this hard stone, or this 
 yielding water, or even this vapoury mist 
 or fleeting cloud. We look on each of the 
 objects thus presented to us, in our organ- 
 ism or beyond it, as having an existence, a 
 being, a reality. Every one understands 
 these phrases ; they cannot be made simpler 
 or more intelligible by an explanation. We 
 understand them because they express a 
 mental fact which everyone has experienced. 
 We may talk of what we contemplate in 
 sense-perception being nothing but an im- 
 pression, an appearance, an idea, but we 
 can never be made to give our spontaneous 
 assent to any such statements. However 
 ingenious the arguments which may be 
 adduced in favour of the objects of our 
 sense-perceptions being mere illusions, we 
 find after listening to them, and allowing 
 to them all the weight that is possible, that 
 
 we still look upon bodies as realities next 
 time they present themselves. The reasf)u 
 is, we know them to be realities by a native 
 cognition which can never be overcome. — 
 ' Intuit io7is of the Mind,' p. 108. 
 
 III. THE CARTESIAN DOCTRINE. 
 
 Descartes. 
 
 It cannot be doubted that every percep- 
 tion we have comes to us from some object 
 differeiit from our mind ; for it is not in 
 our power to cause ourselves to experience 
 one perception rather than another, the 
 perception being entirely dependent on the 
 object which affects our senses. It may, 
 indeed, be matter of inquiry whether that 
 object be God, or something different from 
 God ; but because we perceive, or rather, 
 stimulated by sense, clearly and distinctly 
 apprehend, cei-tain matter extended in 
 length, breadth, and thickness, the various 
 parts of which have different figures and 
 motions, and give rise to the sensations we 
 have of colours, smells, pains, &c., God 
 would, without question, deserve to be re- 
 garded as a deceiver if He directly and 
 of Himself presented to our mind the idea 
 of this extended matter, or merely caused 
 it to be presented to us by some object 
 which possessed neither extension, figure, 
 nor motion. For we clearly conceive this 
 matter as entirely distinct from God and 
 from ourselves or our mind ; and appear 
 even clearly to discern that the idea of it 
 is formed in us on occasion of objects ex- 
 isting out of our minds, to which it is in 
 every respect similar. But, since God can- 
 not deceive us, for this is repugnant to His 
 nature, as has been already remarked, we 
 must unhesitatingly conclude that there 
 exists a certain object, extended in length, 
 breadth, and thickness, and possessing all 
 those properties which we clearly appre- 
 hend to belong to what is extended. And 
 this extended substance is what we call 
 body or matter. — ^Principles,' part. ii. i., 
 quoted by R. Jardine, ^Elements of P»y- 
 chology,' pp. 100, loi. 
 
14 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Geulinx. — Doctrine of Occasional Causes. 
 
 It was Geulinx who first brought out, 
 in its proper form, the celebrated doctrine 
 of occasional causes, according to which 
 God Himself is the direct agent in all the 
 related movements of the soul and the body, 
 while the affections of the latter afford the 
 occasion u]3on which he produces the cor- 
 responding sensations in the former. — 
 Morell, 'Speculative Philosophy of Uurope,' 
 i. p. 178. 
 
 The external world cannot possibly act 
 directly upon us. For, even if the external 
 objects cause, in the act of vision, say, an 
 image in my eye, or an impression in my 
 brain, as if in so much wax, this impression 
 or this image is still something corporeal or 
 material merely ; it cannot enter into my 
 spirit, therefore, which is essentially dis- 
 parate from matter. There is nothing left 
 us, then, but to seek in God the means of 
 uniting the two sides. . , . Every opera- 
 tion that combines outer and inner, the 
 soul and the world, is neither an effect of 
 the sjiirit nor of the world, but simply an 
 immediate act of God. When I exercise 
 volition, consequently, it is not from my 
 will but from the will of God that the pro- 
 posed bodily motions follow. On occasion 
 of my will, God moves my body ; on occa- 
 sion of an affection of my body, God excites 
 an idea in my mind ; the one is but the 
 occasional cause of the other (and hence 
 the name, Occasiojialism, of this theory). — 
 Schivegler, ^ Hist, of Phil., ^ p. 165. 
 
 Malehranche. — We see all things in God. 
 
 God, the absolute substance, contains all 
 things in Himself, He sees all things in 
 Himself according to their true nature and 
 being. For the same reason in Him, too, 
 are the ideas of all things ; He is the entire 
 world as an intellectual or ideal world. It 
 is God, then, who is the means of mediat- 
 ing between the ego and the world. In 
 Him we see the ideas, inasmuch as we 
 ourselves are so completely contained in 
 Him, so accurately united to Him, that 
 we may call Him the place of spirits. Our 
 
 volition and our sensation in reference to 
 things proceed from Him ; it is He who 
 retains together the objective and the sub- 
 jective worlds, which, in themselves, are 
 separate and apart. — Schwegler, ' Hist, of 
 Phil.,' p. 167. 
 
 IV. IDEALISM. 
 
 Its General Principle. 
 
 Idealism denies the existence or the im- 
 mediate knowledge of the external world 
 or matter, and maintainsk that nothing ex- 
 ists, or is known, except minds. — -Monck, 
 ^ Sii- W. Hamilton,' p. 179 
 
 The idealist says. There is only one exist- 
 ence, the mind. Analyse the conception of 
 matter, and you will discover that it is only 
 a mental synthesis of qualities. Our know- 
 ledge is subjective. — Ribot, ' Contemporary 
 English Psychology,' p. 280. 
 
 Idealism blots out matter from existence, 
 and affirms that mind is the only reality. — 
 Calderwoocl, ' The Philosophy of the Infinite,' 
 P- 31- 
 
 Its Ruder and Finer Forms. 
 
 The ruder form of the doctrine holds that 
 ideas are entities different both from the 
 reality they represent and from the mind 
 contemplating their representation. The 
 finer form of the doctrine holds that all 
 that we are conscious of in perception (of 
 course also in imagination), is only a modi- 
 fication of the mind itself. — Hamilton, in 
 Reid's ' Works,' p. 130. 
 
 Forms of Idealism, Historically Con- 
 sidered. 
 
 Aiicient Idealism. 
 
 ' Thought and the object of thought are 
 one and the same ' — so runs the celebrated 
 line of the earliest of Greek Idealists — Par- 
 menides. The sentence appears sufficient 
 to stamp its author as the earliest of the 
 metaphysicians. He threw down into the 
 arena of controversy the first, the greatest, 
 the most lasting of the discoveries of meta- 
 physics. For assuredly there is no deeper 
 
IDEALISM. 
 
 "5 
 
 principle than this, that the truth of things 
 is not Matter, or Force, or Atoms, or INIole- 
 cules, but the thinking intelligence. There 
 is no rest in the vexed sea of speculation 
 till this truth be secured. When we know 
 that the deepest, ultimate ground of reality 
 to which we can attain is just our true self 
 of thought, then we gain not only peace but 
 freedom. — Courtney, 'Studies in rhilosuj:)hy,'' 
 
 J, English Subjective Idealism— BerMey. 
 The ideas imprinted on the senses by the 
 Author of nature are called real thim/s ; 
 and those excited in the imagination being 
 less regular', vivid, and constant, are more 
 properly termed ideas, or images of things, 
 which they copy and represent. But then 
 our sensations, be they never so vivid and 
 distinct, are nevertheless ideas, that is, they 
 exist in the mind, or are perceived by it, as 
 truly as the ideas of its own framing. The 
 ideas of sense are allowed to have more 
 i-eality in them, that is, to be more strong, 
 orderly, and coherent, than the creatures 
 of the mind ; but this is no argument that 
 they exist without the mind. They are also 
 less dependent on the spirit, or thinking 
 substance which perceives them, in that 
 they are excited by the will of another and 
 more powerful spirit ; yet still they are 
 ideas, and certainly no idea, whether faint 
 or strong, can exist otherwise than in a 
 mind perceiving it. — ' Princijjles of Human 
 Knowledge,'' Part I. 33. 
 
 Ideas imprinted on the senses are real 
 things, or do really exist ; this we do not 
 deny, but we deny they can subsist with- 
 out the minds which perceive them, or that 
 they are resemblances of any archetypes 
 existing without the mind ; since the very 
 being of a sensation or idea consists in 
 being perceived, and an idea can be like 
 nothing but an idea. Again, the things 
 perceived by sense may be termed external, 
 with regard to their origin — in that they 
 are not generated from within by the mind 
 itself, but imprinted by a Spirit distinct 
 from that which perceives them. Sensible 
 objects may likewise be said to be ' without 
 
 the mind ' in another sense, namely, when 
 they exist in some other mind ; thus, when 
 I shut my eyes, the things I saw may still 
 exist, but it must be in another mind. — 
 ' Principles of Human Knowledge,^ Part I. 
 90. 
 
 'When,' says Berkeley, 'we do every- 
 thing in our power to conceive the exist- 
 ence of external bodies, we are all the time 
 doing nothing but contemplating our own 
 ideas.' These objects and ideas are the 
 same thing, then ; nothing exists but what 
 is perceived.— i^iVvof, ' English Psychology,' 
 p. 279. 
 
 Before we deduce results from such 
 abstract ideas as cause, substance, matter, 
 we must ask what in reality do these mean, 
 — what is the actual content of conscious- 
 ness which corresponds to these words ? 
 Do not all these ideas, when held to re- 
 present something which exists absolutely 
 apart from all knowledge of it, involve a 
 contradiction 1 Are they not truly, when 
 so regarded, inconceivable, and mere arbi- 
 trary figments which cannot possibly be 
 realised in consciousness ? The essence of 
 Berkeley's answer to this question is that 
 the universe is inconceivable apart from 
 mind, — that existence, as such, denotes 
 conscious spirits and the objects of con- 
 sciousness. Matter and external things, 
 in so far as they are thought to have an 
 existence beyond the circle of conscious- 
 ness, are impossible, inconceivable, absurd. 
 — Adamson, ' E7icycloj)cedia Britannica,' iii. 
 591 (ed. ix) 
 
 Berkeley not only regarded the suppo- 
 sition that a material world really exists 
 as not strictly demonstrable, but as false. 
 There exist, says Berkeley, only spirits 
 and their functions (ideas and volitions). 
 We are immediately certain of the exist- 
 ence of our thoughts. We infer also that 
 bodies different from our ideas exist. But 
 this inference is deceptive ; it is not sup- 
 ported by conclusive evidence, and it is 
 refuted by the fact of the impossibility of 
 explaining the co-working of substances 
 completely heterogeneous. The esse of non- 
 
ii6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 thinking things ispercipi. — Ueherweg, ^ Hist, 
 of Fhil,' ii. 88. 
 
 Independent matter — the unconscious 
 substantial cause of our sensations, in the 
 problematical material world of Locke and 
 others— is melted down by Berkeley into 
 the very sensations themselves which it 
 was supposed to explain, whose existence, 
 of course, cannot be doubted, for their 
 reality consists simply in our being per- 
 cipient or conscious of them. Perishable 
 sensations are thus with Berkeley the 
 atoms or constituent elements of matter. 
 When we say that we see or touch a real 
 material thing, our only intelligible mean- 
 ing must be, he argues, that we are im- 
 mediately percipient or conscious of real 
 sensations, and not merely of imaginary 
 ones. Conceivable matter is composed of 
 sensations which depend on being per- 
 ceived, in contrast with the matter feigned 
 by philosophers to have an absolute and 
 yet rational existence, apart from being 
 perceived by any mind. We have the same 
 sort of evidence for it that we have for our 
 own existence. — Fraser, ' Selections from 
 Berkeley,'' p. xxii. 
 
 Arthur Collier. 
 
 Arthur Collier published in 17 13 his 
 Clavis Universalis; or, a New Inquiry 
 after Truth, being a Demonstration of 
 the Non-existence or Impossibility of an 
 External World. The following extract 
 is taken from the introduction to the 
 Clavis : — 
 
 ' In affirming that there is no external 
 world, I make no doubt or question of the 
 existence of bodies, or whether the bodies 
 which are seen exist or not. It is with 
 me a first principle that whatsoever is seen, 
 IS. To deny or doubt of this is arrant 
 scepticism, and at once unqualifies a man 
 for any part or office of a disputant or phi- 
 losopher; so that it will be remembered 
 from this time that my inquiry is not con- 
 cerning the existence, but altogether con- 
 cerning the ea;^ra-existence of certam things 
 or objects; or, in other words, what I 
 affirm and contend for is not that bodies 
 
 do not exist, or that the external world 
 does not exist, but that such and such 
 bodies, which are supposed to exist, do not 
 exist externally; or in universal terms, 
 that there is no such thing as an external 
 world.' 
 
 Criticism of Berkelefs Idealism. 
 
 To say that the only matter that is con- 
 ceivable consists of the transitory sensa- 
 tions (however real while they last) which 
 succeed one another in sentient minds, is 
 plainly no adequate or intelligible account 
 of the external world. Even granting that 
 a real or conscious knowledge of sensations 
 per se is possible, such matter is not exter- 
 nal ; it must be somehow externalised. If 
 the external world were resolved merely 
 into actual sensations, the existence of the 
 sensible things we see and touch would be 
 intermittent and fragmentary, not per- 
 manent and complete. If external matter 
 means only actual sensations, all visible 
 qualities of things must relapse into non- 
 entity when they are left in the dark; 
 and thus tangible ones, too, unless a per- 
 cipient is in contact with every part of 
 them. The external world could not have 
 existed millions of ages before men or 
 other sentient beings began to be conscious 
 of sensations, if this is what is meant by 
 its real existence. — Fraser, ' Selections from 
 Berkeley,^ xxiv. 
 
 Sensational Idealism. 
 
 It has lately become fashionable with 
 Idealists, instead of denying the existence 
 of an external world, to admit that in a 
 certain sense it exists, and then to give 
 an explanation which denies its exist- 
 ence in the only sense which the vulgar 
 attach to it. Thus we are told [by Stuart 
 Mill] that matter is admitted to exist in 
 the sense of a Permanent Possibility, or 
 Potentiality, of Sensations. This may 
 mean, either Permanent Possibility of 
 producing the sensations, or a Permanent 
 Possibility of feeling them. — Monck, ' Sir 
 W. Hamilton,' p. 16. 
 
IDEALISM. 
 
 17 
 
 J. S. Mill. 
 
 I see a piece of white paper on a table. 
 I go into another room, and though I have 
 ceased to see it, I am persuaded that the 
 paper is still there. I no longer have the 
 sensations which it gave me ; but I believe 
 that when I again place myself in the 
 circumstances in which I had those sen- 
 sations, that is, when I go again into the 
 room, I shall again have them ; and further, 
 that there has been no intervening moment 
 at which this would not have been the case. 
 Owing to this property of my mind, my con- 
 ception of the world at any given instant 
 consists, in only a small propoi^tion, of 
 present sensations. Of these I may at the 
 time have none at all, and they are in any 
 case a most insignificant portion of the 
 whole which I apprehend. The conception 
 I form of the world existing at any moment, 
 comprises, along with the sensations I am 
 feeling, a countless variety of possibilities 
 of sensation : namely, the whole of those 
 which past observation tells me that I 
 could, under any supposable circumstances, 
 experience at this moment, together with 
 an indefinite and illimitable multitude of 
 others which, though I do not know that 
 I could, yet it is possible that I might, 
 experience in circumstances not known to 
 me. — ^Examination of Sir W. Haniilton,' 
 pp. 192, 193. 
 
 A. Bain. 
 
 Professor Bain's view is practically the 
 same as Berkeley's. He states it thus 
 {Mmtal Science, p. 197) : — 'All Perception 
 or Knowledge implies Mind. The prevail- 
 ing doctrine is that a tree is something in 
 itself apart from all perception. But the 
 tree is known only through perception ; 
 what it may be anterior to, or independent 
 of, perception, we cannot tell ; we can 
 think of it as perceived, but not as unper- 
 ceived.' We thus see that the object world 
 is a mere abstraction, to which we have no 
 right to give an independent existence. It 
 is simply a coherent series of thoughts and 
 feelings. — Ryland, ^ Handhoolc, ^r.,' p. 87. 
 
 The sense of the external is the con- 
 
 sciousness of particular energies and activi- 
 ties of our own. . . . 
 
 Sensation is never wholly passive, and in 
 general is much the reverse. Moreover, 
 the tendency to movement exists before the 
 stimulus of sensation ; and movement gives 
 a new character to our whole perci[)ient 
 existence. The putting forth of energy, 
 and the consciousness of that energy, are 
 facts totally different in their nature from 
 pure sensation ; meaning thereby sensation 
 without activity, of which we can form 
 some approximate idea, from the extreme 
 instances occurring to us of impressions 
 languidly received. 
 
 It is in this exercise of force that we 
 must look for the peculiar feeling of ex- 
 ternality of objects, or the distinction that 
 we make between what impresses us from 
 without and impressions not recognised as 
 external. Any impression on the senses 
 that rouses muscular energy, and that 
 varies with that energy, we call an external 
 impression. — Bain, ' Senses and Intellect,^ 
 PP- 376, 377- 
 
 Critical Idealism. 
 
 Kant. 
 
 Nothing is really given to us but per- 
 ception, and the empirical progress from 
 this to other possible perceptions. For by 
 themselves phenomena, as mere represen- 
 tations, are real in perception only, wdiich 
 itself is nothmg but the reality of an 
 empirical representation, that is, pheno- 
 menal appearance. To call a phenomenon 
 a real thing, before it is perceived, means 
 either, that in the progress of experience 
 we must meet with such a perception, or 
 it means nothing. For that it existed by 
 itself, without any reference to our senses 
 and possible experience, might no doubt be 
 said when we speak of a thing by itself. 
 We here are speaking, however, of a pheno- 
 menon in space and time, which are not 
 determinations of things by themselves, 
 but only of our sensibility. Hence that 
 which exists in them (phenomena) is not 
 something by itself, but consists in repre- 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sentations only, which, unless they are 
 given in us (in perception), exist nowhere. 
 The nonsensuons cause of these repre- 
 sentations is entirely unknown to us, and 
 we can never perceive it as an object, for 
 such a cause would have to be represented 
 neither in space nor in time, which are 
 conditions of sensuous representation only, 
 and without which we cannot conceive any 
 intuition. We may, however, call that 
 purely intelligible cause of phenomena in 
 general, the transcendental object, in order 
 that we may have something which corre- 
 sponds to sensibility as a kind of recep- 
 tivity. We may ascribe to that transcen- 
 dental object the whole extent and con- 
 nection of all our possible perceptions, and 
 we may say that it is given by itself 
 antecedently to all experience. Phenomena, 
 however, are given accordingly, not by 
 themselves, but in experience only, because 
 they are mere representations which, as 
 perceptions only, signify a real object, pro- 
 vided that the perception is connected with 
 all others, according to the rules of unity 
 in experience. — ' Critique of Pure Reason,'' 
 vol. ii. 428, 429. 
 
 German Idealism. 
 
 Its Different Phases. 
 
 I see a tree. Certain psychologists tell 
 me that there are three things implied 
 in this one fact of vision, viz., a tree, an 
 image of that tree, and a mind which appre- 
 hends that image. Fichte tells me that it 
 is I alone who exist. The tree and the 
 image of it are one thing, and that is a 
 modification of my mind. This is subjec- 
 tive idealism. Schelling tells me that both 
 the tree and my ego (or self) are existences 
 equally real or ideal ; but they are nothing 
 less than manifestations of the absolute, 
 the infinite, or vmconditioned. This is 
 objective idealism. But Hegel tells me that 
 all these explanations are false. The only 
 thing really existing (in this one fact of 
 vision) is the idea, the relation. The ego 
 and the tree are but two terms of the re- 
 lation, and owe their reality to it. This 
 
 is absolute idealism. The only real exist- 
 ences are certain ideas or relations. (See 
 Nihilism). — Leives, ' Historij of Philosophy,' 
 iii. 209. 
 
 German Subjective Idealism. 
 
 Fichte. 
 
 In every perception there are present at 
 once an ego and a thing, or intelligence and 
 its object. Which of the two sides shall 
 be reduced to the other ? Abstracting from 
 the ego the philosopher obtains a thing-in- 
 itself, and is obliged to attribute the ideas 
 to the object ; abstracting from the object 
 again, he obtains only an ego in itself. The 
 former is the position of dogmatism, the 
 latter that of idealism. Both are incapable 
 of being reconciled, and a third is impossible. 
 We must choose one or the other then. 
 To assist decision let us observe the follow- 
 ing : — (i.) The ego is manifest in conscious- 
 ness, but the thing-in-itself is a mere fiction, 
 for what is in consciousness is only a sensa- 
 tion, a feeling. (2.) Dogmatism undertakes 
 to explain the origin of an idea, but it com- 
 mences this explanation with an object in 
 itself; that is, it begins with something 
 that is not and never is in consciousness. 
 But what is materially existent produces 
 only what is materially existent — being pro- 
 duces only being, not feeling. The right 
 consequently lies with idealism, which begins 
 not with being (material existence) but with 
 intelligence. To idealism intelligence is 
 only active, it is not passive, because it is 
 of a primitive and absolute nature. For 
 this reason its nature is not being (material 
 outwardness) but wholly and solely action. 
 The forms of this action, the necessary sys- 
 tem of the act of intelligence, we must 
 deduce from the principle (the essential 
 nature) of mtelligence itself. If we look 
 for the laws of intelligence in experience, 
 the source from which Kant (in a manner) 
 took his categories, we commit a double 
 blunder, — (i.) In so far as it is not demon- 
 strated why intelligence must act thus, and 
 whether these laws are also immanent in 
 intelligence; and (2.) In so far as it is not 
 
IDEALISM. 
 
 demonstrated how the object itself arises. 
 The objects, consequently, as well as the 
 principles of intelligence, are to be derived 
 from the ego itself. — Schwctjler, ' Hist, of 
 PJi /'/.,' pp. 259, 260. 
 
 Objective Idealism. 
 Schellinff. 
 
 Perception genei'ally is an identifying of 
 thought and being. When I perceive an 
 object, the being of this object and my 
 thought of it are for me absolutely the same 
 thing, but in ordinary perception unity is 
 assumed between thought and some particu- 
 lar sensuous existence. In the perception 
 of reason, intellectual perception, on the 
 contrary, it is the absolute subject-object 
 that is perceived, or identity is assumed 
 between thought and being in general, all 
 being. Intellectual perception is absolute 
 cognition, and absolute cognition must be 
 thought as such that in it thinking and 
 being are no longer opposed. Intellectually 
 to perceive directly within yourself the 
 same indifference of ideality and reality 
 which you perceive, as it were, projected 
 out of you in time and space, this is the 
 beginning and the first step in philosophy. 
 This veritably absolute cognition is wholly 
 and solely in the absolute itself. That it 
 cannot be taught is evident. We do not 
 see either why philosophy should be under 
 any obligation to concern itself with this 
 inability. It is advisable rather on all 
 sides to isolate from common consciousness 
 the approach to philosophy, and to leave 
 open neither footpath nor highroad from 
 the one to the other. Absolute cognition, 
 like the truth it contains, has no true con- 
 trariety without itself, and admits not of 
 being demonstrated to any intelligence; 
 neither does it admit of being contradicted 
 by any. It was the endeavour of Schelling 
 then to reduce intellectual perception to a 
 method, and this method he named con- 
 struction. Of this method the possibility 
 and necessity depended on this, that the 
 absolute is in all, and all is the absolute. 
 The construction itself was nothing else 
 than a demonstration of how, in every par- 
 
 ticular relation or object, the whole is abso- 
 lutely expressed. Philosophically to construe 
 an object then is to point out that in it the 
 entire inner structure of the absolute repeats 
 itself. — ScJucegler, 'Hid. of I'hil.,' pp. 301, 
 302. 
 
 Absolute Idealism. 
 
 Hegel. 
 
 To be in earnest with idealism, Ilegel 
 said to himself, is to find all things what- 
 ever but forms of thought. But how is 
 that possible without a standard — without 
 a form of thought, that, in application to 
 things, will reduce them to itself ? What, 
 in fact, is thought — what is its ultimate, 
 its principle, its radical ? These questions 
 led to the result that what was peculiai- to 
 thought, what characterised the function 
 of thought, what constituted the special 
 nerve of thought, was a triple 7iism, the 
 movement of which corresponded in its 
 successive steps or moments to what is 
 named in logic simple apprehension, judg- 
 ment, and reason. Simple apprehension, 
 judgment, and reason do indeed consti- 
 tute chapters in a book, but they collapse in 
 man into a single force, faculty, or virtue 
 that has these three sides. That is the ulti- 
 mate pulse of thought — that is the ultimate 
 virtue into which man himself retracts. 
 Let me but be able, then, thought Hegel, 
 to apply this standard to all things in such 
 a manner as shall demonstrate its presence 
 in them, as shall demonstrate it to be their 
 nerve also, as shall reduce all things into 
 its identity, and I shall have accomplished 
 the one universal problem. All things 
 shall then be demonstratively resolved into 
 thought, and idealism — absolute idealism— 
 definitely estnhlished.— Stirling, ' Annota- 
 tioiis to Srhweglei-'s History of Fhilosoj/hi/,' 
 
 V- 431- 
 
 Defects of Idealism. 
 
 When the Idealist says that what he 
 knows as an object is a cluster of sensa- 
 tions contained in his consciousness, the 
 proposition has intrinsically the same cha- 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 racter as that which asserts the equi-angu- 
 larity of a sphere. The two terms, object 
 and consciousness, are severally intelligible; 
 and the relation of inclusion, considered 
 apart, is intelligible. But the proposition 
 itself, asserting that the object stands to 
 consciousness in the relation of inclusion, is 
 unintelligible ; since the two terms cannot 
 be combined in thought under this relation ; 
 no effort whatever can present or represent 
 the one as within the limits of the other. 
 And if it is not possible to conceive it 
 within the limits, still less is it possible to 
 believe it within the limits ; since belief, 
 properly so-called, presupposes conception. 
 — Spencer, ' Principles of Psychology,^ ii. 
 501. 
 
 The argumentation by which Idealism 
 seeks to disturb the belief in the existence 
 of an external world, altogether independent 
 of the perceiving subject, is vitiated by the 
 assumption that our knowledge is the cri- 
 terion of existence ; this is conferring upon 
 it an absolute value that it does not possess. 
 — Ribot, ' English Psychology,'' p. 281. 
 
 Idealism in itself is an unphilosophic 
 system, and, in the end, has a dangerous 
 tendency. Its radical vice lies in main- 
 taining that certain things, which we intui- 
 tively know or believe to be real, are not 
 real. I say certain things : for were it to 
 deny that all things are real it would be 
 scepticism. Idealism draws back from such 
 an issue with shuddering. But, affirming 
 the reality of certain objects, with palpable 
 inconsistency it will not admit the exist- 
 ence of other objects equally guaranteed by 
 our constitution. This inconsistency will 
 pursue the system remorselessly as an 
 avenger. Idealism commonly begins by 
 declaring that external objects have no 
 such reality as we suppose them to have, 
 and then it is driven or led in the next age, 
 or in the pages of the next speculator, to 
 avow that they have no reality at all. At 
 this stage it will still make lofty preten- 
 sions to a realism founded, not on the ex- 
 ternal phenomenon, but on the internal 
 idea. But the logical necessity speedily 
 
 chases the system from this refuge, and 
 constrains the succeeding speculator to 
 admit that self is not as it seems, or that it 
 exists only as it is felt, or when it is felt ; 
 and the terrible consequence cannot be 
 avoided, that we cannot know whether 
 there be objects before us or no, or whether 
 there be an eye or a mind to perceive them. 
 There is no way of avoiding this black and 
 blank scepticism but by standing up for 
 the trustworthiness of all our original in- 
 tuitions, and formally maintaining that 
 there is a reality wherever our intuitions 
 delare that there is. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions 
 of the Mind,' p. 329. 
 
 V. NIHILISM. 
 The Doctrine. 
 
 Nihilism is Scepticism carried to the 
 denial of all existence. — Fleming, ' Vocab. 
 of Phil,' p. 345. 
 
 It is the doctrine which recognises no- 
 thing but passing mental modifications, and 
 denies the independent existence of mind 
 and matter, as well as of any higher 
 substance. — Monch, ' Sir W. Hamilton^ 
 p. 185. 
 
 To deny any fact of consciousness as an 
 actual phenomenon is utterly impossible. 
 But though necessarily admitted as a 
 present phenomenon, the import of this 
 phsenomenon, — all beyond our actual con- 
 sciousness of its existence, may be denied. 
 We are able, without self-contradiction, to 
 suppose, and. consequently, to assert, that 
 all to which the pha?nomenon of which we 
 are conscious refers, is a deception, — that, 
 for example, the past, to which an act of 
 memory refers, is only an illusion involved 
 in our consciousness of the present, — that 
 the unknown subject to which every phaeno- 
 menon of which we are conscious involves 
 a reference, has no reality beyond this 
 reference itself, — in short, that all our 
 knowledge of mind or matter is only a 
 consciousness of various bundles of baseless 
 appearances. This doctrine, as refusing a 
 substantial reality to the phaenomenal ex- 
 
MONISM. 
 
 istence of which we are conscious, is called 
 Nihilism. — Hamilton, ' iMetcqjJii/sics,^ i. 293. 
 
 Nihilistic Philosophers. 
 
 Of positive or dotj^matic Nihilism there 
 is no example in modern philosophy, for 
 Oken's deduction of the universe from the 
 original notliing is only the paradoxical 
 foundation of a system of realism ; and in 
 ancient philosophy, we know too little of 
 the book of Gorgias, the Sophist, entitled 
 ' Concerning Nature or the Non-Existent,' 
 to be able to affirm whether it were main- 
 tained by him as a dogmatic and bona fide 
 doctrine. But as a sceptical conclusion 
 from the premises of previous philosophers, 
 we have an illustrious example of Nihilism 
 in Hume; and the celebrated Fichte ad- 
 mits that the speculative principles of his 
 own idealism would, unless corrected by his 
 practical, terminate in this result. — Hamil- 
 ton, ^Metaphysics,' i. 294. 
 
 Hume resolved the phenomena of con- 
 sciousness into impressions and ideas. And 
 as, according to Berkeley, sensitive impres- 
 sions were no proof of external realities, so, 
 according to Hume, ideas do not prove the 
 existence of mind — so that there is neither 
 matter nor mind, for anything that we 
 can prove. — Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' 
 p. 346. 
 
 The Doctrine of Hume. 
 
 Since nothing is ever present to the mind 
 but perceptions, and since all ideas are de- 
 riv'd from something antecedently present 
 to the mind ; it follows, that 'tis impossible 
 for us so much as to conceive or form an 
 idea of anything specifically different from 
 ideas and impressions. Let us fix our atten- 
 tion out of ourselves as much as possible : 
 Let us chace our imagination to the hea- 
 vens, or to the utmost limits of the universe ; 
 we never really advance a step beyond our- 
 selves, nor can conceive any kind of exist- 
 ence, but those perceptions, which have 
 appeal-' d in that narrow compass. This is 
 the luiiverse of the imagination, nor have 
 we any idea but what is there produc'd. 
 
 The farthest we can go towards a con- 
 
 ception of external objects, when suppos'd 
 sperifiralhj different from our perceptions, 
 is to form a relative idea of them, without 
 pretending to comprehend the related objects. 
 Generally speaking we do not suppose them 
 specifically different ; but only attribute to 
 them different relations, connections, and 
 durations. — ' Treatise on Human Nature,^ 
 pt. ii. sec. vi. vol. i. 371. 
 
 His Admission as to Reality of Things 
 External. 
 
 Nature is always too strong for pi'inciple. 
 And, though a Pyri-honian may throw him- 
 self or others into a momentary amazement 
 and confusion by his profound reasonings, 
 the first and most trivial event in life will 
 put to flight all his doubts and scruples, 
 and leave him the same, in every point of 
 action and speculation, with the philoso- 
 phers of every other sect, or with those 
 who never concerned themselves in any 
 philosophical researches. When he awakes 
 from his dream, he will be the first to join 
 in the laugh against himself, and to confess 
 that all his objections are mere amusement, 
 and can have no other tendency than to 
 show the whimsical condition of mankind, 
 who must act, and reason, and believe, 
 though they are not able, by their most 
 diligent inquiry, to satisfy themselves con- 
 cerning the foundation of these operations, 
 or to remove the objections which may be 
 raised against them. — ^Enquiry Concenmuj 
 Human Understanding,' pt. ii. sec. xii. vol. 
 ii. 131. 
 
 VI. MONISM. 
 
 The philosophical Unitarians or Monists 
 reject the testimony of consciousness to the 
 ultimate duality of the subject and object 
 in perception, but they arrive at the unity 
 of these in different ways. Some admit 
 the testimony of consciousness to the equi- 
 poise of the mental and material phenomena, 
 and do not attempt to reduce either mind 
 to matter or matter to mind. They reject, 
 however, the evidence of consciousness to 
 their antithesis in existence, and maintain 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that mind and matter are only phenomenal 
 modifications of the same common substance. 
 This is the doctrine of Absolute Identity, — 
 a doctrine of which the most illustrious 
 representatives among recent philosophers 
 are Schelling, Hegel, and Cousin. Others 
 again deny the evidence of consciousness 
 to the equipoise of the subject and object 
 as co-ordinate and co-original elements ; and 
 as the balance is inclined in favour of the 
 one relative or the other, two opposite 
 schemes of psychology are determined. If 
 the subject be taken as the original and 
 genetic, and the object evolved from it as 
 its product, the theory of Idealism is estab- 
 lished. On the other hand, if the object 
 be assumed as the original and genetic, 
 and the subject evolved from it as its pro- 
 duct, the theory of Materialism is estab- 
 lished. — Hamilton, ' Metapliysics,'' i, 296, 
 297. 
 
 Attempts at Philosophical Reconciliation. 
 
 Transfigured Realism completes the dif- 
 ferentiation of subject and object by defi- 
 nitely separating that which belongs to the 
 one from that which belongs to the other. 
 It does not, with Idealism, say that the 
 object exists only as perceived — does not 
 abolish the line of demarcation between 
 subject and object by bringing the object 
 within consciousness ; but it admits the 
 independent existence of the object as un- 
 perceived. It does not, with crude Realism, 
 hold that, apart from a perceiving conscious- 
 ness, the object possesses those attributes 
 by which it is distinguished in perception — 
 does not ascribe to the object something 
 which belongs to the subject. Asserting 
 an impassable limit between the two, it 
 recognises an external independent exist- 
 ence which is the cause of changes in con- 
 sciousness, while the effects it works in 
 consciousness constitute the perception of 
 it ; and it infers that the knowledge consti- 
 tuted by these effects cannot be a knowledge 
 of that which causes them, but can only 
 imply its existence. — Spencer, ^Principles of 
 Psycliology,^ ii. 505 xx. 
 
 We admit that matter does not exist as 
 matter, save in relation to our intelligence, 
 since what we mean by matter is a con- 
 geries of qualities — weight, resistance, ex- 
 tension, colour, &c. — which have been 
 severally proved to be merely names for 
 divers ways in which our consciousness is 
 affected by an unknown external agency. 
 Take away all these qualities, and we freely 
 admit, with the idealist, that the matter 
 is gone ; for by matter we mean, with the 
 idealist, the phenomenal thing which is 
 seen, tasted, and felt. But we neverthe- 
 less maintain, in opposition to the idealist, 
 that something is still there, which, to some 
 possible mode of impressibility quite dif- 
 ferent from conscious intelligence, might 
 manifest itself as something wholly differ- 
 ent from, and incomparable with, matter, 
 but which, to anything that can be called 
 conscious intelligence, must manifest itself 
 as matter. What we refuse to admit is 
 the legitimacy of the idealist's inference 
 that the Unknown Reality beyond con- 
 sciousness does not exist. — Fiske, ' Cosmic 
 Philosophy,' pp. 80, 81. 
 
 Bain's theory of a ' douhlefaced unity.' 
 
 The arguments for the two substances 
 have, we believe, now entirely lost their 
 validity ; they are no longer compatible 
 with ascertained science and clear thinking. 
 The one substance, with two sets of pro- 
 perties, two sides, the physical and the 
 mental — a douhlefaced unity — would appear 
 to comply with all the exigencies of the 
 case. We are to deal with this, as in the 
 language of the Athanasian Creed, not 
 confounding the persons nor dividing the 
 substance. The mind is destined to be a 
 double study — to conjoin the mental philo- 
 sopher with the physical philosopher. — • 
 ' Miiid and Body,' p. 196. 
 
 Mind-stuff the reality which we perceive 
 as matter. 
 
 The actual reality which underlies what 
 we call matter is not the same thing as 
 the mind, is not the same thing as our 
 perception, but it is made of the same 
 stuff. . . . 
 
SPACE AND TIME. 
 
 123 
 
 That element of which even the simplest 
 feeling is a complex I shall call miml-sfuff. 
 A moving molecule of inorganic matter 
 does not possess mind or consciousness, 
 but it possesses a small piece of mind-stuff. 
 AYhen molecules are so combined together 
 as to form the film on the under side of a 
 jelly-fish, the elements of mind -stuff which 
 go along with them are so combined as 
 to form the faint beginnings of sentience. 
 "When the molecules are so combmed as to 
 form the brain and nervous system of a 
 vertebrate, the corresponding elements of 
 mind-stuff are so combined as to form 
 some kind of consciousness ; that is to 
 say, changes in the complex which take 
 place at the same time get so linked to- 
 gether that the repetition of one implies 
 the repetition of the other. When matter 
 takes the complex form of a living human 
 brain, the corresponding mind-stuff takes 
 the form of a human consciousness, having 
 intelligence and volition. 
 
 The universe consists entirely of mind- 
 stuff. Some of this is woven into the 
 complex form of human minds contain- 
 ing imperfect representations of the mind- 
 stuff outside them and of themselves also, 
 as a mirror reflects its own image in an- 
 other mirror, ad infinitum. Such an im- 
 perfect representation is called a material 
 universe. It is a picture in a man's mind 
 of the real universe of mind-stuff. 
 
 The two chief points of this doctrine 
 may be thus summed up : — 
 
 Matter is a mental pictiire in which 
 mind-stuff is the thing represented. 
 
 Reason, intelligence, and volition are 
 properties of a complex which is made up 
 of elements themselves not rational, not 
 intelligent, not conscious. — Clifford, ' Lec- 
 tures and Ussa)js,' ii. pp. 64, 85, 87. 
 
 VII. SPACE AND TIME. 
 
 Consciousness has two formal modes, 
 time and space, different but inseparable 
 and simultaneous ; the two senses which 
 reveal space, sight and touch, exist simul- 
 taneously with those which reveal time 
 
 by itself; hence their inseparal)ility in any 
 way except provisionally; and hence the 
 difference in the modes of connection be- 
 tween them, namely, that in all time there 
 is involved space as its accompaniment, in 
 all space there is involved time as its 
 element. — Ilodijxon, * Time and Space,'' 
 p. 117. 
 
 It is sometimes held that time and space 
 are merely generalisations from experience. 
 All abstract and general cognitions may bo 
 generalised from experience, and as those 
 of time and space are general and abstract 
 in the highest degree, they also may be 
 generalised in the same way. But this 
 property, which they possess in common 
 with other general and abstract cognitions, 
 does not prove that they do not possess 
 other properties which are peculiar to them- 
 selves, and Avhich distinguish them from 
 others. And in point of fact they do 
 possess such property, namely, that they 
 alone of all abstract and general cognitions 
 cannot be annihilated in or banished from 
 thought. — Hodgson, ' Time and Space,' 
 p. 118. 
 
 Tlie doctrine of Kant. 
 
 Space is not a discursive or so-called 
 general concept of the relations of things 
 in general, but a pure intuition. For, first 
 of all, we can imagine one space only, and 
 if we speak of many spaces, we mean part 
 only of one and the same space. Nor can 
 these parts be considered as antecedent to 
 the one and all-embracing space and, as it 
 were, its component parts out of which an 
 aggregate is formed, but they can be 
 thought of as existing within only. Space 
 is essentially one; its multiplicity, and 
 therefore the general concept of spaces in 
 general, aiises entirely from limitations. 
 Hence it follows that, with respect to 
 space, an intuition d, priori, which is not 
 empirical, must form the foundation of all 
 conceptions of space. — ' Critique of Pure 
 Reason,' vol. ii. 22. 
 
 Time is not an empirical concept deduced 
 from any experience, for neither co-exist- 
 ence nor succession would enter into our 
 
t24 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 perception, if the representation of time 
 were not given a priori. Only when this 
 representation a priori is given, can we 
 imagine that certain things happen at the 
 same time (simultaneously) or at different 
 times (successively). 
 
 Time is a necessary representation on 
 which all intuitions depend. We cannot 
 take away time from phenomena in general, 
 though we can well take away phenomena 
 out of time. Time therefore is given d, 
 priori. In time alone is reality of pheno- 
 mena possible. All phenomena may vanish, 
 but time itself (as the general condition of 
 their possibility) cannot be done away 
 with. — ' Critique of Pure Reason,' vol. 
 ii. 27. 
 
 Of Cousin. 
 
 As soon as you know that there are 
 external objects, I ask you whether you do 
 not conceive them in a place that contains 
 them. In order to deny it, it would be 
 necessary to deny that everybody is in a 
 place, that is to say, to reject a truth of 
 physics, which is at the same time a 
 principle of metaphysics, as well as an 
 axiom of common sense. But the place 
 that contains a body is often itself a body, 
 which is only more capacious than the first. 
 This new body is in its turn in a place. Is 
 this new place also a body? Then it is 
 contained in another place more extended 
 and so on ; so that it is impossible for you 
 to conceive a body which is not in a place ; 
 and you arrive at the conception of a 
 boundless and infinite place, that contains 
 all limited places and all possible bodies : — 
 that boundless and infinite place is space. 
 
 As we believe that everybody is contained 
 in a place, so we believe that every event 
 happens in time. Can you conceive an 
 event happening, except in some point of 
 duration? ThLs duration is extended and 
 successively increased to your mind's eye, 
 and you end by conceiving it unlimited 
 like space. Deny duration, and you deny 
 all the sciences that measure it, you destroy' 
 all the natural belief upon which human 
 life reposes. It is hardly necessary to add 
 
 that sensibility alone no more explains the 
 notion of time than that of space, both of 
 which are nevertheless inherent in the 
 knowledge of the external world. — ' On 
 the True, the Beautiful, and the Good,' 
 Lecture i., pp. 40, 41. 
 
 Of Shadworth Hodgson. 
 
 Time has one dimension — length. It is 
 infinitely divisible in thought; it is in- 
 finitely extensible in thought. It admits 
 of no minimum in division, and of no 
 maximum in extension. For these reasons 
 it contains everything ; nothing is short 
 enough to slip through it, nothing long 
 enough to outrun it. It is one in nature, 
 for all its parts are still time. It is 
 incompressible, for no single part can be 
 annihilated. 
 
 Space has three dimensions, — length, 
 breadth, and depth. It is infinitely divisi- 
 ble in thought ; it is infinitely extensible 
 in thought. It admits of no minimum in 
 division, and of no maximum in extension. 
 For these reasons it contains everything ; 
 nothing is small enough to slip through it, 
 nothing is great enough to outstand it. 
 It is one in nature, for all its parts are 
 still space. It is incompressible, for no 
 single part can be annihilated. — ' Time and 
 Space,' pp. 121, 122. 
 
 Dr. Bain's theory of space. 
 
 I hold, as regards extension in general, 
 that this is a feeling derived in the first 
 instance from the locomotive or moving 
 organs ; that a definite amount of move- 
 ment of these comes to be associated with 
 the sweep and adjustment and other effects 
 of the eye ; and that the notion when full- 
 grown is a compound of locomotion, touch, 
 and vision, any one implying and recalling 
 the others. A certain movement of the 
 eye, as the sweep over a table, gives us the 
 sense of that table's magnitude, when it 
 recalls and revives the extent and direction 
 of arm movement necessary to compass the 
 length, breadth, and height of the table. 
 Previous to this experience, the sight of 
 the table would be a mere visible effect, 
 
RELATIVITY OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 "5 
 
 differing consciously from other visible 
 effects, and not suggesting any foreign 
 etFect whatever. It could not suggest 
 magnitude, because magnitude is not mag- 
 iiitude, if it do not mean the extent of 
 movement of the arms or limbs that would 
 be needed to compass the object ; and this 
 can be joined in no way but through actual 
 trial by these very organs. — ^ Se7ises and 
 Infelled,' pp. 371, 372. 
 
 VIII RELATIVITY OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 All our Knowledge is Relative. 
 
 ' Man,' says Protagoras, ' is the mea- 
 sure of the universe ; ' and, in so far as 
 the universe is an object of human know- 
 ledge, the paradox is a truth. Whatever 
 we know, or endeavour to know, God or 
 the world, mind or matter, the distant or 
 the near, we know and can know only in 
 so far as we possess a faculty of knowing 
 in general ; and we can only exercise that 
 faculty under the laws which control and 
 limit its operations. However great and 
 infinite and various, therefore, may be 
 the universe and its contents, these are 
 known to us only as our mind is capable of 
 knowing them. — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,' 
 i. 61. 
 
 When on the seashore we note how the 
 hulls of distant vessels are hidden below 
 the horizon, and how, of still remoter ves- 
 sels, only the uppermost sails are visible, 
 we realise with tolerable clearness the 
 slight curvature of that portion of the sea's 
 surface which lies before us. But when 
 we seek in imagination to follow out this 
 curved surface as it actually exists, slowly 
 bending round until all its meridians meet 
 in a point eight thousand miles below our 
 feet, we find ourselves utterly baffled. We 
 cannot conceive in its real form and mag- 
 nitude even that small segment of our globe 
 which extends a hundred miles on every 
 side of us, much less the globe as a whole. 
 Yet we habitually speak as though we had 
 an idea of the earth. — Spencer, '■First Frin- 
 cipAes,' p. 25. 
 
 Forms of the Doctrine. 
 
 As stated hij Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 All our knowledge of mind and matter 
 is relative — conditioned — relatively condi- 
 tioned. Of things absolutely or in them- 
 selves, be they external, be they internal, 
 we know nothing, or know them only as in- 
 cognisable ; and we become aware of their 
 incomprehensible existence only as this is 
 indirectly and accidentally revealed to us, 
 through certain qualities related to our 
 faculties of knowledge, and which (jualities, 
 again, we cannot think as unconditioned, 
 irrelative, existent in and out of them- 
 selves. All that we know is therefore phe- 
 nomenal. — * Discussions,'' p. 608. 
 
 All our knowledge is only relative, — 
 I. Because existence is not cognisable, ab- 
 solutely and in itself, but only in special 
 modes; 2. Because these modes can be 
 known only if they stand in a certain rela- 
 tion to our faculties ; and, 3. Because the 
 modes, thus relative to our faculties, are 
 presented to and known by the mind only 
 under mollifications determined by these 
 faculties themselves. — '■Metaphysics,' i. 148. 
 
 On I. and 2. in the last extract, John 
 Stuart Mill remarks, 'Whoever can find 
 anything more in these two statements, 
 than that we do not know all about a Thing, 
 but only as much about it as we are capable 
 of knowing, is more ingenious or more for- 
 tunate than myself.' On 3. he says, 'The 
 proposition that our cognitions of objects 
 are only in part dependent on the objects 
 themselves, and in part on elements super- 
 added by our organs or by our minds, can- 
 not warrant the assertion that all our know- 
 ledge, but only that the part so added, is 
 relative.' — ^Examination of Hamilton,' pp. 
 3o> 31- 
 
 As stated by Spencer. 
 
 'The reality existing behind all appear- 
 ances is, and must ever be, unknown.' — 
 ' First Principles,' p. 69. 
 
 As held by Dr. Bain. 
 Mr. Stuart Mill says that ' Mr. Bain 
 habitually uses the phrase " relativity of 
 
126 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 knowledge " in this sense, that we only 
 know anything, by knowing it as distin- 
 guished from something else ; that all con- 
 sciousness is of difference ; that two objects 
 are the smallest number required to consti- 
 tute consciousness ; that a thing is only 
 seen to be what it is by contrast with what 
 it is not.' Mr. Mill adds, ' I have no fault 
 to find with this use of the phrase ; it ex- 
 presses a real and important law of our 
 mental nature ' (see ^Examination of Hamil- 
 ton,' p. 6). Dr. M'Cosh, however, regards 
 it ' as destroying the simplicity of our men- 
 tal operations, and reversing the order of 
 nature ; ' and will not allow that we should 
 not have known a sensation, say the feel- 
 ing of a lacerated limb, to be painful, unless 
 we had contrasted it with a pleasurable 
 one ; on the contrary, I maintain that in 
 order to contrast the two we must have 
 experienced them in succession.' — ^Exami- 
 nation of Mill,' pp. 2 2 2, 225. 
 
 Form x>ref erred by John Stuart Jlill. 
 
 ' Our knowledge of objects, and even 
 our fancies about objects, consist of no- 
 thing but the sensations they excite, or 
 which we imagine them exciting in our- 
 selves.' ' This knowledge is merely phe- 
 nomenaL' 'The object is known to vis 
 only in one special relation, namely, as 
 that which produces, or is capable of pro- 
 ducing, certain impressions on our senses ; 
 and all that we really know is these im- 
 pressions.' 'This is the Doctrine of the 
 Relativity of Knowledge to the knowing 
 mind, in the simplest, purest, and, as I 
 think, the most proper acceptation of the 
 words.' — '■Examination of Hamilton^ pp. 
 7-14. 
 
 What is implied by the Relativity of 
 knowledge is, that we do not perceive 
 things actually as they are in themselves, 
 but only as conditioned by our faculties. 
 Objects are to us bimdles of sensations 
 united in certain bonds we call relations. 
 But the sensations of a starfish are prob- 
 ably quite different from our own, and so 
 also are the relations which unite them. 
 The same light - waves produce different 
 
 colours in the case of persons afflicted with 
 colour-blindness from those perceived by 
 ordinary persons. The sun's rays produce 
 in us feelings of heat and light according 
 to the parts of the body on which they 
 fall. From such facts we gather that our 
 sensations bear no resemblance to the agen- 
 cies in the external world which give rise to 
 them ; we can only know the phenomena, 
 and not the underlying realities them- 
 selves. — Rylands, ' Handbook, <i;c.,' p. 60. 
 
 I do not see that such a theor}'' has any 
 right to claim the title of ' knowledge, ' or 
 that it can get ' relations ' when it has no 
 things to bring into relation. The theory 
 is simply that we know sensations, and 
 possibilities of sensations, while we cannot 
 be said to know what sensations are. — 
 M'Cosh, ' Examination of Mill,'' '^. 228. 
 
 As propounded by M'Cosh. 
 
 There is evidently a true doctrine of re- 
 lativity, if only we could express it accu- 
 rately. It should be admitted — (i.) That 
 man knows only so far as he has the facul- 
 ties of knowledge; (2.) That he knows ob- 
 jects only under aspects presented to his 
 faculties; and (3.) That his faculties are 
 limited, and consequently his knowledge 
 limited, so that not only does he not know 
 all objects, he does not know all about any 
 one object. It may further be allowed — 
 (4.) That in perception by the senses we 
 know external objects in relation to the 
 perceiving mind. But while these views 
 can be established in opposition to the 
 philosophy of the absolute, it should ever 
 be resolutely maintained, on the other 
 hand, — (i.) That we know the very thing; 
 and (2.) That our knowledge is correct so 
 far as it goes We admit a subtle scepti- 
 cism when we allow, with Kant, that we 
 do not know the thing itself, but merely 
 a phenomenon in the sense of appearance ; 
 or with Hamilton, that we perceive merely 
 the relations of things. A still more dan- 
 gerous error follows where it is affirmed 
 that our knowledge is always modified by 
 the percipient mind, and that we add to 
 the object something which is not, or at 
 
IMAGES. 
 
 27 
 
 least may not, be in it. — ^ Infnifitms of the 
 Mind; p. 344. 
 
 The Doctrine that Human Knowledge is 
 Relative does not imply that it is 
 Inaccurate. 
 It has been stated that human know- 
 ledge is relative. This is no doubt in some 
 sense to be admitted. But we must be- 
 ware of allowing this circumstance to de- 
 tract from its reality or cex^tainty. When 
 I have a sensation, and thereupon perceive 
 an object existing external to my sense, 
 and displaying certain properties and rela- 
 tions, which I descry by intuition and dis- 
 tinguish by abstraction, you may fairly 
 call the knowledge relative, namely, to the 
 extent of my faculties and the ojjportuni- 
 ties of my position. But, first, we remark, 
 all knowledge, short of omniscience, may 
 be called relative in the same sense. And 
 next, human knowledge is clear, distinct, 
 and adequate, as far as it goes, and there- 
 fore thoroughly trustwoi-thy. And lastly, 
 if we be true to ourselves, we may ascer- 
 tain some very definite landjnarks between 
 that which may be known and that which 
 is beyond the reach of our present powers 
 of observation. Hence our knowledge is 
 limited indeed ; but it is not therefore in- 
 accurate or at variance with the nature of 
 things, and it is far from having reached 
 the range which is possible to our intel- 
 
 lectual powers. — Mnrplu/, ' Hninaa Mind; 
 p. 56. 
 
 It is true that knowledge is relative ; 
 that is, that it is conversant with things 
 or persons in relation to self, to other 
 minds, to one anothei-, and to God. It 
 is so because it is knowledge. All know- 
 ledge is composed of judgment, and every 
 judgment implies the relation of subject 
 and object as necessarily as a magnet im- 
 plies the relation between two poles. But 
 it is not true that this relativity of know- 
 ledge is any imperfection, circumscription, 
 or disability ; or that there is any conceiv- 
 able or possible knowledge of tldngs in 
 themselves, as opposed to the knowledge of 
 their properties and relations, which, if 
 attainable, would be a higher kind of 
 knowledge, and in comparison with which 
 our actual knowledge is illusory. On the 
 contrary, the inadequacy or limitation of 
 our knowledge lies in the fact that com- 
 paratively few of the actual or possible 
 relations of things to one another, to our- 
 selves, and to God are as yet known to us. 
 Illusion consists not in this limitation, but 
 in believing these relations to be other 
 than they are. In a word, the relativity 
 of knowledge consists in that correlation, 
 mental and physical, of thought with being, 
 and of being with thought, on which the pos- 
 sibility, certainty, and value of knowledge 
 depend. — Cunder, ^ Basis of Faith; -p. 147. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 REPRESENTA TIVE KNO W LEDGE. 
 
 I. IMAGES. 
 Definition of the Image. 
 
 We may define it as a repetition or re- 
 vival of the sensation, while at the same 
 time we distinguish it from the sensation ; 
 first, by its origin, since it has the sensa- 
 tion as its antecedent, while the sensation 
 is preceded by an excitation of the nerve ; 
 
 and again, by its association with an anta- 
 gonist, since it has several reductives, among 
 others the special corrective sensation, while 
 thesensation itself has no reductive. — Taine, 
 ' 0)1 Intelligence; p. 73. 
 
 Distinct from the Percept and Concept. 
 
 The term image in psycliology points to 
 a double distinction. On the one hand it 
 
128 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 is representative, whereas a percept is pre- 
 sentative (or largely so) ; on the other side 
 it is a representation of a concrete object, 
 or a mental picture, and is thus distin- 
 guished from a concept or general notion 
 which typifies a class of things. — Sully, 
 ' Outlines of Psychology,^ p. 219, note 2. 
 
 We have no difficulty in general in dis- 
 tinguishing between an actual perception 
 and an imagination of a thing. We in- 
 stantly feel the difference between looking 
 at an object, as a horse, and forming a 
 mental picture of it when it is absent. We 
 roughly define the difference by saying that 
 the image is the copy of the percept, that 
 it is less vivid, and less distinct in its parts. 
 — Sully, ' Outlines of Psychology,' p. 224. 
 
 Automatic Character of the Image. 
 
 The recurrence of images is essentially 
 mdomatic ; but the mind can determinately 
 place itself in the condition most favour- 
 able to their reproduction, and can project 
 itself, as it were, in search of them. While 
 some persons are obliged to wait until the 
 memory supplies them with the image they 
 desiderate, there are others who are dis- 
 tinguished by the exuberance of this repro- 
 ductive power; so that they have only to 
 ask themselves for an appropriate simile 
 or metaphor, and it immediately occurs 
 to them, — Carpenter, ' Mental Physiology,^ 
 p. 489. 
 
 Mental Imagery. 
 
 I have many cases of persons mentally 
 reading off scores when playing the piano- 
 forte, or manuscript when they are making 
 speeches. One statesman has assured me 
 that a certain hesitation in utterance which 
 he has at times, is due to his being plagued 
 by the image of his manuscript speech with 
 its original erasures and corrections. He 
 cannot lay the ghost, and he puzzles in 
 trying to decipher it. 
 
 Some few persons see mentally in print 
 every word that is uttered ; they attend to 
 the visual equivalent and not to the sound 
 of the words, and they read them off 
 usually as from a long imaginary strip of 
 
 paper, such as is unwound from telegraphic 
 instruments. The experiences differ in de- 
 tail as to size and kind of type, colour of 
 paper, and so forth, but are always the 
 same in the same person. — ■ Gallon, ^In- 
 quiries into Human Faculty,' p. 96. 
 
 The power of visualising is higher in the 
 female sex than in the male, and is some- 
 what, but not much, higher in public school- 
 boys than in men. After maturity is reached, 
 the further advance of age does not seem 
 to dim the faculty, but rather the reverse, 
 judging from numerous statements to that 
 effect ; but advancing years are sometimes 
 accompanied by a growing habit of hard 
 abstract thinking, and in these cases the 
 faculty undoubtedly becomes impaii'ed. — 
 Gallon, ^ Human Faculty,' pp. 99, 100. 
 
 II. ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 Defined. 
 
 The tendency which one thought has to 
 introduce another. — Steioart, ' Works' ii. 
 257- 
 
 Association of ideas is that mental prin- 
 ciple which enables one mental state to 
 recall another to the memory. Thus the 
 thought of Waterloo recalls to my memory 
 at once the thoughts Napoleon and Wel- 
 lington, together with several others. In 
 this case the thoughts Napoleon and Wel- 
 lington are both said to be associated with 
 the thought Waterloo. — MoncTc, ' Sir W. 
 Hamilton,' p. 169. 
 
 Association of Ideas, or Mental Associa- 
 tion, is a general name used in Psychology 
 to express the conditions under which repre- 
 sentations arise in consciousness, and also 
 is the name of a principle put forward by 
 an important school of thinkers to account 
 generally for the facts of mental life. It 
 is allowed on all hands that this phrase, 
 Association of Ideas, contains too narrow a 
 reference; association, in either of the senses 
 above noted, extending beyond ideas or 
 thoughts proper to every class of mental 
 states. — Robertson, ' Encyclopcedia Britan- 
 nica,' ii. 730. 
 
ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 129 
 
 The Doctrine. 
 
 Some of our ideas have a natural corre- 
 spondence and connection one with another. 
 Ideas, that in themselves are not all of kin, 
 come to be so united in some men's minds 
 that it is veiy hard to separate them ; they 
 always keep in company, and the one no 
 sooner at any time comes into the under- 
 standing but its associate appears with it ; 
 and if tliey are more than two which are 
 thus united, the whole gang, always inse- 
 parable, show themselves together. — Locke, 
 'Human Understanding,' book ii. chap. 33. 
 It is evident that thei'e is a principle of 
 connection between the diffei-ent thoughts 
 or ideas of the mind, and that, in their 
 appearance to the memory or imagination, 
 they introduce each other with a certain 
 degree of method and regularity. In our 
 more serious thinking or discourse, this is 
 so observable that any particular thought 
 which breaks in upon the regular tract or 
 chain of ideas is immediately remarked and 
 rejected. And even in our wildest and 
 most wandering reveries, nay, in our very 
 dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that the 
 imagination ran not altogether at adven- 
 tures, but that there was still a connection 
 upheld among the different ideas which 
 succeeded each other. Were the loosest 
 and freest conversation to be transcribed, 
 there would immediately be observed some- 
 thing which connected it in all its transi- 
 tions. — Hume, ' Essay on Human Under- 
 standing^ sec. iii. 
 
 A determinate object being present in 
 consciousness with its proper thought, feel- 
 ing, or desire, it is not present, isolated and 
 alone, but may draw after it the representa- 
 tion of other objects, with their respective 
 feelings and HLQaives.— Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 physics,'' ii. 488. 
 
 When two or more ideas have been often 
 repeated together, and the association has 
 become very strong, they sometimes spring 
 up in such close combination as not to be 
 distinguishable. Some cases of sensation 
 are analogous. For example, when a wheel, 
 on the seven parts of which the seven pris- 
 
 matic colours are respectively painted, is 
 made to revolve rapidly, it appears not of 
 seven colours, but of one uniform colour — 
 white. By the rapidity of the succession 
 the several sensations cease to be distin- 
 guishable ; they run, as it were, togctlier, 
 and a new sensation, compounded of all the 
 seven, but apparently a single one, is the 
 result. Ideas also, which have been so 
 often conjoined, that whenever one exists 
 in the mind the others immediately exist 
 along with it, seem to run into one another 
 — to coalesce, as it were, and out of many 
 to form one idea; which idea, however in 
 reality complex, appears to be no less simiDle 
 than any of those of which it is compounded. 
 —Mill, ' Analysis of the Human Mind,' 
 chap. iii. 
 
 Origin of the Modern Doctrine of Associa- 
 tion. 
 
 About eighteen years ago I was informed 
 that the Kev. Mr. Gay, then living, asserted 
 the possibility of deducing all our intellec- 
 tual pleasure and pains from association. 
 This put me upon considering the power of 
 association. 
 
 From inquiring into the power of asso- 
 ciation, I was led to examine both its con- 
 sequences in respect of morality and religion 
 and its physical cause. By degrees many 
 disquisitions foreign to the doctrine of asso- 
 ciation, or at least not immediately con- 
 nected with it, intermixed themselves. — 
 Hartley, ' Observations on Alan,' preface. 
 
 Illustrations. 
 
 ' That one thought is often suggested 
 to the mind by another, and that the sight 
 of an external object often recalls former 
 occurrences and revives former feelings, 
 are facts which are perfectly familiar. In 
 passing along a road which we have formerly 
 travelled in the company of a friend, the 
 particulars of the conversation in which we 
 were then engaged are frequently suggested 
 to us by the objects we meet with. In such 
 a scene we recollect that a particular sub- 
 ject was started ; and in passing the dif- 
 ferent houses and plantations and rivers 
 
130 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the arguments we were discussing when 
 we last saw them recur spontaneously to 
 the memory. . . . After time has, in some 
 degree, reconciled us to the death of a 
 friend, how wonderfully are we affected 
 the first time we enter the house where he 
 lived ! Everything we see — the apartment 
 where he studied, the chair upon which 
 he sat — recall to us the happiness we have 
 enjoyed together.' — Stewart, ^ Works,' ii. 
 252 seq. 
 
 A note of music suggests the snatch of 
 melody in which it has been heard; this 
 suggests the air, till the whole tune is re- 
 peated to the ear of the mind. If a man 
 sees a horse like one which he formerly 
 owned, or a lady sees a dress which in 
 material or colour is like one which she 
 has worn, the horse or dress are instantly 
 recalled. The heroic devotion of Florence 
 Nightingale brings to view the relief and 
 comfort of sick and woimded soldiers. — 
 Porter, 'The Human Intellect,' 277, 278. 
 
 We sleep in a strange bedroom, and 
 getting up in the dark to reach the water 
 bottle, recall at once the position of the 
 washing-stand. We read a book, and 
 without having specially observed the fact, 
 remember that a passage we want to find 
 lies near the bottom of a left-hand page. 
 — Spencer, 'Psychology,' \. 260. 
 
 Slight withal may be the things which 
 bring 
 
 Back on the heart the weight which it 
 would fling 
 
 Aside for ever : it may be a sound, — 
 
 A tone of music, — summer's eve, — or 
 spring, 
 
 A flower, — the wind, — the ocean, — which 
 shall wound. 
 Striking the electric chain wherewith we 
 
 are darkly bound. 
 — Byron, ' CI aide Harold,' c. iv. stanza 23. 
 
 Ultimate Ground of Association. 
 
 That Similarity is an ultimate ground of 
 mental association cannot seriously be ques- 
 tioned, and to neglect or discount it, in the 
 manner of the older representatives of the 
 
 school, is to render the associationist theory 
 quite inadeqvTate for purposes of general 
 psychological explanation. It is simply 
 impossible to overrate the importance of 
 this principle. — Robertson, ' Encyclopcedia 
 Britannica,' ii. 733. 
 
 Two Schools of Associationists. 
 
 Tliose who apply the doctrine to explain 
 mental reproduction and representation only. 
 Of these Aristotle is the first. 
 
 When, therefore, we accomplish an act 
 of reminiscence, we pass through a certain 
 series of procursive movements, until we 
 arrive at a movement on which the one we 
 are in quest of is habitually consequent. 
 Hence, too, it is that we hunt through the 
 mental train, excogitating from the present 
 or some other, and from similar or contrary 
 or coadjacent. Through this process re- 
 miniscence takes place. — Aristotle, ' De Me- 
 moria, d:c.' 
 
 Tliose icho apply the doctrine to explain 
 all mental acquisitions. 
 
 There has grown up, especially in Eng- 
 land, a ]psychological school which aims at 
 explaining all mental acquisitions, and the 
 more complex mental processes generally, 
 under laws not other than those determin- 
 ing simple reproduction. Hobbes is the 
 first thinker of permanent note to whom 
 the doctrine may be traced. Hartley and 
 Priestley took it up. Its most modern repre- 
 sentatives are Bain, J. S. Mill, and Herbert 
 Spencer. — Robertson, ' Encyclopcedia Brit- 
 annica,' ii. 731. 
 
 But the principle of association will not 
 explain all psychical processes. 
 
 To refer all pleasures to association is to 
 acknowledge no sound but echo. — Hare, 
 ' Guesses at Truth,' p. 180. 
 
 The association of ideas can never ac- 
 count for the origin of a new notion, or of 
 a pleasure essentially different from all 
 others which we know. It presupposes, 
 in every instance, the existence of those 
 notions and those feelings which it is its 
 
ASSOCIATION, LAWS OF. 
 
 131 
 
 province to combine. — Sfi'irarf, '' IForkft, 
 ii. 1,22. 
 
 The attempts that have been made to 
 resolve all our mental pleasures and pains 
 into Association, are guilty of a twofold 
 vice. For, in the first place, they convert 
 a partial into an exclusive law ; and, in 
 the second, they elevate a subordinate into 
 a supreme principle. — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 jihi/sics,' ii. 489. 
 
 The Influence of Associations. 
 
 To the power of association may be justly 
 attributed most of the sympathies and an- 
 tipathies observable in men, which work as 
 sti'ongly and produce as regular effects as 
 if they were natural ; and are therefore 
 called so, though they at first had no other 
 original but the accidental connexion of two 
 ideas, which either the strength of the first 
 impression or future indulgence so united, 
 that they always afterwards kept company 
 together in that man's mind, as if they 
 were but one idea. Many children imput- 
 ing the pain they endured at school to their 
 books they were corrected for, so join their 
 ideas together that a book becomes their 
 aversion, and they are never reconciled to 
 the study and use of them all their lives 
 after, and thus reading becomes a torment 
 to them which otherwise possibly they 
 might have made the great pleasure of their 
 lives. — Locke, ^ Human Understanding,^ book 
 ii. chap. 33. 
 
 All that strikes us in our friends or in 
 our enemies is associated with the agreeable 
 or the disagreeable feeling which we seve- 
 rally experience ; the faults of the former 
 borrow always something pleasing from 
 their amiable qualities ; whereas the ami- 
 able qualities of the latter seem always to 
 participate of their vices. Hence it is that 
 these associations exert a powerful influ- 
 ence ^ our whole conduct. They foster 
 our love or hatred, enhance our esteem or 
 contempt, excite our gratitude or indigna- 
 tion, and produce those sympathies, those 
 antipathies, or those capricious inclinations 
 for which we are sometimes sorely puzzled 
 
 to render a reason. — Hamilton, ' Logic' 
 ii. 127. 
 
 The moral influence of accidental asso- 
 ciations is well worthy of attention, for 
 their power for evil as well as their capacity 
 for good. Pleasing manners, high intel- 
 lectvial culture, the attractions of wealth 
 and position may be combined with liber- 
 tine principles and easy morals, and thus 
 become powerful aids and instruments of 
 vice and corruption. The easy manners, 
 the gay life, and the generous hospitality of 
 the cavaliers of Charles I. and of the cour- 
 tiers of Charles II. lent a charm to their 
 cause and a fascination to their name and 
 memory ; while the unnatural strictness, 
 the over-stiff manners, and the precise 
 pedantry of the Puritans have caused their 
 pure morals, their patriotic heroism, and 
 their fervent piety to be odious in the minds 
 of many noble men, and have burdened their 
 very name with associations of contempt and 
 reproach. — Porter, '■The Human Intellect,' 
 p. 298. 
 
 III. ASSOCIATION, LAWS OP. 
 
 Defined. 
 
 The conditions or laws under which the 
 mind recalls one object by means of another 
 are called the laws of association. — Porter, 
 ' Tlie Human Intellect,'' p. 254. 
 
 Classification of the Laws, by 
 
 A ristotle. 
 
 Aristotle recalled the laws to four, or 
 rather to three : Contiguity in time and 
 space. Resemblance, and Contrariety. He 
 even seems to have thought they might all 
 be carried up into the one law of Co-exist- 
 ence. — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,'' ii. 231. 
 
 St. Augustine. 
 
 He reduces association to a single canon, 
 viz.. Thoughts which have once co- existed 
 in the mind are afterwards associated. — 
 Hamilton, ' Metajyhgsics,' ii. 231. 
 
 Hume. 
 
 WTio first, among the moderns, enume- 
 rates distinct principles of association. 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 To me there appear to be only three prin- 
 ciples of connection among ideas, namely, 
 Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, 
 and Cause or Effect. A picture naturally 
 leads our thoughts to the original (Resem- 
 blance). The mention of one apartment in 
 a building naturally introduces an inquiry 
 or discourse concerning the others (Con- 
 tiguity). If we think of a wound we can 
 scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which 
 follows it (Cause and Effect). — *■ Essaij on 
 Human Understanding,'' sec. iii. 
 
 Dugald Stewart. 
 
 The relations, upon which some of the 
 associations are founded, are perfectly ob- 
 vious to the mind ; those which are the 
 foundation of others are discovered only 
 in consequence of particular efforts of at- 
 tention. Of the former kind are the re- 
 lations of Resemblance and Analogy, of 
 Contrariety, of Vicinity in time and place, 
 and those which arise from accidental co- 
 incidence in the sound of different words. 
 Of the latter kind are the relations of 
 Cause and Effect, of Means and End, of 
 Premises and Conclusion ; and those others 
 which regulate the train of thought in the 
 mind of the philosopher when he is engaged 
 in a particular investigation. — '■Philosophi- 
 cal WorJvs,' iii. 263. 
 
 Broivn. 
 
 He divides the circumstances affecting 
 association into primary and secondary. 
 Under the primary laws of Suggestion he 
 includes Resemblance, Contrast, Conti- 
 guity in time and place. By the second- 
 ary he means the vivacity, the recentness, 
 and the frequent repetition of our thoughts. 
 Hamilton, 'Metaphysics,' ii. 232. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 In his ultimate scheme he lays down 
 four General Laws of mental succession 
 concerned in reproduction : — (i) Associa- 
 bility or Possible Co-suggestion ; (2) Re- 
 petition or Direct Remembrance; (3) Re- 
 dintegration, Indirect Remembrance or 
 Reminiscence; (4) Preference. To these 
 he adds Special Laws, namely — (A.) Pri- 
 
 mary ; modes of the laws of Repetition 
 and Redintegration — (i) Law of Similars 
 (Analogy and Affinity) ; (2) Law of Con- 
 trast; (3) Law of Coadjacency (Cause and 
 Effect, Whole and Parts, &c.) (B.) Second- 
 ary ; modes of the Law of Preference : — 
 (i) Law of Immediacy; (2) Law of Homo- 
 geneity; (3) Law of Facility. — Hamilton's 
 ' Reid,' note D*** (abridged). 
 
 Bain. 
 
 Who lays down a law — (i) of Conti- 
 guity, (2) of Similarity, (3) of Compound 
 Association. — 'Mental and Moral Science' 
 bk. ii. 
 
 Herbert Spencer. 
 
 The fundamental law of all mental asso- 
 ciation is that each relation or feeling at 
 the moment of presentation aggregates 
 with its like in past experience. Besides 
 this law of association there is no other ; 
 but all further phenomena of association 
 are incidental. [See Association of Ideas, 
 § iii. J — 'Psijcliology,' i. 269. 
 
 Noah Porter. 
 
 The laws of association are divided into 
 higher and loioer. The lower are those 
 which are presented to us in the acquisi- 
 tions of sense and consciousness, and which 
 are reproduced by the repi-esentative ima- 
 gination or the uncultured memory. These 
 are the relations of time and sjmce. As 
 they are more obvious and natural, they 
 require little of higher culture or disci- 
 pline. They are also developed earliest in 
 the order of time, and are common to the 
 whole race. The relations of likeness and 
 of contrast form an intermediate class be- 
 tween the natural and the philosophical; 
 being now present in the one, and then 
 largely represented in the other. The higher 
 are the relations of cause and effect; in- 
 volving ineans and end, premise and con- 
 clusion, datum and inference, genus and 
 species, laio and example, — all, in short, of 
 the so-called philosopiliical or logical rela- 
 tions. All these are present in and con- 
 trol the hiofher imacjination and the more 
 
REVERIE AND ABSTRACTION— DREAMS, ETC. 
 
 ^33 
 
 developed processes of thought. — ' Human 
 Intellect,' p. 296. 
 
 Statement of the Laws. 
 
 1. Law of Associahility. 
 
 All thoughts of the same mental subject 
 are associable, or capable of suggesting each 
 other. 
 
 2. Law of Repetition. 
 
 Tlioughts co-identical in modification, 
 but differing in time, tend to suggest each 
 other. If A be recalled into consciousness, 
 A will tend to reawaken B, B to reawaken 
 C, and so on. 
 
 3. Law of Redintegration. 
 
 Thoughts once co-identical in time are, 
 however different as mental modes, again 
 suggestive of each other, and that in the 
 mutual order which they originally hold. 
 
 Bain's Law of Contiguity may be put by 
 the side of this ; Actions, Sensations, and 
 States of Feeling occurring together, or in 
 close succession tend to grow together, or 
 cohere, in such a way that when any of 
 them is afterwards presented to the mind 
 the others are apt to be brought up in 
 idea. 
 
 4. Laio of Preference. 
 
 Thoughts are sugge.sted, not merely by 
 force of the genex-al subjective relation sub- 
 sisting between themselves, they are also 
 suggested, in proportion to the relation of 
 interest (from whatever source) in which 
 these stand to the individual mind. 
 
 5. Laio of Similars. 
 
 Things — thoughts resembling each other 
 (be their semblance simple or analogical) are 
 mutually suggestive. 
 
 Compare Bain's statement : — Present 
 Actions, Sensations, Thoughts, or Emotions 
 tend to revive their Wee among previously 
 occurring states. 
 
 6. Laio of Immediacy. 
 
 Of two thoughts, if the one be immedi- 
 ately, the other mediately connected with 
 
 a third, the first will be suggested by the 
 third in preference to the second. 
 
 7. Law of Homogeneity. 
 
 A thought will suggest another of the 
 same order in preference to one of a diffe- 
 rent ordei'. Thus a smell will suggest a 
 smell, a sight a sight, &c. 
 
 8. Law of Facility. 
 
 A thought easier to suggest will be roused 
 in preference to a more difficult one. The 
 easier ai-e those more strongly impressed on 
 the mind, or more recent, or more frequently 
 repeated, or more interesting, &c. — The 
 above laws are taken from Hamilton's 
 'Reid; noteD*** 
 
 9. Law of Compound Association. 
 
 Past Actions, Sensations, Thoughts, or 
 Emotions are recalled more easily when 
 associated either through contiguity or simi- 
 larity with more than one present object or 
 impression. We may not be able to remem- 
 ber a mineral specimen by its being a certain 
 ore of iron ; but some local association in a 
 museum or cabinet may complete the recall 
 of its visible aspect. — Bain, 'Mental and 
 Moral Science,' p. 151. 
 
 10. Laio of Inseparable Association. 
 Some ideas are by frequency and strength 
 
 of association so closely combined that they 
 cannot be separated. If one exists, the 
 other exists along with it, in spite of what- 
 ever effort we may make to disjoin them. 
 It is not in ou^r power to think of colour 
 without thinking of extension, or of solidity 
 without figure. — Mill, ' Analysis of the Hu- 
 man Mind,' i. 93. 
 
 IV. REVERIE AND ABSTRACTION- 
 DREAMS, &c. 
 
 Reverie and Abstraction. 
 
 When the mind is not following any 
 definite direction of its own, one idea may 
 be readily substituted for another by new 
 suggestions from without; and thus the 
 whole state of the convictions, the feelings, 
 and the impulses to action, may be altered 
 
134 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 from time to time, without the least per- 
 ception of the strangeness of the transition. 
 Such are the characteristics of the states 
 known as Reverie and Abstract io7i ; which 
 are fundamentally the same in their char- 
 acter, though the fonn of their products 
 differs with the temperament and previous 
 habits of the individual, and with the de- 
 gree in which his consciousness may remain 
 open to external impressions, — Reverie be- 
 ing the automatic mental action of the 
 poet. Abstraction that of the Reasoner. — 
 Carpenter, 'Mental Physiology,'' p. 544. 
 
 Dreaming. 
 
 Absence of control over the thoughts in 
 dreaming. 
 
 With the absence of consciousness of 
 external things, there may be a state of 
 mental activity, of which we are more or 
 less cognisant at the time, and of which 
 our subsequent remembrance in the waking 
 state varies greatly in completeness. The 
 chief peculiarity of the state of dreaming 
 appears to be, that there is an entire 
 suspension of volitional control over the 
 current of thought, which flows on auto- 
 matically, sometimes in a imiform, coherent 
 order, but more commonly in a strangely 
 incongruous sequence. The former is most 
 likely to occur, when the mind simply takes 
 up the train of thought on which it had 
 been engaged during the waking hours, not 
 long previously ; and it may even happen 
 that, in consequence of the freedom from 
 distraction resulting from the suspension 
 of external influences, the reasoning pro- 
 cesses may thus be carried on during sleep 
 with unusual vigour and success, and the 
 imagination may develop new and har- 
 monious forms of beauty. 
 
 Thus, Condorcet saw in his dreams the 
 final steps of a difiicult calculation which 
 had puzzled him during the day : and 
 Condillac tells us that, when engaged in 
 his 'Cours d'Etude,' he frequently de- 
 veloped and finished a subject in his 
 dreams, which he had broken oif before 
 retiring to rest. — Carpenter, 'Mental Phy- 
 siology,' p. 584. 
 
 Tlie Materials of Dreams. 
 
 There can be no doubt that the materials 
 of our dreams are often furnished by the 
 ' traces ' left upon the brain by occurrences 
 long since past, which have completely 
 faded out of the conscious memory. — 
 Carpenter, 'Mental Physiology,' p. 587. 
 
 Rapidity of thought in Dreams. 
 
 There would not appear to be any limit 
 to the amount of thought which may pass 
 through the mind of the dreamer, in an 
 interval so brief as to be scarcely capable 
 of measurement; as is obvious from the 
 fact, that a dream involving a long suc- 
 cession of supposed events, has often dis- 
 tinctly originated in a sound which has 
 also awoke the sleeper, so that the whole 
 must have passed during the almost in- 
 appreciable period of transition between 
 the previous state of sleep and the full 
 waking consciousness. — Carpenter, 'Mental 
 Physiology,' p. 588. 
 
 Explanation of the origin of Dreams. 
 
 It is known that the brain becomes com- 
 paratively bloodless in sleep, while there is 
 a partial return of blood to its vessels when 
 the sleep is disturbed by the imperfect con- 
 sciousness of dreams ; and the quantity of 
 blood in its vessels becomes greatly in- 
 creased with the perfect restoration of 
 consciousness on awaking. Dreaming is, 
 therefore, a state in which we are half- 
 asleep and half -awake — sufficiently awake 
 to have some consciousness. In this we 
 have an explanation of the generally ad- 
 mitted fact, that most dreams take place 
 at the transition from waking to sleep, 
 or, perhaps more commonly, from sleep to 
 waking. 
 
 The state of the dreamer's consciousness, 
 then, is one in which the higher function 
 of thought or comparison, implying volun- 
 tary control, is dormant, and only the more 
 mechanical function of association active. — 
 Murray, ' Psychology,' pp. 254, 255. 
 
 Somnamhulism. 
 
 It seems common to every phase of this 
 condition that there is the same want of 
 
REVERIE AND ABSTRACTION— DREAMS, ETC. 
 
 '35 
 
 volitional control ovei" the current of 
 thought, and the same complete subjection 
 of the consciousness to the idea which may 
 for a time possess it, as in dreaming ; but 
 tlie somnambulist differs from the ordinary 
 dreamer in possessing such a control over 
 his nervo-muscular apparatus as to be en- 
 abled to execute, or at any rate to attempt, 
 whatever it may be in his mind to do ; 
 while some of the inlets to sensation ordi- 
 narily remain open, so that the somnambu- 
 list may hear, though he does not see or 
 feel, or may feel, while he does not see or 
 hear. The Musciilar Sense, indeed, seems 
 always active ; and many of the most re- 
 markable performances, both of natural and 
 of induced somnambulism, seem referable 
 to the extraordinary intensity with which 
 impressions on it are perceived, in conse- 
 quence of the exclusive fixation of the atten- 
 tion on its guidance. — Carpenter, '■Mental 
 Physiologij,' p. 591. 
 
 Induced Somnambulism — Hypnotism. 
 
 Method of producing Hypnotism. 
 
 The method, discovered by Mr. Braid, of 
 producing this state of artificial somnam- 
 bulism, which was appropriately designated 
 by him as Hypnotism, consists in the main- 
 tenance of a fixed gaze, for several minutes 
 consecutively, on a bright object placed 
 somewhat above and in front of the eyes, 
 at so short a distance that the convergence 
 of their axes upon it is accompanied with a 
 sense of effort, even amounting to pain. 
 
 In Hypnotism, as in ordinary somnam- 
 bulism, no remembrance whatever is pre- 
 served in the waking state of anything that 
 may have occurred during its continuance ; 
 although the previous train of thought may 
 be taken up and continued iminteri-uptedly 
 on the next occasion that the hypnotism is 
 induced. And when the mind is not ex- 
 cited to activity by the stimulus of external 
 impressions, the hypnotised subject appears 
 to be profoundly asleep ; a state of com- 
 plete torpor, in fact, being usually the first 
 result of the process just described, and 
 any subsequent manifestation of activity 
 being procurable only by the prompting 
 
 of the operator. — Carpenter, ^Mental Phy- 
 siology,^ pp. 601, 602. 
 
 Tlie suggestion of ideas in Hyjviotism. 
 By attitude or gesture. 
 
 If the hand be placed upon the top of the 
 head, the somnambulist will frequently, of 
 his own accord, draw his body up to its 
 fullest height, and throw his head slightly 
 back; his countenance then assumes an 
 expression of the most lofty pride, and his 
 whole mind is obviously possessed by that 
 feeling. Where the first action does not 
 of itself call forth the rest, it is suflicient 
 for the operator to straighten the legs and 
 spine, and to throw the head somewhat 
 back, to arouse that feeling and the corre- 
 sponding expression to its fullest intensity. 
 During the most complete domination of 
 this emotion, let the head be bent forward, 
 and the body and limbs gently flexed, and 
 the most profound humility then instan- 
 taneously takes its place. — Caypenter, ' Men- 
 tal Physiology,' p. 602. 
 
 Of the ideas connected tvith 2^<^''^'li'^ular 
 actions. 
 
 If the hand be raised above the head and 
 the fingei's be bent upon the palm, the 
 notion of climbing, swinging, or pulling at 
 a rope is called vip ; if, on the other hand, 
 the fingers are bent when the arm is hang- 
 ing at the side, the idea excited is that of 
 lifting some object from the ground; and 
 if the same be done when the arm is ad- 
 vanced forwards in the position of striking 
 a blow, the idea of fighting is at once 
 aroused, and the somnambulist is very apt 
 to put it into immediate execution. — Car- 
 penter, *■ Mental Physiology,'' p. 605. 
 
 Influence upon Organic Functions — in- 
 
 A female relative of Mr. Braid was the 
 subject of a severe rheumatic fever, during 
 the course of which the left eye became 
 seriously implicated, so that after the in- 
 flammatory action had passed away there 
 was an opacity over more than one half of 
 the cornea, which not only prevented dis- 
 
^36 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tinct vision, but occasioned an annoying dis- 
 figurement. Having placed herself under 
 Mr. Braid's hypnotic treatment for the 
 relief of violent pain in her arm and shoul- 
 der, she found, to the surprise alike of her- 
 self and Mr. B., that her sight began to 
 improve very perceptibly. The operation 
 was therefore continued daily, and in a very 
 short time the cornea became so transparent 
 that close inspection was required to dis- 
 cover any remains of the opacity. — (^ Neu- 
 rhypnology; p. 175.) 
 
 The writer has known other cases in 
 which secretions that had been morbidly 
 suspended have been reinduced by this 
 process ; and is satisfied that, if applied with 
 skill and discrimination, it would take rank 
 as one of the most potent methods of treat- 
 ment which the physician has at his com- 
 mand. The channel of influence is obviously 
 the vaso-motor system of nerves ; which, 
 though not directly ruider subjection to 
 the will, is peculiarly affected by emotional 
 states. — Carjperder, ' Mental Physiology,^ p. 
 609. 
 
 V. MEMORY. 
 
 Its Nature. 
 
 Definition. 
 
 Memory is an immediate knowledge of a 
 present thought, involving an absolute be- 
 lief that this thought represents another act 
 of knowledge that has heen. — Hamilton, 
 'Discussions,^ P- 5i- 
 
 Consciousness testifies that when a 
 thought has once been present to the mind 
 it may again become present to it with the 
 additional consciousness that it has formerly 
 been present to it. When this takes place 
 we are said to remember, and the faculty of 
 which remembrance is the act.is memory. — 
 Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 302. 
 
 To remember is to mind again, to have 
 again before the mind a thing or event, 
 knowing it to have been formerly experi- 
 enced. I go through a house, walk into 
 the adjacent garden, and observe the fields 
 surrounding it on all sides. This is an act 
 
 of perception. I retire to rest, rise the 
 next morning, and survey the same scene. 
 I recognise it as the same which I observed 
 the day before. This is that form of 
 memoi-y which may be called recognition. 
 I proceed to another house with its garden 
 and adjoining scenery. I recall the former 
 house and mark the points of difference. 
 The former part of this act is pure memory. 
 — Murphy, '■Human Mind,' p. 89. 
 
 The word Memory always expresses some 
 modification of that faculty which enables 
 us to treasure vip and to preserve for future 
 use the knowledge which we acquii-e. This 
 faculty implies two things, a capacity of 
 retaining knowledge and a power of recall- 
 ing it to our thoughts when we have occa- 
 sion to apply it to use. Sometimes our 
 thoughts recur to us spontaneously, in other 
 cases they are recalled by an effort of our 
 will. — Stewart, ' Works,' ii. 349, seq. 
 
 Essential elements. 
 
 It is not vei-y easy to determine what 
 bare memory consists m apart from its 
 adjimcts. Writers on mental science have 
 scarcely entered upon the subject, they have 
 certainly not discussed it. It is clear that 
 in eveiy act of memory j^roper there must 
 be a recollection of self, and of self in a 
 certain state, say perceiving, feeling, or 
 thinking. When an external thing has 
 been observed, or an occurrence witnessed, 
 there will co-exist with the remembrance 
 of self a recollection of the object or event. 
 Very frequently the thing perceived fills 
 the mind, and the co-existing reminiscence 
 of self is scarcely attended to. Such, I 
 suppose, must be our original memory. 
 Such, I suppose, must be the whole memory 
 of the infant, and hence its floating and un- 
 certain character. — 3PCos?i, ' Intuitions of 
 the Mind,' p. 175. 
 
 An act or state of memory may be 
 defined as that in which the essential 
 elements of an act of previous cognition 
 are more or less perfectly reknown, both 
 objective and subjective, with the relations 
 essential to each. These elements are not 
 all recalled with the same distinctness, and 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 37 
 
 hence there are varieties of memory ; but 
 it is essential to an act of memory that 
 some portion of each of these elements and 
 relations should be recalled and reknown. 
 
 For example : I remember an event 
 which occurred an hour ago — that a friend 
 made me a call, or passed me, as I was 
 walking in the street. What is involved 
 in this act of memory? First of all, I 
 must reproduce the image of my friend as 
 before me, or as he passed ; second, I must 
 recall the image or recollection of myself 
 as seeing or conversing with him, perhaps 
 with more or less feeling. Unless both 
 these elements are recalled, the object per- 
 ceived or in some way cognised, and myself 
 in the act of apprehending and perhaps of 
 feeling — i.e., the objective and subjective 
 elements — the act cannot be an act of 
 memory. If we recall or represent any 
 event or object, and say we remember it, 
 we must also recall ourselves in some act 
 or state related to it. Third, the act of 
 origmally knowing the object or event was 
 my act — i.e., I, the same being who now 
 recall and reknow it in the ways described, 
 did know it before. The act of knowing 
 the object, and of having known it, are 
 acts of the same being. Fourth, the two 
 acts are in this process also distinguished 
 as before and after, the present as actual, 
 the past, both act and object, as having 
 been actual. This involves the distmctions 
 of before and after, or the relations of 
 succession involving time. Fifth, in the 
 original act of observation I must have 
 been in some place, and the object observed 
 must have sustained some relation to at- 
 tending or accompanying objects. Neither 
 myself nor the object can ordinarily be 
 recalled without some of these accompani- 
 ments involving relations to space. Sixth, 
 the objective and subjective elements, and 
 the relations which they involve, thus 
 recalled as images, must be known to 
 represent realities. — Porter, ' Human In- 
 tellect,^ p. 300. 
 
 Memory implies, — i. A mode of con- 
 sciousness experienced. 2. The retaining 
 or remaining of that mode of consciousness 
 
 so that it may subsequently be revived 
 without the presence of its object, 3. The 
 actual revival of that mode of conscious- 
 ness; and 4. The recognising that mode 
 of consciousness as having formerly been 
 experienced. — Fleming, * Vocab. of P/iil.,' 
 P- 303- 
 
 Memory is a complex idea made up of at 
 least two constitvients. In the first place, 
 there is the idea of an object; and secondly, 
 thei-e is the idea of the relation of antece- 
 dence between that object and some present 
 objects. — Huxley, 'Hume,' p. 97. 
 
 It involves belief. 
 
 In memory of our own past experience, 
 belief is involved. When I remember, I 
 have present to consciousness ideas which 
 represent past reality. To have ideas simply 
 is to imagine ; to have ideas which we are 
 convinced represent past experience is to 
 have imagination plus belief, i.e., to re- 
 member. It should be observed that we 
 are frequently said to trust our memory, 
 to believe that what we remember is true. 
 This phraseology is objectionable ; we can- 
 not proj)erly be said to trust our memory, 
 we simply use it. In the very fact of 
 remembering is involved the reference to 
 past reality which is the essence of belief. 
 — Adamson, ' Encyclopaedia Britannica,' iii. 
 533 (ed. ix.). 
 
 It is based on consciousness. 
 
 It is manifest that the ground of memory 
 is consciousness. The bare fact of memoiy 
 may be expressed in the sentence, I saw the 
 tree yesterday. But this statement gives 
 rise to the question. How do you know now 
 that you saw it then ? The answer to this 
 is not far to seek. I knew that I saw it 
 then ; and so I know now that I saw it 
 then. KJnowledge once acquired is a con- 
 stant possession. This is the foundation of 
 memory. — Murphy, * Human Mind,' p. 92. 
 
 Conditions of Memory. 
 
 Generally. 
 
 The circumstances which have a tendency 
 to facilitate or insure the retention or the 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 recurrence of anything by the memory, are 
 
 chiefly— Vividness, Repetition, and Attention. 
 When an object affects us in a pleasant or 
 in a disagreeable manner — when it is fre- 
 quently or familiarly observed — or when it 
 is examined with attention and interest, it 
 is more easily and svirely remembered. — 
 Fleming, 'Vocah. of Phil.,' p. 305. 
 
 The things which are best preserved by 
 the memory are the things which please or 
 terrify — which are great or neic — to which 
 much attention has been paid — or which 
 have been oft repeated, — which are apt to 
 the circumstances — or which have many 
 things related to them. — Herbert, ' De Veri- 
 tate,' p. 156. 
 
 Vivid impressions. 
 
 It is a law of mind that the intensity of 
 the present consciousness determines the 
 vivacity of the future memory. Memory 
 and consciousness are thus in the direct 
 ratio of each other. On the one hand, 
 looking from cause to effect, — vivid con- 
 sciousness, long memory ; faint conscious- 
 ness, short memory; no consciousness, no 
 memory; and on the other, looking from 
 effect to cause, — long memory, vivid con- 
 sciousness; short memory, faint conscious- 
 ness ; no memory, no consciousness. — Ham- 
 ilton, ^Metaphysics,'' i. 368. 
 
 Attention and repetition. 
 
 The connection between memory and 
 attention has been remarked by many 
 authors. It is essential to memory, that 
 the perception or the idea that we would 
 wish to remember should remain in the 
 mind for a certain space of time, and should 
 be contemplated by it exclusively of every- 
 thing else; and that attention consists 
 partly (perhaps entirely) in the effort of 
 the mind to detain the idea or the percep- 
 tion, and to exclude the other objects that 
 solicit its notice. — Stewart, ' Works,' ii. 123. 
 
 It is easier to get by heart a composition 
 after a very few readings, with an attempt 
 to repeat it at the end of each, than after 
 a hundred readings without such an effort. 
 — Stewart, ' Works,' ii. 352. 
 
 Attention and repetition help much to the 
 fixing any ideas in the memory ; but those 
 which naturally at first make the deepest 
 and most lasting impression, are those 
 which are accompanied with pleasure or 
 pain. . . . Those ideas which are oftenest 
 refreshed by a frequent return of the ob- 
 jects or actions that produce them, fix 
 themselves best in the memory and remain 
 clearest and longest there. — Locke, '■Human 
 Understanding,' ii. x. 3, 6. 
 
 Association of Ideas. (See Laws op As- 
 sociation.) 
 
 If I think of any case of memory, I shall 
 always find that the idea, or the sensation 
 which preceded the memory, was one of 
 those which are calculated, according to the 
 laws of association, to call up the idea in- 
 volved in that case of memory ; and that 
 it was by the preceding idea, or sensation, 
 that the idea of memory was in reality 
 brought into the mind. I have not seen a 
 person with whom I was formerly intimate 
 for a number of years ; nor have I, during 
 all that interval, had occasion to think of 
 him. Some object which had been fre- 
 quently presented to my senses along with 
 him, or the idea of something with which 
 I have strongly associated the idea of him, 
 occurs to me ; instantly the memory of him 
 exists. — Mill, ' Tlie Human Mind,' p. 321. 
 
 What is the contrivance to which we 
 have recourse for preserving the memory ; 
 that is, for making sure that it will be 
 called into existence, when it is our wish 
 that it should ? All men invariably employ 
 the same expedient. They endeavour to 
 form an association between the idea of 
 the thing to be remembered, and some sen- 
 sation, or some idea, which they know be- 
 forehand will occur at or near the time 
 when they wish the remembrance to be in 
 their minds. If this association is formed, 
 and the sensation or the idea, with which 
 it has been formed, occurs ; the sensation, 
 or idea, calls up the remembrance ; and the 
 object of him who formed the association is 
 attained. To use a vulgar instance ; a man 
 receives a commission from his friend, and. 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 139 
 
 that he may not forget it, ties a knot on 
 his handkercliief. How is this fact to be 
 explained ? First of all, the idea of the 
 commission is associated with the making 
 of the knot. Next, the handkerchief is a 
 thing which it is known beforehand will be 
 frequently seen, and of course at no great 
 distance of time from the occasion on which 
 the memory is desu-ed. The handkerchief 
 being seen, the knot is seen, and this sen- 
 sation recalls the idea of the commission, 
 between which and itself the association 
 had been purposely formed. — Mill, •The 
 Human Mmd,^ p. 323. 
 
 "Whensoever there is a desire to fix any 
 train in the memory, all men have recourse 
 to one and the same expedient. Tliey 
 I^ractise what is calculated to create a 
 strong association. The grand cause of 
 strong associations is repetition. This, ac- 
 cordingly, is the common resource. If any 
 man, for example, Avishes to remember a 
 passage of a book, he repeats it a sufficient 
 number of times. To the man practised 
 in applying the principle of association to 
 the phenomena in which it is concerned, 
 the explication of this process presents itself 
 immediately. The repetition of one word 
 after another, and of one idea after another, 
 gives the antecedent the power of calling 
 up the consequent from the beginning 
 to the end of that portion of discourse, 
 which it is the purpose of the learner to 
 remember. 
 
 That the remembrance is produced in no 
 other way, is proved by a decisive experi- 
 ment. For, after a passage has been com- 
 mitted to memory in the most perfect 
 manner, if the learner attempts to repeat 
 it in any other order than that, according 
 to which the association was formed, he 
 will fail. A man who has been accustomed 
 to repeat the Lord's Prayer, for example, 
 from his infancy, will, if he has never tried 
 it, find the impossibility of repeating it 
 backwards, small as the number is of the 
 woi'ds of which it consists. — Mill, ^ Tlie 
 Human Mind,' p. 326. 
 
 One of the most obvious and striking 
 
 questions [in treatmg of memory] is, what 
 the circumstances are which determine the 
 memory to retain some things in preference 
 to others 1 Among the subjects which suc- 
 cessively occupy our thoughts, by far the 
 greater number vanish, without leaving a 
 trace behind them ; while othei-s become, 
 as it were, a part of ouiselves, and by 
 their accumulations, lay a foundation for 
 our perpetual progress in knowledge. . . . 
 Memory depends upon two principles of 
 our nature — Attention and the Association 
 of Ideas. — Steicart, ' Works,' ii. 352. 
 
 Good health and vigour. 
 
 No other mental power betrays a greater 
 dependence on corporeal conditions than 
 memory. Not only in general does its 
 vigorous or feeble activity essentially de- 
 pend on the health and indisposition of 
 the body, more especially of the nervous 
 system ; but there is manifested a connec- 
 tion between certain functions of memory 
 and certain parts of the cerebral apparatus. 
 — Schmid, ' Versuch einer Metaphysik der 
 timer en Natnr,' p. 235. 
 
 How much the constitution of our bodies 
 and the make of our animal spirits are con- 
 cerned in the fading of our ideas, and whe- 
 ther the temper of the brain makes this 
 difference, that in some it letains the char- 
 acters drawn on it Kke marble, in others 
 like freestone, and in others little better 
 than sand, I shall not here inquire, though 
 it may seem probable that the constitution 
 of the body does sometimes influence the 
 memory, since we oftentimes find a disease 
 quite strip the mind of all its ideas, and the 
 flames of a fever in a few days calcine all 
 those images to dust and confusion which 
 seemed to be as lasting as if graved in 
 marble. — Locke, ' Human Understanding,'' 
 ii. X. 5. 
 
 Memory in its exercises is very dependent 
 upon bodily organs, particidarly the brain. 
 In persons under fever, or in danger of 
 drowning, the brain is preternatural ly ex- 
 cited ; and in such cases it has been observed 
 that memory becomes more remote and far- 
 reaching in its exercise than under ordinary 
 
14° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and healthy circumstances. Several authen- 
 tic cases of this kind are on record. And 
 hence the qviestion has been suggested whe- 
 ther thought be not absolutely impei-ish- 
 able, or whether every object of former 
 consciousness may not, under peculiar cir- 
 cumstances, be liable to be recalled 1 — 
 Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 307, 
 
 Loss of the Memory of Words. 
 
 To this condition the term Aj^hasia has 
 been recently applied. Sometimes the 
 memory of words is impaired merely, so 
 that the patient mistakes the proper terms. 
 And in some instances there is an obvious 
 association, though an irrelevant one, be- 
 tween the word used and the word that 
 ought to have been used ; thus the case of 
 a clergyman has been lately mentioned to 
 the ^vl'iter, who continually confuses ' father ' 
 and 'son,' 'brother' and 'sister,' 'gospel' 
 and ' epistle,' and the like. But sometimes 
 there is no recognisable relation, so that 
 the patient speaks a most curious jargon. 
 Again, the Memory of only a particular class 
 of icords, such as noiuis or verbs, may be 
 lost; or the patient may remember the 
 letters of which a word is composed, and 
 may be able to spell his wants though he 
 cannot speak the word itself. A very 
 cm-ious affection of the memory is that in 
 which the sound of spoken words does not 
 convey any idea to the mind ; yet the indi- 
 vidual may recognise in a written or printed 
 list of words those which have been uttered 
 by the speaker, the sight of them enabling 
 him to understand their meaning. Con- 
 versely, the sound of the word may be 
 remembered, and the idea it conveys fully 
 appreciated ; but the visual memory of its 
 written form may be altogether lost, although 
 the component letters may be recognised. — 
 Carpenter, ^Mental Physiology,' pp. 446, 447. 
 
 Physical Cause of Aphasia. 
 
 Aphasia follows upon damage to the out- 
 going fibres leading from the left Auditory 
 and Visual through the KinEesthetic Word- 
 Centres to the great Motor Ganglion be- 
 neath, viz., the Corpus Sti'iatum. 
 
 It would seem that these two sets of out- 
 going channels are, at all events in some 
 parts of their course, situated moderately 
 close together, so that they may be destroyed 
 simultaneously by some small lesion, and 
 that too without the implication of outgoing 
 fibres for limb-movements, and consequently 
 without the association of a right-sided 
 paralysis. — Bastian, '■The Brain, ^-c.,' p. 
 648. 
 
 Mental Activity during Aphasia. 
 
 Although it is generally recognised that 
 Aphasia, when serious and of long duration, 
 is always accompanied by mental weakness, 
 there can be no doubt that mental activity 
 persists, even where there are no means of 
 translating the ideas into words or ges- 
 tures. 
 
 Patients deprived of only a part of their 
 vocabulary, but unable to find the proper 
 word, replace it by a paraphrase or descrip- 
 tion. For scissors they say ' the things that 
 cut ; ' for window, ' what you see thr-ough.' 
 They designate a man by the place where 
 he lives, by his titles, his profession, inven- 
 tions which he has made, or books that he 
 has written. In the most serious cases we 
 sometimes find the patient able to play at 
 cards with calculation and discretion; others 
 are able to superintend their affairs. — 
 Rihot, ' Diseases of Memory,' p. 157. 
 
 Significance of Memory. 
 
 Empirical theory. 
 
 The thread of consciousness which com- 
 poses the mind's phenomenal life, consists 
 not only of present sensations but likewise 
 in part of memories and expectations. Now 
 what are these ? In themselves, they are 
 present feelings, states of present conscious- 
 ness, and in that respect not distinguished 
 from sensations. They aU, moreover, re- 
 semble some given sensations or feelings, of 
 which we have previously had experience. 
 But they are attended with the peculiarity 
 that each of them involves a belief in more 
 than its own present existence. A sensa- 
 tion involves only this ; but a remem- 
 brance of sensation, even if not referred to 
 
MEMORY 
 
 141 
 
 any particular date, involves the suggestion 
 and belief that a sensation, of which it is a 
 copy or representation, actually existed in 
 tlie past ; and an expectation involves the 
 belief, more or less positive, that a sensa- 
 tion or other feeling to which it directly 
 refers, will exist in the future. — Mill, 'Ex- 
 amination of Sir W. Hamilton,^ p. 241. 
 
 Mill's admission as to the idtimate fact in 
 memory. 
 
 Our belief in the veracity of Memory is 
 evidently ultimate ; no reason can be given 
 for it which does not presuppose the belief 
 and assume it to be well-grounded. — Mill, 
 ' Examination of Sir W. Hamilton,' p. 174. 
 
 Belief in Memory inconsistent with the 
 empirical Theory of Mind. 
 
 I)7\ Ward's criticism of J. S. Mill. 
 
 You make use of your own past experi- 
 ence, — you make use of other men's ex- 
 perience, — as part of the foundation on 
 which you build. How can you even guess 
 what your past experience has been ? By 
 trusting memory. But how do you prove 
 that those various intuitive judgments, 
 which we call acts of memory, can rightly 
 be trusted ? So far from this being prov- 
 able by past experience, it must be in such 
 case assumed and taken for granted befoi'e 
 you can have any cognisance of your past 
 experience. 
 
 I am at this moment comfortably warm, 
 but I call to mind with great clearness the 
 fact that a short time ago I was very cold. 
 What datum does ' sensation ' give me 1 
 Simply that I am now warm. What 
 datum does ' consciousness ' give ? That I 
 have the present impression of having been 
 
 cold a short time 
 
 But ))oth these 
 
 data are altogether wide of the mark. The 
 question which I would earnestly beg Mr. 
 Mill to ask himself is this, Wliat is my 
 ground for believing that I icas cold a short 
 time ago ? ' I have the present impression 
 of having been cold a short time ago;' this 
 is one judgment. ' I was cold a short time 
 ago ; ' this is a totally distinct and separate 
 judgment. There is no necessary, nor any 
 
 even probable, connexion between these two 
 judgments, — no ground whatever for think- 
 ing that the truth of one follows from the 
 truth of the other, — except upon the hypo- 
 thesis that my mind is so constituted as 
 accurately to represent past facts. But 
 how will either ' sensation ' or * conscious- 
 ness,' or the two combined, in any way 
 suffice for the establishment of any such 
 proposition? — 'Nature and Grace,' pp. 
 26-28. 
 
 Varieties of Memory. 
 
 With the progress and development of 
 the powers and activities of the soul, the 
 memory itself advances through separate 
 stages, each of which prepares the way for 
 that which follows, and occupies the place 
 of its natural and logical condition. The 
 memory of the infant differs from the 
 memory of the child; the memory of the 
 child differs from that of the youth ; the 
 memory of the man, in each of the several 
 stages of active life, differs from that in the 
 stage which succeeds it. In general, the 
 memory of the person in active life differs 
 from the memory of old age. This must 
 necessarily follow from the very nature of 
 memory when considered as to the materials 
 on which it works, and the laws by which 
 it acts. The memory of an individual can 
 rise no higher than the intellectual and 
 emotional life which furnish the objects 
 which it has to recall. It can take no other 
 direction than that which is indicated by 
 the relations and connections in which these 
 objects are habitually combined. As these 
 objects and relations stand to all men in a 
 certain common order of preparation and 
 evolution, there must consequently be a 
 certain similarity in the order of the stages 
 through which the memory of all is evolved. 
 As there are also special classes of objects 
 and relations that are proper to different 
 classes of men, arising from their peculiar 
 employments and habits of thinking and 
 feeling, each of these classes has a memory 
 that is peculiar to itself. The memory of 
 the artist is very unlike the memory of the 
 mathematician. The memory of the erudite 
 
142 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and disciplined thinker differs greatly in its 
 objects and its laws from the memory of 
 the person who has had little culture from 
 reading or thought. Hence there exist 
 many clearly distinguishable varieties of 
 memory, if we make nothing of the fact 
 that every individual must have a type of 
 memory which arises from those individual 
 habits of thought and feeling which he can 
 share with no other person. — Porter, ' Human 
 Intellect' p. 314- 
 
 Of all our faculties Memory is generally 
 supposed to be that which nature has be- 
 stowed in the most unequal degrees on 
 different individuals. However, the original 
 disparities among men in this respect are 
 by no means so immense as they seem to 
 be at first view. Much is to be ascribed to 
 different habits of attention, and to a differ- 
 ence of selection among the various objects 
 and events presented to their curiosity. — 
 Stewart, ' Works,' ii. 362 seq. 
 
 Those individuals who possess unusual 
 powers of memory with respect to any one 
 class of objects, are commonly as remark- 
 ably deficient in some of the other applica- 
 tions of that faculty. One man is distin- 
 guished by a power of recollecting names 
 and dates and genealogies ; a second by the 
 facility with which words and combinations 
 of words seem to lay hold of his mind ; a 
 third by his memory for poetry ; a fourth 
 by his memory for music ; a fifth by his 
 memory for architectm^e, statuary, and 
 pamting, and all the other objects of taste 
 Avhich are addressed to the eye. — Steicart, 
 ' Work.9,' ii. 363. 
 
 Good and Bad Memory. 
 
 Memory is never perfectly accurate in de- 
 tails. 
 
 "When complex impressions or complex 
 ideas are reproduced as memories, it is pro- 
 bable that the copies never give all the 
 details of the originals with perfect accu- 
 racy, and it is certain that they rarely do 
 so. No one possesses a memory so good, 
 that if he has only once observed a natiu-al 
 object, a second inspection does not show 
 
 him something that he has forgotten. Al- 
 most all, if not all, our memories are there- 
 fore sketches, rather than portraits, of the 
 originals — the salient features are obvious, 
 while the subordinate characters are obscure 
 or unrepresented. — Huxley, ' Hume,' p. 94. 
 
 Good Memory. 
 
 a. Its conditions, mental and moral. 
 
 To a good memory there are certainly 
 two qualities requisite, — i. The capacity of 
 Retention; and 2. The faculty of Repro- 
 duction. But the former quality is the 
 principal one. — Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' ii. 
 218. 
 
 The qualities of a good memoiy are, in 
 the first place, to be susceptible ; secondly, 
 to be retentive; and thirdly, to be ready. 
 It is but rarely that these three qualities 
 are united in the same person. — Stewart^ 
 ' Works,' ii. 364. 
 
 It is natural, in this connection, to notice 
 the moral conditions of a good memory. 
 The man who would have a strong and 
 trustworthy memory must always be true 
 to it in his dealings with himself and -with 
 other men. He must paint to his own 
 imagination, with scrupulous fidelity, what- 
 ever he has witnessed or experienced. He 
 must never so yield to the bias of interest 
 or passion as to strive to persuade himself, 
 even for a moment, that events were differ- 
 ent from what he knows they actually were. 
 He must seek to repeat to others the pre- 
 cise words of what he has heard or read, 
 whenever he makes communications by lan- 
 guage. Such a moral discipline to inter- 
 nal and external honesty, both implies and 
 enforces a mental discipline to earnest and 
 wide-reaching attention — an attention which 
 does complete justice to every object that 
 comes before it, and which neither slights 
 nor omits anything which ought to be 
 brought to view. An intellect that is 
 regulated and held to its duties by the 
 tension of such a purpose, will act vnth. the 
 precision and certainty of clock-work. Its 
 recollections will be trusted by others be- 
 cause they are trusted by the person him- 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 143 
 
 self, and for the best of reasons — because 
 he is true to what he remembers. — Porter, 
 ' Human Intellect,^ p. 324. 
 
 h. Method may aid memory. 
 
 If we wish to fix the particulars of our 
 knowledge very permanently in the memory, 
 the most effectual way of doing it is to 
 refer them to general principles, to arrange 
 them philosophically and associate them 
 according to their relations, such as the 
 relations of Cause and Effect, or of Pre- 
 mises and Conclusion. Ideas which are 
 connected together merely by casual rela- 
 tions, present themselves with readiness to 
 the mind, so long as we are forced by the 
 habits of our situation to apply them daily 
 to use ; but when a change of circumstances 
 leads us to vary the objects of our atten- 
 tion, we find our old ideas gradually to 
 escape from the recollection; and if it 
 should happen that they escape from it 
 altogether, the only method of recovering 
 them is by renewing those studies by which 
 they were at first acquired. The differ- 
 ences between the philosophical and casual 
 memory constitute the most remarkable of 
 all the varieties. — Stewart, ' Works,' ii. 367, 
 368, 371. 
 
 Sound logic, as the habitual subordination 
 of the individual to the species, and of the 
 species to the genus ; a philosophical know- 
 ledge of facts under the relation of cause 
 and effect; a cheerful and communicative 
 temper, that disposes us to notice the simi- 
 larities and contrasts of things, that we 
 may be able to illustrate the one by the 
 other ; a quiet conscience ; a condition free 
 from anxieties ; sound health, and above all 
 (as far as relates to passive remembrance), 
 a healthy digestion; these are the best — 
 these are the only arts of memory. — Cole- 
 ridge, ' Bioff. Literaria,' chap. vii. 
 
 c. Instances of good memory. 
 
 Leibnitz made extracts from every book 
 he read, and added to them whatever reflec- 
 tions they suggested, after which he laid 
 his manuscript aside, and never thought of 
 it more. His memory, which was astonish- 
 
 ing in its powers, did not, as in most men, 
 feel itself disburdened of the knowledge 
 which he had committed to writing, but, on 
 the contrary, the exertion of writing seemed 
 to be all that was requisite to imprint it on 
 his memory for ever, — Bailly, ' I^loge de 
 Leibnitz.' 
 
 Ilortensius, after sitting a whole day at 
 a public sale, gave an account from memory 
 in the evening of all the things sold, with 
 the prices and the names of the purchasers ; 
 which account was found on examination 
 to agree in every particular with what had 
 been taken in writing by a notary. — Stewart. 
 
 There dwelt in the neighbourhood of 
 Padua a young man, a Corsican by birth, 
 and of a good family in that island, who 
 had come thither for the cultivation of civil 
 law. He was a frequent visitor at the house 
 and gardens of Muretus, who, having heard 
 that he possessed a remarkable art or faculty 
 of memory, took occasion, though incredu- 
 lous in regard to reports, of requesting from 
 him a specimen of his power. He at once 
 agreed ; and having adjourned with a con- 
 siderable party of distinguished auditors 
 into a saloon, Muretus began to dictate 
 ^-iords, Latin, Greek, barbarous, significant 
 and non-significant, disjoined and connected, 
 until he wearied himself, the yoimg man 
 who wrote them down, and the audience 
 who were present. * We were all,' he says, 
 ' marvellously tii*ed.' The Corsican alone 
 was the one of the whole company alert 
 and fresh, and continually desired Muretus 
 for more words, who declaimed he would be 
 more than satisfied if he could repeat the 
 half of what had been taken down, and at 
 length he ceased. The young man, with 
 his gaze fixed upon the ground, stood silent 
 for a brief season, and then says Muretus, 
 ' Vidi facinus mirificissimum.' Having 
 begim to speak, he absolutely repeated the 
 whole words, in the same order in which 
 tliey had been delivered, without the slight- 
 est hesitation ; then, commencing from the 
 last, he repeated them backwards till he 
 came to the first. Then again, so that he 
 spoke the first, the thii-d, the fifth, and so 
 
144 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 on ; did this in any order that was asked, 
 and all without the smallest error. He 
 assured Muretus that he could recite, in the 
 manner I have mentioned, to the amount 
 of thirty-six thousand words. And what 
 is more wonderful, they all so adhered to 
 the mind, that after a year's interval, he 
 could repeat them without trouble. — Hamil- 
 ton, 'Metaphysics,' ii. 219. 
 
 d. Its 
 
 A great memory is the principal condi- 
 tion of bringing before the mind many dif- 
 ferent representations and notions at once, 
 or in rapid succession. — Diderot, ' Lettres sur 
 les Sourds et Muets.' 
 
 A good spontaneous memory, or, as it is 
 often called, a good memory for facts and 
 dates, is generally and correctly regarded 
 rather as a great intellectual convenience 
 than as a decisive indication of intellec- 
 tual power. It is doubtless true that 
 many persons are distinguished by natural 
 memory who are inferior in capacity for 
 discrimination, judgment, and reasoning. 
 It has become a common observation, Great 
 memory, little common sense. In such 
 cases the power of discerning the higher 
 relations may be either originally deficient, 
 or it may be neglected in consequence of 
 the predominant use of the power to ap- 
 prehend, and, of course, to recall, objects 
 in the relations that are most obvious. A 
 very energetic mind may be very limited 
 in its apprehensions, and will, of coui-se, be 
 energetic though limited in its memory. 
 It is noticeable also that persons who be- 
 come eminent in those achievements which 
 are proper to the higher intellectual powers 
 and relations are in early life usually dis- 
 tinguished for the strength and reach of 
 the memory of the eye and the ear. In 
 many such cases extraordinary powers of 
 this sort are observed in the person's own 
 experience gradually to be diminished, till 
 at last they entirely cease as the higher 
 powers of the intellect are completely ma- 
 tured, or are more constantly — in a sense 
 exclusively — exercised. This does not in- 
 variably occur. There are striking ex- 
 
 amples of persons who seem to forget 
 nothing, neither in age nor in youth. — 
 Porte?', 'Human Intellect,' p. 306. 
 
 e. A good memory is not incompatible 
 urith a high degree of intelligence. 
 
 There seems no valid ground for the 
 belief that where there is great memory 
 there is not sound judgment. The opinion 
 is refuted by the slightest induction ; for 
 we immediately find that many of the 
 individuals who towered above their fel- 
 lows in intellectual superiority were almost 
 equally distinguished for the capacity of 
 their memory. For intellectual power of 
 the highest order none were distinguished 
 above Grotius and Pascal; and Grotius 
 and Pascal forgot nothing they had ever 
 read or thought. Leibnitz and Euler were 
 not less celebrated for their intelligence 
 than their memory, and both could repeat 
 the whole of the vEneid. Ben Jonson tells 
 us that he could repeat all he had ever 
 written, and whole books that he had read. 
 — Hamilton, 'Metaphysics,' ii. 225. 
 
 Bad memory. 
 
 a. Ideas fade in the memory. 
 
 The pictures drawn in our minds are 
 laid in fading colours, and if not some- 
 times refreshed, vanish and disappear. 
 Thus the ideas, as well as children of 
 our youth, often die before us ; and our 
 minds represent to us those tombs to which 
 we are approaching, where, though the 
 brass and marble remain, yet the inscrip- 
 tions are effaced by time, and the imagery 
 moulders away." — Locke, 'Human Under- 
 standing, Bk. ii. c. 10. 
 
 h. Causes of the fading. 
 
 (i.) The croiodi7ig in of new ideas. 
 
 New acquisitions are continually pressing 
 in upon the old, and continually taking place 
 along with them among the modifications 
 of the ego ; and so the old cognitions, 
 unless from time to time refreshed and 
 brought forward, are driven back and be- 
 come gradually fainter and more obscure. 
 The mind is only capable, at any one 
 moment, of exerting a certain quantity or 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 145 
 
 degree of force. In proportion to the 
 greater number of activities in the mind, 
 the less will be the proportion of force 
 which will accrue to each; the feebler, 
 therefore, each will be, and the fainter the 
 vivacity with which it can affect self-con- 
 sciousness. In these circumstances it is to 
 be supposed that every new cognition, every 
 newly-excited activity, should be in the 
 greatest vivacity, and should draw to it- 
 self the greatest amount of force. This 
 force will, in the same proportion, be with- 
 di-awn from the earlier cognitions ; and it 
 is they, consequently, which must luidergo 
 the fate of obscuration. Thus is explained 
 the phenomenon of Forgetfulness or Obli- 
 vion. — Hamilton, ^ Metaphysics,' ii. 213. 
 
 (2.) Defective attention to icant of repeti- 
 tion. 
 
 Some ideas have been produced in the 
 imderstanding by an object affecting the 
 senses once only, and no more than once ; 
 others, that have more than once offered 
 themselves to the senses, have yet been 
 little taken notice of: the mind, either 
 heedless, as in children, or otherwise em- 
 ployed, as in men intent only on one thing, 
 not setting the stamp deep into itself. In 
 these cases ideas in the mind quickly fade, 
 and often vanish quite out of the under- 
 standing, leaving no more footsteps or re- 
 maining characters of themselves than sha- 
 dows do flying over fields of corn, and the 
 mind is as void of them as if they had 
 never been there. — Locl::e, ^ Human Under- 
 standing,'' ii. X. 4. 
 
 (3.) Dormancy of faculty. 
 
 " I never yet heard of any old man 
 whose memory was so weakened by time as 
 to forget where he had concealed his trea- 
 sure. The aged seem, indeed, to be at no 
 loss in remembering whatever is the prin- 
 cipal object of their attention. The facul- 
 ties of the mind will preserve their powers 
 in old age, unless they are suffered to lose 
 their energy and become languid for want 
 of due cultivation. When Csecilius, there- 
 fore, represents certain veterans as fit sub- 
 
 jects for the Comic Muse, he alludes only 
 to those weak and credulous dotards whose 
 infirmities of mind are not so much the 
 natural effects of their years as the con- 
 sequence of suffering their faculties to lie 
 dormant and unexerted in a slothful and 
 spiritless inactivity.' — Cicero, ' DeSenectute,' 
 chap. xi. 
 
 c. Is entire forgetfulness possible ? 
 
 (i.) Forgotten Icnoivledge may he recovered. 
 
 It is questioned by many whether abso- 
 lute forgetfulness is possible— whether, at 
 least, we are authorised to affirm that the 
 soul can lose beyond recovery anything 
 which it has known. It is certain that 
 knowledge which has remained out of siglit 
 for a long period has often been suddenly 
 recovered. In the excitement of sickness 
 or delirium, in moments of terror or joy, 
 events that had been long vmthought of 
 have thronged in upon the memory with 
 the vividness of recent occurrences. A 
 language that had been disused for years, 
 and supposed to be entirely forgotten, has 
 come back to the tongue when the powers 
 were weakened by disease and seemed to 
 be returning to the simplicity of second 
 childhood. Prayers and hymns, the lessons 
 of earliest infancy, though forgotten for all 
 the life since, are repeated at such times 
 fluently and correctly. Even acquisitions 
 that were the least likely to be remem- 
 bered, and which previously were never 
 known or suspected to have been made, 
 come up as though the soul were inspired 
 to receive strange revelations of its capa- 
 cities and acquirements. — Porter, ^ Human 
 Intellect,'' p. 311. 
 
 When the mind once knows anything, an 
 interval of duration has no power in itself 
 to abolish the knowledge. This knowledge 
 is, therefore, so far perpetual ; and there is 
 no reason whatever in the nature of dura- 
 tion why that which has once been within 
 the experience of the mind may not be 
 recalled at any distance of time, however 
 great. — Murphy, ^ Human Mi7id,' p. 91. 
 
146 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 (2.) Singular instances of this recovery. 
 
 Numerous examples of all these classes 
 of facts have occurred within the observa- 
 tion of the curious, and not a few are re- 
 corded in history. The well-knoAvn and 
 often-quoted story, which was originally 
 published by Coleridge in his Biographia 
 Literaria, is in substance as follows :— A 
 servant girl in Germany was very ill of 
 nervous fever accompanied with violent de- 
 lirium. In her excited ravings she recited 
 long passages from classical and rabbinical 
 writers which excited the wonder and even 
 terror of all who heard them, the most of 
 whom thought her inspired by a good or 
 evil spirit. Some of the passages which 
 were written down were found to corre- 
 spond with literal extracts from learned 
 books. AATien inquiries were made con- 
 cerning the history of her life, it was foiuid 
 that several years before she had lived in 
 the family of an old and learned pastor in 
 the country who was in the habit of i-ead- 
 ing aloud favourite passages from the very 
 writers in whose works these extracts were 
 discovered. These sounds, to her unintel- 
 ligible, were so distinctly impressed upon 
 her memory that, vinder the excitement of 
 delirious fever, they were reproduced to her 
 mind and uttered by her tongue. 
 
 Eev. Timothy FKnt, in his Recollections, 
 records of himself that, when prostrate by 
 malarious fever, he repeated aloud long 
 passages fi'om Virgil and Homer which he 
 had never formally committed to memory, 
 and of which, both before and after his 
 illness, he could repeat scarcely a line. 
 
 Dr. Rush, in his Medical Inquiries, says 
 that he once attended an Italian who died 
 in New York of yellow fever, who at first 
 spoke English, at a later period of his ill- 
 ness French, and when near his end Italian 
 only. He records also that he was informed 
 by a Lutheran clei-gyman that old German 
 immigrants whom he attended in their last 
 illness often prayed in their native tongue, 
 though some of them, he was certain, had 
 not spoken it for many years. 
 
 A favourite pupil of the writer, the son 
 of a missionary in Syria, who had spent 
 
 much of his life in this country, died of 
 yellow fever, and spoke in Arabic — an 
 almost forgotten language — during his last 
 hovirs. 
 
 Dr. Abercrombie tells us that a boy, at 
 the age of four years, received an injury 
 upon the head which made the operation of 
 trepanning necessary. During the opera- 
 tion he was apparently in an unconscioiis 
 stupor, and after his recovery it was never 
 recalled to his recollection till he was fifteen 
 years old, when, in a delirium occasioned 
 by a fever, he gave to his mother a precise 
 account of the whole transaction, describing 
 the persons who were present, their dress, 
 &c. &c., to the minutest particular. — 
 Murphy, 'Human Mind,' p. 313. 
 
 d. Explanation of mistakes of memory. 
 
 The question is started, Whence the seem- 
 ing mistakes of memory 1 We find at times 
 two honest witnesses giving different ac- 
 counts of the same transaction. We have 
 all found ourselves at fault in our recollec- 
 tions on certain occasions. I believe we 
 must account for the seeming treachery of 
 the memory in much the same way as we 
 do for the deception of the senses. There 
 ever mingle with our proper recollections 
 more or fewer inferences, and in these there 
 may be errors. In order to clear up the 
 subject we must draw the distinction be- 
 tween our natural or pure reminiscences 
 and those mixed ones in which there are 
 processes of reasoning. — M'Cush, 'Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,' p. 175. 
 
 The Cultivation of Memory. 
 
 Its capdbilitij of improvement. 
 
 The improvement of which the mind is 
 susceptible by culture is more remarkable, 
 perhaps, in the case of memory than in 
 that of any other of our faculties. — Stewart, 
 ' Works,' ii. 391. 
 
 Rules for its cultivation. 
 
 The cultivation of the memory is a sub- 
 ject which has been earnestly discussed by 
 many writers, and is of practical interest 
 to all those who are bent on self -improve- 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 147 
 
 ment, or are devoted to the education of 
 others. Many complain of a general defect 
 of memorj. Others ai-e especially sensible 
 of painful failures in respect to certain 
 classes of objects, as names, dates, facts of 
 history, sentences or passages from authors 
 familiarly read. The question is often 
 anxiously propounded. How can these gene- 
 ral or special defects be overcome ? 
 
 The only practical rules, which can be 
 attained, may be summed up in the follow- 
 ing comprehensive directions : ' To remem- 
 ber anything, you must attend to it ; and 
 in order to attend, you must either find or 
 create an interest in the objects to be at- 
 tended to. This interest must, if possible, 
 be felt in the objects themselves, as directly 
 related to your own wishes, feelings, and 
 purposes, and not to some remote end on 
 account .of which you desire to make the 
 acquisition.' For this reason, in entering 
 upon a new study or covirse of reading, it 
 is often essential to feel that the know- 
 ledge which they will give is necessary 
 for oiu'selves, so that we may be eager to 
 satisfy our minds upon the points which 
 are involved, and may receive what is fui'- 
 nished, with freshness and zest. It should 
 never be forgotten, that in memory, what 
 is reproduced is not the object as such, or 
 the object in itself, but the object as ap- 
 prehended and reacted on by the soul. In 
 other words, the soul can recall no more 
 than it makes its own — no more than, in 
 acquiring, it constructs or creates as a spiri- 
 tual product by its own activity, — Porter, 
 ^ Human Intellect,' p. 320. 
 
 One mode of improving memory is mere 
 exercise. This effect of practice upon the 
 memory seems to be an ultimate law of our 
 nature. Another mode is the free use of 
 the principles of association, so as to con- 
 nect new facts and ideas with each other 
 and with the former objects of our know- 
 ledge. Again the natural powers of the 
 mempry are greatly aided by habits of classi- 
 fication and arrangement. This is by far 
 the most important impi-ovement of which 
 memory is susceptil^le. A fourth mode is 
 the practice of committing to writing our 
 
 acquired knowledge. — Stewart, * Wurls,' ii. 
 391-404. 
 
 We remember most vividly what we have 
 seen ; paint your ideas therefore, or at any 
 rate acquire distinct and clear percep- 
 tions 0/ them ; one great cause of our con- 
 fused recollection is our very confused 
 perception. If the eye beholds objects 
 through a mist, how can we be expected 
 to give any clear accoimt of them ? on 
 the contrary, objects distinctly beheld are 
 longest retained in the mind, and most 
 vividly recalled ; thus also it is with mental 
 perception, and the reflection of the objects 
 upon the understanding. 
 
 Arrangement or method greatly assists the 
 understanding and the memory. Sir James 
 Mackintosh is said by Mr. Hall to have had 
 so wonderful a memory, that it ajjpeared 
 as if everything in his mind was arranged 
 upon pegs;— an Historical peg, a Natural 
 History peg, a peg for Natural Philosophy, 
 another for Poetry, another for Theology; 
 and he had only to lift his hand and take 
 doAvn the illustration he most needed ; this 
 seems very convenient, and there must have 
 been in the man capable of this originally 
 great power of retention ; but it resulted 
 also from habit — vigorous habit of arrange- 
 ment. How can there be in that mind 
 selection, and compact and various order- 
 liness, over which no supervision has been 
 exercised ? ' Marshal thy notions into a 
 handsome method. One will carry twice 
 more weight trussed and packed up in 
 bundles than when it lies untoward flapping 
 and hanging about his shoulders.' 
 
 Again — Review your attainments, recall 
 your ideas from time to time. We should 
 not make a sink or sewer of our memory — 
 ■we must not make our books the sepulchre 
 —the immuring tomb of the soul. The 
 miser counts his wealtli, the landlord walks 
 over his fields, should not you review the 
 progi-ess you have made from week to week, 
 and from year to year ? And review with 
 the pen if you would remember : set down 
 upon paper the topics ; writing calls forth 
 the attention and elicits tliought. Dr. 
 Watts has said, ' There is more gained by 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 writing once than by reading five times.' — 
 Faxton Hood. 
 
 The Benefits of Memory. 
 
 It is a source of neio knoioledge. 
 By memory we not only retain and recall 
 former knowledge, but we also acquire new 
 knowledge. It is by means of memory that 
 we have the notion of continued existence 
 or duration ; and also the persuasion of our 
 personal identity, amidst all the changes of 
 our bodily frame, and all the alterations of 
 our temper and habits. — Fleming, ' Vocah. 
 of Phil.,' p. 306. 
 
 Without it all knowledge would be impos- 
 sible. 
 
 If we had no other state of consciousness 
 than sensation Ave never could have any 
 knowledge, excepting that of the present 
 instant. The moment each of our sensa- 
 tions ceased it would be gone for ever, and 
 we should be as if we had never been. 
 
 The same would be the case if we had 
 only ideas in addition to sensations. The 
 sensation would be one state of conscious- 
 ness, the idea another state of consciousness. 
 But if they were perfectly insulated, the 
 one having no connection with the other, 
 the idea, after the sensation, would give me 
 no more information than one sensation 
 after another. We should still have the 
 consciousness of the present instant, and 
 nothing more. We should be wholly inca- 
 pable of acquiring experience, and accom- 
 modating our actions to the laws of nature. 
 Of course we could not continue to exist. 
 
 Even if our ideas were associated in trains, 
 but only as they are in Imagination, we 
 should still be without the capacity of 
 acquiring knowledge. One idea, upon this 
 supposition, would follow another. But 
 that would be all. Each of our successive 
 states of consciousness, the moment it ceased, 
 would be gone for ever. Each of those 
 momentary states would be our whole 
 being. 
 
 Such, however, is not the nature of man. 
 We have states of consciousness which are 
 connected with past states. I hear a musi- 
 
 cal air ; I recognise it as the air which was 
 sung to me in my infancy. I have an idea 
 of a ghost; I recognise the terror with 
 which, when I was alone in the dark, that 
 idea, in my childish years, was accompanied. 
 Uniting in this manner the present with 
 the past, and not otherwise, I am suscep- 
 tible of knowledge. This part of my con- 
 stitution which is of so much importance 
 to me is memory. — Mill, ' Human Mind,' 
 p. 318. 
 
 VI. EXPECTATION. 
 
 In the process of perception this plays a 
 very important part. The different quali- 
 ties of which an object of perception is 
 composed have been so constantly found in 
 our experience united together, that when 
 we perceive any one of them we expect to 
 find the others. . . . Whenever we see an 
 orange we expect to find within it what our 
 past experience tells us is likely to be there. 
 Thus, expectation is founded upon memory ; 
 and upon the constanc}^ and invariability of 
 the experience with which memory furnishes 
 us will depend the confidence of our expec- 
 tation. The perfection of expectation is 
 prevision. — Jardine, 'Elements of Psycho- 
 logy,' p. 193- 
 
 In anticipation, as in memory, there is, 
 first, the complex idea ; next the passage of 
 the mind forwards from the present state 
 of consciousness, the antecedent, to one con- 
 sequent after another till it comes to the 
 anticipated sensation. Suppose that, as a 
 punishment, a man is condemned to put 
 his finger after two days in the flame of a 
 candle ; wherein consists his anticipation ? 
 The complex idea of the painful sensation, 
 with all its concomitant sensations and 
 ideas, is the first part of the process. The 
 remainder is the association with this idea 
 of the events, one after another, which are 
 to fill up the intermediate time, and ter- 
 minate with his finger placed in the flame 
 of the candle. The whole of this associa- 
 tion, taken together, comprises the idea of 
 the pain as his pain, after a train of ante- 
 cedents. 
 
IMAGINATION. 
 
 49 
 
 The process of anticipation is so precisely 
 the same, when the sensation is of the plea- 
 surable kind, that I deem it unnecessary to 
 repeat it. — Mill, ^ Human Mind,'' ii. 197, 
 198. 
 
 Analysis of hope and fear. 
 
 When a pleasurable sensation is con- 
 templated as future, but not certainly, the 
 state of consciousness is called Hope. 
 "WTien a painful sensation is contemplated 
 as future, but not certainly, the state of 
 consciousness is called Fear. Again : when 
 a pleasurable sensation is anticipated with 
 certainty, we call the state of consciousness 
 Joy. ^^Tien a painful sensation is thus 
 anticipated, we call it Sorrow. Neither of 
 the two terms is good; because not con- 
 fined to this signification. — Mill, '■ Hxmian 
 Mind,' ii. 199, 200. 
 
 VII. IMAGINATION. 
 What is Imagination ? 
 
 The term is ambiguous. 
 
 Imagination is an ambiguous word; it 
 means either the act of imagining, or the 
 product — i.e., the image imagined. — Hamil- 
 ton, Reid's ' Worlcs,' p. 291. 
 
 Imagination has two meanings. It means 
 either some one train, or the potentiality 
 of a train. These are two meanings which 
 it is very necessary not to confound. — Mill, 
 ' Hu7nan Mind,' ii. 239. 
 
 Definitions of the Faculty. 
 
 Imagination, in its most extensive mean- 
 ing, is the faculty representative of the 
 phenomena both of the external and inter- 
 nal worlds. — Hamilton, Reid's * Works,' p. 
 809. 
 
 Imagination is not a name of any one 
 idea. I am not said to imagine unless I 
 combine ideas successively in a less or 
 greater number. An imagination, there- 
 fore, is the name of a train. I am said to 
 have an imagination when I have a train 
 of ideas ; and when I am said to imagine, 
 I have the same thing ; nor is there any 
 train of ideas to which the term imagina- 
 
 tion may not be applied. — 3Iill, ' Human 
 Mind,' ii. 239. 
 
 The principal elements of Imagination 
 are — (i.) Concreteness ; it has for its ob- 
 jects the concrete, the real or tlio actual, 
 as opposed to abstractions and generalities, 
 which are the matter of science, and occa- 
 sionally of the practical arts. (2.) Origi- 
 nality or Invention; it is not a mere 
 reproduction of previous forms, but is a 
 constructive process. (3.) The presence of 
 an Emotion ; all constructions are for some 
 end, which must be a feeUng in the last 
 resort. — Baiji, ' Mental and Moral Science,' 
 p. 174. 
 
 Imagination is a complex power. It in- 
 cludes Conception or simple Apprehension, 
 which enables us to form a notion of those 
 former objects of perception or of know- 
 ledge out of which we are to make a selec- 
 tion ; Abstraction, which separates the 
 selected materials from the qualities and 
 circumstances which are connected with 
 them in natui'e ; and Judgment or Taste, 
 which selects the materials and dii-ects their 
 combination. To these we may add that 
 particvilar habit of association to which I 
 give the name of Fancy, as it is this whicli 
 j)resents to our choice all the different 
 materials which are subservient to the 
 efforts of the Imagination, and which may, 
 therefore, be considered as forming the 
 groundwork of poetical genius. — Stewart, 
 * Works,' ii. 435 seq. 
 
 It implies belief. 
 
 The imagination of an object is neces- 
 sarily accompanied with a belief of the 
 existence of the mental representation. — 
 Hamilton, Reid's ' Woi'ks,' p. 105. 
 
 Tlie sphere of Imagination is the finite. 
 
 The sphere of the imagination is only 
 the finite. All the pictures which it can 
 construct are of limited objects. It is by 
 means only of such pictures that it can 
 imagine its concepts of the infinite, if it 
 attempts to image them at all. n:iat it 
 attempts thus to image them is evident. 
 That it can adequately picture them no 
 
15° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 man believes. Wliat is embraced in the 
 concept is the known likeness between the 
 finite and infinite. What is pictured by 
 the image is some limited example of the 
 thought-relation which the image suggests. 
 These pictures may be increased in num- 
 ber, extent, or energy, but this is all. — 
 — Porter, ^ Human Intellect,^ p. 373. 
 
 Every one possesses this faculty. 
 
 In the comprehensive meaning of the 
 word Imagination, there is no man who 
 has not Imagination, and no man who has 
 it not in an equal degree with any other. 
 Every man imagines, nay, is constantly 
 and unavoidably imagining. He cannot 
 help imagining. He can no more stop the 
 current of his ideas, than he can stop the 
 current of his blood. — Hill, ^ Human Mind,' 
 ii. 239. 
 
 The Functions of Imagination. 
 
 It does not strictly spealdng create, hut it 
 reproduces and combines. 
 
 The terms productive or creative are very 
 improperly applied to Imagination, or the 
 representative faculty of mind. It is 
 admitted on all hands, that Imagination 
 creates nothing, that is, produces nothing 
 new ; and the terms in question are, there- 
 fore, by the acknowledgment of those who 
 employ them, only abusively applied to 
 denote the operations of Fancy, in the new 
 arrangement it makes of the old objects 
 furnished to it by the senses. The imagi- 
 nation only builds up old materials into 
 new forms. — Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,' ii. 
 262. 
 
 I can recall the joys, the hopes, the 
 sorrows, the fears, which at some former 
 time may have moved my bosom. I can 
 do more : I can picture myself, or picture 
 others, in new and unheard-of scenes of 
 gladness or of grief. Not only can I 
 represent to myself the countenance of my 
 friend, I can have an idea of his character 
 and dispositions. I can form a mental 
 picture of the outward scenes in which 
 Shakespeare or "Walter Scott places his 
 
 heroes or heroines; but I can also enter 
 into their thoughts and feelings. 
 
 But all these ideas, in the sense of 
 phantasms, are reproductions of past ex- 
 perience in the old forms or in new disposi- 
 tions. He who has had the use of his eyes 
 at any time can ever after imderstand what 
 is meant by the colour of scarlet ; but the 
 person born blind has not the most distant 
 idea of it in the sense of image; and if 
 pressed for an answer to the question what 
 he supposes it to be, he can come no nearer 
 the reality than the man mentioned by 
 Locke, who likened it to the sound of a 
 trumpet ; or than the blind boy of whom I 
 have heard, who when asked whether he 
 would prefer a lilac-coloured or a brown- 
 coloured book, offered as a prize, decided 
 for the lilac, as he supposed it must re- 
 semble the lilac-bush, whose odour had 
 been so agreeable 'to him. — M^Cosh, '■In- 
 tuitions, ^c.,' p. 12. 
 
 Modes of Reproduction. 
 
 We must distinguish between two chief 
 uses of Imagination. There is the Repro- 
 ductive Imagination, by which is meant 
 only the power to represent past impres- 
 sions, to hold up before the mind what has 
 been remembered. And there is the Pro- 
 ductive Imagination, by which is meant the 
 power to form combinations of such im- 
 pressions different from any combinations 
 actually experienced. It is this latter 
 which is usually meant by Imagination, 
 when we are speaking of artistic creation ; 
 and it implies not only representation, but 
 also constructiveness and originality, to- 
 gether with certain emotional elements, 
 mainly aesthetic. — Ryland, ^Handbook, Sfc.,^ 
 p. 99. 
 
 Order of reproductions. 
 
 We may distinguish three principal 
 orders in which Imagination represents 
 ideas: — (i.) The Natural Order, which is 
 that in which we receive the impression 
 of external objects, or the order according 
 to which our thoughts spontaneously group 
 themselves. (2.) The Logical Order, which 
 consists in presenting what is universal. 
 
IMAGINATION. 
 
 iSr 
 
 prior to what is contained under it as 
 particular, or in presenting the particulars 
 iirst, and then ascending to the universal 
 which they constitute. This order is a 
 child of art, it is the result of our will. 
 (3.) The Poetical Order, which consists in 
 seizing individual circumstances, and in 
 grouping them in such a manner that the 
 imagination shall represent them so as 
 they might be offered by the sense. The 
 poetical order is exclusively calculated on 
 effect. — Ancillon, ' Ussais PhilosopMques,' 
 ii. 152. 
 
 Modes of comhination hy the Imagination. 
 
 The following are the most important 
 modes in which the constructive imagina- 
 tion is found to operate : — 
 
 1. In imagination, there may be a 
 separation of the parts or qualities of 
 which any object is made up. We can 
 imagine a horse without its head ; a flower 
 without its colour or smell ; a bird without 
 its wings ; a human being without some 
 quality or character which he now pos- 
 sesses. 
 
 2. In imagination, parts or qualities 
 thus separated from their natural relations 
 may be recombined so as to form new ob- 
 jects. Centaurs, winged bulls, gi'ifiins, &c., 
 are illustrations of this process. 
 
 3. In this reconstructive process, the 
 elements of the new object may be greatly 
 and variously modified, may be changed in 
 shape, size, or excellence, either for im- 
 provement or deterioration. Conformity to 
 the truth of nature is not at all an essential 
 feature of the products of imagination. 
 
 4. In imagination, when we wish to 
 represent to ourselves something unknown, 
 we can do so only by employing elements 
 taken from things known. We are fre- 
 quently bound to believe in the existence 
 of things which we have not directly known, 
 and probably can never know. In this case 
 the imagination clothes the unknown with 
 forms taken from the known. 
 
 5. In the object which the imagination 
 constructs there must be a certain congruity 
 between the elements of which it is made 
 
 up, in order to render the imaghiative act 
 possible. To imagine a square circle, for 
 example, would be impossible. — Jardine, 
 ^ Psychology,^ p. 196. 
 
 There are three different acts in which 
 its creative power is shown, (i.) The ima- 
 gination can recombine and arrange the 
 constituents of Nature in new forms and 
 products. (2.) It can idealise and apply 
 the relations of objects to extension and 
 time. (3.) It can form and employ an ideal 
 standard for the intensity and the direc- 
 tion of the activity of natural or spiritual 
 agents, and for the material objects and acts 
 which symbolise them. — Porter, ^ Human 
 Intellect,^ p. 357. 
 
 Activity of the Imagination. 
 
 In seeking to understand imaginative 
 activity, one needs to distinguish three 
 ingredients, namely, the intellectual, the 
 emotional, and the active or volitional. 
 First of all, imagination is obviously limited 
 by experience and by association. Secondly, 
 it involves the satisfaction of ideal longings, 
 that is, 'the thirst begotten of the several 
 emotions for a fuller and purer form of 
 delight. Thirdly, it includes a pleasurable 
 volitional activity, as manifested in the 
 pursuit of a hidden meaning, in the antici- 
 pation of a coming issue, and so on. — Sully, 
 ^Sensation, cj'f.,' p. 344. 
 
 Products of Imagination. 
 
 Tliese are ideals. 
 
 The ideals of science and of art, of 
 achievement and of duty, are the products 
 of that form of psychical activity which is 
 properly called the creative imagination. 
 It is imaginative, because the representa- 
 tive or imaging power is conspicuously 
 prominent in its functions. It is creative, 
 because there is no counterpart m nature 
 from which its objects and products are 
 literally transcribed or copied. It is to be 
 observed, however, that imaging and images 
 are not the sole elements in these processes 
 or products. The imaging power, as such, 
 is limited to the representation of the ob- 
 jects of actual experience, as wholes and as 
 
52 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 parts. The rational and emotional natures 
 are absolutely essential to its existence and 
 its exercise. There is properly no creative 
 imagination in which the reason and the 
 feelings are not conspicuous, and in which 
 rational and emotional relations are not 
 recognised and controlling. Its creative 
 fandion is rendei'ed possible hy the union of 
 the thinking poiver with the imaging power ; 
 the joint action of both resulting in these 
 ideal products which address the intellectual 
 and emotional nature. — Porter, ^ Human 
 Intellect,' p. 361. 
 
 Founded on experience. 
 
 All ideas, however refined and elevated, 
 are in some sense founded upon and related 
 to the actual experience of each individual. 
 A person born and nurtured upon a plain, 
 who had never seen a hill or a moiuitain, 
 can scarcely imagine the charm to the eye 
 and the excitement to the mind which such 
 scenery imparts, and would be quite in- 
 capable of creating ideal pictures suggested 
 by such mateiials, or even of appreciating 
 them when framed by others. One who 
 has never been upon the sea can neither 
 picture to himself nor to others the wild 
 sublimity of an ocean tempest. The Ori- 
 ental, basking in the heat of an equatorial 
 sun, and always surrounded by the fruits, 
 the foliage, and the flowers that such a sun 
 alone can nourish, cannot form an ideal 
 picture of an arctic winter. Nor can the 
 Scandinavian, out of the pale sunlight of 
 his brightest days, or the most luxuriant 
 vegetation of his starveling summer, con- 
 struct an adequate representation of the 
 exuberant life and the glowing intensity of 
 a tropical landscape. — Porter, ' Human In- 
 tellect,' p. 363. 
 
 The Use and Abuse of Imagination. 
 
 Its utility is manifested in — 
 
 Art. 
 
 A strong imagination — that is, the power 
 of building up any ideal object to the mind 
 in clear and steady colours — is a faculty 
 necessary to the poet and to the artist. 
 The vigour and perfection of this faculty 
 are seen not so much in the representation 
 
 of individual objects as in the representa- 
 tion of systems. In the better ages of an- 
 tiquity the perfection, the beauty, of aU 
 works of taste, whether in Poetry, Elo- 
 quence, Sculpture, Painting, or Music, was 
 principally estimated from the symmetry 
 or proportion of all the parts to each other 
 and to the whole which they together con- 
 stituted ; and it was only in subservience 
 to the general harmony that the beauty of 
 the several parts was appreciated. The 
 reason of this seems to be that in antiquity 
 not the Reason but the Imagination was 
 the more vigorous. — Hamilton, '■Logic,' ii. 
 
 Poetry, painting, sculpture, music, and 
 architecture are the usually recognised fine 
 arts. In the whole of these the imagina- 
 tion is exercised in calling up and combin- 
 ing images in the mind fitted to express or 
 to excite some emotion. The artist can 
 only employ the materials which nature 
 gives him ; and whether he tries merely to 
 imitate nature or to produce something 
 better than nature, his imagination must 
 be employed in moulding, reforming, or 
 idealising natviral things. — Jardine, ^Psy- 
 chology' p. 201. 
 
 When the designer cannot repeat his ex- 
 periments, in order to observe the effect, 
 he must call up in his imagination the 
 scene which he means to produce, and ap- 
 ply to this imaginary scene his taste and 
 his judgment, to ascertain beforehand the 
 effect the objects would produce if they 
 were actually exhibited to his senses. This 
 power forms what Lord Chatham beauti- 
 fully and expressively called the prophetic 
 eye of Taste — that eye which, in the lan- 
 guage of Gray, ' sees all the beauties that 
 a place is susceptible of long before they 
 are born; and when it plants a seedling, 
 already sits under the shade of it, and en- 
 joys the effect it will have from every 
 point of view that lies in the prospect.' — 
 Steioart, ' Worlis,' ii. 437 seq. 
 
 Literature. 
 
 Imagination empowers us to traverse 
 the scenes of all history, and force the facts 
 
 1 
 
IMAGINATION. 
 
 153 
 
 to become again visible, so as to make upon 
 us the same impression which they would 
 have made if we had ^^•ituessed them : and 
 in the minor necessities of life to enable 
 us, out of any present good, to gather the 
 utmost measure of enjojnnent by investing 
 it with happy associations, and, in any 
 present evil, to lighten it by summoning 
 back the images of other hom-s ; and also 
 to give to all mental truths some visible 
 type in allegory, simile, or personification 
 which shall more deeply enforce them. — 
 Buskin, ' Modern Panders,' iii., Pt. iv. ch. 
 iv. § 6. 
 
 Oru* view of any transaction, especially 
 one that is remote in time or place, wUl 
 necessarily be imperfect, generally incor- 
 rect, unless it embrace something more 
 than the bare outline of the occurrences ; 
 imless we have before the mind a lively 
 idea of the scenes in which the events took 
 place, the habits of thought and of feeling 
 of the actors, and all the circumstances of 
 the transaction; unless, in short, we can 
 in a considerable degi-ee transport our- 
 selves out of our own age, and coimtry, 
 and persons, and imagine ourselves the 
 agents and spectators. — Whatehj, ' Rhe- 
 toric,' p. 124. 
 
 The aim of the poet is, by means of 
 words, to conjure up before the mind of his 
 hearer or reader images of such a nature 
 as will excite the special kind of emotion 
 which he desires to excite. There are vari- 
 ous species of poetry in which this is at- 
 tempted, and perhaps it is difficult to find 
 amongst them a common characteristic. 
 But, generally speaking, it appears essen- 
 tial to the production of the effect that 
 there should be a certain illusion produced 
 on the mind of the hearer. He must l)e 
 made for the moment to believe in the 
 reality of what he only imagines. The 
 true artist realises the products of his ima- 
 gination. — Jardine, ^ Psyclwlogij,' p. 202. 
 
 Science. 
 
 It may perhaps be thought somewhat 
 incongruous to unite imagination with 
 science, as science is usually supposed to 
 
 deal only with known facts. But the truth 
 is that nearly all the great discoveries of 
 science have been the result of an effort 
 of imagination ; and many of the greatest 
 men who have advanced scientific knowledge 
 have been men gifted with a strong con- 
 structive imagination. Let us study the 
 part which imagination plays in the pro- 
 gress of scientific discovery. Some pheno- 
 menon, say the fall of rain from the clouds, 
 requires to be explained. It is observed 
 that dark clouds appear in the sky; the 
 lightning flashes, the thunder rolls, the rain 
 falls in torrents. The cause of all this is 
 unkno^vn, and people set their imagination 
 at woi-k to think of what the cause may be. 
 In other words they frame an hypothesis. 
 — Jardine, ' Psychology,' p. 197. 
 
 A strong imagination is requisite for the 
 successful cultivation of every scientific pur- 
 suit; and, though differently applied, and 
 different in the character of its representa- 
 tions, it may well be doubted whether Aris- 
 totle did not possess as powerful an imagi- 
 nation as Homer. — Hamilton, ' Logic,' ii. 
 131- 
 
 Invention and Discovery. 
 
 Discoverers and inventors have never at- 
 tained to any high degree of excellence with- 
 out a considerable share of the faculty of 
 imagination. You want to work the rod of 
 a pump by means of a horizontal axis which 
 revolves above it. In considering how it is 
 to be effected, innumerable ideas connected 
 with machinery crowd into the mind. A 
 thousand projects are proposed, examined, 
 and rejected, till at last the idea of a crank 
 is hit upon. Its relation to the other pai-ts 
 is immediately perceived, and it becomes a 
 part of the machine. — Sydney Smith, 'Moral 
 Phil.,' p. 87. 
 
 There can be no question that to inven- 
 tion imagination is entirely essential ; in- 
 deed, that, without an active imagination, 
 philosophic invention and discovery are 
 impossible. To invent or discover is always 
 to recombine. It is to adjust in new posi- 
 tions, objects or parts of objects which have 
 never been so connected before. The dis- 
 
154 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 coverer of a new solution of a problem, or a 
 new demonstration for a theorem in mathe- 
 matics, the inventor of a new application of 
 a power of nature already known, or the 
 discoverer of a power not previously dreamed 
 of, the discoverer of a new argument to 
 prove or deduce a truth or of a new induc- 
 tion from facts already accepted, the man 
 who evolves a new principle or a new defi- 
 nition in moral or political science — must 
 all analyse and recombine in the mind 
 things, acts, or events, with their relations, 
 ia positions in which they have never been 
 previously observed or thought of. This 
 recombination is purely mental. If there 
 be a discovery or invention, there has never 
 before been svich a juxtaposition of the 
 materials nor of their parts in the world of 
 fact or in the thoughts of men. These 
 objects and parts are now for the first time 
 brought together in the mind — i.e., the 
 imagination of the discoverer. Every dis- 
 covery is, in fact, a work of the creative 
 imagination. — Porter, ' Human Intellect,^ 
 p. 369. 
 
 Oratory. 
 
 Imagination is a most legitimate instru- 
 ment of persuasion. It is an indispens- 
 able instrument. The minds of men are 
 sometimes so sluggish that we cannot get 
 them to listen to us iinless our case is 
 stated with a warmth and a vigour which 
 the imagination alone can supply. There 
 are many, again, who are not accessible to 
 abstract argument, but who recognise truth 
 at once when it assumes that concrete form 
 with which imagination may invest it ; 
 they cannot follow the successive steps of 
 your demonstration, but they admit the 
 truth of your proposition the moment you 
 show them your diagram. Then, again, 
 there are some truths, and these among the 
 greatest, which rest, not upon abstract 
 reasoning, but upon facts. Imagination 
 must make the facts vivid and real. — Dale, 
 ' Lectures on Preacidng,^ p. 48. 
 
 Etliics. 
 
 The practical or ethical uses of the imagi- 
 nation are numerous and elevated. These 
 
 are sufficiently obvious from the single con- 
 sideration, that the law of duty is and must 
 be an ideal law : for whether it is or is 
 not fulfilled, it must precede the act which 
 reaches or falls short of itself. Every ethi- 
 cal rule must be a mental creation, an ideal 
 formed by the creative power, and held be- 
 fore the soul as a guide and law. Asserting, 
 as we do, that this law, in general, is the 
 same in its import for all men — so that, in 
 a certain sense, the imagination of every 
 one must create the same general ideal 
 rule, it remains true that the practical ideal 
 of every one is peculiar to himself, and 
 is shared by no other person. This ideal, 
 so far as the particulars of his character 
 and life are concerned, may vary both in 
 its import and in the vividness with which 
 this import is conceived. What each man 
 may become in this and that respect, in 
 wealth, position, knowledge, power, &c., is 
 the romantic ideal of youth and the plea- 
 sant dream of later years. The aspirations 
 of endeavour, the visions of hope, and the 
 romances of pure reverie which express 
 more than we dare aspire after or hope 
 to effect, are obviously the work of the 
 creative imagination. If these are con- 
 formed to a just ideal of life and character, 
 they are most elevating in their influence. 
 If they are consistent with the conditions 
 of our human nature and our human life, 
 if they ai-e conformed to the physical and 
 moral laws of our na*ure, and the govern- 
 ment and will of God, they are healthful 
 and ennobling. Such ideals can scarcely 
 be too high, or too ardently and steadfastly 
 adhered to. But if they are false in their 
 theory of life and happiness, if they are 
 untrue to the conditions of our actual exist- 
 ence, if they involve the disappointment of 
 our hopes, and discontent with real life, 
 they are the bane of all enjoyment, and 
 fatal to true happiness. — Porter, ^ Human 
 Lntellect,' p. 371. 
 
 The faculty of imagination is a principal 
 source of human improvement. As it de- 
 lights in presenting to the mind scenes and 
 characters more perfect than those we are 
 acquainted with, it prevents us from ever 
 
IMAGINATION, 
 
 155 
 
 being completely satisfied with our present 
 conditions or with our past attainments, 
 and engages us continually in the pursuit 
 of some untried enjoyment or of some ideal 
 excellence. Destroy this faculty and the 
 condition of man will become as stationary 
 as that of the brutes. — Steicart, ' WorAs,' 
 ii 467. 
 
 Reh'gwn. 
 
 Imagination is the power of perceiving, 
 or conceivmg with the mind, things which 
 cannot be perceived by the senses. Its first 
 and noblest use is to enable us to bring 
 sensibly to our sight the things which are 
 recorded as belonging to our future state, 
 or as invisibly surrounding us in this. It 
 is given us that we may imagine the cloud 
 of witnesses in heaven and earth, and see, 
 as if they were now present, the souls of 
 the righteous waiting for us ; that we may 
 conceive the great army of the inhabitants 
 of heaven, and discover among them those 
 whom we most desire to be with for ever ; 
 that we may be able to vision forth the 
 ministry of angels beside us, and see the 
 chariots of fire on the mountains that gird 
 us round ; but, above all, to call up the' 
 scenes and facts in which we are com- 
 manded to believe, and be present, as if in 
 the body, at every recorded event of the 
 history of the Redeemer. — Ruslcin, '■Modern 
 Painters,^ iii. Pt. iv. ch. iv. § 6. 
 
 Tlie imagination is sometimes a source of 
 error and untruth. 
 
 Imagination is the source of error, both 
 when it is too languid and when it is too 
 vigorous. If the imagination be weak and 
 languid, the objects represented by it will 
 be given in such confusion and obscurity 
 that theii' differences are either null or 
 evanescent, and judgment thus rendered 
 either impossible, or possible only with the 
 probability of error. If there be a dispro- 
 portioned vivacity of imagination, the re- 
 newed or newly modified representations 
 make an equal impression on the mind as 
 the original presentations, and are, conse- 
 quently, liable to be mistaken for these. 
 Even during the perception of real objects, 
 
 a too lively imagination mingles itself with 
 the observation, which it thus corrupts and 
 falsifies. — Hamilton, ' Logic, ^ ii. 131, 133. 
 
 The abuses of imagination are either in 
 creating, for mere pleasure, false images, 
 where it is its duty to create true ones ; or 
 in turning what was intended for the mere 
 refreshment of the heart into its daily food, 
 and changing the innocent pastime of an 
 hour into the guilty occupation of a life. — 
 Ruskin, * Modern Painters,' iii. pt. iv. chap, 
 iv. § 6. 
 
 The Pleasures of Imagination. 
 
 Imagination multiplies the sources of 
 innocent enjoyment. How much has the 
 sphere of our happiness been extended by 
 those agi'eeable fictions which introduce us 
 to new worlds, and make us acquainted 
 with new orders of being ! Imagination 
 loves to indulge herself likewise in painting 
 future scenes, and her prophetic dreams 
 are almost always favourable to happiness. 
 Even when human life presents to us no 
 object on which our hopes can rest, the 
 imagination is invited beyond the dark 
 and troubled horizon which terminates all 
 our earthly prospects, to wander unconfined 
 in the regions of futurity. — Steicart, ' Works,^ 
 ii. 469 sq. 
 
 How happy is that mind in which the 
 belief and reverence of a perfect all-govern- 
 ing mind casts out all fear but the fear of 
 acting wrong ; in which serenity and cheer- 
 fulness, innocence, himianity, and candour 
 guard the imagination against the entrance 
 of every unhallowed intruder, and invite 
 more amiable and worthier guests to dwell. 
 There shall the Muses, the Graces, and the 
 Virtues fix their abode, for ever}i;hing that 
 is gi-eat and worthy in human conduct 
 must have been conceived in the imagina- 
 tion before it was brought into act. The 
 man whose imagination is occupied by these 
 guests must be wise and he must be happy. 
 —Reid, ' Works; p. 388. 
 
 The Imagination is Capable of Cultivation. 
 
 The imagination is capable of steady 
 
 growth, and requires constant cultivation. 
 
156 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The creative imagination, when most gifted, 
 can at first only rise to a certain height 
 above the materials which its experience 
 gives. Its succeeding essays are founded 
 upon those which have been made before, 
 and it proceeds by successive steps, more or 
 less long and high, till it attains the most 
 consummate achievements that are ever 
 reached by man. That there is a striking 
 
 diversity of original endowment cannot be 
 doubted ; but that this is the common law 
 of the development of this power cannot be 
 denied. It is shown to be clearly true from 
 the nature of the power itself, as well as 
 from the history of those who have been 
 most distinguished for their achievements 
 in poetry, fiction, and art. — Porter, ' Human 
 Intellect,' p. 364. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THOUGHT. 
 
 I. THE TERM. 
 
 Variously applied. 
 
 The term thought is applied to a great 
 variety of processes, which are familiarly 
 known as abstraction, generalisation, nam- 
 ing, judging, reasoning, arranging, explain- 
 ing, and accounting for. These processes 
 are often grouped together, and called the 
 logical or rational processes. — Porter, ' The 
 Human Intellect,'' p. 377. 
 
 Two Senses. 
 
 The term thought is used in two signifi- 
 cations of different extent. In the wider 
 meaning, it denotes every cognitive act 
 whatever; by some philosophers, as Des- 
 cartes and his disciples, it is even used for 
 every mental modification of which we are 
 conscious, and thus includes the Feelings, 
 the Yolitions, and the Desires. In the 
 more limited meaning, it denotes only the 
 acts of the Understanding properly so-called. 
 It is in this more restricted signification 
 that thought is said to be the object-matter 
 of Logic. — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 12. 
 
 Thought is Mediate Knowledge. 
 
 There are a great many things which we 
 know although they are not immediately 
 under the observation of our senses ; there 
 are a great many things apparently very dif- 
 
 ferent from one another which we connect 
 together in various ways in our minds ; 
 there are a great many things which we 
 firmly believe although they have never 
 been immediately known to us at all. 
 Knowledge and belief of these various 
 kinds are the result of a process which we 
 have called Elaboration, and which has been 
 variovisly denominated Thought, Reason- 
 ing, Refiection, and so on. — Jar dine, ' Psy- 
 chology,' p. 225. 
 
 Nature of Thought according to 
 
 Hohhes. 
 
 All thinking is a combining and separ- 
 ating, an adding and subtracting of mental 
 representations; to think is to reckon. — 
 Ueherweg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 40. 
 
 Hume. 
 
 The creative power of thought extends 
 no further than to the faculty of combining, 
 transposing, augmenting, or diminishing 
 the material furnished by the senses and 
 by experience. All the materials of thought 
 are given us through external or internal 
 experience ; only their combination is the 
 work of the understanding or the will. — 
 Ueherweg, '^ Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 132. 
 
 Ulrici. 
 
 The question : What does thought mean? 
 1 leads to the following propositions, in 
 
THE TERM. 
 
 157 
 
 which the fundamental qualilications of 
 thought are formulated, (i.) Thought is 
 activity. But the conception of activity 
 is a simple conception which cannot be 
 defined. (2.) In addition to productivity, 
 which is a mark of thinking, as of all 
 activity, a specific mark of thought is the 
 act of distinguishing, so that thought may 
 be defined as distinguishing activity, though 
 not as the mere act of distinguishing. (3.) 
 To these may be added, as a third qualifica- 
 tion, that thought, by exercising this dis- 
 tinguishing activity upon itself, becomes 
 consciousness and self-consciousness, a re- 
 sult which may be reached either indepen- 
 dently, or through the co-operation of 
 others. (4.) Since thought is a distin- 
 guishing activity, fourthly, it can exist 
 only in distinctions, i.e., we can only have 
 a thought when and in so far as we distin- 
 guish it from another thought ; hence pure 
 thought, i.e., thought without content, is 
 no thought, and all real thinking involves 
 multiplicity in thought. (5.) Finally, in 
 the fact of thought and of knowledge is 
 contained the certainty that it is possible 
 for thought to know in its true nature the 
 object of thought (at least when this object 
 is itself). — Uebericeg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 
 300. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 The distinctive peculiarity of thinking 
 
 in general is that it involves the cognition 
 
 of one thing by the cognition of another. 
 
 : All thinking is, therefore, a mediate cogni- 
 
 I tion ; we know one object only through the 
 
 I knowledge of another. As one object is 
 
 only known through another, there must 
 
 always be a plurality of objects in every 
 
 single thought. — 'Logic,' i. 75. 
 
 I Mansel. 
 
 II Thought proper, as distinguished from 
 other facts of consciousness, may be ade- 
 quately described as the act of knowing or 
 judging of things by means of concepts. — 
 'Prolegomena Logical p. 22. 
 
 We have in the complete exercise of 
 thought three successive representations. 
 
 The sign is representative of the notion ; 
 the notion is representative of the image j 
 and the image is representative of the 
 object from which the notion was formed. 
 — ' Metaphysics,' p. 39. 
 
 Forms of Thought, according to Kant. (See 
 Categouy). 
 
 The forms of thought are tlie twelve cate- 
 gories or original conceptions of the under- 
 standing, on which all the forms of our 
 judgments are conditioned. They are : 
 unity, plurality, totality, — reaHty, negation, 
 limitation, — substantiality, causality, reci- 
 procal action, — possibility, existence, neces- 
 sity. — Uebericeg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 157. 
 
 Formal Perfection of Thought. 
 
 This is made up of the three virtues or 
 characters: — (i.) Of Clearness; (2.) Of Dis- 
 tinctness; (3.) Of Harmony. — Hamilton, 
 ' Logic,' ii. 9. 
 
 Range and Dignity of Thought. 
 
 Its Range. 
 
 It is by thought only that we can form 
 those conceptions of niunber and magnitude 
 which are the postulates and the materials 
 of mathematical science. By thinking, we 
 both enlarge and rise above the limited and 
 transient information which is gained by 
 single acts of consciousness and sense-per- 
 ception, as we lay hold of that in them 
 which is universal and permanent. By 
 thought we know effects by their causes, 
 and causes through their effects ; we believe 
 in powers whose actings only we can dii-ectly 
 discern, and infer powers in objects which 
 we have never tested or observed ; we ex- 
 plain what has happened by referring it to 
 laws of necessity or reason, and we predict 
 what will happen by rightly interpreting 
 what has occurred. By thinking we rise 
 to the unseen from that which is seen, to 
 the laws of nature from the facts of nature, 
 to the laws of spirit from the phenomena 
 of spirit, and to God from the universe of 
 matter and spirit, whose powers reveal His 
 energy, and whose ends and adaptations 
 
158 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 manifest His thoughts and character. — 
 Porter, ' The Human Intellect,^ p. 377. 
 
 Its Dignity. 
 
 Thought qualifies us for our noblest func- 
 tions. It makes us capable of language, by 
 which we commimicate what we know and 
 feel for the good of others, or record it 
 for another genei-ation ; of science, as dis- 
 tinguished from and elevated above the 
 observation and remembrance of single and 
 isolated facts ; of forecast, as we lear-n wis- 
 dom by experience; of dut}', as we exalt 
 ourselves into judges and lawgivers over 
 the inward desires and intentions ; of law, 
 as we discern its importance and bow to its 
 authority ; and of religion, as we believe in 
 and worship the Unseen, whose existence 
 and character we interpret by His works 
 and learn from His Word. — Porter, ' The 
 Human Intellect,'' p. 378. 
 
 Theory that Thought is Transformed Sen- 
 sation. 
 If a multitude of sensations operate at 
 the same time with the same degree of 
 \-ivacity, or nearly so, man is then only 
 an animal that feels ; experience suffices to 
 convince us that then the multitude of 
 impressions takes away all activity from 
 the mind. But let only one sensation sub- 
 sist, or without entirely dismissing the 
 others, let us only diminish their force; 
 the mind is at once occupied more particu- 
 larly with the sensation which preserves its 
 ■vdvacity, and that sensation becomes atten- 
 tion, without its being necessary for us to 
 suppose anything else in the mind. If a 
 new sensation acquire greater vivacity than 
 the former, it will become in its turn atten- 
 tion. But the greater the force which 
 the former had, the deeper the impression 
 made on us, and the longer it is presem-ed. 
 Experience proves this. Our capacity of 
 sensation is therefore divided into the sen- 
 sation we have had and the sensation which 
 we now have ; we perceive them both at 
 once, but we perceive them differently : the 
 one seems as past, the other as present. The 
 name of sensation designates the impression 
 
 actually made upon our senses ; and it takes 
 that of memory when it presents itself to 
 us as a sensation which has formerly been 
 felt. Memory is only the transformed sen- 
 sation. When there is double attention 
 there is comparison, for to be attentive to 
 two ideas and to compare them is the same 
 thing. But we cannot compare them with- 
 out perceiving some difference or some re- 
 semblance between them ; to perceive such 
 relations is to judge. The act of comparing 
 and judging are therefore only attention ; 
 it is thus that sensation becomes succes- 
 sively attention, comparison, judgment. — 
 Condillac, quoted by Lewes, ^History of 
 Philosophy,' ii. 351. 
 
 II. ABSTRACTION. 
 Definitions. 
 
 Abstx'action is the power of considering 
 certain qualities or attributes of an object 
 apart from the rest. — Stewart, ' Worlis,^' 
 ii. 162. 
 
 Abstraction means etymologically the 
 active withdrawal (of attention) from one 
 thing in order to fix it on another thing 
 (Lat. ab and traho). Although we com- 
 monly speak of abstraction in reference to 
 turning away from differences to similari- 
 ties, the same process shows itself in other 
 forms. Thus, in looking at a face we may 
 withdraw attention from the eyes and fix 
 it on some less impressive feature. If two 
 things {e.g., two sheep) are very like, we 
 need to make an effort of abstraction in 
 order to overlook the similarities and attend 
 to the differences. — Sully, ' Outlines of Psy- 
 chology,' p. 343. 
 
 Process. 
 
 Archbishop Thomson analyses the pro- 
 cess into several steps, the name of the 
 principal act being given to the whole : — 
 (i.) ' Comparison or the act of putting to- 
 gether two or more single objects mth a 
 view to ascertain how far they resemble 
 each other. (2.) Reflection or the ascer- 
 tainment of their points of resemblance 
 and their points of diffei-ence. (3.) Ab- 
 
ABSTRACTION. 
 
 159 
 
 straction or the separation of the points of 
 agreement from those of difference, that 
 they may constitute a new nature, different 
 from, yet inchiding, the single objects.' — 
 'Laws of Thouglit,' p. 75. 
 
 Bain states it thus : — ' The first stage in 
 abstraction is to identify and compare a 
 number of objects possessing similarity in 
 diversity. The second is to attend to the 
 points of agi-eement of resembling things, 
 and to neglect the points of difference, as 
 when we think of the light of the heavenly 
 bodies.' — ^Mental and Moral Science,' p. 
 176. 
 
 Abstraction as a Mental Process is the 
 Correlative of Attention. 
 Abstraction is exclusive attention. When 
 things are found to agree or to disagree in 
 certain respects, the consciousness is, by 
 an act of volition, concentrated upon the 
 objects which thus partially agree, and in 
 them, upon those qualities in or through 
 which they agree. This concentration con- 
 stitutes an act of attention. The result of 
 attention, by concentrating the mind upon 
 certain qualities, is thus to withdraw or 
 abstract it from all else. Attention fixed 
 on one object is tantamount to a with- 
 drawal, to an abstraction, of consciousness 
 from eveiy other. — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 
 123. 
 
 Hence Abstraction is of two kinds. 
 
 Dobrisch observes that the term abstrac- 
 tion is used sometimes in a psychological, 
 sometimes in a logical sense. In the former 
 we are said to abstract the attention from 
 certain distinctive features of objects pre- 
 sented. In the latter, we are said to 
 abstract certain portions of a given con- 
 cept from the remainder. — Mansel, ' Prole- 
 gomena Logica' note; p. 26, p. 30 in Ed. ii. 
 
 The Power of Abstraction separates Man 
 from Brutes. 
 
 Brutes abstract not. This, I think, I 
 may be positive in, that the power of 
 abstracting is not at all in them ; and that 
 the having of general ideas is that which 
 
 puts a perfect distinction betwLxt nmn and 
 brutes, and is an excellency which the 
 faculties of brutes do by no means attain 
 toj for it is evident we observe no foot- 
 steps in them of making use of general 
 signs for universal ideas; from which we 
 have reason to imagine that they have not 
 the faculty of abstracting, or making 
 general ideas, since they have no use of 
 words, or any other general signs. — Locl-e, 
 ' Human Understanding,' Book ii. chap. xi. 
 sect. 10. 
 
 Uses of Abstraction. 
 
 Ahstraction tends to the increase of Icnoio- 
 
 ledge. 
 
 If we will warily attend to the motions 
 of the mind, and observe what covirse it 
 usually takes in its way to knowledge, we 
 shall, I think, find that the mind having 
 got an idea which it thinks it may have 
 use of either in contemplation or discourse, 
 the first thing it does is to abstract it, and 
 get a name to it, and so lay it up in its 
 storehouse, the memory, as containing the 
 essence of a sort of things, of which that 
 name is always to be the mark. If the 
 mind should proceed by and dwell only 
 upon particular things, its progress would 
 be very slow, and its work endless ; there- 
 fore, to shorten its way to knowledge and 
 make each perception more comprehensive, 
 the mind binds the things into bimdles, 
 and ranks them so into sorts that what 
 knowledge it gets of any of them it may 
 thereby with assurance extend to all of 
 that sort, and so advance by larger steps 
 in that which is its gi-eat business, know- 
 ledge. — Locke, ' Human Understanding,' 
 Book ii. chap, xxxii. sect. 6. 
 
 It avails in both arts and sciences. 
 
 A carpenter considers a log of wood with 
 regard to hardness, firmness, colour, and 
 texture ; a philosopher, neglecting these 
 properties, makes the log undergo a chemi- 
 cal analysis, and examines its taste, its 
 smell, and component principles ; the geo- 
 metrician confines his reasoning to the 
 figure, the length, breadth, and thickness. 
 
i6o 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 Thus the process of abstraction is familiar 
 to most minds. — Kames, ' Elements of Cri- 
 ticism,' ii. 533. 
 
 Abstractions have no sejparate existence 
 apart from the mind. 
 
 There is a strong tendency in the mind 
 to ascribe separate existence to abstrac- 
 tions ; the motive resides in the Feelings, 
 and is favoured by the operation of lan- 
 guage. We are apt to expect every word 
 to have a thing corresponding. — Bain, 
 ' Mental and Moral Science,' p. 1 80. 
 
 The idea of their separate existence is 
 favoured by the ordinary conception of the 
 process. 
 
 It is agreed on all hands that ' the quali- 
 ties ' or modes of things do never really 
 exist each of them apart by itself, and 
 separated from all others, but are mixed, 
 as it were, and blended together, several 
 in the same object. But, we are told, the 
 mind being able to consider each quality 
 singly, or abstracted from those other quali- 
 ties with which it is united, does by that 
 frame to itself abstract ideas. For ex- 
 ample, there is perceived by sight an object 
 extended, coloured, and moved : this mixed 
 or compound idea the mind resolving into 
 its simple, constituent parts, and viewing 
 each by itself, exclusive of the rest, does 
 frame the abstract ideas of extension, 
 colour, and motion. Not that it is pos- 
 sible for colour or motion to exist without 
 extension ; but only that the mind can 
 frame to itself by abstraction the idea of 
 colour exclusive of extension, and of motion 
 exclusive of both colour and extension. — 
 Berl-eley, ^Principles of Human Knowledge,' 
 intro. 7. 
 
 Abstract ideas so conceived do not exist. 
 
 Whether others have this wonderful 
 faculty of abstracting their ideas, they best 
 can tell. For myself, I find indeed I have 
 a faculty of imagining, or representing to 
 myself, the idea of those particular things I 
 have perceived, and of variously compound- 
 ing and dividing them. I can imagine a 
 man with two heads, or the upper parts of 
 
 a man joined to the body of a horse. I can 
 consider the hand, the eye, the nose, each 
 by itself abstracted or separated from the 
 rest of the body. But then whatever hand 
 or eye I imagine, it must have some parti- 
 cular shape and colour. Likewise the idea of 
 a man that I frame to myself must be either 
 of a white, or a black, or a tawny, a straight, 
 or a crooked, a tall, or a low, or a middle- 
 sized man. I cannot by any effort of 
 thought conceive the abstract idea of man. 
 And it is equally impossible for me to form 
 the abstract idea of motion distinct from 
 the body moving, and which is neither 
 swift nor slow, curvilinear nor rectilinear ; 
 and the like may be said of all other 
 abstract general ideas whatsoever. To be 
 plain, I own myself able to abstract in one 
 sense, as when I consider some particular 
 parts or qualities separated from others, 
 with which though they are united in some 
 object, yet it is possible they may really 
 exist without them. But I deny that I 
 can abstract from one another, or conceive 
 separately, those qualities which it is im- 
 possible should exist so separated ; or that 
 I can frame a general notion, by abstracting 
 from particulars in the manner aforesaid — 
 which last are the two proper acceptations 
 of abstraction. And there is ground to 
 think most men will acknowledge them- 
 selves to be in my case. — BerlceJey, ' Prii»- 
 ciples of Human Knoivledge,' intro. 10. 
 
 Bishop Berkeley's argument is, as far as 
 it goes, irrefragable. — Hamilton, ^Lectures,' 
 ii. 298. 
 
 Locke practically admits the absurdity 
 of this doctrine, although he pleaded for it. 
 He says, ' General ideas are fictions and 
 contrivances of the mind that carry diffi- 
 culty with them, and do not so easily offer 
 themselves as we are apt to imagine. For 
 example, does it not require some pains and 
 skill to form the general idea of a triangle ? 
 (which is yet none of the most abstract, 
 comprehensive, and difficult) for it must 
 be neither oblique nor rectangle, neither 
 equilateral, equicrural, nor scalenon, but 
 all and none of these at once.' — Locke, 
 
ABSTRACT IDEAS. 
 
 i6i 
 
 ^ Human Understanding,'' bk. iv. chap. vii. 
 
 §9- 
 
 * If any man has the faculty of framing 
 in his mind such an idea of a triangle as is 
 here described, it is in vain to pretend to 
 dispute him out of it, nor would I go about 
 it.' — Berkeley, ' Principles of Human Knoio- 
 hdge,' introd. 13. 
 
 III. ABSTRACT IDEAS. 
 
 Their Nature. 
 
 The generic ideas which are formed from 
 several similar but not identical complex 
 experiences, are what are commonly called 
 ahstract or general ideas. Berkeley endeav- 
 oured to prove that all general ideas are 
 nothing but particular ideas annexed to a 
 certain term which gives them a more ex- 
 tensive signification and makes them recall, 
 upon occasion, other individuals which are 
 similar to them. Hume says that he re- 
 gards this as ' one of the greatest and most 
 valuable discoveries that has been made of 
 late years in the republic of letters,' and 
 endeavours to confirm it in such a manner 
 that it shall be ' put beyond all doubt and 
 controversy.' I may venture to express a 
 doubt whether he has succeeded in his 
 object. — Huxley, ' Hume,^ pp. 95, 96. 
 
 An abstract notion is a consciousness of 
 some quality or aspect of an object con- 
 sidered without reference to others. When 
 a quality of which an abstract notion might 
 be formed is cognised in actual connection 
 with a certain set of other phenomena the 
 cognition is a perception ; the notion of the 
 quality loses its abstractness, it becomes 
 concreted with the other phenomena. The 
 notion of a quality loses its abstractness also 
 when it becomes general, but in this case it 
 is conceived as in possible connection with 
 numerous sets of phenomena. Thus the 
 cognition expressed in 'I perceive this 
 quadruped,' implies the connection of four- 
 footedness with an individual set of pheno- 
 mena; while the cognition, *I conceive a 
 quadruped ' implies the connection of the 
 same quality, not with any definite set of 
 actual phenomena but with an indefinite 
 
 number of possible phenomena. In other 
 words, the notion of a quality which in itself 
 is an abstract notion becomes general when 
 it is thought as applying to various indi- 
 viduals, as it is singular when it applies only 
 to one. — Clark Murray, ^Psychology,'' pp. 
 190, 191. 
 
 How they are formed. 
 
 The mind has the high capacity of form- 
 ing abstract and general notions. Out of 
 the concrete it can form the abstract notion. 
 I can see or image a lily only as with both 
 a shape and colour, but I can in thought 
 contemplate its whiteness apart from its 
 form. Having seen a number of beasts 
 with four limbs, I can think about a class 
 of animals agreeing in this that they are 
 all quadrupeds. It appears then that the 
 mental image and the abstract or general 
 notion are not the same. The former is an 
 exercise of the reproductive powers, recall- 
 ing the old or putting the old in new collo- 
 cations. The other is the result of an 
 exercise of thought, separating the part 
 from the whole, or contemplating an indefi- 
 nite number of objects as possessing com- 
 mon qualities. If the one may be called 
 the phantasm, the other, in contradistinc- 
 tion, may be denominated the notion or 
 concept, or, to designate it more unequivo- 
 cally, the logical notion or concept. — 
 IP Cosh, ^Intuitions of the Mind,^ p. 14. 
 
 When several complex impressions which 
 are more or less different from one another 
 (let us say that out of ten impressions in 
 each six are the same in all, and four are 
 different from all the rest) are successively 
 presented to the mind, it is easy to see 
 what must be the nature of the result. The 
 repetition of the six similar impressions will 
 strengthen the six corresponding elements 
 of the complex idea, which will, therefore, 
 acquire greater vividness : while the four 
 differing impressions of each will not only 
 acquire no greater strength than they had 
 at first, but, in accordance with the law of 
 association, they will all tend to appear at 
 once, and will thus neutralise one another. 
 
 This mental opei'ation may be rendered 
 
[62 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 comprehensible by considering wliat takes 
 place in the formation of compound photo- 
 graphs, when the images of the faces of six 
 sitters, for example, are each received on 
 the same photographic plate, for a sixth 
 of the time requisite to take one portrait. 
 The final result is that all those points in 
 which the six faces agree are brought out 
 strongly, while all those in which they differ 
 are left vague, and thus what may be termed 
 a generic portrait of the six, in contradis- 
 tinction to a specific portrait of any one, is 
 produced. 
 
 Thus our ideas of single complex impres- 
 sions are incomplete in one way, and those 
 of numerous, more or less similar, complex 
 impressions are incomplete in another way ; 
 that is to say, they are generic, not specific. 
 — Huxley, ' Hume,'' p. 94. 
 
 Their Relation to General Notions. 
 
 Every abstract notion implies a process 
 of separation ; every general notion implies 
 a process of comparison ; and both one and 
 other proceed on a previous knowledge 
 which has come within the range of our 
 consciousness. — M^Cosh, '■Intuitions of the 
 Mind,'' p. 16. 
 
 Some of the laws involved in the forma- 
 tion both of the Abstract and General 
 Notion are these : In regard to the former, 
 (i) the Abstract implies the Concrete ; (2) 
 when the Concrete is real the Abstract is 
 also real; (3) when the Abstract is an at- 
 tribute it has no independent reality, its 
 reality is simply in the Concrete objects. 
 Again in regard to the General Notion, (i) 
 The Universal implies the Singulars ; (2) 
 when the Singulars are real the Universal 
 is also real ; (3) the reality of the Universal 
 consists in the objects possessing common 
 marks. — M'Gosh, ' Intuitions of the Mind,^ 
 p. 446. 
 
 IV. GENERALISATION. 
 
 Two Meanings. 
 
 The term generalisation, as commonly 
 used, includes two processes which are of 
 different character, but are often closely 
 
 associated together. In the first place, we 
 generalise when we recognise even in two 
 objects a common nature. We cannot de- 
 tect the slightest similarity without open- 
 ing the way to inference from one case to 
 the other. Drops of water scattered by 
 the oar in the sun, the spray from a water- 
 wheel, the dewdrops lying on the grass in 
 the summer morning, all display a similar 
 phenomenon. No sooner have we grouped 
 together these apparently diverse instances 
 than we have begun to generalise. A second 
 process, to which the name of generahsa- 
 tion is often given, consists in passing from 
 a fact or partial law to a multitude of 
 unexamined cases which we believe to be 
 subject to the same conditions. Having 
 observed that many substances assume, 
 like water and mercury, the three states of 
 solid, liquid, and gas, and having assured 
 ourselves by frequent trial that the gi-eater 
 the means we possess of heating and cool- 
 ing, the more substances we can vaporise 
 and freeze, we pass confidently in advance 
 of fact, and assume that all substances 
 are capable of these three forms. — Jevons, 
 ^Principles of Science,^ p. 597. 
 
 Distinguished from 
 
 Ahstrciction. 
 
 Generalisation implies abstraction; but 
 it is not the same thing ; for there may be 
 abstraction without generalisation. When 
 we are speaking of an individual, it is usu- 
 ally an abstract notion that we form ; e.g., 
 suppose we are speaking of the present 
 King of France, he must he either at Paris 
 or elsewhere ; sitting, standing, or in some 
 other posture; and in such and such a 
 dress, &c. Yet many of these circum- 
 stances, which are regarded as non-essential 
 to the individual, are qviite disregarded by 
 us ; and we abstract from them what we 
 consider as essential ; thus forming an ab- 
 stract notion of the individual. Yet there 
 is here no generalisation, — WJiately, 'Logic,' 
 p. 84. 
 
 On this passage Archbishop Thomson re- 
 marks : * A great error lies hid in it — 
 
CONCEPTION. 
 
 163 
 
 that of not perceiving that the power of 
 separating circnmstances, called essential 
 to the individual, from those which are not 
 so, results from former generalisations. How 
 do we know that ' sitting ' or ' standing ' is 
 not essential to a king ? By prior genera- 
 lisation ; by the help of the conception we 
 have formed of a king already. — ' Laws of 
 Thought,^ p. 105. 
 
 Analogy. 
 
 There is no distinction but that of de- 
 gi'ee between what is known as reasoning 
 by generalisation and reasoning by ana- 
 logy. In both cases, from certain observed 
 resemblances, we infer, wdth more or less 
 probability, the existence of other resem- 
 blances. In generalisation the resemblances 
 have great extension and usually little in- 
 tension, whereas in analogy we rely upon 
 the great intension, the extension being of 
 small amount. In analogy we reason from 
 likeness in many points to likeness in other 
 points. — Jewns,^Principlesof Science,' ^. ^^6. 
 
 Results of Generalisation. 
 
 Concepts or general notions. 
 
 Generalisation is the process through 
 which we obtain what are called general 
 or universal notions. A general notion is 
 nothing but the abstract notion of a cir- 
 cumstance in which a number of indivi- 
 dual objects are found to agree, that is, to 
 resemble each other. In so far as two ob- 
 jects resemble each other, the notion we 
 have of them is identical, and, therefore, 
 to us the objects may be considered as the 
 same. Accordingly, having discovered the 
 circumstance in which objects agree, we 
 arrange them by this common circumstance 
 into classes, to which we also usually give 
 a common name, — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,'' 
 ii. 294. 
 
 Laws. 
 
 The law of gravitation is exemplified in 
 the fall of a single stone to the ground. 
 But many stones and other heavy bodies 
 must have been observed to fall before the 
 fact was generalised and the law stated. 
 
 And in the process of generalising there is 
 involved a principle which experience does 
 not furnish. Experience, how extensive 
 soever it may be, can only give the particu- 
 lar ; yet from the particular we rise to the 
 general, and aifirm not only that all heavy 
 bodies which have been observed, but that 
 all heavy bodies, whether they have been 
 observed or not, gravitate. This is a 
 principle furnished by reason. — Fleming, 
 ' Vocal), of Phil.,' p. 206. 
 
 Value of Generalisation. 
 
 As an Art of Discovery. 
 
 The Arts and Methods of Discovery em- 
 brace Facts and Reasonings on Facts, which 
 are all comprehended in the one process, 
 generalisation. A number of individual 
 observations being supposed, the next thing 
 is to discover agreements among them — to 
 strike out identities wherever there are 
 points to be identified ; these identities end- 
 ing either in Notions or in General Prin- 
 ciples. — Bain, ' Logic, Induction,'' p. 414. 
 
 For the furtherance of hioioledge. 
 
 It might seem that if we know particular 
 facts there can be little use in connecting 
 them together by a general law. The par- 
 ticulars must be more full of useful infor- 
 mation than an abstract general statement. 
 But in reality we never do obtain an ade- 
 quate knowledge of particulars until we 
 i-egard them as cases of the general. Not 
 only is there a singular delight in discover- 
 ing the many in the one, and the one in 
 the many, but there is a constant inter- 
 change of light and knowledge. The undu- 
 latory theory of light might have been 
 unknown at the present day had not the 
 theory of sound supplied hints by analogy. 
 — Jevons, *■ Principles of Science,' p. 599. 
 
 V. CONCEPTION. 
 
 Its Nature as a Mental Operation. 
 
 The term is frequently used both for a 
 mental operation and its product. For the 
 product, however, the term 'concept' is now 
 
i64 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 generally employed. The mental operation 
 alone will be considered in this section. 
 See Concept. 
 
 Conception means a taking up in bundles, 
 or grasping into unity. — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 \ics' ii. 262. 
 
 The word Conception is often used not 
 only for the act of forming a concept but 
 for the act of individualising it, or calling 
 up in imagination an object which exem- 
 plifies it. This seems to be in fact the 
 ordinary application of the verb to conceive 
 as well as of the adjectives conceivable and 
 inconceivahle. — MoncTc, ' Sir W. Hamilton,'' 
 p. 172. 
 
 Stewart usurps the word conception in a 
 very limited meaning, in a meaning which 
 is peculiar to himself, viz., for the simple 
 and unmodified representation of an object 
 presented in Perception. Reid again vacil- 
 lates in the signification he attaches to this 
 term, — using it sometimes as a synonym 
 for Imagination, sometimes as comprehend- 
 ing not only Imagination, but Under- 
 standing and the object of Understand- 
 ing. In this latter relation alone is found 
 its correct and genuine signification. It 
 means the act of conceiving. — Hamilton, 
 * Logic^ i. 40. 
 
 Conception consists in a conscious act 
 of the understanding, bringing any given 
 object or impression into the same class 
 with any number of other objects or im- 
 pressions, by means of some character or 
 characters common to them all. We com- 
 prehend a thing when we have learnt to 
 comprise it in a known class. — Coleridge, 
 ' Church and State,' p. 4. 
 
 Conception is the forming or bringing an 
 image or idea into the mind by an effort of 
 will. It is distinguished from Sensation and 
 Perception, produced by an object present 
 to the senses ; and from imagination, which 
 is the joining together of ideas in new 
 ways ; it is distinguished from memory by 
 not having the feeling of past time con- 
 nected with the idea. — Taylor, ' Elements 
 of Thought.' 
 
 VI. CONCEPT. 
 The Term. 
 
 Its meaning. 
 
 Concept signifies that which is grasped 
 or held together, and refers us to the act 
 by which different similar attributes are 
 treated as one, or the same act by which 
 separate individual beings are united as one 
 by their common attribute or attributes. 
 If ten patches of red colour, of the same 
 form and dimensions, were presented to the 
 eye, the mind might gather, or conceive, or 
 grasp them together, by their common red- 
 ness, and form a general notion or concept 
 of them. — Porter, * Tlie Human Intellect,' 
 pp. 391, 388. 
 
 Defined. 
 
 A concept is a collection of attributes, 
 united by a sign, and representing a possible 
 object of intuition. — Mansel, ' Prolegomena 
 Logica,' p. 60. 
 
 A concept is the cognition or idea of the 
 general character or characters, point or 
 points, in which a plurality of objects coin- 
 cide. — Hamilton, 'Logic,' i. 122. 
 
 Concept is convertible with general notion, 
 or more correctly, notion simply. — Hamil- 
 ton, ' Discussions, ^c' 
 
 But though the words concept and notion 
 are convertible with each other, they denote 
 a different aspect of the same simple opera- 
 tion. Notion denotes being relative to and 
 expressing the apprehension — the remark- 
 ing, the taking note of, the resembling attri- 
 butes in objects; concept, the grasping up 
 or synthesis of these in the unity of thought. 
 — Hamilton, ' Logic,' i. 1 30. 
 
 A concept, which is defined by Sir W. 
 Hamilton as ' a bundle of attributes,' does 
 not signify the mere fact of resemblance 
 between objects ; it signifies our mental re- 
 presentation of that in which they resemble. 
 — Mill, ' Lxaminatio7i of Hamilton,' p. 375. 
 
 The term concept should be reserved to 
 express what we comprehend but cannot 
 picture in imagination, such as a relation, 
 a general term, &c. — Jieid, ' Works,' p. 291. 
 
CONCEPT. 
 
 .65 
 
 What if vichides. 
 
 The Class-N'otion always includes both 
 objects and attributes, objects having a 
 resemblance, and common attribvites pos- 
 sessed by them. So far as it embraces 
 objects, it is said to have Extension. So 
 far as it contains attributes, it is said to 
 have Comprehension or Intension. As we 
 multiply the marks or attributes, there must 
 be fewer objects possessing them. As we 
 multiply the objects, they must have fewer 
 common marks. [Thus the term element 
 may be applied to a lai'ger number of ob- 
 jects than the term metal, because it pos- 
 sesses fewer attributes or common marks 
 than 7nefal.'\ — 21' Cosh, ^Examination of 
 Mill,'' p. 274. 
 
 Classification of Concepts. 
 
 As Concrete and Abstract. 
 
 Concepts are distinguished as concrete 
 and abstract. The concrete notion contem- 
 plates attributes, and is applied to beings 
 existing. The abstract notion treats an 
 attribute as though it were itself such a 
 being. Man and human are concrete ; 
 humanity is an abstract notion. — Porter, 
 ' The Human Intellect,' p. 394. 
 
 A distinction of some importance may 
 be drawn between two kinds of Concepts. 
 In the one the class is determined by a 
 single attribute, or by it together with 
 the attributes implied in it. Such are 
 the classes designated by adjectives, as 
 generous, faithful, virtuous — pointing to 
 one quality of an object, along with those 
 that may be involved in that quality. In 
 other cases the Comprehension of the class 
 consists of an aggregate of attributes. 
 Thus we cannot fix on any one attribute 
 of the class Man, and derive all the others 
 from it. Rationality is one quality, but 
 he has many others. The one kind of 
 notions I would be inclined to call the 
 Generalised Abstract. The other I call 
 the Generalised Concrete. — M'Cosh, ' Exa- 
 viiuation of Mill,' p. 282. 
 
 As Pure, Empirical, and Mixed. 
 
 Kant and his followers applied the word 
 
 coiircjyt to notions which are general with- 
 out being absolute. They say these are 
 of three kinds : — i. Pure concepts, which 
 borrow nothing from experience ; as the 
 notions of cause, time, and space. 2. Em- 
 jnrical concepts, which are altogether de- 
 rived from experience ; as the notion of 
 colour or pleasure. 3. Mixed concepts, 
 composed of elements fiu'nished partly by 
 experience, and partly by the jDure under- 
 standing. — Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 
 99. 
 
 General Characters of Concepts. 
 
 A concept affords only inadequate know- 
 ledge. 
 
 A concept involves the representation of 
 a part only of the various attributes or 
 characters of which an individual object is 
 the sum ; and, consequently, affords only 
 a one-sided and inadequate knowledge of 
 the things which are thought under it. It 
 is evident that w^hen we think of Socrates 
 by any of the concepts — Athenian, Greel; 
 European, man, biped, animal, being — we 
 throw out of view the far greater number 
 of characters of which Socrates is the com- 
 plement, and those, Hkewise, which more 
 proximately determine or constitute his in- 
 dividuality. — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 127. 
 
 A concept cannot he depicted to sense or 
 imagination. 
 
 A mental picture of a motmtain is one 
 thing, and a general notion of the class 
 mountain is a very different thing. All 
 our cognitions by the senses or the con- 
 sciousness, and all our subsequent images 
 of them in memory or imagination, are 
 singular and concrete ; that is, they are of 
 individual things, and of things with an 
 aggregate of qualities. I can see or picture 
 to myself an individual man of a certain 
 form or character, but I cannot perceive 
 nor adequately represent in the phantasy 
 the class man. I can see or imagine a 
 piece of magnetised iron, but I cannot see 
 or imagine the polarity of the iron apai-t 
 from the iron. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the 
 Mind,' p. 16. 
 
i66 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 A concept is dependent on language. 
 
 The concept, formed by an abstraction 
 of the resembling from the non-resembling 
 qualities of objects, would fall back into 
 the confusion and infinitude fi'om which it 
 has been called out, were it not rendered 
 permanent for consciousness by being fixed 
 and ratified in a verbal sign. — Hamilton, 
 'Logic,' i. 137. 
 
 No one, without the aid of symbols, can 
 advance beyond the individual objects of 
 sense or imagination. In the presence of 
 several individuals of the same species, the 
 eye may observe points of similarity be- 
 tween them ; and in this no symbol is 
 needed ; but every feature thus observed is 
 the distinct attribute of a distinct individual, 
 and however similar, cannot be regarded as 
 identical For example : I see lying on 
 the table before me a number of shillings 
 of the same coinage. Examined severally, 
 the image and superscription of each is 
 undistinguishable from that of its fellow ; 
 but in viewing them side by side, space is 
 a necessary condition of my perception ; 
 and the difference of locality is sufficient to 
 make them distinct, though similar, indi- 
 viduals. To find a representative which 
 shall embrace them all at once, I must 
 divest it of the condition of occupying 
 space ; and this, experience assures us, can 
 only be done by means of symbols, verbal 
 or other, by which the concept is fixed in 
 the understanding. Such, for example, is 
 a verbal description of the coin in question, 
 which contains a collection of attributes 
 freed from the condition of locality, and 
 hence from all resemblance to an object of 
 sense. — Mansel, 'Prolegomena Logica,' pp. 
 15-17- 
 
 General notions require to be fixed in a 
 representative sign. The general notion, as 
 such, is not a sensible image, but an intel- 
 ligible relation ; and such a relation, as far 
 as our experience can testify, cannot be 
 apprehended without the aid of language — 
 i.e., of some system of signs, verbal or 
 other. Language in this sense appears to 
 be necessary, not merely to the communi- 
 
 cation, but even to the formation of thought. 
 — Mansel, 'Metaphysics,' p. 39. 
 
 A concept is hioimi Inj means of some 
 individual example. 
 
 The mind cannot conceive and acquire 
 knowledge of the import of any concept, 
 except by means of some individual example 
 of the qualities or relations which it in- 
 cludes. We cannot know what single 
 sensible attributes signify, as red, sweet, 
 smooth, &c., without the actual experience 
 of the sensation which each occasions, or 
 of one that is analogovis. So it is with the 
 concepts of simple acts and states of the 
 soul, as to perceive, to imagine, to love. The 
 same is true of the concepts that are 
 clearly complex, as house, meadoio, town- 
 ship, legislature, wealth, wages, civilisation. 
 Of all these concepts, the elements must 
 first have been made intelligible to the 
 mind by their application — i.e., by being 
 observed, experienced, or thought, in some 
 individual being or agent. — Porter, ' The 
 Human Intellect,' p. 416. 
 
 To he perfect, concepts must he clear and 
 distinct. 
 
 There are two degrees of the logical per- 
 fection of concepts, — viz., their Clearness 
 and Distinctness. A concept is said to be 
 clear, when the degree of consciousness is 
 such as enables us to distinguish it as a 
 whole from others ; and distinct, when the 
 degree of consciousness is such, as enables 
 us to discriminate from each other the 
 several characters, or constituent parts of 
 which the concept is the sum. — Hamilton, \ 
 ' Logic,' i. 158. 
 
 In order that a conception may be clear 
 the only requisite is that we shall know 
 exactly in what the agreement among the 
 phenomena consists ; that it shall have 
 been carefully observed and accurately 
 remembered. The cleai-ness of our con- 
 ceptions chiefly depends on the careful- 
 ness and accuracy of our observing and 
 comparing faculties. — Mill, ' Logic,' ii. 
 201-203. 
 
CONCEPT. 
 
 167 
 
 How Concepts are Formed. 
 
 Out of concrete notions. 
 
 Out of the concrete, the mind can form 
 the abstract notion. I can see or image a 
 Hly only as with both a shape and colour, 
 but I can in thought contemplate its white- 
 ness apart from its form. Having seen a 
 number of beasts with four limbs, I can 
 think about a class of animals agreeing in 
 this, that they are all quadrupeds. The 
 general notion is the result of an exercise 
 of thought, separating the part from the 
 whole, or contemplating an indefinite 
 number of objects as possessing common 
 qualities. — 31'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the Mind,' 
 p. 17. 
 
 Process of formation. 
 
 A concept or notion arises from con- 
 sidering or attending to some parts of an 
 object, or of several resembling objects, 
 to the exclusion of the remaining parts. 
 When we consider separately the (sub- 
 jective) parts in which two or more objects 
 resemble each other, to the exclusion of 
 those in which they differ, we form a 
 general concept, general notion, or general 
 idea, which includes the points of agree- 
 ment to the exclusion of the points of 
 difference. Thus in forming the general 
 concept of a square, I take several square 
 objects and withdrawing my attention from 
 the materials of which they are composed, 
 the positions which they occupy, and even 
 their magnitudes, and attending only to 
 their figure, and form a notion of that in 
 which alone they agree, and am thus en- 
 abled to regard any of them (or any similar 
 figure that I may meet with thereafter) 
 as a square. — Moncky '■Sir W. Hamilton,' 
 p. 172. 
 
 We are so constantly forming general 
 notions, that it should not be diflicult to 
 evolve the processes involved in it. The 
 two first steps are, — (i.) That we observe a 
 resemblance among objects; (2.) That we 
 fix on the points of resemblance. The first 
 is accomplished by the mind's power of 
 perceiving agreements, and the second by 
 
 an operation of abstraction. No absolute 
 rule can be laid down as to which of these 
 processes is the prior. — APCosh, ^Examina- 
 tion of Mill,' p. 270. 
 
 In the formation of a concept, the process 
 may be analysed into four momenta. In 
 the first place, we must have a plurality of 
 objects presented or represented by the 
 subsidiary faculties. In the second place, 
 the objects thus supplied are, by an act of 
 the understanding, compared together, and 
 their several qualities judged to be similar 
 or dissimilar. In the third place, an act 
 of volition, called Attention, concentrates 
 consciousness on the qualities thus recog- 
 nised as similar. In the fourth place, the 
 qualities, which by comparison are judged 
 similar, and by attention are constituted 
 into an exclusive object of thought, are 
 already, by this process, identified in con- 
 sciousness. — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 132. 
 
 When formed they become tyx>es. 
 
 We compare phenomena with each other 
 to get the conception, and we then compare 
 those and other phenomena with the con- 
 ception. We get the conception of an ani- 
 mal (for instance) by comparing different 
 animals, and when we afterwards see a 
 creature resembling an animal we compare 
 it with our general conception of an animal ; 
 and if it agrees with that general concep- 
 tion we include it in the class. The con- 
 ception becomes the type of comparison. — 
 Mill, ' Logic,' ii. 196. 
 
 Is the Term a Valuable One. 
 
 I think that the words Concept, General 
 Notion, and other phrases of like impoit, 
 convenient as they are for the lighter and 
 everyday uses of philosophical discussion, 
 should be abstained from where precision 
 is required. Above all, I hold that nothing 
 but confusion ever results from introducing 
 the term Concept into Logic, and that in- 
 stead of the Concept of a class, we should 
 always speak of the signification of a class 
 name. — Mill, * Examination of Hamilton,' 
 p. 388. 
 
 But surely it is desirable to have a word 
 
i68 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to express the ' mental modification ' when 
 we contemplate a ' class ; ' and Conception or 
 General Notion seems appropriate enough. 
 I also think it desirable to have a phrase 
 to denote, not the ' signification of a class 
 name,' but the thing signified by the class 
 name; and the fittest I can think of is 
 Concept. — M'Cosh, ^Examination of Mill,' 
 p. 276. 
 
 VII. THEORIES OF THE CONCEPT- 
 REALISM, NOMINALISM, CON- 
 CEPTUALISM. 
 
 Preliminary. 
 
 Much Controversy as to the Nature of the 
 Concept. 
 
 As a metaphysical and logical question 
 the nature of the concept has been fruitful 
 of discussion in the schools of ancient and 
 modern philosophy. From Plato to John 
 Stuart Mill it has been the perpetual theme 
 for discussion and controversy. The history 
 of the various theories which have been 
 held is not merely interesting as a subject 
 of curious speculation, and as the key to 
 much of the history of philosophy ; but it 
 is most instructive as enabling us to imder- 
 stand the nature and reach of language, as 
 well as the grounds of our faith in philoso- 
 phy itself, and in the special sciences of 
 which philosophy is the foundation. — Porter, 
 ' The Human Intellect,' p. 403. 
 
 Reason for it. 
 
 It is very common to think and speak 
 with wonder, if not with contempt, of the 
 strife between the Nominalists and Realists. 
 The modern critic often congratulates the 
 men of his own times that they are not 
 distracted by controversies at once so trivial 
 and fruitless. He asks himself how it could 
 be possible, that what seems to him only 
 a metaphysical subtlety or a trivial logo- 
 machy, should have occasioned so great 
 acrimony between the parties and schools 
 concerned, and should have even embroiled 
 their rulers, in both church and state, with 
 one another in bitter and bloody conten- 
 tion. The proper answer to this question 
 
 is found in the consideration that the logi- 
 cal opinions taught were immediately applied 
 to theological doctrines, and the inferences 
 which the opposite opinions warranted in 
 fact, or were supposed to warrant, in respect 
 of the received doctrines of the church, 
 invested them with the supremest import- 
 ance. Viewed in this hght, the earnestness 
 and bitterness with which these disputes 
 were conducted should occasion no surprise ; 
 certainly no greater surprise than that the 
 philosophy of Mr. Hume, Mr. J. S. Mill, 
 Mr. Herbert Spencer, or Mr. Mansel 
 should now be judged by its relations to 
 theological opinion. — Porter, ' The Human 
 Intellect,' p. 407. 
 
 Essential Point of the Controversy. 
 
 The question, broadly stated, to the 
 neglect of many nice subtleties and shades 
 of opinion brought out in the history of the 
 controversy is this — Are these Universals 
 [General Notions or Ideas, Concepts] real 
 existences, apart from the mind that has 
 formed them by abstraction, and indepen- 
 dently of the things in which alone they 
 appear to us, — or are they mere modes of 
 intellectual representation that have no real 
 existence except in our thoughts ? The 
 various opinions upon this question are in- 
 dicated by the names Realism, Nominalism, 
 and Conceptualism. — Tliomson, '■Laws of 
 Thought,' p. 97. 
 
 I. Realism. 
 Doctrine of. 
 
 Realists believed that there were real 
 things which corresponded to our general 
 ideas or concepts — these real things not 
 being the individual things contained in 
 the extension of the concept, but univer- 
 sals. They seem to have been what Plato 
 called Ideas, so that in this meaning of 
 Realism and the Platonic meaning of Idea, 
 Realism and Idealism would coincide in- 
 stead of being opposed. — MoncTc, ' Sir W. 
 Hamilton,' p. 184. 
 
 Realists held that Genus and Species are 
 some real things, existing independently of 
 our conceptions and expressions ; and that, 
 
THEORIES OF THE CONCEPT. 
 
 :6g 
 
 as in the case of Siiigular-terms, there is 
 some real individual corresponding to each, 
 so, in Common-terms also, there is some 
 Thing corresponding to each ; which is the 
 object of our tlioughts when we employ any 
 such term. — Whatehj, ^ Logic,' p. 182. 
 
 Realists maintained that General Names 
 are the names of General Things. Besides 
 individual things, they recognised another 
 kind of Things, not individual, which they 
 technically called Second Substances, or 
 Uiiiversals a parte rei. Over and above 
 all individual men and women, there was 
 an entity called Man — Man in general, 
 Avhich inhered in the individual men and 
 women, and communicated to them its es- 
 sence. These Universal Substances they 
 considered to be a much more dignified 
 kind of beings than individual substances, 
 and the only ones the cognisance of which 
 deserved the names of Science and Know- 
 ledge. Individual existences were fleeting 
 and perishable, but the beings called Genera 
 and Species were immortal and unchange- 
 able. — Mill, ^Examination of Hamilton,' 
 p. 364. 
 
 Varieties of Eealism. 
 
 Extreme Realism. 
 
 The doctrine (of Plato, or at least the 
 doctrine ascribed to him by Aristotle) that 
 universals have an independent existence 
 apart from individual objects, and that 
 they exist before the latter (whether merely 
 in point of rank and in resjiect of the causal 
 relation, or in point of time also), is extreme 
 Realism, which was afterwards reduced to 
 the formula: universalia ante rem. — Uehcr- 
 weg, ' Hist, of Phil.,' L 366. 
 
 Moderate Realism. 
 
 The (Aristotelian) opinion, that univer- 
 sals, while possessing indeed a real exist- 
 ence, exist only hi individual objects, is the 
 doctrine of Moderate Realism, expressed by 
 the formula : universalia in re. — Ueberwey, 
 'Hist, of Phil.; i. 366. 
 
 Origin of Realism. 
 
 What kind of existences correspond to 
 the imiversal cognitions? That was the 
 
 puzzle. If the analysis of cognition be a 
 division into kinds, and if the particular 
 cognitions are distinct from the universal, 
 and have their appropriate objects — to wit, 
 particular things — the universal cognitions 
 must, of course, be distinct from the parti- 
 cular, and must have their appi'opriate ob- 
 jects. What then are these objects ? What 
 is the nature and manner of their existence ? 
 Those who, to their misunderstanding of 
 Plato, united a reverence for his name, 
 and for what they conceived to be his 
 opinions, maintained that the universals — 
 such genera and species as man, animal, 
 and tree — had an actual existence in nature, 
 distinct, of course, from all particular men, 
 animals, or trees. Whether these genera 
 and species were corporeal or incorporeal, 
 they were somewhat at a loss to determine ; 
 but that they were real they entertained no 
 manner of doubt. And accordingly the 
 doctrine known in the history of philo- 
 sophy under the name of Realism was 
 enthroned in the schools, and being sup- 
 ported by the supposed authority of Plato, 
 and in harmony with certain theological 
 tenets then dominant, it kept its ascendancy 
 for a time. — Ferrier, ' Institutes of Meta- 
 physic,' p. 178. 
 
 Is the Universal — that whole, that unity 
 which we must attribute to a family, a 
 nation, a race— merely attributed ? Is it not 
 there ? Thus did the controversy respecting 
 Universals become the controversy respect- 
 ing the Real and the Nominal. — Maurice, 
 '■Moral and Metaphysical Phd.,' i. 554. 
 
 The development of these doctrines was 
 connected with the study of Porphpy's 
 Introduction to the logical writings of 
 Aristotle, in which Introduction the con- 
 ceptions : genus, differentia, species, pro- 
 prium, and accidens are treated of; the 
 question was raised whether by these were 
 to be understood five realities or only five 
 words. — Ueherwrg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' i. 365. 
 
 The Truth and Error in Realism. 
 
 Tlie truth. 
 
 The Realist asserts for the concept a 
 still higher import and use. The truth 
 
170 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 which is the basis of his theory is that 
 every real concept shovild suggest or ex- 
 press some one or more of the essential pro- 
 perties and unchanging laws of individual 
 beings. He insists that the concept ought 
 to signify and represent the most impor- 
 tant of all descriptions of knowledge, the 
 knowledge of that which is permanent and 
 universal. — Porter, ' The Human Intellect,^ 
 p. 422. 
 
 The error. 
 
 The mistakes of the Realists have been 
 twofold. They have both in language and 
 thought confounded the subjective con- 
 cept, which is a purely psychological pro- 
 duct, with its objective correlate — the 
 related elements which it represents or 
 indicates; and have often called both by 
 the same name, and invested them with 
 the same properties. They have used a 
 highly metaphoric terminology to express 
 the nature of universals and their relations 
 to individual beings. — Porter, ' The Human 
 Intellect y p. 424. 
 
 Nothing so much conduces to the error 
 of Realism as the transferred and secondary 
 use of the words ' same,' ' one and the same,' 
 'identical,' &c., when it is not clearly per- 
 ceived and carefully borne in mind that they 
 are employed in a secondary sense, and 
 that more frequently even than in the pri- 
 mary. Suppose, e.g., a thousand persons 
 are thinking of the sun : it is evident that 
 it is one and the same individual object on 
 which all these minds are employed. But 
 suppose all these persons are thinking of a 
 Triangle, — not any individual triangle, but 
 Triangle in general ; it would seem as if, 
 in this case also, their minds were all em- 
 ployed on ' one and the same ' object : and 
 this object of their thoughts, it may be 
 said, cannot be the mere word Triangle, 
 but that which is meant by it : nor, again, 
 can it be everything that the word will 
 apply to; for they are not thinking of 
 triangles, but of one thing. — Whatehj, 
 ^ Logic,' p. 184. 
 
 An Abandoned Doctrine. 
 
 Tliis, the most prevalent philosophical 
 doctrine of the Middle Ages, is now uni- 
 versally abandoned, but remains a fact of 
 great significance in the history of philo- 
 sophy ; being one of the most striking ex- 
 amples of the tendency of the human mind 
 to infer difference of things from differ- 
 ence of names, — to suppose that every 
 different class of names implied a corre- 
 sponding class of real entities to be denoted 
 by them. — Mill, 'Examination of Hamil- 
 ton; p. 365. 
 
 2. Nominalism. 
 Doctrine of. 
 
 Nominalism is the doctrine that general 
 notions, such as the notion of a tree, have 
 no realities corresponding to them, and 
 have no existence but as names or words. 
 The doctrine immediately opposed to it is 
 Realism. To the intermediate doctrine of 
 Conceptualism, Nominalism is closely allied. 
 — Fleming, ' Vocah. of Phil.; p. 346. 
 
 In the later Middle Ages there grew up 
 a rival school of metaphysicians, termed 
 Nominalists, who, repudiating Universal 
 Substances, held that there is nothing 
 general except names. A name, they said, 
 is general if it is applied in the same 
 acceptation to a plurality of things ; but 
 every one of the things is individual. — 
 Mill, 'Examination of Hamilton; p. 365. 
 
 Nominalism maintains that every notion, 
 considered in itself, is singular, but becomes 
 as it were general, through the intention of 
 the mind to make it represent every other 
 resembling notion, or notion of the same 
 class. Take, for example, the term man. 
 Here we can call up no notion, no idea 
 corresponding to the universality of the 
 class or term. This is manifestly impos- 
 sible. The class man includes individuals, 
 male and female, white and black and 
 copper-coloured, tall and short, fat and 
 thin, straight and crooked, whole and muti- 
 lated, &c. &c. ; and the notion of the class 
 must therefore at once represent all and 
 none of these. It is therefore evident that 
 
THEORIES OF THE CONCEPT. 
 
 171 
 
 we cannot represent to ourselves the class 
 vmn by any equivalent notion or idea. All 
 that we can do is to call up some indivi- 
 dual image and consider it as representing, 
 though inadequately representing, the gene- 
 rality. — Hamilton, * Metapltysics,^ ii. 297. 
 
 Varieties of Nominalism. 
 
 Moderate Nominalism. 
 
 Moderate Nominalists hold that Univer- 
 sals exist as a product of the mind only ; 
 they are formal representations of things, 
 constructed by the mind through the assist- 
 ance of language. — Tliomson, ' Laws of 
 Tlwught,' p. 98. 
 
 Ultra-Nomin alism. 
 
 The doctrine of the Ultra-Nominalists is 
 that Universals are mere names ; and the 
 only realities are individual things which 
 we group together by the aid of names 
 alone. — Thomson, ' Laws of Thought,'' p. 99. 
 
 Origin of Nominalism. 
 
 Nominahsm, as the conscious and dis- 
 tinct stand- point of the opponents of 
 Realism, first appeared in the second half 
 of the eleventh century, when a portion of 
 the scholastics ascribed to Aristotle the 
 doctrine that logic has to do only with the 
 right use of words, and that genera and 
 species are only (subjective) collections of 
 the various individuals designated by the 
 same name, and disputed the interpreta- 
 tions which gave to universals a real exist- 
 ence. The most famous among the Nomi- 
 nalists of this time is Roscellinus, Canon of 
 Compiegne, who, by his application of the 
 nominalistic doctrine to the dogma of the 
 Trinity, gave great offence. — Ueberweg, 
 ^ Hist, of Fhil.,' ii. 371. 
 
 The Real Point in Dispute. 
 
 I venture to think that the interminable 
 contest between Platonist and Aristotelian, 
 Realist and Nominalist, is, at bottom, not 
 so much a question of what Universals 
 are as of how they shall be treated, not 
 so much a question of metaphysics as of 
 method. Upon the nature of general no- 
 tions there is a large amount of agreement 
 
 between the parties. The Realist believes 
 with the Nominalist that they are in the 
 human mind, whilst, if the Nominalist be- 
 lieves at all that the world was created by 
 design, he can scarcely escape from recog- 
 nising the Realist's position that such ideas 
 as animal, right, motion, must have had 
 their existence from the beginning in the 
 creative mind. — Tliomson,^ Lawsof Thought,' 
 p. 99. 
 
 The Conflict continues. 
 
 The controversy, treated by some modem 
 writers as an example of barbarous wi^ang- 
 ling, was in truth an anticipation of that 
 modern dispute which still divides meta- 
 physicians, whether the human mind can 
 form general ideas, and whether the words 
 which are supposed to convey such ideas 
 be not general terms, representing only a 
 number of particular perceptions? ques- 
 tions so far from frivolous that they deeply 
 concern both the nature of reasoning and 
 the structure of language. — Mackintosh, 
 ' Progress of Ethical Phil.,' p. 328. 
 
 3. CoNCEPTUALisAi. (See Abstract 
 Ideas.) 
 Doctrine of. 
 
 A third doctrine arose which endeavoured 
 to steer between the two [Realism and 
 Nominalism]. According to this, which is 
 known by the name of Conceptualism, 
 generality is not an attribute solely of 
 names but also of thoughts. External ob- 
 jects indeed are all individual, but to every 
 general name corresponds a General Notion 
 or Conception, called by Locke and others 
 an Abstract Idea. General Names are the 
 names of these Abstract Ideas. — Mill, ^Ex- 
 amination of Hamilto7i,' p. 365. 
 
 Conceptualism maintained that the gene- 
 ral existences had no reality in nature, but 
 only an ideality in the mind — that they 
 existed only as abstractions and were not 
 independent of the intelligence which fal)ri- 
 cates them. — Ferrier, ' Institutes of Meta- 
 physics,' p. 188. 
 
 That universality which the Realists held 
 
172 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to be in things themselves, Nominalists in 
 names only, the Conceptualists held to be 
 neither in things nor in names only, but 
 in our conceptions. — Reid, ' Works,^ p. 406. 
 
 Origin of Conceptualism. 
 
 The actual independent existence of 
 genera and species [Realism] was too ridi- 
 culous and unintelligible an hypothesis to 
 find favour with those who deferred more 
 to reason than to authority. They accord- 
 ingly surrendered imiversals considered as 
 independent entities ; and now, inasmuch 
 as the old sources of our universal cogni- 
 tions were thus extinguished with the ex- 
 tinction of the realities from which they 
 had been supposed to proceed, these phi- 
 losophers, in order to account for them, 
 were thrown upon a new hypothesis, 
 which was this : they held that all exist- 
 ences are particular, and also, that all our 
 knowledge is, in the first instance, particu- 
 lar ; that we start from particular cogni- 
 tions; but that the mind, by a process of 
 abstraction and generalisation, which con- 
 sists in attending to the resemblances of 
 things, leaving out of view their differ- 
 ences, subsequently constructs conceptions 
 or general notions, or universal cognitions, 
 which, however, are mere entia rationis, 
 and have no existence out of the intelli- 
 gence which fabricates them. These genera 
 and species were held to have an ideal, 
 though not a real, existence, and to be the 
 objects which the mind contemplates when 
 it employs such words as man, tree, or tri- 
 angle. — Ferrier, ' Institutes of MetajjTiysics,'' 
 p. 180. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton holds that — 
 The whole disputes between the Con- 
 ceptualists and the Nominalists (to say 
 nothing of the Realists) have only arisen 
 from concepts having been regarded as 
 affording an irrespective and independent 
 object of thought. This illusion has arisen 
 from a very simple circumstance. Objects 
 compared together are found to possess 
 certain attributes, which, as producing in- 
 discernible modifications in us, are to us 
 absolutely similar. They are, therefore, 
 
 considered the same. The relation of simi- 
 larity is thus converted into identity, and 
 the real plurality of resembling qualities 
 in nature is factitiously reduced to a unity 
 in thought ; and this unity obtains a name 
 in which its relativity, not being expressed, 
 is still further removed from observation. 
 — 'Logic,'' i. 128. 
 
 The whole controversy of Nominalism 
 and Conceptualism is founded on the ambi- 
 guity of the terms employed. The oppo- 
 site parties are substantially at one. Had 
 we, like the Germans, different terms, like 
 Begriff and Anscliauung, to denote differ- 
 ent kinds of thought, there would have 
 been as little difference of opinion in re- 
 gard to the nature of general notions in 
 this country as in the Empire. With 
 us. Idea, Notion, Conception, &c., are con- 
 founded, or applied by different philosophers 
 in different senses. — Note to Reid's ' Works,' 
 p. 412. 
 
 John S. Mill says of this that while 
 Hamilton's ' general mode of thought and 
 habitual phraseology are purely Concep- 
 tualist,' his doctrine is that of 'pure Nomi- 
 nalism.' — ' Examination of Hamilton,' chap, 
 xvii. 
 
 The Difficulty of Conceptualism. 
 
 Conceptualism is bound to show — if she 
 would make good her scheme — that just 
 as the particular cognitions stand distinct 
 from the general cognitions, so the latter 
 stand distinct from the former. The ques- 
 tion, therefore, with which Conceptualism 
 has to deal is this : does the mind know 
 or think of the universal without thinking 
 of the particular ; of the genus without 
 taking into account any of the singulars 
 which compose it; of the resemblance 
 among things without looking, either really 
 or ideally, to the things to which the re- 
 semblance belongs ? In a word, can the 
 conceptions be objects of the mind ivithout 
 the intuitions, — just as, according to con- 
 ceptualism, the intuitions can be objects of 
 the mind without the conceptions ? That is 
 the only question for conceptualism to con- 
 
JUDGMENT. 
 
 73 
 
 sider, and to answer in the affirmative, if 
 she can. — Ferrier, ' Instihdes of Metaphy- 
 sics,'' p. I S3. 
 
 VIII. JUDGMENT. 
 The Nature of Judgment as a Mental Act. 
 
 Defined. 
 
 Judgment, in the limited sense in which 
 it is distinguishable from consciousness in 
 general, is an act of comparison between 
 two given concepts, as regards their rela- 
 tion to a common object. — Hansel, * Meta- 
 physics,' p. 220. 
 
 In judgment, say the philosophers, there 
 must be two objects of thought compared, 
 and some agreement or disagreement, or, 
 in general, some relation discerned between 
 them ; in consequence of which there is an 
 opinion or belief of that relation which we 
 discern. The definition commonly given of 
 judgment, by the more ancient ^vriters, was 
 that it is ' an act of the mind, whereby one 
 thing is affirmed or denied of another.' I 
 beheve this is as good a definition of it 
 as can be given. It is true that it is by 
 affirmation or denial that we express our 
 judgments; but there may be judgment 
 which is not expressed. It is a solitary 
 act of the mind, and may be tacit. The 
 definition must be understood of mental 
 affirmation or denial. — Beid, ' WorJis/ pp. 
 243. 413- 
 
 The faculty of judgment consists in 
 determining whether anything falls under 
 a given rule or not. — Kant, ' Critique,' ii. 
 116. 
 
 Judgment is the faculty by which we 
 perceive a relation of any kind subsisting 
 between one thing and another. It comes 
 into exercise on the comparison of things, 
 and therefore presupposes observation, me- 
 mory, and imagination. By it we become 
 acquainted with the numerous tribe of rela- 
 tions in which things and their qualities 
 stand to one another. The sources from 
 which the decisions of the judgment come 
 are intuition, experience, and reasoning. — 
 Murphy, ^ Human Mind,' p. 136. 
 
 Criticism of Definitions by Associational 
 School. 
 
 Professor Bain says (' Senses and Intel- 
 lect,' p. 329), 'What is termed judgment 
 may consist in discrimination on the one 
 hand, or in the sense of agreement on the 
 other : we determine two or more things 
 either to diflfer or to agree. It is impos- 
 sible to find any case of judging that does 
 not, in the last resort, mean one or other 
 of these two essential activities of the in- 
 tellect.' This account tends very much to 
 narrow the capacities of the human mind. 
 Mr. Bain, in his \\e\v of the intellect, mixes 
 up together what the Scottish metaphysi- 
 cians have carefully separated, the mind's 
 power of discovering relations with the laws 
 of the succession of our mental state. — 
 M'Cosh, ''Intuitions of the Mind,' p. 214. 
 
 A judgment is usually defined as a com- 
 parison of two notions. Upon which Mr. 
 J. S. Mill remarks that ' propositions (ex- 
 cept where the mind itself is the subject 
 treated of) are not assertions respecting our 
 ideas of things, but assertions respecting 
 things themselves;' adding, ' My belief has 
 not reference to the ideas, it has reference 
 to the things' ('Logic,' i. v. i). There is 
 force in the criticism, yet it does not give 
 the exact truth. In propositions about 
 extra-mental objects, we are not comparing 
 the two notions as states of mind ; so far 
 as logicians have proceeded on this view, 
 they have fallen into confusion and error. 
 But still, while it is true that our predica- 
 cations are made, not in regard to our 
 notions, but of things, it is in regard to 
 things apprehended, or of which we have a 
 notion, as Mr. Mill admits : ' In order to 
 believe that gold is yellow, I must indeed 
 have the idea of gold and the idea of yellow, 
 and something having reference to those 
 ideas must take place in my mind.' — 
 M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the Mind,' p. 208. 
 
 Its relation to apprehension. 
 
 We can neither judge of a proposition 
 nor reason about it, unless we conceive or 
 apprehend it. We may distinctly conceive 
 a proposition without judging of it at all. 
 
74 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 "We may have no evidence on one side 
 or the other; we may have no concern 
 whether it be true or false. In these cases 
 we commonly form no judgment about it, 
 though we perfectly understand its mean- 
 ing. — Reid, ' Worlds,' p. 375. 
 
 Apprehension is as impossible without 
 judgment as judgment is impossible with- 
 out apprehension. The apprehension of a 
 thing or notion is only realised in the men- 
 tal affirmation that the concept ideally exists, 
 and this affirmation is a judgment. In fact 
 all consciousness supposes a judgment, as 
 all consciousness supposes a discrimination. 
 — Hamilton, Reid's ' Works,' p. 243. 
 
 Its relation to necessary existence. 
 
 The necessity attached to our Judg- 
 ments is exactly coincident with them. 
 These imply objects on which they are pro- 
 nounced. At the same time, the judgment, 
 with its adhering necessity, has a regard 
 not to the objects directly but to the rela- 
 tion of the objects. These objects may be 
 real or they may be imaginary. I may 
 pronounce Chimborazo to be higher than 
 Mont Blanc, but I may also affirm of a 
 mountain 100,000 feet high that it is 
 higher than one 50,000 feet high. As to 
 whether the objects are or are not real, this 
 is a question to be settled by our cogni- 
 tions and beliefs, original and acquired, 
 and by inferences from them. But it is to 
 be carefully observed that, even when the 
 object is imaginary, the judgment proceeds 
 on a cognition of the elements of the objects. 
 Thus, having known what is the size of a 
 man, we affirm of a giant who is greater 
 than a common man, that he is greater than 
 a dwarf who is smaller than ordinary huma- 
 nity. Still, the necessity in the judgment 
 does not of itself imply the existence of 
 the objects, still less any necessary exist- 
 ence ; all that it proclaims is that the ob- 
 jects might exist out of materials which 
 have fallen under our notice, and that the 
 objects, being so and so, must have such a 
 relation. 
 
 In a sense, then, our primitive judgments 
 are hypothetical ; the objects being so must 
 
 have a particular connexion. There may 
 be, or there may never have been, two 
 exactly parallel lines ; what our intuitive 
 judgment declares is, that if there be such, 
 they can never meet. A similar remark 
 may be made of every other class of intui- 
 tive comparisons. There may or there may 
 not be a sea in the moon, but if there be 
 its waters must be extended and can resist 
 pressure. There may or there may not be 
 inhabitants in the planet Jupiter, but if 
 there be they must have been created by a 
 power competent to the operation. But it* 
 is to be borne in mind that when the 
 objects exist, the judgments, with their 
 accompanying necessity, apply to them. — 
 3PCosh, ^Intuitions of the Mind,' p. 305. 
 
 It is the source of certain ideas. 
 
 There are notions or ideas that ought to 
 be referred to the faculty of judgment as 
 their source, because if we had not that 
 faculty they covild not enter into our minds ; 
 and to those that have that faculty and are 
 capable of reflecting upon its operations 
 they are obvious and familiar. Among 
 these we may reckon the notion of judg- 
 ment itself; the notions of a proposition 
 — of its subject, predicate, and copula, of 
 affirmation and negation, of true and false ; 
 of knowledge, belief, disbehef, opinion, as- 
 sent, evidence. From no source coidd we 
 acquire these notions but from reflecting 
 upon our judgments. — Reid, ' Works,' p. 
 414. 
 
 The Results (Judgments) are of Various 
 Kinds. 
 
 Aristotle's division. 
 
 Our judgments, according to Aristotle, 
 are either problematical, assertive, or de- 
 monstrahle ; or, in other words, the results 
 of opinion, of belief, or of science. We can- 
 not show that the problematical judgment 
 truly represents the object about which we 
 judge. It is a mere opinion. The asser- 
 tive judgment is one of which we are 
 fully persuaded ourselves, but cannot give 
 grounds for our belief that shall compel 
 men in general to coincide with us. The 
 
'YLLOGISM. 
 
 J75 
 
 demonstrative judgment is certain in itself 
 or capable of proof. — Fleming, * Vocab. of 
 Phil.,' p. 274, 
 
 Kanfs disiinction of (a) Analytical and 
 Synihetical. 
 
 Tn all judgments in which there is a 
 relation between subject and predicate, that 
 relation can be of two kinds. Either the 
 predicate B belongs to the subject A as 
 something contained (though covertly) in 
 the concept A ; or B lies outside the sphere 
 of the concept A, though somehow con- 
 nected with it. In the former case I call 
 the judgment Analytical, in the latter Syn- 
 thetical. If I say, for instance, all bodies 
 are extended, this is an analytical judg- 
 ment. I need not go beyond the concept 
 connected with the name of body in order 
 to find that extension is connected with it. 
 I have only to analyse that concept and 
 become conscious of the manifold elements 
 always contained in it, in order to find that 
 predicate. This is, therefore, an analytical 
 judgment. But if I say all bodies are 
 heavy, the predicate is something quite 
 different from what I think as the mere 
 concept of body. The addition of such a 
 predicate gives us a synthetical judgment. 
 — Kant, ' Critifjue of Pure Reason,' ii. 6. 
 
 JEsthetic and Teleological. 
 
 I experience pleasure or pain dii'ectly on 
 the presentation of an object, and before I 
 have formed any notion of it. An emotion 
 of this natui-e can be refeiTcd only to a 
 harmonious relation subsisting between the 
 form of the object and the faculty that 
 perceives it. Judgment in this subjective 
 aspect is aesthetic judgment. In the second 
 case I form first of all a notion of the 
 object, and then decide whether the object 
 corresponds to this notion. That my per- 
 ception should find a flower beautiful, it is 
 not necessary that I should have formed 
 beforehand a notion of this flower. But 
 to find contrivance in the flower, to that 
 a notion is necessary. Judgment, as the 
 faculty cognisant of objective adaptation, 
 is named teleological judgment. — Schwegler, 
 'Hist, of Phil.,' p. 241. 
 
 IX. SYLLOGISM. 
 What a Syllogism is. 
 
 Syllogism may be defined as the act of 
 thought by which from two given proposi- 
 tions we proceed to a third proposition, 
 the truth of which necessarily follows from 
 the truth of these given propositions. 
 ^Vllen the agreement is fully expressed in 
 language, it is usual to call it concretely a 
 syllogism. — Jevons, 'Logic,' p. 127. 
 
 A syllogism is a speech (or enunciation) 
 in which certain things (the premises) 
 being supposed, something different from 
 what is supposed (the conclusion) follows 
 of necessity; and this solely in virtue of 
 the suppositions themselves. — Aristotle, 
 ' Prior. Analyt.,' lib. i., cap. i., § 7. 
 
 Its Three Parts. 
 
 In a syllogism, the first two propositions 
 are called the premises ; because they are 
 the things premised or put before; they 
 are also called the antecedents : the first of 
 them is called the major and the second 
 the minor. The third proposition, which 
 contains the thing to be proved, is called 
 the conclusion or consequent ; and the par- 
 ticle which unites the conclusion with the 
 premises is called the consequentia or con- 
 sequence. Thus : — 
 
 Every virtue is laudable (major premise). 
 
 Diligence is a virtue (minor premise). 
 
 Therefore diligence is laudable (conclu- 
 sion). — Fleming, * Vocah. of Phil.,' p. 500. 
 
 Two Kinds of Syllogisms. 
 
 According to the different kinds of pro- 
 positions employed in forming them, syllo- 
 gisms are divided into Categorical and 
 Hypothetical. 
 
 1. In the Categorical syllogism, the two 
 premises and the conclusion are all cate- 
 gorical propositions. 
 
 2. In a Conditional syllogism, one pre- 
 miss is a conditional proposition ; the other 
 premiss is a categorical proposition, and 
 either asserts the antecedent or denies the 
 consequent. Thus, ' If what we learn fi-om 
 the Bible is true, we ought not to do evil 
 that good may come ; but what we learn 
 
176 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 from the Bible is true, therefore we ought 
 not to do evil that good may come.' 
 
 Categorical syllogisms are divided into 
 Pure and Modal. Hypothetical syllogisms 
 into Conditional and Disjunctive. — Fleming, 
 ' Vocah. of Phil.,'' p. 501. 
 
 (This usage of 'Hypothetical' and 'Con- 
 ditional ' is reversed by some logicians). 
 
 Value of the Syllogism, 
 
 All that may rightly be claimed for the 
 syllogism is, that by conveniently exhibiting 
 the data, it enables us deliberately to verify 
 an inference already dra\vn ; provided this 
 inference belongs to a particular class. I 
 add this qualification because its use, even 
 for purposes of verification, is comparatively 
 limited. To a large class of the cases 
 commonly formulated in syllogisms, there 
 applies the current criticism that a petitio 
 principii is involved in the major premiss ; 
 since no test of the objective reahty of the 
 alleged correlation is yielded, unless the all 
 asserted can be asserted absolutely; the 
 implication being that the syllogism here 
 serves simply to aid us in re-inspecting our 
 propositions ; so that we may see whether 
 we have asserted much more than we 
 absolutely know, and whether the conclu- 
 sion is really involved in the premisses as 
 we supposed. — Spencer, ' Principles of Psy- 
 chology^ ii. 99. 
 
 X. METHOD. 
 
 Explanatory. 
 
 Defined. 
 
 Method is ' a procedure according io prin- 
 ciples.'' — Kant, ' Griti(pie,' ii. 733. 
 
 Method in general is the regulated pro- 
 cedure towards a certain end; that is, a 
 progress governed by rules which guide us 
 by the shortest way straight towards a cer- 
 tain point, and guard us against devious 
 aben-ations. — Hamilton, ' Logic,^ ii. 3. 
 
 Method means the way or path by which 
 we proceed to the attainment of some object 
 or aim. In its widest acceptation, it de- 
 notes the means employed to obtain some 
 end. Every art and every handicraft has 
 its method. Scientific or philosophical 
 
 method is the march which the mind 
 follows in ascertaining or communicating 
 truth. It is the putting of our thoughts 
 in a certain order Avith a view to improve 
 our knowledge or to convey it to others. — 
 Fleming, ' Vocah. of Phil.,' p. 316. 
 
 Method implies a progressive transition, 
 and it is the meaning of the word in the 
 original language. The Greek is literally 
 a way or path of transit. Thus we extol 
 the Elements of Euclid, or Socrates' dis- 
 course -with the slave in the Menon of 
 Plato, as methodical, a term which no one, 
 who holds himself bound to think or speak 
 correctly, would apply to the alphabetical 
 order or arrangement of a common dic- 
 tionary. But as without continuous transi- 
 tion there can be no method, so without a 
 preconception there can be no transition 
 with continuity. The term ' method ' can- 
 not therefore, otherwise than by abuse, be 
 appKed to a mere dead arrangement, con- 
 taining in itself no principle of progression. 
 — Coleridge, ' Tlie Friend^ iii. 122. 
 
 Method may be called, in general, the art 
 of disposing well a series of many thoughts, 
 either for the discovering truth when we 
 are ignorant of it, or for proving it to 
 others when it is already known. — '^ Port 
 Royal Logic,' part iv. chap. 2. 
 
 Distinguished from Order. 
 
 Method differs from Order in that Order 
 leads us to learn one thing after another, 
 and Method, one thing through another. — 
 Facciolati, ' Rudimenta Logicce.' 
 
 Method in Reasoning. 
 
 All things, in us and about us, are a 
 chaos, without method : and so long as the 
 mind is entirely passive, so long as there is 
 an habitual submission of the understand- 
 ing to mere events and images, as such, 
 without any attempt to classify and arrange 
 them, so long the chaos must continue. 
 There may be transition, but there can 
 never be progress ; there may be sensation, 
 but there cannot be thought : for the total 
 absence of method renders thinking imprac- 
 ticable ; as we find that partial defects of 
 
METHOD. 
 
 177 
 
 method proportionably render thinking a 
 trouble and a fatigue. But as soon as the 
 mind becomes accustomed to contemplate, 
 not tilings only, but likewise relations of 
 things, there is immediate need of some 
 path or way of transition from one to the 
 other of the things related; — thei'e must 
 be some law of contrast or of agreement 
 between them ; there must be some mode 
 of comparison ; in short, there must be 
 method. We may, therefore, assert that 
 the relations of things form the prime 
 objects, or, so to speak, the materials of 
 Method: and that the contemplation of 
 those relations is the indispensable condi- 
 tion of thinking methodically. — Coleridge, 
 ' Treatise on Method, Intro, to Enci/do^oedia 
 Metropolitana,^ Sect. i. 
 
 Enumeration of Methods. 
 
 Method in general. 
 
 We ought to pi'oceed from the better 
 known to the less known, and from what 
 is clearer to us to that which is clearer in 
 nature. But those things are first known 
 and clearer which are more complex and con- 
 fused ; for it is only by subsequent analysis 
 that we attain to a knowledge of the facts 
 and elements of which they are composed. 
 We ought, therefore, to proceed from uni- 
 versals to singulars ; for the whole is better 
 known to sense than its parts ; and the 
 universal is a kind of whole, as the uni- 
 versal comprehends many things as its 
 parts. Thus it is that names are at first 
 better kno'wn to us than definitions ; for 
 the name denotes a whole, and that inde- 
 terminately ; whereas the definition divides 
 and explicates its parts. Children, like- 
 wise, at first call all men fathers, and all 
 women mothers ; but thereafter they learn 
 to discriminate each individual from an- 
 other. — Aristotle, ^ Phys. Ause.' i. i. 
 
 The true method which would furnish 
 demonstrations of the highest excellence, 
 if it were possible to employ the method 
 fully, consists in observing two principal 
 ndes. The first rule is not to employ any 
 term of which we have flot clearly ex- 
 
 plained the meaning; the second rule is 
 never to put forward any proposition which 
 we cannot demonstrate by truths already 
 known ; that is to say, in a word, to define 
 all the terms and to prove all the proposi- 
 tions. — Pascal, 'Pensees,' pt. i. art. ii. p. 
 10. 
 
 Method of Analysis and Synthesis. 
 
 Method consists of two processes, cor- 
 relative and complementary of each other. 
 For it proceeds either from the whole to 
 the parts, or from the parts to the whole. 
 As proceeding from the whole to the parts, 
 that is, as resolving, as unloosing, a com- 
 plex totality into its constituent elements, 
 it is Analytic; as proceeding from the 
 parts to the whole, that is, as recomposing 
 constituent elements into their complex 
 totality, it is Synthetic. These two pro- 
 cesses are not, in strict propriety, two 
 several methods, but together constitute 
 only a single method. Each alone is im- 
 perfect. Analysis and Synthesis are as 
 necessary to themselves and to the life of 
 science as expiration and inspiration in 
 connection are necessary to each other and 
 to the possibility of animal existence. — 
 Hamilton, ' Logic,' ii. 4. 
 
 Newton demands that Analysis always 
 precede Synthesis; he expresses the be- 
 lief that the Cartesians have not sufiiciently 
 observed this order, and have deluded 
 themselves with mere h3q)otheses. The 
 analytical method, he explains, proceeds 
 from experiments and observations to 
 general conclusions ; it concludes from the 
 compound to the simple, from motions to 
 moving forces, and, in general, from effects 
 to causes, from the particular causes to the 
 more general, and so on to the most gene- 
 ral; the synthetic method, on the con- 
 trary, pronounces from an investigation 
 of causes the phenomena which will flow 
 from them. — Ueherweg, * Hist, of Phil* 
 ii. 89. 
 
 Method of Discovery and Instruction. 
 We must distinguish — i. The Method 
 of Discovery ; 2. The Method of Instruc- 
 
:78 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tion. The method of discovery is employed 
 in the acquisition of knowledge, and really 
 consists in those processes of inference and 
 induction by which general truths are ascer- 
 tained from the collection and examination 
 of particular facts. The second method 
 only applies when knowledge has already 
 been acquired and expressed in the form of 
 general laws, rules, principles, or truths, 
 so that we have only to make ourselves 
 acquainted with these and observe the due 
 mode of applying them to particular cases, 
 in order to possess a complete acquaint- 
 ance with the subject. A student, for ex- 
 ample, in learning Latin, Greek, Fi-ench, 
 or any well-known language, receives a 
 complete grammar and syntax setting forth 
 the whole of the principles, rules, and na- 
 ture of the language. He takes these in- 
 structions to be true on the avithority of 
 the teacher or writer ; and after rendering 
 them familiar to his mind, he has nothing 
 to do but to combine and apply the rules 
 in reading or composing the language. He 
 follows, in short, the method of Instruc- 
 tion. But this is an entirely different and 
 opposite process to that which the scholar 
 must pursue who has received some writ- 
 ings in an unknown language, and is 
 endeavouring to make out the alphabet, 
 words, grammar, and syntax of the lan- 
 guage. He pursues the method of dis- 
 covery, consisting in a tedious comparison 
 of letters, words, and phrases, such as shall 
 disclose the more frequent combinations and 
 forms in which they occur. The methods 
 of Analysis and Synthesis closely corre- 
 spond to this distinction between the 
 methods of Discovery and Instruction. — 
 Jevons, '■ Logic ^ 202, 203. 
 
 In prosecuting science with the view of 
 extending our knowledge of it, or the limits 
 of it, we are said to follow the method of 
 investigation or inquiry, and our procedure 
 will be chiefly in the way of analysis. But 
 in communicating what is already known, 
 we foUow the method of exposition or 
 doctrine, and oiu" procedui-e will be chiefly 
 in the way of synthesis. — Fleming^ * Vocab. 
 o/PM.,'p. 318. 
 
 Rules of Method, as given by 
 
 Descartes. 
 
 a. Never accept anything as true which 
 is not clearly known to be such ; that is to 
 say, carefully avoid precipitancy and pre- 
 judice, and comprise nothing more in the 
 judgment than what is presented to the 
 mind so clearly and distinctly as to exclude 
 all ground of doubt. 
 
 h. Divide each of the difiiculties imder ex- 
 amination into as many parts as possible. 
 
 c. Commence with the simplest objects 
 and those easiest to know, and ascend 
 little by little and as it were step by step 
 to the knowledge of the more complex. 
 
 cl. Make enumerations so complete, and 
 reviews so general, as to be assured that 
 nothing is omitted. — ' Discourse on Method,^ 
 p. ig.. 
 
 Pascal. 
 
 a. Admit no terms in the least obscure 
 or equivocal without defining them. 
 
 h. Employ in the definitions only terms 
 perfectly known or already explained. 
 
 c. Demand as axioms only truths per- 
 fectly evident. 
 
 d. Prove aU propositions which are at all 
 obscure, by employing in their proof only 
 the definitions which have preceded, or the 
 axioms which have been accorded, or the 
 propositions which have been already de- 
 monstrated, or the construction of the 
 thing itself which is in dispute, when there 
 may be any operation to perform. 
 
 e. Never abuse the equivocation of terms 
 by failing to substitute for them, mentally, 
 the definitions which resti'ict and explain 
 them. — ' Port Royal Logic,' pt. iv. chap. iii. 
 P- 317- 
 
 Observation the Condition of Method. 
 
 The relations of objects are prime 
 materials of method, and the contempla- 
 tion of relations is the indispensable con- 
 dition of thinking methodically. The 
 absence of method which characterises the 
 uneduca'l^ed, is occasioned by an habitual 
 submission of the understanding to mere 
 events and images as such, and independent 
 
LAWS OF THOUGHT. 
 
 179 
 
 of any power in the mind to classify or 
 ai^propriate them. The general accom- 
 paniments of time and place are the only 
 relations which persons of this class appear 
 to regard in their statements. As this 
 constitutes their leading feature, the con- 
 trary excellence, as distinguishing the well- 
 educated man, must be referred to the 
 contrary habit. Method, therefore, be- 
 comes natui-al to the mind which has been 
 accustomed to contemplate not things only, 
 or for their own sake alone, but likewise 
 and chiefly the relations of things, either 
 their relations to each other, or to the 
 observer, or to the state and apprehension 
 of the hearers. To enumerate and analyse 
 these relations, with the conditions under 
 which alone they are discoverable, is to 
 teach the science of method. — Coleridge, 
 ' The Friend,' iii. 124, 11 2. 
 
 Importance of Method. 
 
 A good method gives the mind such 
 power that it can to some extent take the 
 place of talent. It is a lever giving to 
 even a weak man who uses it a strength 
 which the most powerful man without it 
 cannot command. — Comte, ' Traite de 
 la Legislation,' lib. i., c. i. 
 
 Marshal thy notions into a handsome 
 method. One will carry twice as much 
 weight, trussed and packed up in bundles, 
 as when it lies untoward, flapping and 
 hanging about his shoulders. — ' Pleasures of 
 Literature,' p. 104. 
 
 From the cotter's hearth or the work- 
 shop of the artisan to the palace or the 
 arsenal, the first merit, that which admits 
 of neither substitute nor equivalent is, that 
 everything be in its place. Where this 
 charm is wanting, every other merit either 
 loses its name, or becomes an additional 
 ground of accusation and regret. Of one, 
 by whom it is eminently possessed, we say 
 proverbially, he is like clockwork. The 
 resemblance extends beyond the point of 
 regixlaiity and yet- falls short of the truth. 
 Both do, indeed, at once divide and an- 
 nounce the silent and otherwise indistin- 
 
 guishable lapse of time. But the man of 
 methodical industry and honourable pur- 
 suits does more; he realises its ideal 
 divisions, and gives a character and in- 
 dividuality to its moments. Ho organises 
 the hours and gives them a soul. — Cole- 
 ridge, ' The Friend,' iii. no. 
 
 XI. LAWS OF THOUGHT. 
 Their Nature and Number. 
 
 By laio of thought, or by logical necessity, 
 we do not mean a physical law, such as the 
 law of gravitation, but a general precept 
 which we are able certainly to violate, but 
 which, if we do not obey, our whole process 
 of thinking is suicidal, or absolutely null. 
 These laws are consequently the primary 
 conditions of the possibility of valid thought. 
 
 The Fundamental Laws of Thought or 
 the conditions of the thinkable, as com- 
 monly received, are three: — (i.) The Law 
 of Identity ; (2.) The Law of Contradiction ; 
 (3.) The Law of Exclusion, or Excluded 
 Middle. — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 78 and 86, 
 note a. 
 
 These laws describe the very simplest 
 truths, in which all people must agree, and 
 which at tho same time apply to all notions 
 which we can conceive. It is impossible 
 to think correctly and avoid evident self- 
 contradiction unless we observe the Three 
 Primary Laws of Thought. 
 
 These laws then, being universally and 
 necessarily true, to whatever things they 
 are applied, become the foundation of rea- 
 soning. All acts of reasoning proceed from 
 certain judgments, and the act of judgment 
 consists in comparing two things or ideas 
 together and discovering whether they agi-ee 
 or differ, that is to say, whether they are 
 identical in any qualities. The laws of 
 thought inform us of the very nature of 
 this identity with which all thought is con- 
 cerned. — Jevons, 'Logic,' pp. 117, 121. 
 
 Tlie following are the General Laws of 
 Thought :— 
 
 I. The Lain of Identity is popularly ex- 
 pressed in the formula, WJiatevcr is, is; 
 
i8o 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 more technically in the formula, A is A. 
 Its purport as a law of thought will pro- 
 bably be better understood by the following 
 statement : — Wliatever is thought must he 
 thought to he that xohich it is thought. 
 
 II. The Law of Contradiction, as it is 
 commonly called, or the Law of Non-Con- 
 tradiction, as it has been perhaps more 
 appropriately called, is expressed in the 
 popular formula, It is impossible for a thing 
 to he and not to he at the same time, some- 
 times in the technical formula A is not non- 
 A . The purport of the law may be more 
 clearly indicated by the statement : — Wliat- 
 ever is thought cannot he thought not to he 
 that which it is thought. 
 
 III. The Law of Excluded Middle is so 
 called because by it a middle or third alter- 
 native is excluded between two contradic- 
 tory judgments, inasmuch as one of these 
 must always be in thought aifirmed, the 
 other in thought denied. Its technical 
 expression is the formula, A either is or is 
 not B ; but perhaps the following formula 
 may explain it more distinctly : — Of what- 
 ever is thought anything else that is thinhahle 
 must either he or not he thought. — Murray, 
 '■ Handbooh of Psychology,^ pp. 107, 108. 
 
 The Law of Identity 
 
 Statement of the Lccw. 
 
 This law expresses the relation of total 
 sameness in which a concept stands to all, 
 and the relation of partial sameness in 
 which it stands to each, of its constituent 
 characters. In other words, it declares the 
 impossibility of thinking the concept and 
 its characters as reciprocally unlike. It is 
 expressed in the formula, A is A, or A = A ; 
 and by A is denoted every logical thing, 
 every product of our thinking faculty, — 
 concept, judgment, reasoning, &c. — Hamil- 
 ton, ' Logic,'' i. 79. 
 
 The Law of Identity. Wliatever is, is. 
 
 This statement may perhaps be regarded 
 as a description of Identity itself, if so fun- 
 damental a notion can admit of description. 
 A thing at any moment is perfectly iden- 
 tical with itself, and, if any person were 
 
 unaware of the meaning of the word ' iden- 
 tity,' we could not better describe it than 
 by such an example. — Jevons, ' Principles of 
 Science,' p. 5. 
 
 The axiom of Identity shoiild be thus 
 expressed : A is A, i.e., everything is what 
 it is. In a wider sense the axiom of Iden- 
 tity may apply to the agreement of all 
 knowledge with itself, as the (necessary 
 though insufficient) condition of its agree- 
 ment with actual existence. — Ueherweg, 
 ' Logic,' p. 232. 
 
 What is at the bottom of ' principles of 
 logical affirmation ' is, that Logic postulates 
 to be allowed to assert the same meaning 
 in any words which will, consistently with 
 their signification, express it. Looked at 
 in this light, the Principle of Identity ought 
 to have been expressed thus : Whatever is 
 true in one form of words is true in every 
 other form of words which conveys the same 
 meaning. Thus worded, it fulfils the re- 
 quirements of a First Principle of Thought, 
 for it is the widest possible expression of an 
 act of thought which is always legitimate, 
 and continually has to be done. — Mill, 
 ^Examination of Hamilton,' p. 466. 
 
 Its logical importance. 
 
 The logical importance of the law of 
 Identity lies in this, — that it is the prin- 
 ciple of all logical affirmation and defini- 
 tion. — Hamilton, ' Logic,' i. 80. 
 
 The Law of Contradiction. 
 
 Stated. 
 
 The Law of Contradiction : A thing can- 
 not hoth he and not he. The meaning of 
 this law is that nothing can have at the 
 same time and at the same place contradic- 
 tory and inconsistent qualities. A piece of 
 paper may be blackened in one part while 
 it is white in other parts; or it may be 
 white at one time and afterwards become 
 black, but we cannot conceive that it should 
 be both white and black at the same place 
 and time. A door after being open may 
 be shut, but it cannot at once be shut and 
 open. Water may feel warm to one hand 
 and cold to another hand, but it cannot be 
 
LAWS OF THOUGHT. 
 
 iSi 
 
 both warm and cold to the same hand. No 
 quality can both be present and absent at 
 the same time ; and this seems to be the 
 most simple and general truth which we can 
 assert of all things. It is of the veiy nature 
 of existence that a thing cannot be other- 
 wise than it is ; and it may be safely said 
 that all fallacy and error may arise from 
 unwittingly reasoning in a way inconsistent 
 with this law. All statements or infei*- 
 ences which imply a combination of con- 
 tradictory qualities must be taken as im- 
 possible and false, and the breaking of this 
 law is the mark of their being false. — 
 Jevons, ^ Logic,' p. ii8. 
 
 The highest of all logical laws, in other 
 words, the supreme law of thought, is what 
 is called the principle of Contradiction, or 
 more correctly the principle of Non- Con- 
 tradiction. When an object is determined 
 by the aiSrmation of a certain character, 
 this object cannot be thought to be the 
 same when such character is denied of it. 
 Assertions concerning a thing are mutually 
 contradictory, when the one asserts that 
 the thing possesses the character which the 
 other asserts that it does not. This law is 
 logically expressed in the formula, What 
 is contradictory is unthinkable. A = not 
 A = 0, or A - A = O. — Hamilton, '■Lec- 
 tures^ ii. 368, iii. 81. 
 
 The axiom of (the avoidance of) Contra- 
 diction is— Judgments opposed contradic- 
 torily to each other cannot both be true. 
 The one or the other must be false. From 
 the truth of the one follows the falsehood 
 of the other. The double answer. Yes and 
 No, to one and the same question, in the 
 same sense, is inadmissible. — Uebenceg, 
 * Logic,' p. 235. 
 
 Its logical ijjijwrtance. 
 
 The logical import of this law lies in its 
 being the principle of all logical negation 
 and distinction. — Hamilton, ' Logic,' i. 82. 
 
 We must hold the principle of contra- 
 diction to be the universal and fully suffi- 
 cient principle of all analytical cognition ; 
 but, as a sufficient criterion of truth, it 
 
 has no further utility or authority. — Kant, 
 ' Critique of Reason,' p. 115. 
 
 Thoroughgoing consistency requires that 
 when we affirm a certain thing to be a 
 straight line we must be prepared also to 
 deny that it is a bent line ; when we call 
 this man wise we must also deny that he 
 is foolish. This is an equivalent form that 
 plays a great part in Logic. Viewed thus, 
 the Law of Contradiction has a pregnant 
 meaning. — Bain, ''Logic, Deduction,' p. 16. 
 
 The Law of Contradiction is a principle 
 of Reasoning in the same sense, and in the 
 same sense only, as the Law of Identity is. 
 It is the generalisation of a mental act 
 which is of continual occurrence and which 
 cannot be dispensed with in reasoning. As 
 we require the liberty of substituting for 
 a given assertion the same assertion in 
 different words, so we require the libei'ty 
 of substituting, for any assertion, the denial 
 of its contradictory. The affirmation of the 
 one and the denial of the other ax-e logical 
 equivalents which it is allowable and indis- 
 pensable to make use of as mutually con- 
 vertible. — Mill, 'Examination of Hamilton' 
 p. 471. 
 
 Aristotle truly described this law as the 
 first of all axioms, — one of which we need 
 not seek for any demonstration. All truths 
 cannot be proved, otherwise there would be 
 an endless chain of demonstration ; and it 
 is in self-evident truths like this that we 
 fi.nd the simplest foundations. — Jevons, 
 ' Principles of Science,' p. 6. 
 
 The Law of Excluded Middle. 
 
 Stated. 
 
 The principle of Contradiction, viewed in 
 a certain aspect, is called the principle of 
 Excluded Middle, or more fully, the prin- 
 ciple of Excluded Middle between two Con- 
 tradictions. A thing either is or it is not ; 
 there is no medium ; one must be true, 
 both cannot. — Hamilton, ' Metaiihysics,' ii. 
 368. 
 
 The axiom of Excluded Third or Middle 
 is thus stated : Judgments opposed as con- 
 
[82 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tradictions (such as A is B, and A is not B) 
 can neither both be false nor can admit the 
 truth of a third or middle judgment, but 
 the one or the other must be true, and the 
 truth of the one follows from the falsehood 
 of the other. — Ueberweg, ^ Lorjic,^ p. 260. 
 
 The third of these laws completes the 
 other two — a thing must either he or not he. 
 It asserts that at every step there are two 
 possible alternatives — presence or absence, 
 affirmation or negation. Hence I propose 
 to name this law the Law of Duality, for 
 it gives to all the formulae of reasoning a 
 dual character. It asserts also that between 
 presence and absence, existence and non- 
 existence, affirmation and negation, there 
 is no third alternative. As Aristotle said, 
 there can be no mean between opposite 
 assertions : we must either affirm or deny. 
 Rock must be either hard or not-hard, 
 gold must be either white or not-white, an 
 action must be either virtuous or not- 
 virtvious. Hence the inconvenient name 
 by which it has been known — the Law of 
 Excluded Middle. — Jevons, ' Fi'incijples of 
 Science,^ p. 6. 
 
 Its logical importance. 
 
 The Law of Excluded Middle is the prin- 
 ciple of Disjunctive Judgments, that is, of 
 judgments in which a plurality of judg- 
 ments are contained, and which stand in 
 such a reciprocal relation that the affirma- 
 tion of the one is the denial of the other. 
 — Hamilton, ' Logic,' i. 84. 
 
 Limits of the argument from Contradiction. 
 
 The argument from Contradiction is 
 omnipotent within its sphere, but that 
 sphere is narrow. It has the following 
 limitations : — 
 
 (i.) It is negative, not positive; it may 
 refute, but it is incompetent to establish. 
 It may show what is not, but never, of 
 itself, what is. 
 
 (2.) It is dependent; to act, it pre-sup- 
 poses a counter-proposition to act from. 
 
 (3.) It is explicative, not ampliative ; it 
 analyses what is given, but does not origi- 
 nate information, or add anything, through 
 itself, to our stock of knowledge. 
 
 (4.) But, what is its principal defect, it 
 is partial, not thorough-going. It leaves 
 many of the most important problems of 
 our knowledge out of its determination; 
 and is, therefore, all too narrow in its 
 application as a universal criterion or in- 
 strument of judgment. — Hamilton, ' 3Ieta- 
 2^hysics,' ii. 524. 
 
 These Laws are Variously Regarded, as 
 
 Rules of Evidence. 
 
 Viewed as instruments for judging of 
 material truth, they sink into mere rules 
 for the reception of evidence. The Prin- 
 ciple of Contradiction is a caution against 
 receiving into our notion of a subject any 
 attribute that is irreconcilable with some 
 other, already proved upon evidence we 
 cannot doubt. The Principle of Identity 
 is a permission to receive attributes that 
 are not thus mutually opposed, or a hint 
 to seek for such only. The Principle of 
 Excluded Middle would compel us to re- 
 consider the evidence of any proposition, 
 when other evidence threatened to compel 
 us to accept its contradictory. — Thomson, 
 ' Laics of Thought,' p. 214. 
 
 Laws of Consistency. 
 
 To call them the fundamental laws of 
 Thought is a misnomer ; but they are the 
 laws of Consistency. All inconsistency is 
 a violation of some one of these laws ; 
 an xmconscious violation, for knowingly to 
 violate them is impossible. — Mill, ' Exami- 
 nation of Hamilton,' p. 464. 
 
 Yet on page 475, Stuart Mill says : ' I 
 readily admit that these three general pro- 
 positions are universally true of all phaeno- 
 mena. I also admit that if there are any 
 inherent necessities of thought, these are 
 such. . . , They may or may not be cap- 
 able of alteration by experience, but the 
 conditions of our existence deny to us 
 the experience which would be required 
 to alter them. Any assertfon, therefoi'e, 
 which conflicts with one of these laws — 
 any proposition, for instance, which asserts 
 a contradiction, though it were on a sub- 
 ject wholly removed from the sphere of 
 
UNDERSTANDING AND REASON. 
 
 183 
 
 our experience, is to us unbelievable. The 
 belief in such a proposition is, in the pre- 
 sent constitution of nature, impossible as a 
 mental fact.' 
 
 Three Aspects of the same Truth. 
 
 It may be allowed that these laws are 
 not three independent and distinct laws ; 
 they rather express three different aspects 
 of the same truth, and each law doubtless 
 presupposes and implies the other two. 
 But it has not been found possible to state 
 these characters of identity and difference 
 in less than the threefold formula., — Jevons, 
 * Principles of Science,' p. 6. 
 
 Value of these Laws. 
 
 General Influence on Tliouglit. 
 
 No thought can pretend to validity and 
 truth which is not in consonance with, 
 which is not governed by, them. For man 
 can recognise that alone as real and assured 
 which the laws of his understanding sanc- 
 tion; and he cannot but regard that as 
 false and unreal which these laws condemn. 
 — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 105. 
 
 Denial of them subverts the realitij of 
 Thought 
 
 To deny the universal application of the 
 first three laws is, in fact, to subvert the 
 reality of thought ; and as this subversion 
 is itself an act of thought, it in fact anni- 
 hilates itself. When, for example, I say 
 that A is, and then say that A is not, by 
 the second assertion I sublate or take away 
 what, by the first assertion, I posited or 
 laid down ; thought, in the one case, un- 
 doing by negation what in the other it had 
 by affirmation done. This is tantamount to 
 saying that truth and falsehood are merely 
 empty sounds. — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 99. 
 
 Xn. UNDERSTANDING AND REASON. 
 
 I. Understanding. 
 Definitions of it are various. 
 
 Philosophical. 
 
 The understanding comprehends ovxr con- 
 iemplative powers; by which we perceive 
 objects ; by which we conceive or remember 
 them ; by which we analyse or compound 
 
 them ; and by which we judge and reason 
 concerning them. — Reid, ' WorJcs,' p. 242. 
 
 The understanding, taken in the most 
 comprehensive sense, is the faculty of 
 knowing and conceiving. It includes 
 understanding propei-, the apprehending 
 or empirical faculty ; reason, the intuitive 
 faculty; and imagination, the conccptive 
 faculty. By it we observe, remember, 
 know, imagine, judge, and reason. We 
 observe, when we feel, discern, perceive, 
 or are conscious of anything. We imagine, 
 when we conceive or construct. — Murphy, 
 ' The Human Mind,' p. 22. 
 
 The understanding, considered exclu- 
 sively as an organ of human intelligence, 
 is the faculty by which we reflect and gene- 
 ralise. Take, for instance, any object con- 
 sisting of many parts, a house or a group 
 of houses ; and if it be contemplated as a 
 whole, that is, as many constituting a one, 
 it forms what, in the technical language of 
 psychology, is called a total impression. 
 Among the various component parts of 
 this, we direct our attention especially to 
 such as we recollect to have noticed in 
 other total impressions. Then, by a volun- 
 tary act, we withhold our attention from 
 all the rest to reflect exclusively on these ; 
 and these we henceforward use as common 
 characters, by virtue of which the several 
 objects are referred to one and the same 
 sort. Thus the whole process may be re- 
 duced to three acts, all depending on and 
 
 supposing a previous impression on 
 
 the 
 
 senses : first, the appropriation of our at- 
 tention ; second (and in order to the con- 
 tinuance of the first), abstraction, or the 
 voluntary withholding of the attention ; 
 and, third, generalisation. And these are 
 the proper functions of the understanding : 
 and the power of so doing is what we mean 
 when we say we possess understanding, or 
 are created with the faculty of understand- 
 ing. — Coleridge, ' Aids to Reflection,' p. 169. 
 
 As all acts of the understanding can be 
 reduced to judgments, the understanding 
 may be defined as the facidty of judging. — 
 Kant, 'Critique,' ii. 61. 
 
[84 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Popular. 
 
 In its popular sense, understanding 
 seems to be very nearly synonymous with 
 reason, when that word is used most com- 
 prehensively, and is seldom or never ap- 
 plied to any of our faculties, but such as 
 are immediately subservient to the investi- 
 gation of truth or to the regulation of our 
 conduct. In this sense it is so far from 
 being understood to comprehend the powers 
 of Imagination, Fancy, and Wit that it is 
 often stated in dii^ect ojiposition to them ; 
 as in the common maxim, that a sound 
 imderstanding and a warm imagination are 
 seldom united in the same person. But 
 philosophers, without rejecting this use of 
 the word, very generally employ it, with 
 far greater latitude, to comprehend Imagi- 
 nation, Memory, and Perception, as well 
 as the faculties to which it is appropriated 
 in popular discourse, and which, it seems, 
 indeed, most properly to denote. — Steivart, 
 ' Works,'' iii. 13. 
 
 Understanding and Keason are often dis- 
 tinguished from each other. 
 The Reason and the Understanding have 
 not been steadily distinguished by English 
 writers. The most simple way to use the 
 substantive Understanding ina. definite sense, 
 is to make it correspond, in its extent, with 
 the verb understand. To understand any- 
 
 Under standing. 
 
 1. Understanding is discursive. 
 
 2. The Understanding in all its judg- 
 ments refers to some other faculty as its 
 ultimate authority. 
 
 3. Understanding is the faculty of reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 thing is to apprehend it according to certain 
 assumed ideas and rules ; we do not include, 
 in the nieaning of the word, an examination 
 of the ground of the ideas and rules, by 
 reference to which we understand the thing. 
 We understand a language when we appre- 
 hend what is said, according to the estab- 
 lished vocabulary and grammar of the lan- 
 guage; without inquiring how the words 
 came to have their meaning, or what is the 
 ground of the grammatical rules. We un- 
 derstand the sense without reasoning about 
 the etymology and syntax. 
 
 Reason may be requisite to understand- 
 ing. We may have to reason about the 
 syntax, in order to understand the sense. 
 But understanding leaves still room for 
 i-easoning; we may understand the elliptical 
 theory of Mars' motions, and may still re- 
 quire a reason for the theory. Also we 
 may understand what is not conformable 
 to Reason ; as when we understand a man's 
 arguments, and think them unfoimded in 
 Reason. The Reason includes both the 
 Faculty of seeing First Principles, and the 
 Reasoning Faculty by which we obtain 
 other Principles which are derivative. The 
 Understanding is the Faculty of applying 
 Principles, however obtained. — Whewell, 
 ' Elements of Morality,' p. 24. 
 
 Compai'ison will show the difference : — 
 
 Eeason. 
 
 1. Reason is fixed. 
 
 2. The Reason in all its decisions appeals 
 to itself as the ground and substance of their 
 truth. 
 
 3. Reason of contemplation. Reason, 
 indeed, is much nearer to Sense than to 
 Understanding ; for Reason (says our great 
 Hooker) is a dii-ect aspect of truth, an in- 
 ward beholding, having a similar relation 
 to the intelligible or spiritual, as Sense has 
 to the material or phenomenal. — Coleridge, 
 * Aids to Rpfledion,' p. 168. 
 
 Milton draws the distinction between 
 reason ' intuitive ' and 'discursive.' Reid 
 and Beattie represent Reason as having 
 
 two degrees : in the former, reason sees 
 the truth at once ; in the other, it reaches 
 it by a process. There is evidently ground 
 
UNDERSTANDING AND REASON. 
 
 185 
 
 for these distinctions. But the distinction 
 I am now to examine was first drawn in 
 a formal manner by Kant, and has since 
 assumed divers shapes in Germany and in 
 this country. According to Kant, the mind 
 has three general intellectual powers, the 
 Sense, the Understanding (Verstand), and 
 the Keason (Yernunft) ; the Sense giving 
 us presentations or phenomena ; the Under- 
 standing binding these by categories ; and 
 the Keason bringing the judgments of the 
 Understanding to unity by three Ideas — 
 of Substance, Totality of Phenomena, and 
 Deity — which are especially the Ideas of 
 Reason. The distinction was introduced 
 among the English-speaking nations by 
 Coleridge, who, however, modified it. ' Rea- 
 son,' says he, ' is the power of universal and 
 necessary convictions, the source and sub- 
 stance of truths above sense, and having 
 their evidence in themselves. Its presence 
 is always marked by the necessity of the 
 position afiirmed ' (' Aids to Reflection,' i. 
 168). It has become an accepted distinc- 
 tion among a certain class of metaphysicians 
 and divines all over Europe and the Eng- 
 lish-speaking people of the great American 
 continent. These parties commonly illus- 
 trate their vieAvs in some such way as the 
 folloAving : — The mind, they say, must have 
 some power by which it gazes immediately 
 on the true and the good. But sense, which 
 looks only to the phenomenal and fluctuat- 
 ing, cannot enable us to do so. As little 
 can the logical understanding, whose pro- 
 vince it is to generalise the phenomena of 
 sense, mount into so high a sphere. We 
 must, therefore, bring in a transcendental 
 power— call it Reason, or Intellectual Intui- 
 tion, or Faith, or Feeling — to account for 
 the mind's capacity of discovering the uni- 
 versal and the necessary, and of gazing at 
 once on eternal Truth and Goodness, on the 
 Infinite and the Absolute. 
 
 Now there is great and important truth 
 aimed at and meant to be set forth in this 
 language. The speculators of France, who 
 derive all our notions from sense, and those 
 of Britain, who draw all our maxims from 
 experience, are overlooking the most won- 
 
 drous properties of the soul, which has prin- 
 ciples at once deeper and higher than sense, 
 and the faculty which compounds and com- 
 pares the material supplied by sense. And 
 if by Reason is meant the aggregate of 
 Regulative Principles, I have no objections 
 to the phrase, and to certain important 
 applications of it, but then we must keep 
 carefully in view the mode in which these 
 principles operate. 
 
 Moreover each of the divisions, the reason 
 and the understanding, comprises powers 
 which rim into the other. This distinction 
 is at the best confusing, and it is often so 
 stated as to imply that the reason, without 
 the use of the understanding processes of 
 abstraction and generalisation, can rise to 
 the contemplation of the true, the beauti- 
 ful, and the good. — ISP Cosh, ' Intuitions of 
 the Mind^ pp. 310, 61. 
 
 Function of the Understanding. 
 
 The function of the Understanding may, 
 in general, be said to bestow on the cogni- 
 tions which it elaborates the greatest possible 
 compass, the greatest possible clearness and 
 distinctness, the greatest possible certainty 
 and systematic order. — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 pliysics,^ ii. 501. 
 
 Possession of Understanding is necessary 
 to Moral Freedom. 
 The Liberty of a Moral Agent supposes 
 him to have Understanding and Will ; for 
 the determinations of the will are the sole 
 object about which this power is employed ; 
 and there can be no will without such a 
 degree of understanding at least as gives 
 the conception of that which we will. — 
 Reid, ' Works,' p. 599. 
 
 2. Reason. 
 The term 'Reason' is used in Various 
 Senses. 
 
 The word Reason has been employed in 
 a gi-eat diversity of significations. Some- 
 times it stands for the faculty which reasons 
 or draws inferences. With other writers, 
 reason, as distinguished from the under- 
 standing, denotes the power which sees 
 
[86 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 necessary truth at once without an interme- 
 diate process. With certain English writers 
 it stands for that aggregate of qualities (un- 
 specified) which distinguishes man from 
 brutes. Yery often it is a general name 
 for intelligence, or for the cognitive powers 
 of man. When persons compare or con- 
 trast the exercises of reason with those of 
 faith they should be careful to understand 
 for themselves and to signify to others the 
 sense in which they employ the phrases. — 
 M^Gosh, ^ Intuitions of the Mind,^ p. 375, 
 
 This word is liable to many ambiguities. 
 I. Sometimes it is used to signify all the 
 intellectual powers collectively. 2. Fre- 
 quently it is employed to denote those in- 
 tellectual powers exclusively in which man 
 differs from brutes. 3. It is often used for 
 the Faculty of carrying on the operation of 
 Reasoning or Ratiocination. 4. It is also 
 employed to signify the Premiss or Pre- 
 mises of an Alignment, especially the Minor 
 Premiss : and it is from Reason in this 
 sense that the word 'Reasoning ' is derived. 
 5. It is also very frequently used to signify 
 a Cause ; as when we say, in popular lan- 
 guage, that the ' Reason of an eclipse of the 
 sun is that the moon is interposed between 
 it and the earth.' This should be strictly 
 called the cause. — Whately, 'Logic,'' p. 223. 
 
 The Offices of Keason considered as In- 
 telligence in general. 
 
 To regulate Belief and Conduct. 
 
 That talent which we call Reason, by 
 which men that are adult and of a sound 
 mind are distinguished from brutes, idiots, 
 and infants, has in all ages, among the 
 learned and unlearned, been conceived to 
 have two ofiices, to regulate our belief and 
 to regulate our actions and conduct. — Reid, 
 ' Works,' p. 579. 
 
 To act as Judge. 
 
 There is nothing that can pretend to 
 judge of Reason but itself; and, therefore, 
 they who suppose they can say aught against 
 it are forced (like jewellers who beat true 
 diamonds to powder to cut and polish false 
 ones) to make use of it against itself. But 
 
 in this they cheat themselves as well as 
 others ; for if what they say against Rea- 
 son be without Reason they deserve to be 
 neglected, and if with Reason they dis- 
 prove themselves. For they use it while 
 they disclaim it, and with as much contra- 
 diction as if a man should tell me that 
 he cannot speak. — Butler, 'Reflections on 
 Reason.' 
 
 To seek after Truth. 
 
 The whole interest of my reason, whether 
 speculative or practical, is concentrated in 
 the three following questions : — i. What 
 can I know ? 2. What should I do ? 3. 
 What may I hope ? The first question is 
 purely speculative. The second question 
 is purely practical. The third question, 
 namely, What may I hope for if I do what 
 I ought to do ? is at the same time practical 
 and theoretical ; the practical serving as a 
 guidance to the answer to the theoretical, 
 and, in its highest form, speculative ques- 
 tions. — Kant, 'Critique,' ii. 690, 691. 
 
 Its relation to Faith. 
 
 It is wrong to represent faith as in itself 
 opposed to reason in any of its forms. Faith 
 may go far beyond intelligence, but it is not 
 in itself repugnant to it. There is belief 
 involved in all kinds of intelligence except 
 the primary ones, those in which we look 
 on the object as now present ; and in all 
 the higher exercises of reason there is a 
 large faith-element which could be taken 
 out of reason only with the certain penalty 
 that reason would thereby be clipped of all 
 its soaring capacities. What could cogni- 
 tion say of duration, expansion, substance, 
 causation, beauty, moral good, infinity, God, 
 were faith denied its proper scope and 
 foi'bidden to take excursions in its native 
 element ? 
 
 But if reason is not independent of faith, 
 so neither should faith proceed without 
 reason. In particular, it would be far 
 wrong to insist on any one believing in the 
 existence of any object, or in any truth, 
 without a warrant. True, the mind is led 
 to believe in much intuitively, but it is be- 
 cause the objects or verities are self-evident 
 
UNDERSTANDING AND REASON. 
 
 187 
 
 and reflexly can stand the tests of intuition. 
 And in all cases in which we have not this 
 self-evidence it is entitled to demand medi- 
 ate e^^dence and should not concede credence 
 till this is furnished. It is not indeed jus 
 tified in insisting that all darkness be dis- 
 pelled, but it is abandoning its prerogative 
 when it declines to demand that light be 
 afforded ; either direct light, which is the 
 most satisfactory, or reflected light where 
 direct light cannot be had. — M'Cosh, 'In- 
 tuitions of the Mind,' p. 375. 
 
 The Difficulties of Reason 
 
 Arise often from the limitation and imper- 
 fection of our nature. 
 
 No sooner do we depart from Sense and 
 Instinct to follow the light of a superior 
 principle — to reason, meditate, and reflect 
 on the nature of things, but a thousand 
 scruples spring np in our minds concerning 
 those things which before we seemed fully 
 to comprehend. Prejudices and errors of 
 sense do from all parts discover themselves 
 to our view; and endeavouring to correct 
 these by Reason, we are insensibly drawn 
 into uncouth paradoxes, difficulties, and 
 inconsistencies, which multiply and grow 
 upon us as we advance in speculation, till 
 at length, having wandered through many 
 intricate mazes, we find ourselves just where 
 we were, or which is worse, set down in a 
 forlorn Scepticism. — Berheley, ^Principles 
 of Human Knoicledge,' intro. i. 
 
 Tet too much is frequently laid to the 
 charge of this. 
 
 The cause of this is thought to be the 
 obscurity of things, or the natural weak- 
 ness and imperfection of our understand- 
 ings. It is said the facilities we have are 
 few, and those designed by nature for the 
 support and pleasure of life, and not to 
 penetrate into the inward essence and con- 
 stitution of things. Besides, the mind of 
 man being finite, it is not to be wondered 
 at if it rtm into absurdities and contradic- 
 tions, it being of the nature of the infinite 
 not to be comprehended by that which is 
 finite. But upon the whole, I am inclined 
 
 to think that far the greater part, if not 
 all, of those difficulties which have hitherto 
 amused philosophers, and blocked up the 
 way to knowledge, are entirely owing to 
 ourselves — that we have first raised a 
 dust and then complain we cannot see. — 
 BerMey, 'Principles of Human Knowledge,^ 
 intro. 2, 3. 
 
 3. Reasoning. 
 As a Mental Act. 
 
 Reasoning is the process by which we 
 pass from one judgment to another, which 
 is the consequence of it. Accordingly our 
 judgments are distinguished into intuitive, 
 which are not groimded upon any preced- 
 ing judgment, and discursive, which are 
 deduced from some preceding judgment by 
 reasoning. — Reid, ' Works,^ p. 475. 
 
 In the Logical Sense. 
 
 Reasoning is an act of comparison be- 
 tween two concepts ; and only differs from 
 judgment in that the two concepts are not 
 compared together directly in themselves, 
 but indirectly by means of their mutual 
 relation to a third. As the concept fur- 
 nishes the materials for the act of judging, 
 so the judgment furnishes the materials 
 for the act of reasoning. — Mansel, 'Meta- 
 physics,' p. 227. 
 
 Reasoning is drawing from two judg- 
 ments, called the premises, a third called 
 the conclusion, which is involved in the 
 other two. The simple principle of all 
 reasoning is, that whatever applies to the 
 whole of a class applies to that which is 
 known to be a part of it, and likewise 
 whatsoever does not apply to the whole 
 does not apply to any known part of it. 
 In the natural order, the first or minor 
 premise assigns the part to the whole, and 
 in the second or major, some attribute is 
 declared to apply or not, as the case may 
 be, to the whole : whence it is gathered in 
 the conclusion that this attribute applies 
 or does not apply to the part already as- 
 signed to the whole. Thus — 
 
 These men are unjust; all the unjust are 
 to be condemned : 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 .". These men are to be condemned. — 
 Murphy, ' Ruman Mind^ ^. 142. 
 
 To this view of Reasoning, John Stuart 
 Mill strongly objects. He says : — 
 
 ' It is impossible rationally to hold that 
 reasoning is the comparison of two notions 
 through the medium of a third, and that 
 reasoning is the source from which we 
 derive new truths. And the truth of 
 the latter proposition being indisputable, 
 it is the former which must give way. 
 The theory of Reasoning which attempts 
 to unite them both has this defect : — it 
 makes the process consist in eliciting some- 
 thing out of a concept which never was 
 in the concept, and if it ever finds its way 
 there, does so after the process, and as 
 a consequence of its having taken place.' 
 'The principle of reasoning is not, a part 
 of the part is a part of the whole, but, a 
 mark of the mark is a mark of the thing 
 marked. It means, that two things which 
 constantly coexist with the same third 
 thing, constantly coexist with one another; 
 the things meant not being our concepts, 
 but the facts of experience on which our 
 concepts ought to be grounded.' — ' Exami- 
 nation of Hamilton,^ pp. 429, 426. 
 
 Reasoning is Founded on First or Assumed 
 Principles. 
 
 Reasoning proceeds on principles luhich 
 cannot he proved by reasoning, hut must he 
 assumed, and assumed as seen intuitively to 
 he true. In all ratiocination there must 
 be something from which we argue. That 
 from which we argue is the premise; in 
 the Aristotelian analysis of argument it is 
 the two premises. But as we go back and 
 back we must at length come to something 
 which cannot be proven. — M'Cosh, ^Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,' p. 24. 
 
 " I hold it to be certain, and even demon- 
 strable, that all knowledge got by reason- 
 ing must be built upon fii^st principles. 
 This is as certain as that every house must 
 have a foundation. The power of reason- 
 ing, in this respect, resembles the mechani- 
 cal powers or engines ; it must have a fixed 
 point to rest upon, otherwise it spends its 
 
 force in the air and produces no effect. 
 \ATien we examine, in the way of analysis, 
 the evidence of any proposition, either we 
 find it self-evident or it rests upon one or 
 more propositions that support it. The 
 same thing may be said of the propositions 
 that support it, and of those that support 
 them, as far back as we can go. But we 
 cannot go back in this track to infinity. 
 Where, then, must the analysis stop ? It 
 is evident that it must stop only when 
 we come to propositions which support all 
 that are built upon them, but are them- 
 selves supported by none, — that is, to self- 
 evident propositions. — Reid, ' Works,' p. 
 435- 
 Reasoning may be— 
 
 A priori or a posteriori. 
 
 In the ancient meaning of the terms, 
 reasoning a priori is from the essential 
 nature of the cause, prior to an experience 
 of its effects ; reasoning a posteriori is based 
 upon observation of the effects which issue 
 from the cause. The premises of the for- 
 mer are principles; those of the latter, 
 facts. The method of the former is de- 
 ductive; that of the latter inductive. — 
 Fraser, ^Selections from Berkeley,' p. 43, 
 note. 
 
 Prohahle or Demonstrative. 
 
 The most remarkable distinction of rea- 
 sonings is, that some are probable, others 
 demonstrative. In every step of demon- 
 strative reasoning the inference is neces- 
 sary, and we perceive it to be impossible 
 that the conclusion should not follow from 
 the premises. In probable reasoning the 
 connection between the premises and the 
 conclusion is not necessary, nor do we per- 
 ceive it to be impossible that the first 
 should be true while the last is false. — 
 Reid, ' Woi-ks,' p. 476. 
 
 The Power of Reasoning. 
 
 Its Utility. 
 
 Without the power of reasoning we 
 should have been limited to a knowledge 
 of what is given by immediate intuition; 
 we should have been unable to draw any 
 
CONCEIVABILITY REGARDED AS A TEST OF TRUTH. 
 
 189 
 
 inference from this knowledge, and have 
 been shiit out from the discovery of that 
 countless multitude of truths which, though 
 of high, of paramount importance, are not 
 self-evident. This faculty is likewise of 
 peculiar utility in order to protect us in our 
 cogitations from error and falsehood, and to 
 remove these if they have already crept in. 
 For every, the most complex, web of thought 
 may be reduced to simple syllogisms ; and 
 when this is done their truth or falsehood, 
 at least in a logical relation, flashes at 
 once into view. — Hamilton, ^ Logic,' i. 277. 
 
 It is rarely absent in Man, hut it is some- 
 times a dormant faculty. 
 
 It is nature, undoubtedly, that gives us 
 the capacity of reasoning. When this is 
 wanting, no art nor education can sup- 
 ply it. But this capacity may be dormant 
 through life, like the seed of a plant which, 
 for want of heat and moisture, never vege- 
 tates. This is probably the case of some 
 savages. — Reid, ' Works,'' p. 476. 
 
 Tliis power is strengthened by exercise. 
 
 Although the capacity be purely the gift 
 of nature, and probably given in very dif- 
 ferent degrees to different persons, yet the 
 power of reasoning seems to be got by 
 habit, as much as the power of walking or 
 running. Its first exertions we are not 
 able to recollect in ourselves, or clearly to 
 discern in others. They are very feeble, 
 and need to be led by example and sup- 
 ported by authority. By degrees it ac- 
 quires strength, chiefly by means of imita- 
 tion and exercise. — Reid, ' TFbr/rs,' p. 476. 
 
 XIII. CONCEIVABILITY REGARDED 
 
 AS A TEST OF TRUTH. 
 Forms of the Doctrine. 
 
 What ice can distinctly conceive we may 
 conclude to he true. 
 
 As I observed that in the words / think, 
 hence I am, there is nothing at all which 
 gives me assurance of their truth beyond 
 this, that I see very clearly that in order 
 to think it is necessary to exist, I concluded 
 that I might take, as a general rule, the 
 
 principle that all the things which we very 
 clearly and distinctly conceive are true, only 
 observing, however, that there is some diffi- 
 culty in rightly determining the objects 
 which we distinctly conceive. — Descartes, 
 ' Discourse on Method,' p. 34. 
 
 The criterion of true knowledge is only 
 to be looked for in our knowledge and con- 
 ceptions themselves ; for the entity of all 
 theoretical truth is nothing else but clear 
 intelligibility, and whatever is clearly con- 
 ceived is an entity and a truth ; but that 
 which is false, Divine power itself cannot 
 make it to be clearly and distinctly under- 
 stood. A falsehood can never be clearly 
 conceived or apprehended to be true. — Cud- 
 %vorth, '■Eternal and Immutahle Morality,^ 
 chap. v. sec. 5. 
 
 Of that which neither does nor can exist 
 we can have no idea. — Bolingbroke. 
 
 WJiat we can distinctly conceive we may 
 conclude to he possible. 
 
 The bare having an idea of the proposition 
 proves the thing not to be impossible ; for 
 of an impossible proposition there can be 
 no idea. — Clarke. 
 
 The measure of impossibility to us is 
 inconceivableness : that of which we can 
 have no idea, but that reflecting upon it, it 
 appears to be nothing, we pronounce it to 
 be impossible. — Abernethy. 
 
 It is an established maxim in meta- 
 physics, that whatever the mind conceives, 
 includes the idea of possible existence, or 
 in other words, that nothing we imagine is 
 absolutely impossible. — Hume. 
 
 The impossibility of conceiving the negative 
 of a proposition shoics that the proposition is 
 true. 
 
 If, having touched a body in the dark, 
 and having become instantly conscious of 
 some extension as accompanying the resist- 
 ance, I wish to decide whether the proposi- 
 tion, ' Whatever resists has extension,' ex- 
 presses a cognition of the highest certainty, 
 how do I do it ? I endeavour to think away 
 the extension from the resistance. I think 
 
ipo 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of resistance, I endeavour to keep extension 
 out of thought. I fail absolutely in the 
 attempt. I cannot conceive the negation 
 of the projDOsition that whatever resists is 
 extended ; and my failure to conceive the 
 negation, is the discovery that along with 
 the subject (something resisting) there in- 
 variably exists the predicate (extension). 
 Hence the inconceivableness of its nega- 
 tion is that which shows a cognition to 
 possess the highest rank — is the criterion 
 by which its unsurpassable validity is 
 known. — Spencer, ^Principles of Psychology,'' 
 ii. 406. 
 
 Necessary truths are those in which we 
 cannot, even by an effort of imagination, 
 or in a supposition, conceive the reverse of 
 that which is asserted. They are those of 
 which we cannot even distinctly conceive 
 the contrary. — Whewell, 'Phil, of Indue. 
 Sciences' i. 55, 59. 
 
 A common account is that we cannot 
 ' conceive ' the contradictory of necessary 
 truth. But the word ' conceive ' is ambigu- 
 ous, and in itself means nothing more than 
 ' image ' or ' apprehend,' that is, have a 
 notion ; and certainly we are not entitled 
 to appeal to a mere phantasm or concept as 
 a test of ultimate truth. The exact account 
 is that we cannot be convinced of the oppo- 
 site of the intuitive conviction. But oiu' 
 intuitive convictions may take the form of 
 cognitions, or beliefs, or judgments; and, 
 according to the nature of the intuition, 
 that is, according as it is knowledge, or faith, 
 or comparison, is the nature of the neces- 
 sity attached. "Whatever we kiioxo intui- 
 tively as existing, we cannot be made to 
 know as not existing. Whatever we intui- 
 tively believe, we cannot be made not to 
 believe. When we intuitively discover a 
 relation in objects, we cannot be made to 
 judge that there is not a relation. From 
 neglecting these distinctions, which are very 
 obvious when stated, manifold errors have 
 arisen, not only in the application of the 
 test of necessity, but in the general account 
 given of primary truths. — HP Cosh, ' Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,' p. 304. 
 
 Objections to tlie Doctrine. 
 
 Inconceivability is no test of truth or 
 possibility. 
 
 We cannot conclude anything to be im- 
 possible, because its possibility is incon- 
 ceivable to us, for two reasons. First, 
 what seems to us inconceivable, and, so far 
 as we are personally concerned, may really 
 be so, usually owes its inconceivability only 
 to a strong association. There is no need 
 to go further for an example than the case 
 of the Antipodes. This physical fact was, 
 to the early speculators, inconceivable ; not, 
 of course, the fact of persons in that posi- 
 tion — this the mind could easily represent 
 to itself — but the possibility that, being in 
 that position, and not being nailed on, nor 
 havmg any glutinous substance attached 
 to their feet, they could help falling off. 
 Because inconceivable it was imhesitatingly 
 believed to be impossible. But, secondly, 
 even assuming that inconceivability is not 
 solely the consequence of limited experience, 
 but that some incapacities of conceiving are 
 inherent in the mind, and inseparable from 
 it ; this would not entitle us to infer that 
 what we are thus incapable of receiving 
 cannot exist. Such an inference would 
 only be warrantable, if we could know a 
 priori that we must have been created 
 capable of conceiving whatever is capable 
 of existing. What is inconceivable, then, 
 cannot therefore be inferred to be false. 
 — Mill, ' Examination of Hamilton,' pp. 
 80-82. 
 
 There is no ground for inferring a cer- 
 tain fact to be impossible, merely from 
 our inability to conceive its possibility. — 
 Hamilton, '■Discussions,' p. 596. 
 
 As observation of objects affords the 
 materials for our conceptions of them, the 
 external association of quaHties in an 
 object may have an exact counterpart in 
 the conception of these qualities associated 
 in the mind. If our observation of trees 
 has uniformly involved the recognition of 
 trunk, branches, and green leaves, these 
 three characteristics will be associated in 
 oiu- conception of a tree. We could not on 
 
BELIEF. 
 
 191 
 
 this ground, however, warrautably main- 
 tain the physical impossibility of any vari- 
 ation. The sight of a black beech gives 
 external diversit}', and introduces a new 
 association. True, then, as it is in the 
 history of mind, that external facts or 
 phenomena answering to ideas constantly 
 associated within, come at last to be re- 
 garded by us as in reality inseparable, such 
 an inference from internal association to 
 external reality is logically incompetent. 
 The possibilities of existence are not re- 
 stricted by the range of our conceptions. 
 Conceivableness is not the test of truth; 
 nor is inconceivableness the test of the 
 false. As a test of 2^ossible existence, con- 
 ceivability is the least reliable that can be 
 used. The conceivable may be only what 
 we have known ; the inconceivable, nothing 
 more than what we have never known. 
 The tendency to employ inconceivableness 
 as a test of truth has involved philosophical 
 inquiry in confusion, and has led to the 
 egregious assumption that our thoughts 
 are the measure of reality. — Caldenvood, 
 'Moral Pliilosojjhy,' p. 117. 
 
 Conceifctbility no test of truth or possi- 
 hility. 
 
 Man's capability of imagining an object 
 is no proof of its existence. I can picture 
 a hobgoblin without supposing it to be a 
 reality. I can form a notion of a class of 
 mermaids without being convinced that 
 mermaids were ever seen by any human 
 being. — ArCosh, 'Examination of Mill,' 
 p. 236. 
 
 Reply to the ohjections. 
 
 Mr. Mill objects that propositions once 
 accepted as true because they withstood 
 the test of the inconceivability of their 
 negation, have since been proved to be 
 false, as in the instance of the antipodes. 
 To this criticism my reply is that the pro- 
 positions erroneously accepted because they 
 seemed to withstand the test, were not 
 simple propositions but complex to which 
 the test is inapplicable ; and that no errors 
 arising from its illegitimate application can 
 be held to tell against its legitimate appli- 
 
 cation. If the question be asked — How 
 are we to decide what is a legitimate appli- 
 cation of the test? I answer, by restrict- 
 ing its application to propositions which are 
 not further decomposable. Further, Mr. 
 ]\Iill tacitly assumes that all men have 
 adequate powers of introspection ; whereas 
 many are incapable of correctly interpi'et- 
 ing consciousness in any but its simplest 
 modes, and even the remainder are liable 
 to mistake for dicta of consciousness what 
 prove on closer examination not to be its 
 dicta. — Spencer, 'Principles of Psychology,' 
 ii. 409-413 (condensed). 
 
 Conceivability and inconceivabiUty can 
 be employed as a test of truth only in the 
 third meaning of the term conceive [the 
 two other meanings being, (i) image or 
 represent ; (2) have a general notion] as 
 signifying ' constinie in thought,' judge or 
 decide. In the case of the antipodes given 
 by Mr. Mill, it is evident our fathers could 
 have little difficulty in imagining to them- 
 selves a round globe with pei'sons with 
 their feet adhering to it all around. Their 
 difficulty lay in deciding it to be true, 
 because the alleged fact seemed contrary 
 to a law of nature established by observa- 
 tion. As a narrow experience had created 
 the difficulty, so it could remove it by 
 giving us a view of the earth as a mass of 
 matter causing human beings to adhere to 
 it over its whole surface. Such a case 
 does not in the least tend to prove that 
 truths which are seen to be truths at once, 
 and without a gathered experience, could 
 ever be set aside by a further experience ; 
 that a conscious intelligent being could be 
 made to regard himself as non-existing ; or 
 that he could be led to allow that two 
 straight lines might enclose a space in the 
 constellation Orion. — M'Cosh, ' Examinor 
 Hon of Hamilton,'' pp. 236, 240. 
 
 XIV. BELIEF. 
 The Term. 
 
 Its manifold senses. 
 
 By a singular freak of language we use 
 the word belief to describe our state of mind 
 
192 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 with reference both to those propositions of 
 the truth of which we are least certain, and 
 to those of the truth of which we are most 
 certain. We apply it to states of mind 
 which have nothing in common, except that 
 they cannot be justified by a chain of logical 
 proofs. For example, you believe perhaps 
 that all crows are black, but, being unable 
 to furnish absolutely convincing demonstra- 
 tion of this proposition, you say that you 
 believe it, not that you know it. You also 
 believe in your own personal existence, of 
 which, however, you can furnish no logical 
 demonstration, simply because it is an ulti- 
 mate fact in your consciousness which un- 
 derlies and precedes all demonstration. — 
 Fiske. 
 
 The word belief is used in a variety of 
 relations which seem at first to have but 
 little in common. We are said to believe 
 in what lies beyond the limits of our tem- 
 poral experience, in the supei^sensible, in 
 God and a future life. Again, we are said 
 to believe in the first principles or ultimate 
 verities from which all trains of demonstra- 
 tion must start ; as conditions of demon- 
 stration, these are themselves imdemon- 
 strable and are therefore objects of belief. 
 We receive by belief perceptions of simple 
 matters of fact, which, from their very 
 nature, cannot be demonstrated. We be- 
 lieve from memory the facts of past experi- 
 ence; we have expectation or belief in future 
 events. We accept truths on the evidence 
 of testimony ; and, finally, we beheve that 
 our actual consciousness of things is in 
 harmony with reality. — Adamson, ' Ency- 
 clojp. Brit.,' iii. 532. 
 
 It cannot be defined. 
 
 Every man that has any belief — and he 
 must be a curiosity that has none — knows 
 perfectly what belief is, but can never de- 
 fine it. Belief is a word not admitting of 
 logical definition, because the operation of 
 mind signified by it is perfectly simple and 
 of its own kind. — Reid, ' Works,' pp. 108, 
 327- 
 
 It may be laid down with some confidence 
 that no logical definition of the process of 
 
 belief is possible. — Adamson, ' Encydop. 
 Brit.,' iii. 532. 
 
 Relation of Belief to Knowledge. 
 
 TJie ordinary distinction betioeen them. 
 
 In common language, when Belief and 
 Knowledge are distinguished. Knowledge 
 is understood to mean complete conviction, 
 Belief a conviction somewhat short of com- 
 plete ; or else we are said to believe when 
 the evidence is probable (as that of testi- 
 mony), but to know, when it is intuitive or 
 demonstrative from intuitive premises : we 
 believe, for example, that there is a con- 
 tinent of America, but know that we are 
 alive, that two and two make four, and 
 that the sum of any two sides of a triangle 
 is greater than the third side. This is a 
 distinction of practical value. — Mill, '^Ex- 
 amination of Hamilton,' p. 75. 
 
 Other distinctions drawn by philosophers. 
 
 Herein lies the difference between pro- 
 bability and certainty, faith and knowledge, 
 that in all the parts of knowledge there is 
 intuition ; each immediate idea, each step 
 has its visible and certain connexion; in 
 belief not so. That which makes me be- 
 lieve is something extraneous to the thing 
 I believe ; something not evidently joined 
 on both sides to, and so not manifestly 
 showing the agreement or disagreement of 
 those ideas that are under consideration. — 
 LocTce, ' Essay,' bk. iv. chap. xv. sect. 3. 
 
 The notion of Sir W. Hamilton that we 
 have two convictions on the same point, one 
 guaranteeing the other — our knowledge of 
 a truth, and our belief in the truth of that 
 knowledge — seems to me a piece of false 
 philosophy. We do not know a truth and 
 believe it besides ; the belief is the know- 
 ledge. Belief altogether is a genus which 
 includes knowledge ; according to the usage 
 of language we believe whatever we assent 
 to, but some of our beliefs are knowledge, 
 others are only belief. The first requisite 
 which, by universal admission, a belief must 
 possess to constitute it knowledge, is that 
 it' be true. The second is that it be well- 
 grounded, for what we believe by accident 
 
BELIEF. 
 
 193 
 
 or on evidence not sufficient we are not said 
 to know. When a belief is true, is held 
 with the strongest conviction we ever have, 
 and held on grounds sufficient to justify that 
 strongest conviction, most people would 
 think it worthy of the name of knowledge, 
 whether it be grounded on our personal 
 investigations or on the appropriate testi- 
 mony, and whether we know only the fact 
 itself or the manner of the fact. — Mill, ^ Ex- 
 ammation of Hamilton,'' p. 78, note. 
 
 "We can hardly consider Stuart Mill's 
 view satisfactory, since it makes the objec- 
 tive truth of the proposition believed, rather 
 than the manner in w^hich it is held by the 
 mind, the distinguishing characteristic of 
 Knowledge as opposed to Belief ; while it 
 overlooks the fact that Belief includes cer- 
 tain important non - intellectual elements 
 which are not existent, or not prominent, 
 in Knowledge. — Ryland, '■Psychology and 
 Ethics,' p. 100. 
 
 Knowledge precedes Belief. 
 
 In the order of nature, belief always 
 precedes knowledge, — it is the condition 
 of instruction. The child (as observed by 
 Aristotle) must believe in oi'der that he 
 may learn ; and even the primary facts of 
 intelligence, — the facts which precede, as 
 they afford the conditions of, all know- 
 ledge, — would not be original were they 
 revealed to us under any other form than 
 that of natural or necessary beliefs. — 
 Hamilton, ^ Metajjhysics,' i. 44. 
 
 The Relation of Belief to Activity. 
 
 This is expressed by saying, that what 
 we believe we act upon. In the practice of 
 everyday life, we are accustomed to test 
 men's belief by action, 'faith by works.' 
 If a politician declares free trade to be 
 good, and yet will not allow it to be acted 
 on, people say he does not believe his own 
 assertion. A general affirming that he was 
 stronger and better entrenched than the 
 enemy, and yet acting as if he were weaker, 
 would be held as believing not what he 
 affirmed, but what he acted on. Any one 
 pretending to believe in a future life of 
 
 rewards and punishments, and acting pre- 
 cisely as if there were no such life, is justly 
 set down as destitute of belief in the doc- 
 trine. — Bain, 'Mental and Moral Science,' 
 P- 372. 
 Analysis of Belief. 
 
 It is a highly composite state of mind. 
 
 Belief, however simple a thing it appears 
 at first sight, is really a highly composite 
 state of mind, or at least involves the pre- 
 sence of numerous other forms of conscious- 
 ness. Thus, to give but one example, it is 
 easily seen that every belief implies an 
 idea, and that the laws of the one must 
 somehow or other be influenced by the laws 
 of the other. Consequently the science of 
 ideas, their formation, and the order of 
 their recurrence, has to precede the science 
 of belief. — Sidly, ' Sensation,' p. 74. 
 
 The analysis of James Mill. 
 
 Belief of every kind : e.g., i. Belief in 
 events, i. e., real existences; 2. Belief in testi- 
 mony; 3. Belief in the truth of proposi- 
 tions — including belief in cause and effect, 
 i.e., of antecedence and consequence, in sub- 
 stance, and in personal identity — is resolved 
 into some form of inseparable association. 
 — Ueherweg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 424. 
 
 Tlie analysis of Professor Bain. 
 
 The mental foundations of Belief are to 
 be sought (i) in our Activity, (2) in the 
 Intellectual Associations of our Experience, 
 and (3) in the Feelings. 
 
 It is here affirmed, not only that Belief 
 in its essence is an active state, but that its 
 foremost generating cause is the Activity 
 of the system, to which are added influences 
 Intellectual and Emotional. — * Mental and 
 Moral Science,' p. 376. 
 
 Criticism of these analyses. Belief is not 
 resolvable into inseparability of association 
 (James Mill's theory). 
 
 If belief wei-e nothing but a transfor- 
 mation of inseparably associated ideas, 
 then every case of such association would 
 develop belief. But as a matter of fact 
 we are frequently compelled, as in the case 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 of the apparent motion of the sun, to con- 
 ceive events in one way and to believe them 
 in another. This view ignores the differ- 
 ence between imagination and belief. — 
 Sidly, ^Sensation, ^c.,' p. 76. 
 
 Readiness to act (Baiii's theory). 
 
 Just as we do not find belief involved in 
 activity, so we can conceive, and may find 
 belief without any accompanying activity. 
 No doubt, in the structure of our mental 
 constitution belief is most intimately con- 
 nected with action ; yet there is surely no 
 contradiction in conceiving of a mind, per- 
 fectly destitute of action, participating in 
 this feeling. We can readily represent to 
 ourselves the case of a helpless paralytic, 
 carefvdly tended by nurses, who might 
 come to anticipate periodic recurrence of 
 his comforts, and feel at the signs of their 
 approach what is implied in belief. — Sulhj, 
 '■Sensation,' p. 78. 
 
 Bain's whole theory seems but an in- 
 stance of a not uncommon error in psycho- 
 logy, — the confusion of the test or measure 
 of a thing with the thing itself. Belief is 
 truly a motive of action, and all that has 
 been said of it by Professor Bain would 
 hold good of it in this relation : to identify 
 the two is to run together two totally dis- 
 tinct processes. — Prof. R. Adamson, ^En- 
 cyclop. Brit.,' iii. 534. 
 
 Belief is the immary condition of reason. 
 
 St. Austin accurately says, ' We know 
 what rests upon reason ; but believe what 
 rests upon aidhority.' But reason itself 
 must rest at last upon authority; for the 
 original data of reason do not rest on 
 reason, but are necessarily accepted by 
 reason on the authority of what is beyond 
 itself. These data are, therefore, in rigid 
 propriety. Beliefs or Ti'usts. Thus it is 
 that in the last resort we must perforce 
 philosophically admit that belief is the pri- 
 mary condition of reason, and not reason 
 the ultimate ground of belief. We are 
 compelled to surrender the proud Intellige 
 ut credas of Abelard, to content ourselves 
 with the humble Crede ut intelHgas of An- 
 selm. — Hamilt07i, Reid's ' Works,' p. 760. 
 
 The Grounds and Motives of Belief. 
 
 In general. 
 
 It is necessary, of course, to distinguish 
 between the grounds and motives of belief ; 
 the cause of a belief may not be exactly 
 a reason for it. But if we include both 
 causes and reasons under the title prin- 
 ciples of behef, these may be divided into 
 three classes : — (i.) Testimony. Our natu- 
 ral tendency is to accept aU testimony as 
 true; it is experience alone that teaches 
 caution. The majority of men would be 
 astonished to find how much their belief 
 depends upon the society into which they 
 have been born and in which they live. 
 (2.) Feelings, Desires, or Wishes. It has 
 always been a popular saying that * The 
 wish is father to the thought.' We be- 
 lieve that without which oui' nature would 
 be dissatisfied. (3.) Evidence of Reason. 
 TMierever our knowledge is incomplete, 
 belief is ready to step in and fill up the 
 gap. Great portions of our so-called scien- 
 tific knowledge are nothing but rational 
 behef, — hypotheses unverified, perhaps even 
 unverifiable. — Adamso7i, ' Ejicyclop. Brit.,' 
 iii- 535- 
 Belief may l)e influenced by 
 
 Feeling. 
 
 ' The powerful influence of feeling on 
 belief has long been recognised. The first 
 thing to be remarked is, that whenever an 
 emotion attaches to itself distinct ideas, 
 they tend to become very intense, — to 
 brighten, so to speak, in the glow of the 
 emotional suri'oundings, and to attain a 
 vivacity and a persistency which assimilate 
 them more or less completely to external 
 sensations. The mind of the observer 
 looks at the object through an emotional 
 medium, and so fails to discern the true 
 relations of things. Feeling interferes, in 
 some slight measure at least, with the just 
 perception of truth. The second point to 
 be noticed is the direction which a ruling 
 emotion gives to the thoughts. Every feel- 
 ing tends, according to what may be called 
 a law of self -conservation, to sustain itself 
 in consciousness, and to oppose the en- 
 
PROBABILITY. 
 
 195 
 
 trance of heterogeneous and hostile feel- 
 ings. To this end it welcomes and retains 
 all ideas fitted to intensify it, and excludes 
 others which would serve to introduce an 
 opposite state of feeling. For example, 
 whenever the impulse of tender regard is 
 strongly excited, the mind is quick to spy 
 qualities fitted to gratify the feeling, and 
 slow to detect the presence of adverse 
 qualities. — Sully, ' Sensations, ^c.,' p. 
 100-104. 
 
 Habit. 
 
 The effect of habit on belief appears to 
 be twofold. It tends to reduce the believ- 
 ing process to a rapid and fugitive mental 
 state; for habitual conduct tends to be- 
 come less and less a conscious process, and 
 so to leave but little room for the distinct 
 intellectual conditions of belief. At the 
 same time it immensely deepens the poten- 
 tial tenacity of belief, for the habit of prac- 
 tically carrying out a conviction has a reflex 
 effect in strengthening it. Religious con- 
 viction illustrates the tendency of any idea 
 long cherished and acted upon to become 
 a necessity of the mental organisation, to 
 tear up which would be to strike deep 
 down towards the roots of mental life. — 
 Sully, ^Sensations, Sfc.,' p. 114. 
 
 Will. 
 
 The mode in which the will most cer- 
 tainly affects belief is through the activi- 
 ties of voluntary attention. Whenever the 
 impression or idea is a pleasurable one, it 
 calls forth the energies of attention, and 
 thus rises into greater distinctness and ac- 
 quires greater permanence. All the plea- 
 surable emotional susceptibilities may thus, 
 through the stimulation of attention, exert 
 an appreciable effect on belief. . . , An- 
 other mode in which the will may indi- 
 rectly affect belief is through a restraining 
 of the emotional impulses. This exercise 
 of the will may either directly modify the 
 strength of the feeling itself, or, by a direc- 
 tion of attention to other ideas, indirectly 
 discourage the feeling. — Sully, 'Sensations, 
 4-c.,' p. 115. 
 
 The personal equation in Belief. 
 
 The mind of each one of us, at any given 
 time, possesses in its peculiar intellectual 
 structure a clearly-defined framework into 
 which all new convictions have to ho fitted. 
 The range of observation in past individual 
 experience, the habit of supplementing this 
 knowledge by learning what others have 
 experienced too, and the discipline of the 
 conceptive and reasoning powers, serve to 
 determine the capacities of credence in re- 
 lation to any new proposition submitted 
 for examination. And the intellectual idio- 
 syncrasy thus established forms one side 
 of what has been well termed the ' personal 
 equation,' or variable individual factor in 
 human belief. — Sully, 'Sensation, ^c.,' p. 
 99. 
 
 Disbelief is Belief. 
 
 It is most important to keep in mind the 
 self-evident, but often-forgotten maxim, that 
 Disbelief is Belief; only they have refer- 
 ence to opposite conclusions. For example, 
 to disbelieve the real existence of the city 
 of Troy, is to believe that it was feigned. 
 So also, though the terms * infidel ' and 
 ' M^believer ' are commonly applied to one 
 who rejects Christianity, it is plain that 
 to cZife'believe its divine origin is to believe 
 its human origin. The proper opposite to 
 Belief is either conscious Ignorance or Doubt. 
 — Whateli/s ' Bhetoric,' p. 51. 
 
 XV. PROBABILITY. 
 
 Its Nature. 
 
 Probability is the quantity or degree of 
 belief, or more truly, the quantity of infor- 
 mation concerning an uncertain event, mea- 
 sured by the ratio of the number of cases 
 favourable to the event to the total num- 
 ber of cases which are possible. — Jcvons, 
 ' Logic; p. 339. 
 
 What happens, not always, but some- 
 times, — as that the sun rises in a cloudless 
 sky, that men live seventy years — is not 
 certain. Neither the fact, nor the failure 
 of the fact, is certain. To this situation 
 
196 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 is applied the term Probability. — Bain, 
 ' Logic, L7iduction,' p. 90. 
 
 * Probability ' is not always used in its 
 proper meaning, namely, the expression of 
 what is true, not in every case, but in most. 
 Not unfrequently, the two sets of cases, j^^'o 
 and C071, are called the probabilities for and 
 against a thing. The wind blows from the 
 east, say three days in seven, and from the 
 west four days in seven ; the proper expres- 
 sion then is, there is a probability of four 
 to three in favour of west wind on a given 
 day. To say that the probabilities are four 
 in favour of, and three against a west wind, 
 leads to a confounding of the probable with 
 the improbable. A vacillation between the 
 meanings is observable in Butler's Intro- 
 duction to his ' Analogy.' — Bai7i, ' Logic, 
 Lnduction,' p. 388. 
 
 Does probability exist in the things which 
 are probable, or in the mind which regards 
 them as siich ? The etymology of the name 
 lends us no assistance; for, curiously enough, 
 probable is ultimately the same word as 
 provable, a good instance of one word becom- 
 ing differentiated to two opposite meanings. 
 But every one sees, after a little reflection, 
 that it is in our knowledge the deficiency 
 lies, not in the certainty of nature's laws. 
 There is no doubt in lightning as to the 
 point it shall strike ; in the greatest storm 
 there is nothing capricious ; not a grain of 
 sand lies upon the beach but infinite know- 
 ledge would account for its lying there. — 
 Jevons, '■Principles of Science,^ p. 197. 
 
 Two Kinds. 
 
 Probability is of two kinds ; either when 
 the object is itself uncertain, and to be 
 determined by chance, or when, though the 
 object be already certain, yet it is uncertain 
 to our judgment, which finds a number of 
 proofs or presumptions on each side of the 
 question. — Hume, ' Dissertation on the Pas- 
 sions' sec. i. 5. 
 
 Analogy is the Great Rule of ProbaMlity. 
 
 We see animals are generated, nourished, 
 and move ; the loadstone draws iron ; and 
 the parts of a candle, successively melting, 
 
 turn into flame, and give us both light and 
 heat. These and the like effects we see 
 and know ; but the causes that operate, and 
 the manner they are produced in, we can 
 only guess and probably conjecture. For 
 these and the like, coming not within the 
 scrutiny of human senses, cannot be exa- 
 mined by them, or be attested by anybody, 
 and therefore can appear more or less pro- 
 bable, only as they more or less agree to 
 truths that are established in our minds, 
 and as they hold proportion to other parts 
 of our knowledge and observation. Analogy 
 in these matters is the only help we have, 
 and it is from that alone we draw all our 
 grounds of probability. — Locke, '■Essay,' 
 bk. iv. chap. xvi. sec. 12. 
 
 Prohahility admits of Degrees. 
 
 Probable evidence is essentially distin- 
 guished from demonstrative by this, that 
 it admits of degrees ; and of all variety of 
 them, from the highest moral certainty, to 
 the very lowest presumption. We cannot 
 indeed say a thing is probably true upon 
 one very slight presumption for it ; because, 
 as there may be probabilities on both sides 
 of a question, there may be some against 
 it ; and though there be not, yet a slight 
 presumption does not beget that degree of 
 conviction, which is implied in saying a 
 thing is probably true. But that the 
 slightest possible presumption is of the 
 nature of a probability, appears from hence, 
 that such low presumption often repeated, 
 will amount even to moral certainty. Thus 
 a man's having observed the ebb and flow 
 of the tide to-day, affords some sort of 
 presumption, though the lowest imaginable, 
 that it may happen again to-morrow. But 
 the observation of this event for so many 
 days and months and ages together, as it 
 has been observed by mankind, gives us a 
 full assurance that it will. — Butler, 'An- 
 alogy,' introd. 
 
 Theory of Prohability. 
 
 Wliat it is. 
 
 The theory of probability consists in 
 putting similar cases on a par, and dis- 
 
THE CATEGORIES. 
 
 197 
 
 tributing equally among them whatever 
 knowledge we possess. Throw a penny 
 into the air, and consider what Ave know 
 with regard to its way of falling. Wo 
 know that it will certainly fall upon a side, 
 so that either head or tail will be uppermost; 
 but as to whether it will be head or tail, 
 our knowledge is equally divided. What- 
 ever we know concerning head, we know 
 also concerning tail, so that we have no 
 reason for expecting one more than the 
 other. Our state of knowledge will be 
 changed should we throw up the coin many 
 times and register the results. Every 
 throw gives us some slight information as 
 to the probable tendency of the coin, and 
 in subsequent calculations we must take 
 this into account. If we have the slightest 
 reason for suspecting that one event is 
 more likely to occur than another, we 
 should take this knowledge into account. 
 This being done, we must determine the 
 whole number of events which are, so far 
 as we know, equally likely. Thus, if we 
 have no reason for supposing that a penny 
 will fall more often one way than another, 
 there are two cases, head and tail, equally 
 likely. But if from trial or otherwise, we 
 know or think we know, that of 100 throws 
 55 will give tail, then the probability is 
 measured by the ratio of 55 to 100. — 
 Jevons, '■Principles of Science,^ pp. 200-202. 
 
 Calculation of Probabilities. 
 
 The mode of calculation is too compli- 
 cated to be explained here. The reader 
 may be referred to De Morgan ' On the 
 Theory of Probabilities,' Venn's 'Logic 
 of Chance,' Whitwoi'th's ' Choice and 
 Chance,' Jevons' 'Principles of Science,' 
 Bain's ' Logic,' Induction, bk. iii. chap ix. 
 
 Probal)ility is the Guide of Life. 
 
 Nothing which is the possible object of 
 knowledge, whether past, present, or future, 
 can be probable to an infinite Intelligence ; 
 since it cannot but be discerned absolutely 
 as it is in itself, certainly true, or certainly 
 false. But to us, probability is the very 
 guide of life. — Butler, 'Analogy,' introd. 
 
 In actual life the most momentous de- 
 cisions have frequently to be made on 
 probable grounds. A statesman may feel 
 the greatest uncertainty respecting the 
 policy he ought to adopt in a great crisis ; 
 he may hesitate months before deciding; 
 but when the decision has been made, he 
 will, if he be a wise man, devote his whole 
 energies and all the power he wields to 
 carry it into effect. The conduct of a 
 friend or child often renders it imperative 
 for a man to interpose and to act ; and he 
 may find it a most difficult matter, needing 
 the anxious consultation of friends, to 
 decide what course it is his duty to take. 
 But he must decide, and decide promptly ; 
 and having decided, he must do what he 
 considers his duty without hesitation. For 
 the purpose of our moi'al responsibility, 
 whether in great matters or in small, 
 Butler's statement is impregnable that ' to 
 us probability is the very guide of life.' — 
 Wace, ' Christianity and Morality,' p. 183. 
 
 It is the necessary basis of the judgments 
 we make in the prosecution of science, or 
 the decisions we come to in the conduct of 
 ordinary affairs. In nature perfect know- 
 ledge would be infinite knowledge, which 
 is clearly beyond our capacities. All our 
 inferences concerning the future are merely 
 probable. — Jevons, 'Principles of Science,' 
 p. 197. 
 
 XVI. THE CATEGORIES. 
 The Term. 
 
 Its twofold meaning. 
 
 In a philosophical application, it has two 
 meanings, or rather it is used in a general 
 and in a restricted sense. In its general 
 sense, it means simply a predication or at- 
 tribution ; in its restricted sense, it has been 
 deflected to denote predications or attribu- 
 tions of a very lofty generality, in other 
 words, certain classes of a very wide exten- 
 sion. In modern philosophy it has been 
 very arbitrarily, in fact very abusively, 
 perverted from both its primary and its 
 secondary signification among the ancients. 
 — Ilaviilton, 'Logic,' i. 197. 
 
198 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Exemplified in Aristotle and Kant. 
 
 The Categories of Aristotle and other 
 philosophers were the highest classes (under 
 Being) to which the objects of our know- 
 ledge could be generalised. Kant contorted 
 the term from its proper meaning of attri- 
 bution ; and from an objective to a subjec- 
 tive application ; bestowing this name on 
 the ultimate and necessary laws by which 
 thought is governed in its manifestations. 
 The term, in this relation, has, however, 
 found acceptation ; and been extended to 
 designate, in general, all the ct priori 
 phenomena of mind, though Kant himself 
 limited the word to a certain order of these. 
 — Hamilton, Reid^s ' Works,'' p. 762, 
 
 Definition. 
 
 The categories are the highest classes to 
 which all the objects of knowledge can be 
 reduced, and in which they can be arranged 
 in subordination and system. — Fleming, 
 ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 73. 
 
 Origin of the Categories. 
 
 Philosophy seeks to know all things. 
 But it is impossible to know all things in- 
 dividually. They are, therefore, arranged 
 in classes, according to properties which are 
 common io them. And when we know the 
 definition of a class, we attain to a formal 
 knowledge of all the individual objects of 
 knowledge contained in that class. This 
 attempt to render knowledge in some sense 
 universal has been made in all ages of 
 philosophy, and has given rise to the cate- 
 gories which have appeared in various foriAs. 
 — Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 73. 
 
 Ai7n. 
 
 The intention of the Categories is to 
 muster every object of human apprehension 
 under hejids ; for they are given as a com- 
 plete enumeration of everything which can 
 be either the subject or the predicate of 
 a proposition. So that, as every soldier 
 belongs to some company, and every com- 
 pany to some regiment, in like manner 
 every thing that can be the object of human 
 thought has its place in one or other of the 
 categories; and by dividing and subdivid- 
 
 ing properly the several categories, all the 
 notions that enter into the human mind may 
 be mustered in rank and file, like an army 
 in the day of battle. 
 
 There are two ends that may be proposed 
 by such divisions. The first is, to methodise 
 or digest in order what a man actually 
 knows. The second is, to exliaust the sub- 
 ject divided, so that nothing that belongs 
 to it shall be omitted. — Reid, ' Works,' pp. 
 687, 688. 
 
 And tise. 
 
 A regular distribution of things under 
 proper classes or heads is, without doubt, a 
 great help both to memory and judgment. 
 —Reid, ' Works,' p. 688. 
 
 The Categories as Arranged by Various 
 Philosophers. 
 
 Aristotle's Ten Categories or Predicaments. 
 
 I. Essence or Sv,bstance ; such as man, 
 horse. 2. Hoio much or Quantity ; such as, 
 two cubits long, three cubits long. 3. What 
 manner of or Quality ; such as, white, eru- 
 dite. Of. Ad aliquid — To something or Re- 
 lation ; <sach. as, double, half, greater. 5. 
 Where ; such as in the market-place, in the 
 Lykeium. 6. Wlien; such as, yesterday, last 
 year. 7. In lohat posture ; such as, he stands 
 up, he is sitting down. 8. To have ; such 
 as, to be shod, to be armed. 9. Activity ; 
 such as, he is cutting, he is burning. 10. 
 Passivity; such as, he is being cut, he is be- 
 ing burned. — Grote, '■Aristotle,' pp. 65, 66. 
 
 Mill's criticism of the Aristotelic Cate- 
 gories. 
 
 (i.) The list is unphilosophical and super- 
 ficial, being a mere catalogue of the distinc- 
 tions rudely marked out by the language of 
 familiar life, without any attempt to pene- 
 trate to the rationale of even these common 
 distinctions. 
 
 (2.) It is redundant : Action, Passion, 
 Position, Place, Time, and Possession are 
 cases of Relation ; Position and Place are 
 the same, viz., position in space. 
 
 (3.) It is defective : having no head, or 
 summum genus, under which States of Con- 
 
THE CATEGORIES. 
 
 199 
 
 scio?i$ness can be classed. — KiUicl; ' Hand- 
 book to Hill's Logic,' p. 16. 
 
 The Stoics. 
 
 These redi;ce the ten Categories of Aris- 
 totle to four : — The Substance or Sub- 
 stratum, the Essential Quality, Manner of 
 Being, and Relation. 
 
 Kanada (Hindu Philosopher). 
 
 He has six Categories : — Substance, 
 Quality, Action, Genus, Individuality, and 
 Concretion or Co- inherence. Under these 
 six classes Kanada ranges the facts of the 
 
 Plotinus. 
 
 Plotinus subjects the Aristotelian and 
 also the Stoic doctrine of Categories to a 
 minvite criticism, of which the fundamental 
 idea is that the ideal and the sensible do not 
 fall under the same categories. He thus 
 offers a twofold list: — (i.) Fundamental 
 forms of the Ideal are Being, Rest, Mo- 
 tion, Identity, and Difference. (2.) Cate- 
 gories of the Sensible are Substance, Rela- 
 tion, Quality, Quantity, and Motion. 
 
 Descartes. 
 
 Who arranged all things under two 
 great Categories, the Absolute and the 
 Relative. 
 
 Kant. 
 
 I. Of Quantity. Fnity, Plurality, To- 
 tality. 
 II. 0/ Qualiti/. Reality, Negation, Limi- 
 tation. 
 
 III. Of Relation. Of Inherence and Sub- 
 
 sistence {substantia et 
 accidens). 
 
 „ ,, Of Causality and De- 
 
 pendence (cause and 
 effect). 
 
 „ „ Of Community (recipro- 
 
 city between the active 
 and the passive). 
 
 IV. Of Modality. Possibility, Impossi- 
 
 bility, Existence, Non-existence, 
 Necessity, Contingency. 
 — ' Critique,' ii. p. 71. 
 
 John S. Mill. 
 
 We obtain the following as an enume- 
 ration and classification of all Namcaljlo 
 Things: — (i.) Feelings, or States of Con- 
 sciousness. (2.) The Minds which experi- 
 ence these feelings. (3.) The Bodies or 
 external objects Avhich excite certain of 
 those feelings, together with the powers or 
 properties whereby they excite them. (4.) 
 The Successions and Co-existences, the Like- 
 nesses and TJnlikenesses, between feelings 
 or states of consciousness. — ' Logic,' i. 83. 
 
 Professor Adamson remarks justly that 
 ' this classification proceeds on a quite 
 peculiar view of the categories.' 
 
 Noah Porter. 
 
 The categories or intuitions may be divi- 
 ded into (i) the formal, which are those that 
 are necessarily involved in the act of know- 
 ledge — essential to the form or process of 
 knowledge ; (2) the mathematical, those 
 which grow out of the existence of space 
 and time; (3) the real, those ordinarily 
 recognised as generic and fundamental to 
 the so-called qualities and properties of ex- 
 isting things. — ^ Human Intellect,' p. 514. 
 
 Substance. 
 
 Locke's account of tlie origin of the idea. 
 
 The mind being furnished with a great 
 number of the simple ideas conveyed in by 
 the senses, as they are found in exterior 
 things, or by reflection on its own opera- 
 tions, takes notice also that a certain num- 
 ber of these simple ideas go constantly 
 together ; which being presumed to belong 
 to one thing, and words being suited to 
 common apprehensions, and made use of for 
 quick dispatch, are called, so united in one 
 subject, by one name; which, by inadver- 
 tency, we are apt afterwards to talk of and 
 consider as one simple idea, which indeed 
 is a complication of many ideas together ; 
 because, as I have said, not imagining how 
 these simple ideas can subsist by themselves, 
 we accustom ourselves to suppose some sulj- 
 stratum wherein they do subsist, and from 
 which they do result ; which, therefore, we 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 call substance. — ' Humcm Understanding,' 
 bk. ii. eh. xxiii. sec. i. 
 
 Cousin's criticism of Locke's theory. 
 
 Admitting only ideas explicable' by sen- 
 sation or reflection, and being able to ex- 
 plain the idea of substance by neither, it 
 was necessary for him to deny it, to reduce 
 it to qualities which are easily attained by 
 sensation or reflection. Hence the syste- 
 matic confusion of qualities and substance, 
 of phenomena and being, that is, the de- 
 struction of being, and consequently of 
 beings. Nothing, therefore, substantially 
 exists, neither God nor the world, neither 
 you nor I ; all is resolved into phenomena, 
 into abstractions, into words ; and, strange 
 enough, it is the very fear of abstrac- 
 tion and verbal entities, it is the badly 
 understood taste for reality which preci- 
 pitates Locke into an absolute nominalism, 
 which is nothing else than an absolute 
 nihilism. — ' History of Modern Philosophy,' 
 ii. 205. 
 
 Hume denies existence of substance. 
 
 I would fain ask those philosophers, who 
 found so much of their reasonings on the 
 distinction of substance and accident, and 
 imagine we have clear ideas of each, whether 
 the idea of substaiice be deriv'd from the 
 impressions of sensation or of reflection 1 
 If it be convey'd to us by our senses, I ask, 
 which of them ; and after what manner ? 
 If it be perceiv'd by the eyes, it must be a 
 colour ; if by the ears, a sound ; if by the 
 palate, a taste ; and so of the other senses. 
 But I believe none will assert, that sub- 
 stance is either a colour, or sound, or a taste. 
 The idea of substance must therefore be 
 deriv'd from an impression of reflection, if 
 it really exist. But the impressions of re- 
 flection resolve themselves into our passions 
 and emotions, none of which can possibly 
 represent a substance. We have, therefore, 
 no idea of substance, distinct from that of 
 a collection of particular qualities, nor have 
 we any other meaning when we either talk 
 or reason concerning it. — ' Human Nature,' 
 part i. sec. vi. 
 
 Su'bstance is apprehended by the Mind. 
 
 Consciousness, in the first place, tells us 
 that no sensible quality can be perceived 
 or conceived by itself, but that each is 
 necessarily accompanied by an intellectual 
 apprehension of its relation to space, as 
 occupying it and contained in it. Colour 
 cannot be perceived without extension ; 
 nor extension without solidity; and soli- 
 dity is not a single attribute, but includes 
 in its comprehension the three special 
 dimensions of length, breadth, and thick- 
 ness. In the second place, it tells us that 
 all sensitive perception is a relation be- 
 tween self and not-self; that all sensible 
 objects are apprehended as occupying 
 space, and thus as distinct from the appre- 
 hending mind, whether distinct or not from 
 the bodily organism. Every attribute is 
 thus intuitively perceived, and, conse- 
 quently, is also reflectively conceived, as 
 accompanied by other attributes, and as 
 constituting, in conjunction with those at- 
 tributes, a non-ego or sensible thing ; but 
 of an insensible substratum consciousness 
 tells us and can tell us nothing ; nor do we 
 feel any necessity of believing in its exist- 
 ence, when the question is distinctly put 
 before us, disentangled from its usual asso- 
 ciations. — Mansel, '■Metaphysics,' pp. 262, 
 263. 
 
 If you think of a quality, attribute, or 
 phenomenon, you must think of a sub- 
 stance that has it : the idea is of a relation, 
 as much as the idea of father and child, 
 of back and front ; but, in the absence of 
 phenomenon or quality, there is no need 
 and no room for substance in our thought, 
 any more than for a back where there is no 
 front, or likeness where there is but unity. 
 
 When you have said that substance is 
 the ground of quality, you have assigned to 
 it its only predicate ; there is no more to 
 be said about it; nor is this proposition 
 fruitful of ulterior ones, unless you like 
 to take it in the inverse direction, and ' 
 say that quality inheres in substance. — 
 Martineau, ' Types of Ethical Theory,' i. 
 267. 
 
THE CATEGORIES. 
 
 Cause Defined. 
 
 Geiieralli/. 
 
 The general idea of cmise is, that with- 
 out which another thing, called the effect, 
 cannot be. — Monhoddo, ' Ancient Metaphy- 
 sics,^ bk. i. eh. iv. 
 
 As an invariable antecedent. 
 
 A cause is that which immediately pre- 
 cedes any change, and which, existing at 
 any time in similar circumstances, has 
 been always, and will be always, imme- 
 diately followed by a similar change. — 
 Thomas Brown, ' Inquiry, Sfc.,' part i. 
 
 A cause is that assemblage of pheno- 
 mena, which occui-ring, some other event 
 follows invariably and unconditionally. — 
 Killicli, ' Handbook to Mill,' p. 103. 
 
 As a productive poioer. 
 
 A cause is that which, of itself, makes 
 anything begin to be. — Irons, ^ Final Causes,' 
 p. 74. 
 
 A cause is something which not only^j?'e- 
 cedes, but has power to produce the effect. 
 — Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 78. 
 
 A cause is the sum or aggregate of all 
 such accidents, both in the agents and the 
 patients, as concur in the producing of the 
 effect propounded ; all which existing to- 
 gether, it cannot be understood but that 
 the effect existeth with them, or that it 
 can possibly exist if any of them be absent. 
 — Hobhes. 
 
 Source of the Idea of Cause. Opinions of 
 
 Locke. 
 
 Who refers this idea to sensation or re- 
 flection. We see that one thing has the 
 power to create, or genei^ate, or make, or 
 alter another thing, and such powers we 
 call ca^ising, and the things that have them 
 are causes. — '■Human Understanding, ii. 26, 
 §2. 
 
 Hume. 
 
 He rejects the notion that the fact which 
 we call a cause exercises any power what- 
 ever over the effect. But from constantly 
 
 observing the association or sequence of 
 two facts, we begin to see their invariable 
 connection, and to represent one as the 
 cause of the other. A number of observa- 
 tions is thus a necessary condition of our 
 forming the idea. — ' Essay on Human Un- 
 derstanding,' sec. vii. pt. ii. 
 
 Leibnitz. 
 
 Who assigns to everything that exists a 
 certain force or power, and thus constitutes 
 it a cause. Power and causation are attri- 
 butes of all being, not inferred from but 
 implied by it. — ' Nouveaux Essais,' bk. ii. 
 
 Kant. 
 
 He considered the notion of cause and 
 effect as one of the forms of the under- 
 standing, one of the conditions under which 
 we must think. We are compelled by a 
 law of our mind to arrange tlie impressions 
 of our experience according to this form, 
 making one thing a cause and another an 
 effect. — ' Critique, Transcendental Ancdytic' 
 
 Maine de Biran. 
 
 The notion of cause originates with our 
 consciousness of the power of will, which 
 recognises the will as the cause of our 
 actions ; and we transfer this personal 
 power by a kind of analogy to all the 
 operations of nature. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton. 
 
 He traces the idej%of causality to that 
 limitation of our faculties which prevents 
 us from realising an absolute commence- 
 ment or an absolute termination of being. 
 When we think of a thing, we know that 
 it has come into being as a phenomenon, 
 but we are forced to believe that the ele- 
 ments and facts that produced the pheno- 
 menon existed already in another form. 
 In the world to which our observations 
 are confined, being does not begin; it 
 only changes its manifestations. — Tliomsons 
 ^ Laws of Thought,' pp. 194, 195. 
 
 Four Kinds of Causes. 
 
 Aristotle divides into four kinds, known 
 by the name of the material, the formal, 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the efficient, and the final. The first is 
 that of which any thing is made. Thus 
 brass or marble is the material cause of a 
 statue ; earth, air, fire, and water, of all 
 natural bodies. The formal cause is the 
 form, idea, archetype, or pattern of a thing; 
 for all these words Aristotle uses to express 
 it. Thus the idea of the artist is the formal 
 cause of the statue. The efficient cause is 
 the principle of change or motion which 
 produces the thing. In this sense the 
 statuary is the cause of the statue, and 
 the God of nature the cause of all the 
 works of nature. And lastly, the final 
 cause is that for the sake of which any 
 thing is done. Thus the statuary makes 
 the statue for pleasure or for profit; and 
 the works of natm^e are all for some good 
 end. — Mo7il)oddo, '■Ancient Metaphysics,' bk. 
 i, chap. iv. 
 
 It is possible that one object may com- 
 bine all the kinds of causes. Thus in a 
 house, the princijAe of movement is the art 
 and the workmen, the final cause is the 
 work, the matter the earth and stones, and 
 the plan is the form. — Aristotle, 'Meta- 
 physics,' lib. iii. cap. 2. 
 
 First Causes, the Search of Philosophy. 
 
 Philosophical knowledge, in the widest 
 acceptation of the term, and as synonymous 
 with science, is the knowledge of effects as 
 dependent on their causes. The aim of phi- 
 losophy is to trace up the sei'ies of effects 
 and causes, until we arrive at causes which 
 are not also themselves effects. These first 
 causes do not indeed lie within the reach of 
 philosophy. But as philosophy is the know- 
 ledge of effects in their causes, the tendency 
 of philosophy is ever upwards ; and philo- 
 sophy can, in thought, in theory, only be 
 viewed as accomplished when the ultimate 
 causes — on which all other causes depend 
 — have been attained and understood. — 
 Hamilton, ' Metap>liysics,' L 58. 
 
 The First Cause. 
 
 An infinite chain of causes is impossihle. 
 The series of causes and effects can 
 neither recede in infinitum, nor return like 
 
 a circle into itself ; it must, therefore, de- 
 pend on some necessary link, and this link 
 is the first being. This first being exists 
 necessarily; the supposition of its non- 
 existence involves a contradiction. It is 
 uncaused, and needs in order to its exist- 
 ence no cause external to itself. It is the 
 cause of all that exists. — Alfarabius, 'Fontes 
 Qucestionum,' chap. 3. 
 
 It is said, in a loose way, that every 
 object must have a cause ; and then, as this 
 cause must also have a cause, it might seem 
 as if we were compelled to go on for ever 
 from one link to another. We must then 
 seek for a cause not only of the world, but 
 of the Being who made the world. Kant 
 endeavours to escape from this by declaring 
 that the law of cause and effect, which thus 
 required an infinite regressus, was a law of 
 thought and not of things. But all inquiry 
 into causation conducts us to substance ; 
 but it does not compel us to go further, or 
 to go on for ever. If we find no signs of 
 that Being who made the world being an 
 effect, our intuition regarding causation 
 would be entirely satisfied in looking on 
 that Being as uncaused, as self-existent, as 
 having power in Himself. — M'Cosh, ' Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,' p. 271. 
 
 The principle of causation does not, when 
 properly interpreted, necessitate us to look 
 for an infinite series of causes. The intui- 
 tion is satisfied when it reaches a Being 
 with power adequate to the whole effect. 
 It feels restless indeed tiU it attains this 
 point. As long as it is mounting the chain, 
 it is compelled to go on; it feels that it 
 cannot stop, and yet is confidently looking 
 for a termination ; but when it reaches the 
 All-Powerful Being, it stays in comfort, as 
 feehng that it has reached an unmovable 
 resting-place. — M'Cosh, 'Intuitions of the 
 Mind,' p. 434. 
 
 Cause implies a First Cause of all. 
 
 Cause implies a Substance with Potency. 
 This doctrine was explicitly stated and de- 
 fended by Leibnitz. "We never know of a 
 causal influence being exercised, except by 
 
THE CATEGORIES. 
 
 203 
 
 an object having being and substantial ex- 
 istence. "We decide, I must decide, that 
 every effect proceeds from one or more sub- 
 stances having potency. If a tree is felled 
 to the ground, if the salt we saw dry a 
 minute ago is now melted, if a limb of 
 man or animal is broken, we not only look 
 for a cause, but we look for a cause in some- 
 thing that had being and property, say in 
 the wind blowing on the tree, or in Avater 
 mingling with the salt, or in a blow being 
 inflicted by a stick or other hard substance, 
 on the limb. If this world be an effect, 
 we look for its cavise in a Being possessed 
 of power. — 31' Cosh, ^Lituitions of the Mind,' 
 p. 263. 
 
 A First Cause demanded hy 
 
 a. Reasoning. 
 
 Every event must have a cause, and that 
 cause again a cause, until we are lost in the 
 obscurity of the past, and are driven to the 
 belief in one First Cause, by whom the 
 course of nature was determined. — Jevons, 
 ^Principles of Science,' p. 221. 
 
 h. Philosophy. 
 
 Philosophy, as the knowledge of effects 
 in their causes, necessarily tends, not to- 
 wards a plurality of ultimate or first causes, 
 but towards one alone — the Creator. Un- 
 less all analogy be rejected, unless our 
 intelligence be declared a lie, we must, 
 philosophically, believe in an ultimate or 
 primary unity. — Hamilton, ^Metaphysics,' 
 i. p. 60. 
 
 c. The impidses of the soul. 
 
 Our conviction of substance is not con- 
 tent till it comes to one who has all power 
 in himself. Infinite time and space are 
 felt, after all, to be only infinite emptiness 
 till we fill them up with a living and loving 
 Being. All the beautiful relationships in 
 nature, all the order in respect of form, 
 time, and c^uantity, all the adaptations of 
 means to ends, seem but the scattered rays 
 from an original and central wisdom. The 
 impulse which prompts us to search after 
 
 causes will not cease its cravings till it 
 carries us up to a first cause in a self-acting 
 substance. Earthly beauty is so evanescent 
 that we rejoice to learn that there is a Divine 
 beauty of which the other is but a flickering 
 reflection. Our moral convictions especially 
 mount towards God as their proper sphere, 
 their source and their home. We cannot 
 be satisfied till we leai-n that we hang on 
 a Great Central Power and Light, round 
 which we should revolve, as the earth does 
 round the sun. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the 
 Mind,' p. 477. 
 
 Final Cause. 
 
 Definition. 
 
 The term final cause (causa finalis) was 
 introduced into the language of philosophy 
 by scholasticism. It signifies the end (finis) 
 for which one acts, or towards which one 
 tends, and which may consequently be con- 
 sidered as a cause of action, or of motion. 
 Aristotle explains it thus : Another sort 
 of cause is the end, that is to say, that on 
 account of ichich (rh o5 hiy.a) the action is 
 done ; for example, in this sense, health is 
 the cause of walking exercise. Why does 
 such a one take exercise ? We say it is in 
 order to have good health ; and, in speaking 
 thus, we mean to name the cause. — Janet, 
 ' Final Causes,' p. i. 
 
 When we see means independent of each 
 other conspiring to accomplish certain ends, 
 we naturally conclude that the ends have 
 been contemplated and the means arranged 
 by an intelligent agent ; and, from the 
 nature of the ends and the means, we in- 
 fer the character or design of the agent. 
 Thus, from the ends answered in creation 
 being wise and good, we infer not only the 
 existence of an Intelligent Creator, but 
 also that He is a Being of infinite wisdom 
 and goodness. This is commonly called 
 the argument from design or from final 
 causes.— Fle7ni7ig, ' Vocah. of Phil.,' p. 81. 
 
 Occasional causes. 
 
 This theory was devised by the Carte- 
 sians to explain the action of the soul on 
 
204 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the body. Geulinx held that neither does 
 the soul act directly on the body, nor the 
 body directly on the soul. There is thus 
 nothing left but to seek in God the means 
 of uniting the two sides. Hence the theory 
 that on the occasion of the bodily change 
 God calls forth the corresponding idea in 
 the soul, and that on the occasion of our 
 "willing God moves the body in accordance 
 with our will, — Ueberweg and Scliwegler. 
 
 According to this theory, the admirable 
 structure of the body and its organs is 
 useless, as a dull mass would have answered 
 the purpose equally well. — Fleming, * Vocab. 
 of Phil.; p. 2,2,. 
 
 XVII. CAUSATION. 
 
 Importance of the Question. 
 
 Of all questions in the history of philo- 
 sophy, that concerning the nature and 
 genealogy of the notion of Causality is, 
 perhaps, the most famous. — Hamilton, 
 ^Metaphysics; ii. 376. 
 
 Wlien we look into the idea of Cause, we 
 find immediately that it involves the most 
 astonishing thoughts and conceptions. We 
 cannot help ourselves having it, we cannot 
 help ourselves being bound by the neces- 
 sity of it, we cannot release ourselves from 
 its grasp ; but it is, at the same time, such 
 an unfathomable idea that we pause under 
 the impress of it, and feel ourselves under 
 some great solemnising shadow as soon as 
 we enter into this region of thought. As 
 soon as the gates of the awful kingdom of 
 Causation have unclosed, Ave are instantly 
 upon, I will not say magic ground, for 
 that is to convey a sense of illusion and 
 unreality, but upon mysterious ground; 
 and we are in company with majestic, in- 
 conceivable ideas, which we cannot grasp, 
 and yet cannot do else than accept. — Moz- 
 leij, '■Faith and Free Thought; p. 7. 
 
 Causation as a Law and a Principle. 
 
 The relation of causality is sometimes 
 called the Principle, at other times the Law 
 
 of causality, causation, or cause and effect. 
 The first of these appellations is subjective 
 and logical, and designates the place which 
 the relation or the proposition in which it 
 is expressed holds in the systematic ar- 
 rangement of our knowledge. The other is 
 objective and real, and indicates its univer- 
 sal prevalence among objects actually ex- 
 isting. Causation as a principle is placed 
 first or highest with reference to the other 
 concepts or truths which depend upon or are 
 derived from it — either relatively or abso- [: 
 
 lutely, according as the truth is received 1 
 
 as original or derived. Causation as a law 
 is viewed as a relation actually prevailing 
 in or ruling over the finite imiverse of phy- 
 sical and spiritual being. 
 
 Causation as a law may be stated thus : 
 Every finite event is a caused event, or, 
 more briefly, is an effect. Causation, as a 
 principle, may be thus expressed : Every 
 finite event may be accounted for by 
 referring it to a cause as the ground or 
 reason of its existence. — Porter, ^ Human 
 Intellect; p. 569. 
 
 The belief that every exchange implies a 
 cause, or that every change is produced by 
 the operation of some power, is regarded 
 by some as a primitive belief, and has been 
 denominated by the phrase, the principle 
 of causality. — Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.; 
 p. 78. 
 
 Nature of the Causal Relation. 
 
 Two schools of explanation. 
 
 We have only two positive notions of 
 causation : one, the exertion of power by 
 an intelligent being; the other, the uni- 
 form sequence of phenomenon B from A- 
 Mansel, * Prolegomena Logica; App. D. 
 
 Theories of Causation. 
 
 a. Theory of Sequence. 
 
 The history of speculation abounds in at- 
 tempts to explain the relation of causality 
 by some relation of time. This is not sur- 
 prising. The relations of time pertain to 
 all objects whatever. If objects are con- 
 
CA USA TION. 
 
 205 
 
 nected by the relation of causality, the 
 same objects must be united to observa- 
 tion, either as co-existent or as successive. 
 Tlie most conspicuous advocates of this dis- 
 position or solution of the causal relation 
 are David Hume, Dr. Thomas Broion, and 
 John Stuart Mill. — Porter, ' Human Intel- 
 lect; ^. 573. 
 
 ' The first time a man saw the communi- 
 cation of motion by impulse, as by the 
 shock of two billiard-balls, he could not 
 pronounce that the one event was connected, 
 but only that it was conjoined with the 
 other. After he has observed several in- 
 stances of this nature, he then pronounces 
 them to be connected. What alteration 
 has happened to give rise to this new idea 
 of connexion 7 Nothing but that he now 
 feels these events to be connected in his 
 imagination, and can readily foretell the 
 existence of one from the appearance of 
 the other. When we say, therefore, that 
 one object is connected Avith another, we 
 mean only that they have acquired a con- 
 nection in our thought, and give rise to 
 this inference, by which they become proofs 
 of each other's existence, — a conclusion 
 which is somewhat extraordinary, but 
 which seems founded on sufficient evi- 
 dence.' . . . 'We may define a cause to be 
 an object followed by another, and where 
 all the objects, similar to the first, are fol- 
 lowed by objects similar to the second. 
 Or, in other words, where, if the first ob- 
 ject had not been, the second never had 
 existed. The appearance of a cause always 
 conveys the mind, by a customary transi- 
 tion, to the idea of the effect. Of this we 
 have experience. We may, therefore, suit- 
 ably to this experience, form another de- 
 finition of cause, and call it, an object 
 followed by another and whose appearance 
 always conveys the thought to that other.' 
 — Hume, ' Essay on Hmnan Understanding; 
 § 7, pt. ii. 
 
 A cause, therefore, in the fullest defini- 
 tion which it philosophically admits, may 
 be said to be that which immediately pre- 
 cedes any change, and which, existing at 
 
 any time in similar circumstances, has been 
 always and will be always immediately fol- 
 lowed by a similar change. Priority in the 
 sequence observed, and invariableness of 
 antecedence in the past and future sequences 
 supposed, are the elements and the only 
 elements combined in the notion of a cause. 
 By a conversion of terms we obtain a defi- 
 nition of the correlative effect; and power, as 
 I have before observed, is only another word 
 for expressing abstractly and briefly the 
 antecedence itself and the invariableness of 
 the relation. — Brown, ^Inquiry into the Re- 
 lation of Cause and Effect; pt. i. sec. i. 
 Cf. ' Lectures; lee. vii. 
 
 The theory of Dr. Thomas Brown is 
 closely assimilated with the theory of Hume 
 in certain features, though it is far re- 
 moved from it in others. Brown agrees 
 with Hume that the relation of cause and 
 effect is nothing more than the constant 
 and invariable connexion of two objects in 
 time, — the one as antecedent and the other 
 as consequent. Brown differs from Hume 
 in holding that two objects need only be 
 conjoined in a single instance in order to 
 be known as cause and effect respectively, 
 while the theory of Hume requires that 
 they must be frequently conjoined in order 
 to be causally connected. Indeed, the 
 whole force and meaning of Hvime's catisal 
 connection depends upon the tendency of 
 the mind to think of those objects to- 
 gether which have been observed to be con- 
 joined in fact. Brown contends that the 
 only use of repeated observations is to en- 
 able the mind to analyse or separate complex 
 objects into tlieir ultimate elements ; for a 
 single conjunction of any two clearly dis- 
 tinguished objects gives their causal con- 
 nexion. Hume makes our conviction of 
 the reality of this connexion to consist in 
 and depend upon the mind's tendency to 
 associate objects customarily united. Brown 
 resolves this conviction into an original 
 necessity or law of our nature. — Porter, 
 '■Human Intellect; p. 575. 
 
 The law of causation, the recognition of 
 which is the main pillar of inductive philo- 
 
206 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sophy, is but the familiar truth that in- 
 variability of succession is found by obser- 
 vation to obtain between every fact in 
 nature and some other fact which has pre- 
 ceded it. . . . To certain facts certain facts 
 always do and, as we believe, always will 
 succeed. The invariable antecedent is 
 termed the cause ; the invariable conse- 
 quent, the effect ; and the universality of 
 the law of causation consists in this, that 
 every consequent is connected in this man- 
 ner with some particular antecedent or set 
 of antecedents. Let the fact be what it 
 may, if it has begun to exist it was pre- 
 ceded by some fact or facts \vith which it 
 is invariably connected. — Mill, ^System of 
 Logic,^ bk. iii. chap. v. § 2. 
 
 h. Theory of power excited hy an agent. 
 
 We assert that the mind intuitively 
 believes that every event is caused, i.e., 
 every event is produced by the action of 
 some agent or agents, which, with respect 
 to the effect, are called its cause or its 
 
 The reasons for this view are the follow- 
 ing :— 
 
 {a.) All that we do in common or prac- 
 tical life rests upon and is directed by the 
 assumption of this truth. Our explanations 
 of events that have occurred would have no 
 meaning without it. They consist in re- 
 ferring these phenomena to the beings or 
 the agencies which have occasioned them. 
 When these producing agents are disco- 
 vered, and the modes and laws of their 
 action are referred to or unfolded for the 
 first time, the process of explanation is 
 complete. 
 
 (b.) When an event has occurred which 
 is not yet accounted for, the mind is aroused 
 to the effort to solve or explain its occur- 
 rence; it believes firmly that it can be 
 
 accounted for. — Porter, ' Human Intellect,' 
 P- 572. 
 
 Cause implies a Substance with Potency. 
 This doctrine was explicitly stated and de- 
 fended by Leibnitz, and has been incident- 
 ally admitted by many who were not pre- 
 pared to adhere to the general statement. 
 We never know of a causal inflvience being 
 exercised except by an object having being 
 and substantial existence. We decide and 
 must decide that every effect proceeds from 
 one or more substances having potency. 
 If a tree is felled to the ground, if the salt 
 we saw dry a minute ago is now melted, 
 if a limb of man or animal is broken, we 
 not only look for a cause but we look for a 
 cause in something that had being and pro- 
 perty, say in the wind blowing on the tree, 
 or in water mingling with the salt, or in a 
 blow being inflicted on the limb by a stick 
 or other hard substance. When we dis- 
 cover effects produced by light, heat, elec- 
 tricity, or similar agents, whose precise 
 nature has not been discovered, we regard 
 them either as separate substances, or, if 
 this seems (as it does) highly improbable, 
 we regard them as properties or affections 
 of substances. If this world be an effect, 
 we look for its cause in a Being possessed 
 of power. — M^Gosh, 'Intuitions of the Mind,' 
 p. 232. 
 
 When we analyse the meaning which we 
 can attribute to the word ca2ise, it amounts 
 to the existence of suitable portions of 
 matter endowed with suitable quantities of 
 energy. — Jevons, 'Principles of Science,' p. 
 226. 
 
 Tabular view of Theories. 
 
 The following is a tabular view of the 
 theories in regard to the principles of 
 Causality : — 
 
CA USA TION. 
 
 207 
 
 Judgment 
 
 of 
 Causality, 
 
 a. 
 Original 
 
 0)' 
 
 Primitive. 
 
 d posteriori. 
 
 B. 
 
 ct priori. 
 
 Derivative 
 
 or 
 Secondary. 
 
 c. 
 Original 
 
 or 
 Primitive. 
 
 d. 
 Derivative 
 or 
 ^ Secondary. 
 
 This table is more ingenious than sound 
 in its classified subdivisions. — Porter, ^Hu- 
 vfian Intellect,^ p. 579. 
 
 e. Causes and conditions distinguished. 
 
 We distinguish between the cause of an 
 event and the conditions of its actually 
 producing the effect. Tlie stroke of a ham- 
 mer is the cause of the fracture of a stone, 
 of the flattening of a leaden bullet, of the 
 heating of a bit of iron. The conditions of 
 the effect would, in such a case, be said to 
 be the properties of the stone, the bullet, or 
 the iron. If the breaking, the flattening, 
 or the heating of the mass are the several 
 effects of the common cause, the varying 
 effects are ascribed to the varying conditions 
 under which, or the objects upon which, it 
 acts. — Porter, ^ Human Intellect,^ '^. 572. 
 
 On the other hand. Professor Jevons held 
 that ' a cause is not to be distinguished 
 from the group of positive or negative con- 
 ditions which, with more or less probability, 
 precede an event.' — ' Principles of Science,^ 
 p. 226. 
 
 Law of Universal Causation. 
 
 Every phenomenon which has a beginning 
 must have a cause ; and it will invariably 
 
 1. Objective-Objective and Objectivo-Sub- 
 
 jective. — Perception of Causal Effici- 
 ency, external and internal. 
 
 2. Objective - Subjective. — Perception of 
 
 Causal Efficiency, internal. 
 
 3. Objective. — Induction, Generalization. 
 
 4. Subjective. — Association, Custom, 
 
 Habit. 
 
 5. Necessary : A special Principle of In- 
 
 telligence. 
 
 6. Contingent : Expectation of the Con- 
 
 stancy of Nature. 
 
 7. From the Law of Conti-adiction, (i.e., 
 
 .Non-Contradiction). 
 
 8. From the Law of the Conditioned, 
 
 — Hamilton, ' Metaphysics,'' ii. 387. 
 
 arise whenever that certain combination of 
 positive facts which constitutes the cause 
 exists, provided certain other positive facts 
 do not exist also. — Killich, ^Handbook tu 
 Mill,' p. 103. 
 
 The Idea of Causation is Opposed to 
 Atheism. 
 The idea of causation applied to this 
 universe takes us up to an Eternal, Ori- 
 ginal, Self-existent Being. For ' how much 
 thought soever,' says Clarke, ' it may re- 
 quire to demonstrate the other attributes 
 of such a Being, yet as to its existence, 
 that there is somewhat eternal, infinite, 
 and self- existing, which must be the cause 
 and original of all other things ; this is one 
 of the first and most natural conclusions 
 that any man who thinks at all can form 
 in his mind. All things cannot possibly 
 have arisen out of nothing, nor can they 
 have depended on one another in an end- 
 less succession. We are certain, therefore, 
 of the being of a Supreme Independent 
 Cause ; that there is something in the 
 Universe, actually existing without, the 
 supposition of whose not-existing plainly 
 implies a contradiction.' — Mozley, ' Faith 
 and Free Thought,' pp. 29, 30. 
 
2o8 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In observing them, he discovers pheno- 
 mena which bear all the marks of being 
 efiFects. Everywhere are there traces of 
 plan and purpose ; heterogeneous elements 
 and diverse agencies conspire to the accom- 
 plishment of one end. They are made, for 
 example, in the organs of plants and of 
 animals, to take typical forms, which it is 
 interesting to the eye, or rather the intellect, 
 to contemplate, and which look as if they 
 were built up by a skilful and tasteful 
 architect. Then every member of the ani- 
 mal body has a purpose to serve, and is so 
 constructed as to promote, not merely the 
 being, but the well-being of the whole. 
 Even in the soul itself there are traces of 
 structure and design. Man's faculties are 
 suited to one another, and to the state of 
 things in which he is placed ; the eye seems 
 given him to see, and the memory to re- 
 member, and the laws of the association of 
 his ideas are suited to his position, and his 
 disposition to generalise and his capacity 
 of grouping enable him to arrange into 
 classes, in due subordination, the infinite 
 details of nature. If once it be admitted 
 that these are effects, it will not be difficult 
 to prove that they do not proceed from the 
 ordinary powers woi'king in the cosmos. 
 
 No doubt there are natural agencies operat- 
 ing in the production of every natural phe- 
 nomenon which may be pressed into the 
 theistic argument ; but the agencies are 
 acting only as they operate in those works 
 of human skill, which are most unequi- 
 vocally evidential of design. In the con- 
 struction and movements of a chronometer 
 there is nothing, after all, but natural 
 bodies, and the action of mechanical forces, 
 but there is room for the discovery of high 
 purpose in the collocation and concurrence 
 of the various parts to serve an evident 
 end. It is in the same way that we are led 
 to discover traces of design in the works of 
 nature ; we see physical agents made to 
 combine and work, to accomplish what is 
 obviously an intended effect. Just as in 
 the construction of a time-piece we discern 
 traces of an effect not produced by the 
 mere mechanical laws of the parts, so in the 
 construction of the eye we find marks of 
 plan and adaptation which do not proceed 
 from the potency of the coats and humours 
 and muscles and nerves, but which must 
 come from a power above them, and using 
 natural agencies merely as a means to ac- 
 complish its end. — M^Cosh, ^Intuitions of 
 the Mind^ p. 382. 
 
 X. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE OF MIND, FINITE AND INFINITE. 
 
 I. K]^OWLEDGE OF OTHER MINDS. 
 
 Mr. Spencer says, ' I can construe the 
 consciousness of other minds only in terms 
 of my own.' Is this so ? I think it can 
 be shown that it is not so. First as to the 
 child. At a very early age the feeling of 
 being alone distresses and terrifies him, and 
 what he evidently longs for is not the 
 reappearance of certain phenomena, but 
 the sense of a protecting presence. He is, 
 moreover, an instinctive physiognomist, and 
 can read the expression of faces, — that is 
 
 to say, the hidden feelings of which changes 
 of countenance are the natural signs — 
 before he is able accurately to discriminate 
 the features. His intuition of personality 
 is, in fact, so strong that it overrims its 
 bounds. He attributes personahty to in- 
 animate objects and cannot help feeling as 
 if the chairs and tables could see and hear 
 him, and as if his warm bed loved and took 
 care of him. 
 
 Neither is it true of the mature mind 
 that it can construe the consciousness of 
 
THE CONDITIONED AND THE UNCONDITIONED. 
 
 other minds only in terms of its own, I 
 know that some minds possess an intensity 
 of passion, others a positive vigour and 
 iron stiffness of Avill, others an intuitive 
 delicacy and prompt accuracy in discerning 
 form and colour, or melody and harmony ; 
 others a power of sympathy with every 
 form of humanity ; others an acerbity and 
 capacity of hatred and revenge; none of 
 which I am able to construe in terms of 
 my own consciousness. The phenomena 
 present to the consciousness of those minds 
 can no more come within the range of my 
 consciousness than their sense of personal 
 identity can be interchanged with mine. 
 If it be replied — ' You are still employing 
 here terins of your oivn consciousness, only 
 raised to a very high power ; ' I answer — 
 That is true, if you choose so to express 
 it ; — but why ? Only because my reason 
 transcends phenomena, and assures me of 
 the real existence of other minds generi- 
 cally alike, but specifically unlike, my own, 
 to whom a consciousness which I can dimly 
 or not at all imagine is a living experience. 
 — Conder, ^ Basis of Faith,' Lect. iv., pp. 
 i8i, 182, abridged. 
 
 II. THE CONDITIONED AND THE 
 UNCONDITIONED. 
 
 The Conditioned Defined and Explained. 
 
 Hamilton seems to have used the term 
 * condition,' with its various cognates, in a 
 sort of twofold reference, both of which, 
 however, are justified by common language. 
 Thus we say that one thing is a condition 
 of another, or that one thing is conditioned 
 by another, meaning that the two are re- 
 lated, or perhaps specially related by way 
 of causation ; for though a condition is not 
 equivalent to a cause, the cause must be 
 regarded as the sum-total of the conditions. 
 Again, we say that a thing is in a certain 
 condition, meaning that it is in some par- 
 ticular state or mode — as, for instance, we 
 say that matter can exist in three condi- 
 tions, the solid, the fluid, and the gaseous. 
 This latter meaning of the word condition 
 — which Mr. Mill does not notice — was, I 
 
 think, that which was most prominently 
 present to the mind of Sir William Hamil- 
 ton. If I know a thing only in a certain 
 condition, mode, or state, and that thing 
 is capable of existing in other conditions, 
 modes, or states, my knowledge of it is not 
 absolute — meaning by absolute 'finished, 
 perfected, completed.' The statement that 
 we know nothing but the Conditioned, 
 would thus seem to be equivalent to stating 
 that we know existence only in certain 
 
 special 
 
 Monck, ^ Sir W. Hamilton,' pp. 81-83. 
 
 A condition is that which is pre-requisite 
 in order that something may be, and espe- 
 cially in order that a cause may operate. 
 A condition does not opei-ate but by remov- 
 ing some impediment, as opening the eyes 
 to see. A condition is prior to the produc- 
 tion of an effect ; but it does not produce 
 it. It is fire that burns ; but, before it 
 burns, it is a condition that there be an 
 approximation of the fire to the fuel, or 
 the matter that is burned. The impression 
 on the wax is the effect — the seal is the 
 cause; the pressure of the one substance 
 upon the other, and the softness or fluidity 
 of the wax, are conditions. The condition 
 is the ground which must be pre-supposed ; 
 and what pre-supposes a condition is the 
 conditioned, conditionate, or conditional. — 
 Fleming, ' Vocah. of Phil.' p. 105. 
 
 The Law of the Conditioned. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton thus enunciates it : — 
 All positive thought lies between two ex- 
 tremes, neither of which we can conceive 
 as possible, and yet as mutual contradic- 
 tions, the one or the other we must recog- 
 nise as necessary. — Reid, ' Works,' p. 911. 
 
 He expands the law thus :— The Condi- 
 tioned is the mean between two extremes 
 — two inconditionates, exclusive of each 
 other, neither of which can be conceived as 
 possible, but of which, on the principles of 
 contradiction and excluded middle, one must 
 be admitted as necessary. — 'Discussions,* 
 p. M- 
 
 He illustrates it by Extension : — Let 
 o 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 us take body, or rather, since body as ex- 
 tended is included under extension, let us 
 take extension itself, or space. Space, it 
 is evident, must either be limited, that is, 
 have an end and circumference, or unlimited, 
 that is, have no end, no circumference. 
 These are contradictory suppositions ; both 
 therefore cannot, but one must, be true. 
 Now let us try positively to comprehend, 
 positively to conceive, the possibility of 
 either of these two mutually exclusive alter- 
 natives. Can we represent, or realise in 
 thought, extension as absolutely limited? 
 In other words, can we mentally hedge 
 round the whole of space, conceive it abso- 
 lutely bounded, that is, so that beyond its 
 boundary there is no outlying, no surround- 
 ing space 1 This is impossible. Let us con- 
 sider its contradictory : Can we comprehend 
 the possibility of infinite or unlimited space? 
 To suppose this is a direct contradiction in 
 terms ; it is to compi-ehend the incompre- 
 hensible. We think, we conceive, we com- 
 prehend a thing, only as we think it as 
 within or under something else ; but to do 
 this of the infinite is to think the infinite 
 as finite, which is contradictory and absurd. 
 — ' Logic,' i. loo, et seq. 
 
 Of this law John Stuart Mill says that 
 it rests on no rational foundation. The 
 proposition that the Conditioned lies be- 
 tween two hypotheses concerning the Un- 
 conditioned, neither of which hypotheses 
 we can conceive as possible, must be placed 
 in that numerous class of metaphysical 
 doctrines, which have a magnificent sound, 
 but are empty of the smallest substance. — 
 '■Examination of Hamilton,' p. 104. 
 
 The reader who desires further informa- 
 tion may be referred to ' Hamilton's Lec- 
 tures,' vols. ii. and iii., ' Discussions,' and 
 Reid's ' Works,' on the one side, and to 
 Mill's ' Examination of Hamilton,' ch. vL, 
 on the other. 
 
 The Unconditioned. 
 
 The Unconditioned will, of course, be the 
 opposite of the Conditioned. The Condi- 
 tioned, Hamilton otherwise designates as 
 the conditionally limited, the contradictory 
 
 of which — the not-conditionally limited — 
 will evidently include two cases, viz., the 
 unconditionally limited (or Absolute), and 
 unconditionally unlimited (or Infinite). — 
 Monch, ' Sir W. Hamilton' p. 83. 
 
 This term has been employed in a two- 
 fold signification, as denoting either the 
 entire absence of all restriction, or more 
 widely, the entire absence of all relation. 
 The former we regard as its only legitimate 
 application. — Galderwood, '■Philosophy of 
 the Infinite^ p. 36. 
 
 The Unconditioned embraces both Abso- 
 lute and Infinite, and indicates entire free- 
 dom from every restriction, whether in its 
 own nature or in relation to other beings. 
 I think it were well that tlie term Uncon- 
 ditioned were altogether abandoned, as there 
 is no special need for its use, and it is very 
 apt to mislead. — Galderwood, ' Philosophy 
 of the Infinite,' p. 179. 
 
 It seems rather an arbitrary use of lan- 
 guage on the part of Sir W. Hamilton 
 ('Metaphysics,' Lect. 38)tomake the Uncon- 
 ditioned a genus including two species, the 
 Infinite and Absolute. When the Uncon- 
 ditioned is referred to, let us always under- 
 stand whether it means unconditioned in 
 thought or existence. — 3PCosh, ' Ldtiitions 
 of the Mind,' p. 342. 
 
 Leibnitz complained of Sophie Charlotte 
 of Prussia that she asked the why of the 
 why. There are some truths in regard to 
 which we are not warranted to ask the 
 why. They shine in their own light ; and 
 we feel that we need no light, and we ask 
 no light wherewith to see them, and any 
 light which might be brought to aid would 
 only perplex us. In aU such cases the 
 mind asks no ichy, and is amazed when the 
 ivhy is asked ; and feels that it can give no 
 answer, and ought not to attempt an an- ^ 
 swer. Other truths may be known only 1 
 mediately, or by means of some other truth 
 coming between as evidence. I need no 
 mediate proof to convince me that I exist, 
 or that I hold an object in my hand which 
 I call a pen ; but I need evidence to con- 
 vince me that there are inhabitants in India, I 
 
THE CONDITIONED AND THE UNCONDITIONED. 
 
 or that there is a cycle of spots presented 
 ill the sun's rotation. In regard to this 
 class of truths I am entitled — nay, required 
 — to ask the ichy. Not only so; if the 
 truth ui'ged as evidence is not self-evident, 
 I may ask the tclnj of the iclnj, and the why 
 of that ichy, on and on, till we come to a 
 self-evident truth, when the tchy becomes 
 unintelligible. Now we may say of the one 
 class of truths that they depend (to us) 
 on no condition, and call them Uncondi- 
 tioned ; whereas we must call the other 
 Conditioned, for our rational nature de- 
 mands another truth as a condition of our 
 assenting to them. 
 
 But this is not precisely what is meant, 
 or all that is meant, by conditioned and 
 unconditioned in philosophic nomenclature. 
 We find that not only does one truth de- 
 pend on another as evidence to our minds, 
 but one thing as an existence depends on 
 another. Everything falling under our 
 notice on earth is dependent on some other 
 thing as its cause. All physical events 
 proceed from a concurrence of previous 
 circumstances. All animated beings come 
 from a parentage. But is everything that 
 exists thus a dependent link in a chain 
 which hangs on nothing ? There are in- 
 tellectual instincts which recoil from such 
 a thought. There are intuitions which, 
 proceeding on facts ever pressing them- 
 selves on the attention, lead to a very dif- 
 ferent result. By our intuitive conviction 
 in regard to substance we are introduced 
 to that which has power of itself. True, 
 we discover that all mundane substances, 
 spiritual and material, have in fact been 
 originated, and have proceeded from some- 
 thing anterior to them. But then intui- 
 tive reason presses us on, and we seek for 
 a cause of that cause which is furthest re- 
 moved from our view. Pursuing various 
 lines, external and internal, we come to a 
 substance which has no mark of being an 
 effect ; to a substance who is the cause, and, 
 as such, the intelligent cause, of all the 
 order and adaptation of one thing to an- 
 other in the universe ; who is the founder 
 of the moral power within us, and the 
 
 sanctioner of the moral law t<i which it 
 looks, and who seems to be that Infinite 
 Existence to which our faith in infinity is 
 ever pointing, — and now the mind in all 
 its intuitions is satisfied. The intuitive 
 belief as to power in substance is satisfied ; 
 the intuitive belief in the adequacy of the 
 cause to produce its effect is satisfied ; the 
 native moral conviction is satisfied ; and 
 the belief in infinity is satisfied. True, 
 every step in this process is not intuitive 
 or demonstrative — there may bo more than 
 one experiential link in the chain ; but the 
 intuitive convictions enter very largely ; 
 and when experience has furnished its 
 quota, they are gratified, and feel as if 
 they had nothing to demand beyond this 
 One Substance possessed of all power and 
 of all perfection. 
 
 If we would avoid the utmost possible 
 confusion of thought, we must distinguish 
 between these two kinds of conditioned 
 and unconditioned ; the one referring to 
 human knowledge, and the discussion of 
 it falling propei'ly under Gnosiology ; the 
 other to existence, and so falling under 
 Ontology. The conditional, in respect of 
 knowledge, does, if we pursue the condi- 
 tioned sufiiciently far, conduct at last to 
 primary truths, which are to us uncondi- 
 tioned. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the 3Iind,' 
 p. 339 et seq. 
 
 The Conditioned and Unconditioned re- 
 garded as Objects of Knowledge. 
 
 Various opinions on the Unconditioned. 
 
 Four opinions may be entertained re- 
 garding the Unconditioned as an imme- 
 diate object of knowledge and of thought : 
 
 1. The Unconditioned is incognisable and 
 inconceivable ; its notion being only nega- 
 tive of the Conditioned, which last can 
 alone be positively known or conceived. 
 
 2. It is not an object of knowledge ; but 
 its notion as a regulative principle of the 
 mind itself is more than a mere negation 
 of the conditioned. 3. It is cognisable, 
 but not conceivable ; it can be known by a 
 sinking back into identity with the abso- 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 lute, but is incomprehensible by conscious- 
 ness and reflection, which are only of the 
 relative and the different. 4. It is cog- 
 nisable and conceivable by consciousness 
 and reflection, under relation, difference, 
 and plurality. — Hamilton, ' Discussions,' 
 p. 12. 
 
 Tlie Unconditioned is unthinliahle. 
 
 Thought is only of the conditioned, be- 
 cause to think is simply to condition. 
 Thought cannot transcend consciousness; 
 consciousness is only possible under the 
 antithesis of a subject and object of 
 thought, known only in correlation, and 
 mutually limiting each other; while all 
 that we know of subject and object is only 
 a knowledge in each of the different, of 
 the modified, of the phenomenal. — Hamil- 
 ton, ' Discussiojis,' -p. 14. 
 
 A thought involves relation, difference, 
 likeness. Wliatever does not present each 
 of these does not admit of cognition. Hence 
 we may say that the Unconditioned, as 
 presenting none of them, is trebly unthink- 
 able. — Spencer, ^ First Princij^les,' p. 82. 
 
 The Conditioned is held to be the sole 
 sphere of thought. 
 
 The conditionally limited (which we may 
 briefly call the Cojiditioned) is the only 
 possible object of knowledge and of posi- 
 tive thought — thought necessarily sup- 
 poses conditions. To think is to condition; 
 and conditional limitation is the fundamen- 
 tal law of the possibility of thought. For 
 as the greyhoimd cannot outstrip his sha- 
 dow, nor (by a more appropriate simile) 
 the eagle outsoar the atmosphere in which 
 he floats, and by which alone he may be 
 supported, so the mind cannot transcend 
 that sphere of limitation within and 
 through which exclusively the possibility 
 of thought is realised. Thought is only 
 of the conditioned. — Hamilton, 'Discus- 
 sions,' p. 14. 
 
 The philosophy of the Conditioned. 
 The philosophy of the Conditioned de- 
 nies to man a knowledge of either the 
 
 Absolute or the Infinite, and maintains all 
 which we immediately know, or can know, 
 to be only the Conditioned, the Relative, 
 the Phenomenal, the Finite. The doctrine 
 of the Conditioned is a philosophy profess- 
 ing relative knowledge, but confessing ab- 
 solute ignorance. — Hamilton, ' Discussions,^ 
 p. 584. 
 
 III. THE ABSOLUTE. 
 
 Meanings of the Term. 
 
 The term absolute is of a twofold am- 
 biguity, corresponding to the double signi- 
 fication of the word in Latin. 
 
 1. Ahsolutum means what is freed or 
 loosed; in which sense the Absolute will 
 be what is aloof from relation, comparison, 
 limitation, condition, dependence, &c. In 
 this meaning the Absolute is not opposed 
 to the Infinite. 
 
 2. Absolutum means finished, j^erfected, 
 completed : in which sense the Absolute will 
 be what is out of relation, <kc., as finished, 
 perfect, complete. In this acceptation, the 
 Absolute is diametrically opposed to, is con- 
 tradictory of, the Infinite. [And in this 
 sense Sir W. Hamilton exclusively uses it : 
 with him the absolute is ' the uncondition- 
 ally limited.'] — Hamilton, 'Discussions,' 
 
 P- 13- 
 
 1. As meaning what is complete or per- 
 fect in itself, as a man, a tree, it is opposed 
 to what is relative. 
 
 2. As meaning what is free from re- 
 striction, it is opposed to what exists 
 secundum quid. The soul of man is im- 
 mortal alsolutely ; man is immortal only 
 as to his soul. 
 
 3. As meaning what is underived, it 
 denotes self- existence, and is predicable 
 only of the first cause. 
 
 4. It signifies not only what is free from 
 external cause, but also free from condi- 
 tion.— Fleming, 'Vocab. of Phil.,' pp. 2, 3. 
 
 The absolute is another term which is 
 often interchanged with the infinite and 
 the imconditioned. Originally and etymo- 
 logically, it signi&es freed from, or severed. 
 
THE ABSOLUTE. 
 
 213 
 
 This signification is purely negative, and 
 waits to be explained by that from which 
 it is freed. Thus it was applied, to moan 
 the finished or completed, even as the Latin 
 word ahsolutus, as is thought, was originally 
 used of the web when read}' to be taken 
 from the loom. Both these senses have 
 passed into the modern uses of the term, 
 and determined the varieties of its applica- 
 tion. First of all, absolute and absolutely 
 is applied to any thought or thing as viewed 
 apai't from any of its relations — regarded 
 simply by itself. This meaning is near 
 akin to that under which it is viewed as 
 complete ivithin or by itself. Next, it is 
 applied to that which is complete of itself 
 so far as the relations of dependence are 
 concerned ; to that which is necessarily 
 dependent on nothing besides itself. In 
 this sense it is very near in meaning to the 
 primary sense of the unconditioned already 
 explained. Still further it is used in the 
 sense of severed or separated from all 
 relations whatever, or not related — i.e., not 
 admitting of any relations. This sense is 
 the same with that which Hamilton and 
 ^Nlansel give to the unconditioned and the 
 infinite. Still again; it is applied to 
 relations of quantity, and here the signifi- 
 cation of cumpilete or finished is applied to 
 the greatest possible or conceivable whole, 
 to the total of all existence, whether limited 
 or unlimited in extent and duration. — 
 Porter, 'Human Intellect,' p. 650. 
 
 The term ' absolute ' simply stands for 
 an intellectual generalisation. It expresses 
 an attribxite, and is therefore a relative 
 tei-m, standing for a thought and nothing 
 but a thought. "We may say that God 
 exists absolutely, or is the absolute Being, 
 if we are careful to explain that we oppose 
 'absolute' to 'dependent.' God alone has 
 being in Himself. But ' absolute exist- 
 ence,' if we do not explain what kind of 
 existence we are speaking of, is a phrase 
 absolutely without meaning. And if we 
 take 'absolute' to mean ' without relation,' 
 then it is not simply unmeaning, but un- 
 true, to say that God exists absolutely. — 
 Co7ider, ^ Basis of Faith,' Lecture iv. 
 
 Absolute is a word of several meanings. 
 In the sense in which it stands related to 
 Infinite it means that which is finished or 
 completed. In this sense the relation 
 between the Absolute and the Infinite is a 
 tolerably close one, namely, that of contra- 
 riety. For example, to assert an absolute 
 minimum of matter is to deny its infinite 
 divisibility. Again, we may speak of ab- 
 solutely but not of infinitely pure water. 
 The purity of water has an absolute limit. 
 By Absolute is often meant the opposite of 
 Relative ; and this is rather many mean- 
 ings than one. In another of its senses. 
 Absolute means that which is independent 
 of anything else ; which exists and is what 
 it is by its own nature and not because of 
 any other thing. In this signification it is 
 synonymous with the First Cause. It may 
 also mean the ichole of that to which it is 
 applied. In this acceptation there is no 
 inconsistency or incongruity in predicating 
 both ' absolute ' and ' infinite ' of God. — 
 Mill, '■E.cami nation of Hainiltun,' pp. 46-8. 
 
 Formal definitions. 
 
 By the Absolute is meant that which 
 exists in and by itself, having no neces- 
 sary relation to any other being. — Mansel, 
 'Limits of Religious Thougld,' Lecture ii., 
 P- 31- 
 
 The Absolute is that which is free from 
 all 72ecessa?'?/ relation ; that is, which is free 
 from every relation as a condition of exist- 
 ence ; but it may exist in relation, provided 
 that relation be not a necessary condition of 
 its existence ; that is, provided the relation 
 may be removed without affecting its ex- 
 istence. — Calderwood, ' I'hilosuphy of the 
 Li finite,' p. 36. 
 
 Is there an Absolute ? 
 
 The questions concerning the finite and 
 its relations, the conditioned and its de 
 pendence upon the absolute, are the most 
 vexed and the most unsettled of any in 
 modern speculation. Can the infinite be 
 conceived or known by a finite intellect? 
 Can the unconditioned be brought under 
 those relations which are appropriate only to 
 
14 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the conditioned ? What are the finite and 
 the infinite — the conditioned and the abso- 
 lute 1 These inquiries, and such as these, 
 are discussed in various forms and phrases 
 in all modern treatises and histoi'ies of 
 philosophy. They force themselves into 
 psychology as they compel us to inquire : 
 By what powers and processes of the intel- 
 lect do we form, or essay to form, concep- 
 tions of these objects ? Do we believe that 
 such objects exist? Who and what are 
 time, space, and God ? Do we only believe 
 them to exist ? If so, by what process and 
 on what grounds ? Is it a process of intui- 
 tion, knowledge, or faith 1 What relations 
 do they hold to one another? Are time 
 and space infinite in every sense in which 
 God is infinite ? These questions we must 
 attempt to answer, if we would analyse 
 all the powers and explain all the pro- 
 ducts of the human intellect. We can do 
 this most successfully if we consider the 
 finite and the conditioned apart from the 
 infinite and the absolute. — Porter, ^ Human 
 Intellect,'' p. 645. 
 
 Every one of the arguments by which the 
 relativity of our knowledge is demonstrated 
 distinctly postulates the positive existence 
 of something beyond the relative. To say 
 that we cannot know the Absolute is, by 
 implication, to afiirm that there is an Ab- 
 solute. In the very denial of our power to 
 learn what the Absolute is there lies hidden 
 the assumption that it is. — Spencer, ' First 
 Principles,'' p. 88. 
 
 Absolute Being may be, very possibly, 
 that which we are ignorant of. Our ignor- 
 ance is excessive — it is far more extensive 
 than our knowledge. After we have fixed 
 the meaning, the conditions, the limits, the 
 extent, and the capacities of knowledge, it 
 still seems quite possible, indeed highly 
 probable, that absolute existence may escape 
 us by throwing itself under the cover or 
 within the pale of our ignorance ! We 
 may be altogether ignorant of tvhat is, and 
 may thus be unable to predicate anything 
 at all about it. This difiiculty is to be 
 surmounted not by denying or blinking our 
 
 ignorance but by facing it. — Ferrier, ^Insti- 
 tutes of MetapiliTjsics,'' p. 47. 
 
 All Philosophy aims at a Knowledge of 
 the Absolute. 
 
 All philosophy aims at a knowledge of 
 the Absolute under different phases. In 
 Psychology, the fundamental question is, 
 have we ideas that are a priori and absolute ? 
 — in Logic, is human knowledge absolute ? 
 — in Ethics, is the moral law absolute 
 rectitude ? — and in metaphysics, what is 
 the ultimate ground of all existence or 
 absolute being ? — Fleming, ' Vocab. of 
 Phil.; p. 5. 
 
 Modes in which Philosophers attempt to 
 reach the Absolute. 
 
 Some carry the absolute by assault, — by 
 a single leap, — place themselves at once in 
 the absolute, — take it as a datum ; others 
 climb to it by degrees, — mount to the Ab- 
 solute from the conditioned, — as a result. 
 Plotinus and Schelling do the former; 
 Hegel and Cousin are examples of the 
 latter. 
 
 Some place cognition of the Absolute 
 above, and in opposition to. Consciousness, 
 — conception, — reflection, the conditions of 
 which are difference, plurality, and in a 
 word, limitation. Others do not, but reach 
 it through consciousness, &c., — the con- 
 sciousness of difference, conti-ast, &c., 
 giving, when sifted, a cognition of identity 
 (absolute). — Hamilton, '■Metaphysics,' ii. 
 529- 
 Is the Absolute Thinkable or Knowable ? 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton, Dean Mansel, and 
 Herbert Spencer (jvith qualificatiojis) say 
 No. 
 
 The unconditionally limited, or the Ab- 
 solute, cannot positively be construed to 
 the mind : it can be conceived only by a 
 thinking away from, or abstraction of, 
 those very conditions under which thought 
 itself is realised. For example : on the 
 one hand we can positively conceive neither 
 an absolute whole, that is, a whole so great 
 that we cannot also conceive it as a relative 
 
THE ABSOLUTE. 
 
 215 
 
 part of a still greater whole ; nor an ab- 
 solute part, that is, a part so small that 
 we cannot also conceive it as a relative 
 whole divisible into smaller parts. The 
 result is the same whether we apply the pro- 
 cess to limitation in space, in time, or in 
 degree. — Hamilton, ^ Discussions,' t^. 13. 
 
 To be conscious of the Absolute as such, 
 we must know that an object, which is 
 given in relation to our consciousness, is 
 identical with one which exists in its own 
 nature, out of all relation to consciousness. 
 But to know this identity, we must be 
 able to compare the two together; and 
 such a comparison is itself a contradiction. 
 We are in fact required to compare that of 
 which we are conscious with that of which 
 we are not conscious ; the comparison itself 
 being an act of consciousness, and only 
 possible through the consciousness of both 
 its objects. It is thus manifest that, even 
 if we could be conscious of the absolute, 
 we could not possibly know that it is the 
 absolute ; and, as we can be conscious of 
 an object as such, only by knowing it to be 
 what it is, this is equivalent to an admis- 
 sion that we cannot be conscious of the 
 absolute at all. — Mansel, ^Limits of Reli- 
 gious Thought,' p. 75. 
 
 Herbert Spencer maintains that we are 
 compelled by the necessities of finite and 
 conditioned thinking to assume an Absolute 
 and Infinite, and also compelled to form 
 some definite notions of the same, although 
 these of necessity are only approximative 
 and therefore doomed to be set aside by 
 those which shall be siibsequently evolved. 
 — Ueberweg, ^ Hist, of Phil.' ii. 419. 
 
 John Stuart Mill and Calderu-ood {from 
 diffei-ent standpoints) say Yes, hit admit that 
 the conception may not he adequate. 
 
 Most of the arguments for the incognos- 
 cibility and inconceivability of the Absolute 
 lose their application by simply substituting 
 for the metaphysical abstraction ' The Ab- 
 solute,' the more intelligible concrete ex- 
 pression ' Something absolute.' When we 
 are told of an ' Absolute ' in the abstract, 
 or of an Absolute Being, even though called 
 
 God, if we would know what we are talk- 
 ing about, we are bound to ask, absolute in 
 what ? The word ' absolute ' is devoid of 
 meaning unless in reference to predicates 
 of some sort. What is absolute must be 
 absolutely something ; absolutely this or 
 absolutely that. ' Absolute,' in reference 
 to any given attribute, signifies the posses- 
 sion of that attribute in finished perfection 
 and completeness. A Being absolute in 
 knowledge, for example, is one who knows, 
 in the literal meaning of the term, every- 
 thing. Who will pretend that this concep- 
 tion is negative, or unmeaning to us ? We 
 cannot indeed form an adequate conception 
 of a being as knowing every thing, since 
 to do this we must have a conception, or 
 mental representation, of all that he knows. 
 But neither have we an adequate conception 
 of any person's finite knowledge. I have 
 no adequate conception of a shoemaker's 
 knowledge, since I do not know how to 
 make shoes : but my conception of a shoe- 
 maker and of his knowledge is a real con- 
 ception. If I talk of a Being who is 
 absolute in wisdom and goodness, that is, 
 who knows everything, and at all times 
 intends what is best for every sentient 
 creature, I understand perfectly what I 
 mean : and however much the fact may 
 transcend my conception, the shortcoming 
 can only consist in my being ignorant of 
 the details of which the reality is composed. 
 — Mill, 'Examination of Hamilton,' pp. 55, 
 60. 
 
 Philosophy of the Absolute. 
 
 Hoiv held hy 7na7iy philosophers. 
 
 There have been thinkers from the 
 earliest times, who, in different ways, and 
 more or less explicitly, allow of no such 
 restriction upon knowledge [i.e., that of 
 the absolute there is no knowledge], or at 
 least consciousness, but on the contrary, 
 starting from a notion, by the latter among 
 them called the absolute, which includes 
 within it the opposition of subject and 
 object, pass therefrom to the explanation 
 of all the phenomena of nature and of 
 mind. In earlier days the Eleatics, Plato, 
 
2l6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and Plotinus, in modern times Spinoza, 
 Leibnitz, Fichte, SchellLng, Hegel, and 
 Cousin, all have joined, under whatever 
 different forms, in maintaining this view. 
 Kant, while denying the absolute or un- 
 conditioned as an object of knowledge, 
 leaves it conceivable, as an idea regulative 
 of the mind's intellectual experience. It 
 is against any such absolute, whether as 
 real or conceivable, that Hamilton and 
 Mansel have taken ground. — Robertson, 
 "■ Encyclopcedia Bvitannica,^ i. 58. 
 
 Two classes of pliilosophers of the Absolute. 
 
 Some explicitly hold that, as the Abso- 
 lute is absolutely one, cognition and exist- 
 ence must coincide; to know the absolute 
 is to be the absolute, — to know the abso- 
 lute is to be God. Others do not explicitly 
 assert this, but only hold the impersonality 
 of reason,— a certain union with God; in 
 holding that we are conscious of eternal 
 truths as in the divine mind (Augustine, 
 Malebranche, Price, Cousin). — Hamilton, 
 '^ Metaphysics,^ ii. 529. 
 
 Doctrine of German Mysticism in the four- 
 teenth and fifteenth centuries. 
 
 In the doctrine of Eckhart, the Absolute, 
 or Deity, remains as such, without person- 
 ality and without work, concealed in itself. 
 Enveloped in it is God, who is from eter- 
 nity, and who has the power of revealing 
 Himself. He exists as the one divine nature, 
 which is developed into a trinity of persons 
 in the act of self-knowledge. The Subject 
 in this knowledge is the Father, the Object 
 is the Son, the love of both for each other is 
 the Spirit. — Ueberweg, 'Hist, of Phil,' i. 469. 
 
 Doctrine of Hegel. 
 
 The Absolute is, firstly, pure immaterial 
 thought ; secondly, it Ls heterisation of pure 
 thought, disruption of thought into the in- 
 finite atomism of time and space — nature ; 
 thii'dly, it returns out of this its self-ex- 
 ternalisation and self-alienation back into 
 its own self, it resolves the heterisation of 
 nature, and only in this way becomes at 
 last actual, self-cognisant thought, Spirit. 
 — Schwegler, 'Hist, of Phil.,' p. 323. 
 
 In the Hegelian terminology, the abso- 
 lute takes a special signification from the 
 fundamental assumptions of the Hegelian 
 system. When the notion, cler B'^griff, has 
 completed every possible form of develop- 
 ment, and, as it were, done its utmost pos- 
 sible by the force of the movement essential 
 to itself, the absolute is reached. This 
 absolute completes every possible form of 
 development, and represents every kind of 
 object conceivable and knowable by the 
 mind, from the undetermined notion -with 
 which it begins, up to the highest form of 
 development, when it becomes self-conscious 
 in the human spirit by distinguishing itself 
 from the material universe. The conscious 
 spirit thus evolved, and reflecting in itself 
 all these lower forms of existence, is, with 
 these forms, the absolute. This is perpetu- 
 ally reproduced by the lower forces of the 
 universe, and itself perpetually reproduces 
 all these by its own reflective thinking. — 
 Porter, ' Human Intellect,' p. 650. 
 
 Tlie German Philosophy of the Absolute 
 admits an attempted twofold refutation. 
 
 Various and conflicting as are the theories 
 of modern German philosophy, one common 
 error may be detected as pervading all of 
 them — that of identifying Reality with the 
 Absolute or Unconditioned. Instead of 
 examining the conception of the real as it 
 is formed under the necessary conditions 
 of human thought, and inquiring what is 
 the object which corresponds to the con- 
 ception so conditioned, they assume at the 
 outset that real existence means existence 
 dependent upon nothing but itself, and that 
 the conception of real existence is a concep- 
 tion determined by no antecedent. Being 
 and knowledge are necessarily one and the 
 same thing. Absolute knowledge is thus 
 possible only on the condition that the act 
 of thought itself creates its own object and 
 subject. 
 
 The philosophy of the Absolute thus 
 admits of a twofold refutation; in the 
 consequences to which it leads, and in the 
 premises from which it starts. In its eon- 
 sequences it admits of no alternatives but 
 
THE INFINITE 
 
 217 
 
 Atheism or Piuitheism ; atheism, if the 
 absolute reality or creative thought is iden- 
 tified with myself ; pantheism, if it is identi- 
 fied with anything beyond myself. Religion 
 is equally annihilated under both supposi- 
 tions ; for if there is no God, whom are we 
 to worship ? and if all things are God, who 
 is to worship Him ? The premises from 
 which these consequences issue are equally 
 untenable. The primary testimony of con- 
 sciousness affirms the existence of an ego 
 and a non-ego, related to and limiting each 
 othex'. Pantheism contradicts the first ele- 
 ment of consciousness, by denying the real 
 existence of myself. Egoism contradicts 
 the second element, by denying the real 
 existence of anything distinct from myself. 
 —Mansel, 'Metaphysics,' pp. 321-323. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the hardiest and most 
 consistent reasoners who have attempted a 
 philosophy of absolute existence — Parmen- 
 ides, Plotinus, Spinoza, Fichte, Schelling, 
 jjegel — have one and all attained to their 
 conclusions by dropping out of their phi- 
 losophy the attribute of personality, and 
 exhibiting the absolute existence as an 
 impersonal abstraction, or as an equally 
 impersonal universe of all existence. — 
 Mansel, 'Limits of Religious Tiiouglit,' p. x. 
 
 History is a progressive Revelation of 
 the Absolute. 
 History, as a wliole, is a progressive and 
 gi'adual revelation of the Absolute. No 
 single passage in history can be pointed 
 out where the trace of God Himself is 
 really visible ; it is only through histoi-y 
 as a whole. Schelling distinguishes three 
 periods in this revelation of the Absolute, 
 or in history, which he characterises as 
 the periods respectively of fate, nature, 
 and Providence. — Uehencey, 'Hist, of PI til.,' 
 ii. 218. 
 
 IV. THE INFINITE. 
 
 The Subject is Profound and not to be 
 evaded. 
 
 The subject now opening before us is a 
 profound one. In meditating upon it we 
 
 feel as we do when we look into the l)luo 
 expanse of heaven, or when from a solitary 
 i-ock we gaze on a shoreless ocean spread 
 all around us. The topic has exercised the 
 profoundest minds since thought began the 
 attempt to solve the problems of the uni- 
 verse, and has been speciiiUy discussed 
 since Christian theology made men fami- 
 liar with the idea of an eternal and omni- 
 present God.— il/' Cos//, ' Intuitions of the 
 Mind,' p. 187. 
 
 Beyond the starry firmament, what is 
 there? More skies and stars. And be- 
 yond these ? The human mind, impelled 
 by an irresistible power, will never cease 
 to ask itself. What lies beyond 1 Time 
 and space arrest it not. At the furthest 
 point attained is a finite boundai-y, en- 
 larged from what preceded it; no sooner 
 is it reached than the implacable question 
 returns, returns for ever in the curiosity 
 of man. It is vain to speak of space, of 
 time, of size unlimited. These words pass 
 the human understanding. But he who 
 proclaims the existence of the Infinite — 
 and no man can escape from it— compre- 
 hends in that assertion more of the Super- 
 natural than there is in all the miracles 
 of all religions ; for the conception of the 
 Infinite has the twofold characters, that it 
 is irresistible and incomprehensible. We 
 prostrate ourselves before the thought, 
 which masters all the faculties of the 
 understanding, and thi'eatens the springs 
 of intellectual life like the sublime mad- 
 ness of Pascal. — M. Pasteur, ' Discourse in 
 French Academy, April 27, 1882.' 
 
 The Meaning of the Phrase. 
 
 By the Li finite is meant that which is 
 free from all possible limitation ; that than 
 which a greater is inconceivable ; and which, 
 consequently, can receive no additional at- 
 tribute or mode of existence which it had 
 not from all eternity.— J/a«seZ, ' Limits of 
 Religious Thought,' p. 45. 
 
 The Infinite, like the Aljsoluto, is a 
 phrase of no meaning, except in reference 
 to some particular predicate ; it must mean 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the infinite in something, as in size, in 
 duration, or in power. These are intelli- 
 gible conceptions. — Mill, ' Examination of 
 Hamilton,^ P* 58. 
 
 Infinite signifies, literally, that which is 
 not boxinded or terminated. It is primarily 
 applied to spatial quantity. Everything 
 which has extent is terminated or bounded 
 by some other object or objects which are 
 also extended. The line or surface which 
 divides one surface or solid from another, 
 is called its limit, and the surface or solid, 
 as necessarily thus terminated or termin- 
 able, is called finite or limited. In like 
 manner, the mathematical point is con- 
 ceived as terminating or limiting the 
 mathematical line, and the line itself is 
 Kmited or fijiite. By an obvious trans- 
 ference of signification from the objects of 
 space to those of time, the first and last 
 of any succession of events or series of 
 numbers is called its limit, and every series 
 of numbers, numbered objects, or events 
 and portions of time, is finite or limited. 
 
 The terms originally appropriate to ex- 
 tension, duration, and number, are still 
 further applied to the exercise of power by 
 material and spiritual agents. The exer- 
 cise of power by man, whether spiritual 
 or material, is possible only in certain 
 places, at certain times, and with respect 
 to a certain number of objects, or a 
 measured quantity or mass of matter, and 
 thus power itself becomes measurable by 
 the relations of quantity and number as 
 applied to its eff'ects and the means by 
 which they are caused. Man can only 
 accomplish certain effects in limited places, 
 times, and number, and hence he is said to 
 be limited in his powers. He can only 
 know and do certain things under all these 
 favouring circumstances, and is therefore 
 a finite being. The -word finite is, there- 
 fore, originally a term of quantity, and 
 secondarily of causal or 'productive agency. 
 The infinite, in the general sense, is the 
 7?o^-finite. Logically conceivable, there 
 are as many sorts of the not-finite or in- 
 finite as there are senses of the finite. — 
 Porter, ' Human Intellect,' p. 648. 
 
 We look on infinity as an attribute of an 
 object. The infinite is not to be viewed as 
 having an independent being, it is not to 
 be regarded as a substance or a separate 
 entity ; it is simply the quality of a thing, 
 very possibly the attribute of the attribute 
 of an object. Thus we apply the phrase to 
 the Divine Being to denote a perfection of 
 His natui-e; we apply it also to all His 
 perfections, such as His wisdom and good- 
 ness, which we describe as infinite. It is 
 the more necessary to insist on this view, 
 from the circumstance that metaphysicians 
 are very much tempted to give an indepen- 
 dent being to abstractions; and, in par- 
 ticular, some of them write about the 
 infinite in such a way as to make their 
 readers look upon it as a separate existence. 
 I stand up for the reality of infinity, but I 
 claim for it a reality simply as an attribute 
 of some existing object. — l^PCosh, ^Intui- 
 tions of the Mind,' p. 197. 
 
 On the other hand, Dr. Calderwood holds 
 that, * The term Infinite is not a mere form 
 of expression to indicate our inability to 
 think in a certain manner; but, on the 
 contrary, is exclusively applicable to one 
 great Being, whom we adore as Supreme. 
 This completely sweeps away Sir W. 
 Hamilton's distinction of the uncondi- 
 tioned into the infinite and the abso- 
 lute. ' 
 
 The infinite expresses the entire absence 
 of all limitation, and is applicable to the 
 one Infinite Being in all His attributes, 
 — '■Philosophy of the Infinite,' pp. 76, 
 37- 
 
 When we assert that God is infinite, we 
 mean, — first, literally, that God is present 
 wherever space extends ; secondly, figura- 
 tively, that every attribute which can be 
 thought of as limited (that is, which 
 admits of degrees) is possessed by God 
 in perfection which has no limits ; the 
 word ' limit ' being used in a varying 
 sense according to the nature of each 
 attribute. — Gander, ' Basis of Faith,' p. 
 65- 
 
THE INFINITE. 
 
 219 
 
 Our Knowledge of the Infinite. 
 
 Many philosopher.-i hold that the Iniinit'' 
 is altogether inconceivahle. 
 
 a. Then maintain that it cannot he Jcnoicn. 
 
 We know that there is such a thing as 
 infinity, but we are ignorant of its nature. 
 For instance we know it to be false that 
 numbers are finite : there must, therefore, 
 be an infinity in number. But what this 
 is we know not. It can neither be odd nor 
 even, because unity, added to it, does not 
 change its nature. Thus we may very 
 well know that there is a God, Avithout 
 comprehending what God is; and you 
 ought by no means to conclude against 
 the existence of G<)d, from your imper- 
 fect conceptions of his nature. — Pascal, 
 ' Pensees. ' 
 
 Views of Kant, Hamilton, and Mansel. 
 
 Kant, Hamilton, and Mansel all hold that 
 we cannot know, thotxgh we may believe 
 that the infinite exists, simply because the 
 conception of the infinite is not within the 
 grasp of the finite. Kant teaches that the 
 reason why we cannot know the infinite, 
 is, that our faculties of knowing both the 
 finite and the infinite have merely a sub- 
 jective necessity and validity, and therefore 
 we cannot trust these results as objectively 
 true. Moreover, if we apply them to the 
 infinite, we are involved in perpetual anti- 
 nomies or contradictions. Our only appre- 
 hension of the absolute is, therefore, by the 
 practical reason, and comes in the way of 
 a moral necessity through the categorical 
 imperative, which requires us to receive 
 certain verities as true. Jacobi, Schleier- 
 macher, and others say, that we reach those 
 by faith or feeling, and not by knowledj,^.'. 
 Hamilton says that we find ourselves im- 
 potent to know them, in consequence of the 
 contradictions which the attempt involves. 
 But he expressly asserts ' that the sphere 
 of our belief is much more extensive than 
 the sphere of our knowledge; and there- 
 fore, when I deny that the infinite can by 
 us be known, I am far from denying that 
 by us it is, must, and ought to be believed. 
 
 This I have indeed anxiously evinced, both 
 by reasoning and authority.' (^Letter to 
 Calderwood.) 'Thus, by a wonderful reve- 
 lation, we are thus in the consciousness of 
 our inability to conceive aught above the 
 relative and finite, inspired with the belief 
 in the existence of something uncondi- 
 tioned, beyond the sphere of all compre- 
 hensible reality.' {Rev. of Cousin.) It 
 will be noticed, that what Hamilton teaches 
 here is not that the absolute cannot he ade- 
 quately l-noicn, hut that it cannot he hnoicn 
 at all, hecause it cannot he conceived. A 
 similar doctrine was taught by Peter 
 Browne in his ' Procedure and Limits of 
 the Human Understanding,' and ' Things 
 Divine and Supernatural,' iko. 
 
 Of this view, by whomsoever it may be 
 held, it is enough to say, at this point, 
 that it is impossible to conceive of an act 
 of faith or belief which does not include 
 the element of knowledge. Faith, or belief, 
 may exclude definite knowledge, reasoned 
 knowledge. Sec, but it cannot exclude some 
 kind of intellectual apprehension. — Porte); 
 'Human Intellect,'' p. 655. 
 
 The unconditionally unlimited, or the 
 Infinite, the unconditionally limited, or 
 the Absolute, cannot positively be con- 
 strued to the mind ; they can be conceived 
 only by a thinking away from, or abstrac- 
 tion of, those very conditions under which 
 thought itself is realised ; consequently, 
 the notion of the unconditioned is only 
 negative, — negative of the conceivable itself. 
 For example, on the one hand, we can posi- 
 tively conceive, neither an absolute whole, 
 that is, a whole so great, that we cannot 
 also conceive it as a relative part of a 
 still greater whole ; nor an absolute part, 
 that is, a part so snnll, that we cannot 
 also conceive it as a relative whole, divi- 
 sible into smaller parts. On the other 
 hand, we cannot positively represent or 
 realise, or construe to the mind an infinite 
 whole, for this could only be done by 
 the infinite synthesis in thought of finite 
 wholes, which would itself require an in- 
 finite time for its accomplishment ; nor, 
 for the same reason, can we follow out in 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 thovight an infinite divisibility of parts. 
 The resvilt is the same whether we apply the 
 process to limitation in sjMce, in time, or in 
 degree. — Hamilton, ^Discussions,'])]). 12, 13. 
 
 Nothing can be presented in Intuition, 
 or represented in thought, except as, finite. 
 So long as the relation between subject and 
 object exists in consciousness, so long must 
 each limit the other. The subject is dis- 
 tinct from the object, and neither can be 
 the universe. The infinite cannot be an 
 object of human consciousness at all ; and 
 it appears to be so only by mistaking the 
 negation of consciousness for consciousness 
 itself. The infiiiite, like the inconceivahle, 
 is a term which expresses only the negation 
 of human thought. — Hansel, ' Metaphysics,' 
 p. 277. 
 
 To be conscious we must be conscious of 
 something; and that something can only 
 be known as that which it is by being dis- 
 tinguished from that which it is not. But 
 distinction is necessaril}^ limitation, for if 
 one object is to be distinguished from 
 another it must possess some form of ex- 
 istence which the other has not, or it must 
 not possess some form which the other has. 
 But it is obvious that the Infinite cannot 
 be distinguished as such from the Finite by 
 the absence of any quality which the Finite 
 possesses, for such absence would be a limi- 
 tation. Nor yet can it be distinguished 
 by the presence of an attribute which the 
 Finite has not ; for, as no finite part can 
 be a constituent of an infinite whole, this 
 differential characteristic must itself be 
 infinite, and must at the same time have 
 nothing in common with the finite. A 
 consciousness of the Infinite as such thus 
 necessarily involves a self-conti-adiction ; 
 for it implies the recognition by limitation 
 and difference of that which can only be 
 given as unlimited and indifferent.— il/rt?iseZ, 
 '■Limits of Religious Thought,'' p. 70. 
 
 "We have, it is true, conquered the earth, 
 measured the track of the planets, analysed 
 the stars, solved the nebulae, and followed 
 the eccentric course of comets ; but, beyond 
 those stars, whose light is centuries in 
 
 reaching us, there are other orbs whose 
 rays are lost in space ; and further, further 
 still, beyond all limits and all computation, 
 are suns which we shall not behold and 
 innumerable worlds hidden from our eyes. 
 After two thousand years of efforts, if we 
 reach the utmost extremity of the universe, 
 which is but a point in the immensity of 
 space, we are arrested on the threshold of 
 the Infinite, of which we know nothing. — 
 Pasteur, ^Discourse, Sfc' 
 
 h. But must be believed. 
 
 The Infinite does exist and must exist, 
 though of the manner of that existence we 
 can form no conception. In this impotence 
 of Reason we are compelled to take refuge 
 in Faith, and to believe that an Infinite 
 Being exists though we know not how. 
 The shadow of the Infinite still broods over 
 the consciousness of the finite; and we 
 wake up at last from the dream of absolute 
 wisdom to confess, ' Surely the Lord is in 
 this place, and I knew it not.' — Mansel, 
 ' Limits of Religious Thought,' pp. 120, 121. 
 
 Everywhere I see the inevitable expres- 
 sion of the infinite in the world. By it 
 the supernatural is seen in the depths of 
 every heart. The idea of God is a form of 
 the idea of the Infinite. As long as the 
 mystery of the Infinite weighs on the human 
 mind, temples will be raised to the worship 
 of the Infinite, whether the God be called 
 Brahma, Allah, Jehovah, or Jesus ; and on 
 the floor of those temples you will see kneel- 
 ing men absorbed in the idea of the Infinite. 
 Metaphysics do but translate within us the 
 paramount notion of the Infinite. The 
 faculty which, in the presence of beauty, 
 leads us to conceive of a superior beauty, — 
 is it not, too, the conception of a never- 
 realised ideal? Are science and the passion 
 for comprehending, anything else than the 
 effect of the stimulus exercised upon our 
 mind by the mystery of the universe ? 
 Where are the real springs of woman's 
 dignity, of modern liberty and democracy, 
 unless in the notion of the Infinite, before 
 which all men are equal ? — L'asteur, ' Dis- 
 course, &c.' 
 
THE INFINITE. 
 
 Others assert that the Infinite is Conceiv- 
 able, though not Adequately. 
 
 In place of ' the Infinite ' put the idea 
 of Something infinite, and the argument 
 [of Sir W. Hamilton] collapses at once. 
 ' Something infinite ' is a concej^tion which, 
 like most of our complex ideas, contains a 
 negative element, but which contains posi- 
 tive elements also. Infinite space, for in- 
 stance ; is there nothing positive in that ? 
 The negative part of this conception is the 
 absence of bounds. The positive are the 
 idea of space, and of space greater than 
 any finite space. So of infinite duration. 
 True, we cannot have an adequate concep- 
 tion of space or dui-ation as infinite ; but 
 between a conception which, though inade- 
 quate, is real, and correct as far as it goes, 
 and the impossibility of any conception, 
 there is a wide difference. — Mill, ' Exa- 
 inination of Hamilton^ p. 59. 
 
 Though our conception of infinite space 
 can never be adequate, since we can never 
 exhaust its parts, the conception as far as 
 it goes is a real conception. We realise in 
 imagination the various atti'ibutes compos- 
 ing it. We realise it as space. We realise 
 it as gi'eater than any given space. We 
 even realise it as endless, in an intelli- 
 gible manner; that is, we clearly repre- 
 sent to ourselves that, however much of 
 space has been already explored, and how- 
 ever much more of it we may imagine our- 
 selves to traverse, we are no nearer to the 
 end of it than we were at first ; since, how- 
 ever often we repeat the process of imagin- 
 ing distance extending in any direction 
 from us, that process is always susceptible 
 of being carried further. This conception 
 is both real and perfectly definite. — Mill, 
 ^Examination of Hamilton,'' p. 10 1. 
 
 The idea of the Infinite is very clear and 
 very distinct, since all that my mind clearly 
 and distinctly conceives as real and true, or 
 as having any perfection, is wholly wrapped 
 up and contained in this idea. — Descartes. 
 
 L Two Negative Propositions may be 
 established. 
 
 (a.) The mind can form no adequate 
 
 aijprehension vf the infinite, in the seme of 
 imarje or phantasm. In saying so I do 
 not mean merely that we cannot construct 
 a mental picture of the infinite as an attri- 
 bute. Of no quality can the mind fashion 
 a picture ; it cannot have a mental repre- 
 sentation of transparency, apart from a 
 transparent substance; and just as little 
 can it picture to itself infinity apart from 
 an infinite duration, or infinite extension, 
 or an infinite God. But it is not in this 
 sense simply that the mind cannot appre- 
 hend the infinite, it cannot have before it 
 an apprehension of an infinite object, say 
 of an infinite space or an infinite God. 
 For to image a thing in our mind is to 
 give it an extent and a boundary. When 
 we would imagine unlimited space, we swell 
 out an immense volume, but it has after 
 all a boundary, commonly a spherical one. 
 When we would picture unlimited time, 
 we let out an immense line behind and be- 
 fore, but the rope is after all cut at both 
 ends. When we would represent to our- 
 selves almighty power, we call up some 
 given act of God, say creating or annihil- 
 ating the universe ; but, after all, the work 
 has a measure, and may be finished. In 
 the sense of image, then, the mind cannot 
 have any proper apprehension of infinity 
 as an attribute, or of an infinite object. 
 
 {h.) Tl\e mind can form no adequate logi- 
 cal notion of an infinite ohject. We cannot 
 accomplish this by abstraction or genera- 
 lisation, or addition or multiplication, or 
 composition or any intellectual process. So 
 much may be alleged to those British phi- 
 losophers who have been at pains to show 
 that we can form no conception of the in- 
 finite, or that the notion is at best nega- 
 tive. But, on the other hand, I am pre- 
 pared to maintain that the mind has some 
 positive apprehension and belief in regard 
 to infinity ; otherwise, why do meditative 
 minds find the thought so often pressing 
 itself upon them 1 why has it such a place 
 in our faith in God ? why is it ever coming 
 
 up 
 
 in theolot 
 
 And if we have an idea 
 
 and conviction, it is surely possible to de- 
 termine what they are by a careful obser- 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 vation of what passes through the mind 
 when it would muse on the eternal, the 
 omnipresent, the perfect. 
 
 IT. Two Positive Propositions may be 
 laid down. 
 
 (i.) The mind apprehends and believes 
 that there is and must he something beyond 
 its widest image and concept. Let us fol- 
 low the mind in its attempt to grasp infi- 
 nity. I have allowed that we cannot have 
 an idea of infinite space and time, in the 
 sense of imaging, picturing, or represent- 
 ing them. Stretch itself as it may, the 
 imaging power of the mind can never go 
 beyond an expansion with a boundary, com- 
 monly a globe or sphere of which self is 
 the centre, and duration stretching along 
 like a line, but with a beginning and an 
 end. In respect, then, of the mental pic- 
 ture or representation, the apprehension is 
 merely of the very large or the very long, 
 but still of the finite, of what might be 
 caUed the indefinite, but not the infinite. 
 But any account of our conviction as to 
 infinity which goes no further leaves out 
 the main, the peculiar element. The sailor 
 is not led by any native instinct to believe 
 that the ocean has no bottom, simply be- 
 cause in letting down the sounding-line he 
 has not reached the ground. When the 
 astronomer has gauged space as far as his 
 telescope can penetrate, he finds that there 
 are still stars and clusters of stars, but he 
 is not necessitated to believe that there 
 must be star after star on and for ever. 
 The geologist in going down from layer to 
 layer still finds signs of the existence of a 
 previous earth, but he is not obliged to 
 conclude that there must have been stra- 
 tum before stratum from all eternity. But 
 man is constrained to beUeve that what- 
 ever be the point of space or time to which 
 his eye or his thoughts may reach, there 
 must be a space and time beyond. Whence 
 this belief of the mind, on space and time 
 being presented to it ? Whence this neces- 
 sity of thought or belief 1 This is the very 
 phenomenon to be accounted for ; and yet 
 the British school of metaphysicians can 
 
 scarcely be said to have contemplated it 
 seriously or steadfastly, with the view of 
 unfolding the depth of meaning embraced 
 in it. This intuitive belief, accompanied 
 as it is with a stringent necessity of feel- 
 ing, is the very peculiarity of the mind's 
 conviction in regard to infinity, as it is one 
 of the grandest characteristics of human 
 intelligence. 
 
 (2. ) TFe ajpprehend and are constrained 
 to believe in regard to the objects which we 
 looJc upon as infinite that they are incapable 
 of augmentation. Here, as in every appre- 
 hension which we have of infinit}^, the 
 imaging power of the mind fails and must 
 fail ; still we have an image and an intel- 
 lectual conception ; say, an image with a 
 notion of extension, or duration, or Deity. 
 Or we represent to ourselves the Divine 
 Being, with certain attributes, — say, as 
 wise or as good, — and our behef as to Him 
 and these attributes is, that He cannot be 
 wiser or better. This aspect may be ap- 
 propriately designated as the Perfect. In 
 regard, indeed, to the moral attributes of 
 Deity, it is this significant word Perfect, 
 rather than infinite, which expresses the 
 conviction which we are led to entertain in 
 regard, for example, to the wisdom, or bene- 
 volence, or righteousness of God. — APCosh, 
 ' Intuitio7is of the Mind,' pp. 187-193. 
 
 The two ideas, the Finite and the In- 
 finite, are logically co-related. The one is 
 impossible without the other. So soon as 
 we have the idea of the finite and the im- 
 perfect, we have immediately and neces- 
 sarily the idea also of the Infinite and 
 Perfect. But the Infinite and the Perfect 
 is God. — Coiisi?i, ^Elements of Psychology.' 
 
 Our Knowledge is at best Indefinite, 
 
 Our knowledge of the Infinite, however 
 far extended, must be equally indefinite. 
 From its very commencement our know- 
 ledge must be char, that is, it must involve 
 a recognition of the Infinite God, as quite 
 apart from, and altogether above, every 
 other being; in proportion as our know- 
 ledge extends it becomes more and more 
 
THE PRE-SOCRATIC SCHOOLS. 
 
 223 
 
 ih'sfi7JC(, that is, it involves a more nuiple 
 recognition of the various attributes of the 
 Deity, in their nature, their distinction 
 from each other, and their mutual relation 
 to each other ; but however it may extend, 
 it will continue indefinite in exactly the 
 same degree as before, and from exactly 
 the same cause — that there are no limits 
 discovered or discoverable which could give 
 definiteness to our knowledge. — Calder- 
 luood, ^ Phil, of the Infinite,^ p. 226. 
 
 Tlie nature of man's conviction in regard 
 to infinity, is fitted to impress us, at one 
 and the same time, with the strength and 
 the weakness of human intelligence, which 
 is powerful in that it can apprehend so 
 much, but feeble in that it can apprehend 
 no more. The idea entertained is felt to 
 be inadequate, but this is one of its excel- 
 lencies, that it is felt to be inadequate ; for 
 it would indeed be lamentably deficient if 
 it did not acknowledge of itself that it falls 
 
 infinitely beneath the magnitude of the 
 object. The mind is led by an inward 
 tendency to stretch its ideas wider and 
 wider, but is made to know at the most 
 extreme point which it has reached that 
 there is something further on. It is thus 
 impelled to be ever striving after some- 
 thing which it has not yet i-eached, and to 
 look beyond the limits of time into eternity 
 beyond, in which there is the prospect of a 
 noble occupation in beholding, through ages 
 which can come to no end, and a space 
 which has no bomids, the manifestations 
 of a might and an excellence of which we 
 can never know all, but of which we may 
 ever know more. It is an idea whicli 
 would ever allure us up towards a God of 
 infinite perfection, and yet make us feel 
 more and moi-e impressively the higher we 
 ascend, that we are, after all, infinitely be- 
 neath Him. — APCosh, ^Intuitions of the 
 Mind,^ p. 201. 
 
 XL 
 
 ANCIENT SCHOOLS OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 I. THE PRE-SOCRATIC SCHOOLS. 
 
 Ionian, Pythagorean, Eleatic, Atomistic, 
 and Sophistic. 
 
 The three oldest schools of philosophy — 
 the Ionian, the Pythagorean, and the Eleatic 
 — are not only very near to each other in 
 respect of time, but are much more alike 
 in their scientific character than might at 
 first be supposed. While they agree with 
 the whole of the early philosophy in direct- 
 ing their inquiries to the explanation of 
 nature, this tendency is in their case more 
 particularly showTi in a search for the sub- 
 stantial ground of things : in demanding 
 what things are in their proper essence, 
 and of what they consist ; the problem of 
 the explanation of Becomuig, and passing 
 away, of the movement and multiplicity of 
 
 phenomena is not as yet distinctly grasped. 
 Thales makes all things originate and con- 
 sist in water, Anaximander in infinite mat- 
 ter, Anaximenes in air; the Pythagoreans 
 say that everything is number ; the Eleatics 
 that the All is one invariable Being. — Zeller, 
 ' Pre-Socratic Philosophy,' i. 202. 
 
 The lonians. 
 
 Thales (b. 640 B.C.). Thales is reputed 
 to be the founder of the Ionian Natural- 
 istic Philosophy. He is the first whom we 
 know to have instituted any general inquiry 
 into the natural causes of things, in con- 
 tradistinction to his predecessors, who con- 
 tented themselves partly with mythical 
 cosmogonies, and partly with isolated ethi- 
 cal reflections. In answer to this inquiry, 
 he declared water to be the matter of which 
 
224 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 all things consist, and from which they 
 must have arisen. As to the reasons of 
 this theory, nothing was known by the 
 ancients from historical tradition. — ZeJler, 
 '■ Pre-Socratic, Pliilosoplvj ^ i. pp. 211, 216, 
 217. 
 
 Anaximander (b. 611 b.c). He teaches : 
 * All things must in equity again decline 
 into that whence they have their origin; 
 for they must give satisfaction and atone- 
 ment for injustice, each in the order of 
 time.' Anaximander first expressly gave 
 to the assumed original material substance 
 of things the name of principle {a.^x^)- -^^ 
 such principle he posits a matter, undeter- 
 mined in quality (and infinite in quantity), 
 the a'TTiioov. From it the elementary con- 
 traries, warm and cold, moist and dry, are 
 first separated, in such manner that homo- 
 geneous elements are brought together. 
 Through an eternal motion, there arise, as 
 condensations of air, innumerable worlds, 
 neavenly divinities, in the centre of which 
 rests the earth, a cylinder in form, and 
 unmoved on account of its equal remoteness 
 from all points in the celestial sphere. The 
 earth has been evolved from an originally 
 fluid state. Living beings arose by gradual 
 development out of the elementary mois- 
 ture under the influence of heat. Land 
 animals had, in the beginning, the form of 
 fishes, and only with the drjdng up of the 
 surface of the earth did they acquire their 
 present form. Anaximander is said to have 
 described the soul as aeriform. — Ueherweg, 
 ^ Hist, of Phil.,'' i. p. 35. 
 
 Anaximenes. All things, says Anaxi- 
 menes, spring from the air by rarefaction 
 or by condensation. These processes he 
 seems to have regarded as resulting from 
 the movement of the air. Rarefaction he 
 makes synonymous with heating, and con- 
 densation with cooling. The stages through 
 which matter has to pass in the course of 
 these transformations he describes some- 
 what unmethodically. By rarefaction air 
 changes into fire; by condensation it be- 
 comes wind, then clovids, then water, then 
 earth, lastly stones. From these simple 
 
 bodies compound bodies are then formed. 
 — Zeller, ^ Pre- Socratic Philosophy,'' \. 271, 
 
 272. 
 
 The Pythagoreans. 
 
 The doctrine that number is the essence of 
 all things. 
 
 All is number, i.e., all consists of num- 
 bers; number is not merely the form by 
 which the constitution of things is deter- 
 mined, but also the substance and the 
 matter of which they consist. It is one of 
 the essential peculiarities of the Pytha- 
 gorean standpoint that the distinction of 
 form and matter is not as yet recognised. 
 
 All numbers are divided into odd and 
 even, to which, as a third class, the even- 
 odd {a^Tio-<r/i^iesov) is added, and every given 
 number can be resolved either into odd 
 or even numbers. From this the Pytha- 
 goreans concluded that the odd and the 
 even are the universal constituents of 
 numbers, and furthermore, of all things. 
 They identified the uneven with the 
 limited, and the even with the vinlimited, 
 because the uneven sets a limit to bi-par- 
 tition, and the even does not. Thus they 
 arrived at the proposition that all consists I 
 of the limited and the unlimited. With 
 this proposition is connected the following 
 observation, that everything unites in it- 
 self opposite characteristics. — Zeller, ^ Pre- 
 Socratic Philoso2)hy,' i. 275, 277-280. 
 
 The ten fundamejital opposites. 
 
 (i) Limited and Unlimited; (2) Odd 
 and Even ; (3) One and Many ; (4) Right 
 and Left; (5) Masculine and Feminine; 
 (6) Rest and Motion; (7) Straight and 
 Crooked; (8) Light and Darkness; (9) 
 Good and Evil; (10) Square and Oblong. 
 — Zeller, * Pre-Socratic Philosophy,' i. p. 381. 
 
 The Pythagorean doctrine of Transmi- 
 gration. 
 
 The Pythagorean doctrme was, according 
 to the most ancient authorities, essentially 
 the same that we afterwards find associated 
 with other Pythagorean notions, in Plato; 
 and which is maintained by Empedocles, 
 
THE PRE-SOCRATIC SCHOOLS. 
 
 2=5 
 
 viz., that the soul on account of previous 
 transgressions is sent into the body, and 
 that after death each soul, according to its 
 deserts, enters the Cosmos or Tartarus, or 
 is destined to fresh wanderings through 
 human or animal forms. — Zeller, ^ Pre- 
 Socratic Philosojphy,'' i. 3S4. 
 
 Tlie Eleatics. 
 
 The development of the Eleatic philo- 
 sophy was completed in three generations 
 of philosophers, whose activit}' extended 
 over about a century. Xenophanes, the 
 founder of the school, first expresses their 
 general principle in a theological form. 
 In opposition to Polytheism, he declares 
 the Deity to be the One, underived, all- 
 embracing Being; and in connection with 
 this, the vmiverse to be uniform and eternal. 
 At the same time, however, he recognises 
 the many and the mutable as a reality. 
 Parmenides gives to this principle its 
 metaphysical basis and purely philosophic 
 expression ; he reduces the opposites of the 
 One and the Many, the Eternal and the 
 Become, to the fundamental opposite of 
 the Existent and the non- Existent; derives 
 the qualities of both from their concept, 
 and proves the impossibility of Becoming, 
 Change, and Plurality in a strictly universal 
 sense. Lastly, Zeno and Melissus main- 
 tain the propositions of Parmenides as 
 against the ordinary opinion; but carry 
 the opposition between them so far that 
 the inadequacy of the Eleatic principle for 
 the explanation of phenomena becomes 
 clearly apparent. — Zeller, * Pre-Socraiic 
 Philosophy,' i. pp. 355, 356. 
 
 Zend's Four Arguments againd Motion. 
 
 I. Motion cannot begin because a body 
 in motion cannot arrive at another place 
 until it has passed through an unlimited 
 number of intermediate places. 2. Achilles 
 cannot overtake the tortoise, because as 
 often as he reaches the place occupied by 
 the tortoise at a previous moment the latter 
 has already left it. 3. The flying arrow is 
 at rest, for it Ls at every moment only in 
 one place. 4, The half of a division of 
 
 time is equal to the whole, for the same 
 point, moving with the same velocity, tra- 
 verses an equal distance (i.e., when com- 
 pared, in the one case, with a point at rest, 
 in the other with a point in motion) in the 
 one case in half of a given time, in the 
 other the whole of that time. — Uehenveg, 
 'Hist, of Phil.; i. 57, 58. 
 
 The Atomists. 
 
 Leucippus of Abdora (or Miletus, or 
 Elea) and Democritus of Abdera, the latter, 
 according to his o\vn statement, forty years 
 younger than Anaxagoras, were the founders 
 of the Atomistic philosophy. These philo- 
 sophers posit, as principles of things, the 
 ' full ' and the * void,' which they identify 
 respectively with being and non-being, or 
 something and nothmg ; the latter as well 
 as the former having existence. They cha- 
 racterise the * full ' more particularly as 
 consisting of indivisible primitive particles 
 of matter or atoms, which are distinguished 
 from one another, not by their intrinsic 
 qualities but only geometrically, by their 
 form, position, and arrangement. Fire and 
 the soul are composed of round atoms. Sen- 
 sation is due to material images, which 
 come from objects and reach the soul 
 through the senses. The ethical end of 
 man is happiness, which is attained through 
 justice and culture. — Ueherweg, 'Hist, of 
 Phil.; i. 67, 
 
 The Sophists. 
 
 a. Their philosophy. 
 
 In the doctrine of the Sophists the tran- 
 sition was effected from philosophy as cos- 
 mology to philosophy as concerning itself 
 with the thinking and willing subject. Yet 
 the reflection of the Sophists extended only 
 to the recognition of the subject in his 
 immediate individual character, and was 
 incompetent, therefore, to establish on a 
 scientific basis the theory of cognition and 
 science of morals, for which it prepared 
 the way. The chief representatives of 
 this tendency were Protagoras the Indivi- 
 dualist, Gorgias the Nihilist, Hippias the 
 Polymathist, and Prodicus the Moralist. 
 
226 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 These men were followed by a younger 
 generation of Sophists, who perverted the 
 philosophical pi-inciple of subjectivism 
 more and more, till it ended in mere 
 frivolity. — Ueherweg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' i. 
 72. 
 
 h. Tlieir historical importance. 
 
 The Sophists are the ' Illuminators ' of 
 their time, the encyclopaedists of Greece, 
 and they share in the advantages as well as 
 the defects of that position. It is true that 
 the lofty speculation, the moral earnestness, 
 the sober scientific temperament entirely 
 absorbed in its object, which we have such 
 frequent occasion to admire both in ancient 
 and modern philosophers, all this is want- 
 ing in the Sophists. Their whole bearing 
 seems pretentious and assuming, their un- 
 settled wandering life, their money-making, 
 their greediness for scholars and applause, 
 their petty jealousies among themselves, 
 their vain-gloriousness, often carried to 
 most ridiculous lengths, form a striking 
 contrast to the scientific devotion of an 
 Anaxagoras or a Democritus, to the unas- 
 suming greatness of a Socrates, or the noble 
 pride of a Plato. . . . We must not, how- 
 ever, forget that these defects are only in 
 the main the reverse side, the degradation 
 of a movement that was both important 
 and justifiable ; and that we equally fail to 
 recognise the true character of the Sophists, 
 or to do justice to their real services, 
 whether we regard them merely as de- 
 stroyers of the ancient Greek theory of life 
 or with Plato as its representatives. — 
 Zeller, ^ Pre-Socratic Philosophij,' ii. 500, 
 503- 
 
 The Sophists are historically important 
 not only as rhetoricians, grammarians, and 
 diffusers of various forms of positive know- 
 ledge, but also as representatives of a rela- 
 tively legitimate philosophical standpoint. 
 Their philosojDhical reflection centi-ed in 
 man, was subjective rather than objective 
 in direction, and thus prepared the way for 
 ethics and logic. — Ueherweg, 'Uist. of Phil.,' 
 i. 72. 
 
 II THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL. 
 Socrates. Born B.C. 469. 
 
 His conception of philosophy. 
 
 Human wisdom is patchwork ; the gods 
 have reserved what is greatest to them- 
 selves. The wisdom of Socrates was the 
 consciousness of not knowing, and not the 
 consciousness of a positive gradual approxi- 
 mation to the knowledge of truth. — Ueher- 
 weg, ' Hist, of Phil.,' i. 3. 
 
 The direction he gave to philosophical 
 inquiry was expressed in the saying that 
 he brought ' Philosophy down from Heaven 
 to Earth.' His subjects were Man and 
 Society. He entered a protest against the 
 inquiries of the early philosophers as to the 
 constitution of the Kosmos, the nature of 
 the Heavenly Bodies, the theory of Winds 
 and Storms. He called these Divine things ; 
 and in a great degree useless, if understood. 
 The Human relations of life, the varieties 
 of conduct of men towards each other in all 
 capacities, were alone within the compass 
 of knowledge, and capable of yielding fruit. 
 — Bain, ' Mental and Moral Science,' p. 
 460. 
 
 His method of philosophising. 
 
 The Socratic method has two sides, the 
 one negative and the other positive, (i.) 
 The negative one is what is known as the 
 Socratic iromj. Making believe to be igno- 
 rant, namely, and seeming to elicit infor- 
 mation from those with whom he conversed, 
 the philosopher would unexpectedly turn 
 the tables on his seeming instructors, and 
 confound their supposed knowledge, as well 
 by the unlooked-for consequences which he 
 educed by his incessant questions, as by 
 the glaring contradictions in which they 
 were in the end by their own admissions 
 landed.' Thus their supposed knowledge 
 brought about its own refutation. (2.) The 
 positive side of the Socratic method is the 
 maieuUc or obstetric art. Socrates likened 
 himself to his mother Phoenarete, who was 
 a midwife, because, if no longer able to 
 bear thoughts himself, he was still quite 
 able to help others to bear them, as well 
 
THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL. 
 
 227 
 
 as to distinguish those that were sound 
 from those that were unsound. The pliilo- 
 sopher, by means of his incessant question- 
 ing and the resultant disentanglement of 
 ideas, possessed the art of eliciting from 
 him with whom he convei'sed a new and 
 previously unknown thought, and so of 
 helping to a birth his intellectual throes. 
 A chief means here was his method of in- 
 duction. To find the notion of justice, of 
 fortitude, for instance, departure was taken 
 from several particular examples of justice, 
 of fortitude, and from them the universal 
 nature, the notion of these virtues, was 
 abstracted. — Sclucegler,^ Hist, of Phil., ^ pp. 
 49> 5°- 
 
 The mastery over words was the great 
 art which the Athenian youth cultivated. 
 It seems to have been the first observation 
 of Socrates, when he began earnestly to 
 meditate on the condition of his country- 
 men, that those who wished to rule the 
 world by the help of words were themselves 
 in the most ignominious bondage to words. 
 The wish to break this spell seems to have 
 taken strong possession of his mind. As 
 he reflected, he began more and more 
 clearly to perceive that words, besides being 
 the instruments by which we govern others, 
 are means by which we may become ac- 
 quainted with ourselves. In trying really 
 to understand a word, to ascertain what 
 was the bond fide meaning which he him- 
 self gave it, he found that he gained more 
 insight into his own ignorance, and at the 
 same time that he acquired more real know- 
 ledge, than by all other studies together. 
 In this work he knew that he was really 
 honest; he was breaking through a thousand 
 trickeries and self-deceptions. If, then, he 
 was to deliver his countrymen from that 
 miserable shallowness into which they had 
 been betrayed by the ambition of wisdom 
 and depth, — this must be his means. In 
 every case he must lead his disciples to 
 inquire what they actually meant by the 
 words of the propositions which they were 
 using, and must consider no time wasted 
 which they honestly spent in this labour. — 
 
 Maurice, ' Moral and iletaj^h i/sical Philoso- 
 phij,^ i. 126. 
 
 His doctrine. 
 
 Socrates made all virtue dependent on 
 knowledge, i.e., on moral insight; regard- 
 ing the former as flowing necessarily from 
 the latter. He was convinced that virtue 
 was capable of being taught, that all virtue 
 was in truth only one, and that no one was 
 voluntarily wicked, all wickedness resulting 
 merely from ignorance. The good is iden- 
 tical with the beautiful and the useful. 
 Self-knowledge is the condition of practical 
 excellence. External goods do not advance 
 their possessor. — Uebcrweg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' 
 i. 80, 85. 
 
 To do right was the only way to impart 
 happiness, or the least degree of unhappi- 
 ness compatible with any given situation ; 
 now, this was precisely what every one 
 wished for and aimed at — only that many 
 persons, from ignorance, took the wrong 
 road ; and no man was wise enough always 
 to take the right. But as no man was 
 willingly his own enemy, so no man ever 
 did wrong willingly ; it was because he was 
 not fully or correctly informed of the con- 
 sequences of his own actions ; so that the 
 proper remedy to apply was enlarged teach- 
 ing of consequences and improved judgment. 
 To make him willing to be taught, the only 
 condition required was to make him con- 
 scious of his own ignorance ; the want of 
 which consciousness was the real cause both 
 of indocility and of vice. — Grote, ' History 
 of Greece,^ pt. ii. eh. Ixviii. vol. viii. p. 262. 
 
 Well-doing consisted in doing well what- 
 ever a man undertook. ' The best man,' 
 he said, ' and the most beloved by the gods 
 is he that, as a husbandman, performs well 
 the duties of husbandry ; as a surgeon, the 
 duties of a medical art; in political life, 
 his duty towards the commonwealth. The 
 man that does nothing well is neither 
 useful nor agreeable to the gods.' And as 
 knowledge is essential to all undertakings, 
 knowledge is the one thing needful. — Bain, 
 'Mental and Moral Science,'' p. 462. 
 
228 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Leading peculiarities of Socrates. 
 
 Three peculiarities distinguish the man. 
 I. His long life passed in contented poverty, 
 and in public apostolic dialectics. 2. His 
 strong religious persuasion — or belief of 
 acting under a mission and signs from the 
 gods ; especially his Daemon or Genius — 
 the special religious warning of which he 
 believed himself to be frequently the sub- 
 ject. 3. His great intellectual originality, 
 both of subject and of method, and his 
 power of stirring and forcing the germ of 
 inquiry and ratiocination in others. Though 
 these three characteristics were so blended 
 in Sokrates that it is not easy to consider 
 them separately — yet in each respect he 
 stood distinguished from all Greek philoso- 
 phers before or after him. — Grate, ' Hist, 
 of Greece,^ pt. ii. ch, Ixviii. vol. 8, p. 211. 
 
 Xenophoji on the method of Socrates. 
 
 Sokrates continued incessantly discussing 
 human affairs, investigating — What is 
 piety 1 What is impiety ? What is the 
 honourable and the base? What is the 
 just and the unjust ? What is temperance 
 or unsound mind ? Wlaat is courage or 
 cowardice ? What is a city ? What is 
 the character fit for a citizen ? What is 
 authority over men ? What is the character 
 befitting the exercise of such authority? 
 and other similar questions. Men who 
 knew these matters he accounted good and 
 honourable; men who were ignorant of 
 them he assimilated to slaves. — Quoted by 
 Grote, '■Hist, of Greece,' pt. ii. ch. Ixviii. 
 vol. 8, p. 228. 
 
 Plato. Born 429 B.C. 
 
 Plato, the complete Socratic. 
 
 The complete Socrates was understood 
 and represented by only one of his disciples, 
 Plato. Proceeding from the Socratic idea 
 of knowledge, he collected into a single 
 focus all the elements and rays of truth 
 which lay scattered, not only in his master, 
 but in the philosophers before him, and 
 made of philosophy a whole, a system. 
 The Platonic system is the objectivised 
 
 Socrates, the conciliation and fusion of all 
 previous philosophy, the first type and 
 pattern of all higher speculation, of all 
 metaphysical as well as of all ethical 
 idealism. — Schivegler, 'Hist, of Phil.,' pp. 
 57, 93- 
 
 In the Socratic principle of knowledge 
 and virtue, the problem for the successors 
 of Soci-ates was the development of dialectic 
 and ethics. Of his immediate disciples, 
 the larger number, as 'partial disciples of 
 Socrates,' turned their attention predomin- 
 antly to the one or other part of this double 
 problem ; the Megaric and Elean schools 
 occupying themselves almost exclusively 
 with dialectical investigations, and the 
 Cynic and Cyrenaic schools treating, in 
 different senses, principally of ethical ques- 
 tions. It was Plato, however, who first 
 combined and developed into the unity of a 
 comprehensive system the different sides of 
 the Socratic spirit, as well as all the legiti- 
 mate elements of earlier systems. — Ueher- 
 weg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' i. 88. 
 
 His Doctrine. 
 
 a. Of Ideas. 
 
 The Platonic philosophy centres in the 
 Theory of Ideas. The Platonic Idea is the 
 pure archetypal essence, in which those 
 things which are together subsumed under 
 the same concept, participate, ^sthetically 
 and Ethically, it is the perfect in its kind, 
 to which the given reality remains per- 
 petually inferior. Logically and ontologic- 
 ally considered, it is the object of the con- 
 cept. As the objects of the outer world 
 are severally known through corresponding 
 mental representations, so the idea is known 
 through the concept. The Idea is not the 
 essence immanent in the various similar 
 individual objects as such, but rather this 
 essence conceived as perfect in its kind, 
 immutable, unique, and independent, or 
 existing per se. The Idea respects the 
 universal; but it is also represented by 
 Plato as a spaceless and timeless archetype 
 of individuals. The Idea is the archetype, 
 individual objects are images of this. In- 
 
THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL. 
 
 229 
 
 dependent singular existence was attributed 
 to the Ideas, and even movement, life, 
 animation, and reason were said to belong 
 to them. Plato assumed a plurality of 
 Ideas and held that the highest idea is 
 the Idea of the Good. — Uehcnveg, 'Hist, of 
 riiil.,' i. 115, 116. 
 
 The doctrine of Ideas constitutes the 
 most native and peculiar portion of Plato's 
 philosophy. The whole of the education 
 and discipline of Socrates had been to lead 
 his disciples away fi-om appearances to 
 realities. But one man has one notion of 
 the things which he beholds and meditates 
 upon ; another man, another. Any one of 
 these notions may be as right as another. 
 Thus the notions which the mind forms 
 respecting that which the bodily eye sees ; 
 or that which its own inward eye sees, 
 seem confused, fluctuating, contradictory. 
 But my notion of the flower is not the very 
 flower; my notion of what is just is not 
 the very just. These notions are indexes, 
 guiding-posts to that which is not false, or 
 confused, or contradictory. This notion of 
 the flower and of justice proves that there 
 is a very flower — a very justice. Again 
 the mind is capable of beholding the Being, 
 the One. But of this Being, of this One, 
 all the notions, imaginations, premonitions 
 of the sensual understanding ofi'er most 
 miserable and counterfeit resemblances. 
 Yet there is that in this Beuag, this One, 
 which does and must answer to these 
 notions ; that which they are trying, 
 however vainly, however awkwardly to 
 express. 
 
 Hence there are forms pex^manent and 
 unchangeable in which that which is, 
 manifests itself as it is ; in which we 
 behold it as it is. Therefore Plato speaks 
 of the actual flower and tree that we be- 
 hold, as well as of Justice, Goodness, and 
 Beauty, as having a primary form or idea. 
 He believes that in the minutest thing 
 there is a reality, and therefore in some 
 sense an archetypal form or idea; he 
 believes also, just as firmly, that every idea 
 has its gi-ound and termination in one 
 higher than itself, and that there is a 
 
 supreme idea, the foundation and consum- 
 mation of all tliese, even the idea of the 
 absolute and perfect Being, in whose mind 
 they all dwelt, and in whose eternity alone 
 they can be thought or dreamed of as 
 eternal These ideas are the witnesses in 
 our utmost being that there is something 
 beyond us and above us; when we enter 
 into the idea of anything, we abdicate our 
 own pretensions to be authors or creators, 
 we become mere acknowledgers of that 
 which, is.— Maurice, 'Moral and Metaphij- 
 sical Philosoplnj,' L 147-150 (abridged). 
 
 Plato included under the expression idea 
 everything stable amidst the changes of 
 mere phenomena, all really and imchange- 
 able definitudes, by which the changes of 
 things and our knowledge of them are con- 
 ditioned, such as the ideas of genus and 
 species, the laws and ends of nature, as 
 also the principles of cognition, and of 
 moral action, and the essences of individual, 
 concrete, thinking souls. — Brandis, in 'Diet, 
 of Biog. arid Myth.,' iii. 401. 
 
 b. Of Ethics. 
 
 The highest good is, according to Plato, 
 not pleasui-e, nor knowledge alone, but the 
 greatest possible likeness to God, as the 
 absolutely good. The virtue of the human 
 soul is its fitness for its proper work. The 
 virtue of the cognitive part of the soul is 
 the knowledge of the good, or wisdom; 
 that of the courageous part is valour, 
 which consists in preserving correct and 
 legitimate ideas of what is to be feared and 
 what is not to be feared ; the virtue of the 
 appetitive part is temperance (moderation 
 or self-control, self-direction), Avhich con- 
 sists in the agreement of the better and 
 worse parts of the soul as to which should 
 rule ; justice, finally, is the universal virtue, 
 and consists in the fulfilment by each part 
 of its peculiar function. Virtue should be 
 desired, not fi-om motives of reward and 
 punishment, but because it is in itself the 
 health and beauty of the soul. To do in- 
 justice is worse than to suffer injustice. — 
 Uebenceg, 'Hid. of Phil.,'' i. 128. 
 
230 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Not life in the perisliableness, the change- 
 fulness of sensuous existence, but exaltation 
 into true, into ideal being, is that which is 
 the good absolutely. The task and destiny 
 of the soul is flight from the inward and out- 
 ward evils of sense, purification and emanci- 
 pation from corporeal influence, the striving 
 to become pure, just, and like withal to 
 God ; and the path to this is withdrawal 
 from sensuous imaginations and appetites, 
 retirement into thought, into the cognition 
 of truth, in a word, philosophy. — Schicegler, 
 'Hist of Phil,' p. 86. 
 
 Aristotle. Born 384 B.C. 
 
 His relation to Plato. 
 
 As Plato was the only true disciple of 
 Socrates, so in turn the only true disciple 
 of Plato was Aristotle. — Scluvegler, 'Hist, 
 of Phil.,' p. 94. 
 
 In the Platonic philosophy the opposi- 
 tion between the real and the ideal had 
 completely developed itself. The external 
 and sensible world was looked upon as a 
 world of appearance, in which the ideas can- 
 not attain to their true and proper reality. 
 Plato accordingly made the external woi'ld 
 the region of the incomplete and bad, of 
 the contradictory and false, and recognised 
 absokite truth only in the eternal immut- 
 able ideas. Now this opposition, which set 
 fixed limits to cognition, was surmounted 
 by Aristotle. — Stalir, in 'Diet, of Biog. and 
 Myth.; i. 334. 
 
 His method. 
 
 The method of Aristotle is different from 
 that of Plato. He proceeds, not syntheti- 
 cally and dialect ically, like the latter, but 
 almost always analytically and regressively, 
 that is to say, passing ever backwards from 
 what is concrete to its ultimate grounds 
 and principles. His method, therefore, is 
 induction, that is, the derivation of general 
 inferences and results from a sum of given 
 facts and phenomena. He bears himself 
 mostly only as a thoughtful observer. Pte- 
 nouncing any expectation of universality and 
 necessity in his conclusions, he is contented 
 
 to have established an approximate truth, 
 and pleased to have reached the greatest 
 possible probability. Philosophy has con- 
 sequently for him the character and the 
 value of a calculation of j)robabilities, and 
 his mode of exposition assumes not unfre- 
 quently only the form of a dubious count- 
 ing up. Hence his dislike to imaginative 
 flights and poetic figures in philosophy, his 
 invariable submission to the existent fact. 
 — Schwegler, 'Hist, of Phil.,' p. 97. 
 
 The peculiar method of Aristotle stands 
 in close connection with the universal direc- 
 tion which he gave to his intellectual exer- 
 tions, striving to penetrate into the whole 
 compass of knowledge. In this endeavour 
 he certainly sets ovit from experience, in 
 order first to arrive at the consciousness of 
 that which really exists, and so to grasp in 
 thovight the multiplicity and breadth of 
 the sensible and spiritual world. Thus he 
 always first lays hold of his subject exter- 
 nally, separates that in it which is merely 
 accidental, renders prominent the contra- 
 dictions which result, seeks to solve them 
 and to refer them to a higher idea, and so 
 at last arrives at the cognition of the ideal 
 intrinsic nature, which manifests itself in 
 every separate object of reality. In this 
 manner he consecutively develops the ob- 
 jects as well of the natural as of the 
 spiritual world, proceeding genetically from 
 the lower to the higher, and from the 
 known to the less known, and translates 
 the world of experience into the Idea. — 
 Stahr, in ' Diet, of Greek and Roman Biog.,' 
 i- 333- 
 
 His divisions of Philosojjhy. 
 
 The primary distinction and classifica- 
 tion recognised by Aristotle among sciences 
 or cognitions, is that of (i) Theoretical, (2) 
 Practical, (3) Artistic or Constructive. Of 
 these three divisions the second and third 
 alike comprise both intelligence and action, 
 but the two are distinguished from each 
 other by this, that in the Artistic there is 
 always some assignable product which the 
 agency leaves behind independent of itself. 
 
THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL. 
 
 231 
 
 whereas in the Practical no such inde- 
 pendent result remains, but the agency 
 itself, together with the purpose (or intel- 
 lectual and volitional condition) of the 
 agent is everything. The division named 
 Theoretical comprises intelligence alone — 
 intelligence of jn'mci^na, causes and con- 
 stituent elements. Here, again, w'e find a 
 tripai'tite classification. The highest and 
 most universal of all Theoretical Sciences is 
 recognised by Aristotle as Ontology (First 
 Philosophy, sometimes called by him The- 
 ology) which deals with all Ens universally, 
 quatenus Ens, and with the Prima Moventia, 
 themselves immovable, of the entire Kosmos. 
 The two other heads of Theoretical Science 
 are Mathematics and Physics ; each of them 
 special and limited as compared with On- 
 tology. — Grote, ^Aristotle,' p. 423. 
 
 His Doctrine. 
 
 a. Metaphysics. 
 
 The first philosophy or Metaphysics is 
 the science of the first principles and causes 
 of things. There are four first principles 
 or causes of things: — (i) The substance 
 and the idea; (2) the subject and the 
 matter; (3) the principle of motion; (4) 
 the purpose and the good. — Stalir, in '■Diet, 
 of Greek and Roman Biog.,'' i. 336. 
 
 The principles common to all spheres of 
 reality are considered. These are Form or 
 Essence, Matter or Substratum, Moving or 
 Efficient Cause, and End, The principle 
 of Form or Essence is the Aristotelian sub- 
 stitute for the Platonic Idea. — Ueberwej, 
 ^ Hist, of Phil.,' i 157. 
 
 b. Ethics. 
 
 The highest and last purpose of all ac- 
 tion, according to Aristotle, is happiness. 
 This he defines to be the energy of life ex- 
 isting for its own sake (perfect life), accord- 
 ing to virtue existing by and for itself 
 (perfect vii-tue). As the highest good it 
 must be pursued for its own sake. Virtues 
 are of two kinds, either intellectual virtues 
 (dianoetic), or moral virtues (ethical), ac- 
 cording to the distinction between the 
 
 reasoning faculty and. that in the soul 
 which obeys the reason. The intellectual 
 virtues may be learnt and taught, the 
 ethical virtues are acquired by practice. 
 Virtue is based upon free self-conscious ac- 
 tion. — Stahr, in 'Diet, of Greek and Roman 
 Biog.,' i. 340. 
 
 Socrates had set virtue and knowledge 
 as one. But, in the opinion of Aristotle, 
 it is not reason that is the first principle 
 of virtue, but the natural sensations, incli- 
 nations, and appetites of the soul, with- 
 out which action were not to be thought. 
 Aristotle also disputes the teachableness of 
 virtue. It is not throvigh cultivation of 
 knowledge, according to him, but through 
 exercise that virtue is realised. We be- 
 come virtuous through the practice of 
 virtue, as through the practice of music 
 and architecture we become musicians and 
 architects. Man is good through three 
 things : through nature, through habit, and 
 through reason. — Schicegler, ' Hist of Phil.,' 
 p. 116. 
 
 c. His doctrine of the relations of soul and 
 hody. 
 
 ' The soul,' says Aristotle, ' is not any 
 variety of body, but it cannot be without 
 a body ; it is not a body, but it is some- 
 thing belonging to or related to a body, and 
 for this reason it is in a body, and in a 
 body of such or such potentialities.' 
 
 The animated subject is thus a form im- 
 mersed or implicated in matter ; and all its 
 actions and passions are so likewise. Each 
 of these has its formal side as concerns the 
 soul, and its material side as concerns the 
 body. When a man or animal is angry, 
 for example, this emotion is both a fact of 
 the soul and a fact of the body ; in the first 
 of these two characters it may be defined 
 as an appetite for hurting some one who 
 has hurt us; in the second of the two it 
 may be defined as an ebullition of the blood 
 and heat round the heai-t. The emotion 
 belonging to the animated subject or aggre- 
 gate of soul and body is a complex fact 
 having two aspects, logically distinguish- 
 able from each other, but each correlating 
 
232 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and implying the other. This is true not 
 only in regard to our passions, emotions, 
 and appetites, but also in regard to our per- 
 ceptions, phantasms, reminiscences, reason- 
 ings, efforts of attention in learning, &c. — 
 Ch'ote, ^Aristotle,' pp. 458, 459. 
 
 d. His doctrine of Happiness or the Ugliest 
 good. 
 
 . What is the business and peculiar func- 
 tion of man as man 1 Not simply Life, for 
 that he has in common with the entire 
 vegetable and animal world; nor a mere 
 sensitive Life, for that he has in common 
 with all animals : it must be something 
 which he has apart both from plants and 
 animals, viz., an active life in conformity 
 with reason ; or the exercise of Reason as 
 a directing and superintending force, and 
 the exercise of the appetite, passions, and 
 capacities in a manner conformable to Rea- 
 son, This is the special and peculiar busi- 
 ness of man : it is what every man per- 
 forms either well or ill : and the virtue of 
 a man is that whereby he is enabled to 
 perform it well. The Supreme Good of 
 humanity, therefore, consisting as it does 
 in the due performance of this special 
 business of man, is to be found in the vir- 
 tuous activity of our rationa] and appeti- 
 tive soul; assuming always a life of the 
 ordinary length, without which no degree 
 of mental perfection would suffice to attain 
 the object. The full position will then 
 stand thus : ' Happiness, or the highest 
 good of a human being, consists in the 
 working of the soul and in a course of 
 action, pursuant to reason and conform- 
 able to virtue, throughout the whole con- 
 tinuance of life.' — Grote, ^Aristotle,'' pp. 
 502, 503- 
 
 Want of harmony in his philosophy. 
 
 We observe the disjointed nature of his 
 writings, their want of any systematic clas- 
 sification and division. Always advancing 
 from particular fact to particular fact, he 
 takes each region of reality by itself, and 
 makes it the object of a special treatise ; 
 
 but he omits for the most part to demon- 
 strate the threads by which the facts might 
 mutually cohere and clasp together into a 
 system. He obtains thus a plurality of 
 co-ordinated sciences, each of which has its 
 independent foundation, but no highest 
 science which should comprehend all. — 
 Schwegler, 'Hist of Phil.,'' p. 97. 
 
 m. THE ' ONE SIDED SOCRATICISTS,' 
 
 The Cynic and Cyrenaic Schools. 
 
 Several points these two opposite schools 
 seem to have had in common, (i.) They 
 started from a common principle, namely, 
 the assertion of the individual conscious- 
 ness and wUl, as being above all outward 
 convention and custom, free and self-re- 
 sponsible. (2.) They agreed in disregard- 
 ing all the sciences, which was a mistaken 
 carrying out of the intentions of Socrates. 
 (3.) They stood equally aloof from society 
 and from the cares and duties of a citizen. 
 (4.) They seem both to have vipheld the 
 ideal of a wise man, as being the exponent 
 of universal reason and the only standard 
 of right and wrong. — Grant, '■Aristotle's 
 Ethics,^ i. 172. 
 
 The Cynics. 
 
 Cynicism implies sneering and snarling 
 at the ways and institutions of society; 
 it implies discerning the unreality of the 
 shows of the world, and angrily despising 
 them ; it implies a sort of embittered wis- 
 dom, as if the follies of mankind were an 
 insult to itself. 
 
 We may ask, How far did the procedure 
 of the early Cynics justify this implica- 
 tion ? On the whole, very much. The 
 anecdotes of Antisthenes and Diogenes 
 generally describe them as being true 
 ' Cynics,' in the modern sense of the word. 
 Their whole life was a protest against 
 society. They lived in the open air ; they 
 slept in the porticos of temples ; they 
 begged ; Diogenes was sold as a slave. 
 They despised the feeHngs of patriotism; 
 war and its glory they held in repugnance. 
 
STOIC. 
 
 233 
 
 Their -hard and ascetic life set them above 
 all wants. ' I would rather be mad,' said 
 Antisthenes, 'than enjoy pleasure.' They 
 broke through the distinction of ranks by 
 associating with slaves. And yet under 
 this self-abasement was greater pride than 
 that against which they protested. So- 
 crates is reported to have said, ' I see the 
 pride of Antisthenes through the holes 
 in his mantle.' And when Diogenes ex- 
 claimed, while soiling with his feet the 
 carpet of Plato, ' Thus I tread on Plato's 
 pride,' ' Yes,' said Plato, ' with greater 
 px-ide of your own.' — Grant, ^ Ariatutle's 
 Ethics,' i. 173. 
 
 TJie Cyrenaics. 
 
 Personally, the Cyrenaics were not nearly 
 so interesting as the Cynics. Their posi- 
 tion was not to protest against the world, 
 but rather to sit loose upon the world. 
 Aristippus, who passed part of his time 
 at the court of Dionysius, and who lived 
 throughout a gay, serene, and refined life, 
 avowed openly that he resided in a foreign 
 land to avoid the irksomeness of mixing in 
 the politics of his native city Cyrene. But 
 the Cyrenaic philosophy was much more of 
 a system than the Cynic. Like the ethics 
 of Ai-istotle, this system started with the 
 question. What is happiness ? only it gave 
 a diffei'ent answer. 
 
 Cyrenaic morals began with the principle, 
 taken from Socrates, that happiness must 
 be man's aim. Next they start a question, 
 which is never exactly started in Aristotle, 
 and which remains an unexplained point 
 in his system, namely, 'A\niat is the rela- 
 tion of the parts to the whole, of each suc- 
 cessive moment to our entire life ? ' The 
 Cyrenaics answered decisively, * We have 
 only to do with the present. Pleasure is 
 lxo)toy_i(i\iog, fit^iKrj, an isolated moment, of 
 this alone we have consciousness. Happi- 
 ness is the sum of a number of these 
 moments. We must exclude desire and 
 hope and fear, which partake of the nature 
 of pain, and confine ourselves to the plea- 
 sure of the present moment. —Grant, ' A7-is- 
 totle's Mhics,' i. 174-176. 
 
 The Cyrenaic system a philosophy of de- 
 spair. 
 
 The profound joylessness which there is 
 at the core of the Cyrenaic system showed 
 itself openly in the doctrines of Hegesias, 
 the principal successor of Aristippus. Hege- 
 sias, regarding happiness as impossible, re- 
 duced the highest good for man to a sort 
 of apathy; thus, at the extremest point, 
 coinciding again with the Cynics. — Grant, 
 ' Aristotle's Etldcs,' i. 178. 
 
 IV. STOIC 
 
 Founders. 
 
 The founder of the Stoic school is Zeno, 
 born in Citium, a town of Cyprus, about 
 the year 340 B.C. ; not of pure Greek, but 
 of Phoenician extraction. He was pupil 
 first of Crates the Cynic, then of Stilpo 
 the Megaric, and lastly of Polemo the 
 Academic. Comnnced at length of the 
 necessity of a new philosophy, he opened, 
 in an arcade at Athens, a school of his own. 
 This arcade was named, from the paintings 
 of Polygnotus, with which it was decorated, 
 the ' many-coloured portico ' (Stoa Poecile) ; 
 whence those who attended the new school 
 were called 'philosophers of the Porch.' 
 Zeno's successor in the school was Cleanthes 
 of Assos, in Asia Minor, a faithful follower 
 of the tenets of his master. Cleanthes was 
 succeeded by Chrysippus, who was born in 
 Soli in Cilicia, and died about the year 
 208 B.C. He was so pre-eminently the 
 support of the Stoa, that it used to be said, 
 ' If Chrysippus were not, the Stoa were 
 not.' At all events, as, for all the later 
 Stoics, he was an object of exalted venera- 
 tion, and almost infallible authority, he 
 must be regarded as the most eminent 
 originator of their doctrine. — Schweyler, 
 ^ Hist, of Phil.,' p. 123. 
 
 Zeno was probably of Shemitic race, for 
 he is commonly styled 'the Phoenician.' 
 Babylon, Tyre, Sidon, Carthage, reared 
 some of his most illustrious succes.sors. 
 Cilicia, Phrygia, Rhodes were the homes 
 of others. Not a single Stoic of any name 
 
234 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 was a native of Greece proper. — Lightfoot, 
 ^ PMlippians,^ p. 271. 
 
 Origin of 
 
 Tlie theory. 
 
 The Stoical theory has deduced from an 
 observation how much power a man possesses 
 who is not the victim of pleasures or of 
 I pains. The endurance of pain, the con- 
 tempt of it, seemed to the Stoic the signs 
 of a man. He exaggerated the notion, till 
 pain itself acquired a glory in his eyes, till 
 he thought himself grand for hating plea- 
 svire. He dwelt in a magnificent self-suffi- 
 ciency, believing that pain had some virtue 
 or excellence of its own. — Maurice, ' The 
 Conscience,'' p. 79. 
 
 Like all the later systems of Greek philo- 
 sophy, Stoicism was the offspring of despair. 
 Of despair in religion ; for the old mytholo- 
 gies had ceased to command the belief or 
 influence the conduct of men. Of despair 
 in politics; for the Macedonian conquest 
 had broken the independence of the Hellenic 
 States, and stamped out the last sparks of 
 corporate life. Of despair even in philoso- 
 phy itself; for the older thinkers, though 
 they devoted their lives to forging a golden 
 chain which should link earth to heaven, 
 appeared now to have spent their strength 
 in weaving rojoes of sand. The sublime 
 intuitions of Plato had been found too 
 vague and unsubstantial, and the subtle 
 analyses of Aristotle too hard and cold, to 
 satisfy the natural craving of man for some 
 guidance which should teach him how to 
 live and to die. — Ligldfoot, ^ Philipjiiam^ 
 p. 269. 
 
 Of the practice. 
 
 We do not drop into Stoicism naturally. 
 A few may have some bias to it from edu- 
 cation ; a few may be drawn into it by 
 arguments, or the example of others. The 
 doctrine is much more commonly embraced 
 by one who has for a long time acted on 
 the maxim that pleasure is the supreme 
 power which he must obey. He has had 
 some stern and clear intimations of the 
 
 effects which come from subjection to this 
 ruler. The consequence is a violent quarrel 
 with himself, or the tendencies to which 
 he has passively yielded. He gnashes his 
 teeth at the things which have been the 
 occasion of his distress and humiliation; 
 he denounces pleasure as pleasure; he 
 greedily seizes upon pain as if by enduring 
 it he could take some revenge upon himself 
 for that avoidance of it in times past which 
 now seems to him feeble and cowardly. — 
 Maurice, ' Tlie Conscience^ p. 'i^. 
 
 j Stoic Division of PMlosopliy, 
 
 Three main divisions of philosophy were 
 universally acknowledged by the Stoics — ■ 
 Logic, Natural Science, and Ethics. As 
 regards the relative worth and sequence of 
 these divisions, very opposite views may be 
 deduced from the principles of the Stoic 
 teaching. There can be no doubt that in 
 position logic was subservient to the other 
 two branches of science, logic being only 
 regarded as an outpost of the system. — 
 Zeller, ' Stoics, Exncureans, Sfc.,' p. 65. 
 
 Doctrine of 
 
 First Cause. 
 
 In the order and harmony of universal 
 nature thei-e are signs enough. Stoics 
 argued, of a First Cause and Governing 
 Mind. A Httle thought upon the matter 
 shows us that there must be a power 
 inherent in the world to move it as the 
 soul can move the body. That power must 
 have consciousness and reason, else how 
 can we explain the being of conscious 
 creatures like ourselves ? Of God the 
 Stoics speak in the language of devotional 
 fervour, not only as an abstract Eeason, but 
 as a happy and beneficent Creator. But 
 if we ask what were the real features of 
 their creed, we shall find to our surprise 
 that it was one of Pantheism undisguised 
 God is the eternal substance which is 
 always varying its moods, and passing in- 
 to different forms as the creative work is 
 going forward, and may be alike conceived 
 therefore as the primary matter and the 
 
STOIC. 
 
 235 
 
 efficient force -which shapes the derivative 
 materials of which all things are made. 
 From God all things proceed, and to Ilim 
 they will all return at last when each 
 cycle of time has rim its course. — Cajx'i!, 
 'Stoicism,' p. 37. 
 
 The Stoics did not think of God and the 
 woi-ld as different beings. Their system 
 was therefore strictly pantheistic. The 
 world is the sum of all real existence, and 
 all real existence is originally contained in 
 God, who is at once universal matter and 
 the creative force which fashions matter 
 into the particular materials of which 
 things are made. We can, therefore, 
 think of nothing which is not either God 
 or a manifestation of God. In point of 
 Being, God and the world are the same, 
 the two conceptions being declared by the 
 Stoics to be absolutely identical. — ZelJer, 
 'Stoics, Epicureans, ^c.,' p. 149. 
 
 They called God, now the spiritual breath 
 that permeates nature, now the art-sub- 
 serving fire that forms or creates the 
 universe, and now the ether, which, how- 
 ever, was not different to them from the 
 principle of fire. In consequence of this 
 identification of God and the world, all in 
 the world appears to them inspired by the 
 divine life, coming into special existence 
 out of the divine whole, and returning into 
 it again. — Scliwegler, * Hist, of Phil.,' p. 126. 
 
 The fundamental and invincible error of 
 Stoic philosophy was its theological creed. 
 Though frequently disguised in devout 
 language which the most sincere believer 
 in a personal God might have welcomed 
 as expressing his loftiest aspirations, its 
 theology was nevertheless, as dogmatically 
 exjjounded by its ablest teachers, nothing 
 better than a pantheistic materialism. This 
 inconsistency between the philosophic doc- 
 trine and the religious phraseology of the 
 Stoics is a remarkable feature, which per- 
 haps may be best explained by its mixed 
 origin. The theological language would 
 be derived in great measure from Eastern 
 (I venture to think from Jewish) aflinities, 
 while the philosophic dogma was the pro- 
 
 duct of Ilellenised thought. Heathen de- 
 votion seldom or never soars higher than 
 in the sublime hymn of Cleanthes. ' Thine 
 offspring are we,' so he addresses the 
 supreme Being, * therefore will I hymn 
 Thy praises and sing Thy might for ever. 
 Thee all this universe which rolls about the 
 earth obeys, wheresoever Thou dost guide 
 it, and gladly owns Thy sway. ' * No work 
 on earth is wrought apart from Thee, nor 
 through the vast heavenly sphere, nor in 
 the sea, save only the deeds which bad men 
 in their folly do.' If these words might 
 be accepted in their first and most obvious 
 meaning, we could hardly wish for any 
 more sublime and devout expression of the 
 relations of the creature to his Creator 
 and Father. But a reference to the doc- 
 trinal teaching of the school dispels the 
 splendid illusion. This Father in heaven, 
 we learn, is no personal Being, all righteous 
 and all holy, of whose loving care the 
 purest love of an earthly parent is but a 
 shadowy counterfeit. He — or It — is only 
 another name for nature, for necessity, for 
 fate, for the universe. — Ligldfoot, ' Philip- 
 pians,'' p. 317. 
 
 Of Ethics. 
 
 Its j^lace in their system. 
 
 The Eastern origin of Stoicism combined 
 with the circmnstances and requirements 
 of the age to give it an exclusively ethical 
 character. Consciously and expressly they 
 held physical questions and the systematic 
 treatment of logic to be valueless except in 
 their bearing on moral questions. Reijre- 
 senting philosophy under the image of a 
 field, they compared physics to the trees, 
 ethics to the fruit for which the trees 
 exist, and logic to the wall or fence which 
 protects the enclosure. Or again, adopting 
 another comparison, they likened logic to 
 the shell of an e^g, physics to the white, 
 and ethics to the yolk. — Lifjhtfoot, ' Philip- 
 pians,' p. 272. 
 
 Statement of it. 
 
 These ethics assert the supreme good, or 
 the supreme end of our endeavours, to be 
 
236 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 an adaptation of our life to tlie universal 
 law, to the harmony of the world, to 
 nature. ' Follow nature,' or ' live in agree- 
 ment with nature,' this is the moral prin- 
 ciple of the Stoics. More precisely: live 
 in agreement with thy own rational nature, 
 so far as it is not corrupted and distorted 
 by art, but remains in its natural sim- 
 plicity; be knowingly and willingly that 
 which by nature thou art, a rational part 
 of the rational whole; be reason and in 
 reason, instead of following unreason and 
 thy own particular self-will. Here is thy 
 destination, here thy happiness, as on 
 this path thou avoidest every contradic- 
 tion to thy own nature and to the order 
 of things without, and providest thyself 
 a life that glides along undisturbed in a 
 smooth and even stream. — Schweglei', ' Hist, 
 of Phil,' p. 127. 
 
 This leading principle of the Stoics was 
 carried out to its conclusions with an 
 exchisive and uncompromising rigour, and 
 the startling paradoxes which they held 
 seemed to follow naturally enough from 
 their one-sided treatment of great truths. 
 Good, in its wider sense, was commonly 
 defined in the earlier schools as that which 
 satisfies a natural want, but the essential 
 element, the true nature of man as distinct 
 from other creatures, is his reason; and 
 his real good, therefore, lies in rational 
 action, or in virtue. There is no good 
 independently of virtue. Bodily advan- 
 tages and gifts of fortune have no abiding 
 character of good, satisfy no permanent 
 want of reason. So even health and 
 wealth must be counted as indifferent, that 
 is, with no distinctive character of good, 
 for they may be and are sadly abused. 
 Still less must pleasure be the object of 
 pursuit. Pleasure there is indeed in 
 virtuous conduct, a cheerful serenity so 
 sweet that we may say that only the wise 
 man knows true pleasure, but we must not 
 make that our aim and object. Virtue 
 should be its own reward, and cannot need 
 extraneous conditions to complete the hap- 
 piness of those who have it. For a man's 
 true self vice alone was evil. Hardship, 
 
 poverty, disgrace, pain, sickness, death, 
 seem evils to the beings who are content 
 to live upon a lower level. The wise man 
 alone is free, for he can make himself 
 independent of the whims of fortune and 
 enjoy the bliss of an unruffled calm. — 
 Capes, ' Stoicism,' pp. 44-46. 
 
 Happiness, the Stoics said, can be sought 
 only in rational activity or virtue. Speak- 
 ing more explicitly, the primary impulse 
 of every being is towards self-preservation 
 and self-gratification. It follows that every 
 being pursues those objects which are most 
 suited to its nature, and that such objects 
 alone have for it any value. Hence the 
 highest good — the end-in-chief, or happi- 
 ness — can only be found in what is con- 
 formable to nature. 
 
 The happiness of the virtuous man — and 
 this is a peculiar feature of Stoicism — is 
 thus far more negative than positive. It 
 consists more ia independence and peace of 
 mind than in the enjoyment which moral 
 conduct brings with it. In mental dis- 
 quietude, says Cicero, speaking as a Stoic, 
 consists misery ; in composure, happi- 
 ness. The doctrine of the apathy of the 
 wise man is alone enough to prove that 
 freedom from disturbances, an uncondi- 
 tional assurance, and self-control, are the 
 points on which these philosophers lay 
 especial value, as constituting the happi- 
 ness of the virtuous man. — Zeller, 'Stoics, 
 Epicureans, ^c.,' pp. 213 and 225. 
 
 Its defects. 
 
 The ethics of the Stoical school have vital 
 defects. The fundamental maxim of con- 
 formity to nature, though involving great 
 difficulties in its practical application, might 
 at all events have afforded a starting-point 
 for a reasonable ethical code. Yet it is 
 hardly too much to say that no system of 
 morals, which the wit of man has ever 
 devised, assumes an attitude so fiercely 
 defiant of nature as this. It is mere folly 
 to maintain that pain and privation are no 
 evils. The paradox must defeat its own 
 ends. Stoicism is pervaded by want of 
 sympathy. Pity, anger, love, are ignored 
 
STOIC. 
 
 237 
 
 by the Stoic, or at least recognised only 
 to be crushed. The Stoic ideal is stern, 
 impassive, immovable. As a natural con- 
 sequence, the genuine Stoic is isolated and 
 selfish. — Ligldfoot, ^ PliiUpinans,^ p. 319. 
 
 Illustrations of Stoical Teaching. 
 
 Individual morality and self-examination. 
 
 *As far as thou canst, accuse thyself, 
 try thyself : discharge the office, first of a 
 prosecutor, then of a judge, lastly of an 
 intercessor. — ^Seneca,' quoted hy Ligldfoot, 
 ' Phibfj^ians,' p. 279. 
 
 ' We have all sinned, some more gravely, 
 others more lightly, some from purpose, 
 others by chance impulse, or else carried 
 away by wickedness external to them ; 
 others of us have wanted fortitude to 
 stand by our resolutions, and have lost our 
 innocence unwillingly and not without a 
 struggle. Not only we have erred, but to 
 the end of time we shall continue to err. 
 Even if any one has already so well purified 
 his mind that nothing can shake or decoy 
 him any more, it is through sinning that 
 he has arrived at this state of innocence. — 
 * Seneca,' quoted by Gra7it, 'Aristotle's Ethics,' 
 i- 357- 
 
 Religious character of Stoical teaching. 
 
 ' God has a fatherly mind towards good 
 men, and loves them stoutly ; and, saith 
 He, Let them be harassed with toils, with 
 pains, with losses, that they may gather 
 tiiie strength.' 'Those therefore whom 
 God approves, whom He loves, them He 
 hardens, He chastises. He disciplines. ' ' It 
 is best to endure what you cannot mend, 
 and without murmuring to attend upon 
 God, by whose ordering all things come to 
 pass. He is a bad soldier who follows his 
 captain complaining.' — 'Seneca,' quoted by 
 Lightfoot, ' I'hilippians,' pp. 277, 278. 
 
 The philosophers say that we ought first 
 to learn that there is a God, and that He 
 provides for all things ; also that it is not 
 possible to conceal from Him our acts, or 
 even our intentions and thoughts. The 
 next thinsr is to learn what is the nature 
 
 of the gods ; for such as they are discovered 
 to be, he, who would please and obey them, ' 
 must try with all his power to be like them. 
 — Epictetus, ' Discourses,' bk. ii chap. xiv. 
 p. 141. 
 
 Independence of circumstances. 
 
 'Varro thought that nature, Brutus that 
 the consciousness of virtue, were sufficient 
 consolations for any exile. How little have 
 I lost in comparison with these two fairest 
 possessions which I shall everywhere enjoy 
 — nature and my own integrity ! Whoever 
 or whatever made the world, — whether it 
 were a deity, or disembodied reason, or a 
 divine interfusing spirit, or destiny, or an 
 immutable series of connected causes, the 
 result was that nothing, except our very 
 meanest possessions, should depend on the 
 will of another. Man's best gifts lie be- 
 yond the power of man either to give or 
 to take away. This Universe, the grandest 
 and loveliest work of nature, and the In- 
 tellect, which was created to observe and 
 to admire it, are our special and eternal 
 possessions which shall last as long as we 
 last ourselves. Cheerful, therefore, and 
 erect, let us hasten with v;ndaunted foot- 
 steps whithersoever our fortunes lead us. 
 
 ' What though fortune has thrown me 
 where the most magnificent abode is but a 
 cottage 1 the humblest cottage, if it be but 
 the home of virtue, may be moi-e beautiful 
 than all temples ; no place is narrow which 
 may contain the crowd of glorious virtues ; 
 no exile severe into which you may go with 
 such a reliance.' — ' Seneca,' quoted by E. W. 
 Earrer, 'Seekers after God,' pp. 93, 94. 
 
 Freedom and Slavei-y, — the one is the 
 name of virtue and the other of vice ; and 
 both are acts of the will. But where there 
 is no will, neither of them touches (affects) 
 these things. But the soul is accustomed 
 to be master of the body, and the things 
 which belong to the body have no share in 
 the will ; for no man is a slave who is free 
 in his will. — Epictetus, ' Fragments^ viii. 
 
 It is an evil chain, fortune (a chain) of 
 the body and vice of the soul. For he who 
 
238 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 is loose (free) in tlie body but bound in the 
 soul, is a slave ; but, on the contrary, lie 
 who is bound in the body but free (un- 
 bound) in the soul is free. — E])idetus, ^Frag- 
 ments,^ ix. 
 
 Benevolence. 
 
 Begin the morning by saying to thyself, 
 I shall meet with the busybody, the un- 
 grateful, arrogant, deceitful, envious, un- 
 social. All these things happen to them by 
 reason of their ignorance of what is good 
 and evil. But I, who have seen the nature 
 of the good that it is beautiful, and of the 
 bad that it is ugly, and the nature of him 
 who does wrong that it is akin to me, not 
 (only) of the same blood or seed, but that 
 it participates in (the same) intelhgence 
 and (the same) portion of the divinity, I 
 can neither be injured by any of them, for 
 no one can fix on me what is ugly nor can 
 be angry with my kinsman, nor hate him. 
 For we are made for co-operation, like feet, 
 like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of the 
 upper and lower teeth. To act against one 
 another, then, is contrary to nature, and it 
 is acting against one another to be vexed and 
 to turn away. — Aurelius, ^Thoughts,' ii. i. 
 
 IMen exist for the sake of one another. 
 Teach them then or bear with them. — 
 Aurelius, '■Thoughts,'' viii. 59. 
 
 Suicide as an act of self-abnegation. 
 
 The culminating point of self-abnegation 
 with the Stoics was suicide. The first 
 leaders of the school, by their precept and 
 example, recommended the wise, on occa- 
 sion, to ' usher themselves out ' of life. If 
 suicide, thus dignified by a name, were an 
 escape from a mere pain or annoyance, it 
 would be an Epicurean act ; but, as a flight 
 from what is degrading, — as a great piece 
 of renunciation, it assumes a Stoical ap- 
 pearance. The passion for suicide reached 
 its height in the writings of Seneca, under 
 the wretched circumstances of the Eoman 
 despotism ; but, on the whole, it belongs to 
 immature Stoicism. Epictetus and Marcus 
 Aurelius dissuaded from it. — Gh'ant, ' A7'is- 
 totle's Ethics,' i. 334, 335. 
 
 Its Characteristic Features. 
 
 The characteristic features of the system 
 consist in three points : a pre-eminently 
 practical tendency, the shaping of practical 
 considerations by the notions of the good 
 and virtue, the use of logic and natural 
 science as a scientific basis. — Zeller, ' Stoics, 
 Eijicureans, ^'c.,' p. 359. 
 
 Intense moral earnestness was the most 
 honourable characteristic of Stoicism. The 
 ever-active conscience is its glory, and 
 proud self -consciousness is its reproach. 
 Stoicism breathes the religious atmosphere 
 of the East, which fostered on the one 
 hand the inspired devotion of a David or 
 an Isaiah, and on the other the self -morti- 
 fication and self-righteousness of an Egyp- 
 tian therapeutic or an Indian fakir. It 
 might with great truth be described as 
 the contact of Oriental influences with 
 the world of classical thought. — Liglitfoot, 
 ' Philipjjians,' p. 271. 
 
 Its Productive Element. 
 
 The productive element in the Stoic phi- 
 losophy is not to be deemed insignificant, 
 especially in the field of ethics, where their 
 vigorous discrimination and severance of 
 the morally good from the agreeable, and 
 the rank of indifference to which they re- 
 duced the latter, mark at once the merit and 
 the one-sidedness of the Stoics. — Uebenceg, 
 'Hist, of Phil.,' i. 187. 
 
 Meagre results of Stoicism. 
 
 Our first wonder is that, from a system 
 so rigorous and unflinching in its prin- 
 ciples, and so heroic in its proportions, the 
 dii-ect results should have been marvel- 
 lously little. It produced, or at least it 
 attracted, a few isolated great men ; but 
 on the life of the masses and on the policy 
 of states it was almost whoUy powerless. 
 Stoicism has no other history except the 
 history of its leaders. It was a staff of 
 professors without classes. — Ldghtfoot,^ Phi- 
 Uppians,' pp. 307, 317. 
 
EPICUREAN. 
 
 239 
 
 Its Relation to Christianity. 
 
 One of oppositio7i. 
 
 Nothing can well be imagined more con- 
 trary to the spirit of Christianity. No- 
 thing could be more repugnant to the 
 Stoic than the news of a ' Saviour ' who 
 has atoned for our sin, and is ready to aid 
 our weakness. Christianity is the school 
 of Humility; Stoicism was the education 
 of Pride. Christianity is a discipline of 
 life ; Stoicism was nothing better than an 
 apprenticeship for death. In its full de- 
 velopment Stoicism was utterly opposed to 
 Christianity. — Conyheare and Hoioson, ''Life 
 of St. Paul,' i. 433. 
 
 Yet of jn-eparation for the Gospel. 
 
 To the language of Stoicism was due a 
 remarkable development of moral terms 
 and images. St. Paul found in the ethi- 
 cal language of the Stoics expressions more 
 fit than he could find elsewhere to describe 
 in certain aspects the duties and privileges, 
 the struggles and the triumphs, of the 
 Christian life. But though the words and 
 symbols remained substantially the same, 
 yet in their application they became in- 
 stinct with new force and meaning. — 
 Liijhtfoot, ^ Phih'p>pians,' p. 300. 
 
 On this subject see the whole of Bishop 
 Lightfoot's admirable Dissertation on St. 
 Paul and Seneca ('Epistle to the Philip- 
 pians '), so frequently quoted in this article, 
 and concerning which Mr. Capes rightly 
 observes that it ' has left nothing further 
 to be said upon the question,' 
 
 V. EPICUREAN. 
 
 The Founder— Epicurus, born 342 B.C. 
 
 The founder of the Epicurean school was 
 Epicurus, the son of an Athenian who had 
 emigrated to Samos. In his thiity-sixth 
 year he opened at Athens a philosophical 
 school, over which he presided till his 
 death (in the year 270 B.C.) Epicurus's 
 moral character has been frequently as- 
 sailed ; but his life, according to the most 
 credible testimony, was in every respect 
 
 blameless, and he himself alike amiable 
 and estimable. JNIuch of what is reported 
 about the offensive sensuality of the Epi- 
 curean sty is in general considered to be 
 c-xlumny. -^Schimjler, 'Hist, of Phil.,' p. 131. 
 
 Epicurus had not the obtrusive idiosyn- 
 crasy of the Cynic, nor the severe and 
 strict austerity of the Stoic. Philosophy 
 with him did not mean speculation, nor 
 yet an isolated seclusion ; neither was its 
 effect to be seen in the outward clothing, 
 or want of clothing, of a Diogenes. Phi- 
 losophy was *a daily business of speech 
 and thought, to secure a happy life.' It 
 was not necessary to have read deeply or 
 thought profoundly. One study, however, 
 for a philosopher was absolutely necessary, 
 the study of nature. The personal kind- 
 liness, the sympathy, the generosity, the 
 sweetness of Epicurus's character stand out 
 clearly. — Courtjicy, 'Studies in Philosophy,' 
 p. 30. 
 
 Epicurus, we are told, liked to hear anec- 
 dotes respecting the indifference and apathy 
 of Pyrrho. But Epicurus was no doubter ; 
 he was the most imperious of dogmatists. 
 No one had ever such entire faith in his 
 own conclusions ; no one more thoroughly 
 and heartily rejected all conclusions but his 
 own, as absurd, even as impossible. Unless 
 he had attained to this perfect satisfaction 
 in his own judgment, he would have missed 
 the main object which he proposed to him- 
 self. A man must be brought into a 
 pecvdiar condition of mind before he can 
 believe that the universe and all that it 
 contains exist only that they may tell him 
 how he is to be comfortable ; but when 
 once he has believed this, it will be won- 
 derful indeed if his ears ever catch any 
 sound which is not an echo to his demand, 
 or some fragment of an answer to it. — 
 Maurice, 'Moral and Metaphysical Philo- 
 sophy,' i. 235. 
 
 Doctrine. 
 
 Its general character. 
 
 Epicurus denominated philosophy an ac- 
 tivity which realises a happy life through 
 
240 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ideas and arguments. It has essentially 
 for him, therefore, a practical object, and 
 it results, as he desires, in ethics which 
 are to teach us how to attain to a life of 
 felicity. The Epicureans did, indeed, ac- 
 cept the usual division of philosophy into 
 logic (called canonic by them), physics, and 
 ethics. But logic, limited to the investiga- 
 tion of the criteria of truth, was considered 
 by them only as ancillary to physics. Phy- 
 sics, again, existed only for ethics, in order 
 to secure men from those vain terrors of 
 empty fables, and that superstitious fear 
 which might obstruct their happiness. In 
 Epicureanism, we have still, then, the three 
 ancient parts of philosophy, but in reverse 
 order, logic and physics being only at the 
 service of ethics. — Schwegler, ''Hist, of Phil., ^ 
 p. 131. 
 
 No other system troubled itself so little 
 about the foundation on which it rested ; 
 none confined itself so exclusively to the 
 utterances of its founder. Such was the 
 dogmatism with which Epicurus propounded 
 his precepts, such the conviction he enter- 
 tained of their usefulness, that his pupils 
 were required to commit summaries of them 
 to memory ; and the superstitious devotion 
 for the founder was with his approval car- 
 ried to such a length, that not the slightest 
 deviation from liis tenets was on a single 
 point permitted. Probably it was easier 
 for an Epicurean to act thus than it would 
 have been for any other thinker. The aim 
 of philosophy was, with them, to promote 
 human happiness. Indeed, philosophy is 
 nothing else but an activity helping us to 
 happiness by means of speech and thought. 
 All science which does not serve this end 
 is superfluous and worthless. Hence Epi- 
 curus despised learning and culture, the 
 researches of grammarians and the lore of 
 historians, and declared that it was most 
 conducive to simplicity of feeling to be un- 
 contaminated by learned rubbish. — Zeller, 
 ' Stoics, E;picureans, ^c.,' pp. 394-396. 
 
 His doctrine of atoms. 
 Every body is composed of a greater or 
 smaller number of atoms, or indivisible 
 
 particles, in various degrees of proximity 
 to each other. What appears to be solid 
 is never absolutely so. The air, the water, 
 the fruit, the rock, have all an atomic or 
 molecular constitution. The tiny particles 
 of which they are composed float in an 
 ocean of empty space, where they are forced 
 into closer or laxer proximity to each other. 
 How small these atoms are we cannot tell. 
 They are cognisable by reason and thought, 
 but they are beneath the power of sense, at 
 least of unassisted sense. — Wallace, ^Epi- 
 cureanism,' p. 97. 
 
 Ethics. 
 
 In the Epicurean Ethics the highest good 
 is defined as happiness. Happiness, accord- 
 ing to Epicurus, is synonymous with plea- 
 sure, for this is what every being naturally 
 seeks to acquire. Pleasure may result either 
 from motion or from rest. The pleasure of 
 rest is freedom from pain. Pleasure and 
 pain, further, are either mental or bodily. 
 The most powerful sensations are not, as the 
 Cyrenaics afiirmed, bodily, but mental ; for 
 while the former are confined to the mo- 
 ment, the latter are connected with the 
 past and future, through memory and hope, 
 which thus increase the pleasure of the 
 moment. Not every species of pleasure 
 is to be sought after, nor is every pain to 
 be shvmned; for the means employed to 
 secure a certain pleasure are often followed 
 by pains greater than the pleasure pro- 
 duced, or involve the loss of other pleasures; 
 and that, whose immediate effect is pain- 
 ful, often serves to ward off greater pain, 
 or is followed by a pleasure more than com- 
 mensurate with the pain immediately pro- 
 duced. Whenever a question arises as to 
 the expediency of doing or omitting any 
 action, the degrees of pleasure and pain, 
 which can be foreseen as sure to result 
 from the act, must be weighed and com- 
 pared, and the question must be decided 
 according to the preponderance of pleasure 
 or pain in the foreseen result. The correct 
 insight necessary for this comparison is the 
 cardinal virtue. From it flow all other 
 virtues. The virtuous man is he who is 
 
EPICUREAN. 
 
 241 
 
 able to proceed rightly in the quest of 
 pleasure. — Uehericeg, ' Hwf. of PJu'l.,' i. 
 208. 
 
 ' The end and aim of all action,' says 
 Epicui-us, 'is that we may neither suffer 
 nor fear. When once this end is realised, 
 all the tempest of the soul subsides, for 
 animal nature has then no need to satisfy, 
 nothing is wanting to the full completion 
 of good, whether of body or soul. For we 
 want pleasure when we feel pain at its 
 absence ; when we feel no pain we want no 
 pleasure. It is for this reason that we say 
 that pleasure is the beginning and end of 
 a happy life.' Again he says, * I can con- 
 ceive of no good remaining if you take from 
 me the pleasures of taste, the pleasures of 
 love, and the pleasures of ear and eye.' 
 But he adds, * When we say that pleasure 
 is the end, we do not mean the pleasures 
 of the libertine and the pleasures of mere 
 enjoyment, as some critics, either ignorant, 
 or antagonistic, or unfriendly, suppose, but 
 the absence of pain in the body and trouble 
 in the mind.' 'Philosophy has no more 
 priceless element than prudence, from which 
 all other virtues flow, teaching us that it 
 is not possible to live pleasantly without 
 also living sensibly, honourably, and justly. ' 
 — Courtney, ^Studies in Philosophy,^ pp. 
 35-38. 
 
 Epicurus demands not for a happy life 
 the most exquisite pleasures ; he recom- 
 mends, on the contrary, sobriety and tem- 
 perance, contentment with little, and a life 
 generally in accord with nature. He boasts 
 to be willing to vie with Jupiter himself in 
 happiness, if allowed only plain bread and 
 water. The wise man can dispense with 
 finer enjoyments, for he possesses within 
 himself the greatest of his satisfactions, he 
 enjoys within himself the truest and the 
 most stable joy, — tranquillity of soul, im- 
 passibility of mind. The theory of Epicurus 
 ends in the recommendation of negative 
 pleasure through the avoidance of the dis- 
 agreeable. But he knows nothing of a 
 moral destiny in man. — Schiceyhr, ' Hist, 
 of Phi!.,' p. 133. 
 
 His hedonism is of a sober and reflective 
 kind. It rests on the assumption that plea- 
 sure is the end or natural aim, but, it adds, 
 that the business of philosophy is to show 
 within what limits that end is attainable. 
 Thus if, on one hand, it declares against 
 the philosojihers that pleasure is the law 
 of nature, and that ideal ends ought to 
 promote the welfare of humanity, it de- 
 clares on the other against the multitude 
 that the ordinary pursuit of pleasure, and 
 the common ideas of its possibilities, are 
 erroneous. True pleasure is satisfaction, 
 and not a yearning, which, though mo- 
 mentarily stilled, bursts forth again. — 
 Wallace, ^Epicureanism,' p. 147. 
 
 TJieology of Epicurus. 
 
 Careless opponents have described Epi- 
 curus as an Atheist. But the existence of 
 the gods is what he never denies : what he, 
 on the contrary, asserts as a fundamental 
 truth. The question on which he diverges 
 from popular faith is not whether there 
 are gods, but what is their nature and rela- 
 tion to man. His special tenet is a denial 
 of the creative and providential functions 
 of deity. The gods are away from the tur- 
 moil and trouble of the world. Going a 
 step beyond Aristotle, he assigns them an 
 abode in the vacant spaces between the 
 worlds. In a place of calm, where gu^ty 
 winds, and dank clouds and mists, and 
 wintry snow and frost never come. Its 
 smiling landscapes are bathed in perpetual 
 summer light. There the bounties of nature 
 know no end, and no troubles mar the 
 serenity of the mind. Such was the Epi- 
 curean heaven : there was no Epicurean 
 hell. — Wallace, ^Epicureanism,' pp. 202, 
 203. 
 
 Compared with Stoic. 
 
 Epicurus and Zeno strove in different 
 ways to solve the problem which the per- 
 plexities of their age presented. Both alike, 
 avoiding philosophy in the proper sense of 
 the term, concentrated their energies on 
 etliics : but the one took happiness, the 
 other virtue, as I is supreme good, and made 
 
242 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 it the startingpoint of his ethical teaching. 
 Both alike contrasted with the older masters 
 in building their systems on the needs of 
 the individual and not of the State: but 
 the one strove to satisfy the cravings of man 
 as a being intended by nature for social life, 
 by laying stress on the claims and privi- 
 leges of friendship, the other by expanding 
 his sphere of duty and representing him 
 as a citizen of the world or even of the 
 universe. Both alike took conformity to 
 nature as their guiding maxim : but nature 
 Avith the one was interpreted to mean the 
 equable balance of all the impulses and 
 faculties of man, with the other the abso- 
 lute supremacy of the reason, as the ruling 
 principle of his being. And, lastly, both 
 alike sought refuge from the turmoil and 
 confusion of the age in the inward calm 
 and composui-e of the soul. If Serenity 
 was the supreme virtue of the one, her 
 twin sister Passionlessness was the sove- 
 reign principle of the other. — Light foot, 
 ' Philippians,' p. 270. 
 
 The Epicurean sage was not a hero, not 
 a statesman, not even a philosopher, but a 
 quiet, hvimane, and prudent man, — 'a hero,' 
 as Seneca says, ' disguised as a woman.' 
 Epicureanism was undoubtedly not a specu- 
 lative success, but as a practical code of life 
 it suited the world far more than its rival 
 Stoicism, and lasted longer. It could not 
 produce martyrs or satisfy the highest aspi- 
 rations of mankind, but it made men fall 
 back on themselves and find contentment 
 and serenity in a life at once natural and 
 controlled. — Courtne?/, ' Studies in Philo- 
 sophi/,' p. 54. 
 
 The Epicureans stood aloof from practice 
 to a far greater extent than the Stoics. The 
 end of their system looked to life and not 
 to business : the end of their wisdom was 
 to enjoy life. They did not profess, like 
 the Stoics, that their wise man was capable 
 of doing well any of the innumerable voca- 
 tions in life which he might choose to adopt. 
 They claimed that he would live like a god 
 amongst men and conquer mortality by his 
 enjoyment at every instant of an immortal 
 
 blessedness. While the Stoic represented 
 man as the creature and subject of divinity, 
 the Epicurean taught him that he was his 
 own master. While the Stoic rationalised 
 the mythology of their country into a 
 crude and fragmentary attempt at theology, 
 the Epicurean rejected all the legends of 
 the gods, and denied the deity any part in 
 regulating the affairs of men. Both agreed 
 in foundmg ethics on a natural as opposed 
 to a political basis ; but they differed in 
 their application of the _term nature. To 
 the Stoic it meant the instinct of self-con- 
 servation — the maintenance of our being in 
 its entirety — acting up to our duty. To 
 the Epicurean it meant having full pos- 
 session of our own selves, enjoying to 
 the full all that the conditions of human 
 life permit. — Wallace, ' Epicureanism,' ipTp. 
 18, 19. 
 
 Transmission of the System. 
 
 Epicurus has had many resurrections ; 
 his spirit has lived again in Gassendi, in 
 La Rochefoucauld, in Saint-Evremond, in 
 Helvetius, and in Jeremy Bentham. — 
 Courtney, ^Studies in Philosophy,'' p. 53. 
 
 VI. SCEPTIC. 
 Three Schools. 
 
 There appeared in succession three Scep- 
 tical schools or groups of philosophers : — 
 (i) Pyrrho of Elis (in the time of Alexander 
 the Great) and his earliest followers; (2) 
 the so-called Middle Academy, or the second 
 and third Academic Schools ; (3) the Later 
 Sceptics, beginning with ^nesidemus, who 
 again made the teaching of Pyrrho the 
 basis of their own teaching. — Ueberweg, 
 ' Hist, of Phil,' i. 212. 
 
 Doctrine. 
 
 The tendency of these sceptical philo- 
 sophers was, like that of the Stoics and 
 Epicureans, proximately a practical one ; 
 philosophy shall conduct us to happiness. 
 But, to live happy, we must know how 
 things are, and how, consequently, we 
 
ECLECTIC. 
 
 243 
 
 must relate ourselves to them. They an- 
 swered the first question in this way : 
 Wliat things really are lies beyond the 
 sphere of our knowledge, since we perceive 
 not things as they are but only as they 
 appear to us to be ; our ideas of them are 
 neither true nor false ; anj-thing definite of 
 anj-thing cannot be said. Neither our per- 
 ceptions nor our ideas of things teach us 
 anything true ; the opposite of every pro- 
 position, of every enunciation, is still pos- 
 sible. In this impossibility of any objec- 
 tive knowledge of science, the true relation 
 of the philosopher to things is entire sus- 
 pense of judgment, complete reserve of all 
 positive opinion. In this suspense of judg- 
 ment, they believed their practical end, 
 happiness, attained; for, like a shadow, 
 imperturbability of soul follows freedom 
 from judgment, as if it were a gift of for- 
 tune. He who has adopted the sceptical 
 mood of thought lives ever in peace, with- 
 out care and without desire, in a pure 
 apathy that know^ neither of good nor evil. 
 — Sckwegler, 'Hist, of Fhil.,' p. 135. 
 
 PyiTho's teaching may be summed up in 
 the three following statements: (i.) We 
 can know nothing about the nature of 
 things. ■ (2.) Hence the right attitude to- 
 wards them is to withhold judgment. (3.) 
 The necessary result of suspending judg- 
 ment is imperturbability. — Zeller, 'Stoics, 
 Eincureans, Sfc.,' p. 492. 
 
 Causes producing it. 
 
 Not seldom do sceptical theories follow 
 times of great philosophical originality. 
 The impulse which emanated from the 
 Stoic and Epicurean systems was strong. 
 Related as these systems are to Scepticism 
 by their practical tone, it was natural that 
 they should afford fresh fuel to Scepticism. 
 At the same time the unsatisfactory ground- 
 work upon which they were built, and the 
 contrast between their statements regard- 
 ing morality and nature, promoted distinc- 
 tive criticism. The important back-influence 
 of Stoicism and Epicureanism in producing 
 Scepticism may be best gathered from the 
 
 fact that Scepticism only attained a wide 
 extension of a more comprehensive basis 
 after the appearance of those systems. — 
 Zeller, 'Stoics, Epicureans, ^c.,' p. 488. 
 
 Its Relation to Theology. 
 
 The Scepticism of the Academy sought 
 to demonstrate that the idea of God itself 
 was an untenable one. The line of argia- 
 ment which Carneades struck out for this 
 purpose is essentially the same as that 
 used in modern times to deny the person- 
 ality of God. The ordinary view of God 
 regards Him as infinite, but at the same 
 time, as an individual Being, possessing 
 the qualities and living the life of an indi- 
 vidual. But to this view Carneades objected, 
 on the ground that the first assertion con- 
 tradicts the second ; and argues that it is 
 impossible to apply the characteristics of 
 personal existence to God without limiting 
 His infinite nature. — Zeller, ' Stoics, Epicu- 
 reans, ^c.,' p. 515. 
 
 The close connection between the gene- 
 ral principles of the Sceptics and those of 
 modern Agnostics will not escape the no- 
 tice of the student. Compare Ai-ticle on 
 Agnosticism. 
 
 VII. ECLECTIC. 
 The Term. 
 
 We ordinarily understand by an eclectic 
 one who, with different philosophies before 
 him, chooses portions out of each which he 
 embraces and portions which he rejects. — 
 Maurice, ' Moral and Metaphysical Philo- 
 ; ii. 581. 
 
 Eclectic in philosophy denotes a thinker 
 whose views are borrowed partly from one, 
 partly from another of his predecessors. 
 It perhaps requires to be noted that, where 
 the characteristic doctrines of a philosophy 
 are not thus merely adopted, but are the 
 modified products of a blending of the 
 systems from which it takes its rise, the 
 philosophy is not properly eclectic. — ' En- 
 cyclop. Br it,' vii 643. 
 
244 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Rise of Eclecticism. 
 
 In the second century B.C., a remarkable 
 tendency toward eclecticism began to mani- 
 fest itself. The longing to arrive at the 
 one explanation of all things which had 
 inspired the older philosophers became less 
 earnest ; the belief, indeed, that any such 
 explanation was attainable began to fail ; 
 and the men, not feeling the need of one 
 complete logical system, came to adopt from 
 all systems the doctrines which best pleased 
 them. In Pansetius we find one of the 
 earliest examples of the modification of 
 Stoicism by the eclectic spirit ; and about 
 the same time the same spirit displayed 
 itself among the Peripatetics, — * Encyclop. 
 Brit.,' vii. 643. 
 
 Its Causes and Representatives. 
 
 "When criticism had demonstrated the 
 presence of untenable elements in all the 
 great systems, the ineradicable need of 
 philosophical convictions could not but lead 
 either to the construction of new systems, 
 or to Eclecticism. In the latter it would 
 necessarily end, if the philosophising sub- 
 ject retained a naive confidence in the 
 directness of his natural perceptions of 
 truth or in his sagacioi;s tact in the ap- 
 preciation of philosophical doctrines, while 
 yet lacking the creative power requisite to 
 the founding of a system. In particular. 
 Eclecticism would naturally find acceptance 
 with those who sought in philosophy not 
 knowledge as such, but rather a general 
 theoretical preparation for practical life 
 and the basis of rational convictions in 
 religion and morals, and for whom, there- 
 fore, rigid miity and systematic connection 
 in philosophical thought were not uncon- 
 ditionally necessary. Hence the philosophy 
 of the Romans was ' almost universally 
 eclectic. The most important and influential 
 representative of this tendency is Cicero, 
 who, in what pertains to the theory of 
 cognition, confessed his adhesion to the 
 scepticism of the Middle Academy, took no 
 interest in physics, and in ethics wavered 
 between the Stoic and the Peripatetic doc- 
 trines. — Ueberweg, ^ Hist. 0/ Fhil.,' i. 218. 
 
 Its Method. 
 
 Eclectics gathered from every system 
 what was true and probable. In this pro- 
 cess of selection their decision was swayed 
 by regard to the practical wants of man, 
 and the ultimate standard of truth was 
 placed in our own immediate consciousness, 
 everything being referred to the subject as 
 its centre. For their ethics and natural 
 theology the Eclectics were also greatly in- 
 debted to the Stoics. — Zeller, 'Stoics, Ejpi- 
 cureans, ^c.,' p. 23. 
 
 Its Results. 
 
 The popular philosophy of Cicero and 
 other thinkers of a similar bent is not, 
 despite its want of originality, independ- 
 ency, and rigour, to be too lightly esti- 
 mated; for it led to the introduction of 
 philosophy as a constituent element in cul- 
 ture generally, — Sclmegler, 'Hist, of Phil.,' 
 p. 138. 
 
 The Right and Wrong of Eclecticism. 
 
 The Eclectic did not care for the opi- 
 nions and conflicts of the schools ; he found 
 in each hints of the precious truths of 
 which he desired to avail himself. He 
 would gather the flowers without asking 
 in what garden they grew ; the prickles he 
 would leave for those who had a fancy 
 for them. Eclecticism in this sense seems 
 only like another name for catholic wis- 
 dom. A man conscious that everything in 
 nature and art was given for his learning, 
 had a right to such honey wherever it was 
 to be found. But once let it be fancied 
 that the philosopher was not a mere re- 
 ceiver of treasures which had been pro- 
 vided for him, but an ingenious chemist 
 and compounder of various naturally un- 
 sociable ingredients, and the eclectical doc- 
 trine would lead to mere self-conceit, would 
 be more unreal and heartless, than any one 
 of the sectarian elements out of which it 
 was fashioned. It would want the belief 
 and conviction which dwell, with what- 
 ever unsuitable companions, even in the 
 nari-owest theory. Many of the most vital 
 
NEO-PLA TONIC. 
 
 245 
 
 characteristics of the original dogmas would 
 be effaced, under pretence of taking oil' 
 their rough edges and fitting them into 
 each other. In genei-al, the superficiali- 
 ties and formalities of each creed would be 
 preserved in the new system ; its original 
 and essential characteristics sacrificed. — 
 Maurice, ^ Moral and Met aj^Iii/ steal Philo- 
 sophy; i. 315. 
 
 Later Eclectics, 
 
 Among the early Christians, Clement 
 of Alexandria, Origen, and Synesius vrere 
 Eclectics in philosophy. The Eclectics of 
 modern philosophy are almost too nume- 
 rous to name. Of Italian philosophers the 
 Eclectics form a large proportion. Among 
 the Germans we may mention Wolf and his 
 followers, as weU as Mendelssohn, Eber- 
 hard, Platner, and to some extent Schel- 
 ling. The name is appropriately given to 
 the French school, of which the most dis- 
 tinguished members are Victor Cousin, 
 Theodore Jouffroy, Damiron, St. Hilaire, 
 Remusat, Garnier, and Ravaisson. — ^Encijc. 
 Brit.; vii. 643. 
 
 VIII. NEO- PLATONIC. 
 
 Its Founder. 
 
 Plotinus (204-269 A.D.), who first de- 
 veloped the Neo-Platonic doctrine in syste- 
 matic form, or at least was the first to put 
 it into wiiting, was educated at Alexan- 
 dria under Ammonius Saccas, and after- 
 wards (from A.D. 240 on) taught at Ptome, 
 — Ueberweg, 'Hid. of Phil.; i, 240. 
 
 Character of its Teaching. 
 
 Tlieory of Emanation. 
 
 Every such theory, and the Neo-Platonic 
 as well, assumes the world to be an effluence 
 or eradiation of God, in such manner that 
 the remoter emanation possesses ever a 
 lower degree of perfection than that which 
 precedes it, and represents consequently 
 the totality of existence as a descending 
 series. Fire, says Plotinus, emits heat, 
 
 snow cold, fragrant bodies exhale odours, 
 and every organised being, so soon as it 
 has reached maturity, generates what is 
 like it. In the same manner, the all-per- 
 fect and eternal, in the exuberance of its 
 perfection, pex-mits to emanate from itself 
 what is equally everlasting and next itself 
 the best, — reason, Avhich is the immediate 
 reflection, the ectype of the primeval one. 
 — Schiceylcr, 'Hist, of Phil.; p. 141. 
 
 Doctrine of the soul and the hochj. 
 
 The individual souls, like the soul of the 
 world, are ampliibia between the higher 
 element of reason and the lower of sense, 
 now involved in the latter, and now turn- 
 ing to their source, reason. From the world 
 of reason, which is their true and proper 
 home, they have descended, each at its 
 appointed time, reluctantly obedient to an 
 inner necessity, into the corporeal world, 
 without, however, wholly breaking the 
 world of ideas : rather they are at once in 
 both, even as a ray of liglit touches at once 
 the sun and the earth. Our vocation, there- 
 fore, can only be a turning of our senses 
 and our endeavours to our home in the 
 world of the ideas, emancipation of our 
 better self from the bondage of matter, 
 through mortification of sense, through 
 ascesis. Once in the ideal world, however, 
 that reflection of the primal beautiful and 
 good, our soul reaches thence the ultimate 
 end of every wish and longing, ecstatic 
 vision of the one, union with God, uncon- 
 scious absorption — disappearance — in God. 
 — Schwegler, 'Hist, of Phil.; p. 142. 
 
 Religious Aspect of Neo-Platonism. 
 
 * As sun and moon, sky, earth, and sea, 
 are common to all, while they have different 
 names among different nations; so like- 
 wise, though there is but one system of the 
 world which is supreme, and one governing 
 providence, whose ministering powers are 
 set over all men, yet there have been given 
 to these, by the laws of different nations, 
 different names and modes of worship ; and 
 the holy symbols whicli these nations used 
 were, in some cases, more obscure, in others 
 
246 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 clearer; but in all cases alike failed of 
 being perfectly safe guides in the contem- 
 plation of the divine. For some, wholly 
 mistaking their import, fell into supersti- 
 tion; while others, in avoiding the quag- 
 mire of superstition, plunged unawares into 
 the opposing gulf of infidelity.' 
 
 As Zeus is the beginning and centre of 
 all, everything has sprung from Zeus, men 
 
 should first correct and improve their ideas 
 of the gods, if anything impure or wrong 
 has found its way into them. But, if this 
 is beyond their power, they should then 
 leave every one to that mode in which he 
 finds himself placed by the laws and reli- 
 gious traditions of his country. — Plutarch, 
 quoted by Neandei; ' Church History,' i. 2 7, 
 
 XII. 
 
 MEDIEVAL SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Origin of the Name ' Scholastic' 
 
 The name of Scholastics (doctores scholas- 
 tici) which was given to the teachers of the 
 septem liberales artes (grammar, dialectic, 
 rhetoric, in the Trivium ; arithmetic, geo- 
 metry, music, and astronomy in the Quad- 
 rivium), or at least of some of them, in the 
 cloister-schools founded by Charlemagne, 
 as also to teachers of theology, was after- 
 wards given to all who occupied themselves 
 with the sciences, and especially Avith philo- 
 sophy, followmg the tradition and example 
 of the schools. — Uebertceg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' 
 i- 356- 
 
 Period of the Duration of Scholastic Phi- 
 losophy. 
 
 It is not possible to define with accuracy 
 the duration of the empire of scholastic 
 philosophy. It began in the ninth century, 
 and has in some degree survived to our own 
 days ; but the revival of classical literature 
 and the Reformation deprived it for ever 
 of that unlimited authority which it pos- 
 sessed before. — Tennemann, ' Hist, of Phil.,' 
 p. 211. 
 
 Character of Scholasticism. 
 
 The character of scholasticism is concilia- 
 tion between dogma and thought, between 
 faith and reason. When the dogma passes 
 from the Church, where it took birth, into 
 
 the school, and when theology becomes a 
 science treated in universities, the interest 
 of thought comes into play, and asserts its 
 right of reducing into intelligibleness the 
 dogma which has hitherto stood above con- 
 sciousness as an external, unquestionable 
 power. A series of attempts is now made 
 to procure for the doctrines of the Church 
 the form of a scientific system, — Schivegler, 
 ' Hist, of Phil.,' p. 144. 
 
 Scholasticism was philosophy in the 
 service of the established and accepted 
 theological doctrines, or, at least, in such 
 subordination to them, that, when philo- 
 sophy and theology trod on common 
 ground, the latter was received as the ab- 
 solute norm and criterion of truth. More 
 particularly, scholasticism was the repro- 
 duction of ancient philosophy, under the 
 control of ecclesiastical doctrine, with an 
 accommodation, in case of discrepancy be- 
 tween them, of the former to the latter. — 
 Uehenoeg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' i. ^55. 
 
 Scholasticism a Link between Ancient and 
 Modern Philosophy. 
 
 The human mind was not, as has been 
 imagined, asleep during the thousand years 
 of medisevalism ; still less was it sunk in 
 the rigidity of death. There was develop- 
 ment, albeit the slow development of 
 autumn, when all the juices are trans- 
 
MEDL'EVAL SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY 
 
 247 
 
 formed into food and garnered np to 
 nourish in the coming spring the fresli 
 green, hixnriant growth, and supply ma- 
 terial for a new and blooming world. 
 
 Any one who surveys with comprehen- 
 sive gaze the development of philosophy as 
 the thought of the world in its relation to 
 mankind, will see in the tranquil intel- 
 lectual industry of the Middle Ages a great 
 and significant mental crisis, an important 
 and indispensable link between ancient and 
 modern philosophy. — Noire, ' Historical In- 
 troduction to Professor Max Mailer's Kant^ 
 pp. 67, 68. 
 
 The Scholastic Philosophy was mainly a 
 Controversy of Nominalism and Real- 
 ism. 
 Hand in hand with the development of 
 Scholasticism in general, proceeded that of 
 the antithesis between nominalism and real- 
 ism, an antithesis the origin of which is to 
 be found in the relation of Scholasticism to 
 the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle. The 
 nominalists were those who held universal 
 notions (universalia) to be mere names, 
 fatiis vocis, empty conceptions without 
 reality. With nominalists there are no 
 general notions, no genera, no species: all 
 that is, exists only as a singular in its 
 pure individuality; and there is no such 
 thing as pure thought, but only natural 
 conception and sensuous perception. The 
 realists again, by example of Plato, held 
 firmly by the objective reality of the uni- 
 versals {iiniversalia ante res). The anti- 
 thesis of these opinions took form first as 
 l)etween Roscelimis and Anselm, the former 
 as nominalist, the latter as realist ; and it 
 continues henceforth throughout the whole 
 course of scholasticism. — Schioegler, ^ Hist, 
 of Phil.,' p. 145. 
 
 The conflict between ideas and things 
 forms the real substance of the debates and 
 investigations of scholasticism. — Noire, ' In- 
 troduction to Kant,' p. 88. 
 
 The Four Epochs of Scholasticism. 
 
 Four epochs may be defined in the his- 
 tory of this philosophy, deducible from 
 
 the history of the cpiestion concerning the 
 Reality of Conceptions ; and the relations 
 of Philosophy to Theology. First j'x^i'iod, 
 down to the eleventh century : a blind 
 Pcalism, with scattei-ed attempts to apply 
 the elements of Philosophy to Theology. 
 Second period, from Roscellin to Alexander 
 of Hales or Alesius, at the commencement 
 of the thirteenth century. The first ap- 
 pearance of Nominalism and of a more 
 liberal system of inquiiy, quickly repressed 
 by the ecclesiastical authorities, which 
 established the triumph of Realism. An 
 alliance was brought about between philo- 
 sophy and theology in generals. Tliird 
 p)priod, from Alexander and Albert, sur- 
 named the Great, to Occam : thirteenth and 
 fourteenth centuries. During this period, 
 Realism had exclusive dominion : the sys- 
 tem of instruction adopted by the Church 
 was consolidated by the introduction of the 
 Arabic- Aristotelian system; and philosophy 
 became still more closely connected with 
 theology. The age of St. Thomas Aquinas 
 and Scotus. Fourth period, from Occam to 
 the sixteenth century. A continued con- 
 test between Nominalism and Realism, 
 wherein the former obtained some partial 
 successes. Philosophy was gradually de- 
 tached from Theology, through the renewal 
 of their old debates. — Tennernann, ' Hist, of 
 Phil.,' p. 212. 
 
 The Results of Scholasticism. 
 
 Among its good results were a dialectic 
 use of the understanding, a great subtilty 
 of thought, an extension of the domain of 
 Dogmatical Metaphysics, and a rare saga- 
 city in the development and distinction of 
 ontological notions, with individual efforts 
 on the part of several men of genius, not- 
 withstanding the heavy bondage in which 
 they were held. The ill effects were, the 
 dissemination of a minute and puerile spirit 
 of speculation, the decay of sound and prac- 
 tical sense, with a neglect of the accurate 
 and real sciences and the sources whence 
 they are to be derived, that is :— Experi- 
 ence, History, and the Study of Languages. 
 
248 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 To these must be added the prevalence of 
 the dominion of authority, and prescrip- 
 tion; bad taste; and a rage for frivolous 
 distinctions and subdivisions, to the neglect 
 of the higher interests of science. — Tenne- 
 mann, ^ Hist, of Phil., ^ p. 213. 
 
 The most important conception which 
 mediaeval philosophy was to originate and 
 bequeath to modern times was that of the 
 concept (conceptus) itself ; something purely 
 intellectual, an object born of the mind 
 
 itself, which, nevertheless, has marvellous 
 unexplained relations to reality, the full 
 elucidation of which remained for a still 
 remote future. To discover these relations 
 began henceforward to count as the chief 
 business of philosophy. All the contro- 
 versies of Scholasticism turn upon the 
 Universals ; these Universals are repre- 
 sented in modei-n philosophy by concepts 
 or general ideas, — Noire, ' Introd. to Kant^ 
 pp. 92, 93. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 Modern Philosophy has its Roots in the 
 ' Revival of Learning.' 
 
 Among the events which introduced the 
 transition from the Middle Ages to modern 
 times, the earliest was the revival of classi- 
 cal studies. This revival was negatively 
 occasioned by the one-sided character and 
 the gradual self-dissolution of scholasticism, 
 and positively by the remains of ancient art 
 and literature in Italy — which were more 
 and more appreciated as material pros- 
 perity increased — and by the closer contact 
 of the "Western world, especially of Italy 
 with Greece, particularly after the flight of 
 large numbers of learned Greeks to Italy, 
 at the time when the Turks were threaten- 
 ing Europe and had taken Constantinople. 
 The invention of the art of printing facili- 
 tated the spread of literary culture. The 
 first important result in the field of philo- 
 sophy of the renewed connection of Western 
 Europe with Greece was the introduction of 
 the Platonic and Neo-Platonic philosophies 
 into the West, their enthusiastic reception, 
 and the attempt by means of these to sup- 
 plant the scholastic-Aristotelian philosophy. 
 — Ueherweg, ^ Hist, of Phil., ^ ii. 5. 
 
 With the revival of learning, after the 
 fall of Constantinople, came fresh streams 
 of Grecian influence. The works of Plato 
 
 became generally known ; under Marsilio 
 Ficino, to whom we owe the Latin trans- 
 lation of Plato, a school of Platonists was 
 formed, which continued to divide with the 
 school of Aristotle the supremacy of Europe 
 under new forms, as before it had divided it 
 under the form of Realism. The efi"ect of 
 this influx of Grecian influence, at a period 
 when Philosophy was emancipating itself 
 from the absolute authority of the Church, 
 was to transfer the allegiance from the 
 Chiu-ch to antiquity. — Lewes, ' Hist, of 
 Phil.,' ii. 89. 
 
 Descartes and Cartesianism. (See also 
 Sec. vii. iii.) 
 
 At the head of the dogmatic (or rational- 
 istic) development-series in modern philo- 
 sophy stands the Cartesian doctrine. Rene 
 Descartes (i 596-1 650) was educated in a 
 Jesuits' school, was led, by comparing the 
 different notions and customs of different 
 nations and parties, by general philosophi- 
 cal meditations, and more especially by his 
 observations of the great remoteness of all 
 demonstrations in philosophy and other 
 disciplines from mathematical certainty, to 
 doubt the truth of all propositions received 
 at second-hand. The only thing, reasoned - 1 
 Descartes, which, though all else be ques- \ 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 249 
 
 tioned, cannot be doubted, is doubt itself ; 
 and, in general, thought viewed in its 
 widest sense as the complex of all conscious 
 psychical processes. But my thinking pre- 
 supposes my existence : corjito, ergo sum. 
 I laid in me the notion of God, which I 
 cannot have formed by my o^vn power, since 
 it involves a higher degree of reality than 
 belongs to me ; it must have for its author 
 God Himself, who stamped it upon my 
 mind, just as the architect impresses his 
 stamp on his work. God's existence fol- 
 lows also from the very idea of God, since 
 the essence of God involves existence — 
 eternal and necessary existence. Among 
 the attributes of God belongs truthfulness 
 (veracifas). God cannot wish to deceive 
 me ; therefore, all that which I know 
 clearly and distinctly must be true. All 
 error arises from my misuse of the free- 
 dom of my will, in that I prematurely 
 judge of that which I have not cleai-ly 
 and distinctly apprehended. I can clearly 
 and distinctly apprehend the soul as a 
 thinking substance, without representing it 
 to myself as extended; thought involves 
 no predicates that are connected with ex- 
 tension. I must, on the other hand, con- 
 ceive all bodies as extended substances, and 
 as such believe them to be real, because 
 I can by the aid of mathematics obtain a 
 clear and distinct knowledge of extension, 
 and am at the same time clearly conscious 
 of the dependence of my sensations on ex- 
 ternal corporeal causes. The soul and the 
 body are connected, and they interact, the 
 one upon the other, only at a single point, 
 a point within the brain, the pineal gland. 
 Descartes considered body and spirit as con- 
 stituting a dualism of perfectly heterogeneous 
 entities, separated in nature by an absolute 
 and unfilled interval. Hence the interaction 
 between soul and body, as asserted by him, 
 was inconceivable, although supported in 
 his theory by the postulate of divine assist- 
 ance. — Ueberweg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 41, 42. 
 
 Descai-tes' foxir princij)les of Method. 
 I. To receive nothing as true which is 
 not evidently known to be such, by its pre- 
 
 senting itself to the mind with a clearness 
 and distinctness which exclude all doubt. 
 
 2. To divide, as far as possible, every 
 difficult problem into its natural parts. 
 
 3. To conduct one's thoughts in due 
 order, advancing gradually from the more 
 simple and easy to the more complex and 
 difficult, and to suppose a definite order, 
 for the sake of the orderly progress of the 
 investigation, even where none such is sup- 
 plied in the nature of the subject investi- 
 gated. 
 
 4. By completeness in enumeration and 
 completeness in reviews, to make it sure 
 that nothing has been overlooked. — Ueber- 
 ivcg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 46. 
 
 His doctrine of /Substance. 
 
 TJiat is Substance which requires for its 
 existence the existence of nothing else. In 
 this (highest) sense only God is substance. 
 God as infinite substance has the ground 
 of His existence in Himself, is the cause 
 of Himself. The two created substances, 
 on the contrary — thinking substance and 
 bodily substance, mind and matter — are 
 substances only in the less restricted sense 
 of the term; they may be placed under 
 the common definition that they are things 
 requiring for their existence only the co- 
 operation of God. Each of these two sub- 
 stances has an attribute constitutive of its 
 nature and being, to which all its other 
 characteristics may be collectively reduced. 
 Extension is the attribute and being of 
 matter; thought is the being of spirit. — 
 Schioegler, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' p. 161. 
 
 Spinoza. 
 
 Tlie identity of Nature, God, and Sub- 
 stance. 
 
 Though identical in their application, 
 they differ somewhat in their inner mean- 
 ing : under ' nature ' we are expected to 
 think of the continuous source of birth; 
 under ' God,' of the universal cause of 
 created things ; under ' Substance,' of the 
 pei-manent reality behind phenomena. — 
 Martineau, ^ Study of Sjnnoza,' p. 1C9. 
 
250 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Spinoza starts from the Cartesian doc- 
 trine of substance : substance is that which, 
 for its existence, stands in need of no- 
 thing else. This notion of substance being 
 assumed, there can exist, according to 
 Spinoza, only a single substance. What 
 is through its own self alone is necessarily 
 infinite, unconditioned and unlimited by 
 anything else. Spontaneous existence is 
 the absolute power to exist, which cannot 
 depend on an}i;hing else, or find in any- 
 thing else a limit, a negation of itself; 
 only unlimited being is self-subsistent, sub- 
 stantial being. A plurality of infinites, 
 however, is impossible ; for one were indis- 
 tinguishable from the other. A plurality 
 of substances, as assumed by Descartes, is 
 necessarily therefore a contradiction. It 
 is possible for only one substance, and that 
 an absolutely infinite substance, to exist. 
 This one substance is named by Spinoza 
 God.— Schicegler, 'Mist, of Phil.,' p. 169. 
 
 By God I understand a being absolutely 
 infinite, that is, substance consisting of in- 
 finite attributes, whereof each one expresses 
 eternal and infinite being. — Ethic i. Def. 6, 
 quoted by Pulloclc, 'Spinoza,' p. 159. 
 
 His definitions of Substance, Attribute, 
 Mode. 
 
 By Substance I understand that which is 
 in itself and is conceived by itself ; that is, 
 whose concept needs not the concept of 
 another thing for it to be formed from. 
 
 By Attribute I understand that which 
 intellect perceives concerning substance, as 
 constituting the essence thereof. 
 
 By Mode I understand the affections of 
 Substance, or that which is in somewhat 
 else, through which also it is conceived. — 
 Pollock, 'Spinoza,' p. 159. 
 
 Monism of Spinoza. 
 
 The first and leading idea in Spinoza's 
 philosophy — the only part of it, in fact, 
 which has at all entered into the notion 
 commonly formed of his system — is that 
 of the unity and uniformity of the world. 
 Natm-e, as conceived by him, includes 
 
 thought no less than things, and the order 
 of nature knows no interruption. Again, 
 there is not a world of thought opposed to 
 or interfering with a world of things ; we 
 have everywhere the same reality under 
 different aspects. Nature is one as well as 
 uniform. Now there is a thing to be weU 
 marked about this conception of Spinoza's ; 
 it is itself two-sided, having an ideal or 
 speculative, and a physical or scientific 
 aspect. On the one hand we find a line 
 of reasoning derived from the metaphysical 
 treatment of theology; in other words, a 
 philosophy starting from the consideration 
 of the nature and perfection of God. On 
 the other hand, we find a view of the exist- 
 ing universe guarded by the requirements 
 of exact natural science, so that the philo- 
 sopher who follows this track is bound over 
 to see that his speculation, whatever flights 
 it may take, shall at all events not contra- 
 dict physics. The combination of these two 
 elements is one of the most characteristic 
 features of Spinoza's philosophy. No one 
 had before him attempted such a combina- 
 tion with anything like the same know- 
 ledge of the conditions of the task. Few 
 have even after him been so courageous 
 and straightforward in the endeavour. The 
 pantheist or mystical element, as we may 
 call it (though both terms are ambiguous 
 and liable to abuse), is not merely placed 
 beside the scientific element, but fused into 
 one with it. — Pollock, ' Spinoza,' pp. 84, 85. 
 Among the equivalent terms by which 
 Spinoza designates the first principle of 
 things, substance and God emphasise its 
 absolute unity of Ground, while nature and 
 causa S2ii connote what issues thence : the 
 former make us think of to h, the latter of 
 rh rrav. The paradox contained in the last 
 is intended to make it serve both purposes, 
 to distinguish and yet to identify the effi- 
 cient and the efi"ect. The ' Causa ' makes 
 us expect something else to come: the ' sui' 
 says, ' No, it is nothing else but a reappear- 
 ance of the same.' The phrase thus pre- 
 pares the way for a similar resolution of 
 the remaining term Nature into duplicate 
 form by appended epithets, marking respec- 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 tively the Ccausative essence and the mocLil 
 expression of one and the same infinite 
 existence. Natura naturans denotes ' that 
 which exists in itself and is conceived of 
 itself, or, such attributes of substance as 
 express an infinite and eternal essence; 
 i.e., God, considered as Jihera causa (purely 
 out of intrinsic nature). ' Natura naturafa 
 denotes all that follows from the necessity 
 of the Divine nature, or of any one of the 
 attributes of God; i.e., all modes of God's 
 nttributes, considered as things which exist 
 in God, and without God can neither exist 
 nor be conceived.' — Martineau, ^ Study of 
 Spinoza,' pp. 224, 225. 
 
 Leibnitz. 
 
 The fundamental characteristic of the 
 teaching of Leibnitz is its dijfference from 
 that of Spinoza. Spinoza had made the 
 one universal substance the single positive 
 element in existence. Leibnitz, too, takes 
 the notion of substance for the foundation 
 of his philosophy, but he defines it differ- 
 ently; conceiving substance as eminently 
 the living activity, the working force, and 
 adducing as example of this force a bent 
 bow, which asserts its power so soon as all 
 external obstacles are withdrawn. That 
 active force constitutes the quality of sub- 
 stance, is a proposition to which Leibnitz 
 always returns, and with which the other 
 elements of his philosophy most intimately 
 cohere. This is appUcable at once to the 
 two further determinations of substance, 
 firstly, that substance is individual, a 
 monad; and, secondly, that there is a 
 plurality of monads. Substance, in exer- 
 cising an activity similar to that of an 
 elastic body, is essentially an excludent 
 power, repulsion : but what excludes others 
 from itself is a personality, an individuality 
 or individuum, a monad. But this in- 
 volves the second consideration, that of the 
 plurality of the monads. The notion of an 
 individuum postulates individiia, which as 
 excluded from it, stand over against it. In 
 antithesis to the philosophy of Spinoza, 
 therefore, the fundamental thesis of that 
 
 of Leibnitz is this : there is a plurality of 
 monads which constitutes the element of 
 all reality, the fundamental being of the 
 whole physical and spiritual universe. — 
 Schicegler, 'Hist, of Phil.,' pp. 194, 195: 
 
 Bacon and the new Experimental Method. 
 
 Limitation of human knowledge. 
 
 Man, as the minister and interpreter of 
 nature, does and understands as much as 
 his observations on the order of nature, 
 either with regard to things or the mind, 
 permit him, and neither knows nor is cap- 
 able of more. — 'Nov. Org., Aph.,' bk. i., i. 
 
 Knowledge and human power are syn- 
 onymous, since the ignorance of the cause 
 frustrates the effect ; for nature is only 
 subdued by submission, and that which in 
 contemplative philosophy corresponds with 
 the cause in practical science becomes the 
 rule. — 'Nov. Org., Aphorisms,' bk. i., iii. 
 
 The Lidudive Method of Inqutrij. 
 
 There are and can exist but two ways of 
 investigating and discovering truth. The 
 one hurries on rapidly from the senses and 
 particulars to the most general axioms, and 
 from them, as principles and their supposed 
 indisputable truth derives and discovers the 
 intermediate axioms. This is the way now 
 in use. The other constructs its axioms 
 from the senses and paiticulars by ascend- 
 ing continually and gradually till it finally 
 arrives at the most general axioms, which 
 is the true but unattempted way. — 'Nov. 
 Org., Aph.,' bk. i., xix. 
 
 Each of these two ways begins from 
 the senses and particulars, and ends in the 
 greatest generalities. But they are im- 
 measurably different, for the one merely 
 touches cursorily the limits of experiment 
 and particulars, whilst the other runs duly 
 and regularly through them, — the one from 
 the very outset lays down some abstract 
 and useless generalities, the other gradually 
 rises to those principles which are really 
 the most common in nature. — 'Nov. Org., 
 Apjh.,' bk. i., xxii. 
 
252 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The true order of investigation. 
 
 The signs for the interpretation of nature 
 comprehend two divisions, the first regards 
 the eliciting or creating of axioms from 
 experiment, the second the deducing or 
 deriving of new exjieriments from axioms. 
 The first admits of three subdivisions into 
 ministrations : — i. To the senses. 2. To 
 the memory. 3. To the mind or reason. 
 
 For we must first prepare, as a foimda- 
 tion for the whole, a complete and accui-ate 
 natural and experimental history. We 
 must not imagine or invent, but discover 
 the acts and properties of nature. — ' Nov. 
 Org., Aj)h.' bk. ii., x. 
 
 The ' Idols ' of the mind. 
 
 Idols are imposed upon the understand- 
 ing either, (i) by the general nature of 
 mankind; (2) the nature of each particular 
 man; or (3) by words, or communicative 
 nature. The first kind we call idols of the 
 tribe ; the second kind, idols of the den ; 
 and the third kind, idols of the market. 
 There is also a fourth kind which we call 
 idols of the theatre, being superinduced by 
 false theories, or philosophies, and the per- 
 verted laws of demonstration. — Bacon, ^Ad- 
 vancement of Learning,^ bk. V. chap. iv. 
 
 The English Sensational Schools. 
 
 Ilohbes. 
 
 His definition of Philosophy. 
 
 It is the knowledge of effects or of ap- 
 pearances acquired from the knowledge we 
 have first of their causes, and conversely of 
 possible causes from their known effects, by 
 means of true ratiocination. All reason- 
 ing, however, is computation ; and, accord- 
 ingly, ratiocination may be resolved into 
 addition and subtraction. — Quoted by 
 Lange, ^ Hist, of Materialism,^ i. 275. 
 
 His sensationalism. 
 
 In his theory of sensation, we have al- 
 ready in germ the sensationalism of Locke. 
 Hobbes supposes that the movements of 
 corporeal things commimicate themselves 
 to our senses by transmission through the 
 
 mediiun of the air, and from thence are 
 continued to the brain, and from the brain 
 finally to the heart. To every movement 
 corresponds an answering movement in the 
 organism, as in external nature. From this 
 principle of reaction Hobbes derives sensa- 
 tion, but it is not the immediate reaction 
 of the external organ that constitutes sen- 
 sation, but only the movement that starts 
 from the heart and then returns from the 
 external organ by way of the brain, so that 
 an appreciable time always elapses between 
 the impression and the sensation. By 
 means of this regressiveness of the move- 
 ment of sensation, which is an * endeavour ' 
 (conatus) towards the objects, is explained 
 the transposition outwards of the images 
 of sense. The sensation is identical with 
 the image of sense {phantasma), and this 
 again is identical with the motion of the 
 'conatus' towards the objects, not merely 
 occasioned by it. — Lange, ' Hlxt. of Materi- 
 lism,' i. 289. 
 
 Nominalism of Hobbes. 
 
 Of names, some are common to many 
 things, as a man, a tree ; others proper to 
 one thing, as he that ivrit the Iliad, Homer, 
 this man, that man. And a common name, 
 being the name of many things severally 
 taken, but not collectively of all together 
 (as man is not the name of all mankind, 
 but of every one, as of Peter, John, and 
 the rest severally), is therefore called an 
 universal name; and therefore this word 
 universal is never the name of anything 
 existent in nature, nor of any idea or 
 phantasm formed in the mind, but always 
 the name of some word or name ; so that 
 when a living creature, a stone, a spirit, or 
 any other thing, is said to be universal, 
 it is not to be imderstood that any man, 
 stone, &c., ever was or can be universal, 
 but only that these words, living creature, 
 stone, &c., are universal names, that is, 
 names common to many things; and the 
 conceptions answering to them in our mind 
 are the images and phantasms of several 
 living creatures or other things. And, 
 therefore, for the understanding of the 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 253 
 
 extent of an universal name we need no other 
 faculty but that of our imagination, by which 
 we remember that such names bring some- 
 times one thing, sometimes another into 
 our mind. — Hohbes, ^ De Cor^ore,' c. 2, § 10. 
 
 Locke. 
 
 No Innate Ideas. 
 
 It is an established opinion amongst some 
 men that there are in the understanding 
 certain innate principles ; some primary 
 notions, characters, as it were, stamped 
 upon the mind of man, which the soul 
 receives in its veiy first being, and brings 
 into the world with it. It would be suffi- 
 cient to convince unprejudiced readers of 
 the falseness of this supposition if I should 
 only show how men, barely by the use of 
 their natural faculties, may attain to all the 
 knowledge they have without the help of 
 any innate impressions, and may arrive at 
 certainty without any such original notions 
 or principles. — ^ Essay Concerning Human 
 Understand ui(/,' bk. i. c. ii. i. 
 
 All Ideas come from Sensation and Reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 Let us then suppose the mind to be, as 
 we say, white paper, void of all characters, 
 without any ideas ; how comes it to be 
 furnished ? Whence comes it by that vast 
 store which the busy and boundless fancy 
 of man has painted on it with an almost 
 endless variety 1 Whence has it all the 
 materials of reason and knowledge? To 
 this I answer in one word, from experi- 
 ence ; in that all our knowledge is founded, 
 and from that it ultimately derives itself. 
 Our observation employed either about 
 external sensible objects, or about the in- 
 ternal operations of our minds, perceived 
 and reflected on by ourselves, is that which 
 'Supplies our understandings with all the 
 materials of thinking. These two are the 
 fountains of knowledge from whence all 
 the ideas we have or can naturally have do 
 spring. 
 
 If it shall be demanded, then, when a 
 man begins to have any ideas, I think the 
 
 true answer is, when he first has any sen- 
 sation ; for since there appear not to be 
 any ideas in the mind before the senses 
 have conveyed any in, I conceive that ideas 
 in the understanding are coeval with sen- 
 sation, which is such an impression or 
 motion made in some part of the body as 
 produces some perception in the under- 
 standing. It is about these impressions 
 made on our senses by outward objects 
 that the mind seems first to employ itself 
 in such operations as we call perception, 
 remembering, consideration, reasoning, &c. 
 In time the mind comes to reflect on its 
 own operations about the ideas got by sen- 
 sation, and thereby stores itself with a new 
 set of ideas which I call ideas of reflection. 
 These are the impressions that are made 
 on our senses by outward objects that are 
 extrinsical to the mind and its own opera- 
 tions, proceeding from powers intrinsical 
 and proper to itself; which, when reflected 
 on by itself, becoming also objects of its 
 contemplation, are the original of all know- 
 ledge. — ^ Essay Concerning Human Under- 
 standing,^ bk. ii. c. i, 2, 23, 24. 
 
 Criticism of Locke's Philosojiliy. 
 
 Origin of ^ inherent facidties^ not explained 
 by Locke. 
 
 Locke derived all our knowledge from 
 experience. But experience, with him, was 
 simply the experience of the individual. 
 In order to acquire this experience, it 
 was indeed necessary that we should have 
 certain ' inherent faculties. ' But of these 
 ' faculties ' he gives no other account than 
 that God has ' furnished ' or ' endued ' us 
 with them. Thus, the Deiis ex maclmia 
 was as much an acknowledged necessity in 
 the philosophy of Locke, and was, in fact, 
 almost as fi-equently invoked, as in that of 
 his antagonists. Is there any natural ac- 
 count to be given of the way in which we 
 came to have these ' faculties,' of the extra- 
 ordinary facility we possess of acquiring 
 simple and forming complex ideas ? is a ques- 
 tion which he appears never to have put 
 to himself. — Fowler, ^ Locke,' pp. 143, 144. 
 
■Si 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 What -is the ' taUet ' impressed ? 
 
 It is not the impression upon, or a motion 
 in, the outward parts, as Locke admits, that 
 constitutes the idea of sensation. It is not 
 an agitation in the tympanum of the ear, 
 or a picture on the retina of the eye, that 
 we are conscious of when we see a sight or 
 hear a sound. The motion or impression, 
 however, has only, as he seems to suppose, 
 to be ' continued to the brain,' and it be- 
 comes an idea of sensation. Notwithstand- 
 ing the rough line of distinction between 
 soul and body, which he draws elsewhere, 
 his theory was practically governed by 
 the supposition of a cerebral something, in 
 which, as in a third equivocal tablet, the 
 imaginary mental and bodily tablets are 
 blended. If, however, the idea of sensation, 
 as an object of the understanding when 
 a man thinks, differs absolutely from *a 
 motion of the outward parts,' it does so no 
 less absolutely, however language and meta- 
 phor may disguise the difference, from such 
 motion as 'continued to the brain.' An 
 instructed man, doubtless, may come to 
 think about a motion in his brain as about 
 a motion of the earth round the sun, but to 
 speak of such motion as an idea of sen- 
 sation or an immediate object of intelligent 
 sense, is to confuse between the object of 
 consciousness and a possible physical theory 
 of the conditions of that consciousness. It 
 is only, however, by such an equivocation 
 that any idea, according to Locke's account 
 of the idea, can be desci-ibed as an ' impres- 
 sion ' at all, or that the representation of 
 the mind as a tablet, whether born blank 
 or with characters stamped on it, has even 
 an apparent meaning. A metaphor, inter- 
 preted as a fact, becomes the basis of his 
 philosophical system. — Ch'een, ^Introduction 
 to Hume,' vol. lo, ii. 
 
 Ambiguities in regard to Sensation and 
 Reflection. 
 
 Taking Locke at his word, we find the 
 beginning of intelligence to consist in having 
 an idea of sensation. This idea, however, 
 we perceive, and to perceive is to have an 
 
 idea ; i.e., to have an idea of an idea of sen- 
 sation. But of perception, again, we have 
 a simple or primitive idea. Therefore the 
 beginning of intelligence consists in having 
 an idea of an idea of an idea of sensation. 
 
 By insisting on Locke's account of the 
 relation between the ideas of sensation and 
 those of reflection we might be brought to 
 a different but not more luminous conclu- 
 sion. ' In time the mind comes to reflect 
 on its o\vn operations about the ideas got 
 by sensation, and thereby stores itself with 
 a new set of ideas, which I call ideas of re- 
 flection. ' Of these only two are primary 
 and original, viz., motivity or power of 
 moving, perceptivity or power of per- 
 ception. But, according to Locke, there 
 cannot be any, the simplest, idea of sen- 
 sation without perception. If, then, the 
 idea of perception is only given later and 
 upon reflection, we must suppose percep- 
 tion to take place without any idea of it. 
 But, with Locke, to have an idea and to 
 perceive are equivalent terms. We must 
 thus conclude that the beginning of know- 
 ledge is an unpei'ceived perception, which 
 is against his express statement elsewhere 
 (bk. ii. chap, xxvii. sec. 9), that it is * im- 
 possible for any one to perceive without 
 perceiving that he does perceive.' — Green, 
 ' Introd. to Hume,' vol. i. pp. 9, 10. 
 
 Professed reconciliation by evolutionism 
 between the Empirical and Transcendental 
 theories. 
 
 The existence of the various mental ten- 
 dencies and aptitudes, so far as the indi- 
 vidual is concerned, is to be explained by 
 the principle of hereditary transmission. 
 But how have these tendencies and apti- 
 tudes come to be formed in the race ? The 
 most scientific answer is that which, follow- 
 ing the analogy of the theory now so widely 
 admitted with respect to the physical struc- 
 ture of animals and plants, assigns their 
 formation to the continuous operation 
 through a long series of ages, of causes 
 acting uniformly, or almost unifoi^mly, in 
 the same direction, — in one word, of evolu- 
 tion. 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 255 
 
 According to tliis theory there is both 
 an tt2^rior/ and an d, jiosteriori element in 
 our knowledge, or, to speak more accu- 
 rately, there are both d, priori and d, j^os- 
 teriori conditions of our knowing, the H 
 posteriori condition being, as in all systems, 
 individual experience, the (i ^?y'o?7' condition 
 being inherited mental aptitudes which, as 
 a rule, become more and more marked and 
 persistent with each successive transmis- 
 sion.— -Fo(6-Ze?-, 'Loche,' pp. 145, 146. 
 
 Berlieley. 
 
 General outline of Ms x)1iilosox)liy. 
 
 The ascertainment by reflection of the 
 contents and relations of purely visual con- 
 sciousness is one of the three problems pro- 
 fessedly solved in Berkeley's metaphysical 
 accoimt of the material world. That visible 
 objects are a system of arbitrary signs of 
 tangible matter is the conclusion of the 
 Essay ; that objects, visible and tangible, 
 are a system of sensible signs of absent 
 objects of sense, is the conclusion of the 
 Principles of Human Knowledge, and espe- 
 cially of the Dialogues of Hylas and Philo- 
 nous; and that this arbitrary system of 
 signs, which cannot exist without a per- 
 cipient, is a sensible expression of the 
 Divine ideas, presence, and providence, is 
 the conclusion common to all the three 
 treatises. — Fraser, ' Berkeley's Works,' i 4. 
 
 The six theses regarding the relation of 
 Sight to Extension. 
 
 I, (Sect. 2-51.) Distance, or the fact of 
 an interval between two points in the line 
 of vision, in other words externality in 
 space, in itself invisible, is, in all cases in 
 which we appear to see it, only suggested 
 to our imagination by certain visible phe- 
 nomena and visual sensations, which are 
 its arbitrary signs. 
 
 2. (Sect. 52-87.) Magnitude, or the 
 external space that objects occupy, is abso- 
 lutely invisible; all that we can see is 
 merely a greater or less quantity of colour, 
 and our apparently visual perceptions of 
 - real magnitude are interpretations of the 
 
 tactual meaning of colours and other sensa- 
 tions in the visual organ. 
 
 3. (Sect. 88-120.) The situation of ob- 
 jects, or their relation to one another in 
 space, is invisible : all that we can see is 
 variety in the relations of quantities of 
 colour to one another, our supposed pure 
 vision of actual locality being an interpre- 
 tation of visual signs. 
 
 4. (Sect. 1 21-146.) There is no sensible 
 object common to sight and touch ; space 
 or extension, which has the best claim to 
 this character, and which is nominally the 
 object of both, is specifically as well as 
 numerically different in each, — externality 
 in space, or distance, being absolutely in- 
 visible, while size and situation, as visible, 
 have nothing in common with size and 
 situation as tangible. 
 
 5. (Sect. 147-148.) The explanation of 
 the unity which we attribute to sensible 
 things, as complements of visible and tan- 
 gible qualities of one and the same sub- 
 stance, is contained in the theory that 
 visible ideas and visual sensations, arbi- 
 trary signs in a Divine Language, are sig- 
 nificant of distances, and of the real sizes 
 and situations of distant things ; while the 
 constant association in nature of the two 
 worlds of vision and touch, has so associated 
 them in our thoughts, that visible and tan- 
 gible extension are habitually regarded by 
 us as specifically and even numerically one. 
 
 6. (Sect, 149-160.) The proper object 
 of geometry is the kind of Extension given 
 in our tactual experience, and not the kind 
 of Extension given in our visual experience; 
 and neither real solids nor real planes can 
 be seen — real Extension in all its phases 
 being invisible, and colour in its modifica- 
 tions of quantity being the only proper 
 object of sight, while colour, being a pure 
 sensation, cannot exist extra-organically in 
 space. — Fraser, ' Berkeley's Works,' i. 6, 7. 
 
 Is Matter or hitelligence the supreme 
 reality ? 
 
 Is an unknowing and unknown some- 
 thing, called Matter, or is Intelligence the 
 supreme reality ; and are men the transient 
 
2s6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 results of material organisation, or are they 
 immortal beings ? This is Berkeley's im- 
 plied question. His answer to it, although, 
 in his own wox-ks, it has not been thought 
 out by him into its primary principles, or 
 sufficiently guarded in some parts, never- 
 theless marks the beginning of the second 
 gi-eat period in modern thought, that in 
 which we are living. The answer was vir- 
 tually reversed in Hume, whose exclusive 
 phenomenalism, reproduced in the Posi- 
 tivism of the nineteenth century, led to the 
 Scotch conservative psychology, and to the 
 great German speculation which Kant in- 
 augurated. — Frasei\ '■Berkeleijs TForfe,' vol. 
 i. pref. p. viii. 
 
 Matter is dependent upon Intelligence. 
 
 The dependent, sui generis, existence of 
 space and the sensible world, in which we 
 nevertheless become aware of what is ex- 
 ternal to our own subjective personality, is 
 with Berkeley a datum of intuitive expe- 
 rience ; the independent or absolute exist- 
 ence of matter is, on the contrary, an un- 
 intelligible hypothesis. He was the first 
 in modern times to attack the root of what 
 has been called Cosmothetic Idealism, and 
 to lay the foundation, however indistinctly, 
 of a reasoned Natural Realism — by discard- 
 ing representative images in sense, and 
 accepting instead what he believed to be 
 the facts of consciousness. He maintains, 
 accordingly, the certainty of sense percep- 
 tions, in opposition to ancient and modern 
 sceptics, who dispute the possibility of 
 any ascertainable agreement between our 
 perceptions and reality; and, however de- 
 fectively, in opposition also to a merely 
 subjective Idealism, like Fichte's, which 
 refers the orderly succession of sensible 
 change to the laws of the individual mind in 
 which they are perceived. — Fraser, ' Berke- 
 leijs Works,^ vol. i. pref. p. x. 
 
 Hume. 
 
 His doctrine of the origin of Ideas. 
 All the perceptions of the human mind 
 resolve themselves into two distinct kinds, 
 
 which I shall call Impressions and Ideas. 
 The difference betwixt these consists in the 
 degrees of force and liveliness with which 
 they strike upon the mind, and make their 
 way into our thought or consciousness. 
 Those perceptions, which enter with most 
 force and violence, we may name impres- 
 sions ; and under this name I comprehend 
 all our sensations, passions, and emotions, 
 as they make their first appearance in the 
 soul. By ideas I mean the faint images of 
 these in thinking and reasoning. — ' Treatise 
 on Human Nature,' bk. i. pt. i. sect. i. 
 
 Of Causation. 
 
 Surely, if there be any relation among 
 objects, which it imports to us to know 
 perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. 
 On this are founded all our reasonings 
 concerning matter of fact or existence. By 
 means of it alone we attain any assurance 
 concerning objects which are removed from 
 the present testimony of our memory and 
 senses. The only immediate utility of all 
 sciences is to teach us how to control and 
 regulate future events by their causes. 
 Our thoughts and inquiries are, therefore, 
 every moment employed about this rela- 
 tion. Yet so imperfect are the ideas which 
 we form concerning it, that it is impossible 
 to give any just definition of cause, except 
 what is drawn from something extraneous 
 and foreign to it. Similar objects are 
 always conjoined with similar. Of this we 
 have experience. Suitably to this expe- 
 rience, therefore, we may define a cause to 
 be an object followed hy ayiother, and where 
 all the objects similar to the first are fol- 
 lowed hy objects similar to the second. — ' En- 
 quiry Concerning Human Understanding,^ 
 sect. vii. pt. ii. 
 
 Of Cause and Effect. 
 
 The idea of causation must be derived 
 from some relation among objects. I find, 
 in the first place, that whatever objects are 
 considered as causes or effects are contigu- 
 ous ; and that nothing can operate in a time 
 or place which is ever so little removed 
 from those of its existence. 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 257 
 
 The second relation I shall observe as 
 essential to causes and effects is not so uni- 
 versally acknowledged, but is liable to some 
 controversy. "lis that of priority of time 
 in the cause before the effect. 
 
 An object may be contiguous and prior 
 to another without being considered as its 
 cause. There is a necessary connection 
 to be taken into consideration, and that 
 relation is of much greater importance 
 than any of the other two above men- 
 tioned. — ' Treatise of Human Nature,' bk. i. 
 pt. iii. sect. ii. 
 
 Reaction against Sensationalism. 
 
 In Gerrnamj. — The Transcendental Philo- 
 sopluj. 
 
 Kant : Pure and empirical Jcnowledge. 
 
 We shall understand by knowledge d, 
 jmori knowledge which is absolutely in- 
 dependent of all experience, and not of 
 this or that experience only. Opposed to 
 this is empirical knowledge, or such as is 
 possible a posteriori only, that is, by expe- 
 rience. Knowledge (t priori, if mixed up 
 with nothing empirical, is called ^;Mre. 
 Thus the proposition, for example, that 
 every change has its cause, is a proposi- 
 tion a pjriori, but not pure ; because change 
 is a concept which can only be derived 
 from experience. — ' Critique of Pure Rea- 
 son,' intro. i vol. i. p. 399. 
 
 His opposition to Hume's empiricism. 
 
 In opposition to Hume, Kant had to 
 show that the theory of receptivity as the 
 one function of mind omitted the factor 
 which alone rendered cognition of pheno- 
 mena possible. A stream of conscious 
 states, which to Hume makes up the sub- 
 stance of mind and experience, is to Kant 
 pure abstraction, arrived at by thrusting 
 out of sight the nature and significance of 
 consciousness itself. It may be possible to 
 speak of such a stream, but it is impos- 
 sible to regard it as matter of know- 
 ledge ; it is not to be known on any terms 
 by any intelligence. Thus, with regard to 
 Hume's empiricism, the Kantian problem 
 
 becomes the quite general question as to 
 the conditions necessarily involved in know- 
 ledge as such. With Hume, Kant recog- 
 nises the distinction between the individual 
 fleeting elements contained in experience 
 and the genei-al thoughts which unite with 
 them in order to form a coherent context ; 
 as against Hume, he has to show that 
 these universal elements are neither ab- 
 stracted from the particular nor surrepti- 
 tiously added to them, but are necessarily 
 implicated in the particulars, which, apai-t 
 from them, became pure abstractions, things 
 in themselves, empty husks of thought. — 
 Adamson, ^ Kant,' pp. 30, 31. 
 
 Kant proves that experience itself is im- 
 possible without the category of causality, 
 and, of course, without several other cate- 
 gories also which Hume had overlooked, 
 though they possess exactly the same char- 
 acter as the concept of causality. Tlie gist 
 of Kant's philosophy, as opposed to that of 
 Hume, can be expressed in one line : that 
 without which experience is impossible can- 
 not be the result of experience, though it 
 must never be applied beyond the limits of 
 possible experience. — Max Miiller, ' Kant's 
 Critique,' vol. i. p. xxvi. 
 
 Sensation not suffi.cient for Knoidedge. 
 
 The secret of the objectivity of pheno- 
 mena, and their connection as parts of one 
 world, must obviously be sought, not with- 
 out but within, not in what is simply given 
 to the mind, but in what is produced by 
 it. What comes from without is at the 
 most a sensation or impression, which is 
 itself but a passing phase of o\w inner life, 
 and has no reference to anything but itself, 
 no connection with other sensations, and 
 no relation to an object as such. If out of 
 such sensations a world of objects is made, 
 it must be made by some mental activity. — 
 Caird, ' Philosophy of Kant,' p. 198. 
 
 A priori synthesis necessary. 
 
 What is this activity ? (see above) Kant's 
 answer is that it is synthesis. Mere im- 
 pressions are isolated and unconnected. 
 They have no relation to each other, and 
 
158 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 heuce no relation to any object more per- 
 manent than themselves. Only so far as 
 we relate them to each other, recognise 
 them as repetitions of each other, and 
 connect them with each other in definite 
 and unchanging ways, can the shifting 
 phases of our sentient life be to us the 
 representation of a world of objects, which 
 we distinguish fi'om oxu-selves, yet con- 
 ceive to be permanent with the perma- 
 nence of the self. Nay, it is only in so 
 far as we thus determine the data of sense, 
 that we can exist for om-selves as per- 
 manent individual objects among the other 
 objects of the world. Synthesis is necessary 
 for objectivity, and as there can be no syn- 
 thesis without some link of connection by 
 which the different elements are brought 
 together, so the activity of the mind must 
 bring with it certain principles of relation, 
 under which the manifold of sense must be 
 brought, and to which it must conform. — 
 Caird, 'Philosophy of Kcmt,' p. 199. 
 
 Kant's Tiro Factors of Knoidedge. 
 
 Our knowledge springs from two funda- 
 mental sources of our soul ; the first re- 
 ceives representations (receptivity of im- 
 pressions), the second is the power of 
 knowing an object by these representations 
 (spontaneity of concepts). By the first an 
 object is given us, by the second the object 
 is thought, in relation to that representa- 
 tion which is a mere determination of the 
 souL Intuition therefore and concepts 
 constitute the elements of all our know- 
 ledge, so that neither concepts without 
 an intuition corresponding to them, nor 
 intuition without concepts, can yield any 
 real knowledge. 
 
 Both are either pure or empirical. They 
 are empirical when sensation, presupposing 
 the actual presence of the object, is con- 
 tained in it. They are pure when no 
 sensation is mixed up with the representa- 
 tion. Tlie latter may be called the material 
 of sensuous knowledge. Pure intuition 
 therefore contains the form only by which 
 something is seen, and pure conception the 
 form only by which an object is thought. 
 
 Pure intuitions and pure concepts only are 
 possible, d, priori, empirical intuitions and 
 empirical concepts, a posteriori. 
 
 "We call sensibility the receptivity of our 
 soul, or its power of receiving representa- 
 tions whenever it is in any wise affected, 
 while the understanding, on the contrary, 
 is with VIS the power of producing repre- 
 sentations, or the spontaneity of know- 
 ledge. We are so constituted that our 
 intuition must always be sensuous, and 
 consist of the mode in which we are 
 affected by objects. What enables us to 
 think the object of our sensuous intuition 
 is the imderstanding. Neither of these 
 qualities or faculties is preferable to the 
 other. Without sensibility objects would 
 not be given to us, without imderstanding 
 they would not be thought by us. Thoughts 
 icithout contents are eijijjty, intuitions without 
 concepts are blind. — ' Critique,^ pt. ii. intro. 
 i. vol. ii. 44, 45. 
 
 Results of Rani's Critique. 
 
 The result of Kant's Critique is, in the 
 first place, to destroy the one-sided Indivi- 
 dualism which prevailed during the second 
 period of the history of modern philosophy; 
 or perhaps we should rather say, to correct 
 and transform that Individualism, by the 
 aid of ideas ultimately derived from the 
 equally one-sided UniversaUsm of the first 
 period. Thus Kant endeavoured to show 
 that consciousness transcends the opposi- 
 tion of self and not-self; or, what is the 
 same thing, that self- consciousness contains 
 the unity to which, not merely the pheno- 
 mena of inner experience, but also the 
 phenomena of outer experience, are re- 
 ferred. In order to maintain this position, 
 however, he was obliged, in the second 
 place, to show that the understanding is 
 not purely analytic, but that it is the 
 source of certain conceptions, which, in 
 their application to the perceptions of 
 sense, are principles of h jmori synthesis. 
 These principles are of objective validity, 
 because they are the principles which con- 
 stitute the objective consciousness. On 
 the other hand, the effect of Kant's re- 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 259 
 
 assertion of the synthetic principle in 
 thought was to some extent neutralised 
 by his denial that thought is iii itself 
 synthetic. For, if pure thought in itself 
 is not synthetic but analytic, it follows 
 necessarily that the ideal of knowledge 
 derived from pure thought, and the realiti/ 
 wliich is known by the application of the 
 pTU-e thought to the form and the matter 
 of sensuous experience, are at variance 
 with each other. Hence, in the third 
 place, Kant maintains that the univer- 
 sality of consciousness is limited to ex- 
 perience, and that there is an impassable 
 gulf between things as they are known, and 
 things as they are in themselves. — Caird, 
 ' Philosopliy of Kant,'' pp. 668, 669. 
 
 In Britain — Thomas lieid. 
 
 Tlie Reality of the objects of perception. 
 
 First, It is impossible to perceive an 
 object without having some notion or 
 conception of that which we perceive. We 
 may, indeed, conceive an object which we 
 do not perceive ; but when we perceive the 
 object we must have some conception of 
 it at the same time; and we have com- 
 monly a more clear and steady notion of 
 the object while we perceive it than we 
 have from memory or imagination when it 
 is not perceived. 
 
 Secondly, In perception we not only have 
 a notion more or less distinct of the ob- 
 ject perceived, but also an irresistible con- 
 viction and belief of its existence. This is 
 always the case when we are certain that we 
 perceive it. There may be a perception so 
 faint and indistinct as to leave us in doubt 
 whether we perceive the object or not. 
 
 Thirdly, This conviction is not only irre- 
 sistible, but it is immediate, that is, it is 
 not by a train of reasoning and argumen- 
 tation that we come to be convinced of the 
 existence of what we perceive. — ' On the 
 Intellectual Powers,' ii. chap. v. p. 258. 
 
 ^Common- Sense' Theory of Ideas, in opipo- 
 sition to that of Loclai, Berlceley, and Hume. 
 
 The first reflection I would make on 
 this philosophical opinion is, that it is 
 
 directly contrary to the universal sense 
 of men who have not been instructed in 
 philosophy. When we see the sun or 
 moon, we have no doubt that the very ob- 
 jects which we immediately see are very 
 far distant from us and from one another. 
 We have not the least doubt that this is 
 the sun and moon which God created some 
 thousands of years ago, and which have 
 continued to perform their revolutions in 
 the heavens ever since. A second reflec- 
 tion upon this subject is, that the authors 
 who have treated of ideas have generally 
 taken their existence for granted, as a 
 thing that could not be called in ques- 
 tion ; and such arguments as they have 
 mentioned incidentally, in order to prove 
 it, seem too weak to suppoii the conclu- 
 sion. 
 
 A third reflection is, that philosophers, 
 notwithstanding their unanimity as to the 
 existence of ideas, hardly agree in any one 
 thing else concerning them. If ideas be 
 not a mere fiction, they must be, of all 
 objects of human knowledge, the things 
 we have best access to know and to be 
 acquainted with ; yet there is nothing about 
 which men differ so much. 
 
 A fourth reflection is, that ideas do not 
 make any of the operations of the mind to 
 be better understood, although it was pro- 
 bably with that view that they have been 
 first invented, and afterwards so generally 
 received. — ' On the Intellectual Poicers,' ii., 
 chap. xiv. p. 298. 
 
 In France — Victor Cousin. 
 
 Empiricism cannot abolish universal and 
 necessary principles. 
 
 Not only is empiricism unable to ex- 
 plain universal and necessary principles, 
 but we maintain that without these prin- 
 ciples empiricism cannot even account for 
 the knowledge of the sensible world. 
 
 Take away the piinciple of causality, and 
 the human mind is condennied never to 
 go out of itself and its own modifications. 
 All the sensations of hearing, of smell, of 
 taste, of touch, of feeling even, cannot in- 
 
26o 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 form you what their cause is, nor whether 
 they have a cause. But give to the human 
 mind the principle of causality, admit that 
 every sensation, as well as every pheno- 
 menon, every change, every event, has a. 
 cause, as evidently we are not the cause of 
 certain sensations, and that especially these 
 sensations must have a cause ; and we are 
 naturally led to recognise for those sensa- 
 tions causes different from ourselves, and 
 that is the first notion of an external world. 
 The universal and necessary principle of 
 causality alone gives it and justifies it. 
 Other principles of the same order increase 
 and develop it.— Cousin, ' On the True, the 
 Beautiful, and the Good,' Lect. i. p. 40. 
 
 We possess these principles, but toe are not 
 their author. 
 
 We conceive them and apply them, we 
 do not constitute them. Let us interrogate 
 our consciousness. Do we refer to our- 
 selves, for example, the definitions of geo- 
 metry as we do certain movements of which 
 we feel ourselves to be the cause ? If it is 
 I who make these definitions, they are 
 therefore mine, I can unmake them, modify 
 them, change them, even annihilate them. 
 It is certain that I cannot do it. I am not, 
 then, the author of them. It has also been 
 demonstrated that the principles of which 
 we have spoken cannot be derived from 
 sensation, which is variable, limited, in- 
 capable of producing and authorising any- 
 thing imiversal and necessary. I arrive, 
 then, at the following consequence, also 
 necessary : — ^truth is in me, and not by me. 
 As sensibility puts me in relation with the 
 physical world, so another faculty puts me 
 in communication with the trviths that de- 
 pend upon neither the world nor me, and 
 that faculty is Reason. — ' O71 the True, <Jt.,' 
 Lect. i. pp. 42, 43. 
 
 Theory of their origin — Spontaneity and 
 Reflection. 
 
 Is it not evident that we do not begin by 
 reflection, that reflection supposes an ante- 
 rior operation, and that this operation, in 
 order not to be one of reflection, and not 
 
 to suppose another before it, must be en- 
 tirely spontaneous; that thus the spon- 
 taneous and instinctive intuition of truth 
 precedes its reflection and necessary concep- 
 tion ?—' On the True, t^c.,' Lect. i. p. 52. 
 
 God the Principle of Principles. 
 
 Truth necessarily appeals to something 
 beyond itself. As every phenomenon has 
 its subject of inherence, as our faculties, 
 our thoughts, our volitions, our sensations, 
 exist only in a being which is ourselves, so 
 truth supposes a being in which it resides, 
 and absolute truths suppose a being abso- 
 lute as themselves, wherein they have their 
 final foundation. We come thus to some- 
 thing absolute, which is no longer suspended 
 in the vagueness of abstraction, but is a 
 being substantially existing. This being, 
 absolute and necessary, since it is the sub- 
 ject of necessary and absolute truths, this 
 being which is at the foundation of truth 
 as its very essence, in a single word, is called 
 God.—' On the True, ^t.,' Lect. i. p. 80. 
 
 Modern Tendencies. 
 Positivism. 
 
 Tlie Philosophy of M. Comte. 
 
 The doctrine of Auguste Comte, the 
 product at once of the mathematical and 
 positive sciences and of Saint-Simonism, is 
 a combination of empiricism and socialism, 
 inwhich the scientific standpoint constantly 
 gained in prominence, in comparison with 
 the socialistic standpoint. There are in 
 Positivism, as ia all doctrines, two parts, a 
 destructive part and a constructive part. 
 (a.) The former part contains the denial of 
 all metaphysics and all search for first or 
 for final causes. The beginning and the 
 end of things, it says, are unknowable for 
 us. It is only what lies between these two 
 that belongs to us. Positivism repudiates 
 all metaphysical hypotheses. It accepts 
 neither atheism nor theism. Nor does it 
 accept pantheism, which is only a form of 
 atheism. (/;.) In its constructive part, Posi- 
 tivism may be reduced, in the main, to two 
 ideas, (i.) A certain historic conception. 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCLIOOLS. 
 
 261 
 
 ^yhich is that the human mind passes neces- 
 sarily through three stages — the theological, 
 the metaphysical, and the positive. In the 
 first state, man explains the phenomena of 
 nature by reference to supernatural causes, 
 by personal or voluntary interferences, by 
 prodigies, miracles, &c. In the second 
 period, supernatural and anthropomorjihic 
 causes give place to abstract, occult causes, 
 scholastic entities, realised abstractions, and 
 nature is interpreted a jpriori : the attempt 
 is made to construe nature subjectively. 
 In the third state, man contents himself 
 with ascertaining by observation and ex- 
 periment the connections of phenomena, 
 and so learning to connect each fact with 
 its antecedent conditions. This is the 
 method which has founded modern science, 
 and which must take the place of meta- 
 physics. Whatever is not capable of ex- 
 perimental verification must be rigorously 
 excluded from science. (2.) The second 
 conception of Positivism is the classifica- 
 tion and co-ordination of the sciences. The 
 theory of this classification requires us to 
 advance from the simple to the complex. 
 At the basis are Mathematics ; then come, 
 in turn, Astronomy, Physics, Chemistry, 
 Biology, and Sociology. These are the 
 six fundamental sciences, each of which is 
 necessary to the next following one. The 
 Psychology of Positivism is a part of phy- 
 siology. Its doctrine of morals is in no 
 respect original ; it rejects the doctrine 
 of personal interest. — Uehenoeg, ^ Hist, of 
 Phil.,' ii. 344. 
 
 The three stages of develojnnejit in Human 
 Intelligence. 
 
 From the study of the development of 
 Imman intelligence in all directions and 
 through all times, the discovery arises of a 
 gi'eat fundamental law to which it is neces- 
 sarily subject, and which has a solid foun- 
 dation of proof both in the facts of our 
 organisation and in our historical experi- 
 ence. The law is this : that each of our 
 leading conceptions, — each branch of our 
 knowledge passes successively through three 
 different theoretical conditions, — the theo- 
 
 logical or fictitious, the metaphysical or 
 abstract, and the scientific or positive. In 
 other words, the human mind, by its nature, 
 employs in its progress three methods of 
 philosophising, the character of which is 
 essentially different and even radically op- 
 posed, viz., the theological method, the meta- 
 physical, and the positive. Hence arise 
 three philosophic or general systems of con- 
 ceptions on the aggregate of phenomena, 
 each of which excludes the others. The 
 first is the necessary point of departure of 
 the human understanding, and the third is 
 its fixed and definite state ; the second is 
 merely a state of transition. — Comte, ^Posi- 
 tive Philosophy,'' i. i, 2. 
 
 All knowledge is virtual Feeling. 
 
 Knowledge is simply virtual Feeling, the 
 stored-up accumulations of previous experi- 
 ences, our o^vn and those of others ; it is 
 a vision of the unappai'ent relations which 
 will be aj)parent when the objects are pre- 
 sented to Sense. Hence the imperious 
 desire to find ovit how the thing came to be, 
 what it is, and what it will be under other 
 circumstances. Our sensible experiences 
 grow into knowledge by a twofold pi-ocess 
 of grouping and classification ; Feeling is 
 added to feeling, quality to quality, each 
 group enlarging with every fresh experi- 
 ence; and this process of incorporation 
 henceforward causes any one of the feel- 
 ings to revive the others, so that the sight 
 will revive the taste or smell, and the 
 name will revive the image. Nay, more, 
 the process also causes any one of these 
 feelings to be detached from those to which 
 originally it cohered and to enter into some 
 new group, thus linking the two groups 
 together and revealing them as like one 
 another-. Every perception is felt to be at 
 once like and unlike others. It is a cluster 
 of feelings and images of past feelings. — 
 Lewes, ^Problems of Life and Mind,' ii. 23. 
 
 Comte's definition of Religion. 
 
 It is ' that state of complete harmony 
 peculiar to human life, in its collective as 
 well as in its individual form, when all the 
 
262 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 parts of life are ordered in their natural 
 relations to each other. This definition, 
 which alone embraces equally all the dif- 
 ferent phases of Eeligion, applies equally 
 to the heart and to the intellect, for both 
 of these must concur to produce any true 
 unity of hfe. Religion, therefore, gives a 
 natural harmony to the soul exactly analo- 
 gous to that which Health gives to the 
 Body. The union of the moral and the 
 physical nature is so close, and the relation 
 which these two states hold to one another 
 is so intimate, that we may regard the Har- 
 mony of the Soul as virtually embracing 
 the health of the Body.'—' System of Posi- 
 tive Polity,' ii. p. 8. 
 
 The fvmctions of religion, according to 
 Comte, are to regulate individual life and 
 to combine collective lives. 
 
 The primary elements of Religion. 
 
 To constitute any true religious state 
 there must be a concurrence of two primary 
 elements, the one objective and essentially 
 intellectual, the other subjective and essen- 
 tially moral. Thus Religion exerts an in- 
 fluence at once over the understanding and 
 the feelings, neither of which separately 
 would suflice to establish a true unity, 
 either for individual or collective life. On 
 the one hand, it is requisite that our minds 
 should conceive a Power without us, so 
 superior to om"selves as to command the 
 complete submission of our entire life ; but, 
 on the other hand, it is equally indispen- 
 sable that our moral nature should be 
 inspired within by our affection, capable of 
 habitually combining all the rest. These 
 two essential conditions naturally tend to 
 work as one, since the sense of submission 
 to a Power without necessarily seconds the 
 discipline of the moral natiu-e within ; and 
 this in turn prepares the way for the spirit 
 of submission. — 'System of Positive Polity,' 
 ii. p. II. 
 
 'Religion,' says Comte, 'is the complete 
 harmony proper to human existence, indi- 
 vidual and collective, when all its parts are 
 brought into due relation to one another.' 
 It is for the soul, in other words, what 
 
 health is for the body ; and as health is 
 essentially one, though in all cases variously 
 and imperfectly realised, so too religion is h 
 essentially one, though it is attained in i 
 various forms and in different degrees. 
 Even to the last it is an ideal to which 
 each specific type is an approximation. 
 The object of religion, corresponding to 
 this definition, is set forth as twofold. It 
 is destined at once to discipline the indivi- 
 dual, and to unite the separate individuals 
 in a harmonious whole. It aims at per- 
 sonal unity and social unity. As the aim 
 of religion is twofold, so also is its base. 
 It reposes on an objective and on a sub- 
 jective foundation. Without, there is the 
 external order, in itself independent of us, 
 which necessarily limits our thoughts and 
 actions and feelings. AYithin, there is a 
 principle of benevolent sympathy, which 
 prompts us to look beyond our own wants 
 and wishes, and to seek in a wider harmony 
 the satisfaction of the deepest instincts of 
 our nature. — Westcott, ' TJie Gospel of the 
 Resurrection,' p. 254. 
 
 The Positivist system of doctrine is 
 simply the outline of the hierarchy of the 
 sciences, which are severally subordinated 
 one to another, and each regulated by its 
 peculiar laws. . . . The Positivist view of 
 the dependence of religion on science errs 
 by defect, and not in principle. It requires 
 to be supplemented, and not overthrown.- 
 . . . The grand and far-reaching ideas of 
 the continuity, the solidarity, the totality 
 of life, which answer equally to the laws of 
 our being and the deepest aspirations of our 
 souls, are not only reconcilable with Chris- 
 tianity, but they are essentially Christian. 
 The Positivist theory, so far from advanc- 
 ing anything novel in such teaching, simply 
 places us once again in the original Chris- 
 tian point of view of the Cosmos. . . . But 
 Christianity does not pause where Posi- 
 tivism pauses, — in the visible order. It 
 carries the unity of being yet further, and 
 links all that is seen with that unseen 
 which can only be figured to us in parables. 
 An imperious instinct asserts that our in- 
 dividual existence is not closed by what 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 263 
 
 falls here under our senses ; and every indi- 
 cation of the intimate relationship of man 
 with man, and of age with age, confirms 
 the belief in the further extension of this 
 law of dependence to an order of being be- 
 yond the present. — Westcott, 'The Gospel 
 of the Resurrection,'' pp. 259, 261, 271, 273. 
 
 God. 
 
 Positivism says to us, 'Agnosticism is 
 necessary and inevitable. About God no- 
 thing can be known. All the systems 
 which human thought has devised to ac- 
 count for the i;niverse, whether theistic, 
 pantheistic, or atheistic, are a mere Babel of 
 unmeaning words. On the side of heaven 
 there is nothing for man but an absolute 
 blank. But be of good cheer. Listen to 
 me, and you shall not be without a 
 Supreme Object to which your worship 
 may ascend, and around which your holiest 
 affections and dearest hopes may cluster 
 with satisfaction and joy. Accept the re- 
 ligion of Humanity, and be happy.' We 
 are bidden to call the idealising faculty 
 into play. We are to think, not of indivi- 
 dual men and women as we know them in 
 our experience, but of the Race. ' Conceive 
 of Humanity as a vast Whole,' it is urged. 
 ' Imagine it as a mighty stream, of which 
 all human beings, past, present, and to 
 come, are the component drops ; and see 
 this majestic Flood emerging out of the 
 bosom of the eternal Past, and ever swelling 
 into grander proportions as it rolls onward 
 to the unbounded Future. There is the 
 true Supreme, the source of all goodness, 
 the object of all worship, the sovereign 
 ruler of destiny, the living force of the great 
 drama of Evolution. — Maitland, 'Theism or 
 Agnosticism^' p. 233. 
 
 M. Comte, an acute philosopher, a dis- 
 ciple of the school of St. Simon, discovered 
 that the divine belongs wholly to the early 
 ages of the world. Worship, it seemed, 
 was for ever to be banished from the world ; 
 all questions that have ever troubled men 
 about their own spiritual condition were to 
 disappear with it. But M. Comte proved 
 a rebel to his own decrees. Positive philo- 
 
 sophy, he found, wanletl the completion of 
 love, and love must bring back worship. 
 All acknowledgment of any absolute Being 
 is indeed dead. That belongs to the old 
 times ; but the goddess of humanity must 
 be enthroned in our day. She requires a ■ 
 priesthood, and to that it would seem that 
 men can only be initiated through some 
 painful inward conflicts. A result surely 
 to be considered and reflected upon for 
 what it declares and for what it indicates. 
 — Maurice, 'Moral and Metaphysical Philo- 
 sophy,^ ii. 663. 
 
 Humanity the central point of Positivism. 
 
 In the conception of Humanity the three 
 essential aspects of Positivism, its subjec- 
 tive principle, its objective dogma, and 
 its practical object, are united. Towards 
 Humanity, who is for us the only true 
 great Being, we, the conscious elements of 
 whom she is composed, shall henceforth 
 direct every aspect of our life, individual 
 or collective. Our thoughts will be devoted 
 to the knowledge of Humanity, our affec- 
 tions to her love, ovu- actions to her service. 
 — ' Positive Polity,' i. p. 264. 
 
 Positivism aims at the reorganisation of 
 society. 
 
 It cannot be necessary to prove to any- 
 body who reads this work that Ideas govern 
 the world, or throw it into chaos ; in other 
 words, that all social mechanism rests upon 
 Opinions. The great political and moral 
 crisis that societies are now undergoing is 
 shown by a rigid analysis to arise out of 
 intellectual anarchy. Till a certain num- 
 ber of general ideas can be acknowledged 
 as a rallying-point of social doctrine, the 
 nations will remain in a revolutionary state, 
 whatever palliatives may be devised ; and 
 their institutions can be only provisional. 
 
 Now, the existing disorder is abundantly 
 accounted for by the existence, all at once, 
 of three incompatible philosophies, — the 
 theological, the metaphysical, and the posi- 
 tive. Any one of these might alone secure 
 some sort of social order ; but while the 
 three co-exist, it is impossible for us to 
 
264 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 understand one another upon any essential 
 point whatever. If this is true, we have 
 only to ascertain which of the philosophies 
 must, in the nature of things, prevail ; and, 
 this ascertained, every man, whatever may 
 have been his former views, cannot but 
 concur in its triumph. The problem once 
 recognised cannot remain long unsolved ; 
 for all considerations whatever point to 
 the Positive Philosophy as the one destined 
 to prevail. — Comte, 'Positive PJiilosophy,' i. 
 12, 13. 
 
 TJie Religion of Humanity. 
 
 Love is our principle ; Order our basis ; 
 and Progi-ess our end. Such is the essen- 
 tial character of the system of life which 
 Positivism offers for the definite acceptance 
 of society; a system which regulates the 
 whole course of our public and private 
 existence, by bringing Feeling, Reason, 
 and Activity into permanent harmony. 
 In this final synthesis, all essential con- 
 ditions are far more perfectly fulfilled than 
 in any other. Each special element of our 
 nature is more fully developed, and at the 
 same time the general working of the 
 whole is more coherent. Greater distinct- 
 ness is given to the truth that the affective 
 element predominates in our nature. Life 
 in all its actions and thoughts is brought 
 under the control and inspiring charm of 
 Social Sympathy. 
 
 By the supremacy of the Heart, the 
 Intellect, so far from being crushed, is 
 elevated ; for all its powers are consecrated 
 to the service of the social instincts, with 
 the purpose of strengthening and of direct- 
 ing their influence. By accepting its sub- 
 ordination to Feeling, Reason adds to 
 its own authority. — ' Positive Polity,^ i. 
 P- 257- 
 
 Cbiticism. 
 
 Professing to be a philosophy of the 
 imiverse. Positivism has not provided a 
 philosophy of human nature. It may be 
 true that men from early times have con- 
 cerned themselves with explanations of the 
 phenomena of the outer world j but the 
 
 first necessity was to guide their own life. 
 If they were intellectually interested in 
 physical events, they were practically con- 
 cerned in human actions. If they gave 
 some thought to the rising and setting of 
 the sun, the flowing of the waters, and the 
 growth of the trees, — they must have given 
 more thought to the direction of their own 
 energies. How did they i-ecognise a rule 
 of personal conduct ? Positivism gives no 
 answer. And while constructing a Soci- 
 ology, with professed denial of the possi- 
 bility of knowing causes, it fails to account 
 for the most conspicuous fact in the pi'O- 
 cedure of Society, that it has always 
 regarded men as the causes of their own 
 actions, and has punished them for their 
 evil deeds. — Caldencood, 'Moral Pliilo- 
 sophy,' p. 68. 
 
 Among the forces arrayed against Chris- 
 tianity at this hour, the most formidable, 
 because the most consistent and the most 
 sanguine, is that pure materialism, which 
 has been intellectually organised in the 
 somewhat pedantic form of Positivism. To 
 the Positivist the most etherealised of 
 deistic theories is just as much an object 
 of pitying scorn as the creed of a St. John 
 and a St. Athanasius. Both are relegated 
 to ' the theological period ' of human de- 
 velopment. — Liddon, ' Bariipton Lectures,' 
 P- 445- 
 
 Auguste Comte detected the simple laws 
 of the course of development through which 
 nations pass. There are always three 
 phases of intellectual condition, — the theo- 
 logical, the metaphysical, and the positive ; 
 applying this general law of progress to 
 concrete cases, Comte was enabled to pre- 
 dict that in the hierarchy of European 
 nations, Spain would necessarily hold the 
 highest place. Such are the parodies of 
 Science offered to us by the positive philo- 
 sophers. — Jevojis, 'Principles of Science,^ 
 p. 761. 
 
 M. Comte was certainly a man of some 
 mathematical and scientific proficiency, as 
 well as of quick but biassed intelligence. 
 A member of the Aufldilrimg, he had seen 
 
MODEKX PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 265 
 
 the immense advance of physical science 
 since Newton, under, as is usually said, the 
 method of Bacon; and, like Hume, like 
 Eeid, like Kant, who had all anticipated 
 him in this, he sought to transfer that 
 method to the dominion of mind. In this 
 he failed ; and though in a sociological 
 aspect he is not without true glances into 
 the present disintegration of society and 
 the conditions of it, anything of importance 
 cannot be claimed for him. There is not 
 a sentence in his book that, in the hollow 
 elaboration and windy pretentiousness of 
 its build, is not an exact type of its own 
 constructor. On the whole, indeed, when 
 we consider the little to which he attained, 
 the empty inflation of his claims, the 
 monstrous and maniacal self-conceit into 
 which he was exalted, it may appear, per- 
 haps, that charity to M. Comte himself, to 
 say nothing of the world, should induce us 
 to wish that both his name and his works 
 were buried in oblivion. — Stirling, ^ As 
 Regards Protoplasm,' p. 5. 
 
 The true intei'pretation of altruism in- 
 cludes not merely a regard for our fellow- 
 men, but a distinct ignoring of our Creator. 
 It would be easy to show that a community 
 in which every member of society should 
 lose all thought and renounce all care of 
 himself, would become utterly disorganised. 
 Comte was very well aware of this; he 
 knew that it is only by the due combina- 
 tion of prudence with benevolence that 
 human well-being is secured. His vanity 
 led him to exalt his own moral axioms 
 above those accepted in Christendom. Yet 
 an impartial student of religion and of 
 morals cannot but regard the Christian 
 law as superior to that of Comte. ' Thou 
 shall love the Lord thy God with all thy 
 lieart, . . . and thy neighhour as thyself,' 
 is a wise and practical principle of human 
 conduct ; it presumes as natural and right 
 a regard to our own interest, but directs 
 us to make this regard the measure of 
 our interest in our fellow-men. Eighteen 
 centuries before Comte's day, Christ had 
 inculcated the duty of unselfishness and 
 benevolence. But whilst Comtism relies 
 
 only on the feeling of human community 
 and sympathy as the motive power to 
 compliance with its law, Christianity 
 derives the love of man from the love 
 of God, and supplies in the revelation 
 of Divine compassion and mercy the spiri- 
 tual impulse w^hich is mighty to prompt 
 man to benevolence. — Thomson, ^ Auguste 
 Comte and the Religion of Humanity,' pp. 
 49, 5°- 
 
 Tlie German Psychologists — Herhart, 
 Lotze. 
 Herhart. 
 
 Philosophy is defined by Herbart as the 
 elaboration of conceptions. Logic aims at 
 clearness in conceptions, metaphysics at the 
 correction of them, and aesthetics, in that 
 wider sense in which it includes ethics, as 
 the completion of them, by the addition of 
 qualifications of worth. — Ueherweg, 'Hid. 
 of Phil.,' ii. 264. 
 
 The sold originates ideas. 
 
 The soul is a simple, spaceless essence, 
 of simple quality. It is located at a single 
 point within the brain. When the senses 
 are affected, and motion is transmitted by 
 the nerve to the brain, the soul is pene- 
 trated by the simple, real essences which 
 immediately surround it. Its quality then 
 performs an act of self-preservation in op- 
 position to the disturbance which it would 
 otherwise suffer from the— whether par- 
 tially or totally— opposite quality of each 
 of these simple essences. Every such act 
 of self-preservation on the part of the soul 
 is an idea. All ideas (representations) en- 
 dure, even after the occasion which called 
 them forth has ceased. When there are 
 at the same time in the soul several ideas, 
 whicli are either partially or totally op- 
 posed to each other, they cannot continue 
 to subsist together without being partially 
 arrested; they must be arrested, i.e., be- 
 come unconscious, to a degree measured by 
 the sum of the intensities of all these ideas 
 with the exception of the strongest. This 
 quantum of arrest is termed by Horbart 
 
266 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the ' sum of arrest.' The part of each 
 idea in this sum of arrest is greater, the 
 less intense the idea is. On the intensive 
 relations of ideas, and on the laws of the 
 change of these relations, are founded the 
 possibility and the scientific necessity of 
 applying mathematics to psychology. — 
 Ueherweg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,'' ii. 265, 266. 
 
 Lotze. 
 
 Sensations arise in the soul. 
 
 The wooden notes of the musical instru- 
 ment do not themselves contain the tones 
 which, when struck, they draw forth fi-om 
 the chords; it is only the tension of the 
 latter that by means of this propulsion can 
 pass into tone-producing vibrations. In 
 like manner, all bodily impressions are for 
 the soul but strokes, drawing forth from 
 its own nature the internal phenomena of 
 sensation, that never can be communicated 
 to it from without. For even if it were 
 not the motion of the notes, but a veritable 
 wave of sound, that brought the tone from 
 the chord, yet that could only reproduce 
 the tone by its own tension, no matter 
 whether what set it in vibration were a 
 process similar or dissimilar to that wave. 
 The case would not be different if we chose 
 anyhow to look on sensation as a state 
 already existing in the nerves ; it would 
 still have to originate afresh in the soul 
 through some excitation conveyed to it by 
 the sensory nerve, and it could never arise 
 through external impressions, were its own 
 nature not in itself capable of evolving this 
 peculiar form of internal action. Accord- 
 ingly, every theory that takes for granted 
 that what is to be manifested in the soul 
 already exists outside of it, is yet forced 
 to come back to this conception, and to 
 view the external as merely an occasion, 
 and the inner event, on the other hand, as 
 proceeding fi'om the nature of that in which 
 it takes place. — '■ Microcosmus,'' i. 282. 
 
 Things are acts of the Infinite wrought iii 
 minds. 
 
 All individual things are thinkable only 
 as modifications of one single Infinite Being. 
 
 . . . Manifesting itself in the individual 
 mind, and being in it and in all its like 
 the efiicient source of their life, the Infi- 
 nite develops a series of activities as to 
 which hoio they take place remains incom- 
 prehensible to finite consciousness, which 
 intuits their products as they occur, under 
 the form of a multiform and changing 
 world of sense. — ' Microcosmus,' ii 640, 
 641. 
 
 The finite a reflection of the Infinite. 
 
 Of the full personality which is possible 
 only for the Infinite a feeble reflection is 
 given also to the finite ; for the character- 
 istics peculiar to the finite are not producing 
 conditions of self-existence, but obstacles 
 to its unconditioned development, although 
 we are accustomed, imjustifiably, to deduce 
 from these chai-acteiistics its capacity of 
 personal existence. The finite being always 
 works with powers with which it did not 
 endow itself, and according to laws which 
 it did not establish, — that is, it works by 
 means of a mental organisation which is 
 realised not only in it, but also in innu- 
 merable similar beings. Hence in reflecting 
 on self, it may easily seem to it as though 
 there were in itself some obscure and un- 
 known substance — something which is in 
 the ego though it is not the ego itself, and 
 to which, as to its subject, the whole per- 
 sonal development is attached. — ' Microcos- 
 mus,' ii. 685, 686. 
 
 Perfect Personality is in God only, to all 
 finite minds there is allotted but a pale 
 copy thereof ; and the finiteness of the finite 
 is not a producing condition of this Per- 
 sonality but a limit and a hindrance of its 
 development. — ' Microcosmus,' p. 688. 
 
 Evolution. 
 
 Definition. 
 
 Evolution includes all theories respecting 
 the origin and order of the world which 
 regard the higher or more complex forms 
 of existence as following and depending on 
 the lower and simpler forms, which repre- 
 sent the course of the world as a gi-adual 
 
MODERX PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 267 
 
 transition from the indeterminate to the 
 determinate, from the uniform to tlie varied, 
 and which assume the cause of this process 
 to be immanent in the world itself that is 
 thus transformed. All theories of evolu- 
 tion, properly so called, regard the physical 
 world as a gradual progress from the simple 
 to the comi)lex, look upon the development 
 of organic life as conditioned by that of the 
 inoi'ganic world, and view the course of 
 mental life both of the individual and of 
 the race as correlated with a material pro- 
 cess. — Sully, ' Encydop. Brit.,' art. 'Evolu- 
 tion,' viii. 751. 
 
 Mr. Herbert Spencer's definition. 
 
 Evolution is an integration of mattei- 
 and concomitant dissipation of motion, 
 during which the matter passes from an 
 indefinite, incoherent homogeneity to a 
 definite, coherent heterogeneity ; and dur- 
 ing which the retained motion undergoes a 
 parallel transformation. — ' First Principles,' 
 p. 396. 
 
 Mental Evolution. 
 
 If the doctrine of Evolution is true, the 
 ine\-itable implication is that Mind can be 
 understood only by observing how much is 
 evolved. If creatures of the most elevated 
 kinds have reached those highly integrated, 
 very definite, and extremely heterogeneous 
 organisations they possess, through modifi- 
 cations upon modifications accumulated dur- 
 ing an immeasurable past — if the developed 
 nervous systems of such creatures have 
 joined their complex structures and func- 
 tions httle by little, then, necessarily, the 
 involved forms of consciousness which are 
 tlie correlatives of these complex structures 
 and functions must have arisen by degrees. 
 And as it is impossible truly to compre- 
 hend the organisation of the body in gene- 
 ral, or of the nervous system in particular, 
 without tracing its successive stages of 
 complication, so it must be impossible to 
 comprehend mental organisation without 
 similarly tracing its stages. — Spencer, 'Prin- 
 ciples of Psychology,' i. 292. 
 
 Regarded under every variety of aspect, 
 intelligence is found to consist in the estab- 
 lishment of correspondences between rela- 
 tions in the organism and relations in tho 
 environment ; and the entire development 
 of intelligence may be formulated as tho 
 progress of such correspondences in space, 
 in time, in speciality, in generality, in com- 
 plexity. — Spencer, 'Principles of Psycho- 
 logy: i- 385- 
 
 Bodily and Mental Evolidion harmonious. 
 From the lowest to the highest forms of 
 life, the increasing adjustment of inner to 
 outer relations is one indivisible progres- 
 sion. Just as, out of the homogeneous 
 tissue with which every organism com- 
 mences, there arises, by continuous dif- 
 ferentiation and disintegration, a congeries 
 of organs performing separate functions, but 
 remaining mutually dependent, so the cor- 
 i-espondence between the actions going on 
 inside of the organism and those going on 
 outside of it, beginning with some simple 
 homogeneous correspondence, gradually be- 
 comes differentiated into various orders of 
 correspondences, which, though constantly 
 more and more subdivided, maintain a re- 
 ciprocity of aid that grows ever greater. 
 These two progressions are in truth parts 
 of the same progression. The primordial 
 tissue displays the several forms of irritabi- 
 lity in which the senses originate ; and the 
 organs of sense, like all other oi^gans, arise 
 by differentiation of this primordial tissue. 
 The impressions received by these senses 
 form the raw materials of intelligence, 
 which arises by combination of them, and 
 must therefore conform to their law of 
 development. Intelligence advances ^jarj 
 passu with the advance of the nervous sys- 
 tem, and the nervous system has the same 
 law of development as the other systems. 
 Without dwelling on these facts, it is suf- 
 ficiently manifest that, as the progress of 
 organisation and the progress of corre- 
 spondence between the organism and its 
 environment are but different aspects of 
 the evolution of Life in general, they can- 
 ' not fail to harmonise. In this organisation 
 
268 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 of experiences which constitutes evolving 
 Intelligence, there must be that same con- 
 tinuity, that same subdivision of function, 
 that same mutual dependence, and that 
 same ever-advancing consensus which char- 
 acterise the physical organisation. — Spen- 
 cer, ^Principles of PsycJioIogy,' i. 387, ^88, 
 abridged. 
 
 Criticism of Mr. Spencefs pliilosophy. 
 
 Mr. Spencer is a thoroughgoing realist. 
 From his general scheme of evolution one 
 would be prepared to find him avowing 
 himself a materialist. Yet he seeks to 
 avoid this conclusion by saying that it is 
 one unknowable reality which manifests it- 
 self alike in the material and in the mental 
 domain. At the same time, this unknow- 
 able is commonly spoken of as force, and 
 in many places seems to be identified with 
 material force. Mr. Spencer makes little 
 use of his metaphysical conception in ac- 
 counting for the evolution of things. He 
 tells us neither why the unknowable should 
 manifest itself in time at all, nor why it 
 should appear as a material world before 
 it appears under the form of mind or con- 
 sciousness. Indeed, Mr. Spencer's doctrine 
 of evolution cannot be said to have received 
 from its author an adequate metaphysical 
 interpretation. The idea of the imknow- 
 able hardly suifices to give to his system an 
 intelligible monistic basis. In truth, this 
 system seems in its essence to be dualistic 
 rather than monistic. — Sully, art. ' Evolu- 
 tion,^ ' Encyc. Brit.,' viii. p. 765. 
 
 Criticism of the Evolution theory in 
 general. 
 
 This theory, philosophically or in ulti- 
 mate analysis, is an attempt to prove that 
 design, or the objective idea, especially in 
 the organic world, is developed in time by 
 natural means. . . . 
 
 The only agency postulated by Mr. Dar- 
 win is time — infinite time ; and as regards 
 actually existent beings and actually ex- 
 istent conditions, it is hardly possible to 
 deny any possibility whatever to infinitude. 
 . . . But we can also say that any fruitful 
 
 application even of infinite time to the general 
 problem of difference in the world is incon- 
 ceivable. . . . 
 
 In known geological eras, let us calculate 
 them as liberally as we may, there is not 
 time enough to account for the presently- 
 existing varieties, from one or even several 
 primordial forms. . . . Did light, or did 
 the pulsations of the air, ever by any length 
 of time, indent into the sensitive cell, eyes, 
 and a pair of eyes — ears, and a pair of ears % 
 Light conceivably might shine for ever with- 
 out such a wonderfully complicated result as 
 an eya Similarly, for delicacy and mar- 
 vellous ingenuity of structure, the ear is 
 scarcely inferior to the eye ; and surely it 
 is possible to think of a whole infinitude of 
 those fitful and fortuitous air-tremblings, 
 which we call sound, without indentation 
 into anything whatever of such an organ. 
 Stirling, 'As Regards Protoplasm,' pp. 56-59, 
 abridged. 
 
 Evolutional Religion — Religion as an ad- 
 justment. 
 
 Xot only have we seen that scientific 
 inquiry, proceeding from its own resources 
 and borrowing no hints from theology, leads 
 to the conclusion that the universe is the 
 manifestation of a Divine Power that is in 
 no wise identifiable with the universe, or 
 interpretable in terms of ' blind force,' or 
 of any other phenomenal manifestation ; 
 but we have also seen that the ethical rela- 
 tions in which man stands with reference 
 to this Divine Power are substantially the 
 same, whether described in terms of modern 
 science or in terms of ancient mythology. 
 Not only does the Doctrine (of Evolution) 
 show that the principles of action which 
 the religious instincts of men have agreed 
 in pronouncing sacred, are involved in the 
 very nature of life itself, regarded as a con- 
 tinuous adjustment ; but it shows that the 
 obligation to conform to these principles, 
 instead of deriving its authority from the 
 arbitrary command of a mythologic quasi- 
 human Ruler, derives it from the inner- 
 most necessities of that process of evolution 
 which is the perpetual revelation of Divine 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 269 
 
 Power. He to whom the theory of Evo- 
 lution, in all its details, has become as 
 familiar as the saws and maxims of the 
 old mythology are to him who still accepts 
 it, will recognise that to be untrue to the 
 highest attainable ethical code is to be 
 untrue to philosophy, untrue to science, 
 untrue to himself. — FisJce, ' Cusmic Pliilo- 
 sojjJi//,' ii. 467, 468. 
 
 Agnosticism. 
 
 Statement of the doctrine. 
 
 In science. 
 
 Agnosticism in science is the doctrine 
 that * ultimate scientific ideas are all repre- 
 sentative of realities that cannot be com- 
 prehended.' 'Alike in the external and 
 the internal worlds, the man of science sees 
 himself in the midst of perpetual changes 
 of which he can discover neither the be- 
 ginning nor the end. If, tracing back the 
 evolution of things, he allows himself to 
 entertain the hypothesis that the Universe 
 once existed in a diffused form, he finds 
 it uttei-ly impossible to conceive how this 
 came to be so. In like manner, if he looks 
 inward, he perceives that both ends of the 
 thread of consciousness are beyond his 
 grasp ; nay, even beyond his power to 
 think of as having existed or as existing 
 in time to come. When, again, he turns 
 from the succession of phenomena, external 
 or internal, to their intrinsic nature, he is 
 just as much at fault. Objective and sub- 
 jective things he thus ascertains to be alike 
 inscrutable in their substance and genesis. 
 In all directions his investigations eventu- 
 ally bring him face to face with an insoluble 
 enigma ; and he ever more clearly perceives 
 it to be an insoluble enigma. He, more 
 than any other, truly knows that in its 
 ultimate essence nothing can be known.' — 
 Spencer, ^ First Principles,'' pp. 66, 67. 
 
 In Theology. 
 
 Agnosticism in theology is the doctrine 
 ' that the Power which the Universe mani- 
 fests to us is utterly inscrutalde.' ' Such a 
 Power exists, but its natui-e transcends In- 
 
 tuition, and is beyond imagination.' God 
 is ' unknown and unknowable.' — Spencer, 
 ^ First Principles,' pp. 45, 46, 108. 
 
 Ultimate religious ideas and ultimate 
 scientific ideas alike turn out to be merely 
 symbols of the actual, not cognitions of it. 
 — Spencer, ' First Principles,' p. 68. 
 
 The unknowableness of God lias been 
 formulated as a Philosophy. It has even 
 been defended as a Theology and hallowed 
 as a Religion. The sublimation of rational 
 piety has been gravely set forth as that 
 blind wonder which comes from the con- 
 scious and necessary ignorance of God. In 
 contrast with this new foim of worship, 
 the confident joyousness of the Christian 
 faith has been called 'the impiety of the 
 pious ; ' and the old saying has almost re- 
 appeared in a new guise, that even for a 
 philosopher ' ignorance is the mother of 
 devotion.' — Porter, ' Agnosticism.' 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton's Doctrine. 
 
 True, therefore, are the declarations of 
 a pious philosophy : ' A God understood 
 would be no God at all ; ' ' To think that 
 God is as we can think Him to be, is blas- 
 phemy.' The Divinity, in a certain sense, 
 is revealed ; in a certain sense is concealed. 
 He is at once known and unknown. But 
 the last and highest consecration of all 
 true religion must be an altar — 'Ayvwirrw 
 Qiu, — * To the unknown and unknowable 
 God.' — ^Discussions,']). 15. 
 
 Dea7i Hansel's Doctrine. 
 
 The various mental attributes which we 
 ascribe to God — Benevolence, Holiness, 
 Justice, Wisdom, for example — can be con- 
 ceived by us only as existing in a bene- 
 volent, and holy, and just, and wise Being, 
 who is not identical with any one of His 
 attributes, but the common subject of them 
 all ; in one word, in a Person. But Persona- 
 lity, as we conceive it, is essentially a limi- 
 tation and a relation. . . . To speak of an 
 Absolute and Infinite Person is simply to 
 use language which, however true it may- 
 be in a superhuman sense, denotes an 
 
270 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 object inconceivable under the conditions 
 of human thought. — ' Limits of Religious 
 TJimir/ht,' pp. 59, 60. 
 
 Of the nature and attributes of God in 
 His Infinite Being Philosophy can tell us 
 nothing; of man's inability to apprehend 
 that nature, and why he is thus unable, 
 she tells us all that we can know, and all 
 that we need to know. — 'Limits of Religious 
 Thouglit,' p. 185. 
 
 Agnosticism not a neio doctrine. 
 
 As a speculation Agnosticism is not new. 
 It is as old as human thought. The doubts 
 and misgivings from which it springs are 
 older than the oldest fragment of human 
 literature. The questions which it seeks 
 to answer are as distinctly uttered in the 
 book of Job as are the replies of sneering 
 despair which are paraded in the last scien- 
 tific periodical. Modern science and philo- 
 sophy have not answered these questions. 
 It may be doubted whether they have shed 
 any light upon them. They have simply 
 enlarged man's conceptions of the finite, 
 and thus made it more easy for him to 
 overlook or deny his power and his obliga- 
 tion to know the Infinite and the Self-ex- 
 istent. — Porter, 'Agnosticism,^ p. 29. 
 
 Criticism of Agnosticism. 
 
 Men have not listened to the voice of 
 Mr. Spencer. They proceed to look at the 
 limits which he calls the Unknowable, and 
 to look at the action of the force he has 
 labelled the "Inscrutable." And they have 
 found open paths, and the known forces 
 of intelligence, will, and freedom at work 
 everywhere in the sphere which Mr. Spencer 
 calls the unknowable. They find that when 
 they apply the forces they know in them- 
 selves and in history to the problems of 
 nature and to the problems of our know- 
 ledge of God, they are fit and adequate 
 for the explanation of them. While Mr. 
 Spencer is telling us that we shall never 
 know anything save the known manifesta- 
 tions of the unknowable force, behold this 
 unknowable force has become known to us, 
 
 and we find that our own personality is 
 akin to Him who is the maker and up- 
 holder of the worlds. It is certainly not 
 easy to understand how the inscrutable 
 force which lies at the basis of existence 
 according to Mr. Spencer should become 
 the self-conscious force which I recognise 
 in myself. On the other hand, if we take 
 the Christian conception of God, as One 
 who can be in some measure the known 
 and obeyed and loved, we will fill up the 
 dark inscrutable background of being with 
 the living God, who has come forth to 
 manifest Himself to us, and to speak to us 
 words we can understand, and do deeds of 
 kindness and of love. — Lverach, ' Is God 
 Knoioable,' pp. 222, 223. 
 
 Agnosticism is the most refined of all 
 Atheism, and that which most directly 
 mocks and insults the dignity of human 
 nature. It shrinks from avowed Atheism, 
 and will not dare to say there is no God, 
 It shrinks from Materialism, and will not 
 dare to say that the forces of matter 
 account for all phenomena. It simply 
 declares the impossibility of knowing what 
 the tremendous Force is that controls all 
 things. There is no more deadly form of the 
 great error of mankind than this which un- 
 dermines every foundation. — Pope, ' Chris- 
 tian Theology,' i. 389. 
 
 Agnostic Atheism first weakens and 
 shatters our ideal of excellence ; next, it 
 denies the freedom by which we may rise, 
 and, finally, it withdraws the inspiration 
 which is ministered by our personal friend 
 and deliverer. It weakens man's ideal It 
 cannot do otherwise, for it derives the law 
 of duty from the changing feelings of our 
 fellow-men. It degrades the law of duty 
 into a shifting product of society; it re- 
 solves conscience with its rewards and 
 penalties into the outgrowth of the im- 
 agined favour or dislike of men as unstable 
 as ourselves, when this is fixed and trans- 
 mitted by hereditary energy. Such an 
 ideal, or law, or tribunal, can be neither 
 sacred nor quickening, nor binding, because 
 it has no permanence. To be a good or 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 271 
 
 perfect man in one a2on is not the same 
 thing as to be a good man in another. It 
 is altogether a matter of taste or fashion, 
 and each age under the law of development 
 sets a new fashion for itself. — Porter, 
 * Agnosticism,' Y>Y^. 13, 14. 
 
 Fated to any real belief in God. 
 
 The belief that there is an unkno\vn sub- 
 ject of attributes absolutely unknown is a 
 very innocent doctrine. If this could once 
 make its way and obtain in the world, there 
 would be an end of all natural or rational 
 religion, which is the basis both of the 
 Jewish and the Christian : for he who 
 comes to God, or enters himself in the 
 Church of God, must first believe that 
 there is a God in some intelligible sense ; 
 and not only that there is something in 
 general without any proper notion, though 
 never so inadequate, of any of its qualities 
 or attributes : for this may be fate or chaos, 
 or plastic natm-e, or anything else as well 
 as God. — Berkeley, ^ Alcijpliron, Fourth Dia- 
 logue,' 17, 18. 
 
 Fatal to Faith. 
 
 An entirely unknown God cannot even 
 engage faith. — Fraser, ' Selections from Ber- 
 keley,' p. 235, note. 
 
 There is neither inspiration nor hope for 
 such a man in the help of God. He cer- 
 tainly needs help from some one greater 
 than himself. If his moral ideals are not 
 fixed, and he has no freedom with which 
 to follow or reject such as he has, he is 
 like a man who is bidden to walk in the 
 sand that fails beneath his tread, and 
 whose limbs are at the same time frozen 
 with paralysis. Or he is like a bird with 
 stiffened wings when dropped into an ex- 
 hausted receiver. God cannot encourage 
 or help him. To him there is no God, or 
 none of whom he can know that He can or 
 will give him aid. He has no God to whom 
 to pray. — Porter, 'Agnosticism,' p. 14. 
 
 To no purpose do the irrepressible in- 
 stincts of man's soul cry out for communion 
 with the unseen and the spiritual ; above 
 
 him he knows no mind to answer to hi.s 
 own, no God to whom his worship may 
 ascend, no Father in whom his affections 
 can find repose. Hope dies within his 
 breast, for he has no future. Conscience 
 becomes but a voice crying in the wilder- 
 ness, for why should he toil and suffer for 
 right, when right and wrong are but the 
 dreams of a day ? ' Let us eat and drink, 
 for to-morrow we die ! ' — Maitland, ' IVie- 
 ism or Agjiosticism,' p. 17. 
 
 It abandons hope. 
 
 So far as man denies God, or denies that 
 God can be known, he abandons hope of 
 every kind — that intellectual hope which 
 is the life of scientific thought ; hope for 
 his own moral progress ; hope for the pro- 
 gress of society ; hope for guidance and 
 comfort in his personal life ; and hope for 
 that futiu-e life for which the present is a 
 preparation. As he lets those hopes go 
 one by one, his life loses its light and its 
 dignity ; morality loses its enthusiasm and 
 its energy, science has no promise of suc- 
 cess, sin gains a relentless hold, sorrow and 
 darkness have no comfort, and life becomes 
 a worthless farce or a sad ti-agedy, neither 
 of which is worth the playing, because 
 both end in nothing. Sooner or later this 
 agnostic without hope will become morose 
 and surly, or sensual and self-indulgent, or 
 avaricious and churlish, or cold and selfish, 
 or cultured and hollow, — in a woi-d, a tlieo- 
 retical or a practical pessimist, as any man 
 must who believes the world as well as 
 himself to be without any worthy end for 
 which one man or many men should care 
 to live. — Porter, 'Agnosticism,' p. 27. 
 
 It is unfavourable to science. 
 
 Our newly-fledged agnostics are apt to 
 foi'get that all our modern science has been 
 prosecuted in the broad and penetrating 
 sunlight of faith in one living and personal 
 God — that not a single theory has been 
 proposed or experiment tried in nature, 
 except with the distinct recognition of the 
 truth that a wise and loving Mind at least 
 
272 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 may uphold and direct the goings-on of 
 nature. The most passionate atheist can- 
 not deny that this is the conviction of most 
 of the li\-ing and breathing men about him. 
 The most restrained agnostic cannot but 
 know and feel that the theory Avhich he 
 strives to cherish is rejected by most of 
 the women and children in Chi-istendom 
 who look up into the sky and walk upon 
 the earth. The simple teachings of Chris- 
 tian theism are capable of being expanded 
 into the grandest conceptions that science 
 ever attempted to formulate — conceptions 
 so gi-and that human reason is overwhelmed 
 with their sublime relationships, and the 
 human imagination is dazed to blindness 
 when it would make them real — Porter, 
 ^Agnosticism,'' p. 6. 
 
 Fallacy of Agnosticism. 
 
 The principle against which we protest 
 may be expressed as follows : — Knowledge 
 must be based on logical proofs ; the know- 
 able and the demonstrable are identical ; 
 whatever cannot be shown by strict induc- 
 tive reasoning to exist must be dismissed 
 from the region of science and consigned 
 to the dream-land of the speculative imagi- 
 nation. Our contention is that as soon as 
 this principle, which is really the strong- 
 hold of agnosticism, is tried at the bar of 
 the practical reason, and brought face to 
 face with the realities of human life, it 
 must be convicted of monstrous absurdity. 
 
 Nothing is more certain than that every 
 train of reasoning must have some premiss 
 from which to start. Arguments cannot 
 sustain themselves in the air, without any 
 basis to rest upon, real or assumed. Logi- 
 cal processes without materials to work 
 upon can no more bring forth results in 
 the shape of knowledge than a mill can 
 grind out flour without being supplied with 
 grist. But whence shall we fetch the in- 
 dispensable premisses to set our arguments 
 agoing 1 If it be said they are furnished 
 by previous trains of argument by means 
 of which they have been established, we 
 must again ask whence the premisses for 
 these were obtained ; nor can we cease re- 
 
 iterating the question until in each case we 
 reach some premiss which was antecedent 
 to every logical process, and was the original 
 material on which the reasoning faculty 
 began to operate. And how did we get 
 these ? Not by reasoning, for the argu- 
 ment could not begin until the mind was 
 in possession of them. They were the 
 primitive elements of thought, the start- 
 ing-point of knowledge, the foimdation of 
 all the science of which man is capable. 
 And they were not the result of any -pro- 
 cess of reasoning. If they were trust- 
 worthy and true, then we possess real 
 knowledge, which was not derived from 
 reasoning and is not capable of logical 
 demonstration. If they were not trust- 
 worthy and true, then none of our pre- 
 tended knowledge is trustworthy and true, 
 for upon them every particle of it ulti- 
 mately depends. So that we are driven 
 perforce to choose between these alterna- 
 tives ; either we know nothing at all or we 
 know more than we can prove. — Maitland, 
 'Tlieism, 4*c.,' pp. 49-51- 
 
 All this life, this reality, rest on know- 
 ledge which is prior to logical processes 
 and is obtained through our consciousness. 
 We do not reason it out ; it comes to us, 
 and we possess it and live by it. We trust 
 our intuitions, our perceptions, our experi- 
 ence ; that is the secret of our practical, our 
 human life. In the sphere of this life, the 
 question. Can you prove demonstratively 
 the grounds on which you act ? turns out 
 to be an idle one. Were we to wait till we 
 could answer it in the affirmative, death 
 would overtake us before we had begun to 
 \i\e.— Maitland, ' Tlieism, S^c.,' p. 57. 
 
 God may he hnoion, seeing — 
 He is suggested by our own personality. 
 Man asks earnestly, Is there nothing 
 more in this wide rmiverse than force and 
 law 1 If there is nothing more, no man is 
 so much to be pitied as he — the man of 
 scientific knowledge and scientific imagina- 
 tion, for no man feels so lonely and help- 
 less as he. He is alone ! alone ! as he 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 273 
 
 muses upon the vastness of this great soli- 
 tude, peopled though it be with the enor- 
 mous agents that haunt and overmaster 
 him with their presence, but are without a 
 thought or care for his personal life. Could 
 he but see behind these forces a personal 
 being like himself and capable of dii'ecting 
 both force and law to issues of blessings to 
 men, how welcome would that knowledge 
 be to his lonely heart. That God he may 
 see and find if he "svill. He is suggested 
 by his own personality, which is his nobler, 
 nay, his essential self. He is demanded by 
 the weakness and limitations of his own 
 nature. Wliy should there not be a per- 
 sonal and living God behind this machinery 
 of force and law which we call nature? 
 Why should I not know a living Spirit, as 
 well as unknoAvn force and definite law ? 
 and why should I not accept personality 
 in God as the best explanation of both 1 
 There is, there must be such a Person ; He 
 fills this vast solitude by His immanent 
 presence and His animating life. — Porter, 
 ' Agnosticism,^ p. 20. 
 
 And testified to by our consciousness. 
 
 The whole of the practical knowledge on 
 which human life is based rests on no logi- 
 cal foundation, but on the trustworthiness 
 of our instinctive consciousness and intui- 
 tive perceptions. We do trust these, and 
 it is only through trusting them that we 
 are enabled to live human lives. We have 
 no other ground for our belief in the 
 physical world, in our fellow-men, or even 
 in our own permanent personality. Why, 
 then, should we begin to distrust our con- 
 sciousness and cast doubts on its veracity, 
 as soon as it begins to witness to us of 
 God % If our souls are conscious of him, 
 why should we not believe that He really 
 exists ? Experience proves that there is 
 a vision of God by the purified soul, just 
 as truly as there is a vision of the beau- 
 teous face of nature by the sensitive eye. 
 The consciousness of God is one of the 
 primary and fundamental intuitions of 
 human nature. — Maltland, 'Theism, ^c.,' 
 p. 163. 
 
 Materialism. 
 
 Definition and Statement. 
 
 Materialism is the theory of perception 
 according to which the perceiver and the 
 perceived are alike material — mind being 
 only a kind of matter, or a product of 
 matter. — Monde, 'Sir W. Hamilton,' p. 
 184. 
 
 There is nothing but matter, no spirit 
 separate from matter — such is its funda- 
 mental maxim. Materialists teach that 
 matter is everything, and that there is 
 nothing else ; it is eternal and imperish- 
 able, ' the primary cause of all existence, 
 all life and all forms are but modifications 
 of matter,' it is only form which is perish- 
 able and mutable. — Lutliardt, 'Fundamental 
 Truths; p. 83. 
 
 Materialism, both ancient and modem, 
 adduces two propositions : (i) That sen- 
 suous perception is the source of all know- 
 ledge ; and (2) That all mental action is 
 nothing more than the activity of matter, 
 and therefore the soul itself is material 
 and mortal. — ChristUeh, 'Modern Douht; 
 p. 148. 
 
 The materialistic hypothesis — that ma- 
 terial changes cause mental changes, is 
 one which presents great fascination to the 
 student of science. By laborious investi- 
 gation physiology has established the fact 
 that there is constant relation of concomi- 
 tancy between cerebral action and thought. 
 That is to say, mind is found in constant 
 and definite association with the brain, the 
 size and elaboration of which throughout 
 the animal kingdom stand in conspicuous 
 proportion to the degree of intelligence 
 displayed, and the impairment of which by 
 anaemia, mutilation, decay, or appropriate 
 poison, entails corresponding impairment 
 of mental processes. This constant and 
 concomitant relation is regarded as a causal 
 relation. It is said that the evidence of 
 causation between neurosis and psychosis 
 is quite as valid as that of any other case 
 of recognised causation. — Romanes, ' Nine- 
 teenth Century; December 18S2. 
 
274 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Origin of Materialism explained. 
 When we pass over from the study of 
 matter to the study of spirit, we are at 
 once confronted vdth new and strange ob- 
 jects. Though the states of the soul have 
 been the nearest to our experience and the 
 most familiar to our enjoyment, they have 
 been removed the farthest from our obser- 
 vation and study. We ask, Are they real ? 
 Are they actual and substantial? Surely 
 they are not like those phenomena which 
 we see and hear, which we handle and 
 taste. But allowing that they are actual 
 phenomena, are they distinct and definite ? 
 Can we compare and class them ? To what 
 substance do they pertain? The readiest 
 answer is, To some matei'ial substance. 
 Hence the soul is readily resolved into 
 some form of attenuated matter. Its func- 
 tions are explained by the action of the 
 animal spirits, or by chemical or electrical 
 changes in the nervous substance. Per- 
 ception is explained by impressions on the 
 eye and the ear, which impressions are re- 
 ferred to motions in a vibrating fluid with- 
 out, which in turn are responded to by 
 motions aroused in a \abrating agent with- 
 in. Memory and association are explained 
 by the mutual attractions or repulsions of 
 ideas, similar to those to which the par- 
 ticles of matter are subjected by cohesion 
 or electricity. Generalisation and judg- 
 ment, induction and reasoning, are resolved 
 by the frequent and often-repeated deposits 
 of impressions that have afiinity for one 
 another, and are thus transformed into 
 general conceptions and relations. 
 
 From these tendencies and preposses- 
 sions have resulted the various schemes of 
 materialism, the gx-osser and the more re- 
 fined. By these influences we can account 
 for the ready acceptance of phrenology, 
 with its more or less decided material 
 afiinities. To the same we refer the occa- 
 sional semi-materialistic solutions of psy- 
 chical phenomena, which occur in many 
 treatises and systems which are far from 
 being avowedly materialistic. By them we 
 can easily explain those modes of think- 
 ing and speaking in respect to the soul in 
 
 which resort is had to some law or prin- 
 ciple of matter to explain a phenomenon 
 which is simply and purely spiritual. Even 
 those who on moral or religious grounds 
 believe most firmly in the spiritual and 
 immortal existence of the soul, often fall, 
 in the scientific conceptions which they 
 form of its essence and its actings, into 
 modes of thinking and reasoning which 
 are more or less plainly material. Espe- 
 cially are they easily puzzled by objections 
 which derive their sole plausibility from 
 material analogies. These phenomena are 
 not at all surprising. The mind that is 
 trained by the most liberal culture, or that 
 is schooled to the most complete self-con- 
 trol, cannot easily divest itself of the pre- 
 judices and prepossessions which have been 
 contracted by previous studies. — Porter, 
 '■Human Intellect,^ p. i8. 
 
 The intellectual habits formed by exclu- 
 sive attention to external nature lead many 
 to attribute their very conscious life itself, 
 as well as all mind in the universe, to \m- 
 conscious material power — the dead sub- 
 stance to which Locke referred his sensa- 
 tions. It is thought that unconscious 
 matter may be the source of all that hap- 
 pens in consciousness, as well as all that 
 happens in external nature. — Fraser, '■Seleo- 
 tions from Berkeley,'' p. xvii. 
 
 Found in many systems. 
 
 We find Materialism in the Buddhism 
 of ancient India; in Greece, among the 
 Atomists and Sophists, the Epicureans and 
 the Sceptics ; we find it in the Middle Ages, 
 when the Koman Church clearly betrayed 
 her tendency to the worship of matter, and 
 even at times among the occupants of the 
 Papal throne, of whom, for instance, John 
 XXIII. and Paul III. publicly denied the 
 immortality of the soul ; we find it in the 
 seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, as 
 the ultimate result of the long protracted 
 doubts as to revelation. — Christlieb, 'Modem 
 Doubt,' p. 145. 
 
 Materialism is as old as philosophy, 
 but not older. The physical conception 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 75 
 
 of nature, which dominates the eai'liest 
 periods of the history of thought, remains 
 ever entangled in the contradictions of 
 Dualism and the fantasies of personifica- 
 tion. The first attempt to escape from 
 these contradictions, to conceive the world 
 as a unity, and to rise above the vulgar 
 errors of the senses, lead directly into the 
 sphere of philosophy, and amongst these 
 first attempts Materialism has its place. — 
 Laiige, ' History of Materialism,' i. 3. 
 
 Although modern Materialism appeared 
 as a system first in France, yet England 
 was the classic land of Materialistic modes 
 of thought. Here the ground had already 
 been prepared by Roger Bacon and Oc- 
 cam ; Bacon of Verulam, who lacked almost 
 nothing but a little more consistency and 
 clearness in order to be a Materialist, was 
 wholly the man of his age and nation, and 
 Hobbes, the most consequent of the modern 
 Materialists, is at least as much indebted 
 to English tradition as to the example and 
 precedence of Gassendi. — Lange, '■History of 
 Materialism,' ii. 3. 
 
 ' The world consists of atoms and empty 
 space.' In this principle the Materialistic 
 systems of antiquity and of modern days 
 are in harmony, whatever differences may 
 have gradually developed themselves in the 
 notion of the atom, and however different 
 are the theories as to the origin of the rich 
 and varied universe from such simple ele- 
 ments. . . . The atomic doctrine of to-day 
 is still what it was in the time of Demo- 
 critus. It has still not lost its metaphysi- 
 cal character ; and already in antiquity it 
 served also as a scientific hj'pothesis for 
 the explanation of the observed facts of 
 nature. — Lange, ' History of Mater ialisiii,' 
 ii- 351- 
 
 Frexch Materialism of theEighteentu 
 Cextury. 
 
 De la Mettrie's ' Natural History of the 
 Soul.' 
 
 Identity of soul and matter. 
 Soul without body is like matter without 
 any form : it cannot be conceived. Soul 
 
 and body have been formed together, and 
 in the same instant. He who wishes to 
 learn the qualities of the soul must pre- 
 viously study those of the body, whose 
 active principle the soul is. — Lange, ' His- 
 tory of Materialism,' ii. 57. 
 
 Matter only becomes a definite substance 
 through form, but whence does it receive 
 the form ? From another substance which 
 is also material in its nature. This again 
 from another, and so on to infinity, that is, 
 we know the form only in its combination 
 with matter. In this indissoluble union of 
 form and matter things react and form each 
 other, and so it is also with motion. Only 
 the abstract, separately conceived matter 
 is that passive thing : the concrete, actual 
 matter is never without motion, as it is 
 never without form ; it is, then, in truth 
 identical with substance. Where we do 
 not perceive motion it is yet potentially 
 present, just as matter also contains poten- 
 tially all forms in itself. There is not the 
 slightest reason for assuming that there 
 is an agent outside the material world. — 
 Lange, '■History of Materialism,' ii. 58. 
 
 Holhach's ^System of Nature' (1770). 
 
 What distinguishes the " System of Na- 
 ture " from most materialistic writings is 
 the outspokenness with which the whole 
 second part of the book, which is still 
 stronger than the first, in fourteen chap- 
 ters, combats the idea of God in every 
 possible shape. Regarding religion as the 
 chief source of all human corruption, he 
 tries to eradicate all foundation for this 
 morbid tendency of mankind, and tlierefore 
 pursues the deistic and pantheistic idea of 
 God, that were yet so dear to his age, with 
 no less zeal than the ideas of the Church. — 
 Lange, 'Hist, of Materialism,' ii. 115, 116. 
 
 German Materialism. 
 
 Moleschott. 
 
 In Der Kreislauf des Lehens, the whole 
 order of things is conceived as a continual 
 flux and exchange of material elements, 
 which accounts for all psychic life no less 
 
276 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 than for bodily life, and of which man, 
 equally with the lower animals, is a tempo- 
 rary product. — Sully, art. ' Evolution,^ ^ Enc. 
 Brit.,' vol. viii. 767. 
 
 Ohne Phosphor kein Gedanke, " No 
 Thought without Phosphorus." — Mole- 
 schott. 
 
 No force without matter, no matter mth- 
 out force ! Neither can be thought of per 
 se ; separated, they become empty abstrac- 
 tions. — Biichner, ' Force and Matter,' p. 2. 
 
 Those who talk of a creative power which 
 is said to have produced the world out of 
 itself or out of nothing, are ignorant of the 
 first and most simple principle, founded 
 upon experience and the contemplation of 
 nature. How could a power have existed, 
 not manifested in material substance, but 
 governing it arbitrarily according to indi- 
 vidual views ? Neither could separately 
 existing forces be transferred to chaotic 
 matter and produce the world in this 
 manner ; for a separate existence of either 
 is an impossibility. The world, or matter 
 with its properties, which we term forces, 
 must have existed from eternity and must 
 last for ever — in one word, the world can- 
 not have been created. — Biichner, ^ Force 
 and Matter,' p. 5. 
 
 Matter is uncreatable as it is indestruct- 
 ible. — Carl Vogt. 
 
 A spirit without body is as unimagin- 
 able as electricity or magnetism without 
 metallic or other substances on which these 
 forces act. The animal soul is a product 
 of external influences, without which it 
 would never have been called into exist- 
 ence. Unprejudiced philosophy is com- 
 pelled to reject the idea of an individual 
 immortaHty, and of a personal continuance 
 after death. With the decay and dissolution 
 of its material substratum, through which 
 alone it has acquired a conscious existence 
 and became a person, and upon which it 
 was dependent, the spirit must cease to 
 exist. All knowledge which this being 
 has acqmred relates to earthly things ; it 
 has become conscious of itself in, with, 
 and by these things ; it has become a per- 
 
 son by its being opposed against earthly 
 limited individualities. How can we im- 
 agine it to be possible that, torn away 
 from these necessary conditions, this being 
 should continue to exist with self-conscious- 
 ness and as the same person 1 — Biichner^ 
 '■Force and Matter,' p. 196. 
 
 Arguments against Materialism. 
 It does not explain the facts to he ac- 
 counted for. 
 
 The theory of materialism can never be 
 accepted by any competent mind as a final 
 explanation of the facts with which it has to 
 deal. Useful as a fundamental hypothesis 
 in physiology and medicine, it is wholly 
 inadequate as a hypothesis in philosophy. 
 A very small amount of thinking is enough 
 to show that what I call my knowledge of 
 the external world is merely a knowledge 
 of my own mental modifications. My idea 
 of causation as a principle in the external 
 world is derived from my knowledge of 
 this principle in the internal world. Thus, 
 in the very act of thinking the evidence, 
 we are virtually denying its possibility as 
 evidence ; for as evidence it appeals only 
 to the mind, and since the mind can know 
 only its own sequences, the evidence must 
 be presenting to the mind an account of 
 its own modifications. The evidence is 
 proved to be iUusory. — Romanes, 1882. 
 
 Such a theory is insufficient as an expla- 
 nation of the most commonly recognised 
 facts. Without touching the multitude of 
 complex questions involved in any theory 
 which would attempt to explain the pre- 
 sent condition of the universe, with unor- 
 ganised matter as its sole cause or source, 
 there are two considerations which are 
 fatal to its logical claims: (i.) Unorgan- 
 ised matter is inadequate as the cause of 
 the various forms of organised existence. 
 (2.) We recognise in our own consciousness ^ 
 a form of existence higher than the mate- 
 rial. Explanation of the higher by the 
 lower is achieved only by the reversal of 
 Logic. — Calderwood, ' Moral Philosophy,' 
 P- 235- 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 277 
 
 Et^pecialhj Self-conscioiimess. 
 
 If the difference between the merely 
 animal and the human soul-life consists 
 essentially in self-consciousness, then 110 
 explanation can he given as to the origin of 
 self-consciousness in man. Granted that the 
 individual acts of our sovil-life all resulted 
 from nothing but chemico-physical causes, 
 it can never be denied that these acts are all 
 rooted in a certain fixed, permanent centre, 
 in ' the idea of tlie Ego as the basis of all 
 thought ; ' that is, in self-consciousness. 
 Whence, then, is this 1 This centre is 
 not identical toith the individual acts of 
 thought ; for it is not an isolated act, but 
 a continuous condition. Materialism, it 
 Ls true, would fain make it identical with 
 thought, but again in opposition to all 
 experience. For do we not clearly distin- 
 guish ourselves in self-consciousness from 
 any definite act of thought? Are there 
 not conditions in which correct reasoning 
 is coexistent with perturbed consciousness ? 
 And, vice versd, is there not sometimes a 
 continuance of consciousness notwithstand- 
 ing the cessation of intellectual activity? 
 The materialist, who will hear of no opera- 
 tive factor except the individual agencies 
 —brain, muscles, nerves, &c. — and who 
 denies as an empty abstraction the bond 
 which unites these separate agents, and 
 preserves its own unity amid all the 
 changes of thought and perception — that 
 is, the self-consciousness, or the persona- 
 lity as such — makes out man to be a 
 'purely mechanical lay-figure,' or, as Czolbe 
 openly admits, ' a piece of mosaic, mecha- 
 nically constructed from various atoms,' — 
 a theory which explains absolutely nothing 
 of the practical phenomena of soul-life. — 
 Christlieb, ^Modern Doidjt,' p. 155. 
 
 Tlie facts of consciousness are utterly 
 destructive of materialistic opinions. The 
 first fact is that of thought, and especially 
 of .self-consciousness. If all thought is but 
 the brain's own product, how does it set 
 itself thinking 1 The brain is but an organ ; 
 who puts this organ in motion 1 To do this 
 a power is needed, which is not itself of a 
 
 kind appreciable by the senses. This mo- 
 tive power must be of a kind corresponding 
 to its effect, i.e., it must be of a mental 
 kind. The highest effect produced by this 
 mental power is self -consciousness. How can 
 this be designated a mere action of the brain, 
 when it is rather a mental act of man en- 
 tirely unparalleled in the whole remaining 
 terrestrial creation ? Something answering 
 to reflection and judgment is found even 
 among animals ; but self consciousness, that 
 most purely mental act, by which man sepa- 
 rates himself from all that is about him and 
 comprehends and thinks of himself in his 
 oneness with himself, is specific; it is an 
 absolutely new principle, and one which 
 raises man far above all other living be- 
 ings. And this self-consciousness remains 
 the same under all changes, whether ex- 
 ternal or internal, which may happen to 
 man. It is absurd to call that which is an 
 abstraction from aU matter a product of 
 matter. — Luthardt, * Fundamental Truths^^ 
 P- 135- 
 
 Moral consciousness. 
 
 The second fact is moral consciousness. 
 For my conscience, or moral consciousness, 
 is as much a fact as my body. It is not a 
 result of persuasion, education, or cultiva- 
 tion, bvit an inward moral voice which per- 
 ceptibly echoes every moral testimony from 
 without. Wherever a human being is 
 found, we find in him this moral conscious- 
 ness. It may be obscured or pervei-ted, yet 
 it still exists, it is still the foundation in 
 the midst of all its perversion. — Liithardt, 
 'Fundamental Truths,' p. 136. 
 
 Religious consciousness. 
 
 Religious consciousness, — that inward 
 attraction of man towards a higher power, 
 reflected and attested by his consciousness 
 — an attestation which can neither be re- 
 futed nor avoided wherever man exists, — 
 is no less a fact of his mental life. And, 
 even if it be declared an error, the fact of 
 its existence must be acknowledged and its 
 possibility accounted for. It is, however, 
 an impossibility, if nothing exists but what 
 
278 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 is a product of matter. Materialism denies 
 the higlier life of man and gives us in 
 exchange a brutalisation of humanity. — 
 Luthardt, ^Fundamental Truths,'' p. 136. 
 
 Organisation. 
 
 The materialistic view is utterly anni- 
 hilated by the fact of organisation. If 
 none but merely mechanical combinations 
 were found, we might be contented to ac- 
 cept a force merely mechanical. But what 
 produced organisms? Utterly futile has 
 been the attempt to refer them to a merely 
 physical process. Whatever conceptions we 
 may form of atoms, they are insufficient to 
 explain organisation. There is an essen- 
 tial difference between the formation of a 
 crystal and the formation of an organised 
 being. That which distinguishes an or- 
 ganism is the vital interaction of its com- 
 ponent parts, and the mutual relations 
 into which it enters with the bodies which 
 surround it, by which processes a constant 
 alteration of its condition is kept up. 
 Moreover, every organism is founded on 
 an idea. This idea existed prior to its 
 realisation ; indeed, the whole realm of 
 organised nature is governed by its idea. 
 This idea works for the future. The eye 
 is made for light, the ear for sound. We 
 have here a designing agency pointing past 
 all external causes, — back to a fashioning 
 and designing mind. How is this fact to 
 be explained, if we admit only matter and 
 force, or nature acting unconsciously, and 
 not the creative poioer of the Intelligence 
 that fashioned the world ? — Luthardt, '■Fun- 
 damental Truths,^ p. 87. 
 
 The mind distinguishes itself from matter. 
 
 The acting ego is not only not known to 
 be in any way material, but it distinguishes 
 its own actings, states, and products, and 
 even itself, from the material substance 
 with which it is most intimately connected, 
 from the very organised body on whose 
 organisation all its functions, and the very 
 function of knowing or distinguishing, are 
 said to depend. First, it distinguishes from 
 this body all other material things and 
 
 objects, asserting that the one are not the 
 other. Second, it just as clearly, though 
 not in the same way or on the same grounds, 
 distinguishes itself and its states from the 
 material objects which it discerns. It 
 knows that the agent which sees and hears 
 is not the matter which is seen and heard. 
 Third, the soul also distinguishes itself and 
 its inner states from the organised matter, 
 i.e., its own bodily organs, by means of 
 which it perceives and is affected by other 
 matter. Fourth, it resists the force and 
 actings of its own body, and, in so doing, 
 distinguishes itself as the agent most em- 
 phatically from that which it resists. By 
 its own activity it struggles against and 
 opposes the coming on of sleep, of faitit- 
 ness, and of death. Even in those con- 
 scious acts in which it feels itself most at 
 the disposal and control of the body, it 
 recognises its separate existence and inde- 
 pendent energy. — Porter, ' Human Intellect,^ 
 p. 23. 
 
 Materialism assumes mind. 
 
 You cannot get mind as an ultimate pro- 
 duct of matter, for in the very attempt to 
 do so you have already begun with mind. 
 The earliest step of any such inquiry in- 
 volves categories of thought, and it is in 
 terms of thought that the very problem 
 you are investigating can be so much as 
 stated. You cannot start in your investi- 
 gations with a bare, self-identical, objec- 
 tive fact, stripped of every ideal element or 
 contribution from thought. The least and 
 lowest part of outward observation is not 
 an independent entity — fact minus mind, 
 and out of which mind may somewhere or 
 other be seen to emerge ; but it is fact or 
 object as it appears to an observing mind, 
 the medium of thought, having mind or 
 thought as an inseparable factor of it. To 
 make thought a function of matter is thus, 
 simply, to make thought a function of it- 
 self. — Caird. 
 
 Matter is not a S2ifficient cause of mind. 
 If we could see any analogy between 
 thought and any one of the admitted phe- 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 279 
 
 nomena of matter, we should be justifknl 
 in the conclusion of materialism as the 
 simplest, and as affording a hypothesis 
 most in accordance with the comprehen- 
 siveness of natural laws ; but between 
 thought and the physical phenomena of 
 matter there is not only no analogy, but 
 no conceivable analogy ; and the obvious 
 and continuous path which we have hither- 
 to followed up in our reasonings from the 
 phenomena of lifeless matter through those 
 of living matter, here comes suddenly to an 
 end. The chasm between unconscious life 
 and thought is deep and impassable, and 
 no transitional phenomena can be found 
 by which, as by a bridge, we may span it 
 over. — Allman, ' Presidential Address.' 
 
 ■ The passage from the physics of the 
 brain to the corresponding facts of con- 
 sciousness is unthinkable. Granted that a 
 definite thought and a definite molecular 
 action in the brain occur simultaneously, 
 we do not possess the intellectual organ, 
 nor apparently any rudiment of the organ, 
 which would enable us to pass, by a pro- 
 cess of reasoning, from the one phenomenon 
 to the other. Were our minds and senses 
 so expanded, strengthened, and illuminated 
 as to enable us to see and feel the veiy 
 molecules of the brain ; were we capable of 
 following all their motions, all their group- 
 ings, all their electrical discharges, if there 
 be such ; and were we intimately acquainted 
 with the corresponding states of thought 
 and feeling, the chasm between the two 
 classes of phenomena would still remain 
 intellectually impassable. — Tyndall. 
 
 If we suppose causation to proceed from 
 brain to mind, we must, according to the 
 doctrine of the Conservation of Energy, 
 suppose the essential requirement of equi- 
 valence between the cerebral causes and the 
 mental effects to be satisfied somewhei-e. 
 But where are we to say that it is satis- 
 fied ? The brain of a Shakespeare probably 
 did not, as a system, exhibit so much energy 
 as does the brain of an elephant. Many 
 a man must have consumed more than a 
 thousand times the brain- substance and 
 
 brain energy that Shelley expended over 
 his ' Ode to a Skylark,' and yet as a result 
 have produced an utterly worthless poem. 
 In what way are we to estimate the ' work 
 done ' in such cases ? What becomes of 
 the evidence of equivalency between the 
 physical causes and the psychical effects 1 — 
 Romanes, 1882. 
 
 Materialism does not solve the difficulties 
 which it is supposed to solve. 
 
 The existence of a Universal Will and 
 the existence of Matter stand upon exactly 
 the same basis — of certainty if you trust, 
 of uncertainty if you distrust, the pnncipia 
 of your own I'eason. If I am to see a 
 ruling Power in the world, is it folly to 
 prefer a man-like to a brute like power, 
 a seeing to a blind? The similitude to 
 man means no more and goes no further 
 than the supremacy of intellectual insight 
 and moral ends over every inferior alter- 
 native; and how it can be contemptible 
 and childish to derive everything from 
 the highest known order of power rather 
 than the lowest, and to converse with 
 nature as embodied Thought, instead of 
 taking it as a dynamic engine, it is difii- 
 cult to understand. Is it absurd to sup- 
 pose mind transcending the human ? or, 
 if we do so, to make our own Reason the 
 analogical base for intellect of wider sweep ? 
 — Martineau, ' Modern Materialism,' pp. 
 59, 60. 
 
 Effect of Materialistic vieios upon Study of 
 Nature. 
 
 It is a strange and yet an intelligible 
 pride that our scientific illurninafi take in 
 requiring for the explanatory reconstruc- 
 tion of reality in thought no otlii?r postu- 
 lates than an original store of matter and 
 force, and the unshaken authority of a 
 group of universal and immutable laws of 
 nature. Strange, because after aU these 
 are no trifling postulates, and because it 
 might be expected to be more in accord- 
 ance with the comprehensive spirit of the 
 human reason to acknowledge the unity of 
 
28o 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 a creative cause than to have imposed on 
 it as the starting-point of all explanation 
 the promiscuous variety of merely actually 
 existent things and notions. And yet in- 
 telligible; for in return for this single 
 sacrifice the finite understanding may now 
 enjoy the satisfaction of never again being 
 overpowered by the transcendent signifi- 
 cance and beauty of any single phenome- 
 non. However wondrous and profound 
 may appear to it any work of nature, 
 those universal laws, which are to it per- 
 fectly transparent, give it the means of 
 warding off a disagreeable impression, and, 
 while proving how perfectly it understands 
 that even this phenomenon is but an in- 
 cidental result of a well-known order of 
 nature, it succeeds in drawing within the 
 limits of its own finitude what to the un- 
 prejudiced mind is conceivable only as a 
 product of infinite wisdom. — Lotze, 'Micro- 
 cosmus,' i. 375. 
 
 Consequences of Materialism. 
 
 First and foremost, it is clear that mate- 
 rialistic principles do away with the im- 
 mortality of the soul and all belief in 
 another world. For he who does not 
 acknowledge any immaterial principles in 
 man will not allow the existence of an ab- 
 solute Spirit, i.e., of God, either in or 
 above the world. Every one sees what 
 questionable results follow from the nega- 
 tion of our immortality, even as regards 
 this life, and the moral order of the pre- 
 sent world. With shameless audacity 
 Materialism would destroy all the moral 
 faculties of our life. Moleschott, for in- 
 stance, says that ' sin lies in the unnatural, 
 and not in the will to do evil.' ' The brain 
 alters with the ages ; and with the brain 
 custom, which is the standard of morals, is 
 altered also.' 'To understand everything 
 is to tolerate everything.' The man who 
 robs and murders is no worse than the fall- 
 ing stone which crushes a man. In good 
 sooth, the materialists are the most danger- 
 ous enemies of progress that the world has 
 ever seen. — Cliristlieh, ' Modern Doubt, ^ p. 
 156. 
 
 Its relation to 
 
 Atheism. 
 
 Materialism is the true brother of Athe- 
 ism. They must necessarily be simulta- 
 neous ; for he who desires the existence of 
 God is tmable to maintain the spiritual 
 personality of man. Historically it inva- 
 riably either proceeds from or closely fol- 
 lows Atheism. The two play into one 
 another's hands, and, in fact, amount to i 
 the same thing. For Atheism must ulti- ' 
 mately believe in the eternity of matter, 
 and, just like Materialism, must make 
 it its God. — Christlieb, 'Modern Doubt,' p. 
 
 145- 
 
 Materialism is the modern form of Atheism 
 which seems to threaten the hold of religion 
 on men's minds. It is the last and most 
 uncompromising of its enemies : never dur- 
 ing earlier ages having risen with anything 
 like strength, it seems now to be encouraged 
 to assault the Faith by the aid of physical 
 science. But sound science must sooner or 
 later utterly disavow a system that abolishes 
 the notions of cause and effect, of all final 
 causes and ends, and asserts, in the face of 
 evidence most absolute, the spontaneous 
 origin of life. — Pojye, ' Christiaji Theology,' 
 i. 150. 
 
 Pantheism. 
 
 Pantheism considers God as the Soul of 
 the world, and material nature as His body 
 only. Materialism merges God in matter, 
 for according to it nothing at all exists but 
 matter. Materialism may well be called 
 the gospel of the ResK—Ohristlieb, ' Modern 
 Doubt,' p. 145. 
 
 Pantheism makes the universe only and 
 all the universe God; Materialism makes 
 all the universe only matter. Thus Mate- 
 rialism stands at the opposite pole of Pan- 
 theism, as the philosophical or scientific 
 antagonist of the Scriptural doctrine of the 
 Creator and creation : opposite poles, how- 
 ever, of one and the same sphere of thought. 
 Pantheism gives the notion of God the pre- 
 eminence, all things phenomenal being His 
 eternal but ever-changing vesture; Mate- 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 281 
 
 rialism gives matter the pre-eminenco, as 
 the only substance that is, and regards what 
 men call God as the unknown law by which 
 that substance is governed in all its evolu- 
 tions.— PojJt', ' Chrldian Theology,' i. 3S5. 
 
 Truth in Materialism. 
 
 Doubtless there is something true and 
 justifiable in Materialism. It calls our 
 attention more closely than in former days 
 to the profound iuterpenetration of our 
 soul-life and our bodily condition, and to 
 the fact that the activity of our mind and 
 will is partly determined by bodily functions, 
 — the circulation of the blood, the action of 
 the nerves, &c. ; in a word, to the unques- 
 tionably very important influence exercised 
 by material agents, both within and with- 
 out us, on our mental condition. Mate- 
 rialism may thus teach a lesson to those 
 one-sided idealists, who look upon their 
 reason as absolutely free in its nature, 
 without believing in their dependence on 
 material influences. — Christlieh, ^Modern 
 Doubt,' p. 160. 
 
 Absurdities of Materialism. 
 
 The following extracts may serve as an 
 illustration of the ridiculous conclusions 
 drawn from this theory, as well as of the 
 manner in which its advocates can uncon- 
 sciously disprove it by a redudio ad absur- 
 , dum : — 
 
 ' Man is produced from wind and ashes. 
 The action of vegetable life called him into 
 existence. Man is the sum of his parents 
 and his wet nurse, of time and place, of 
 wind and weather, of sound and light, of 
 food and clothing ; his will is the necessary 
 consequence of all these causes, governed 
 by the laws of nature, just as the planet in 
 its orbit, and the vegetable in its soil, 
 
 ' Thought consists in the motion of 
 matter, it is a translocation of the cerebral 
 substance; without phosphorus there can 
 be no thought : and consciousness itself is 
 nothing but an attribute of matter.' — Moles- 
 chott, ' Der Kreislauf des Lehens. ' 
 
 ' We are what we eat.' — Feuerbach. 
 
 A constant danger. 
 
 Materialism is a danger to which indi- 
 viduals and societies will always be more 
 or less exposed. The present generation, 
 however, and especially the generation 
 which is growing up, Avill obviously be 
 very specially exposed to it; as much so 
 perhaps as any generation in the history 
 of the world. Within the last thirty years 
 the gi-eat wave of spiritualistic or idealistic 
 thought has been receding and decreasing ; 
 and another, which is in the main driven 
 by materialistic forces, has been gradually 
 rising behind, vast and threatening. It is 
 but its crest that we at present see ; it is 
 but a certain vague shaking produced by 
 it that we at present feel; but we shall 
 probably soon enough fail not both to see 
 and feel it fully and distinctly. — Flint, 
 ^ Antitheistic Theories,' p. 99. 
 
 Pantheism. 
 
 Its leading Idea. 
 
 Pantheism supposes God and nature, or 
 God and the whole universe, to be one and 
 the same substance — one universal being ; 
 insomuch that men's souls are only modifi- 
 cations of the Divine substance. — Water- 
 land, ' Works,' viii. 81. 
 
 The forms of Pantheism are various, yet 
 it has but a single fundamental notion; 
 and this fundamental notion from which 
 all these forms proceed is, that there is 
 at the root of the infinite variety of this 
 world, and its individual phenomena, a 
 common principle which constitutes its 
 unity, and that this common principle is 
 God. This is, however, no conscious, per- 
 sonal God ; it is but the common life which 
 lives in all the common existence which is 
 in all, or the reason in all things. We 
 only call it God. This God has no inde- 
 pendent being, he exists only in the world ; 
 the world is his reality, and he is only its 
 truth. — Luthardt, ' Fundamental Truths,' 
 p. 65. 
 
 The leading idea of Pantheism is, that 
 God is everything, and everything is God. 
 Though -ill Trnn-^ jy|pfi.r.>. of men or 
 
 h 
 
 ^yCy- OF THK 
 
282 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 animals, is God; yet no individual mind 
 is God ; and so all distinct personality of 
 the Godhead is lost. The supreme being 
 of the Hindoos is therefore neither male 
 nor female, but neuter. All the number- 
 less forms of matter are but different 
 appearances of God; and though He is 
 invisible, yet everything you see is God. 
 Accordingly, the Deity Himself becomes 
 identified with the worshipper. ' He who 
 knows that Deity, is the Deity itself.' — 
 Broum, ' Thirty-nine Articles,^ p. 14. 
 
 Pantheism derives its name from the 
 motto, iv xai 'Trav, i.e., One and all, which 
 was first brought into vogue by the Greek 
 philosopher Xenophanes. According to 
 this view, God is the universe itself; be- 
 yond and outside the world He does not 
 exist, but only in the world. He is the 
 Soul, the Reason, and the Spirit of the 
 world, and all nature is His body. In 
 reality, God is everythmg, and beside Him 
 there is nothing. Thus making God the 
 Soul of the world. Pantheism is distin- 
 guished, on the one hand, from Materi- 
 alism, according to which God and nature 
 are immediately identical; and, on the 
 other hand, from Theism, that is, from the 
 belief in a self-conscious, personal God, 
 who created the world, and guides even its 
 most minute details. For the main point 
 of pantheistic belief is that this soul of the 
 world is not .a personal, self-conscious 
 Being, who appeai-s in his totality in any 
 one phenomenon or at any one moment, so 
 as to comprehend himself or become com- 
 prehensible for us, but that it is only the 
 One ever same essence which, fillmg every- 
 thing and shaping everything, lives and 
 moves in all existing things, and is revealed 
 in all that is visible, yet is Itself never 
 seen. — Christlieb, ^Modern Doubt, ^c.,' p. 
 161. 
 
 Two main forms of Pantlieism. 
 
 Heyder calls attention to the fact that 
 Pantheism is divided into two main forms, 
 the occidental and the oriental. The 
 former merges the world in God, the latter 
 
 merges God in the world. In that, God is 
 rest, in this. He is motion ; there, God is 
 being, here, He is development, process. — 
 Luthardt, ^Fundamental Truths,^ p. 356. 
 
 Pantheism is that system of thought, 
 which loses sight of the wide gulf which 
 separates God and man — the Creator and 
 the created — the finite and the Infinite. 
 There are two sides, therefore, from which 
 this error may arise; either the Creator 
 may be brought down to the level of His 
 works, or the creature lifted up to the level 
 of the Creator. The first has been the 
 more besetting error of ancient, the last of 
 modern days. — Wilherforce, ^Doctrine oftlie 
 Holy Eucharist,' p. 423. 
 
 But many shapes. 
 
 Pantheism has assumed an immense 
 number of shapes, if shape it can be said 
 to have, whose very nature is to be shape- 
 less. The following seem to be the more 
 decided : — 
 
 (i.) There is Material Pantheism. Ac- 
 cording to this, it is the mere matter of 
 the universe, with its forces, its life, its 
 thought, as the result of organism, which 
 constitutes the One All, that may be called 
 God. This is the lowest sort of Pan- 
 theism. 
 
 (2.) There is Organic or Vital Pantheism. 
 The difiiculty which we have in defining 
 life, or in apprehending it, holds out a 
 temptation to many to explain all things 
 by it, which, in fact, is to explain the 
 ignotum per ignotius. All nature, they 
 say, is full of life. This idea that all 
 nature has life, comes out in the writings 
 of certain physical speculators of the school 
 of Schelling, and in all cases tends to sub- 
 stitute some sort of impersonal power for a 
 personal God. 
 
 3. There is the One Substance Pantheism. 
 Persons begin first by declaring that the 
 material universe is the body, and God the 
 soul. This prepares the way for panthe- 
 ism, which maintains that there is a spiri- 
 tual power acting in the material form, the 
 two beins: all the while one substance. We 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 283 
 
 owe the introduction of this system, as a 
 system, to Spinoza. According to this shy, 
 thought-bewildered man, there is but one 
 substance, which substance has attributes 
 which the mind can conceive as its essence 
 and modes, being the affections of the sub- 
 stance. Tliis substance is infinite, a part 
 of it is substance finite, and man is such a 
 part of the Divine substance. 
 
 4. There is Ideal Pantheism. Kant be- 
 gan with making time and space subjective 
 forms, and Fichte went on to make matter 
 and God Himself a subjective creation of 
 the mind. Schelling sought to enlarge the 
 system by making mind and matter, God 
 and the universe, at one and the same time 
 ideal and real, — ideal on the one side, and 
 real on the other ; and Hegel came for- 
 ward with an artificial dialectic, to show 
 how nothing could become something, and 
 how God becomes conscious in humanity. 
 — 31' Cosh, 'Intuitions of the Mind,' pp. 
 449-452. 
 
 Pantheistic doctrine of 
 
 Spinoza. 
 
 * The foundation of all that exists,' taught 
 Spinoza, * is the one eternal substance which 
 makes its actual appearance in the double 
 world of thought, and of matter existing in 
 space. Individual forms emerge from the 
 womb of this substance as of ever-fertile 
 nature, to be again swallowed up in the 
 stream of life. As the waves of the sea rise 
 and sink, so does individual life arise, to 
 sink back again into that common life which 
 is the death of all individual existence. — 
 Luthardt 'Fundamental Truths,' p. 65. 
 
 'To my mind,' says Spinoza, ' God is the 
 immanent (that is, the intra-mundane), and 
 not the transcendent (that is, the supra- 
 mundane) Cause of all things ; that is, the 
 totality of finite objects is posited in the 
 Essence of God, and not in His Will. 
 Nature, considered per se, is one with the 
 essence of God.' According to Spinoza, God 
 is the one universal Substance, in which all 
 distinctions and all isolated qualifications 
 are resolved into unity, to which per se 
 we cannot therefore ascribe either under- 
 
 standing or will. ' God does not act in 
 pursuance of a purpose, but only according 
 to the necessitij of His nature. Everything 
 follows from nature with the same logical 
 necessity as that by which the attributes 
 of a thing follow from its idea, or from the 
 nature of a triangle that its three angles 
 are equal to two right angles.' This ex- 
 presses the fundamental view of every form 
 of Pantheism. — Christlieb, 'Modern Doiiht,' 
 p. 163. 
 
 Schelling. 
 
 Eternal absolute being is continually 
 separating in the double world of mind 
 and nature. It is one and the same life 
 which runs through all nature, and empties 
 itself into man. It is one and the same 
 life which moves in the tree and the forest, 
 in the sea and the crystal, which works and 
 creates in the mighty forces and powers of 
 natural life, and which, enclosed in a human 
 body, produces the thoughts of the mind. — 
 Schelling, quoted in Luthardt, 'Fundamental 
 ■Truths,' p. 66. 
 
 Hegel. 
 
 The absolute is the universal reason, 
 which, having first buried and lost itself in 
 nature, recovers itself in man, in the shape 
 of self-conscious mmd, in which the abso- 
 lute, at the close of its gi-eat process, comes 
 again to itself, and comprises itself into 
 unity with itself. This process of mind is 
 God. Man's thought of God is the exist- 
 ence of God. God has no independent 
 being or existence; He exists only in us. 
 God does not know Himself ; it is we who 
 know Him. While man thinks of and 
 knows God, God knows and thinks of Him- 
 self and exists. God is the truth of man, 
 and man is the reality of Qo(\..— Hegel, quoted 
 in Luthardt, 'Fundamental Truths,' p. 66. 
 
 Difficulties of Pantheism. 
 
 Philosophical. 
 
 Want of connection let ween facts and 
 theory. 
 
 The special difficulty of a Pantheistic 
 theory is to connect the facts with the 
 
284 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 doctrine by any competent philosophic pro- 
 cess. It first presupposes a conception of 
 Deity, such as belongs to the Theistic doc- 
 trine ; and secondly, a theoretic affirmation 
 that all known finite existence belongs, 
 either essentially or in a phenomenal sense, 
 to the Divine nature. Both of these are 
 positions which need to be established by 
 a distinct philosophic process. AVithout 
 this, Pantheism merely accepts the Theistic 
 doctrine in the first stage of its develop- 
 ment, in order to violate it in the second, 
 thus becoming self-contradictory. To make 
 good its claim to a place among philosophic 
 theories, it must show first, how it reaches 
 its theism, and next how it lifts up the 
 ' all ' into its theism, for legitimate con- 
 struction of a Pantheism. — Calderwood, 
 'Handbook of Moral Philosophy,' p. 238. 
 
 It contradicts the testimony of conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 The primai-y testimony of consciousness 
 afiirms the distinct existence of an ego and 
 a non-ego, relating to and limiting each 
 other. I know myself as existing in the 
 midst of certain phenomena which I did 
 not create and can only partially control. 
 Pantheism contradicts the first element of 
 consciousness by denying the real existence 
 of myself.— If awseZ, 'Metaphysics,' p. 323. 
 
 Pantheism is inconsistent with the con- 
 sciousness of self, with the belief in our 
 personality. It may seem a doctrine at 
 once simple and sublime to represent the 
 universe as'Ef xa/ craK, but it is inconsistent 
 with one of the earliest and most ineradicable 
 of our primary convictions. If it can be 
 shown that there are two or more persons, 
 it follows that all is not one, that all is not 
 God. According to every scheme of Pan- 
 theism, I, as a part of the universe, am 
 part of God, part of the whole which con- 
 stitutes God. In all consciousness of self 
 we know ourselves as persons ; in all know- 
 ledge of other objects we know them as 
 different from ourselves, and ourselves as 
 different from them. Every man is con- 
 vinced of this; no man can be made to 
 think otherwise. If there be a God, then. 
 
 as all His works proclaim. He must be 
 different from at least one part of His 
 works. He must be different from me. — 
 M'Cosh, 'Intuitions of the Mind,' p. 453. 
 
 And is contradicted by consciousness. 
 
 If there is one dream of a godless philo- 
 sophy to which, beyond all others, every 
 moment of our consciousness gives the lie, 
 it is that which subordinates the individual 
 to the universal, the person to the species ; 
 which regards the living and consciovis man 
 as a wave on the ocean of the unconscious 
 infinite ; his life a momentary tossing to 
 and fro on the shifting tide ; his destiny to 
 be swallowed up in the formless and bound- 
 less universe. — Mansel, 'Limits of Religious 
 Tltought,' p. 62. 
 
 Moral. 
 
 Pantheism has only one way in which to 
 escape from the mystery of evil, and that is 
 to deny all distinction between right and 
 wrong, between moral good and moral evil. 
 Of course, there can be no such thing as 
 sin for the pantheist, because all, accord- 
 ing to his creed, is nature, and development, 
 and necessity. The ontology and ethics of 
 Pantheism may be summed up in one 
 sentence, "Whatever is, is; and there is 
 neither right nor wrong, but all is fate and 
 nature." — Rigg, 'Modern Scepticism,' p. 70. 
 
 The Pantheistic idea of God cannot afford 
 any support to our moral life, inasmuch as 
 it is unable either to explain the moral 
 law or enforce it. It must lead even to the 
 destruction of all morality. The reason is 
 this, that Pantheism (just as Materialism) 
 is at last compelled, if consistent with its 
 own principles, to deny the freedom of man, 
 his responsibility, and even the distinction 
 between good and evil, by which means all 
 morality is done away with. According to 
 the pantheistic view, the world is moving in 
 a circle formed by an inexorably firm chain 
 of cause and effects, one thing resulting from 
 another with iron necessity. Man is no ex- 
 ception to this rule. He stands, according 
 to Spinoza, as a link in the endless series 
 of determining causes. In his spirit there 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 285 
 
 is no such thing as freedom ; for each act 
 of his Avill is determined by some other 
 cause, and this again by another, and so on 
 ad infinitum. Whatever the will does, it 
 cannot help doing. These utterances of 
 Spinoza completely destroy all morality. 
 Whatever I do, I do it of necessity, and so 
 it is right, seemly, and profitable for the 
 whole l—CJirititlieb, ^lIodeniDoubt,' -p. 1S5. 
 Pantheism abolishes the very postulates 
 of morality ; for all the distinctions of good 
 and evil are but diffei*ent manifestations of 
 one absolute principle. Consequently, they 
 cease to be actual moral contrasts. What 
 we call evil is in truth as necessary as what 
 we call good ; how, then, can we condemn 
 what is necessary ? — Luthardt, ' Funda- 
 mental Truths' p. 67, 
 
 Theological. 
 
 Pantheism, a more difficult belief than 
 Tlieism. 
 
 It is much simpler and easier to believe 
 in a personal God than in such an imper- 
 sonal divinity as this Protean force. Every 
 difficulty which belongs to the thought of 
 God's existence belongs to this also. This 
 force miTst be self-originated ; must be the 
 source of all intelligence, though itself un- 
 intelligent ; of all sympathy, although itself 
 incapable of sympathy ; must have formed 
 the eye, though it cannot see, and the ear, 
 though it cannot hear ; must have blos- 
 somed and developed into personal intelli- 
 gences, although personal intelligence is a 
 property which cannot be attributed to it. 
 Surely no contradiction could be greater. — 
 Rigg, ' Modern Scepiicistn,' p. 47. 
 
 And reducible to Atheism. 
 
 An impersonal Deity, however tricked 
 out to usurp the attributes of the Godhead, 
 is no God at all, but a mere blind and im- 
 movable law or destiny, with less than even 
 the divinity of a fetish, since that can at 
 least be imagined as a being who may bo 
 offended or propitiated by the worshipper. 
 — Mansel, ^ Metaphysics,' ip. 372. 
 
 Pantheism agrees with atheism in its 
 denial of a personal Deity. Its divinity of 
 
 the universe is a divinity without will and 
 without conscious intelligence. In what 
 respect then does Pantheism really differ 
 from atheism 1 Atheism denies that in, 
 or over, or with nature there is anything 
 whatever besides nature. Does not Pan- 
 theism do the very same 1 If not, what is 
 there, let the pantheist tell us, in nature 
 besides nature ? What sort of divinity is 
 that which is separate from conscious intel- 
 ligence and from voluntary will and power 1 
 Is it said that though there be no Deity iu 
 the universe, yet there is a harmony, a 
 unity, an unfolding plan and purpose, which 
 must be recognised as transcending all 
 limitation, as unerring, inexhaustible, in- 
 finite, and therefore as divine ? Let us ask 
 ourselves what unity that can be which is 
 above mere nature, as such, and yet stands 
 in no relation to a personal Lord and Ruler 
 of the Universe; what plan and purpose 
 that can be which is the product of no in- 
 telligence, which no mind ever planned; 
 what infinite and unerring harmony can 
 mean, when there is no harmonist to in- 
 spire and regulate the life and movement 
 of the whole. — Rigg, ' Modem Scepticism,' 
 p. 41. 
 
 Pantheism annihilates religion. For its 
 God is not a personal God, to whom I can 
 occupy a personal relation, whom I can 
 love, in whom I can trust, to whom I can 
 pray, whom I may approach and address 
 as my Friend, but only the power of neces- 
 sity beneath which I must bow, the uni- 
 versal life in which I may lose myself. — 
 Luthardt, ' Fundamental Truths,' p. 67. 
 
 See how much falls to the ground if the 
 personality of God be given up. In the 
 first place, we can no longer acknowledge 
 a creation of the world as a free act of the 
 Divine Will ; since things are ' posited in 
 the nature of God, not in His will.' Miracles 
 and Providence must fare in like mannei*, 
 and especially the incarnation of God in 
 Christ is left without any basis. It can 
 no longer be looked upon as a fact which 
 took place in this particular Individual, 
 but only as a universal, everlasting, and 
 
286 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 daily-renewed process. There is no longer 
 any place for the free will of man, and for 
 the ordinary distinction between good and 
 evil. Finally, it is patent that the immor- 
 tality of man, and the continuance of per- 
 sonal existence after death, are ideas which 
 must henceforth be rejected. All personal 
 life must again resolve itself into the im- 
 personal primal cause. Eeligion itself can 
 no longer be considered a reality. — Christ- 
 lieh, ^Modern Duuht,' p. 165. 
 
 Such divinity as Pantheism can ascribe 
 to Christ is, in point of fact, no divinity at 
 all. When God is nature and nature is 
 God, everything indeed is divine, but also 
 nothing is divine; and Christ shares this 
 phantom-divinity with the universe, nay, 
 with the agencies of moral evil itself. In 
 truth our God does not exist in the appre- 
 hension of Pantheistic thinkers; since, when 
 such truths as creation and personality are 
 denied, the very idea of God is fundamen- 
 tally sapped ; and although the prevailing 
 belief of mankind may still be humoured 
 by a discreet retention of its conventional 
 language, the broad practical result is in 
 reality neither more nor less than Atheism. 
 — Liddon, '■ Bamjpton Lectures,^ p. 28. 
 
 The Pantheistic idea of God labours under 
 great difficulties. It cannot be understood 
 how 2^<i'>'sonality can proceed from an imj)er- 
 sonal principle. We ourselves are persons, 
 that is, we can conceive and determine 
 ourselves ; for in this personality consists. 
 Whence then is this self-consciousness sup- 
 posed to proceed, if the soul of the world, 
 from which we ourselves have emanated, 
 has no consciousness ? Can God communi 
 cate that which he does not Himself possess, 
 and create forms of existence which trans- 
 cend His own? Can the effect contain 
 anything which does not exist in the cause ? 
 To this one simple question no pantheist 
 has as yet been able to give a satisfactory 
 answer. — ChristUeb, ' Modern Douht,' Tp. 168. 
 Pantheism shows us a beautiful mansion, 
 but the sight is melancholy; we have no 
 desire to enter the building, for it is with- 
 out an inhabitant ; there is no warm heart 
 
 to beat, and no just mind to rule, in these 
 large but tenantless halls. It gives us illu- 
 sions which serve to alleviate nothing, to L 
 solve nothing, to illuminate nothing ; they fl 
 are vapours which may indeed show bright 
 and gaudy colours when seen at a great 
 distance, but in the bosom of which, if one 
 enters, there is nothing but chill and gloom. 
 — Al'Cosh, ' Method of Divine Government' 
 p. 215. 
 
 Christian Pantheism. 
 
 Christian Pantheism sees God in every- 
 thing, and is taught, in part by the beauty 
 of the world, to think of Him as the splen- 
 dour of all things, gathered into unity and 
 expanded to infinite totality. Pantheism 
 does not mean that God is this or that, 
 but that He is all in all. And conversely, 
 we cannot, and ought not, to say of a 
 mountain or a tree, or even of a good man, 
 or of the starry heavens, that this is God. 
 For all of these are only fragmentary phe- 
 nomenal manifestations of God. 
 
 A spiritual Pantheism need not find 
 anything incongruous in the idea of Christ's 
 special divinity, or in the conception of a 
 supreme manifestation of God in Him. 
 For, as we say of scenes in nature pecu- 
 liarly suggestive of the all-embracing Life 
 that they are divinely fair, and as we say 
 of thoughts instinct with moral grandeur 
 that they are divinely great or good, so we 
 must say of Him whose spiritual majesty 
 is enthroned for ever in the gateways of 
 eternity, ' Truly this man is the Son of 
 God.' — Picton, ^Mystery of Matter' pp. 405, 
 419, 427. 
 
 Element of Truth in Pantheism. 
 
 Pantheism would never have attained to 
 so strong a position as that which it actu- 
 ally holds in European as well as in Asiatic 
 thought, unless it had embodied a great 
 element of truth, which is too often ignored 
 by some arid Theistic systems. To that 
 element of truth we Christians do justice 
 when we confess the Omnipresence and In- 
 comprehensibility of God, and still more, 
 when we trace the gracious consequences 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 287 
 
 of His actual Incarnation in Jesus Christ. 
 — Canon Liddon, 'Bafnpto7i Lectures,' p. 29. 
 
 It cannot be denied that Pantheism is 
 founded upon a great idea, an exalted sen- 
 timent ; and that this idea, this sentiment, 
 is moreover a true one, viz., that there is a 
 unity in existence, a connection between 
 our life and the universal life around us. — 
 Lidhardf, ' Fundamental Truths,' p. 66. 
 
 Unquestionably there is something true 
 even in Pantheism. There is something 
 grand in the idea of the unity of all being, 
 and of the connection of our life with the 
 whole life of the universe. And this fun- 
 damental view is by no means entirely un- 
 justifiable. — Christlieh, ' Modern Doubt,' 
 p. 188. 
 
 Best safeguard agatJist Pantheism. 
 
 The doctrine of the Incarnation, as being 
 a perpetual witness that by supernatural 
 gift alone can God and man be united, is 
 the best safeguard against confounding the 
 Creator with His works. The Second Per- 
 son in the Blessed Trinity, God the Word, 
 vouchsafed to enter into relation with the 
 beings whom He had created, through the 
 taking of the manhood into God. Through 
 this act the Creator and the creature were 
 brought into relation. Thus Eternal Good- 
 ness united men by the law of love, with- 
 out superseding the law of personality. So 
 that the Deity is not lowered to the level 
 of His works, nor the creature lifted up to 
 the Creator ; but two natures, the Infinite 
 and the finite, have been joined together, 
 in order that the perfections of the one 
 might correct the deficiencies of the other. 
 — Wilberforce, ^Doctrine of the Holy Eucha- 
 rist,' p. 426. 
 
 Its Connection with Polytheism. 
 
 The fact that the Pantheistic view of 
 the world is first met with among nations 
 with polytheistic religions, such as the 
 Hindoos and the Greeks, points to an in- 
 ternal relationship between Polytheism and 
 Pantheism which is often overlooked. The 
 two seem opposed, but, when accurately 
 
 considered, they are in principle the same. 
 Just as, e.g., the ordinary Greeks believed 
 that there was a nymph or a naiad iu 
 every tree and in every fountain, and, in 
 addition to the Oljonpian gods, peopled all 
 nature with innumerable demigods, so also 
 in every being and in every phenomenon 
 the Greek pantheistic philosopher saw a 
 manifestation of the Deity. Pantheism 
 and Polytheism are but a higher and lower 
 form of one and the same view of the 
 world. The former is the refined, the 
 latter the vulgar mode of deifying nature ; 
 the former seeks after unity amid the in- 
 dividual phenomena, the latter stops short 
 at and personifies them. — Cliristlieb, '■Mod- 
 ern Doubt,' p. 162. 
 
 Pantheism has been the prevailing Eso- 
 teric doctrine of all Paganism, and, with 
 vai'ious modifications, the source of a great 
 deal of ancient philosophy. Thales and 
 the Eleatic school expressed it distinctly, 
 and in the definite language of philosophy. 
 There can be little doubt that it was the 
 great docti-ine revealed in the mysteries. 
 The Egyptian Theology was plainly based 
 upon it. It was at the root of the Poly- 
 theism of the Greeks and Romans ; and 
 their gross idolatry was probably but an 
 outward expression of its more mystic re- 
 finements. The Brahmins and Buddhists, 
 though exoterically gross Polytheists, are 
 yet in their philosophy undisguised Pan- 
 theists. — Broivue, ^Thirty -nine Articles,^ 
 p. 14. 
 
 Mysticism. 
 
 Definitions. 
 
 A mystic — according to the Greek ety- 
 mology — should signify one who is ini- 
 tiated into mysteries ; one whose eyes are 
 open to see things which other people can- 
 not see. And the true mystic in all ages 
 and countries has believed that this was 
 the case with him. He believes that there 
 is an invisible world as well as a visible 
 one j so do most men ; but the mystic be- 
 lieves also that this same invisible world 
 is not merely a supernumerary one world 
 
288 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 more, over and above the earth on which 
 he lives, and the stars over his head, but 
 that it is the cause of them and the ground 
 of them ; that it was the cause of them at 
 first, and is the cause of them now, even 
 to the budding of every flower and the 
 falling of every pebble to the ground; and, 
 therefore, that, having been before this 
 visible world, it will be after it, and en- 
 dure just as real, living, and eternal, 
 though matter were annihilated to-mor- 
 row. — Kingsley, ^Miscellanies,'' i. 328. 
 
 Mysticism is that system ' which, refus- 
 ing to admit that we can gain truth with 
 absolute certainty, either from sense or 
 reason, points us to faith, feeling, or in- 
 spiration as its only valid source.' — Morell, 
 ' Speculative Philosophy of Europe,' ii. 332. 
 
 Mysticism, whether in religion or philo- 
 sophy, is that form of error which mistakes 
 for a divine manifestation the operations 
 of a merely human faculty. — Vaughan, 
 ^ Hours tcith the Mystics,' i. 22. 
 
 Mysticism is the romance of religion. — 
 Vaughan, ' Hours with the Mystics,' i. 27. 
 
 Three classes of Mysticism. 
 
 It arises — 
 
 1. "When truth is supposed to be gained 
 in pursuance of some regular law or fact 
 of our inward sensibility; this may be 
 variously termed a mode of faith or of 
 intuition. 
 
 2. When truth is supposed to be gained 
 by a fixed supernatural channel 
 
 3. When truth is supposed to be gained 
 by extraordinary supernatural means. — 
 Morell, ' Speculative Philosophy,' ii. 341. 
 
 Mysticism not necessarily unpractical. 
 
 The greatest and most prosperous races 
 of antiquity — the Egyptians, Babylonians, 
 Hindoos, Greeks— had the mystic element 
 as strong and living in them as the Ger- 
 mans have now; and certainly we cannot 
 call them unpractical people. Our fore- 
 fathers were mystics for generations ; they 
 were mystics in the forests of Germany and 
 in the dales of Norway ; they were mystics 
 
 in the convents and the universities of the ' ' 
 middle ages; they were mystics, all the 
 deepest and noblest minds of them, during 
 the Elizabethan era. 
 
 Even now the few mystic writers of 
 this island are exercising more influence on 
 thought than any other men, for good or 
 for evil. Coleridge and Alexander Knox 
 have changed the minds, and with them 
 the acts of thousands. — Kingsley, ' Miscel- 
 lanies,^ i. 326. 
 
 Causes of Mysticism. 
 
 First of all, the reaction against the 
 frigid formality of religious torpor; then 
 heart-weariness, the languishing longing 
 for repose, — the charm of mysticism for the 
 selfish or the weak; and last, the desire, 
 so strong in some minds, to pierce the bar- 
 riers that hide from man the unseen world 
 — the charm of mysticism for the ardent 
 and strong. — Vaughan, 'Hours ivith the 
 Mystics,' i. 28. 
 
 Jacob Bohme, his life and doctrines. 
 
 The most profound, and at the same time 
 the most unaffected of all the mystics of 
 the sixteenth century, was Jacob Bbhme, 
 who was born in 1575, and who died in 
 1 624. He was a poor shoemaker of Gorlitz, 
 without any literary attainments, for which 
 reason he remained for a long time in ob- 
 scurity, occupied solely with two studies, 
 which every Christian and every man may 
 always pursue, the study of nature ever 
 spread out before his eyes, and that of the 
 sacred Scriptures. He is called the Teu- 
 tonic philosopher. He wrote a multitude 
 of works, which afterwards became the gos- 
 pel of mysticism. One of the most cele- 
 brated, published in 161 2, is called 'Aurora.' 
 The fundamental points of the doctrine of 
 Bohme are — ist, the impossibility of arriv- 
 ing at truth by any other process than 
 illumination ; 2d, a theory of the creation ; 
 3d, the relations of man to God ; 4th, the 
 essential identity of the soul and of God, 
 and the determination of their difference 
 as to form; 5th, the origin of evil; 6th, 
 the reintegration of the soul ; 7th, a sym- 
 
MODERN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOLS. 
 
 bolical exposition of Christianity. — Cousin, 
 ^ Hist, of Phil,' ii. 59, 60. 
 
 Emanuel Sicedenborg. 
 
 The doctrine of Correspondence is the 
 central idea of Swedenborg's system. Every- 
 thing visible has belonging to it an appro- 
 priate spiritual reality. The history of 
 man is an acted parable ; the universe, a 
 temple covered with hieroglyphics. Behmen, 
 from the light which flashes on cei^tain 
 exalted moments, imagines that he receives 
 the key to these hidden significances, — that 
 he can interpret the Signatura Rernm. But 
 he does not see spirits, or talk with angels. 
 According to him, such communications 
 •would be less reliable than the intuition he 
 enjoyed. Swedenborgtakesopposite ground. 
 ' What I relate,' he would say, ' comes from 
 no such mere inward persuasion. I recount 
 the things I have seen. I do not labour to 
 recall and to express the manifestation made 
 me in some moment of ecstatic exaltation. 
 I write you down a plain statement of 
 journeys and conversations in the spiritual 
 world, which have made the greater part 
 of my daily history for many years together. 
 I take my stand upon experience. I have 
 proceeded by observation and induction as 
 strict as that of any man of science among 
 you. Only it has been given to me to enjoy 
 an experience reaching into two worlds — 
 that of spirit as well as that of matter.' 
 
 A mysticism like that of Swedenborg 
 clothes every spiritual truth in some sub- 
 stantial envelope, and discerns a habitant 
 spirit in every variety of form. — Vaughan, 
 'Hours with the Mystics,' ii. 321. 
 
 TJie faith of the new heaven and the new 
 church. 
 
 It is called the faith of the new heaven 
 and the new church, because heaven, which 
 is the abode of angels, and the church, which 
 is constituted by men on earth, are one in 
 operation, like the internal and external of 
 man. Hence every member of the church, 
 who is in the good of love derived from the 
 truths of faith, and in the truths of faith 
 derived from the good of love, is, with re- 
 
 gard to the interiors of his mind, an angol 
 of heaven ; and therefore after death he 
 enters into heaven, and enjoys happiness 
 therein, according to the state of the con- 
 junction subsisting between his love and 
 faith. — Swedeiiborg, 'True Christian Re- 
 ligion,' I. 
 
 Gnosticism. 
 
 Hegel. 
 
 General statement. 
 
 Hegelianism is the Philosophy that pro- 
 fesses to have rid the earth for ever of the 
 fancied necessity of Agnosticism as to all 
 that lies beyond the commencement of 
 perceptibility, and to have brought the 
 Absolute strictly within ken. This it does 
 through its famous principle of the identity 
 of Knowing and Being, held no longer as 
 a postulate, or act of faith, or intellectual 
 intuition, as it was in Schelling's prepara- 
 tory theory, but as, by Hegelian demon- 
 stration, a fact. By this principle the rule 
 of the Thinking Microcosm called Mind is 
 the rule of the Universal Macrocosm or 
 All of Existence ; nay, the All of Being 
 is reproduced in every atom of Thinking, 
 Self -consciousness is the Absolute in minia- 
 ture; nay, every throb of self-conscious- 
 ness, every minutest act of thought, is a 
 nerve of the Absolute, in which the whole 
 substance of the Absolute is repeated in 
 reduction, and may be thoroughly studied. 
 — Masson, 'Recent British Pliilosophy,' pp. 
 294, 295. 
 
 The Hegelian system was the first at- 
 tempt to display the organisation of thought, 
 pure and entire, as a whole and in all its 
 details. This organisation of thought, as 
 the living reality or gist of the external 
 world and the world within us, is termed 
 the Idea The Idea is the 'reality ' and the 
 'ideality' of the world or totality, considered 
 as a process beyond time. The reality : be- 
 cause every element is expressly included. 
 The ideality : because whatever is has been 
 denuded of its immediacy, crushed in the 
 winepress, and only the spirit remains. 
 
 In the study of mind and its works, such 
 
290 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 as the State, Art, and Religion, as well as 
 in the study of Nature, the several phe- 
 nomena can only be successfully appre- 
 hended when they are known to evince the 
 same real development as in the abstract 
 medium of thought. Classes of living be- 
 ings, and faculties of mind, instead of being 
 treated in co-ordination on one level, are 
 looked at as successive points emphasised 
 and defined in the course of development. ^ 
 The whole of Philosophic Science is di- 
 vided into three heads : Logic, the Philo- 
 sophy of Nature, and the Philosophy of 
 Mind. The first branch might also be 
 termed Metaphysics; the second is a sys- 
 tematic arrangement of the several Physical 
 Sciences and their results; the third in- 
 cludes anthropology and psycholog}^ as well 
 as the theory of Ethics and Jurisprudence, 
 the Philosophy of Art, of History, and of 
 Religion.— TFa//ace, ' Logic of Hegel,' Pro- 
 leg, clxxv. 
 
 The Universe as TJwught 
 
 Thought is the real contents of the uni- 
 verse : in Nature it is but as other, and 
 in a system as other ; in Spirit it returns 
 from Nature, its other, into its own self, is 
 by its own self, and is its own energy. The 
 Absolute Spirit, then, God, is the first and 
 last, and the universe is but His difference 
 and system of differences, in which indi- 
 \'idual subjectivities have but their part 
 and place. Subjectivity, however, is the 
 principle of central energy and life, — it is 
 the Absolute Form. The thought of sub- 
 jectivity, again, that is, the thought it 
 thinks, just amounts to the whole system 
 of objective notions which are in the abso- 
 lute contents. Thus is man, as participant 
 in the absolute form and the absolute matter, 
 raised to that likeness to God of which the 
 Bible speaks ; but God Himself is not de- 
 tracted from or rendered superfluous. Pan- 
 theism is true of Hegel's system, just as it 
 is true of all others, Christianity and Ma- 
 terialism included, and there is nothing in 
 the system to disprove or discountenance 
 a personal God, but on the contrary. — 
 Sterling, ' Secret of Hegel,' I 165. 
 
 Being and not-Being. 
 
 ' Being and not-Being are identical.' 
 This mysterious utterance of Hegel, round 
 which so much controversy has waged, and 
 which has seemed to many but a caprice of 
 metaphysics run mad, does not mean that 
 Being and not-Being are not also distin- 
 guished, but it does mean that the distinc- 
 tion is not absolute, and that, if it is made 
 absolute, at that very moment it disappears. 
 The whole truth, therefore, cannot be ex- 
 pressed either by the simple statement that 
 Being and not-Being are identical, or by 
 the simple statement that they are different. 
 But the consideration of what these abstrac- 
 tions are in themselves, when we isolate 
 them from each other, just as a scientific 
 man might isolate a special element in order 
 to find the essential relativity or energy that 
 lies in it, shows that their truth is not either 
 their identity or their difference, but is their 
 identity in difference. — Caird, ' Hegel,' pp. 
 162, 163. 
 
 ^ Being makes the leginning.^ 
 
 When we begin to think, we have nothing 
 but thought in its merest indeterminateness 
 and absence of speciaUsation; for we cannot 
 specialise imless there ig both one and 
 another ; and in the beginning there is yet 
 no other. The indeterminate, as we have 
 it, is a primary and underived absence of 
 characteristics; not the annihilation or 
 elimination of all character, but the original 
 and underived indeterminateness, which is 
 previous to all definite character and is 
 the very first of all And this is what we 
 call Being. It is not something felt, or 
 perceived by spiritual sense, or pictured 
 in imagination ; it is only and merely 
 thought, and as such it forms the begin- 
 ning. — HegeVs 'Logic' (Wallace's transl.), 
 p. 136. 
 
 Development fron Kant to Hegel. 
 
 The metaphysical position of Hegel may 
 be summarily distinguished from that of 
 Kant, by saying that in the later philo- 
 sophy thought is recognised as absolute or 
 
CHARACTER AND LAWS OF FEELING, ETC. 
 
 29T 
 
 st'lf-couJitioning — as the unity in other 
 words, ■within wliich all oppositions are 
 only relative. Thought is, therefore, the 
 source of all the distinctions which make 
 ii[) the knowable universe — even of the 
 distinction between the individual self and 
 llie objective world to which it is related. 
 Tliought itself becomes the object of phil- 
 osophy, and the search for something ' real,' 
 beyond and apart from thought, is delinitely 
 abandoned. The business of philosophy is 
 henceforth the explication of the distinc- 
 tions which belong to the nature of thought, 
 nud this is otherwise definable for Hegel as 
 the 'Explication of God.' — Seth, ^ From Kant 
 in Hegel,' pp. 145, 146. 
 
 HegeVs Pliilosoi>lvj of Religion. 
 
 God is recognised, Hegel says, ' not as a 
 Spirit beyond the stars, but as spirit in all 
 spirits ; ' and so the course of human his- 
 tory is frankly identified with the course 
 of divine self-revelation. The culmination 
 of this religious development is reached 
 in Christianity ; and Christianity reveals 
 nothing more than that God is essentially 
 this revelation of Himself. In this con- 
 nection it is that a new significance is 
 given to the doctrine of the Trinity, which 
 thereby becomes fundamental for the 
 Hegelian Philosophy of Religion.. This 
 attitude towards the course of history, and 
 
 towards Christianity in particular, is the 
 only one which is permissible to an absolute 
 philosophy. However fenced about witli 
 explanations, the thesis of such a phil- 
 osophy must always be — 'The actual is 
 the rational.' — Setli, ^ From Kant to Hegel,' 
 p. 166. 
 
 Hegelianism in Britain. 
 
 Hegelianism, more or less, modified or 
 unmodified, is now running its course rather 
 briskly in Britain. In 1865 we had to 
 name Dr. Hutchison Stirling as the soli- 
 tary British Hegelian, — substantially the 
 first importer of Hegelianism or any ade- 
 quate knowledge of Hegel into the British 
 Islands. But Dr. Stirling does not now 
 stand alone. There have been i-ecent trans- 
 lations from Hegel and commentaries on 
 Hegel besides his ; Hegelianism, or a Hege- 
 lian vein of thought, appears strongly in 
 several of the recent British philosophical 
 treatises reckoned among the most import- 
 ant, or lies yet half announced in British 
 thinkers of known promise ; and it is 
 within my cognisance that not a few of 
 the young men of the English and Scottish 
 universities are at present discontented 
 with the old native cisterns, and trying, 
 directly or indirectly, what they can make 
 of HegeL — Masson, ^Recent British Philo- 
 sophy,' pp. 295, 296. 
 
 B.— PSYCHOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY OF FEELING. 
 XIV. 
 
 CHARACTER AND LA WS OF FEELING AS DISTINCT 
 FROM KNOWING. 
 
 Meaning of tlie Word. 
 
 The ex-pression feeling, like all others of 
 a psychological application, was primarily 
 of a purely physical relation, being origin- 
 ally employed to denote the sensations we 
 experience through the sense of Touch ; 
 
 and in this moaning it still continues to be 
 employed. From this, its original relation 
 to matter and the corporeal sensibility, it 
 came by a very natural analogy to express 
 our conscious states of mind in general, 
 but particularly in relation to the qualities 
 of pleasure and pain, by which they are 
 
292 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 characterised. Such is the fortune of the 
 term in English ; and precisely similar is 
 that of the cognate term Gefiihl in Ger- 
 man. The same, at least a similar, history 
 might be given of the Greek term a/aOnsi;, 
 and of the Latin sensus, sensatio, with their 
 immediate and mediate derivatives in 
 the different Romanic dialects of modern 
 Europe — the Italian, Spanish, French, 
 and English dialects. — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 physics,^ ii. 419. 
 
 Definition and Description of Feeling. 
 
 By feeling is meant any state of con- 
 sciousness which is pleasurable or painful. 
 The feelings are pleasures and pains of 
 various sorts, agreeable and disagreeable 
 states of mind. Every feeling is either 
 pleasurable or painful, agreeable or dis- 
 agreeable, in some degree. At the same 
 time, there are many mixed states of feel- 
 ing, such as grief, anger, and so on, which 
 are partly the one and partly the other, 
 and it is sometimes difficult to say which 
 element preponderates. 
 
 In the second place, feeling includes 
 pleasures and pains of all kinds. Thus 
 the term covers, first of all, those simple 
 mental effects which are the direct result 
 of nerve-stimulation, and which are com- 
 monly marked off as ' sensations ' of plea- 
 sure and pain, such as the pains of hunger 
 and thirst, and the corresponding pleasure. 
 In the second place, the term feeling com- 
 prehends the more complex effects which 
 depend on mental activity of some kind, 
 and which are marked off as emotions, 
 such as fear, hope, admiration, and regret. 
 —Sully, ' Outlines of Psychology,' pp. 449, 
 
 45°- 
 
 Positively, Feeling comprehends plea- 
 sures and pains, and states of excitement 
 that are neither. Negatively, it is opposed 
 to Volition and to Intellect. — Bain, ^Mental 
 Science,'' p. 215. 
 
 Cliaracters of Feeling. 
 
 The characters of Feeling are— (i) Those 
 of Feeling proper (Emotional) ; (2) those 
 referring to the Will (Volitional); (3) those 
 
 bearing upon Thought (Intellectual) ; and I 
 (4) certain mixed properties, including Fore- I 
 thought. Desire, and Belief. — Bain, ^Men- 
 tal Science,' p. 217. 
 
 Fundamental Character of Feeling 
 
 Not recognised by ancient philosophers. -, 
 
 Until a very recent epoch, the feelings | 
 were not recognised by any philosopher 
 as the manifestations of any fundamental 
 power. The distinction taken in the Peri- 
 patetic school, by which the mental modi- 
 fications were divided into Gnostic or ;; 
 Cognitive, and Orectic or Appetent, and 
 the consequent reduction of all the facul- 
 ties to the Facultas cognoscendi and the 
 Facidtas appetendi, was the distinction 
 which was long most universally prevalent, |. 
 though under various, but usually less \ 
 appropriate, denominations. — Hamilton, 
 ' Metaphysics,' ii. 41 ^. 
 
 The ancient division (of mental pheno- 
 mena) as fixed by Aristotle was a bipartite 
 or twofold one, intellect and will, or, ac- 
 cording to Aristotle, thought (vnvg) and 
 desire (0;-=^/?). This remained the cus- 
 tomary division in the Middle Ages. It 
 survives in the classification of Reid, (i) 
 Intellectual Powers and (2) Active Powers. 
 Here feeling is subsumed under one or both 
 of the other divisons. — Sully, ' Psychology,' 
 p. 687. 
 
 Introduced by German psychologists. 
 
 J. K Zetens (i 736-1 805) 'was the first 
 to co-ordinate feeling as a fundamental 
 faculty with the understanding and the 
 will, but he included in " feeling," as the 
 receptive faculty, not only pleasure and 
 pain, but also the sensuous perceptions and 
 the " affections " or impressions which the 
 mind produces on itself.' — Ueberweg, ^Hist. 
 of Phil.,' ii. 119. 
 
 It remained for Kant to establish, by 
 his authority, the decisive trichotomy of 
 the mental powers. In his Critique of 
 Judgjnerd ('Kritik der Urtheilskraft'), and, 
 likewise, in his Anthropology, he treats of 
 the capacities of Feeling apart from, and 
 
CHARACTER AND LAWS OF FEELING, ETC. 
 
 93 
 
 along with, the faculties of Cognition and 
 Conation. — Hamilton, ' Metajjhi/sics,' ii, 416. 
 
 But not admitted hy all philosophers. 
 
 Supposing it to be allowed that feeling, 
 intellect, and volition are perfectly distinct 
 groups of mental states, there remains the 
 question whether they are equally funda- 
 mental, primordial, or independent. This 
 question has been answered in different 
 ways. Thus Leibnitz, Wolff, Herbart and 
 his followers, regard intellect or the power 
 of presentation (Wolff's vis reprcesentiva) 
 as the fundamental one ovit of which the 
 others are derived. Hamilton, who strongly 
 insists on the generic distinctness of the 
 three classes, feeling, knowing, and walling, 
 goes a certain way in the same direction 
 when he says that 'the faculty of know- 
 ledge is certainly the first in order, inas- 
 much as it is the conditio sine qua 7ion of 
 the others.' By this he means that we 
 have only feelings or desires in so far as 
 we are conscious of them, and that con- 
 sciousness is knowledge. — Sully, 'Psycho- 
 logy,' p. 68. 
 
 Relation of Feeling to Knowing. 
 
 I am able to discriminate in conscious- 
 ness certain states, certain qualities of 
 mind, which cannot be reduced to those 
 either of Cognition or Conation ; and I 
 can enable others, in like manner, to place 
 themselves in a similar position, and ob- 
 serve for themselves these states or qua- 
 lities which I call Feelings. — Hamilton, 
 '■ Metcqihysics,'' ii. 420. 
 
 We find, in actual life, the Feelings in- 
 termediate between the Cognitions and the 
 Conations, and this relative position of these 
 several powers is necessary ; without the 
 previous cognition, there could be neither 
 feeling nor conation ; and without the pre- 
 vious feeling there could be no conation. 
 Without some kind or another of com- 
 placency with an object, there could be no 
 tendency, no protension of the mind to at- 
 tain this object as an end ; and we could, 
 therefore, determine ourselves to no overt 
 action. The mere cognition leaves us cold 
 
 and unexcited ; the awakened feeling in- 
 fuses warmth and life into us and our 
 action ; it supplies action with an interest, 
 and, without an interest, there is for us no 
 voluntary action possible. Without the in- 
 tervention of feeling, the cognition stands 
 divorced from the conation, and, apart from 
 feeling, all conscious endeavour after any- 
 thing would be altogether impossible. — 
 Biimde, quoted hy Sir W. Hamilton, 'Meta- 
 pthysics,' ii. 425, 426. 
 
 It is a Relation at once one of Mutual 
 Opposition and of Reciprocal Aid. 
 
 In the first place, feeling and knowing 
 are in a manner opposed. The mind cannot 
 at the same moment be in a state of intense 
 emotional excitement and of close intellec- 
 tual application. All violent feeling takes 
 possession of the mind, masters the atten- 
 tion, and precludes the due carrying out of 
 the intellectual processes. Nice intellectual 
 work, such as discovering unobtrusive differ- 
 ences or similarities among objects, or fol- 
 lowing out an intricate chain of reasoning, 
 is impossible except in a comparatively calm 
 state of mind. Even when there is no 
 strong emotional agitation present, intel- 
 lectual processes may be interfered with by 
 the subtle influence of the feelings on the 
 thoughts working in the shape of bias. 
 
 On the other hand, all intellectual ac- 
 tivity, since it implies interest, depends on 
 the presence of a certain moderate degree 
 of feeling. It may be said, indeed, that all 
 good and effective intellectual work involves 
 the presence of a gentle wave of pleasurable 
 emotion. Attention is more lively, images 
 recur more abundantly, and thought traces 
 out its relations more quickly, when there 
 is an undercurrent of pleasure. Hence 
 rapid intellectual progress is furthered by 
 lively intellectual feelings. — Sully, ' Psy- 
 chology,' pp. 451, 452. 
 
 Feeling gives Variety to Knowledge. 
 
 To each simple sensation, each colour, 
 each tone, corresponds originally a special 
 degree of pain or pleasure ; but, accustomed 
 as we are to note these impressions only in 
 
294 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 their significance as marks of objects, whose 
 import and notion are of consequence to us, 
 we observe the wortli of these simple objects 
 only when we throw ourselves with concen- 
 trated attention into their content. Every 
 form of composition of the manifold pro- 
 duces in us, along with a perception, a slight 
 impression of its agreement with the usages 
 of our own development, and it is these 
 often obscure feelings that give to each 
 several object its special complexion for 
 each several temperament, so that, with 
 the same complement of properties for all, 
 it yet seems to each of us different. Even 
 the simplest and apparently driest notions 
 are never quite destitute of this attendant 
 feeling ; we cannot grasp the conception of 
 unity without experiencing a pleasant satis- 
 faction that is part of its content, or that 
 of antagonism without participating in the 
 pain of conflictive opposition ; we cannot 
 observe in things or evolve within ourselves 
 such conceptions as rest, motion, equilihrium, 
 withovit throwing ourselves into them wath 
 all our living strength, and having a feeling 
 of the kind and degree of resistance or assist- 
 ance which they might bring to bear on us. 
 A considerable part of our higher hviman 
 culture is the result of this pervading pres- 
 ence of feelings ; it is the basis of imagina- 
 tion, whence spring works of art, and which 
 makes us capable of entering into natural 
 beauty ; for productive and reproductive 
 power consists in nothing else than the 
 delicacy of apprehension by which the mind 
 is able to clothe the ivorld of values in the 
 icorld of forms, or to become instinctively 
 aware of the happiness concealed under the 
 enveloping form. — Lotze, '■ Microcosmus,^ i. 
 243, 244. 
 
 But it is insufficient to constitute icnoic- 
 ledge. 
 
 For a merely sentient being — for one who 
 did not think upon his feelings — the oppo- 
 sitions of inner and outer, of subjective and 
 objective, of fantastic and real, would not 
 exist ; but neither would knowledge or a 
 world to be known. That such oppositions, 
 misunderstood, may be a heavy burden on 
 
 the human spirit, the experience of current 
 controversy and its spiritual effects might 
 alone suffice to convince us ; but the philo- 
 sophical deliverance can only lie in the 
 recognition of thought as their author, not 
 in the attempt to obliterate them by the 
 reduction of thought and its world to feel- 
 ing, — an attempt which contradicts itself, 
 since it virtually admits their existence 
 while it renders them unaccountable. — 
 Green, ^Introduction to Hume,^ p. 142. 
 
 Ideas, such as Causation and Identity, 
 explicable only as data of Thought, 
 not as data of sense. 
 Identity and Causation can only be 
 claimed for sense, if sense is so far one 
 with thought, — one not by conversion of 
 thought into sense but by taking of sense 
 into thought, as that Hume's favourite 
 appeals to sense against the reality of 
 intelligible relations become unmeaning. 
 They may be ' impressions,' there may be 
 i 'impressions of them,' but only if we deny 
 of the impression what Hume asserts of it, 
 and assert of it what he denies ; only if we 
 understand by ' impression ' not an ' in- 
 ternal and perishing existence,' not that 
 which, if other than taste, colour, sound, 
 smell, or touch, must be a ' passion or 
 emotion,' not that which carries no refer- 
 ence to an object other than itself, and 
 which must either be single or compound ; 
 but something permanent and constituted 
 by permanently co-existing parts, — some- 
 thing that may be ' conjoined with ' any 
 feeling, because it is none; that always 
 carries with it a reference to a subject 
 which it is not, but of which it is a quality; 
 and that is both many and one, since * in 
 its simplicity it contains many different re- 
 semblances and relations.' — Green, 'Intro- 
 duction to Hume,' p. 239. 
 
 The Reality of Objects depends not upon 
 Feeling, but upon the Relations which 
 Thought prescribes. 
 
 So soon, in short, as reality is ascribed 
 to a system, which cannot be an ' impres- 
 sion,' and of which consequently there 
 
CHARACTER AND LAWS OF FEELING, ETC. 
 
 295 
 
 cannot be an 'idea,' the first principle of 
 Hume's speculation is abandoned. The 
 truth is implicitly recognised, that the 
 reality of an individual object consists in 
 that system of its relations which only 
 exists for a conceiving, as distinct from a 
 feeling, subject, even as the unreal has no 
 meaning except as a confused or inade- 
 quate conception of such relations ; and that 
 thus the ' present impression ' is neither 
 real nor unreal in itself, but may be equally 
 one or the other according as the relations, 
 under which it is conceived by the subject 
 of it, correspond to those by which it is 
 determined for a perfect intelligence. — 
 Greeji, 'Introduction to Hume,'' p. 281. 
 
 Mr. Spencer maintains 
 
 That Feeling and Knoiving caJinot he dis- 
 sociated. 
 
 In our ordinary experiences, the im- 
 possibility of dissociating the psychical 
 states classed as intellectual from those 
 seemingly most unlike psychical states 
 classed as emotional, may be discerned. 
 While we continue to compare such ex- 
 treme forms of the two as an inference 
 and a fit of anger, we may fancy that they 
 are entirely distinct. But if we examine 
 intermediate modes of consciousness, we 
 shall quickly find some which are both 
 cognitive and emotive. Take the state of 
 mind produced by seeing a beautiful statue. 
 Primarily, this is a co-ordination of the 
 visual impressions which the statue gives, 
 resulting in a consciousness of what they 
 mean ; and this we call a purely intellectual 
 act. But usually this act cannot be per- 
 formed without some pleasurable feeling of 
 the emotional order. . . . Not only does 
 the state of consciousness produced by a 
 melody show us cognition and emotion in- 
 extricably entangled, but the state of con- 
 sciousness produced by a single beautiful 
 tone does so. Not only is a combination 
 of colours, as in a landscape, productive of 
 a pleasurable feeling beyond that due to 
 mere sensations ; but there is pleasure 
 accompanying the perception of even one 
 colour when of great purity or brilliance. 
 
 Nay, the touch of a perfectly smooth or 
 soft surface causes an agreeable conscious- 
 ness. In all these cases the simple distinct 
 feeling directly aroused by the outer agent, 
 is joined with some compound vague feeling 
 indirectly aroused. 
 
 The materials dealt with in every cogni- 
 tive process are either sensations or the 
 representations of them. These sensations, 
 and by implication the representations of 
 them, are habitually in some degree agree- 
 able or disagreeable. Hence only in those 
 rare cases in which both its terms and its 
 remote associations are absolutely indiffe- 
 rent, can an act of cognition be absolutely 
 free from emotion. Conversely, as every 
 emotion involves the presentation or repre- 
 sentation of objects and actions ; and as 
 the perceptions, and by implication the re- 
 collections, of objects and actions, all imply 
 cognitions ; it follows that no emotion can 
 be absolutely free from cognition. — Spencer, 
 '■Principles of Psychology,' i. 473, 474. 
 
 Feeling not produced but roused by repre- 
 sentation. 
 The capacity of feeling pleasure and pain 
 must be originally inherent in the soul ; 
 the separate events of the train of ideas, 
 reacting on the nature of the soul, do not 
 produce the capacity, but only rouse it to 
 utterance. . , . We should be by no means 
 content to accept in place of this conviction 
 the concession with which we might be 
 met, — that to be sure any actual state of 
 the train of ideas is not itself the feeling 
 of pain or pleasure or the effort flowing 
 from it, but yet that feeling and effort are 
 nothing else than the forms under which 
 that state is apprehended by consciousness. 
 We should have, on the other side, to add 
 that these forms of apprehension are them- 
 selves not unimportant accessories, to be 
 referred to by the way, as mei'ely occurring 
 along with the facts of the train of ideas 
 in which alone the kernel of the matter 
 lay ; on the contrary, the essential part of 
 the phenomenon is just this mode of mani- 
 festation. It is as feelings and efforts, that 
 feelings and efforts are of consequence in 
 
296 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 mental life, the significance of which lies 
 not in the fact that all kinds of complica- 
 tions of ideas occur, of which men may 
 incidentally become conscious under the 
 form of feeling and effort, but in the fact 
 that the nature of the soul renders it 
 capable of bringing anything before itself 
 as feeling and effort. — Lotze, ^ Microcosmus,' 
 i. 179, 180. 
 
 Feeling regarded as the primordial type of 
 mental manifestation. 
 An attempt has recently been made by 
 Horwicz to regard it as the primordial type 
 of mental manifestation. This assertion 
 is based on the fact that in the early stages 
 of mental development, both of the indi- 
 vidual and of the animal series, the element 
 of feeling (sense feeUng) is conspicuous and 
 predominant. To this argument Schneider 
 replies that in the simplest sensational con- 
 sciousness, there is involved a rudiment of 
 intellection in the shape of the discrimina- 
 tion of a state as favourable or unfavour- 
 able. — Sully, ^Psychology,' p. 688. 
 
 Development of Feeling. 
 
 An outburst of feeling passes through the 
 stages of rise, culmination, and subsidence. 
 
 What we call a state of feeling, or emo- 
 tion, is a transitory outburst from a perma- 
 nent condition approaching to indifference. 
 There is every variety of mode as respects 
 both degree and duration. A feeble stim- 
 ulus can be continued longer than a power- 
 ful one ; while every intense display must 
 be rendered short by exhaustion. 
 
 Practically, the moment of culmination 
 of feeling, or passion, is the moment of 
 perilous decisions and fatal mistakes. — Bairi, 
 * Mental Science,' p. 224. 
 
 The Laws of Feeling. 
 
 I. According to James Sully. 
 
 The Law of Stimulation or Exercise. 
 
 The principal law may be called the Law 
 of Stimulation or the Law of Exercise. All 
 pleasure is the accompaniment of the ac- 
 tivity of some organ which is connected 
 
 with the nerve-centres or the seat of con- 
 scious life. Or, since this activity has its 
 physical concomitant, we may say that all 
 pleasure is connected with the exercise of 
 some capability, faculty, or power of the 
 mind. And it will be found in general 
 that all moderate stimulation of an organ, 
 or all moderate exercise of a capability, 
 produces pleasure. — ^Psychology,' p. 457. 
 
 The Laio of Change or Contrast, 
 Pleasure involves change or contrast of 
 mental condition for a double reason: (i) 
 because all the more powerful modes of 
 pleasurable stimulation need to be limited 
 in duration if they are not to fatigue and 
 produce pain instead of pleasure ; and (2) 
 because change, variety, or contrast of im- 
 pression, is a condition of that vigorous 
 activity of attention on which all vivid 
 states of mind depend. The greater the 
 amount of change involved (provided it is 
 not violent, that is so great and sudden as 
 to produce the disagreeable effect of shock) 
 the more intense in general will be the 
 resulting pleasure. — ^Psychology,' p. 464. 
 
 2. According to A. Bain. 
 
 The Law of Diffusion. 
 
 According as an impression is accom- 
 panied with Feeling, the aroused currents 
 diffuse themselves freely over the brain, 
 leading to a general agitation of the moving 
 organs, as well as affecting the viscera, — 
 ^Emotions, Sfc.,' p. 4. 
 
 Tlie Law of Relativity. 
 
 Change is necessary to feeling ; we are 
 unconscious of unremitted impressions; 
 the degree of feeling is proportioned to the 
 change ; abruptness or suddenness of tran- 
 sition is one mode of enhancing the effect. 
 — * Emotions, ^c.,' p. 78. 
 
 Mutual Furtherance and Hindrance of 
 Activities. 
 
 It follows from the close connection of 
 the several nerve structures or organs that 
 the condition of one affects that of the 
 others. When the vital processes of diges- 
 
CHARACTER AND LAWS OF FEELING, ETC. 
 
 297 
 
 tion and circulation go on well the cerebral 
 activities are furthered, the thoughts ilow 
 freely, and the mind takes on a cheerful 
 tone. Conversely, when the mind is cheered 
 by happy thoughts, the organic processes 
 are promoted. On the other hand, an over- 
 tasking or impeding of the activities of any 
 organ, not only leads to a painful feeling 
 in connection with that organ, but inter- 
 feres with the due pleasurable exercise of 
 the other organs. A striking example of 
 this law is seen in the prostrating effects of 
 intensely painful emotion as terror and pas- 
 sionate grief. These distressing forms of 
 mental activity enfeeble not only the powers 
 of the brain but those of the muscular and 
 internal organs. — Salli/, ' Psycholugij,' pp. 
 471-72. 
 
 Classification of Feelings. 
 
 The division into centrally-initiated feel- 
 ings, called emotions, and peripherally- 
 initiated feelings, called sensations; and 
 the subdivision of these last into sensa- 
 tions that arise on the exterior of the body 
 and sensations that arise in its interior ; 
 respectively refer to differences among the 
 parts in action. Whereas the division into 
 vivid or real feelings and faint or ideal feel- 
 ings, cutting across the other divisions at 
 right angles, as we may say, refers to a 
 difference of amount in the actions of these 
 parts. The first classification has in view 
 unlikeness of kind among the feelings ; and 
 the second, a marked unlikeness of degree 
 common to all kinds. — Spencer, ' Principles 
 of Psychology^ i. 167. 
 
 Feelings of pleasure and pain fall into 
 two main divisions, those arising immedi- 
 ately from a process of nervous stimula- 
 tion, moi'e particularly the excitation of 
 sensory (incarrying) nerves, and those de- 
 pending on some mode of mental activity. 
 The first (popularly marked off as bodily 
 feelings), as involving processes in the out- 
 lying parts of the organism, may be called 
 peripherally excited feelings, or more briefly 
 sense-feelings. The second, being connected 
 with central nerve processes (in the brain). 
 
 may be described as centrally excited feel- 
 ings or as emotions. — Sully, ^ PKycholojy,' 
 P- 475- 
 Feelings originating in the Periphery. 
 
 The periphei-ally-initiated feelings, or 
 sensations, may be grouped into those 
 which, caused by disturbances at the ends 
 of nerves distributed on the outer surface, 
 are taken to imply outer agencies, and 
 those which, caused by disturbances at the 
 ends of nerves distributed within the body, 
 are not taken to imply outer agencies ; 
 which last, though not peripherally initiated 
 in the ordinary sense, are so in the physio- 
 logical sense. But as between the exterior 
 of the body and its interior there are all 
 gradations of depth, it results that this 
 distinction is a broadly marked one, rather 
 than a sharply marked one. — Spencer, 
 'Principles of Psychology,' i 166. 
 
 The sense-feelings may arise from certain 
 changes or disturbances in some part of the 
 organism itself. These are the organic 
 sense-feelings, such as hunger, thirst, feel- 
 ings connected with increase and decrease 
 of temperature in the skin, &c. Since the 
 sensations of which these feelings are the 
 immediate accompaniments are to a large 
 extent w^anting in definiteness of character 
 and in susceptibility of distinct localisation, 
 the several elements of feeling are not 
 easily distinguishable one from another. 
 
 The second group of sense-feelings con- 
 sists of the pleasures and pains connected 
 wdth the stimulation of the special senses. 
 To these may be added the pleasures and 
 pains of muscular sensation, pleasures of 
 movement, pain of prolonged effort, and 
 so forth. These are much more definitely 
 distinguishable than the organic pleasures 
 and pains, and they are susceptible of 
 localisation. — Sully, ' Psychology' p. 476. 
 
 Their eflfect on the Emotional Life. 
 
 Owung to the close connection between 
 l)ody and mind, the organic feelings have a 
 far-reaching effect on the higher emotional 
 life. An uneasy attitude of body, the 
 pressure or chafing of a garment, or the 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 chilliness of a limb, is quite enough to 
 depress the mental powers, to induce 
 irritability of temper, a disposition to 
 peevishness, and to outbreaks of angry- 
 passion. On the other hand, pleasurable 
 states of the body lead to a cheerful, 
 hopeful state of mind. The sum of all the 
 imperfectly discriminated organic feelings 
 at any time constitutes the basis of what 
 is known as the coensesthesis or general 
 feeling of well-being, or its opposite, 
 malaise, which has much to do with 
 determining the dominant mental tone or 
 mood of cheerfulness, or depression. 
 
 Finally, the sense-feelings as a whole 
 will be found to supply important elements 
 out of which the emotions proper are 
 developed. Thus fear and anger have 
 their rise in the mental reproduction of 
 some organic pain {e.g., the effect of a 
 burn or of a blow). So noble a feeling as 
 love itself may have as its humble origin 
 in the infant's mind a memory of numerous 
 organic pleasures (satisfactions of appetites, 
 of warmth, &c.). The pleasures of the 
 higher senses are taken up into the emo- 
 tions of beauty. — Sully, ' Psychology,' pp. 
 477, 478- 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE EMOTIONS. 
 
 I. DEFINITIONS, CLASSIFICA- 
 TIONS, &c. 
 
 Definition of Emotion. 
 
 Perhaps the nearest approach to a posi- 
 tive definition of the Emotions may be 
 found in the language of Aristotle, who de- 
 scribes them as those states of mind lohich are 
 accompanied hy pleasure or pain ; but the 
 definition requires some explanation before 
 it can be accepted as satisfactory. A tooth- 
 ache is accompanied by pain ; but a tooth- 
 ache is not an emotion. The pursuit and 
 acquisition of knowledge is a source of plea- 
 sure ; but neither the pursuit nor the ac- 
 quisition can be classed among the emotions. 
 The desire of knowledge, and the pleasure 
 which it imparts, are emotions : the act of 
 pursuit and the state of possession are not 
 so. We may, with tolerable accuracy, de- 
 fine the emotions or passions as those states 
 of mind which consist in the consciousness of 
 being affected agreeably or disagreeably. — 
 Mansel, '■Metaphysics^ p. 152. 
 
 Susceptibility is the capacity of the mind 
 to be affected, in the way of pleasure or 
 pain, by that which is before it. An emo- 
 
 tion is the thrill or flutter of excitement 
 which attends almost every object of ex- 
 perience or consideration. It stands to the 
 estimate we spontaneously form of the ob- 
 ject in much the same relation as the sen- 
 sation to the perception of the same. It is 
 a rude stroke, felt, but not yet fully con- 
 strued by the mind. It is the emotional, 
 as distinguished from the sensible feeling of 
 the object. — Murphy, '■Human Mind,' ^. 169. 
 
 Analysis of Emotion. 
 
 Four persons of very much the same 
 age and temperament ax'e travelling in the 
 same vehicle. At a particular stopping- 
 place it is announced to them that a certain 
 individual has just died suddenly and un- 
 expectedly. One of the company looks per- 
 fectly stolid ; a second comprehends what 
 has taken place, but is in no way affected ; 
 the third looks and evidently feels sad ; the 
 fourth is overwhelmed with grief, which 
 finds expression in tears, sobs, and exclama- 
 tions. Whence the difference of the four 
 individuals before us % In one respect they 
 are all alike,— an announcement has been 
 made to them. The first is a foreigner, 
 
DEFINITIONS, CLASSIFICATIONS, ETC. 
 
 299 
 
 and has not understood the communica- 
 tion. The second had never met with the 
 deceased, and could have no special regard 
 for him. The third had often met with 
 him in social intercourse and business trans- 
 actions, and been led to cherish a gi'eat 
 esteem for him. The fourth was the bro- 
 ther of the departed, and was bound to 
 him by native affection and a thousand 
 interesting ties, earlier and later. From 
 such a case we may notice that in order to 
 emotion there is need, first, of some under- 
 standing or apprehension. The foreigner 
 had no feeling, because he had no idea or 
 belief. We may observe further that there 
 must be, secondly, an affection of some 
 kind, for the stranger was not interested 
 in the occurrence. The emotion flows forth 
 from a well, and it is strong in pi'oportion 
 to the waters, — is stronger in the brother 
 than in the friend. It is evident, thirdly, 
 that the persons affected are in a moved 
 or excited state. A fourth peculiarity has 
 appeai'ed in the sadness of the countenance 
 and the agitations of the bodily frame. 
 Four elements have thus come forth to 
 view. 
 
 Fii'st, there is the affection, or tchat I 
 2vefer calling the motive principle, or the 
 appetence. In the illusti^ative case, there 
 are the love of a friend and the love of 
 a brother. But the appetence, to use the 
 most unexceptionable phrase, may consist 
 of an immense number and variety of other 
 motive principles, such as the love of plea- 
 sure, the love of wealth, or revenge, or 
 moral appi'obation. These appetences may 
 be original, such as the love of happiness ; 
 or they may be acquired, such as the love 
 of money, or of letirement, or of paintings, 
 or of articles of vrriu, or of dress. These 
 moving powers are at the basis of all emo- 
 tion. Without the fountain there can be 
 no flow of waters. 
 
 Secondlij, there is an idea of something, of 
 some object or occurrence, as fitted to gratify 
 or disappoint a motive p)rinciple or appetence. 
 ^Vhen the friend and brother of the de- 
 parted did not know of the occurrence, 
 they were not moved. But as soon as 
 
 the intelligence was conveyed to them and 
 they realised the death, they were filled 
 with sorrow. The idea is thus an es.sential 
 element in all emotion. But ideas of every 
 kind do not raise emotion. The stranger 
 had a notion of a death having occurred, 
 but was not moved. The idea excited emo- 
 tion in the breasts of those who had the 
 affection, because the event apprehended 
 disappointed one of the cherished appe- 
 tences of their minds. 
 
 Tlnrdhj, there is the conscious feeling. 
 The soul is in a moved or excited state, — 
 hence the phi-ase emotion. Along with this 
 there is an attraction or repulsion : we 
 are dra^vn toward the objects that we love, 
 that is, for which we have an appetence, 
 and driven aw^ay from those which thwart 
 the appetence. To use looser phraseology, 
 we cling to the good, and we turn away 
 fi^om the evil. This excitement, with the 
 attractions and repulsions, is the conscious 
 element in the emotion. Yet it all depends 
 on the two other elements, on the affection 
 and the idea of something fitted to gratify 
 or disappoint it. 
 
 Fourthly, there is an organic affection. 
 The seat of it seems to be somewhere in 
 the cerebrum, whence it influences the ner- 
 vous centres, producing soothing or exciting 
 and at times exasperating results. Tliis 
 differs widely in the case of different indi- 
 viduals. Some are hurried irresistibly into 
 violent expressions or convulsions. Others, 
 feeling no less keenly, may appear outwai-dly 
 calm, because restrained by a strong will ; 
 or they may feel repressed and oppi-essed 
 till they have an outlet in some natural 
 flow or outburst. But it is to be observed 
 that this organic affection is not the primary 
 nor the main element in anything that de- 
 serves the name of emotion. — 31' Cosh, 'The 
 Emotions,' pp. 1-3. 
 
 Classification of Emotions. 
 
 According to their quality. 
 
 An eminent modern philosopher [Jouf- 
 froy] has observed that theie are, strictly 
 speaking, but two passions, — the one aris- 
 
300 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ing from the consciousness of pleasure, 
 manifesting itself in the successive stages 
 of joy, love, and desire ; the other arising 
 from the consciousness of pain, and ex- 
 hibiting the successive forms of grief, hate, 
 and aversion. The various subdivisions of 
 these two classes are, properly, not so much 
 distinctions in the nature of the emotion 
 itself as in that of the objects upon which 
 it is exercised. — Mansel, ' Metaphysics,' p. 
 154- 
 
 Emotions are of three kinds; some of 
 them agreeable, some disagreeable, and some 
 indifferent. The agreeable and disagree- 
 able may be said to be of one genus, run- 
 ning through all possible degrees, from the 
 highest intensity of the agreeable to the 
 like extreme of the disagreeable. — Murphy, 
 ^ Human Mind,' p. 169. 
 
 Some emotions are not immediately con- 
 nected with outward action, while others 
 are. Of the first sort are simple Joy and 
 Grief, Cheerfulness, Melancholy, Beauty, 
 Sublimity, &c. These, like every feeling, 
 nay, like every thought, may lead to out- 
 ward action ; but they may not, and they 
 never immediately precede it; whereas 
 Desire and Fear, in some form or other, 
 directly urge to action, and when this 
 takes place they are always the immediate 
 antecedents. This distinction seems suffi- 
 ciently well defined and sufficiently import- 
 ant for the purposes of classification. 
 
 Agreeably to this view, our primary divi- 
 sion will be into the Passive and the Active 
 emotions. — Ramsay, '■Analysis of the Emo- 
 tions,'' p. 2. 
 
 As they proceed from simple to complex. 
 Herbert Spencer. 
 
 Feelings are divisible into four sub- 
 classes. 
 
 Presentative feelings, ordinarily called 
 sensations, are those mental states in 
 which, instead of regarding a corporeal 
 impression as of this or that kind, or as 
 located here or there, we contemplate it 
 in itself as pleasure or pain ; as, when in- 
 haling a perfume. 
 
 Presentative - representative feelings, em- 
 bracing a great part of what we commonly 
 call emotions, are those in which a sensa- 
 tion or group of sensations, or group of 
 sensations and ideas, arouses a vast aggre- 
 gation of represented sensations ; partly of 
 individual experience, but chiefly deeper 
 than individual experience, and conse- 
 quently indefinite. 
 
 Representative feelings, comprehending 
 the ideas of the feelings above classed, 
 when they are called up apart from the 
 appropriate external excitements. In- 
 stances of these are the feelings with which 
 the descriptive poet writes, and which are 
 aroused in the minds of his readers. 
 
 Re - representative feelings, under which 
 head are included those more complex sen- 
 tient states that are less the direct results 
 of external excitements than the indirect 
 or reflex results of them. — * Principles of 
 Psychology,' ii. 514. 
 
 Professor Bain. 
 
 We cannot, in classifying the emotions, 
 comply with the rules of logical division. 
 The nature of the case admits of but one 
 method — to proceed from the simpler to the 
 more complex. 
 
 The arrangement is as follows : — 
 
 1. Emotions of Relativity : Novelty, 
 Wonder, Liberty. 
 
 2. Emotion of Terror. 
 
 3. Tender Emotion : Love, Admiration, 
 Reverence, Esteem. 
 
 4. Emotions of Self : Self-gratulation, 
 Self-esteem, Love of Approbation. 
 
 5. Emotion of Power. 
 
 6. Irascible Emotion — Anger. 
 
 7. Emotions of Action — Pursuit. 
 
 8. Emotions of Intellect. 
 
 9. Esthetic Emotions. 
 
 10. The Moral Sense. — ^Mental Science,' 
 p. 227, 228. 
 
 Spinoza's Enumeration of the Emotions. 
 
 I. Desire. 2. Pleasure. 3. Pain. 4. 
 Wonder. 5. Contempt. 6. Love. 7. Hate. 
 8. Inclination. 9. Aversion. 10. Devotion. 
 II. Derision. 12. Hope. 13. Fear. 14. 
 
Contidence. 15. Despair. 10. Joy. 17. 
 Disappointment (or grief). 18. Pity. 19. 
 Approval. 20. Indignation. 21. Over- 
 esteem. 22. Disparagement. 23. Envy. 
 24. Mercy (or goodwill). 25. Self -content- 
 ment. 26. Humility. 27. Repentance. 28. 
 Pride. 29. Dejection. 30. Honour. 31. 
 Shame. 32. Regret. 33. Emulation. 34. 
 Thankfulness. 35. Benevolence. 36. Anger. 
 37. Revenge. 38. Cruelty. 39. Fear. 40. 
 Daring. 41. Cowardice. 42. Consternation. 
 43. Civility (or deference). 44. Ambition. 
 45. Luxury. 46. Drunkenness, 47. Avarice. 
 48. Lust. — Pollock's ' Sj)inoza,' eh. vii. 
 
 J. H. Godwin. 
 
 1. Simple Emotions. 
 
 Joy, Grief, Surprise, Wonder. 
 
 2. Propensities and Passions. 
 Desires, Aversions, Hope, Fear. 
 Primary and Secondary. 
 
 3. Social Affections. 
 
 Pleasant and Attractive, Painful and Re- 
 pulsive. 
 
 Composite Affections. 
 
 4. Other Affections. 
 
 Reflective, Religious, Indefinite (aes- 
 thetic). — ' Active Principles,'' p. 6. 
 
 In their relation to Time. 
 
 The Emotions are classed by Thomas 
 Erown as Immediate, Retrospective, and 
 Prospective. The immediate emotions are 
 subdi\ided into those which do not, and 
 those which do, involve moral affections. 
 Under the first are Cheerfulness and Melan- 
 choly, Wonder at what is strange, Languor 
 at what is tedious. Beauty and Deformity, 
 Sublimity, Ludicrousness. Underthe second 
 are feelings distinctive of Vice and Virtue, 
 Love and Hate, Sympathy, Pride and Humi- 
 lity. The Retrospective Emotions having 
 relations to others are Anger and Gratitude. 
 The Retrospective Emotions which have 
 reference to ourselves are Regret and its 
 opposite, and Remorse and its opposite. 
 
 ine ±'rospociive Ji.motions compreneml the 
 desire for Continued Existence, the desire 
 of Pleasure, the desire of Action, the desiro 
 of Society, the desire of Knowledge, the 
 desire of Power, in the two forms of Ambi- 
 tion and of Power, the desire of Affection 
 of others, the desire of Glory, the desire of 
 the Happiness of others, the desire of Evil 
 to others. — Ueherweg, 'Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 
 413- 
 
 Sources of Emotion. 
 
 Mental representations. 
 
 The idea which calls forth emotion is of 
 an object fitted to gratify or to disappoint 
 an appetence of the mind. The mere exist- 
 ence of the appetence as a tendency or dis- 
 position is not sufiicient to call forth feeling, 
 though I have no doubt it is ever prompting 
 it, or rather by the law of association stir- 
 ring up the idea which gives it a body. 
 There must always be an idea carrying out 
 the appetence to call the emotion into actual 
 exercise. If the object be before us, of 
 course we have a perception of it by the 
 senses, or we are conscious of it within 
 our minds. If it be not present we have a 
 remembrance of it, or we have formed an 
 imagination of it. That object may be 
 mental or material, may be real or ima- 
 ginary, may be in the past, the present, or 
 the future; but there must always be a 
 representation of it in the mind. Let a 
 man stop himself at the time when passion 
 is rolling like a river, he will find that the 
 idea is the channel in which it flows. An 
 idea is as much needed as a pipe is to con- 
 duct gas and enable it to flame ; shut up 
 the conduit and the feeling will be extin- 
 guished. — M'Cosh, ' The Emotions,' p. 42. 
 
 Wo7-Jcing through association. 
 
 An idea which has no emotion attached 
 may come notwithstanding to raise up feel- 
 ing through the idea with which it is asso- 
 ciated, and which never can come without 
 sentiment. Thermopylae, Bannockburn, 
 and Waterloo look uninteresting enough 
 places to the eye, and to those who may 
 be ignorant of the scenes transacted there; 
 
302 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 but the spots and the very names stir up 
 feeling like a war-trumpet in the breasts 
 of all who know that freedom was there 
 delivered from menacing tyranny. Thus it 
 is that the buds and blossoms of spring, and 
 the prattle of boys and girls, call forth a 
 hope as fresh and lively as they themselves 
 are. Thus it is that the leaves of autumn, 
 gorgeous though they be in colouring, and 
 the graveyard where our forefathers sleep, 
 clothed though it be all over with green 
 grass, incline to musing and to sadness. — 
 M'Cosh, ^Intuitions, ^c.,' p. 323. 
 
 But not through abstract truths. 
 
 It may be doubted whether any abstract 
 truth or general principle is fitted to kindle 
 emotion. Analysis and classification are 
 intended to deepen and amplify our intel- 
 lectual conceptions, but are by no means 
 fitted to rouse feeling. It is not by dwell- 
 ing on the grand ideas of the lovely and 
 the good that sentiment is evoked, but by 
 the contemplation of a lovely object or a 
 good individual. These ideas may serve to 
 widen our views and raise our minds above 
 a weak superstition, but they are not fitted 
 nor intended by Him who hath given us 
 the capacity to form them, to create and 
 cherish affection in our bosoms. — M'Cosh, 
 ' Intuitions, ^c.,' p. 405. 
 
 Manifestation of Emotion. 
 
 How the strength of Emotion is determined. 
 
 It is always to be taken into account 
 that the emotive susceptibility is naturally 
 stronger in some minds than in others, is 
 stronger at one period of life, or even one 
 day or hour, than another ; but making 
 due allowance for this variable element, 
 the intensity of feeling is determined by 
 the strength of the motive principle, its 
 native strength or its acquired strength, 
 and by the extent of the appetible or inap- 
 petible embraced within the mental appre- 
 hension of the object or end fitted to gratify 
 or disappoint the appetency. There are 
 thus three elements determining the emo- 
 tion, and these varying in the case of 
 
 different individuals, and of the same in- 
 dividual at different times. There is the 
 emotional susceptibility, depending largely 
 on the state of the brain or particular organs 
 of it. There is the mental appetency, natu- 
 ral or acquired. There is the mental appre- 
 hension of an object or event as tending to 
 content or gratify the appetence. — IP Cosh, 
 ' Intuitions, ^c.,' p. 248. 
 
 Influence of Emotion on the body. 
 
 The powerful part which the passions 
 were intended to act in our constitution, 
 is clearly evinced by those rapid and dread- 
 ful effects which they frequently commit 
 upon the body. Instances are very nume- 
 rous of persons who have been driven mad 
 by joy, — who have dropped do\^Ti dead from 
 anger or grief. Great numbers of people 
 die every year, pining away from deranged 
 circumstances, or fi'om disgrace, or disap- 
 pointed affection, in a state which we call 
 broken-hearted. The passions kill like acute 
 diseases, and like chronic ones too. Every 
 physician who knows anything of the science, 
 has seen innumerable cases of all the dis- 
 orders of the body, originating from dis- 
 turbed emotion, and totally inaccessible to 
 all the remedies by which mere animal infir- 
 mities are removed. — Smith, ' Moral Philo- 
 sopMj; p. 336. 
 
 Influence of Emotion on the organic 
 functions. 
 
 The secretion of Tears, which is continu- 
 ally being formed to an extent sufiicient to 
 lubricate the surface of the eyes, is poured 
 out in great abundance under the moderate 
 excitement of the emotions, either of joy, 
 tenderness, or grief. It is checked, how- 
 ever, by violent grief ; and it is a well- 
 known indication of moderated sorrow, 
 when tears 'come to the relief of the 
 sufferer. 
 
 So, the Salivary secretion may be sus- 
 pended by strong emotion : a fact of which 
 advantage is taken in India for the dis- 
 covery of a thief among the servants of a 
 family, each of them being required to hold 
 a certain quantity of rice in his mouth 
 
DEFINITIONS, CLASSIFICATIONS, ETC. 
 
 303 
 
 (luring a few minutes, and the ofTender 
 being generally distinguished by the dry- 
 ness of his mouthful. 
 
 That the gastric secretion may be entirely 
 suspended by powerful emotion, clearly 
 appears as well from the results of experi- 
 ments on animals, as from the well-known 
 influence exerted by a sudden mental shock 
 (whether painful or pleasurable) in dis- 
 sipating the appetite for food, and in 
 suspending the digestive process when in 
 active operation. — Carj)enter, ^Mental Phy- 
 siology,' pp. 677, 678. 
 
 While we cannot at present specify 
 scientifically the precise influence exercised 
 on the body by the various kinds of emotion, 
 we can enumerate a few laws, chiefly of an 
 empirical character, but full of interest and 
 importance. 
 
 The emotions through the nerves act 
 particularly on the heart and lungs, and 
 thence on the organs of breathing, the 
 nerves of which spread over the face, which 
 may thus reveal the play of feeling. Every 
 sudden emotion quickens the action of the 
 heart and consequently the respiration, 
 which may produce involuntary motions. 
 If our organs of respiration and circulation 
 had been different, our expression would 
 also have been different. * Dr. Beaumont 
 had the opportunity of experimenting for 
 many months on a person whose stomach 
 was exposed to inspection by accident, and 
 he states that mental emotion invariably 
 produced indigestion and disease of the 
 lining membrane of the stomach — a suffi- 
 cient demonstration of the direct manner 
 in which the mind may disorder the blood.' ^ 
 Certain emotions, such as sudden fear, 
 increase the peristaltic action, whereas 
 anxiety and grief diminish it. Sorrow of 
 every kind, sympathy, and pity act on the 
 bowels. All strong passions are apt to 
 make the muscles tremble ; this is especially 
 the case with all aggravated forms of fear, 
 with terror and rage, but is also so with 
 anger, and even joy. The action of the 
 heart is increased by anger. In fear, the 
 ^ Moore on 'The Power of the Soul over the 
 Body,' pt. iii. ch. viii. 
 
 blood is not transferred with the usual 
 force. Settled malice and envy give rise to 
 jaundice, it is said, by causing the matter 
 secreted to be reabsorbed into the capillary 
 blood-vessels of the liver, instead of being 
 carried out by the branches of the bile- 
 duct. The idea of the ludicrous raises 
 a mental emotion which bursts out in 
 laughter ; grief finds an outlet in tears. 
 Complacency with those we converse with is 
 manifested in smiles. We read, in various 
 languages, of lightness of heart, of the 
 paleness of fear, of the breathlessness of 
 surprise, of the trembling with passion, of 
 bowels of compassion, of the jaundiced eye 
 of envy, and all these figures embody truths 
 recognised in universal experience. It is a 
 curious circumstance that young infants do 
 not shed tears, though they utter screams 
 and fall into convulsions. These last are 
 the effects of pain, but they do not shed 
 tears till they have an emotion, with its 
 idea of the appetible and inappetible. — 
 AT Cosh, ' The Emotions,' p. 91. 
 
 Emotions regarded as restraints upon 
 action. 
 
 Besides the restraint upon activity, aris- 
 ing (i) from the natural laws of exercise, 
 and (2) from the application of moral law, 
 there are certain natural forces whose 
 primary, though not exclusive, function it 
 is to restrain from action. These are 
 Emotions, of which the chief are Wonder, 
 Grief, and Fear. — Calderwood, ' Moral Fhilo- 
 sophy,' p. 161. 
 
 The muscidar expression of Emotion. 
 
 Visible muscular expression is to passion 
 what language or audible muscular ex- 
 pression is to thought. Bacon rightly, 
 therefore, pointed out the advantage of a 
 study of the forms of expression. 'For,' 
 he says, ' the lineaments of the body do 
 disclose the disposition and inclination of 
 the mind in general; but the motions of 
 the countenance and facts do not only so, 
 but do further disclose the present humour 
 and state of the mind or will.' The muscles 
 of the countenance are the chief exponents 
 
304 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 of human feeling, mucli of the variety of 
 which is due to the action of the orbicular 
 muscles with the system of elevating and 
 depressing muscles. The manifold shades 
 and kinds of expression which the lips 
 present — the gibes, gambols, and flashes of 
 merriment ; the quick language of a quiver- 
 ing nostril ; the varied waves and ripples 
 of beautiful emotion which play on the 
 human countenance, with the spasms of 
 passion that disfigure it — all which we take 
 such pains to embody in art — are simply 
 effects of muscular action. — Maudsley, 
 ' Mind and Bodij^ p. 28. 
 
 The close connection between mind and 
 body is nowhere more plainly illustrated 
 than in the correlation between states of 
 feeling and certain bodily accompaniments. 
 Feeling is accompanied by well - marked 
 physical changes, including those external 
 manifestations which are commonly called 
 expression, facial movements, gestures, 
 modifications of vocal utterance, &c., to- 
 gether with certain internal organic effects. 
 Pleasure and pain, and to some extent the 
 several kinds of pleasurable or painful 
 feelings, as anger, fear, love, reverence, 
 have their distinct or characteristic ex- 
 pression. — Sully, ' Psychology,' p. 454. 
 
 Mr. Darwin, by his own observations, 
 and by the answers given to queries which 
 he issued as to the various races of man- 
 kind, especially those who have associated 
 but little with Europeans, seems to have 
 established the following points, some of 
 them, perhaps, only provisionally and par- 
 tially. Astonishment is expressed by the 
 eyes and mouth being opened wide, and 
 by the eyebrows being raised. Shame 
 excites a blush when the colour of the skin 
 allows it to be visible. When a man is in- 
 dignant or defiant he frowns, holds his 
 body and head erect, squares his shoulders, 
 and clenches his fists. When considering 
 deeply on any subject, or trying to under- 
 stand any puzzle, he is apt to frown and 
 wrinkle the skin beneath the lower eye- 
 lids. When in low spirits the corners of 
 the mouth are depressed, and the inner 
 
 corner of the eyebrows are raised by that 
 muscle which the French call the "grief 
 muscle." The eyebrow in this state be- 
 comes slightly oblique, with a little swelling 
 at the inner end ; and the forehead is 
 transversely wrinkled in the middle part, 
 but not across the whole breadth, as when 
 the eyebrows are raised in surprise. When 
 persons are in good spirits the eyes sparkle, 
 the skin is a little wrinkled round and 
 under them, and the mouth a little drawn 
 back at the corners. When a man sneers 
 or snai-ls at another the corner of the 
 upper lip over the canine or eye tooth is 
 raised on the side facing the man whom 
 he addresses. A dogged or obstinate ex- 
 pression may often be recognised, being 
 chiefly shown by the mouth being firmly 
 closed, by a lowering brow, and a slight 
 frown. Contempt is expressed by a slight 
 protrusion of the lips and by turning up 
 the nose with a slight expiration. Dis- 
 gust is shown by the lower lip being turned 
 down, the upper lip slightly raised, with a 
 sudden expiration something like incipient 
 vomiting, or like something spit out of the 
 mouth. Laughter may be carried to such 
 an extreme as to bring tears into the eyes. 
 When a man wishes to show that he cannot 
 prevent something being done, or cannot 
 himself do something, he is apt to shrug 
 his shoulders, turn inwards his elbows, 
 extend outwards his hands, and open the 
 palms, with the eyebrows raised. Children 
 when sulky are disposed to pout, or greatly 
 protrude the lips. The head is nodded ver- 
 tically in affirmation, and shaken laterally in 
 negation. — APCosli, ^ The Emotions' p. 95. 
 The feelings have in common the charac- 
 ter that they cause bodily action which is 
 violent in proportion as they are intense. 
 We have the set teeth, distorted features, 
 and clenched hands accompanying bodily 
 pain, as well as those accompanying rage. 
 There is a tearing of the hair fi'om fury as 
 well as despair. There are the dancings of 
 joy, as well as the stampings of anger. There 
 is the restlessness of moral distress, and there 
 is the inability to sit still which ecstasy pro- 
 duces. — Spencer, ' Psychology, 'ii. 541. 
 
DEFINITIONS, CLASSIFICATIONS, ETC. 
 
 30s 
 
 The emotional manifestations are often 
 complicated by restraints intentionally put 
 on the actions of the external organs, for 
 the purpose of hiding or disguising the 
 feelings. The secondary feelings prompting 
 this concealment have a natural language 
 of their own ; which in some cases is easily 
 read even by those of ordinary intelligence, 
 and is read by those of quick insight in 
 cases where it is comparatively unobtrusive. 
 Some of the most common are those in 
 which the hands play a part. Often an 
 agitation not clearly shown in the face is 
 betrayed by fumbling movements of the 
 fingers — perhaps in twisting or untwisting 
 the corner of an apron. Or again, a state 
 of mauvaise Jionte, othei-wise tolerably well 
 concealed, is indicated by an obvious diffi- 
 culty in finding fit positions for the hands. 
 Similarly pain or anger, the ordinary signs 
 of which are consciously suppressed, may 
 be indicated by a clenching of the fingers. — 
 Spencer, 'Psychology/,' p. 551. 
 
 TJieories of the expression of Emotion. 
 
 Sir a Bell. 
 
 If we attend to the evidence of the ana- 
 tomical investigation, we shall perceive a 
 remarkable difference between the provi- 
 sion for giving motion to the features in 
 animals and that for bestowing expression 
 in man. In the lower creatures there is 
 no exi^ression but what may be referred, 
 more or less plainly, to their acts of voli- 
 tion or necessary instincts ; while in man 
 there seems to be a special apparatus for the 
 purpose of enabling him to communicate 
 with his fellow-creatures by that natural 
 language which is read in the changes of 
 his countenance. There exist in his face not 
 only all those parts, which by their action 
 produce expression in the several classes of 
 quadrupeds, bvit there is added a peculiar 
 set of muscles to which no other office can 
 be assigned than to serve for expression. — 
 ^Anatomy of Expression,' p. 113. 
 
 Spencer. 
 
 Every feeling, peripheral or central, sen- 
 sational or emotional, is the concomitant 
 
 of a nervous disturbance and resulting 
 nervous discharge, that has on the body 
 both a special effect and a general effect. 
 
 The general effect is this. The molecu- 
 lar motion disengaged in any nerve-centre 
 by any stimulus tends ever to flow along 
 lines of least resistance throughout the 
 nervous system, exciting other nerve- 
 centres and setting up other discharges. 
 The feelings of all orders, moderate as well 
 as strong, which from instant to instant 
 arise in consciousness, are the correlatives 
 of nerve-waves continually being generated 
 and continually reverberating throughout 
 the nervous system, — the perpetual nervous 
 discharge constituted by these perpetually 
 generated waves affecting both the viscera 
 and the muscles, voluntary and involun- 
 tary. 
 
 At the same time, every particular kind 
 of feeling, sensational or emotional, being 
 located in a specialised nervous structure 
 that has relations to special parts of the 
 body, tends to produce on the body an efi'ect 
 that is special. The speciality may be very 
 simple and constant, as in a sneeze, or it 
 may be much involved and variable within 
 wide limits, as in the actions showing angei\ 
 But all qualifications bemg made, it is un- 
 deniable that there is a certain specialisa- 
 tion of the discharge, giving some distinc- 
 tiveness to the-- bodily changes by which 
 each feeling is accompanied. — 'Principles of 
 Psychology,'' ii. 540. 
 
 Darioin. 
 
 Tlie general principles of expression. 
 
 1, The principle of serviceable associated 
 Habits. — Certain complex actions are of 
 direct or indirect service under certain 
 states of the mind in order to relieve or 
 gratify certain sensations, desires, &c., and 
 whenever the same state of mind is induced, 
 however feebly, there is a tendency through 
 the force of habit and association for the 
 same movements to be performed, though 
 they may not then be of the least use. 
 
 2. The principle of Avtithfsis. — Certain 
 states of the mind lead to certain habitual 
 
 u 
 
3o6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 actions which are of service, as under our first 
 principle. Now, when a directly opposite 
 state of mind is induced, there is a strong 
 and invokintary tendency to the performance 
 of movements of a directly opposite nature, 
 though these are of no use ; and such move- 
 ments are in some cases highly expressive. 
 3. The principle of actions due to the con- 
 stitution of the nervous system, independently 
 from the first of the Will, and independently 
 to a certain extent of Habit. — When the sen- 
 sorium is strongly excited, nerve-force is 
 generated in excess, and is transmitted in 
 certain definite directions, depending on 
 the connection of the nerve-cells and partly 
 on habit ; or the supply of nerve-force may, 
 as it appears, be interrupted. Effects are 
 thus produced which we recognise as ex- 
 pressive. This thii'd principle may, for the 
 sake of brevity, be called that of the direct 
 action of the nervous system. — ' Expression 
 of the Emotions,' pp. 28, 29. 
 
 The vocal expression of Emotion. 
 
 We have the words * growling ' and 
 'grumbling,' commonly used to describe 
 the vocal expression of more or less decided 
 anger. Oaths, when uttered ^vith much 
 depth of passion, are uttered in the deepest 
 bass. A curse, muttered between set teeth, 
 is always in a low pitch. And in masses 
 of people indignation habitually vents it- 
 self in groans. That anger also expresses 
 itself vocally in screaming notes, is doubt- 
 less true. A rising tide of feeling, 
 causing increased muscular strain, may 
 adjust the vocal apparatus to tones in- 
 creasingly higher or increasingly lower — 
 either of these implying muscular strain 
 that is greater as departure from the 
 medium tones is wider. Possibly the 
 reason why anger that is beginning uses 
 the lower tones, and when it becomes 
 violent uses tones of high pitch, is that 
 tones much below the middle voice are 
 made with less effort than tones much 
 above it ; and that hence, implying as they 
 do a greater excess of nervous discharge, 
 the higher tones are natural to the stronger 
 passion. — Spencer, ^Psychology,' ii. 549. 
 
 The Pleasure of Excited Emotion. 
 
 Young men turn soldiers and sailors 
 from the love of being agitated ; and for 
 the same reason, country gentlemen leap 
 over stone walls. This — and not avarice 
 — is the explanation of gaming. Men who 
 game, are, in general, very little addicted 
 to avarice ; but they court the conflict of 
 passions which gaming produces, and which 
 guards them from the dulness of ennui to 
 which they would otherwise feel themselves 
 exposed. The love of emotion is the founda- 
 tion of tragedy; and so pleasant is it to 
 be moved, that we set off for the express 
 pui^pose of looking excessively dismal for 
 two hours and a half interspersed with 
 long intervals of positive sobbing. The 
 taste for emotion may, however, become a 
 dangerous taste; and we should be very 
 cautious how we attempt to squeeze out of 
 human life, more ecstasy and paroxysm 
 than it can well afford. It throws an air 
 of insipidity over the greater part of our 
 being, and lavishes on a few favoured 
 moments the joy which was given to 
 season our whole existence. It is to act 
 like schoolboys, — to pick the plums and 
 sweetmeats out of the cake, and quarrel 
 with the insipidity of the batter : whereas 
 the business is, to infuse a certain share of 
 flavour throughout the whole of the mass ; 
 and not so to habituate ourselves to strong 
 impulse and extraordinary feeling, that the 
 common tenor of human affairs should 
 appear to us incapable of amusement, and 
 devoid of interest. The only safe method 
 of indvilging this taste for emotion, is by 
 seeking for its gratification, not in passion, 
 but in science, and all the pleasures of the 
 understandhig ; by mastering some new 
 difliculty; by seeing some new field of 
 speculation open itself before us ; by learn- 
 ing the creations, the divisions, the con- 
 nections, the designs, and contrivances of 
 nature. — Smith, 'Moral Philosophy,' p. 343. 
 
 Relation of Passion to Emotion. 
 
 The popular word for affections in their 
 highest degree, is passion; and the objec- 
 tion to using it, is, that it only means the 
 
GENERAL FEELINGS. 
 
 307 
 
 exxess of the feeling : for instance, we could 
 not say that a man experienced the passion 
 of anger who felt a calm indignation at a 
 serious injiny he had received ; we should 
 only think ourselves justifiable in applying 
 the term passion if he were transported 
 beyond all bounds, if his reason were almost 
 vanquished, and if the bodily signs of that 
 passion were visible in his appeai-ance. — 
 Smith, 'Moral Philosophy,' p. 288. 
 
 Origin of the Emotions. 
 
 Sensation and Pcrcrption. 
 
 We may safely assume it to be admitted 
 as a general truth that Emotions of various 
 kinds gradually manifest themselves and 
 gain in strength as the sensorial endow- 
 ments of animals, and their relational corre- 
 spondence with their environment, increase 
 in definiteness and complexity. ' Plea- 
 sures ' and 'pains' soon begin to be re- 
 alised as direct results of their various 
 movements and sensorial activities ; and 
 from the traces of these which survive in 
 the form of nascent and clustered memo- 
 ries of many related sensations, those 
 numerous, vague, but all-powerful modes 
 of Feeling, commonly known as Emotions, 
 take their origin, and often seem to in- 
 crease in strength as the wealth of asso- 
 ciations from which they are derived be- 
 comes organised and widened in successive 
 generations of animals. The revival of 
 such vague clustered memories of ' plea- 
 sures' or 'pains' usually follows as a direct 
 result of some Perception. An impi-ession 
 made upon some organ of sense may thence 
 reverberate through the brain so as to pro- 
 duce a Perception of the corresponding ob- 
 ject, and may simultaneously evoke some 
 distinctly related Emotion. — Bastian, ' The 
 Brain, ^r.,' p. 184. 
 
 By Evolution and Inheritance. 
 
 The law of development of the mental 
 activities, considered under their cognitive 
 aspect, equally applies to them considered 
 under their emotional aspect. That gra- 
 dual organisation of forms of thought 
 which results from the experience of uni- 
 
 form external relations is accompanied by 
 the organisation of forms of feeling simi- 
 larly resulting. Given a race of organisms 
 habitually placed in contact with any com- 
 plex set of circumstances, and if its mem- 
 bers are already able to co-ordinate the 
 impressions made by each of the various 
 minor groups of phenomena composing this 
 set of circumstances, there will slowly be 
 established in them a co-ordination of these 
 compound impressions corresponding to this 
 set of circumstances. The constant expe- 
 riences of successive generations will gra- 
 dually strengthen the tendency of all the 
 component clusters of psychical states to 
 make one another nascent. And when 
 ultimately the union of them, expressed in 
 the inherited organic structure, becomes 
 innate, it will constitute what we call an 
 emotion or sentiment, having this set 
 of circumstances for its object. — Spencer, 
 '■Principles of Psijchology,^ i. 491. 
 
 II. GENERAL FEELINGS. 
 Pleasure and Pain. 
 
 Definition. 
 
 Pleasure, strictly so called, is the emotion 
 of comfort or delight that accompanies 
 certain states of the body and conditions 
 of the things around us, as well as the 
 different objects and frames of the mind. — 
 Murphy, 'Human Mind,' p. 172. 
 
 Pain is the opposite of this state of mind. 
 Pleasure is a reflex of the spontaneous and 
 unimpeded exertion of a power, of whose 
 energy we are conscious. Pain, a reflex of 
 the overstrained or repressed exertion of such 
 a power. — Hamilton, 'Metaphysics,' ii. 440. 
 
 By pleasure and pain I must be imder- 
 stood to mean whatsoever delight or un- 
 easiness is felt by us, whether arising from 
 any grateful or unacceptable sensation or 
 reflection. — Locke, 'Human Understanding' 
 II. XX. 15. 
 
 Different Kinds. 
 
 Pleasures differ in kind according to the 
 capacities or faculties on whose exercise 
 
3o8 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 they attend, and they vary in quality accord- 
 ing to the quality of mental exercise, of 
 which they are the natural accompaniment. 
 In accordance with the first statement, 
 we speak of the pleasures of the senses, 
 of the affections, of the intellect, of the 
 imagination. In accordance with the 
 second, we speak of the pleasures of the 
 senses as lower than those of the intellect, 
 and sensualism is a term of reproach applied 
 to the indulgence of the appetites, in neglect 
 of the restraints of understanding and con- 
 science. As the active transcends the pas- 
 sive, so does the happiness of activity sur- 
 pass in value all the pleasures which spring 
 from mere sensibility. And, as among the 
 active powers, some transcend others, the 
 attendant pleasures are graduated accord- 
 ingly. — Calderwood, ' Moral Pliilosophy,' 
 p. 125. 
 
 There are different kinds of pleasure, and 
 different kinds of pain. In the first place, 
 these are twofold, inasmuch as each is either 
 Positive and Absolute, or Negative and Re- 
 lative. In regard to the former, the mere 
 negation of pain does, by relation to pain, 
 constitute a state of pleasure. Thus, the 
 removal of the toothache replaces us in a 
 state which, though one really of indiffer- 
 ence, is, by contrast to our previous agony, 
 felt as pleasurable. This is negative or 
 relative pleasure. Positive or absolute 
 pleasure, on the contrary, is all that plea- 
 sure which we feel above a state of indiffer- 
 ence, and which is therefore prized as a 
 good in itself, and not simply as the re- 
 moval of an evil. On the same principle, 
 pain is divided into Positive or Absolute, 
 and into Negative or Relative. — Hamilton, 
 ^Metaphysics,^ ii. 442. 
 
 On the side of Pleasure, we have, as lead- 
 ing elements : — Muscular Exercise, Rest 
 after Exercise ; Healthy Organic Sensi- 
 bility in general, and Alimentary Sensa- 
 tions in particular; Sweet Tastes and 
 Odours ; Soft and Warm Touches ; Melody 
 and Harmony in Sound ; Cheerful Light 
 and Coloured Spectacle; the Sexual feel- 
 ings ; Liberty after Constraint ; Novelty 
 
 and Wonder; the warm Tender Emotions; 
 Sexual, Maternal, and Paternal Love ; 
 Friendship, Admiration, Esteem, and Socia- 
 bihty in general ; Self-complacency and 
 Praise; Power, Influence, Command; Re- 
 venge ; the Interest of Plot and Pursuit ; 
 the charms of knowledge and Intellectual 
 Exertion ; the cycle of the Fine Arts, culmi- 
 nating in Music, Painting, and Poetry, with 
 which we couple the enjoyment of Natural 
 Beauty ; the satisfaction attainable through 
 Sympathy and the Moral Sentiment. 
 
 The Pains are mostly implied in the 
 negation of the pleasures : — Muscular 
 Fatigue, Organic derangements and dis- 
 eases. Cold, Hunger, 111 Tastes, and Odours ; 
 Skin Lacerations ; Discords in Sound ; 
 Darkness, Gloom, and excessive glare of 
 Light; ungratified Sexual Appetite; Re- 
 straint after Freedom ; Monotony ; Fear 
 in all its manifestations ; privation in the 
 Affections; Sorrow; Self-humiliation and 
 Shame; Impotence and Servitude; disap- 
 pointed Revenge ; baulked Pursuit or Plot ; 
 Intellectual Contradictions and Obscurity ; 
 the ^sthetically Ugly ; Harrowed Sympa- 
 thies ; an Evil Conscience. — Bain, ' Mental 
 and Moral Science,' Appendix, p. 76. 
 
 The pleasures which are received through 
 the emotional faculty may be arranged, ac- 
 cording to the sources from which they 
 spring, under the following heads : — 
 
 I. 
 
 Pleasures of 
 Sense. 
 
 f I. Appetite. 
 
 2. Health. 
 [ 3. Taste. 
 
 n. 
 
 Pl,KARURBS OP 
 
 Intellect. 
 
 ( 4. Utility. 
 I 5. Knowledge. 
 ( 6. Imagination. 
 
 III. 
 
 Pleasures of 
 Conscience. 
 
 ( 7. The Right. 
 I 8. The True. 
 ( 9, The Good. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Pleasures of 
 THE Will. 
 
 ( 10. Volition. 
 / II. Liberty. 
 ( 1 2. Sociality. 
 /13. Action. 
 
 V. 
 
 Pleasures of 
 
 j 14. Courage. 
 
 
 Power. 
 
 j 15. Success. 
 '16. Rest. 
 
 
 — Murphy, 'Hitman Mind,' p. 179 
 
GENERAL FEELINGS. 
 
 309 
 
 Diverse Quality of Pleasures. 
 
 Mr. John S. Mill has insisteil, ^vitll pecu- 
 liar felicity, on the diversity of quality 
 among pleasures. It is one of his highest 
 distinctions, as an expounder of Utilitari- 
 anism and a leader of thought, that he has 
 given prominence to the superior quality 
 of some pleasures in comparison with others. 
 Thus he has dwelt upon the important fact 
 that ' a being of higher faculties requires 
 more to make him happy . . . than one of 
 an inferior type.' So also he points to the 
 fact that those equally capable of appre- 
 ciating and enjoying all pleasures ' give a 
 most marked preference to the manner of 
 existence which employs their higher facul- 
 ties.' — Caldenoood, * Moral Pldlosopliy,' p. 
 125. 
 
 It would be absurd that while, in esti- 
 mating all other things, quality is con- 
 sidered as well as quantity, the estimation 
 of pleasures should be supposed to depend 
 on quantity alone. Now it is an unques- 
 tionable fact that those who are equally 
 acquainted with, and equally capable of 
 appreciating and enjoying both, do give a 
 most marked preference to the manner of 
 existence which employs their higher facul- 
 ties. Few human creatures would consent 
 to be changed into any of the lower ani- 
 mals for a promise of the fullest allowance 
 of a beast's pleasures ; no intelligent human 
 being would consent to be a fool, no in- 
 structed person would be an ignoramus, no 
 person of feeling and conscience would be 
 seltish and base, even though they should 
 be persuaded that the fool, the dunce, or 
 the rascal is better satisfied with his lot 
 than they are with theirs. ... It is better 
 to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig 
 satisfied ; better to be a Socrates dissatisfied 
 than a fool satisfied. And if the fool or the 
 pig is of a different opinion, it is because 
 the}' only know their own side of the ques- 
 tion. — Mill, ' Utilitarianism,^ pp. 11, 14. 
 
 Theories of Pleasure and Pain. 
 
 The rise of pleasure, as connected with 
 the functions of our life, admits of a two- 
 
 fold explanation. It is the natural accom- 
 paniment of our Sensations or of the exer- 
 cise of our energies. In the one ca.se, it 
 attends upon our ' Passivity or Recep- 
 tivity,' as in the warmth of the body or 
 the cooling influence of the breeze. In the 
 other case, it attends upon our Activity or 
 Voluntary use of powers, as in the exercise 
 of our muscles or of our reasoning power. 
 The former belongs to sentient existence ; 
 the latter to active existence, whether phy- 
 sical or intellectual, or both combined. 
 
 Besides these forms of pleasure there is 
 another which does not here call for special 
 note, namely, pleasure in the possession of 
 objects of value. 
 
 Pain comes either through injury in- 
 flicted upon the Sentient organism or 
 through unnatural restraint upon the ener- 
 gies when brought into exercise. Pain is 
 not merely a negation or want of pleasure, 
 but a positive experience, opposite in kind. 
 — Caldenoood, ' Moral Phil osoijhij,' p. 124- 
 Plato is the first philosopher who can be 
 said to have attempted the generalisation 
 of a law which regulates the manifestation 
 of pleasure and pain. The sum of his 
 doctrine on the subject is this, — that Plea- 
 sure is nothing absolute, nothing positive, 
 but a mere relation to, a mere negation of 
 pain. Pain is the root, the condition, the 
 antecedent of pleasure, and the latter is only 
 a restoration of the feeling subject from a 
 state contrary to nature to a state conform- 
 able with nature. Pleasure is the mere 
 replenishing of a vacuum, the mere satisfy- 
 ing of a want. A state of pleasure is always 
 preceded by a state of pain. 
 
 Aristotle first refutes the Platonic theory 
 that pleasure is only the removal of a pain. 
 He then proposes his own doctrine. Plea- 
 sure, he maintains, is the concomitant of 
 energy, — of perfect energy, whether of the 
 functions of Sense or Intellect ; and perfect 
 energy he describes as that which proceeds 
 from a power in health and vigour, and ex- 
 ercised upon an object relatively excellent 
 that is suited to call forth the power into 
 unimpeded activity. 
 
 To these two theories we find nothing 
 
3IO 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 added, worthy of commemoration, by the 
 succeeding philosophers of Greece and 
 E-ome; nay, we do not find that in anti- 
 quity these doctrines received any farther 
 development or confirmation. A host 
 of commentators in the Lower Empire, 
 and during the middle ages, were content 
 to repeat the doctrines of Aristotle and 
 Plato. The philosopher next in order is 
 Descartes ; and his opinion is deserving of 
 attention. His philosophy of the pleasur- 
 able is promulgated in one short sentence 
 of the sixth letter of the First Part of his 
 ' Epistles.' It is as follows : — ' All our 
 pleasure is nothing more than the conscious- 
 ness of some one or other of our perfec- 
 tions.' 
 
 The Kantian doctrine is this : — ' Plea- 
 sure is the feeling of the furtherance, pain 
 of the hindrance of life. In a state of 
 pain, life appears long, in a state of plea- 
 sure, it seems brief; it is only, therefore, 
 the feeling of the promotion, — the further- 
 ance of life, which constitutes pleasure.' — 
 Hamilton, ^ Metaphysics , ii. sect, xliii. 
 (abridged). 
 
 The Guidance afforded by Pleasure and 
 Pain. 
 
 They are the index of the natural and un- 
 natural. 
 
 Pleasure, being a form of experience 
 naturally attendant upon the use of our 
 sensibilities or energies, is not the end of 
 their use. Pain, being attendant upon the 
 injury or restraint of our powers, is not 
 the product of their natural use. Pleasure 
 and pain are the index of the natural and 
 the unnatural in the use of powers ; of 
 conformity with the law of their exercise, 
 or violation of that law. As Feuchters- 
 leben has said, ' Beauty is in some degree 
 the reflection of health,' so pleasure is the 
 symbol of natural exercise. Pleasure and 
 pain are respectively as the smooth play or 
 the irksome fretting of machinery, but 
 neither is the end for which it is kept 
 moving. Consciousness of simple pleasure 
 and nothing more, is unknown. A capacity 
 
 or faculty whose function it is to produce 
 pleasure and nothing more, is unknown. 
 Pleasure may thus be genei^alised as the 
 common accompaniment of all natural exer- 
 cise. — Calderwood, ' Moral Philosophy,' p. 
 124. 
 
 They lead to Self-conservation. 
 
 The connection of feelings with physical 
 states may be summed up, for one large 
 class of the facts, in the law of self-conser- 
 vation : — States of pleasvire are concomi- 
 tant with an increase, and states of pain 
 with an abatement, of some or all, of the 
 vital functions. Muscular exertion, when 
 pleasurable, is the outpouring of exuberant 
 energy; muscular fatigue is the result of 
 exhaustion. Laughter is a joyful expres- 
 sion ; and, in all its parts, it indicates 
 exalted energy. In the convulsive out- 
 burst of grief nearly everything is reversed; 
 the features are relaxed, the whole body 
 droops. — Bain, '■Mental Science,'' pp. 75, 77. 
 
 Generally speaking, pleasures are the 
 concomitants of medium activities, where 
 the activities are of kinds liable to be in 
 excess or defect; and where they are of 
 kinds not liable to be excessive, pleasure 
 increases as the activity increases, except 
 where the activity is either constant or in- 
 voluntary. — Spencer, ^ Psychology,^ i. 272. 
 
 Three Psychological Facts. 
 
 Mr. Spencer notices three psychological 
 facts, to which the student's attention may 
 be directed. 
 
 1. Pleasui"es to a great extent, and pains 
 to some extent, are separate from, and 
 additional to, the feelings with which we 
 habitually connect them. 
 
 2. Pleasures and pains may be acquired, 
 may be, as it were, superinduced on cer- 
 tain feelings which did not originally yield 
 them. 
 
 3. Pleasures are more like one another 
 than are the feelings which yield them, and 
 among pains we may trace a parallel resem- 
 blance. — Spencer, 'Psychology,'' i. 286-288. 
 
GENERAL FEELINGS. 
 
 3^1 
 
 Pain. 
 
 In relation to moral evil. 
 
 There is as close a connection between 
 sin and pain as there is between virtue and 
 happiness. Tliere may indeed be happiness, 
 and there may be suffering, whei-e there is 
 neither virtue nor the opposite, as, for ex- 
 ample, among the brute creation; but avb 
 decide that, wherever there is virtue, it 
 merits happiness, and wherever there is sin, 
 that it deserves suffering, and we are led 
 to anticipate that the proper consequences 
 will follow under the government of a good 
 and a holy God. But as the intellectual 
 intuition of causation, while it constrains 
 us to look for a cause, does not make known 
 the precise cause, so our moral conviction 
 of merit, while it leads us to look for the 
 punishment of sin, does not specify where, 
 or when, or how the penalty is to be in- 
 flicted : all that it intimates is that it should 
 and shall come. This conviction keeps alive 
 in the breasts of the wicked, at least an 
 occasional fear of punishment, even in the 
 midst of the greatest outward prosperity, 
 and points very emphatically, if not very 
 distinctly, to a day of judgment and of 
 righteous retribution. — M'Gosli, ' Intuitions 
 of the Mind^ p. 268. 
 
 As a source of fear. 
 
 Pain is the teacher of fear. Before pain 
 there is ??o fear; and when that passion 
 exists, however great the distance, and how- 
 ever circuitous the course, there is the foun- 
 tain-head from which it sprang. — Smith, 
 ' 3Ioral Philosophy,' p. 294. 
 
 The Indifferent Feelings. 
 
 Their existence asserted. 
 
 Besides the sensations that are either 
 agi-eeable or disagreeable, there is still a 
 greater number that are indifferent. To 
 these we give so little attention, that they 
 have no name, and are immediately forgot, 
 as if they had never been ; and it requires 
 attention to the operations if one minds 
 to be convinced of their existence. — Eeid, 
 ^Intellectual Powers,'' p. 311. 
 
 We may feel, and yet be neither pleased 
 nor pained. A state of feeling may have 
 considerable intensity, without being either 
 pleasurable or painful ; such states are 
 described as neutral or indifferent. Sur- 
 prise is a familiar instance. There are 
 surprises that delight us, and others that 
 cause suffering; but many surprises do 
 neither. We are awakened, roused, stirred, 
 made conscious ; on the physical side there 
 is a diffused wave shown in lively demon- 
 strations of feature, gesture, voice, and 
 oral expression. The attention is detained 
 upon some object, the source of feeling; 
 if a sudden clap of thunder, or flash of 
 lightning, excited the feeling, the mind is 
 for the moment occupied with the sensa- 
 tion, and withdrawn from other objects of 
 thought. 
 
 Almost every pleasurable and painful 
 sensation and emotion passes through a 
 stage or moment of indifference. — Bain, 
 ^Emotions, Sfc.,' p. 13. 
 
 Their existence disputed. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton says that the existence 
 of the indifferent feelings 'is a point in 
 dispute among philosophers.' — Hamilton's 
 ^ Reid,' p. 311, note. 
 
 It may be questioned whether any feel- 
 ing as such can be indifferent. — Sullf/, 
 ' Psychologu,' p. 449. 
 
 Joy, or Mental Pleasure. 
 
 Its causes. 
 
 The primary causes of joy are (i) plea- 
 sant sensations and their objects; (2) 
 knowledge of any kind ; (3) every descrip- 
 tion of exercise; and (4) every degree of 
 effectiveness. 
 
 The secondary causes of joy are Riches, 
 Authority, Society, Superiority. These 
 please because they contain the primary 
 causes of pleasure, or because previously 
 connected with them. — Godwin, ' Actice 
 Pri7iciples,' pp. 9, 18. 
 
 Is not a sensation. 
 
 The pleasant emotion is very different 
 from any pleasant sensation. The highest 
 
312 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 joy is felt without any agreeable sensation, 
 and when all sensations are disagreeable. — 
 Godioin, ' Active Principles,^ p. 9. 
 
 Surprise and Wonder. 
 
 Tlieir cmises. 
 
 Surprise is caused by contrarieiy to ex- 
 pectation, not by what is merely unex- 
 pected. "We are surprised on meeting a 
 friend whom we supposed to be in a distant 
 country ; on hearing that any one said or 
 did what seems contrary to his known ways 
 and character ; when persons fail whom we 
 expected to succeed, or succeed when we 
 expected they would fail ; when any objects 
 appear to be different from what they were 
 thought to be ; when any events occur which 
 are deemed unnatural. 
 
 Wonder is awakened by greatness of any 
 kind, material or mental. We view with 
 wonder the height of a lofty mountain, the 
 expanse of the ocean, the number of the 
 stars, buildings of extraordinary dimen- 
 sions. The same emotion is caused by 
 considering the magnitudes, distances, and 
 movements of the heavenly bodies ; the 
 force of gravitation, steam, electricity ; the 
 unseen power which regularly renews the 
 verdure and fruitfulness of the earth, and 
 sustains every living thing. Wonder is 
 produced by what is mental and moral — 
 by large attainments in knowledge, great 
 intellectual ability, much energy of will in 
 doing or suffering. — Godwin, ' Active Prin- 
 ciples,' pp. 23, 24. 
 
 Emotions of Action — Pursuit and Plot- 
 interest. 
 
 In working to some end, as the ascent of 
 a mountain, or in watching any consumma- 
 tion drawing near, as a race, we are in a 
 peculiar state of arrested attention, which, 
 as an agreeable effect, is often desired for 
 itself. 
 
 On the Physical side, the situation of 
 pursuit is marked by (i) the intent occu- 
 pation of some one of the senses upon 
 an object, and (2) the general attitude 
 or activity harmonising with this; there 
 
 being, on the whole, an energetic muscular 
 strain. 
 
 On the Mental side, Pursuit supposes 
 (i) a motive in the interest of an end, 
 heightened by its steady approach ; (2) the 
 state of engrossment in object regards, with 
 remission of subject regards. — Bain, ^Men- 
 tal Science,' p. 268. 
 
 Ill THE JESTHETIC FEELINGS. 
 
 Esthetics. 
 The Term. 
 
 Its first application. 
 
 Alex. Gottlieb Baumgarten (17 14-1762) 
 wrote, among other things, a work entitled 
 '^sthetica,' in which he systematically de- 
 veloped this branch of philosophy, to which 
 he first gave the name of .Esthetics, on 
 the ground of his definition of beauty as 
 perfection apprehended through the senses. 
 — Ueherweg, ^ Hist, of Phil.,' \i. 117. 
 
 Its meaning. 
 
 Etymologically, the term comes from a 
 Greek word signifying sensation or per- 
 ception. Esthetics, then, should be that 
 science which treats of sensations and per- 
 ceptions. All of them, or only some of 
 them ? In the former case, we should have 
 a complete system of philosophy. In the 
 latter case, the term is wanting in preci- 
 sion ; because it does not tell us with which 
 perceptions or sensations it is concerned. 
 The word, in fine, is ill made. But it has 
 passed into use, and we must put up with 
 it for want of a better. — Veron, ^JEsthetics,' 
 P- 95- 
 
 Definition. 
 
 We may preserve the definition of aes- 
 thetics which usage has sanctioned — The 
 Science of Beauty. For the sake of clear- 
 ness, however, and to prevent confusion, 
 we prefer to call it the Science of Beauty in 
 Art. Or we may put it thus : — Esthetics 
 is the science whose object is the study and 
 elucidation of the manifestations of artistic 
 genius. — Veron, 'Esthetics,' p. 109. 
 
THE .ESTHETIC FEELINGS. 
 
 1^3 
 
 iEstlietics is the term now employed to 
 designate the theory of the line arts — the 
 Science of the Beautiful, with its allied 
 conceptions and emotions. The province 
 of the science is not, however, very definitely 
 fixed. — ' Encydo}-). Brit.,' i. 212, 
 
 The Chief Problem of .Esthetics. 
 
 Its first and foremost problem is the 
 determination of the nature and laws of 
 beavity, including along with the beautiful, 
 in its narrower signification, its kindred 
 subjects, the sublime and the ludicrous. 
 To discover what it is in things which makes 
 them beautiful or ugly, sublime or ludi- 
 crous, is one constant factor in the aesthetic 
 problem. — ^ Encydop. Brit.,' i. 212. 
 
 Two metlwds of ajpproaching it. 
 
 We find two diametrically opposed 
 methods of approaching the subject-matter 
 of Eesthetics, which distinctly colour all 
 parts of the doctrine arrived at. The first 
 is the metaphysical or d priori method ; 
 the second, the scientific or empirical 
 method. The one reasons deductively from 
 ultra-scientific conceptions respecting the 
 ultimate nature of the universe and human 
 intelligence, and seeks to explain the pheno- 
 mena of Beauty and Art by help of these. 
 The others proceed inductively from tlie 
 consideration of these phenomena, as facts 
 capable of being compared, classified, and 
 brought under certain uniformities. It 
 must not be supposed that either method 
 is customarily pursued in complete inde- 
 pendence of the other. — ^ Encijdop). Brit.^ 
 i. 212. 
 
 For the various theories of the beautiful, 
 see "Beauty." 
 
 Art. 
 
 Wlmt it is — opinions of piliilosophers. 
 
 Art is free production. Mechanical art 
 executes those actions, which are prescribed 
 by our knowledge of a possible object, as 
 necessary to the realisation of the object. 
 .Esthetic art has immediately in view the 
 feeling of pleasure, either as mere sensation 
 
 (agreeable art) or as pleasure in the beauti- 
 ful and implying judgment (fine art). — Kant 
 (summarised by Uehenceg). 
 
 Art is conscious imitation of the un- 
 conscious ideality of nature, imitation of 
 nature in the culminating points of its 
 development; the highest stage of art is 
 the negation of form through the perfect 
 fulness of form ; the annihilation of form 
 through the perfection of form. Through 
 ever higher combination and final blending 
 of manifold forms, the artist who emulates 
 nature must attain to the gi-eatest beauty, 
 in forms of the highest simplicity and of 
 infinite meaning. — Sdielling {summarised 
 by Ueberweg). 
 
 Art, the work of genius, repeats the 
 eternal Ideas apprehended in pure con- 
 templation, the essential and the permanent 
 in all the phenomena of the world. Its 
 only aim is the communication of this 
 knowledge. According to the material in 
 which it repeats, it is plastic art, poetry, 
 or music. — Sdiopenhauer {summarised by 
 Ueberweg). 
 
 The essence of Art. 
 
 The essence of art may be defined as the 
 production of some permanent object or 
 passing action which is fitted not only to 
 supply an active enjoyment to the pro- 
 ducer, but to convey a pleasurable impres- 
 sion to a number of spectators or listeners, 
 quite apart from any personal advantage to 
 be derived from it. This conception obvi- 
 ously excludes all hypotheses of some one 
 etenially fixed quality of art, some essence 
 of beauty. — Sully, 'Sensation, Sfc.,' p. 341. 
 
 Doctrijies of various pjliilosop)hers on Art. 
 
 In the State, that Art alone should find 
 a place which consists in the imitation of 
 the good. In this category are included 
 philosophical dramas, the narration of myths 
 (expurgated and ethically applied), and in 
 particular, religious lyrics (containing the 
 praises of gods and also of noble men). 
 All art which is devoted to the imitation 
 of the phenomenal world, in which good 
 
314 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and bad are commingled, is excluded. — 
 Plato {summarised by Uehenceg). 
 
 Art, in the wider sense of the term, 
 as signifying that skill in giving form to 
 any material, which results from, or at 
 least depends on the knowledge of rules, 
 has a twofold object : it has either to com- 
 plete what nature has been unable to com- 
 plete, or it may imitate. Art attains its 
 end by imitation. That which it imitates, 
 however, is not so much the particular as 
 the essence of the particular object; in other 
 Avoi'ds, art must idealise its subjects, each 
 in its peculiar character. Imitative art 
 serves three ends : recreation and (refined) 
 entertainment, temporary emancipation 
 from the control of certain passions by 
 means of their excitation and subsequent 
 subsidence, and, last and chiefly, moral cul- 
 ture. — Aristotle [stamnarised hy Uehenceg). 
 
 Art is the one and the eternal revelation ; 
 there is no other ; it is the miracle that 
 must convince of the absolute reality of 
 that supreme principle which never becomes 
 objective itself, but is the cause neverthe- 
 less of all that is objective. Art is what is 
 highest for the philosopher, for it opens as 
 it were the holy of holies to him, where in 
 eternal and primaeval union there bums as 
 in a flame what in nature and history is 
 separated, and what in life and action, as 
 well as in thought, must be eternally 
 divided. — SclieUimj {summarised hy Schweg- 
 ler). 
 
 Schelling, who was a Pantheist, here 
 elevates Art as the only true religion ; he 
 has had many followers, who have damaged 
 the cause of Art by their gross exaggera- 
 tion of its functions. 
 
 Characteristics of Fine Art productions. 
 
 The productions of Fine Art appear to 
 be distinguished by these characteristics : — 
 (i) They have pleasure for their immediate 
 end ; (2) they have no disagreeable accom- 
 paniments ; (3) their enjoyment is not re- 
 stricted to one or a few persons. A picture 
 or a statue can be seen by millions ; a great 
 poem reaches all that understand its lan- 
 
 guage ; a fine melody may spread pleasure 
 over the habitable globe. The sunset and 
 the stars are veiled only from the prisoner 
 and the blind. — Bain, ' Mental and Moral 
 Science,^ p. 290. 
 
 It is a principle of the utmost importance, 
 that, outside the material conditions that 
 relate to optics and acoustics, that which 
 dominates in a work of art and gives it its 
 special character is the personality of the 
 author. The value of the work of art rests 
 entirely upon the degree of energy with 
 which it manifests the intellectual char- 
 acter and aesthetic impressions of its author. 
 An artist of true feeling has but to abandon 
 himself to his emotion, and it will become 
 contagious. — Veron, 'Esthetics,' p. vi. and 
 vii. 
 
 Qualities of Art — how estimated. 
 
 The aesthetic value of a poem or a paint- 
 ing may be viewed in one of two lights. 
 One may regard the work either as rela- 
 tively and subjectively beautiful, that is to 
 say, as fitted to delight the order of minds 
 for which it is produced, or as absolutely 
 and objectively beautiful, that is to say, 
 as capable of delighting all minds alike. 
 Thus a Pieta of Francia possesses a rela- 
 tive beauty in its power of satisfying the 
 dominant religious emotions of the age, 
 an objective beauty in a universally im- 
 pressive representation of human suffering 
 and of the afi^ectionate tendency which it 
 customarily calls forth. — Sully, ' Sensation, 
 4'e.,' p. 345. 
 
 The alpha and omega of Art. 
 
 These are Truth and Personality ; truth 
 as to facts, and the personality of the artist. 
 But if we look more closely, we shall see 
 that these two terms are in reality but one. 
 Truth as to fact, so far as art is concerned, 
 is above all the truth of our own sensations, 
 of our own sentiments. It is truth as 
 we see it, as it appears modified by our 
 own temperament, preferences, and physical 
 organs. It is, in fact, our personality it- 
 self. — Veron, 'Esthetics,' p. 389. 
 
THE .ESTHETIC FEELINGS. 
 
 315 
 
 Greatness in Art. 
 
 The art is greatest which conveys to the 
 mind of the spectator, by any means what- 
 soever, the greatest number of the greatest 
 ideas ; and I call an idea great in propor- 
 tion as it is received by a higher faculty of 
 the mind, and as it more fully occupies, 
 and in occupying, exercises and exalts the 
 faculty by which it is received. — Rusldn, 
 ' Modern Painters,^ I. pt. i. sec. i. eh. ii. 
 
 Great art dwells on all that is beautiful ; 
 but false art omits or changes all that is 
 ugly. Great ait accepts Nature as she is, 
 but directs the eyes and thoughts to what 
 is most perfect in her ; false art saves itself 
 the trouble of direction by removing or 
 altering whatever it thinks objectionable. 
 — Ruskin, * Modern Painters,^ III. pt. iv. 
 ch. iii. 
 
 Art leaves sometJiing to tlie Imagination. 
 
 To leave something to the Imagination 
 is better than to express the whole. What 
 is merely suggested is conceived in an ideal 
 form and colouring. Thus in a landscape, 
 a winding river disappeai's from sight ; the 
 distant hazy mountains are realms for the 
 fancy to play in. Breaks are left in the 
 story, such as the reader may fill up. — 
 Bain, ' Mental and Moral Science^ p. 300. 
 
 Epochs of liberty are epochs of Art. 
 
 All the great art epochs have been epochs 
 of liberty. In the time of Pericles, as in 
 that of Leo X., in the France of the 
 thirteenth century as in the Holland of the 
 seventeenth, artists were able to work after 
 their own fancies. No aesthetic dogmas 
 confused their imaginations, no official cox'- 
 porations claimed any art dictatorship, or 
 thought themselves responsible for the 
 direction taken by the national taste. — 
 Veron, * Esthetics,' p. xi. 
 
 Taste. 
 
 A man of taste. 
 
 He who has followed up the natural laws 
 of aversion and desire, rendering them more 
 and more authoritative by constant obedi- 
 
 ence, so as to derive pleasure always from 
 that which God originally intended should 
 give him pleasure, and who derives the 
 greatest possible sum of pleasure from any 
 given object, is a man of taste. Perfect 
 taste is the faculty of receiving the greatest 
 possible pleasures from those mater ial sources 
 which are attractive to our moral nature in 
 its purity and perfection. He who receives 
 little pleasure from these sources wants 
 taste; he who receives pleasure from any 
 other sources has false or bad taste. — Rus- 
 ldn, ^ Modern Painters,'' I. pt. i. sec. i. ch. vi. 
 
 Right taste — hoio formed. 
 
 The temper by which right taste is formed 
 is characteristically patient. It dwells upon 
 what is submitted to it. It does not trample 
 upon it, lest it should be pearls, even though 
 it looks like husks. It is a good ground, 
 soft, penetrable, retentive ; it is hungry and 
 thirsty too, and drinks all the dew that falls 
 upon it. — Ruskin, ^Modern Painters,' II. pt. 
 iii. ch. iii. 
 
 The Science of .Esthetics. 
 
 Rs aim. 
 
 Esthetics seeks a final standard of art 
 value, and aims at subsuming all possible 
 effects of art under the most general con- 
 ceptions. — Sully, '■Sensation, t|c.,' p. 371. 
 
 Rs unsatisfactory condition at present. 
 
 No science has sutfered more from meta- 
 physical dreaming than that of ^Esthetics. 
 From the doctrines of Plato to those of our 
 present official teachers, art has been turned 
 into an amalgam of transcendental mys- 
 teries and fancies, finding their final expres- 
 sion in that absolute conception of ideal 
 Beauty which is the unchangeable anddivine 
 prototype of the real things around us. — 
 Veron, ' Esthetics,' p. v. 
 
 The chaotic state of opinion on all matters 
 relating to the Fine Arts seems to indicate 
 that we are still far from the construction 
 and even from the conception of an yEs- 
 thetic Science. Ai^t has stubbornly sought 
 to exclude the cold, grey dawn of scientific 
 
3i6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 inquiry. With a special tenacity indeed 
 she has wrapped herself about in the grate- 
 ful gloom of a mystic twilight. For is it 
 not her peculiar office to minister to the 
 imagination, drawing the contemplative soul 
 high above the region of fact and law 1 and 
 would not any attempt to investigate her 
 processes with the keen measuring eye of 
 science be an outrage on this supreme right 
 of phantasy to live apart, undisturbed by 
 thought of what is, and must be 1 It is 
 scarcely to be wondered at that so many of 
 her worshippers have clung to the idea that 
 all her power on the human soul is an in- 
 soluble mystery. — Sullij, ' Seiisation, ^c.,' 
 P- 336. 
 
 As there is no such thing as abstract art, 
 Vart en soi, because absolute beauty is a 
 chimera, so neither is there any definitive 
 and final system of Esthetics. — Veron, 
 ' yEsthetics,' p. viii. 
 
 How a theory might be formed. 
 
 A theory of Esthetics would have to 
 proceed by means of historical research, 
 supplemented by psychological explanation. 
 The widest possible knowledge of all that 
 art has done and sought to do would need 
 to be completed by an inquiry into the law 
 and tendency of these variations, on the 
 supposition of a general progress in intel- 
 lectual and other culture. — Sully, ^Sensa- 
 tion, ^c.,' p. 340. 
 
 Growth of Esthetic Feelings, 
 
 Esthetic feelings, first of all, grow in 
 number, subtlety, and variety, that is, be- 
 come more refined and frequent enjoyments, 
 j)ari passu with the development of the Dis- 
 ciiminative and the Assimilative functions. 
 The artist's eye notes myriads of points of 
 diversity and of resemblance among visual 
 forms and shades of tint which wholly 
 escape the attention of ordinary men. The 
 poet finds shades of the admirable and 
 beautiful where the uncultivated person 
 fails to find them. In the second place, 
 these feelings grow in range or amplitude 
 with the development of the Retentive 
 
 power of the mind, that is to say, its capa- 
 bility of ideal aggregation and of ideal 
 revival. — Sully, 'Sensation, Sfc.,' pp. 356, 
 357- 
 
 The Esthetic Characteristics of Nations. 
 
 The idea of the colossal may be assigned 
 to the Orient, the idea of sublimity to the 
 Hebrews, the idea of beauty to the Greeks, 
 elegance and dignity to the Romans, the 
 characteristic and fantastic to the Middle 
 Ages, and the ingenious and critical to 
 modern times. — Rudolph Hermann Lotze 
 {from Uebenoeg). 
 
 IV. THE SUBLIME. 
 
 Described. 
 
 I mean by the sublime, as I meant by 
 the beautiful, a feeling of mind ; though, 
 of course, a very different feeling. It is a 
 feeling of pleasure, but of exalted tremu- 
 lous pleasure, bordering on the very con- 
 fines of pain, and driving before it every 
 calm thought and every regulated feeling. 
 It is the feeling which men experience when 
 they behold marvellous scenes of nature; 
 or when they see great actions performed. 
 Such feelings as come on the top of exceed- 
 ing high mountains, or the hour before a 
 battle, or when a man of great power and 
 of an unyielding spirit is pleading before 
 some august tribunal against the accusa- 
 tions of his enemies. These are the hours 
 of sublimity, when all low and Httle pas- 
 sions are swallowed up by an overwhelming 
 feeling ; when the mind towers and springs 
 above its common limits, breaks out into 
 larger dimensions, and swells into a nobler 
 and grander nature. — Smith, 'Moral Philo- 
 sophy,' p. 214. 
 
 The Sublime is the sympathetic senti- 
 ment of superior Power in its highest de- 
 grees. The objects of sublimity are, for 
 the most part, such aspects and appearances 
 as betoken great might, energy, or vast- 
 ness, and are thereby capable of impart- 
 ing sympathetically the elation of superior 
 power. — Bai7i, ' Mental Science,' p. 301. 
 
THE SUBLIME. 
 
 317 
 
 Analysed. 
 
 The results of the analysis of the Sublime 
 are very various. Its essential elements, 
 according to various philosophers, are : — 
 
 I. Terror and Woyider. 
 
 A mixture of wonder and terror almost 
 always excites the feeling of the sublime. 
 Extraordinary power generally excites the 
 feeling of the sublime by these means, — by 
 mixing wonder with terror. A person who 
 has never seen anything of the kind but a 
 little boat, Avould think a sloop of eighty tons 
 a goodly and somewhat of a grand object, 
 if all her sails were set and she were going 
 gallantly before the wind, but a first-rate 
 man-of-war wovild sail over such a sloop and 
 send her to the bottom without any person 
 onboai'dthe man-of-war perceiving that they 
 had encountered any obstacle. Such power 
 is wonderful and terrible, therefore sublime. 
 — Smith, ^ Moral Pliilosoplnj,' p. 217. 
 
 The passion caused by the great and sub- 
 \\me'u\nature, when thosecauses operatemost 
 powerfully, is astonishment ; and astonish- 
 ment is that state of the soul, in which all 
 its motions are suspended, with some degree 
 of horror. In this case the mind is so en- 
 tirely filled with its object, that it cannot en- 
 tertain any other, nor by consequence reason 
 on that object which employs it. Hence 
 arises the great poAver of the sublime, that 
 far from being produced by them, it anti- 
 cipates our reasonings, and hurries us on by 
 an irresistible force. Astonishment is the 
 effect of the sublime in its highest degree ; 
 the inferior effects are admiration, rever- 
 ence, and respect. 
 
 No passion so effectually robs the mind 
 of all its powers as fear. Whatever there- 
 fore is terrible, with regard to sight, is 
 sublime too. Indeed, terror is in all cases 
 whatsoever, either more openly or latently, 
 the i-uling principle of the sublime. — Burke, 
 ' The Sublime, ^-c-,,' pt. ii. sects, i. ii. 
 
 The Element of Terror denial hy Mr. 
 Rusliin. 
 
 A little reflection will easily convince any 
 one that, so far from the feelings of self- 
 
 preservation being necessary to the sublime, 
 their greatest action is totally destructive 
 of it ; and that there are few feelings less 
 capable of its perception than those of a 
 coward. But the simple conception or idea 
 of greatness of suffering or extent of de- 
 struction is sublime, whether there be any 
 connection of that idea with ourselves or 
 not. If we were placed beyond the reach 
 of all peril or pain, the perception of these 
 agencies, in their influence on others, would 
 not be less sublime, not because peril or 
 pain are sublime in their own nature, but 
 because their contemplation, exciting com- 
 passion or fortitude, elevates the mind and 
 i^enders meanness of thought impossible. — ■ 
 ' Modern Painters,' pt. i. sect. ii. eh. iii. 
 
 And by Professor Bain. 
 
 There is an incidental connection of the 
 Sublime with Terror. Properly, the two 
 states of mind are hostile and mutually 
 destructive; the one raises the feeling of 
 energy, tlie other depresses it. In so far 
 as a sublime object gives us the sense of 
 personal or of sympathetic danger, its 
 sublimity is frustrated. The two eff'ects 
 were confounded by Burke in his * Theory 
 of the Sublime.' — 'Mental Science,' p. 302. 
 
 2. Magnitude. 
 
 Sublimity requires magnitude as its con- 
 dition ; and the formless is not unf requently 
 sublime. That we are at once attracted 
 and repelled by sublimity, arises from the 
 circumstance that the object which we call 
 sublime is proportioned to one of our 
 faculties, and disproportioned to another ; 
 but as the degree of pleasure transcends 
 the degree of pain, the power whose energy 
 is promoted must be superior to that power 
 whose energy is repressed. The Sublime 
 may be divided into the Sublime of Space, 
 the Sublime of Time, and the Sublime of 
 Power. — Hamilton, 'Metaphysics,' ii. 513. 
 
 The sublimity of inanimate forms seems 
 to arise chiefly from two sources ; firstly, 
 from the nature of the objects distinguished 
 by that form ; and, secondly, from the 
 
DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 quantity or magnitude of the form itself. 
 There are other circumstances in the nature 
 of forms, which may extend or increase 
 this character; but I apprehend, that the 
 two now mentioned are the only ones which 
 of themselves constitute sublimity. — Alison, 
 ^Essays on Taste,'' II. ch. iv. sect. i. 
 
 3. Height a source of Sublime Emotion. 
 Sublimity in its primitive sense carries 
 
 the thoughts in a direction opposite to that 
 in which the great and universal Law of 
 terrestrial gravitation operates. Hence it 
 is, that while motion downward conveys 
 the idea only of a passive obedience to the 
 laws of nature, motion iqncards always pro- 
 duces, more or less, a feeling of pleasing 
 surprise, from the comparative rarity of the 
 phenomenon. — Stewart, ' Essays,' p. 280. 
 
 4. Sublimity is Elevation of the Mind. 
 Sublimity is not a specific term, — not a 
 
 term descriptive of the effect of a particular 
 class of ideas. Anything which elevates 
 the mind is sublime, and elevation of mind 
 is produced by the contemplation of great- 
 ness of any kind ; but chiefly, of course, by 
 the greatness of the noblest things. Sub- 
 limity is, therefore, only another word for 
 the effect of greatness upon the feelings. 
 Greatness of matter, space, power, virtue, 
 or beauty, are thus all sublime ; and there 
 is perhaps no desirable quality of a work 
 of art, which in its perfection is not, in 
 some way or degree, sublime. — RusMn, 
 ' Modern Painters,'' I. pt. i. sec. ii. ch. iii. § i. 
 
 5. The Infinite, the source of the Sublime. 
 Every one feels that the sentiment of 
 
 the sublime differs from that of the beauti- 
 ful The one pleases and delights, the other 
 overawes and yet elevates. 
 
 It seems to me that whatever tends to 
 carry away the mind into the Infinite 
 raises that idea and feeling which are 
 called the sublime. The idea embraces 
 two elements, or, rather, has two sides. 
 First the infinite is conceived as some- 
 thing beyond our largest phantasm, that 
 is, image, and beyond our widest concept 
 
 or general notion. We exert our imaging 
 and conceiving power to the vitmost ; but 
 as we do so we are led to perceive that 
 there is vastly more beyond. Whatever 
 calls forth this exercise is subHme, that 
 is, excites that special feeling which we 
 have all experienced, and which we call 
 subKme. 
 
 It is not aU that I see of the British 
 that so impresses me, said Hyder Ali, but 
 what I do not see, the power beyond the 
 seas, the power in reserve. It was his 
 belief in a power beyond, in a power un- 
 seen, which so struck the mind of the 
 Mahratta chief. The feeling of sublimity 
 is always called forth in this way, that is, 
 by whatever fills its imaging power and 
 yet suggests something farther, something 
 greater and higher. A great height, such 
 as a great mountain, Mont Blanc, Monte 
 Rosa, Chimborazo, raises the idea, and 
 with it the corresponding feeling. The 
 discoveries of astronomy stir up the emo- 
 tion, because they carry the mind into the 
 immeasurable depths of space while yet we 
 feel that we are but at its verge. The 
 discoveries of geology exalt the mind in 
 much the same way, by the long vistas 
 opened of ages of which we cannot detect 
 the beginning. Every vast display of 
 power calls forth the overawing senti- 
 ment ; we notice agencies which are great, 
 arguing a power which is greater. It is 
 thus that we are moved by the howl of the 
 tempest and the raging of the sea, both, it 
 may be, producing terrible havoc, in the 
 prostration of the trees of the forest or 
 in the wreck of vessels. The roar of the 
 waterfall, the musical crash of the aval- 
 anche, the muttering and the prolonged 
 growl of the thunder, the sudden shaking 
 of the stable ground when the earth quakes, 
 aU these fill our minds, in our endeavour 
 to realise them, and raise apprehension of 
 unknown effects to follow. The forked 
 lightning raises the thought of a bolt shot 
 by an almighty hand. Thick masses of 
 cloud or of darkness may become sublime 
 by suggesting depths which we cannot 
 sound. The vault of heaven is always a 
 
THE SUBLIME. 
 
 3^9 
 
 grand object when serene ; as we look into 
 it we feel that we are looking into the 
 boundless. A cleai', bright space in the 
 sky, whether in a natural scene or in a 
 painting, is an outlet, by which the mind 
 may go out into the limitless. We are 
 exhilarated by the streaks of light in the 
 morning sky, pai'tly, no doubt, from the 
 associated hope of the coming day, but 
 still more because of the suggested region 
 beyond, from which the luminary of day 
 comes. I exjilain in much the same way 
 the feeling of grandeur awakened by the 
 sun setting in splendour in the evening 
 sky, our souls go after him into the region 
 to which he is going. In much the same 
 way there is always a profound feeling of 
 awe associated with the serious contempla- 
 tion of the death of a fellow-man ; it is, if 
 we view it aright, the departure of a soul 
 into an unending eternity. 
 
 But there is a second element in infinity. 
 It is such that nothing can be added to it, 
 and nothing taken from it ; in other words, 
 incapaV)le of augmentation or diminution. 
 Under this aspect it is the perfect. As an 
 example we have 'the law of the Lord, 
 which is perfect.' Kant's language has 
 often been quoted, as to the two things 
 which impressed him with sublimity, the 
 starry heavens and the law of God. — 
 M'Cosh, 'Amotions,' p. 1 89-1 91. 
 
 The Sublime in Morals. 
 
 Firmness and constancy of purpose, that 
 withstands all solicitation, and, in spite of 
 all danger, goes on straightly to its object, 
 is very often sublime. The resolution of 
 St. Paul, in going up to Jerusalem, where 
 he has the firmest conviction that he shall 
 undergo every species of persecution, quite 
 comes within this description of feeling. 
 'What mean ye to weep and break my 
 heart ? I am ready, not to be bound only, 
 but to die, at Jerusalem, for the name of 
 Jesus.' 
 
 There is something exceedingly majestic 
 in the steadiness with which the Apostle 
 points out the single object of his life, and 
 the unquenchable courage with which he 
 
 walks towards it. ' I know I shall die, but 
 I have a greater object than life, — the zeal 
 of an high duty. Situation allows some 
 men to think of safety ; I not only must 
 not consult it, but I must go where I know 
 it will be most exposed. I must hold out 
 my hands for chains, and my body for 
 stripes, and my soul for misery. I am 
 ready to do it all ! ' These are the feelings 
 by which alone bold truths have been told 
 to the world ; by which the bondage of 
 falsehood has been bi'oken, and the chains 
 of slavery snapped asunder ! It is in vain to 
 talk of men numerically ; if the passions of 
 a man are exalted to a summit like this, he 
 is a thousand men ! — SmifJi, ' Moral Philo- 
 sophy,' p. 225. 
 
 There are still grander scenes presented 
 in the moral world, raising the feeling of 
 sublimity, becavise revealing an immense 
 power and suggesting an immeasurable 
 power. We are affected with a feeling 
 of wonder and awe when we contemplate 
 Abraham lifting the knife to slay his son, 
 and the old Roman delivering his son to 
 death because guilty of a crime ; we think 
 of, and yet cannot estimate, the strong 
 moral pur^iose needed to overcome the na- 
 tural affection which was burning all the 
 while in the bosoms of the fathers. The 
 commander burning his ships that he may 
 have no retreat, tells of a will and a pur- 
 pose which cannot be conquered. We feel 
 overawed, and yet exalted, when we read 
 of the Hollanders being ready to open the 
 sluices which guard their country and let 
 in the ocean to overflood it, and of the 
 Russians setting fire to their capital, rather 
 than have their liberties trampled on. Who 
 can read the account in Plato's ' Phaedo ' of 
 the death of Socrates without saying. How 
 grand, how sublime ! and we do so because 
 we woTild estimate, and yet cannot esti- 
 mate, the grand purpose which enabled him 
 to retain such composure amidst scenes so 
 much fitted to agitate and to overwhelm. 
 History discloses a yet more sublime scene 
 in Jesus, patient and benignant under the 
 fearful and mysterious load laid upon Him. 
 — 31- Cosh, ^The Umotions,' p. 191. 
 
320 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Pleasure in the Sublime Contrasted with 
 Pleasure in Beauty. 
 The feeling of pleasure in the Sublime 
 is essentially different from our feeling of 
 pleasure in the Beautiful. The beautiful 
 awakens the mind to a soothing contem- 
 plation ; the sublime rouses it to strong 
 emotion. The beautiful attracts without 
 repelling ; whereas the sublime at once does 
 both ; the beautiful affords us a feeling of 
 unmingled pleasure, in the full and un- 
 impeded activity of our cognitive powers ; 
 whereas our feeling of sublimity is a 
 mingled one of pleasure and pain, — of 
 pleasure in the consciousness of the strong 
 energy, of pain in the consciousness that 
 this energy is vain. — Hamilton, ^Metaphy- 
 sics,^ ii. 512. 
 
 V. THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Its Sources. 
 
 Not one hut manifold. 
 
 The source of Beauty is not to be sought 
 in any single quality, but in a circle of 
 effects. The search after some common 
 property applicable to all things named 
 loeautiful is now abandoned. Every theo- 
 rist admits a plurality of causes. The 
 common attribute resides only in the emo- 
 tion, and even that may vary considerably 
 without passing the limits of the name. — 
 Bain, ^ Mental and Moral Science,^ p. 292. 
 
 The unity of Beauty is questioned. It 
 is asked whether all objects which appear 
 beautiful are so because of some one ulti- 
 mate property, or combination of proper- 
 ties, running through all examples of 
 Beauty, or whether they are so called sim- 
 ply because they produce some common 
 pleasurable feeling in the mind. This is 
 a question of induction from facts. It has 
 been most vigorously disputed by British 
 writers on the subject, and many of them 
 have decided in favour of the plurality and 
 diversity of elements in Beauty. — '■Encyclop. 
 Brit.,'i. 213. 
 
 There are moral beauties as well as natu- 
 ral ; beauties in the objects of sense, and 
 
 in intellectual objects ; in the works of 
 men, and in the works of God ; in things 
 inanimate, in brute animals, and in rational 
 beings ; in the constitution of the body of 
 man, and in the constitution of his mind. 
 There is no real excellence which has not 
 its beauty to a discerning eye when placed 
 in a proper point of view; and it is as 
 difficult to enumerate the ingredients of 
 beauty as the ingredients of real excellence. 
 — Eeid, ' Works,' 491. 
 
 Its Nature. 
 
 Generally. 
 
 Beauty is perfection unmodified by a 
 predominating expression.' — ^Guesses at 
 Truth,' p. 79. 
 
 Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all 
 
 Ye know on earth, and all ye need to 
 
 know. — Keats, ' Ode on a Grecian Urn.' 
 
 Beauty is indeed in the mind, in the 
 feelings : were there not the idea of Beauty 
 in the beholder, associated with the feeling 
 of pleasure, nothing would be beautiful or 
 lovely to him. But it is also in the object ; 
 and the union and communion of the two 
 is requisite to its full perception. — ' Guesses 
 at Truth,' p. 386. 
 
 Theories of the Beautiful. 
 
 The best-known theories of the Beauti- 
 ful may be thus classified. But it will be 
 noticed that it is not easy, if it be possible, 
 to avoid all cross division. 
 
 1. TJie Theological theory : that beautiful 
 qualities are transcriptions of the Divine 
 attributes (Buskin). 
 
 2. Tlie Metaphysical theory, closely allied 
 with the former : that objects, attributes, 
 and actions are beautiful, through partici- 
 pating in and embodying certain original 
 ideas or archetypes (Plato, Modern German 
 Transcendentalists). 
 
 3. The Mathematical theory: that the 
 beautiful is to be found in proportion and 
 symmetry, ultimately resolvable into spatial 
 and numerical relations (M'Yicar, &c. Ap- 
 plied to the human figure and to colours 
 by Hay). 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 321 
 
 4. Tlie Special Se7ise tltcory : that the 
 beautiful, like the good, is immediately dis- 
 covered by an original faculty (Ilutcheson). 
 
 5. Tlie Qicalities theorij : that beauty lies 
 in a combination of qualities characterising 
 the object (Burke, Hogarth). 
 
 6. The Asm-iafio7i theory : that nothing 
 is beautiful in itself, but only through what 
 it suggests (Alison, Jeffrey). 
 
 7. The riiysiolngieal theory : that the 
 fpsthetically beautiful is that which affords 
 the maximum of stimulation with the mini- 
 mum of fatigue or waste, in processes not 
 directly connected with the vital functions 
 (Grant Allen, developing hints of Bain and 
 Spencer). — J. Radford Tlwmson. 
 
 Doctrines of Philosophers. 
 
 Socrates. 
 
 He holds that the beautiful and the good 
 or useful are the same ; a dung-basket, if 
 it answers its end, may be a beautiful 
 thing, while a golden shield, not well formed 
 for use, is an ugly thing. — ^ Memoraiilia,' 
 
 Plato. 
 
 Plato leaned decidedly to a theory of an 
 absolute Beauty. It is only this abso- 
 lute Beauty, he tells us, which deserves the 
 name of Beauty ; and this is beautiful in 
 every manner, and the ground of Beauty 
 in all things. It is nothing discovei-able 
 as an attribute in another thing, whether 
 living being, earth, or heaven, for these are 
 only beautiful things, not the Beautiful 
 itself. It is the eternal and perfect exist- 
 ence, contrasted with the oscillations be- 
 tween existence and non-existence in the 
 phenomenal world. So far as his writings 
 embody the notion of any distinguishing 
 element in beautiful objects, it is propor- 
 tion, harmony, or unity among the parts of 
 an object. — ' Uncyclop. Brit.,' i.215. 
 
 Aristotle. 
 
 Aristotle ignores all conceptions of an 
 absolute Beauty, and at the same time 
 seeks to distinguish the Beautiful from the 
 
 Good. The universal elements of Beauty, 
 Ai'istotle finds to be order, symmetry, and 
 definiteness or determinateness : he adds 
 that a certain magnitude is desirable. 
 Hence an animal may be too small to be 
 beautiful ; or it may be too large, when it 
 cannot be surveyed as a whole. — Aristotle, 
 ' Metaphysics and Poetics.^ 
 
 Plotinus. 
 
 The essence of Beauty consists not in 
 mere symmetry but in the supremacy of 
 the higher over the lower, of the form over 
 matter, of the soul over the body, of reason 
 and goodness over the soul. The beauty of 
 human reason is the highest. — ' Bmieades.' 
 
 Relativity of Beauty. 
 
 Hutcheson. 
 
 ' All Beauty is relative to the sense of 
 some mind perceiving it.' The cause of 
 Beauty is not any simple sensation from 
 an object, as colour, tone, but a certain 
 order among the parts, or 'uniformity 
 amidst variety.' The faculty by which this 
 principle is known is an internal sense 
 which is defined as ' a passive power of 
 receiving ideas of Beauty from all objects 
 in which there is uniformity in variety. — 
 ^ Encyclop. Brit.,' i. 221. 
 
 Diderot. 
 
 Beauty consists in the perception of Re- 
 lations. — ^ Encyclopedie,' art. '•Beau.' 
 
 Beauty typical {see also Sir J. Reynolds* 
 Tlieonj). 
 
 Buffier. 
 
 It is the type of a species which gives 
 the measure of Beauty. Among faces 
 there is but one beautiful form, the others 
 being not beautiful. But while only a few 
 are modelled after the ugly forms, a great 
 many are modelled after the beautiful form. 
 — Bain, ' Mental and Moral Science,' p. 305. 
 
 Reid. 
 
 I apprehend that it is in the moral and 
 intellectual perfections of the mind, and in 
 
322 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 its active powers, that Beauty originally 
 dwells ; and that from this as the fountain 
 all the Beauty which we perceive in the 
 visible world is derived. This was the 
 opinion of Akenside. 
 
 ' Mind, mind alone, bear witness, earth and heav'n ! 
 The living fountains in itself contains 
 Of beauteous and sublime. Here, hand in hand, 
 Sit paramount the graces. Here, enthron'd, 
 Celestial Venus, with divinest airs. 
 Invites the soul to never-fading joy.' 
 
 All the objects we call beautiful agree in 
 two things, which seem to concur in our 
 sense of beauty : — (i) When they are per- 
 ceived, or even imagined, they produce a 
 certain agreeable emotion or feeling in the 
 mind; (2) this agreeable emotion is ac- 
 companied with an opuiion or belief of their 
 having some perfection or excellence belong- 
 ing to them. — ' Works,^ 503, 499. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 The deformed is what is imcommon ; 
 Beauty is what is above 'all singular 
 forms, local customs, particularities, and 
 details of every kind.' ' Perfect beauty in 
 any species must combine all the charac- 
 ters which are beautiful in that species.' — 
 Bain^ '■Mental and Moral Science,' p. 306. 
 
 Hogarth. 
 
 The elements of visible beauty are six : 
 — (i) Fitness of the parts to some design; 
 twisted columns are elegant if not required 
 to bear too great a weight; (2) Variety in 
 form, length, line, magnitude, &c. ; e.g., 
 the gradual lessening of a pyramid; (3) 
 Uniformitrj, regularity, or symmetry, which 
 is only beautiful when it helps to preserve 
 the character of fitness ; (4) Simplicity, or 
 distinctness, because it enables the eye to 
 enjoy the variety with ease ; (5) Intri- 
 cacy, because the unravelling of it gives the 
 interest of pursuit, providing employment 
 for the active energies. Waving and ser- 
 pentine lines lead the eye a wanton kind 
 of chase ; (6) Magjiitude, or quantity, which 
 produces admiration and awe. The serpen- 
 tine line is the Line of Gi-ace. — ' Analysis of 
 Beauty.'' 
 
 Smoothness and Softness. 
 
 Burke. 
 
 He finds the elements of Beauty to be — 
 (i) Smallness of size; (2) smoothness of 
 surface; (3) gradual variation of direction 
 of outline, by which he means gentle curves ; 
 
 (4) delicacy, or the appearance of fragility; 
 
 (5 ) brightness, purity, and softness of colour. 
 He says that beautiful objects have the 
 tendency to produce an agreeable relaxation 
 of the fibres. Thus ' smooth things are re- 
 laxing; sweet things, which are the smooth 
 of taste, are relaxing too ; and sioeet smells, 
 which bear a gi-eat affinity to sweet tastes,- 
 relax very remarkably.' Hence he pro- 
 poses ' to call sweetness the beautiful of 
 taste.' ' In trees and flowers smooth leaves 
 are beautiful; smooth slopes of earth in 
 gardens; smooth streams in landscapes; 
 smooth coats of birds and beasts in animal 
 beauty.' — See ' The Sublime and Beautiful.' 
 
 Kant. 
 
 He attempts, in a somewhat strained 
 manner, to define the Beautiful by the help 
 of his four categories : (i.) In quality. 
 Beauty is that which pleases without inte- 
 rest or pleasure in the existence of the ob- 
 ject. This distinguishes it from the simply 
 Agreeable and the Good, the former stimu- 
 lating desire, and the latter giving motive 
 to the will. (2.) In quantity, it is a univer- 
 sal pleasure. As regards the Agreeable, 
 every one is convinced that his pleasure in 
 it is only a personal one; but whoever 
 says, 'This picture is beautiful,' expects 
 every one else to find it so. (3.) Under 
 the aspect of relation, the Beautiful is that 
 in which we find the form of adaptation 
 without conceiving at the same time any 
 particular end of this adaptation. (4.) In 
 modality, the Beautiful is a necessary satis- 
 faction. The Agreeable actually does cause 
 pleasure ; but the Beautiful must cause 
 pleasure. — See * The Critique of Judgment.'' 
 
 Hegel. 
 
 The Beautiful is defined as the shining 
 of the idea through a sensuous medium (as 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 323 
 
 cdIoui' or tone). He defines the form of 
 the Beautiful as unity of the manifold. — 
 '■ Encydo2). Brit.,' i. 218. 
 
 Association Tlieonj of Beauty. 
 
 Alison. 
 
 The emotion of Beauty is not a Simple, 
 but a Complex Emotion, involving — (i) 
 The production of some Simple Emotion or 
 the exercise of some moral affection ; and 
 (2) a peculiar operation of the Imagination, 
 namely, the flow of a train of ideas through 
 the mind, which ideas are not ai-bitrarily 
 determined, but always correspond to that 
 simple affection or emotion (as cheerful- 
 ness, sadness, awe) awakened by the ob- 
 ject. He thus makes association the sole 
 source of the Beautiful. The Oak sug- 
 gests Strength, the Myrtle Delicacy, the 
 Violet Modesty; there is an analogy be- 
 tween an ascending path and ambition; 
 Blue, the colour of the Heavens in serene 
 weather, is associated with serenity of 
 mind. Green with the delights of spring. — 
 Alison, ' Essay oh Taste.' 
 
 Jeffrey. 
 
 It appears to us that objects are sublime 
 or beautiful, first, when they are the natu- 
 ral signs and perpetual concomitants of 
 pleasurable sensations, or, at any rate, of 
 some lively feeling or emotion in ourselves 
 or in some other sentient beings ; or, 
 secondly, when they are the arbitrary or 
 accidental concomitants of such feelings; 
 or, thirdly, when they bear some analogy 
 or fanciful resemblance to things with which 
 these emotions are necessarily connected. — 
 ' Essay on Taste.' 
 
 Our sense of beauty depends entirely on 
 our previous experience of simple pleasures 
 or emotions, and consists in the suggestion 
 of agreeable or interesting sensations with 
 which we had formerly been made familiar 
 by the direct and intelligible agency of our 
 common sensibilities ; and that vast variety 
 of objects, to which we give the common 
 name of beautiful, become entitled to that 
 appellation, merely because they all possess 
 
 the power of recalling or reflecting those 
 sensations of which they have been the 
 accompaniments, or with which they have 
 been associated in our imagination by any 
 other more casual bond of connection. Ac- 
 cording to this view of the matter, there- 
 fore, beauty is not an inherent property or 
 quality of objects at all, but the result of 
 the accidental relations in which they may 
 stand to our experience of pleasures or 
 emotions ; and does not depend upon any 
 particular configuration of parts, propor- 
 tions, or colours, in external things, nor 
 upon the imity, coherence, or simplicity of 
 intellectual creations,— but merely tipon 
 the associations which, in the case of every 
 individual, may enable these inherent, and 
 otherwise indifferent qualities, to suggest 
 or recall to the mind emotions of a pleasur- 
 able or interesting description. — ' Essay on 
 Taste.' 
 
 Mathematical basis of Beauty. 
 
 D. R. Hay. 
 
 His theory is based upon the Pythagorean 
 system of harmonic number. 
 
 ' Esthetic science, as the science of 
 beauty is now termed, is based upon that 
 great harmonic law of nature which per- 
 vades and governs the universe. It is in 
 its nature neither absolutely physical, nor 
 absolutely metaphysical, but of an inter- 
 mediate nature, assimilating in various 
 degrees, more or less, to one or other of 
 those opposite kinds of science. It speci- 
 ally embodies the inherent principles which 
 govern impressions made upon the mind 
 through the senses of hearing and seeing. 
 Thus, the aesthetic pleasure derived from 
 listening to the beautifid in musical com- 
 position, and from contemplating the beauti- 
 ful in works of formative art, is in both cases 
 simply a response in the human mind to 
 artistic development of the great harmonic 
 law upon which the science is based. — ' The 
 Science of Beauty,' p. 15. 
 
 Sir W. Hamilton, 
 
 Not variety alone, and not unity alone, 
 but variety combined with unity, is that 
 
324 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 quality in objects, which we emphatically 
 denominate beautiful. — ^Metaphysics,^ ii. 
 449- 
 
 Tlieologieal basis of Beauty. 
 
 John RusJiin. 
 
 He divides Beauty into Typical and 
 Vital Beauty. The forms of Typical 
 Beauty are — (i) Infinity, the type of the 
 Divine incomprehensibility; (2) Unity, 
 the type of the Divine comprehensiveness ; 
 (3) Repose, the type of the Divine per- 
 manence; (4) Symmetry, the type of the 
 Divine justice ; (5) Purity, the type of the 
 Divine energy; and (6) Moderation, the 
 type of government by law. — ' Modern 
 Painters,' vol. ii. 
 
 Physical basis of Beauty. 
 
 Grant Allen. 
 
 My object is to exhibit the purely 
 physical origin of the sense of beauty, and 
 its relativity to our nervous organisation. 
 Modern scientific Psychology, based upon 
 an accurate Physiology, has roughly demon- 
 strated that all mental phenomena are the 
 subjective sides of what are objectively 
 cognised as nervous functions; and that 
 they are in consequence as rigorously 
 limited by natural laws as the physical 
 processes whose correlatives they are. But 
 while this truth has been abundantly illus- 
 trated with regard to those physical func- 
 tions (such as sensations and voluntary 
 motions) which are ordinarily regarded as 
 of purely bodily origin, it has not been 
 carried out into full detail in the case of 
 the intellectual faculties and the higher 
 emotions, which, until the rise of Physiolo- 
 gical Psychology, were usually considered 
 as purely and exclusively mental. I wish, 
 therefore, to examine the Eesthetic feelings 
 as an intermediate link between the bodily 
 senses and the higher emotions. — 'Physio- 
 logical ^Esthetics,' p. 2. 
 
 When we exercise our limbs and muscles, 
 not for any ulterior life-serving object, but 
 merely for the sake of the pleasure which 
 the exercise affords us, the amusement is 
 
 called play. When we similarly exercise 
 our eyes or ears, the resulting pleasure is 
 called an Esthetic Feeling. In both cases 
 the pleasure is a concomitant of the ac- 
 tivity of a well-fed and under-worked 
 organ ; but in the latter instance it is on 
 the receptive side, in the former on the 
 re-active, so that Esthetic Pleasure may 
 be provisionally defined as the subjective 
 concomitant of the normal amount of 
 activity, not directly connected with life- 
 serving function, in the peripheral end- 
 organs of the cerebro-spinal nervous system. 
 — ' Physiological yEstlietics,' p. 34. 
 
 The Pleasure of Beauty. 
 
 It is mental. 
 
 There is nothing that makes its way more 
 directly to the Soul than Beauty, which 
 immediately diffuses a secret satisfaction 
 and complacency through the Imagination, 
 and gives a finishing to anything that is 
 great or uncommon. The very first dis- L 
 covery of it strikes the mind with an in- f 
 ward joy, and spreads a cheerfulness and 
 delight through all its faculties. — Addison, 
 'Spectator,' No. 412. 
 
 A beautiful thing is one whose form 
 occupies the Imagination and Understand- 
 ing in a free and full, and consequently in 
 an agreeable activity. — Hamilton, ' Meta- 
 physics,' ii. 512. 
 
 And contemplative. 
 
 The gratification we feel in the beautiful, 
 the sublime, the picturesque, is purely con- 
 templative, that is, the feeling of pleasure 
 which we then experience arises solely 
 from the consideration of the object, and 
 altogether apart from any desire of, or 
 satisfaction in, its possession. — Hamilton, 
 ' Metaphysics,' ii. 507. 
 
 It sustains the soul. 
 
 Beauty has been appointed by the Deity 
 to be one of the elements by which the 
 human soul is continually sustained ; it is 
 therefore to be found more or less in all 
 natural objects, but in order that we may 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 325 
 
 not satiate ourselves with it, and weary of 
 it, it is rarely granted to us in its utmost 
 degrees. When we see it in those utmost 
 degrees, we are attracted to it strongly, and 
 remember it long, as in the case of sin- 
 gularly beautiful scenery, or a beautiful 
 countenance. On the other hand, absolute 
 ugliness is admitted as rarely as perfect 
 beauty. — Rusldn, '■Architecture and Paint- 
 ing,^ Lect. i. 
 
 It affords relief from the miseries of life. 
 
 "Whenever (natural beauty) discloses itself 
 suddenly to our view, it almost always suc- 
 ceeds in delivering us, thovigh it may be 
 only for a moment, from subjectivity, from 
 the slavery of the will, and in raising us to 
 the state of pui-e knowing. This is why 
 the man who is tormented by passion, or 
 want, or care, is so suddenly revived, cheered, 
 and restored by a single free glance into 
 nature : the storm of passion, the pressure 
 of desire and fear, and all the miseries of 
 willing are then at once, and in a marvellous 
 manner, calmed and appeased. For at the 
 moment at which, freed from the will, we 
 give ourselves up to pure will-less knowing, 
 we pass into a world from which every- 
 thing is absent that influenced our will and 
 moved us so violently through it. This 
 feeling of knowledge lifts us as wholly and 
 entirely away from all that, as do sleep 
 and dreams ; happiness and unhappiness 
 have disappeared ; we are no longer indi- 
 vidual ; the individual is forgotten ; we are 
 only pure subject of knowledge; we are 
 only that one eye of the world which looks 
 out from all knowing creatures, but which 
 can become perfectly free from the service 
 of will in man alone. Thus all difference 
 of individuality so entirely disappears, that 
 it is all the same whether the perceiving eye 
 belongs to a mighty king or to a wretched 
 beggar ; for neither joy nor complaining can 
 pass that boundary with us. — Schopenhauer, 
 ' The World as Will and Idea,' i. 255, 256. 
 
 It is a ijroivth. 
 
 Esthetic impressions are a gro-wth, ris- 
 ing, with the advance of intellectual culture, 
 
 from the crude enjoyments of sensation to 
 the more refined and subtle delights of the 
 cultivated mind. — *■ Encijclop. Brit.,' i. 214. 
 
 Permanent. 
 A thing of beauty is a joy for ever : 
 Its loveliness increases ; it will never 
 Pass into nothingness. 
 
 — Keats, ' Endijmion.' 
 
 Tlie source of Beauty's poiver. 
 
 Beauty of all kinds gives us a peculiar 
 delight and satisfaction ; as deformity pro- 
 duces pain, upon whatever subject it may 
 be placed, and whether surveyed in an ani- 
 mate or inanimate object. It would seem 
 that the very essence of beauty consists in 
 its power of producing pleasure. All its 
 effects, therefore, must proceed from this cir- 
 cumstance. — Hume, ' Philosophical Worlcs,' 
 iv. 148. 
 
 The Power of Beauty 
 
 To exact homage. 
 
 There is but one power to which all are 
 eager to bow down, to which all take pride 
 in paying homage ; and that is the power of 
 Beauty. — Hare, ^Guesses at Truth,' p. 354. 
 
 To influence. 
 
 Beauty has been the delight and torment 
 of the world ever since it began. The 
 philosophers have felt its influence so sen- 
 sibly, that almost every one of them has 
 left us some saying or other, which has 
 intimated that he too well knew the power 
 of it. One [Aristotle] has told us that a 
 graceful person is a more powerful recom- 
 mendation than the best letter that can be 
 writ in your favour. Carneades called it 
 Royalty without force. — Steele, ^ Sp)ectator,' 
 No. 144. 
 
 Its moral effects. 
 
 Let our artists be those Avho are gifted 
 to discern the true nature of beauty and 
 grace; then will our youth dwell in the 
 land of health, amid fair sights and sounds ; 
 and beauty, the effluence of fair works, 
 will visit the eye and ear, like a healthful 
 
326 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 breeze from a purer region, and insensibly 
 draw the soul even in childhood into har- 
 mony with the beauty of reason. — Plato, 
 ' The Republic,^ iii. 401. 
 
 I believe that it is not good for man to 
 live among what is most beautiful ; — that 
 he is a creature incapable of satisfaction by 
 anything upon earth ; and that to allow 
 him habitually to possess, in any kind 
 whatsoever, the utmost that earth can give, 
 is the surest way to cast him into lassitude 
 or discontent, — Rusldn, ^Modern Painters,^ 
 IV. pt. V. ch. xi. 
 
 Beauty of cliarader. 
 
 A beautiful character is he who with 
 ease exercises the virtues which circum- 
 stances require of him : righteousness, 
 benevolence, moderation, fidelity ; and who 
 in a happy and contented existence, finds 
 his joy in the exercise of these duties. 
 Who but must find such a man amiable, 
 and love him in whom we meet the full 
 unison of the natural impulses and the pre- 
 scriptions of reason 1 — Martensen, ' Chris- 
 tian Ethics,'' ii. 47, 
 
 Beauty, if it light well, maketh virtues 
 shine, and vices blush. — Bacon, ' Essays,^ 
 xliii. 
 
 Artistic Beauty. 
 
 The academic theory of Beauty. 
 
 This abstract term has an air of Platonic 
 entity which, like everything touched by 
 metaphysical philosophy, refuses to submit 
 to analysis. From ancient days down to 
 our own, almost all the aesthetic doctrines 
 founded upon the ' beauty ' theory, have 
 considered it as something abstract, divine, 
 with an absolute and. distinct reality quite 
 apart from man. The small number of 
 metaphysicians who have held a different 
 view has exercised a very restricted influence 
 over art, to which we need not refer here. — 
 Vero7i, ' Esthetics,' p. 96. 
 
 The- Line of Beauty. 
 
 The curve soothes and pleases us by the 
 variety of its impressions, and by the easy 
 
 gradation which permits of an almost un- 
 conscious passage from one impression to 
 another ; just as the gentle progression of 
 melody has a peculiar charm for the ear. 
 The serpentine line, so extolled by Hogarth, 
 unites, we may say, the two elements of 
 variety and unity : it coml)ines rigidity and 
 softness, and produced a superior harmony 
 which is, in fact, what is called grace. 
 This ' line of beauty,' as it has been called, 
 joins to its other advantages that of being 
 the line of life par excellence. All living 
 things, whether animal or vegetable, displa}" 
 more or less the serpentine line ; when it is 
 not in their shape, it is to be found in 
 their movements. — Veron, ' yEsthefics,' -p-p. 
 40, 41. 
 
 Is Beauty imparted hy the Artist ? 
 
 The only beauty in a work of art is that 
 placed there by the artist. It is both the 
 result of his efforts and the foundation of 
 his success. As often as he is struck by 
 any vivid impression — whether moral, in- 
 tellectual, or physical, — and expresses that 
 impression by some outward process — by 
 poetry, music, sculpture, painting, or archi- 
 tecture, — in such a way as to cause its 
 communication with the soul of spectator 
 or auditor; so often does he produce a 
 work of art the beauty of which wiU be in 
 exact proportion to the intelligence and 
 depth of the sentiment displayed, and the 
 power shown in giving it outward form. — 
 Veron, ^ Esthetics,'' p. 108. 
 
 That is the best part of Beauty, which a 
 picture cannot express ; no, nor the first 
 sight of the life. — Bacon, ^Essays,' xliii. 
 
 Natural Beauty 
 
 Of clmuh. 
 
 It is a strange thing how little in general 
 people know about the sky. It is the part 
 of creation in which nature has done more 
 for the sake of pleasing man, more for the 
 sole and evident purpose of talking to him 
 and teaching him, than in any other of her 
 works, and it is just the part in which we 
 least attend to her. There are not many 
 
MORAL AND RELIGIOUS FEELINGS. 
 
 327 
 
 of her other works in which some more 
 material or essential purpose than the mere 
 pleasing of man is not answered by every 
 part of their organisation; but every 
 essential purpose of the sky might, so far 
 as we know, be answered, if once in three 
 days or thereabouts, a great, ugly black 
 rain cloud were brought up over the blue, 
 and everything well watered, and so all left 
 blue again till next time, with perhaps a 
 film of morning and evening mist for dew. 
 And instead of this, there is not a moment 
 of any day of our lives, when nature is not 
 producing scene after scene, picture after 
 picture, glory after glory, and working still 
 upon such exquisite and constant principles 
 of the most perfect beauty, that it is quite 
 certain it is all done for us, and intended 
 for our perpetual pleasure. And every 
 man, wherever placed, however far from 
 other sources of interest or of beauty, has 
 this doing for him constantly. The noblest 
 scenes of the earth can be seen and known 
 but by few; it is not intended that man 
 should live always in the midst of them, 
 he injures them by his presence, he ceases 
 to feel them if he be always with them ; 
 but the sky is for all; bright as it is, is 
 not " too bright, nor good, for human 
 nature's daUy food," it is fitted in all its 
 functions for the perpetual comfort and 
 exalting of the heart, for the soothing it 
 and purifying it from its dross and du^. 
 Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, 
 sometimes awful, never the same for two 
 moments together ; almost human in its 
 passions, almost spiritual in its tenderness, 
 almost divine in its infinity, its appeal to 
 what is immortal in us, is as distinct as 
 its ministry of chastisement or of blessing 
 to vhat is mortal is essential. — Ruskin, 
 ^Modern Painturs,' I. pt. ii. sc, iii. eh. i. 
 
 Beaniy of Sunset. 
 
 Nature has a thousand ways and means 
 of rising above herself, but incomparably 
 the noblest manifestations of her capability 
 of colour are in these sunsets among the 
 high clouds. I speak especially of the 
 moment before the sun sinks, when his 
 
 light turns pure rose colour, and when this 
 light falls upon a zenith covered with count- 
 less cloud-forms of inconceivable delicacy, 
 threads and flakes of vapour, which would 
 in common daylight be pure snow white, 
 and which give therefore fair field to the 
 tone of light. There is then no limit to the 
 multitude, and no check to the intensity of 
 the hues assumed. The whole sky, from 
 the zenith to the horizon, becomes one 
 molten, mantling sea of colour and fire; 
 every black bar turns into massy gold, 
 every ripple and wave into unsullied, 
 shadowless crimson, and purple, and 
 scarlet, and colours for which there are no 
 words in language, and no ideas in the 
 mind, — things which can only be conceived 
 while they are visible, — the intense hollow 
 blue of the upper sky melting through it 
 all, — showing here deep, and pure, and 
 lightless, there, modulated by the filmy, 
 formless body of the transparent vapour, 
 till it is lost imperceptibly in its crimson 
 and gold. — Ruskin, ' Modern Painters,' I. 
 pt. ii. sc. ii. ch. ii. 
 
 VI. MORAL AND RELIGIOUS 
 FEELINGS. 
 
 Distinguished from Moral Intelligence. 
 
 There is in man a moral law, — a law of 
 duty, which unconditionally commands the 
 fulfilment of its. behests. This supposes 
 that we are able to fulfil them, or our 
 nature is a lie ; and the liberty of human 
 action is thus, independently of all direct 
 consciousness, involved in the datum of 
 the law of duty. Inasmuch also as moral 
 intelligence unconditionally commands us 
 to perform what we are conscious to be our 
 duty, there is attributed to man an absolute 
 work, — an absolute dignity. The feeling 
 which the manifestation of this work ex- 
 cites is called Kespect. With the con- 
 sciousness of the lofty nature of our moral 
 tendencies, and our ability to fulfil what 
 the law of duty prescribes, there is con- 
 nected the feeling of self-respect ; whereas 
 from a consciousness of the contrast be- 
 
328 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 tween what we ought to do, and what we 
 actually perform, there arises the feeling 
 of self-abasement. The sentiment of re- 
 spect for the law of duty is the moral 
 feeling, which has by some been improperly 
 denominated the Moral Sense ; for through 
 this feeling we do not take cognisance 
 whether anything be morally good or 
 morally evil, but when, by our intelligence, 
 we recognise aught to be of such a charac- 
 ter, there is herewith associated a feeling 
 of pain or pleasure which is nothing more 
 than our state in reference to the fulfilment 
 or violation of the law. — Hamilton, ^Meta- 
 physics,' ii. 520. 
 
 The Moral Sense in Animals. 
 
 Of these elementary moral feelings, those 
 of the lower animals which associate most 
 closely with man are obviously capable. 
 The sense of duty towards a being of a higher 
 nature, which shows itself in the actions 
 of the young Child towards its Parent 
 or Nurse, long before any Ideational com- 
 prehension of it can have been attained, is 
 exactly paralleled by that of the Dog or 
 Horse towards its master. 'Man,' as Burns 
 truly said, 'is the God of the Dog.' It is 
 the substituting of the superior for the 
 inferior directing principle, the distinct 
 Intellectual comprehension of it, and the 
 volitional direction of the attention to it, 
 which constitutes the essential difference 
 between the most conscientious effort of 
 the enlightened Christian, and the honest 
 and self-sacrificing response to his sense of 
 Duty, which is seen in the Horse that falls 
 down dead from exhaustion after putting 
 forth his utmost power at the behest of his 
 rider, or in the Dog who uses his utmost 
 skill and intelligence in seeking and collect- 
 ing his master's flock. — Carpenter, '■Mental 
 Physiology,' p. 212. 
 
 Experience shows, as Dr. J. D. Morell 
 justly remarks, ' that an instinctive ap- 
 prehension of " right " and " wrong," as 
 attached to certain actions, precedes in the 
 child any distinct comprehejision of the lan- 
 guage by which we convey Moral truths. 
 
 Moreover, the power and purity of moral 
 feeling not unfrequently exist even to the 
 highest degree amongst those who never 
 made the question of Morals in any way 
 the object of direct thought, and may per- 
 chance be unconscious of the treasure they 
 possess in their bosoms.' — Carpenter, 'Men- 
 tal Physiology,' p. 212. 
 
 Evolutional Theory of the Moral Sense. 
 
 Darwiji. 
 
 The following proposition seems to me 
 in a high degree probable — namely, that 
 any animal whatever, endowed with well- 
 marked social instincts, the parental and 
 filial affections being here included, would 
 inevitably acquire a moral sense or con- 
 science, as soon as its intellectual powers 
 had become as well, or nearly as well, de- j 
 
 veloped, as in man. For, firstly, the social ; 
 
 instincts lead an animal to take pleasure in 
 the society of its fellows, to feel a certain 
 amount of sympathy with them, and to pei"- 
 form various services for them. Secondly, 
 As soon as the mental faculties had become 
 highly developed, images of all past actions 
 and motives would be incessantly passing i 
 
 through the brain of each individual, and J 
 
 that feeling of dissatisfaction, or even J 
 
 misery, which invariably I'esults from any ; 
 
 unsatisfied instinct, would arise, as often 
 as it was perceived that the enduring and 
 always present social instinct had yielded 
 to some other instinct, .at the same time 
 stronger, but neither enduring in its na- 
 ture, nor leaving behind it a very vivid 
 impression. Thirdly, After the power of 
 language had been acquired, and the wishes 
 of the community could be expressed, the 
 common opinion how each member ought 
 to act for the public good, would naturally 
 become in a paramount degree the guide 
 to action. Lastly, Habit in the individual 
 would ultimately play a very important 
 part in guiding the conduct of each mem- 
 ber; for the social instinct, together with 
 sympathy, is like any other instinct, greatly 
 strengthened by habit, and so consequently 
 would be obedience to the wishes and judg- 
 
MORAL AND RELIGIOUS FEELINGS. 
 
 329 
 
 ment of the community. — ^Descent of Man, ^ 
 pp. 98, 99. 
 
 Herhert Spencer. 
 
 I believe that the experiences of utility 
 organised and consolidated through all past 
 generations of the human race, have been 
 producing corresponding modifications, 
 which, by continued transmission and ac- 
 cumulation, have become in us certain 
 faculties of moral intuition — certain emo- 
 tions responding to right and wrong con- 
 duct, which have no apparent basis in the 
 individual experiences of utility. — Letter 
 to Mr. Mill, ill Bahis ' Mental and Moral 
 Science,' p. 722. 
 
 The Religious Feelings. 
 
 Tliere are religious tJwugTifs, feelings, and 
 actions ; the first giving rise to the second, 
 and the second to the third. As it is with 
 the social affections, so it is with the re- 
 ligious ; the object must be known in part 
 before way feeling is excited, and then it is 
 more fully known. 
 
 The religious affections are Fear, Adora- 
 tion, Gratitude, Faith. These are in nature 
 like the social affections ; but they are dis- 
 tinguished by their unlimited character. 
 Their objects are invisible, indpfinitdxj great, 
 and so approach towards the Infinite. — God- 
 win, '■Active Principles,' pp. 99, 100. 
 
 Distinction between Moral and Religious 
 Feelings. 
 Are religious and moral feelings identi- 
 cal ? They are certainly closely related, 
 and touch upon and interpenetrate each 
 other. It is possible, however, to distin- 
 guish the two in thought, for the purpose 
 of scientific inquiry, in the same way as has 
 been done with religion and morality them- 
 selves. The moral feeling manifests itself 
 more particularly in its negative aspects as 
 tact, and on the positive side as impulse or 
 instinct. The substance in which it inheres 
 
 is conduct— the doing of things, or leaving 
 tliem luidone. It impels or restrains. Re- 
 ligious feeling is self-centi'ed, and ihids its 
 satisfaction in itself. It is, in short, the 
 sacred chamber of our inner being, that 
 cib-jTov of the soul, in which all earthly 
 changes cease to agitate, together with all 
 opposition of desire and aversion, within 
 whose limits the mei-ely sensuous has its 
 range. This inner sanctuary, which is first 
 disclosed to the penitent alone — this heaven 
 in the soul, whence shine the stars of faith, 
 and love, and hope, to cheer the darkness 
 of our night— this anchor thnt holds firm, 
 upon which everything depends and must 
 depend if it shall not founder in the cur- 
 rent of fleeting time — is religious feeling. — 
 Crooks and Hurst, * Theol. Encyclop.,' pp. 
 35> 36- 
 
 Religious Feeling is not Conscience, but is 
 Established by it. 
 Religious feeling should be firm and 
 steadfast. As it develops into definite 
 convictions, it should also become a settled 
 disposition. In this regard the conscience 
 renders the service in practice which reason 
 performs in theory. As the religious feel- 
 ing is enlightened by reason, so it is esta- 
 blished and morally strengthened by the con- 
 science. In practical matters law stands 
 related to conscience as the understanding 
 to reason in the domain of theory. In the 
 latter province, that is, theory, the cogni- 
 tions, being merely logically arranged and 
 combined by the understanding, may harden 
 into a lifeless dogma, and become rigid ; 
 and, in like manner, the law of outward 
 morality may become a dead statute, for 
 the letter of the law kills, the spirit makes 
 alive. A conscience enlightened by reason 
 will doubtless be one in which religious 
 feeling manifests and approves itself. But 
 as feeling could not be resolved into reason, 
 so here it cannot he resolved into conscience. 
 — Croolcs and Hurst, ' Theol. Encyclop.' 
 p. 40. 
 
33° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 C— PSYCHOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY OF THE WILL. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 I. THE NATURE OF THE WILL. 
 It is the faculty of control. 
 
 Will is a power of control over the other 
 faculties and capacities of our nature, by 
 means of which we are enabled to deter- 
 mine personal activity. 
 
 It is to be carefully observed that Will 
 is control of our own powers, not of external 
 things. Edwards has quite overlooked this 
 in his definition, 'Will is that which chooses 
 anything ' ('Freedom of Will,' i. i). And, 
 again, he extends its application to ' things 
 present and absent.' Locke had said (' Es- 
 say,' ii. 2 1, sec. 15), with more accuracy, 
 ' Volition is an act of the mind knowingly 
 exerting that dominion it takes itself to 
 have over any part of the man by employ- 
 ing it in, or withholding it from any par- 
 ticular action. And what is the Will but 
 the faculty to do this 1 ' So Reid makes 
 Will ' a power to detei-mine, in things 
 which he conceives to depend upon his de- 
 terminations ' (' Active Powers,' ii. i ). From 
 the time of Kant, the doctrine of the Will 
 has generally had the leading place in the 
 Ethical systems of Germany. — Caldericood, 
 ^ Moral Philosojyhg,' p. 165. 
 
 We find in ourselves a power to begin or 
 forbear, continue or end, several actions of 
 our minds and motions of our bodies, barely 
 by a thought or preference of the mind 
 ordering, or, as it were, commanding the 
 doing or not doing such or such a particular 
 action. This power, which the mind has 
 thus to order the consideration of any idea, 
 or the forbearing to consider it, or to prefer 
 the motion of any part of the body to its 
 rest, and vice versa, in any particular in- 
 stance, is that which we call the will. — 
 Locke, 'Human Understanding,' II. xxi. 5. 
 
 According to the Sensational theory it is 
 action excited by Desire. 
 
 There appears no circumstance by which 
 the cases called voluntary are distinguished 
 from the involuntary, except that in the 
 voluntary there exists a Desire. Shedding 
 tears at the hearing of a tragic story, we 
 do not desire to weep ; laughing at the 
 recital of a comic story, we do not desire to 
 laugh. But when we elevate the arm to 
 ward off a blow, we desire to lift the arm ; 
 when we turn the head to look at some 
 attractive object, we desire to move the 
 head. I believe that no case of voluntary 
 action can be mentioned in which it would 
 not be an appropriate expression to call 
 the action desired. 
 
 In a voluntary action we recognise two 
 Ideas : first, the idea of the sensation or 
 exemption, which two, for shortness, we 
 shall call by one name, Pleasure ; secondly, 
 the idea of an action of our own as the 
 cause of the pleasure. It is also easy to 
 see how the Idea of a pleasure should 
 excite the idea of the action which is the 
 cause of it ; and how, when the Idea exists, 
 the action should follow. — Mill, ' Analysis, 
 4-c: ii. 350. 
 
 It is an Essential Feature in the Moral 
 Personality. 
 Will is an essential and prominent fea- 
 ture of Personality. A person is a Self- 
 conscious Intelligence capable of self-deter- 
 mination. If Intelligence is needful to 
 make knowledge of Moral Law possible, 
 Will, or power of self-determination is 
 needful to make obedience to that law pos- 
 sible. Power of self-determination is thus 
 essential to the nature of a moral being. 
 Kant says of man that 'his will' is his 
 
THE NATURE OF THE WILL. 
 
 33^ 
 
 'proper self ' ('Metapb. of Ethics,' 3d ed. 7 1 ). 
 — CaJdcrwood, ^ Moral PMlosophij,' p. 166. 
 
 Moral good lies ui the region of the will. 
 By this I mean that ever}^ trul}- virtuous 
 act must be a voluntary one. In saying 
 so, I do not mean to assert that every 
 morally good act must be a volition con- 
 templating or performing some outward 
 deed. The will of man exists in other 
 forms than in a resolution to act. Where- 
 ever there is choice, I hold that there is 
 will. Whenever I adopt any particular 
 object presented, or prefer any one object 
 to another, there is choice. There is also 
 the exercise of choice, and therefore of 
 will, in all cases in which we deliberately 
 reject any object or proposal made to us. 
 I hold then that there is choice— not only 
 iu volition, or resolution, or the final deter- 
 mination to act — there is choice in wish 
 or in voluntary aversion. When we wish 
 that our friends may prosper and be in 
 health, that God's name may be hallowed, 
 there is will. These wishes and volitions 
 and rejections may unite themselves with 
 any one of our feelings, and even with our 
 intellectual exercises. Using ' will ' in this 
 wide sense, I say that it is the region, and 
 the exclusive region, of moral good. It is 
 in voluntary acts that the conscience dis- 
 cerns a moral quality, and it is upon such 
 acts, and no others, that it pronounces its 
 decisions. It is upon acts which we were 
 free to perform, but from which also we 
 were free to abstain, that all the judgments 
 of conscience are declared. — JlPCosJi, ' In- 
 tuitions,' p. 259. 
 
 Volition is not, indeed, the whole of 
 personality, but it is one necessary element 
 of it ; — the consciousness of the one rising 
 and falling with the consciousness of the 
 other ; both more or less vividly manifested, 
 as is the case with all consciousness, ac- 
 cording to the less or greater familiarity of 
 particular instances ; but never wholly ob- 
 literated in any ; — capable at any moment 
 of being detected by analysis, and incap- 
 able of being annihilated by any effort of 
 thought. — Mansel, ^ Mdaphydcs,' p. 362. 
 
 Will and Volition Distinguished. 
 
 Will is an ainl)iguous word, being some- 
 times put for the j'actdtij of willing ; some- 
 times for the act of that faculty, besides other 
 meanings. But volition always signifies 
 the act of willing, and nothing else. — lieid. 
 
 The correlative terms, 7vill and volition, 
 are usually distinguished, in the language 
 of philosophy, as applying the one to the 
 general faculty, the other to the special 
 acts in which it manifests itself. A voli- 
 tion is an act of the will. — Mansel, ' Meta- 
 physics,'' p. 171. 
 
 Will is distinct from all other Powers, 
 
 Will is a power distinct from all the 
 other powers already named. Intellect is 
 knowing power. Will is controlling power. 
 Affection is inclination towards another 
 person, Will is guidance of our own ac- 
 tivity. Desire is craving of what we have 
 not. Will is use of what belongs to us as 
 part of our own nature. Emotion is 
 excitement of feeling in contemplation of 
 an object. Will is energy from within, 
 directing us in our relations to external 
 objects. Affection, Desire, and Emotion, 
 are all concerned with external objects, 
 Will is concerned with the management of 
 affections, desires, and emotions. Intellect, 
 besides being occupied with the objects and 
 occasions which awaken affections, desires, 
 and emotions, is capable of making these 
 exercises of feeling themselves the matter 
 of observation, but it is the function of 
 Will, under fixed laws, to determine in the 
 case of all these, including Intellect, the 
 time, manner, and measure of exercise. — 
 Calderwood, ^ Moral Philosophy,' p. 166. 
 
 Its Eelation to Intelligence. 
 
 AVill holds a double relation to Intelli- 
 gence, (i) a relation of superiority in re- 
 spect of control; and (2) a relation of 
 dependence in respect of need for guidance 
 in the government of the subordinate 
 powers. The former is the common rela- 
 tion of Will to all other powers of personal 
 activity. The latter is a special relation 
 
332 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 subsisting between Will and Intellect, by 
 reason of which self-control in human expe- 
 rience is a Rational Self-controL 
 
 Reason is the * legislator and governor 
 of Will ' (Kant, ' Metaph. of Ethics,' p. i8). 
 The term ' governor ' must, however, be 
 interpreted in harmony with legislation or 
 discovery of law, which is the proper func- 
 tion of intelligence. 
 
 Intellect has superiority of teaching 
 power, without controlling power, Will has 
 superiority of controlling power, without 
 teaching power. The grand distinction of 
 man as an active being is recognised when 
 the harmony of these two is such as to 
 secure unity of force and unity of result. — 
 Calderwood, 'Moral PMlosopliy,' p. 167. 
 
 Physical Side of Volition. 
 
 The Volitional exertion really consists 
 in an intensification of the hyper^mic state 
 of the Ideational centre, which will produce 
 an augmented tension of its nerve-force, 
 whose discharge through the motor centres 
 calls forth the muscidar movement. And 
 this may take place without a correspond- 
 ing intensification of the idea itself, if, 
 according to the doctrine previously ad- 
 vanced, we only become conscious of Cerebral 
 changes as Ideas, when their influence has 
 been reflected downwards to the Sensorium. 
 — Carpenter, 'Mental Physiology," p. 425. 
 
 The Power of the Will. 
 
 It is of obvious practical importance to 
 ascertain precisely how far the power of the 
 will actually extends. The effects which 
 it is possible to cause by human volition 
 seem to be of three kinds : (i.) Changes in 
 the external woidd consequent upon mus- 
 cular contractions. ( 2 . ) Changes in the train 
 of ideas and feelings that constitutes our 
 conscious life. (3.) Changes in the ten- 
 dencies to act hereafter in certain ways 
 tinder certain circumstances. — Sidgwick, 
 * Methods of Ethics,' p. 66. 
 
 Some psychologists confine the sphere of 
 the Will to mere muscular movements ; 
 this view is adopted by Professor Bain. 
 ' The control of Feeling and of Thought is 
 
 through the muscles. The intervention of 
 the Will being restricted to movements, the 
 voluntary control of the Feelings hinges 
 on the muscular accompaniments.' In the 
 same way the control of Will over Thoiight 
 is due to the ' local identity of actual and 
 ideal movements : ' hence the control over 
 actual movements leads on to control over 
 ideal movements. It will be noticed that 
 Professor Bain does not very clearly point 
 out how a control of the Will over ideas of 
 movement is developed into a control over 
 ideas of other kinds, not * occupying the 
 same parts ' as those of muscular move- 
 ments. And further, it should be remem- 
 bered that the ' local identity ' of ideal 
 sensations with actual sensations is only a 
 hypothesis, more or less plausible. — Ryland, 
 'Handbook, ^c.,' p. 113. 
 
 In so far as the Will cannot originate all 
 actions, and cannot altogether prevent the 
 rise of impulses, it has only a restricted 
 control. Within these natural limits, how- 
 ever, the control exercised by the Will is 
 rational self-control, inasmuch as the exer- 
 cise of intellectual power is constantly under 
 command of the Will, for the guidance of 
 our activity. — Calderwood, 'Moral Philo- 
 sophy,' p. 171. 
 
 The Idea of Freedom proceeds from the 
 Will. (See Freewill.) 
 It is from the exercise of will that we 
 get our very idea of freedom. As we sur- 
 vey the external world, including even our 
 own bodily frame, we find it bound in the 
 chain of physical causation, in which every 
 movement of an object is determined from 
 without. Even our very intellectual and 
 emotive states are under laws of association 
 and potencies which control them. It is in 
 the sanctuary of the will that freedom alone 
 is to be found — M'Cosh, 'Intuitions, Sfc.,' 
 p. 271. 
 
 II. THEORIES OF THE WILL. 
 
 Professor Bain. 
 
 Professor Bain states the primitive ele- 
 ments of the Will to be, first, the exist- 
 
THEORIES OF THE WILL. 
 
 333 
 
 ence of a spontaneous tendency to execute 
 movements independent of the stimulus of 
 sensations or feelings; and, secondly, the 
 link between a present action and a pre- 
 sent feeling, whereby the one comes under 
 the control of the other. 
 
 There is in the constitution a store of 
 nervous energy, accumulated during the 
 nutrition and repose of the system, and 
 proceeding into action with or without the 
 application of outward stimulants or feel- 
 ings anyhow arising. Spontaneity, in fact, 
 is the response of the system to nutrition, 
 — an effusion of power of which the food is 
 the condition. 
 
 We suppose movements spontaneously 
 begun, anfl accidentally causing pleasure ; 
 we then assume that with the pleasure 
 there will be an increase of vital energy, 
 in which increase the fortunate movements 
 will share, and thereby increase the plea- 
 sure. Or, on the other hand, we suppose 
 the spontaneous movements to give pain, 
 and assume that with the pain there will 
 be a decrease of energy, extending to the 
 movements that cause the evil, and there- 
 by providing a remedy. A few repetitions 
 of the fortuitous concurrence of pleasure 
 and a certain movement will lead to the 
 forging of an acquired connection, so that 
 at an after time the pleasure or its idea 
 shall evoke the proper movement at once. 
 — ' The Emotions and the Will,' pp. 303, 
 304, 315- 
 
 The Will as Reflex Action. 
 
 Hartmann. 
 
 It is scarcely to be doubted that what 
 we regard as immediate cause of our action, 
 and call Will, is to be found in the con- 
 sciousness of animals as causal moment of 
 their action, and must also be called Will, 
 if we cease to give ourselves airs of superi- 
 ority by employing different names for the 
 very same things. The dog ^oill not sepa- 
 rate from its master ; it wills to save the 
 child which has fallen into the water from 
 the well-known death ; the bird will not 
 let its young be injured; the cock loill not 
 
 share his hen with another, c^c. I know 
 there are many people who think they ele- 
 vate man when they ascribe as much as 
 possible in the life of animals, especially 
 the lower ones, to 'reflex action.' If these 
 persons have in their minds the oi-dinary 
 physiological sense of the term reflex action, 
 involuntary reaction on an external stimu- 
 lus, it may safely be said that either they 
 have never observed animals, or that they 
 have eyes but they see not. If, however, 
 they extend the meaning of reflex action 
 beyond its usual physiological acceptation, 
 they are assui-edly right; but then they 
 forget — firstly, that man, too, lives and 
 moves in pure reflex actions, that every 
 act of will is a i-eflex action ; and, secondly, 
 that every reflex action is an act of will. — 
 Hartmann, ' Philosophy of the Unconscious,' 
 i. 60. 
 
 Professor Green's Doctrine. 
 
 Is there a single principle which mani- 
 fests itself imder endless diversity of cir- 
 cumstance and relation in all the particular 
 desires of a man, and is thus, in virtue of 
 its own nature, designated by a single 
 name? And are our acts of intelligence 
 and will severally the expression of a 
 single principle, which renders each group 
 of acts possible, and is entitled in its own 
 right to the single name it bears ? We 
 shall find reason to adopt this view. The 
 meaning we attach to it, however, is not 
 that in one man there are three separate 
 or separable principles or agents severally 
 underlying his acts of desire, understand- 
 ing, and will. We adopt it in the sense 
 that there is one subject or spirit, which 
 desires in all a man's experiences of desire, 
 understands in all operations of his intelli- 
 gence, wills in all his acts of willing ; and 
 that the essential character of his desires 
 depends on their all being desires of one 
 and the same subject which also under- 
 stands, the essential character of his intel- 
 ligence on its being an activity of one and 
 the same subject which also desires, the 
 essential character of his acts of will on 
 their proceeding fi'om one and the same 
 
334 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 subject which also desires and understands. 
 — * Prolegomena to Ethics,^ p. 122. 
 
 The Will is the Man himself. 
 
 The will is simply the man. Any act of 
 will is the expression of the man as he at 
 the time is. The motive issuing in his act, 
 the object of his will, the idea which for 
 the time he sets himself to realise, are but 
 the same thing in different words. Each 
 is the reflex of what for the time, as at 
 once feeling, desiring, and thinking, the 
 man is. In willing he carries with him, 
 so to speak, his whole self to the realisa- 
 tion of the given idea. All the time that 
 he so wills he may feel the pangs of con- 
 science, or (on the other hand) the an- 
 noyance, the sacrifice, implied in acting 
 conscientiously. He may think that he is 
 doing wrong, or that it is doubtful whether 
 after all there is really an objection to his 
 acting as he has resolved to do. He may 
 desire some one's good opinion which he is 
 throwing away, or some pleasure which he 
 is sacrificing. But for all that it is only 
 the feeling, thought, and desire, repre- 
 sented by the act of will, that the man 
 recognises as for the time himself. The 
 feeling, thought, and desire with which the 
 act conflicts are influences that he is aware 
 of, influences to which he is susceptible, 
 but they are not he. — ' Prolegomena to 
 Ethics,'' pp. 158, 159. 
 
 Autonomy of the Will the Supreme Prin- 
 ciple of Morality. 
 Autonomy of the will is that property 
 of it by which it is a law to itself (inde- 
 pendently on any property of the objects 
 of volition). The principle of autonomy 
 then is : Always so to choose that the same 
 volition shall comprehend the maxims of 
 ovoc choice as a universal law. We cannot 
 prove that this practical rule is an impera- 
 tive, i.e., that the will of every rational 
 being is necessarily bound to it as a condi- 
 tion, by a mere analysis of the conceptions 
 which occur in it, since it is a synthetical 
 proposition ; we must advance beyond the 
 cognition of the objects to a critical exami- 
 
 nation of the subject, that is, of the pure 
 practical reason, for this synthetic proposi- 
 tion which commands apodictically must be 
 capable of being cognised wholly a priori. 
 But that the principle of autonomy in ques- 
 tion is the sole principle of morals can be 
 readily shown by mere analysis of the con- 
 ceptions of morality. For by this analysis 
 we find that its principle must be a cate- 
 gorical imperative, and that what this com- 
 mands is neither more nor less than this 
 very autonomy. — Kant, ^Theory of Ethics,^ 
 P- 59- 
 
 Will gives Man Authority over his Desires 
 and Inclinations. 
 
 The claims to freedom of wUl made even 
 by common reason are founded on the con- 
 sciousness and the admitted supposition 
 that reason is independent on merely sub- 
 jectively determined causes which together 
 constitute what belongs to sensation only, 
 and which consequently comes under the 
 general designation of sensibility. Man 
 considering himself in this way as an in- 
 telligence, places himself thereby in a dif- 
 ferent order of things, and in a relation to 
 determining grounds of a wholly different 
 kind, when on the one hand he thinks of 
 himself as an intelligence endowed with a 
 will, and consequently with causality, and 
 when on the other he perceives himself as 
 a phenomenon in the world of sense (as he 
 really is also), and aflirms that his causaUty 
 is subject to external determination accord- 
 ing to laws of nature. Now he soon be- 
 comes aware that both can hold good, nay, 
 must hold good, at the same time. 
 
 Hence it comes to pass that man claims 
 the possession of a will which takes no 
 accoimt of anything that comes under the 
 head of desires and inclinations, and on 
 the contrary conceives actions as possible 
 to him, nay, even as necessary, which can 
 only be done by disregarding all desires 
 and sensible inclinations. The causality of 
 such actions lies in him as an intelligence, 
 and in the laws of eflfects and actions (which 
 depend) on the prmciples of an intelligible 
 world, of which indeed he knows nothing 
 
DESIRE. 
 
 335 
 
 more than that in it pure reason alone 
 independent on sensibility gives the law; 
 moreover, since it is only in that world, 
 as an intelligence, that he is his proper 
 self (being as man only the appcai-ance of 
 himself), those laws apply to him directly 
 
 and categorically, so that the incitements 
 of inclinations and appetites (in other 
 words, the whole nature of the world of 
 sense) cannot impair the laws of his voli- 
 tion as an intelligence. — Kant, ' Theory of 
 Ethics,' pp. 77, 78. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 RELATIONS OF THE WILL TO. 
 
 I. DESIRE. 
 
 The Nature of Desire. 
 
 Described. 
 
 The uneasiness a man finds in himself 
 upon the absence of anything whose present 
 enjoyment carries the idea of delight with 
 it, is what we call desire ; which is greater 
 or less, as that uneasiness is more or less 
 vehement. — Loche, ' Human Understand- 
 ing,' II. XX. 6. 
 
 Desire is more comprehensive than appe- 
 tite. It is drawn forth by all that pro- 
 duces mere pleasure or personal gratifica- 
 tion. Hence it denotes the liking or 
 longing we have for that which pleases, or 
 for anything in so far as it gives pleasure. 
 The foundation of all desire, then, is the 
 sense of pleasure, and, we may add, of pain. 
 We wish for that which causes pleasure, 
 and we wish away that which creates pain. 
 — Minyliy, '■Human Mind,' p. 232. 
 
 Desire is a state of mind where there is 
 a motive to act — some pleasure or pain, 
 actual or ideal — without the ability. It is 
 thus a state of interval, or suspense between 
 motive and execution. Walking at a dis- 
 tance from home, the air suddenly cools to 
 the chilling point. We have no remedy at 
 hand. The condition thus arising, a motive 
 without the power of acting, is Desire. — 
 Bain, ' Mental Scieiice,' p. 366. 
 
 Man has a nature and his nature has 
 an end. This end is indicated by certain 
 tendencies. He feels inclination or desire 
 
 towards certain objects, which are suited 
 to his faculties and fitted to improve them. 
 The attainment of these objects gives plea- 
 sure, the absence of them is a source of 
 uneasiness. Man seeks them by a natural 
 and spontaneous effort. — Fleming, ' Vocah. 
 of Phil.; p. 135. 
 
 Distinguished from Will. 
 
 The distinction between desire and will 
 is, that what we will must be an action 
 and our own action ; what we desire may 
 not be our own action ; it may be no action 
 at ixW.—Reid. 
 
 [But the Will has power over thought as 
 well as action. See under IF^jZZ.] 
 
 By will is meant a free and deliberate, 
 by desire a blind and fatal tendency to act. 
 — Hamilton, '■Metaphysics,' i. 185. 
 
 That volition is not identical with desire 
 was one of the earliest results of psycho- 
 logical analysis, and is, indeed, obvious to 
 the consciousness of every man who has 
 experienced the two, however much they 
 may have been confounded together by the 
 perversity of a few unscrupulous system- 
 makers. A man may be thirsty and yet 
 refuse to drink; his desire drawing him 
 one way, and his will determining him 
 in the other. — Mansel, ^Metaphysics; p. 
 171. 
 
 Desiring and willing are two distinct 
 acts of the mind, and the will is perfectly 
 distinguished from desire, which in the 
 very same action may have a quite con- 
 
33<5 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 trary tendency from that whicli our will 
 sets us upon. A man whom I cannot 
 deny, may oblige me to use persuasions to 
 another, which, at the same time I am 
 speaking, I may wish may not prevail 
 on him. In this case, it is plain the will 
 and desire run counter. — Loclie, '■Human 
 Under standaig,' II. xxi. 30. 
 
 Appetite is the will's solicitor, and the 
 will is appetite's controller ; what we covet 
 according to the one, by the other we often 
 reject. — Hooker, * Eccles. Pol.,' bk. i. 
 
 Uhision of Desire. 
 
 It is hard to resist the illusion that a 
 thing will happen because we desire it.^ — 
 Stephen, 'The Science of Ethics,' p. 55. 
 
 Thy wish was father to that thought. — 
 Shakespeare, ' Hen. IV.,' pt. ii. act iv. sc. 4. 
 
 Variety in Desire. 
 
 Number of Desires. 
 
 The number of our desires is the same 
 with that of our pleasurable sensations. 
 [But see below.] — Mill, 'Analysis,' ii. 193. 
 
 Springing from the pleasures and pains 
 of which we find ourselves susceptible, our 
 desires are no less numerous and diversified 
 in their character. They multiply also as 
 our wants increase by experience, by habit, 
 by education, and by general culture. They 
 differ in their nature according to the source 
 from which they come. — Murphy, ' Human 
 Mind,' p. 233. 
 
 Two classes. 
 
 Under the general head of Desires may 
 be specified (i) the appetites, which take 
 their rise from bodily conditions, and are 
 common to men and brutes, — comprising 
 the feelings of hunger, thirst, and sexual 
 instinct ; and (2) the desires, as they are 
 sometimes called in a special sense, such 
 as the desire of knowledge, of society, of 
 esteem, of power, and of superiority, to- 
 gether with the counter-feelings of repug- 
 nance to the opposite class of objects. — 
 Mansel, 'Metaphysics,' p. 157. 
 
 The Growth of Desire. 
 
 Through consideration of a proposed 
 benefit. 
 
 By a due consideration, and examining 
 any good proposed, it is in our power to 
 raise our desires in a due proportion to the 
 value of that good, whereby in its turn and 
 place, it may come to work upon the will, 
 and be pursued. Due contemplation brings 
 it nearer to our mind, gives some relish of 
 it, and raises in us desire. — Locke, ' Human 
 Understanding,' II. xxi. 45, 46. 
 
 By the sense of need and the expectation of 
 pleasure. 
 
 The provocatives of desire are (i) the 
 actual wants and deficiencies of the system, 
 and (2) the experience of pleasure. Tlie 
 first class correspond with the appetites 
 and with those artificial cravings of the 
 system generated by physical habits. An 
 interval or delay in the gratification of our 
 natural wants brings in the state of crav- 
 ing or longing. The main provocative of 
 desire is the experience of pleasure. When 
 any pleasure has once been tasted, the recol- 
 lection is afterwards a motive to regain it. 
 Desire comes in with new pleasures. — Bain, 
 'Mental Science,^ p. 369. 
 
 The rise of desire is not within our control. 
 
 Desires are not under our own control ; 
 they arise naturally and necessarily on the 
 occasion of the presence of objects which 
 affect us agreeably or disagreeably. We 
 cannot help being so constituted as to 
 derive pleasure from certain objects ; we 
 cannot help feeling attracted to pleasant 
 objects, for the pleasure constitutes the at- 
 traction. But we can help yielding to the 
 attraction of desire when felt ; and we can 
 help putting ourselves in the way of feeling 
 it. — Mansel, ' MetapJiysics,' -p. 172. 
 
 Men differ according to the strength of 
 their desires. 
 
 Men differ as their desires are vehement 
 or weak. Some can hardly be said to have 
 any desires at all ; others would overturn 
 kingdoms and mingle heaven with earth, to 
 effect the least of all their desires. 
 
MOTIVES. 
 
 337 
 
 Another variety in human character is 
 the length or continuation of desire, which, 
 united with vehemence of desire, makes, I 
 believe, what we call strength of character : 
 for we could not deny to any man that at- 
 tribute who wished anything vehemently 
 and continued in the pursuit of it steadily. 
 — Smith, ' Moral PhilosopJii/,' p. 349. 
 
 The Object of Desire. 
 
 James Mill and others hold that this is 
 always some pleasure. 
 
 In the case of a pleasurable sensation, 
 the state of consciousness under the sensa- 
 tion, that is, the sensation itself, differed 
 from other sensations in that it was agree- 
 able. A name was wanted to denote this 
 peculiarity ; to mark, as a class, the sensa- 
 tions which possess it. The term Pleasure 
 was adopted. I revive the sensation ; in 
 other words, have the idea ; and, as I had 
 occasion for a name to class the sensations, 
 I have occasion for a name to class the 
 ideas. My state of consciousness under the 
 sensation I call a Pleasure; my state of 
 consciousness under the idea, that is, the 
 idea itself, I call a Desire. The term ' Idea 
 of a pleasure,' expresses precisely the same 
 thing as the term Desire. It does so by 
 the very import of the words. The idea of 
 a pleasure is the idea of something as good 
 to have. But what is a desire other than 
 the idea of something as good to have ; 
 good to have, being really nothing but de- 
 sirable to have? The terms, therefore, 
 ' idea of pleasure ' and ' desire ' are but two 
 names ; the thing named, the state of con- 
 sciousness, is one and the same. — Mill, 
 'Analysis,' i. 191. 
 
 Desiring a thing and finding it pleasant 
 are, in the strictness of language, two modes 
 of naming the same psychological fact. — 
 Mill. 
 
 II. MOTIVES. 
 
 Their Nature. 
 
 TJiey are incentives to action. 
 
 IMotives are inducements to act in a 
 certain way. It is evident that the motives 
 
 to act are the inclinations of the will, in 
 their various forms and in the widest im- 
 port which can be given to the term. — 
 Murphy, 'Human Miwl,' p. 231. 
 
 Motives are not like physical causes, con- 
 straining and necessitating ; they are only 
 incentives, disposing, not compelling. — 
 Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' i. 117. 
 
 Tlie objects of the intention. 
 
 In common language the term Motive is 
 rather used to designate the special object 
 of the intention than the general desire 
 which impels us to intend. "When a man 
 labours hard for gain, his spring of action 
 being the desire of having, his motive is 
 to get money. But he may do the same 
 thing his motive being to support his 
 family, and then his spring of action is his 
 family affections. — Whewell, ' Elements of 
 Morality,' p. 28. 
 
 According to the Sensational School, they 
 consist solely of our Pleasures and Pains. 
 
 The Motives or Ends of Action are our 
 Pleasures and Pains. The pleasures and 
 pains of the various Senses (with the Mus- 
 cular Feelings), and of the Emotions, are 
 in the last resort, the stimulants of our 
 activity, the objects of pursuit and avoid- 
 ance. — Bain, ' Mental Science,' p. 346. 
 
 When the idea of the Pleasure is associ- 
 ated with an action of our own as its cause ; 
 that is, contemplated as the consequent of 
 a certain action of ours and incapable of 
 otherwise existing; or when the cause of 
 a Pleasure is contemplated as the conse- 
 quent of an action of ours and not capable 
 of otherwise existing; a peculiar state of 
 mind is generated which, as it is a tendency 
 to action, is properly denominated Motive. 
 
 The word motive is by no means steadily 
 applied to its proper object. The pleasure, 
 for example, which is the consequent of 
 the act, is apt to be regarded as alone the 
 impelling principle, and properly entitled 
 to the name of Motive. It is obvious, how- 
 ever, that the idea of the pleasure does not 
 constitute the motive to action without the 
 
338 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 idea of the action as the cause ; that it is 
 the association, therefore, to which alone the 
 name belongs. — Mill, ^Analysis,' ii. 258. 
 
 A motive is that which moves to action. 
 But that which moves to action is the end 
 of the action, that which is sought by it ; 
 that for the sake of which it is performed. 
 Now that, generically speaking, is the 
 pleasure of the agent. Motive, then, taken 
 generically, is pleasure. The pleasure may 
 be in company or connection with things 
 infinite in variety. But these are the 
 accessaries ; the essence is the pleasure. 
 Thus, in one case, the pleasure may be 
 connected with the form, and other qualities 
 of a particular woman ; in another, with a 
 certain arrangement of colours in a picture ; 
 in another, with the circumstances of some 
 fellow-creature. But in all these cases, 
 what is generical, that is the essence, is the 
 pleasure, or relief from pain. — Mill, 'An- 
 alysis,' ii. 262. 
 
 This theory leaves no room for the oper- 
 ation of conscience, and the idea of duty 
 considered as a motive — at any i-ate when 
 the dischai^ge of duty is painful. And as a 
 matter of fact it is evident on reflection 
 that 
 
 is not man's only 7notive. 
 The proposition that happiness is the 
 sole aim of all human conduct, is nothing 
 if not universal; it must cover all the 
 actions of all human beings, at every 
 moment of their lives and throughout their 
 whole range of conscious motive ; it must 
 be equally true of our sensual appetites, 
 our purest emotions, and our intellectual 
 activities. Happiness guides us when we 
 are eating our dinners, or studying meta- 
 physics, or feeding the hungry ; when we 
 sacrifice all prospects of f utvire happiness to 
 the loftiest or the most grovelling motives ; 
 when we destroy our health and ruin our 
 families for a glass of gin, or walk up to a 
 battery to buy one more chance of victory for 
 a good cause. The love of happiness must 
 express the sole possible motive of Judas 
 Iscariot and his Master ; it must explain the 
 conduct of Stylites on his column, of Tiberius 
 
 at Caprese, of a Kempis in his cell, and of 
 Nelson in the cockpit of the Victory. It 
 must be equally good for saints, martyrs, 
 heroes, cowards, debauchees, ascetics, mys- 
 tics, cynics, misers, prodigals, men, women, 
 and babes in arms. Truly it must be an 
 elastic principle. — Stephen, * Science of 
 Ethics,' p. 44. 
 
 The name of Motive is applied to other 
 things besides Pleasures and Pains, as, for 
 instance, Knowledge and Virtue. — Rylcmd, 
 ' Handbook, <^c.,' p. 112. 
 
 Classification of Motives. 
 
 It would serve many important ends to 
 have a classification of motives, that is, of 
 the springs of human will and action. To 
 endeavour to give a complete and exhaustive 
 list of them, that is, of the categories of 
 man's moral nature, would, I am aware, be 
 quite as bold an effort as that so often made 
 to determine the categories of the under- 
 standmg. Such a classification would at 
 the best be very imperfect in the first 
 instance. But, even though only pro- 
 visionally correct, it might accomplish some 
 useful purposes. In the absence of any 
 arrangement sanctioned by metaphysicians 
 generally, it must suffice to mention here 
 some of the principal motives which very 
 obviously sway the will and impel to action. 
 
 The action of our infernal powers. 
 
 1 . As the lambs frisk, and the colt gam- 
 bols, and as the child is in perpetual rota- 
 tion, so man's internal powers are for ever 
 impelling him to exertion, independent 
 altogether of any external object, or even 
 of any further internal ends to be gained. 
 
 2. Whatever is contemplated as capable 
 of securing pleasure is felt to be desirable, 
 and whatever is apprehended as likely to 
 infiict pain is avoided. This is so very 
 obvious a swaying power with human 
 beings, that it has been noticed, and com- 
 monly greatly exaggerated, in every account 
 which has been given of man's active and 
 moral nature. The mistake of the vulgar, 
 and especially of the sensational systems, 
 
MOTIVES. 
 
 339 
 
 is that they have represented pleasure and 
 pain as the sole contemplated ends by which 
 man is or can be swayed. It is our object in 
 these paragraphs to show that man can be in- 
 fluenced by other motives, better and worse. 
 
 3. There are certain appetencies in man, 
 bodily and mental, which crave for gratifi- 
 cation, and this independent of the pleasure 
 to be secured by their indulgence. Of this 
 description are the appetites of hunger, 
 thirst, and sex, and the mental tendencies to 
 seek for knowledge, esteem, society, power, 
 property. These appetencies may connect 
 themselves with the other two classes 
 already specified, but still they are differ- 
 ent. They ^vill tend to act as natural in- 
 clinations, but still they look towards par- 
 ticular external objects. We may come to 
 gratify them for the sake of the pleasure, 
 but in the first instance we seek the objects 
 for their own sakes, and it is in seeking 
 the objects we obtain gratification. They 
 operate to some extent in the breasts of all, 
 and they come to exercise a fearfully con- 
 trolling and grasping power over the minds 
 of multitudes. 
 
 4. Man is impelled by an inward prin- 
 ciple, more or less powerful in the case of 
 different individuals, and varying widely in 
 the objects desired, to seek for the beauti- 
 ful in inanimate or in animate objects, in 
 grand or lovely scenes in nature, in statues, 
 paintings, buildings, fine composition in 
 prose or poetry, and in the countenances or 
 forms of man or woman. 
 
 5. It is not to be omitted that the moral 
 power in man is not only (as I hope to show) 
 a knowing and judging faculty ; it has a 
 prompting energy, and leads us, when a cor- 
 rupt will does not interfere, to such acts as 
 the worship of God and beneficence to man. 
 
 In whatever way we may classify them, 
 these, or such as these, are the motives by 
 which man is naturally swayed. Upon 
 these native and primary principles of 
 actions, others, acquired and secondary, 
 come to be grafted. Thus money, not 
 originally desired for its own sake, may 
 come to be coveted as fitted to gi'atify the 
 love of power, or the love of pleasure. Or, 
 
 a particular fellow-man, at first indifTerent, 
 comes to be avoided, because he seems in- 
 clined to thwart us in some of our favourite 
 ends, such as the acquisition of wealth or 
 of fame. It is a peculiarity of our nature 
 that these secondary principles may become 
 primary ones, and prompt us to seek, for 
 their own sakes, objects which were at first 
 coveted solely because they tended to pro- 
 mote further ends. — M'CosJi, ' Intuitions, 
 cjr.,' pp. 246-S. 
 
 A classification of motives, or natural 
 impulses which urge to action, has been 
 given, under which they have been pre- 
 sented in three groups, — Desires, Affec- 
 tions, and Judgments. Between the two 
 first and the last a clear line of separation 
 runs, warranting their classification as Dis- 
 positions and Judgments. The distinction 
 of these two is broadly marked. The one 
 class includes forces which impel, only by 
 their own inherent strength as feelings; 
 and are non-rational. The other class in- 
 cludes only forces which are rational as 
 well as impelling, and which impel by 
 reason of their rational character, thereby 
 constituting a specific kind of motive. The 
 difference between these two is so great 
 that the impelling power of the latter can 
 be experienced only in a rational natui^e, 
 whereas impulses of the former class may 
 belong to natures of a lower type, and may 
 be experienced by them in a large degree, 
 though not always to the full measure of 
 human nature. The one is recognition of 
 a rule of life, as a rational motive ; the 
 other is experience of disposition as motive - 
 force. Upham, in a very interesting pas- 
 sage, proposes a classification of motives 
 into personal and moral (' Treatise on the 
 Will,' ii. sec. 133, p. 207). The distinction 
 is important, but the designations are 
 unfortunate, as moral motives are pre- 
 eminently personal. — Colder wood, ' Moral 
 rhilosojyh?/,' p. 178. 
 
 It has been common to distinguish 
 motives as external or ohjvdive, and as 
 internal or subjective. Regarded objectively, 
 motives are those external objects or cir- 
 
34C 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 cumstances, which, when contemplated, 
 give rise to views or feelings which prompt 
 or influence the will. Regarded subjec- 
 tively, motives are those internal views or 
 feelings which arise on the contemplation 
 of external objects or circumstances. It is 
 only in a secondary or remote sense, how- 
 ever, that external objects or circumstances 
 can be called motives, or be said to move 
 the will. Motives are, strictly speaking, 
 subjective — as they are internal states or 
 affections of mind in the agent. — Fleming, 
 ' Vocab. of Phil.,' pp. 329, 331. 
 
 The final classification of Motives is the 
 classification of pleasurable and painful 
 feelings. [But see above.]— jBam, ^Mental 
 Science,' p. 347. 
 
 The Relation of Motives to Volitions. 
 
 All Volitions depend upon Motives. 
 
 An exercise of pure will is unknoAvn in 
 consciousness. "We may will to think, or 
 to sympathise with one in suffering, or to 
 restrain our fears, but we cannot will to 
 will. This is a simple interpretation of 
 the nature of Will. ' A mere will without 
 any motive is chimerical and contradic- 
 tory' (Leibnitz, 'Fourth Paper, Letters of 
 Leibnitz and Clarke,' p. 93). Reid states 
 it thus, — ' Every act of will must have an 
 object. He that wills must will something ' 
 ('Active Powers,' Essay ii. i. ; Hamilton, 
 531). ' Volitions never exist independently 
 of motives' (Upham, 'The Will,' sec. 136, 
 p. 213). — Calderwood, ^ Moral Philosophy,'' 
 p. 169. 
 
 But all Motives do not produce Volition. 
 
 The first requisite here is a satisfactory 
 explanation of the nature of Motives, by 
 which they may be sharply and unmistak- 
 ably distinguished from Volitions. Edwards 
 gives the definition thus, — ' By motive I 
 mean the whole of that which moves, ex- 
 cites, or invites the mind to volition, 
 whether that be one thing singly, or many 
 things conjunctly ' ('Freedom of the Will,' 
 pt. L sec. ii.). This is objectionable on many 
 accounts. We are dealing with the com- 
 parative force of mental powers, but this 
 
 applies as well to things or external objects. 
 And since it is admitted that external ob- 
 jects awaken in us such impulses as desire 
 and affection, there is no need for the 
 wide popular use of the term, which would 
 reckon money and place as motives to action. 
 More serious, however, is the objection that 
 the definition begs the question in dispute. 
 If the law of mental activity be that motives 
 excite to volition, further philosophic in- 
 vestigation is useless. The matter is settled 
 on the necessitarian side. The will is not 
 free. The object awakens the motive, the 
 motive excites the volition, and the action 
 is the result. The object, together with 
 sensibility of nature, which makes me liable 
 to its influence, is the cause of my action. 
 Such a theory might have some fair claim 
 to acceptance if it applied to an irrational 
 nature, but is quite inadequate where 
 motives mvist be classified as rational and 
 irrational. Motives so different in nature 
 must be regulated in their exercise by dif- 
 ferent laws. — Ccdderwood, ^ Moral Philo- 
 sophi/,' p. 176. 
 
 The ivill can select among motives. 
 
 The will can select, among the motives 
 which present themselves, those which the 
 Moral Sense approves as the most worthy, 
 and can intensify the force of these hj fixing 
 the attejition upon them ; whilst it can, in 
 like manner, keep to a great extent out of 
 sight, those which it feels ought not to be 
 admitted, and can thus diminish their force. 
 And thus at last, while the decision is really 
 formed by the " preponderance of motives," 
 it is the action of the will in modifying 
 the force of these motives, that really de- 
 termines loliich shall preponderate. — Car- 
 periter, 'Mental Physiology,' p. 420. 
 
 The Moral Character of Motives. 
 
 Without motive man is not a reasonaUe 
 or a responsible being. 
 
 Suppose the will to act without any 
 motive or reason whatever, by a blind cap- 
 rice, an impulse without an aim; and 
 responsibility would cease. Such an agent 
 would be like the fictitious atoms of Epi- 
 
MOTIVES. 
 
 341 
 
 cunis, that tiu'ii aside a little from the 
 right lino, without any reason why they 
 deviate one way more than another. But 
 ho must cease thereby to be a reasonable 
 being. He becomes an embodied chance, 
 a capricious and senseless atom. For surely 
 to act even on a mistaken motive, and from 
 an insufficient reason, is at least one step 
 higher than to act with no motive or reason 
 whatever. — Birks, ^ Moral Science,' p. 79. 
 
 The merit of an action depends on the 
 quality of the motive. 
 
 Let us start from a particular case. I 
 sign what I know to be a malicious libel. 
 I am then a malevolent liar. My conduct 
 proves that I am neither benevolent nor 
 truthful. I deserve blame, and my conduct 
 is demeritorious. But it is proved that 
 my hand was held by overpowering force. 
 My action then was not wrong, or rather 
 it was not my action. My body was em- 
 ployed by somebody else, as my pen was 
 employed. My character then had no in- 
 fluence upon the result. I may have been 
 the most truthful and benevolent of men. 
 Suppose it now proved that a pistol was 
 held to my head, or a bribe offered to me. 
 How am I now to be judged ? From the 
 whole operative motive, and the total im- 
 plication as to character. The criterion is, 
 what was the quality of the motive indi- 
 cated, and how far is it indicative of a 
 certain constitution of my character in 
 respect of morality ? — Stephen, ' Science of 
 Ethics,' p. 279. 
 
 There is no action so slight, nor so mean, 
 but it may be done to a great purpose, and 
 ennobled therefore ; nor is any purpose so 
 great but that slight actions may help it, 
 and may be so done as to help it much, 
 most especially that chief of all purposes, 
 the pleasing of God. Hence George Her- 
 bert— 
 
 ' A servant with this clause 
 IMakes drudgery divine: 
 Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, 
 Makes that and the action fine.' 
 
 — Ruskin, ' Seven Lamps of Archi- 
 tecture,' p. 4. 
 
 The Power of Motive. 
 
 It varies according to the differing sensi- 
 bility of men. 
 
 The same objects and circumstances may 
 havedifferent effects, not only upon dilTorent 
 individuals, but even upon the same indi- 
 viduals at different times. A man of slow 
 or narrow intellect is unable to perceive 
 the value or importance of an object when 
 presented to him, or the propriety or advan- 
 tage of a course of conduct that may be 
 pointed out to him, so cleai-ly or so quickly 
 as a man of large and vigorous intellect. 
 The consequence will be, that with the same 
 motives (objectively considered) presented 
 to them, the one may remain indifferent 
 and indolent in reference to the advantage 
 held out, while the other will at once appre- 
 hend and pursue it. A man of dull or cold 
 affections will contemplate a spectacle of 
 pain or want, without feeling any desire or 
 making any exertion to relieve it; while 
 he whose sensibilities are more acute and 
 lively, will instantly be moved to the most 
 active and generous efforts. An action 
 which will be contemplated with horror 
 by a man of tender conscience, will be done 
 without compunction by him whose moral 
 sense has not been sufficiently exercised to 
 discern between good and evil. — Fleming, 
 ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 331. 
 
 The efficacy of motives is determined 
 by the individuality, as a motive can only 
 obtain influence over me because I am what 
 I am. — Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' i. 119. 
 
 Its influence is iceakencd by physical ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 Exhaustion, and natural inaction of 
 the powers, are a bar to the influence of 
 motives. When the system is exhausted 
 or physically indisposed, a more than ordi- 
 nary motive is re(]uired to bring on exertion. 
 The exhausted mountain guide can be got 
 to proceed only by the promise of an extra 
 fee. Napoleon took his men across the 
 Alps by plying them with the rattle of the 
 drums, when everything else failed. — Bain, 
 ^Mental Science,' p. 355. 
 
34: 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 III. ACTION. 
 
 Two Kinds of Bodily Actions— Volitional 
 and Automatic. 
 The former are those which are called 
 forth by a distinct effort of the will, and 
 are directed to the execution of a definite 
 purpose; whilst the latter are performed 
 in respondence to an internal prompting 
 of which we may or may not be consciojis, 
 and are not dependent on any preformed 
 intention, — being executed, to use a com- 
 mon expression, 'mechanically.' — Carpen- 
 ter, ' Mental Physiology,' p. i6. 
 
 The man in full possession of his voli- 
 tional power can use it (i) in giving bodily 
 effect to his mental decision, by either put- 
 ting in action the muscles which will exe- 
 cute the movement he has determined on, 
 or by restraining them from the action to 
 which they are prompted by some other 
 impulse ; and (2) in controlling and direct- 
 ing that succession of mental operations 
 by which the determination is arrived at. 
 — Carpenter, ' Mental Physiology,' p. 378. 
 
 The process involved in the simplest 
 type of voluntary action may be described 
 as follows : — The initial stage is the rise of 
 some desire in the mind. This desire is 
 accompanied by the representation of some 
 movement (motor representation) which is 
 recognised as subserving the realisation of 
 the object. The recognition of the causal 
 relation of the action to the result involves 
 a germ of belief in the attainability of the 
 object of desire or in the efiicacy of the 
 action. Finally, we have the carrying out 
 of the action thus represented. This may 
 be described as the direction of the active 
 impulse involved in the state of desire 
 into the definite channel of action sug- 
 gested. This last stage of the process of 
 volition is known as the act. The desire 
 which precedes and determines this is 
 called its moving force, stimulus, or motive. 
 Since this motive involves the anticipation 
 of the final realisation, this consummation 
 is spoken of as the object, purpose, or end 
 of the action, and correlatively, the action 
 
 as the means of gaining or realising the 
 object of desire. — Sidly, ' Psychology,' 
 p. 58S. 
 
 IV. HABIT. 
 
 Its Nature. 
 
 Habit Defined. 
 
 Habit is that facUity which the mind 
 acquires in all its exertions, both animal 
 and intellectual, in consequence of practice. 
 — Steivart, ' Works,' ii. 258. 
 
 The Moral Habits are the acquirements 
 relating to Feelings and Volitions. Be- 
 sides the intellectual acquirements properly 
 so called, as Language, Science, &c., we 
 have a series of growths, consisting in the 
 increase or diminution of the feelmgs, and 
 m modifications of the strength of the will, 
 whereby some motives gain and others lose 
 in practical efiicacy. We speak of habits 
 of Courage, Fortitude, Command of Tem- 
 per, meaning that those qualities have at- 
 tained, through education, a degree not 
 attaching to them naturally. — Bain, ' Men- 
 tal Science,' p. 385. 
 
 Distinguished from Instinct. 
 
 Habit differs from instinct, not in its 
 nature, but in its origin; the last being 
 natural, the first acquired. Both operate 
 without will or intention, without thought, 
 and therefore may be called mechanical 
 principles. — Reid, ' Worlcs,' p. 550. 
 
 Classification of Habits. 
 
 Habits may be divided into active and 
 passive; those things which we do by an 
 act of the will, and those things which 
 we suffer by the agency of some external 
 power. — Smith, 'Moral Philosophy,' p. 383. 
 
 There are habits of perception and habits 
 of action. An instance of the former is our 
 constant and even involuntary readiness in 
 correcting the impressions of our sight, con- 
 cerning magnitudes and distances, so as to 
 substitute judgment in the room of sensa- 
 tion, imperceptibly to ourselves. And it 
 seems as if all other associations of ideas 
 not naturally connected might be called 
 
HABIT. 
 
 343 
 
 jmssive hahifs ; as properly as our readiness 
 in understanding languages upon sight, or 
 hearing of words. And our readiness in 
 speaking and Avriting them is an instance 
 of the latter, of active habits. For distinct- 
 ness we may consider habits as belonging to 
 the body or the mind. — Butler, '■Anahxjij,' 
 pt. i. chap. V. § ii. 
 
 Formation of Habit. 
 
 Tlie pi'incipal means is repeated action. 
 
 The wonderful effect of practice in the 
 formation of habits has been often and 
 justly raken notice of as one of the most 
 curious circumstances in the human con- 
 stitution. A mechanical operation, for ex- 
 ample, which we at first performed with 
 the utmost difficulty, comes in time to be 
 so familiar to us that we are able to per- 
 form it without the smallest danger of 
 mistake ; even while the attention appears 
 to be completely engaged with other sub- 
 jects. In consequence of the association of 
 ideas, the different steps of the process pre- 
 sent themselves successively to the thoughts, 
 without any recollection on our part, and 
 with a degi-ee of rapidity proportioned to 
 the length of our experience. — Stewart, 
 ' Works,' ii. 124. 
 
 Habits belonging to the body seem pro- 
 duced by repeated acts. In like manner 
 habits of the mind are produced by the 
 exertion of inward practical principles, i.e., 
 by carrying them into act, or acting upon 
 them ; the principles of obedience, of ver- 
 acity, justice, and charity. Nor can these 
 habits be formed by any external course of 
 action, otherwise than as it proceeds from 
 these principles ; because it is only these 
 inward principles exerted, which are 
 strictly acts of obedience, of veracity, of 
 justice, and of charity. So likewise habits 
 of attention, industry, self-government, are 
 in the same manner acquired by exercise ; 
 and habits of envy and revenge by indul- 
 gence, whether in outward act, or in thought 
 and intention, i.e., inward act; for such 
 intention is an act. Resolutions also to do 
 well are properly acts. And endeavouring 
 
 to enforce upon our minds a practical sense 
 of virtue, or to beget in others that prac- 
 tical sense of it which a man really has 
 himself, is a virtuous act. All these, 
 therefore, may and will contribute towards 
 forming good habits. But going over the 
 theory of virtue in one's thoughts, talking 
 well and drawing fine pictures of it ; this is 
 so far from conducing to form a habit of it 
 in him who thus employs himself, that it 
 may harden the mind in a contrary course. 
 — Butler, ' Analogy,' pt. i. ch. v. sec. ii. 
 
 In the first place, a certain repetition is 
 necessary, greater or less according to the 
 change that has to be effected, and to the 
 absence of other favouring circumstances. 
 In the second place, the mind may be more or 
 less concentrated on the acquisition. Moral 
 progress depends greatly on the bent of 
 the learner towards the special acquisition. 
 — Bain, ^Mental Science,'' p. 385. 
 
 Effect of Habit. 
 
 It gives facility of action. 
 
 We are capable, not only of acting, and 
 of having different momentary impressions 
 made upon us. but of getting a new facility 
 in any kind of action, and of settled alter- 
 ations in our temper or character. The 
 power of the last two is the power of habits. 
 — Butler, ^Analogy,' pt. i. ch. v. sec. ii. 
 
 It diminishes sensibility. 
 
 It appears to be a general law that habit 
 diminishes physical sensibility; whatever 
 affects any organ of the body, affects it less 
 by repetition. Brandy is begun in tea- 
 spoons ; but the effect is so soon lost, that 
 a more generous and expanded vehicle is 
 very soon had recourse to ; the same heat 
 to the stomach, and the same intoxication 
 to the head, cannot be produced by the 
 same quantity of liquor. So with perfumes ; 
 wear scented powder, and in a month you 
 will cease to perceive it. Habituate your- 
 self to cold or to heat, and they cease to 
 affect you. Eat Cayenne pepper, and you 
 will find it perpetually necessary to increase 
 the quantity in order to produce the effect. 
 
344 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ' My perfumed doublet,' says Montaigne, 
 ' gratifies my own smelling at first, as well 
 as that of others ; but after I have worn it 
 three or four days together, I no more per- 
 ceive it; but it is yet more strange that 
 custom, notwithstanding the long inter- 
 missions and intervals, should yet have the 
 power to unite and establish the effect of 
 its impressions upon our senses, as is 
 manifest in those who live near to steeples 
 and the frequent noise of bells. I myself lie 
 at home in a tower, where every morning 
 and evening, a very great bell rings out the 
 Ave Maria, the noise of which shakes my 
 very tower, and at first seemed insupport- 
 able to me ; but having now a good while 
 kept that lodging, I am so used to it, that 
 I hear it without any manner of offence, and 
 often without awaking at it. Plato repre- 
 hends a boy for playing at some childish 
 game. " Thou reprovest me," says the 
 boy, " for a very little thing." " Custom," 
 replied Plato, "is 7io little thing." And 
 he was in the right; for I find that our 
 greatest vices derive their first propensity 
 from our most tender infancy, and that 
 our principal education depends upon the 
 nurse.' 
 
 In all these cases, the sensibility of the 
 different parts of the body is diminished 
 by repetition; and the same substances 
 applied to them cannot produce the same 
 effects. The habit, it should be observed, 
 does not act by individual substances, but 
 often by classes ; if you have accustomed 
 yourself to opium, all soporific drugs have 
 less effect upon you ; if to one species of 
 wine, you are capable of bearing a greater 
 quantity of any other; the sensibility of 
 the body is not only diminished towards 
 that object, but towards many others 
 similar to it; chiefly, however, towards 
 the object upon which the habit was 
 founded. — Smith, ' Moral Pliilusophy,' p. 
 386. 
 
 Its influence on human hapx>lness. 
 
 Everyone must be familiar with the 
 effects of habit. A walk upon the quarter- 
 deck, though intolerably confined, becomes 
 
 so agreeable by custom, that a sailor in his 
 walk on shore, very often confines himself 
 within the same bounds. ' I knew a man,' 
 says Lord Kaimes, ' who had relinquished 
 the sea for a country life : in the corner of 
 his garden he reared an artificial mount, 
 with a level summit, resembling most 
 accurately a quarter - deck, not only in 
 shape but in size ; and here he generally 
 walked.' — Smith, ^Moral Philosophy,^ P- 381. 
 It is impossible not to perceive that 
 powerful effect which habit must exercise 
 upon human happiness, by connecting the 
 future with the present, and exposing us to 
 do again that which we have already done. 
 If we wish to know who is the most de- 
 graded and the most wretched of human 
 beings ; if it be any object of curiosity in 
 moral science, to gauge the dimensions of 
 wretchedness, and to see how deep the 
 miseries of man can reach ; — if this be any 
 object of curiosity, look for the man who 
 has practised a vice so long, that he curses 
 it and clings to it ; that he pursues it, 
 because he feels a great law of his nature 
 driving him on towards it; but, reaching 
 it, knows that it will gnaw his heart, and 
 tear his vitals, and make him roll himself 
 in the dust with anguish. Say everything 
 for vice which you can say, — magnify any 
 pleasure as much as you please, but don't 
 believe you can keep it ; don't believe you 
 have any secret for sending on quicker the 
 sluggish blood, and for refreshing the faded 
 nerve. Nero and Caligula, and all those 
 who have had the vices and the riches of 
 the world at their command, have never 
 been able to do this. Yet you will not 
 quit what you do not love ; and you will 
 linger on over the putrid fragments, and the 
 nauseous carrion, after the blood, and the 
 taste, and the sweetness are vanished away. 
 But the wise toil, and the true glory of 
 life, is to turn all these provisions of 
 nature — all these great laws of the mind — 
 to good ; and to seize hold of the power of 
 habit, for fixing and securing virtue: for- 
 if the difliculties with which we begin were 
 always to continue, we might all cry out 
 with Brutus — ' I have followed thee, 
 
LIBERTY, NECESSITY, DETERMINISM. 
 
 345 
 
 Virtue ! as a real thing, and thou art but 
 a name ! ' But the state which repays us, 
 is that habitual virtue, which makes it as 
 natural to a man to act right, as to breathe ; 
 which so incorporates goodness with the 
 system, that pure thoughts are conceived 
 without study, and just actions performed 
 without effoi-t : as it is the perfection of 
 health, when every bodily organ acts without 
 exciting attention ; when the heart beats 
 and the lungs play, and the pulses flow, with- 
 out reminding us that the mechanism of life 
 is at work. So it is with the beauty of moral 
 life ! when man is just, and generous, and 
 good, without knowing that he is practising 
 any virtue, or overcoming any difiiculty : 
 and the truly happy man is he who, at the 
 close of a long life, has so changed his 
 original nature, that he feels it an effort to 
 do wrong, and a mere compliance with habit 
 to perform every great and sacred duty of 
 life. — Smith, ' Moral Philosophy,' p. 396. 
 
 Its poicer in the religious life. 
 
 The long practised Christian, who, through 
 God's mercy, has brought God's presence 
 near to him, is moved by God dwelling in 
 him, and needs not but act on instinct. 
 He does his duty unconsciously. It is 
 
 natural to him to obey. This excellent 
 obedience is obedience on habit. — Newman, 
 ^Sermons,' i. 75. 
 
 Influence on Conduct. 
 
 Previously acquii'ed habits automatically 
 incite us to do as we have been before accus- 
 tomed to do under the like circumstances, 
 without the idea of prospective pleasure or 
 pain, or of right or wrong, being at all 
 present to our minds. "Where the habits 
 have been judiciously formed in the first 
 instance, this tendency is an extremely 
 useful one, prompting us to do that spon- 
 taneously which might otherwise require 
 a powerful effort of the will ; but if, on 
 the other hand, a bad set of habits have 
 grown up with the growth of the individual, 
 or if a single bad tendency be allowed to 
 become an habitual spring of action, a far 
 stronger effort of volition will be required 
 to determine the conduct in opposition to 
 them. This is especially the case when 
 the habitual idea possesses an emotional 
 character, and thus becomes the source of 
 desires; for the more frequently these are 
 yielded to, the more powerful is the solicita- 
 tion they exert. — Carpenter, ^Menial Fliijsio- 
 iogy,' ipv- 414, 415- 
 
 XVIII. 
 LIBERTY, NECESSITY, DETERMINISM, 
 
 Various Explanations of Terms. 
 
 Lihertij or Freedom. 
 
 The idea of liberty is the idea of a power 
 in any agent to do or forbear any particular 
 action, according to the determination or 
 thought of the mind, whereby either of 
 them is preferred to the other; where 
 either of them is not in the power of the 
 agent to be produced by him according to 
 his volition, there he is not at liberty ; that 
 agent is under neces.sity. — Locke, ' Human 
 Understanding,' II. xxi. 8, 
 
 By the liberty of a Moral Agent, I un- 
 derstand a power over the determinations of 
 his own Will. If, in any action, he had 
 power to will what he did, or not to will it, 
 in that action he is free. — Reid, ' Works' 
 P- 599- 
 
 On this Sir W. Hamilton remai-ks in a 
 note to his edition of Ileid : ' That is to say, 
 Moral Liberty does not merely consist in 
 the power of doing tohat we will, but in the 
 power of loilling ivhat we will. For a power 
 over the determinations of our Will sup- 
 
346 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 poses an act of "Will that our Will should 
 determine so and so ; for we can only freely 
 exert power through a rational determina- 
 tion or Volition. This definition of Liberty 
 is right.' 
 
 The power of will consists only in this, 
 that we are able to do or not to do the same 
 thing, or rather in this alone, that in pur- 
 suing or shunning what is proposed to us 
 by the understanding, we so act that we 
 are not conscious of being determined to a 
 particular action by any external force. — 
 Descartes, ' Meditations,^ iv. 
 
 Moral freedom is the power of choice, 
 which belongs to the very essence of happi- 
 ness. It is a luxury which intelligent beings 
 hold to be beyond all price. The inward 
 exercise of this liberty is a privilege of 
 which the rational soul cannot be deprived. 
 Liberty, however, is also employed to de- 
 note freedom of action. — Murphy, ^ Human 
 Mind,'' p. 185. 
 
 Freedom is power to choose. It is there- 
 fore involved in will. Hence it can only 
 be destroyed by the destruction of the will. 
 It is the indispensable condition of account- 
 ability, as conscience is its fovmdation. 
 Freedom, however, is also used to denote 
 the power to act according to choice. In 
 this sense it is the measure of responsibility. 
 Hence it appears that reason, which includes 
 conscience, yields the foundation; will, 
 which confers freedom, the condition ; and 
 power, the measui-e of moral responsibility. 
 — Murphy, ' Human Mind,' p. 192. 
 
 It is carefully to be remembered, that 
 freedom consists in the dependence of the 
 existence or not existence of any action, 
 upon our volition of it; and not in the 
 dependence of any action, or its contrary, 
 on our preference. A man standing on a 
 cliff is at liberty to leap twenty yards down- 
 wards into the sea, not because he has a 
 power to do the contrary action, which is 
 to leap twenty yards upwards, for that he 
 cannot do ; but he is therefore free because 
 he has a power to leap or not to leap. But 
 if a greater force than his either holds him 
 fast or tumbles him down, he is no longer 
 
 free in that case ; because the doing or for- 
 bearance of that particular action is no 
 longer in his power. In this, then, con- 
 sists our freedom, viz., in our being able 
 to act or not to act, according as we shall 
 choose or will. — Locke, '■Human Understand- 
 ing,' 11. xxi. 27. 
 
 This is a clear approach to the Necessi- 
 tarian idea of Freedom, which may be 
 gathered from the following extract : — 
 
 The Necessitarian doctrine, in denying 
 freedom of will, does not altogether refuse 
 a place to freedom. But the only liberty 
 which it acknowledges is liberty of acting 
 as we will, denominated freedom from con- 
 straint or coercion. ' I say that a thing is 
 free which exists and acts by the sole 
 necessity of its nature ' (Spinoza, Letter 
 62, ' Life, Corresp. and Ethics,' by R. 
 Willis, M.D., p. 393). 'By liberty we can 
 only mean a power of acting or not acting, 
 according to the determinations of the Will' 
 (Hume, ' Essays,' ii. 110). 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 
 wills ' (Edwards, 'The Will,' pt. i. sec. 5). — 
 Calderwood, ^ Moral Philosophy,' t^. 194. 
 
 Necessity. 
 
 Besides the use of the term to imply 
 what we cannot avoid thinking or judging, 
 the word Necessity is often applied to the 
 doctrine which denies the freedom of the 
 human will, and even to that form of the 
 doctrine which confines itself to asserting 
 that volitions have invariable antecedents 
 which would enable any person who knew 
 all the antecedents to predict the volitions 
 with perfect accuracy. — Moncli, ' Sir W. 
 Hamilton,'' p. 184. 
 
 A necessary action is one the contrary of 
 which is impossible. — Fleming, ' Vocab. of 
 Phil.,' p. 343. 
 
 There are two schemes of necessity, — 
 the necessitation by efficient — the necessita- 
 tion hj final causes. The former is brute 
 or blind fate ; the latter rational determin- 
 ism. Though their practical results be the 
 
LIBERTY, NECESSITY, DETERMINISM. 
 
 347 
 
 same, tliey ought to be carefully distin- 
 guished in theory. — Hamiltony 'Heid's 
 WorL«; p. 87. 
 
 The terms used in this controversy are said 
 to be inappropriate. 
 
 The capital objection to Free-will is the 
 unsuitabilitj, irrelevance, or impropriety of 
 the metaphor ' fi-eedom ' in the question of 
 the sequence of motive and act in volition. 
 The proper meaning of ' free ' is the ab- 
 sence of external compulsion ; every sentient 
 being, under a motive to act, and not inter- 
 fered with by any other being, is to all 
 intents free ; the fox impelled by hunger, 
 and proceeding unmolested to a poultry- 
 yard, is a free agent. Free trade, free soil, 
 free press, have all intelligible significa- 
 tions ; but the question whether, without 
 any reference to outward compulsion, a 
 man in following the bent of his own 
 motives, is free or is necessitated by his 
 motives, has no relevance. — Bain, ' Mental 
 and Moral Science,^ p. 398. 
 
 The upholders of the scheme have a 
 double objection to the name Necessitari- 
 anism, as descriptive of their theory, first, 
 because it seems to convey that they have 
 no place for liberty, and, secondly, because 
 it seems to imply that they really hold that 
 men are constrained in their actions ; both 
 of which they deny. Tlius Mr. Mill, as an 
 upholder of the theory, speaks of it as ' the 
 falsely-called Doctrine of Necessity,' — pre- 
 ferring * the fairer name of Determinism,' 
 and says, that the word Necessity * in 
 this application, signifies only invariability ' 
 (' Exam.,' p. 552). Determinism is an un- 
 suitable word, because on both sides a 
 doctrine of determination of will is held, 
 the dispute being between self-determina- 
 tion, and motive-determination. — Calder- 
 irood, ^ Moral Philosophy,'' p. 194. 
 
 Exposition of the Rival Doctrines. 
 
 Liberty. 
 
 The will is free. In saying so, I mean 
 to assert not merely that it is free to act 
 as it pleases — indeed this maxim is not 
 
 universally true, for the will may often be 
 hindered from action, as when I will to 
 move my arm, and it refuses to obey be- 
 cause of paralysis. I claim for it an an- 
 terior and a higher power, a power in the 
 mind to choose, and, when it chooses, a 
 consciousness that it might choose other- 
 wise. — 31' Cosh, ^Intuitions of the Mind,' 
 p. 270. 
 
 Properly speaking, the will does not 
 furnish incitements, inducements, or mo- 
 tives ; these come from the appetencies. 
 It is the province of the Will, seated above 
 them, to sanction or restrain them when 
 they present themselves, and to decide 
 among them when they are competing with 
 each other for the mastery. The character- 
 istic property of emotion is attachment or 
 repugnance, with associated excitement. 
 The distinguishing quality of will is choice 
 or rejection. Inducements being held out, 
 the mind, in the exercise of will, sanctions 
 or refuses. It assumes a number of forms, 
 in all of which there is the element of 
 choice. If the object is present, we posi- 
 tively choose it or adopt it ; if the object is 
 absent, we wish for it ; if it is to be obtained 
 by some exertion on our part, we form a 
 resolution to take the steps necessary to pro- 
 cure it. — M'Cosh, ' Litiiitions of the Mind,' 
 p. 250. 
 
 In every act of volition I am fully con- 
 scious that I can at this moment act in 
 either of two ways, and that, all the ante- 
 cedent phenomena being precisely the same, 
 I may determine one way to-day and an- 
 other way to-morrow. — Mansel, ^Prolego- 
 mena Logica,' p. 152. 
 
 Human actions done consciously and with 
 choice do not, like the operations of mate- 
 rial natui-e, present a distinct order of oc- 
 currence, and so admit of generalisation 
 and prediction. That is to say, actions 
 resulting from choice cannot be classified 
 with the ordinary phenomena of causation 
 in respect to their invariable order and 
 conditional certainty. — Sully, ' Sensation, 
 ^c.,' p. 118. 
 
 We float down the stream of life as 
 
348 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 nature and fate impel us ; we cannot pass 
 the bounds within which the ship of our 
 life restrains us; but upon this ship our 
 movements are free. We experience influ- 
 ences and impressions of various kinds, but 
 we possess freedom of choice. We are 
 placed in manifold connections, but we 
 have the power of the initiative; we are 
 able to begin what is new. though in con- 
 nection with what is old. Our actions are 
 occasioned by external or internal causes, 
 but in every action we are conscious that 
 we could have acted differently. This abi- 
 lity to act differently, this power of the 
 initiative, of deciding for ourselves, is free- 
 dom. — Lutliardt, '■Moral Truths,^ p. 50. 
 
 Kanfs Categories of Freedom. 
 Table of the Categories of Freedom relatively 
 to the Notions of Good and Evil. 
 
 I. Quantity. 
 Subjective, according to maxims {prac- 
 tical opinions of the individual). 
 
 Objective, according to principles {pre- 
 cepts). 
 
 A p)riori, both objective and subjective 
 principles of freedom {laws). 
 
 II. Quality. 
 Practical rules of action {p)rcecep)tiv(B). 
 Practical rules of omission {prohibit ivce). 
 Practical rules of exceptions {exceptivce). 
 
 III. Relation. 
 To personality. 
 
 To the condition of the person. 
 Reciprocal, of one person to the condi- 
 tion of the others. 
 
 IV. Modality. 
 
 The Permitted and the Forbidden. 
 Duty and the contrary to duty. 
 Perfect and imperfect duty. 
 
 It will at once be observed that in this 
 table freedom is considered as a sort of 
 causality not subject to empirical principles 
 of determination, in regard to actions pos- 
 sible by it, which are phenomena in the 
 world of sense; and that, consequently, it 
 
 is referred to the categories which concern 
 its physical possibility, whilst yet each cate- 
 gory is taken so universally that the de- 
 termining principle of that causality can 
 be placed outside the world of sense in 
 freedom as a property of a being in the 
 world of intelligence ; and, finally, tlie 
 categories of modality introduce the tran- 
 sition from practical principles generally 
 to those of morality, but only problemati- 
 cally. These can be established dogmati- 
 cally only by the moral law. — Kant, ' Theory 
 of Ethics,' p. 158. 
 
 Correctly conceived, the doctrine called 
 Philosophical Necessity is simply this : 
 that, given the motives which are present 
 to an individual's mind, and given likewise 
 the character and disposition of the indi- 
 vidual, the manner in which he will act 
 may be unerringly inferred; that if we 
 knew the person thoroughly, and knew all 
 the inducements which are actiag upon 
 him, we could foretell his conduct with 
 as much certainty as we can predict any 
 physical event. — Mill, ^ Logic,' ii. 416. 
 
 Necessitarians affirm, as a truth of ex- 
 perience, that volitions do, in point of fact, 
 follow determinate moral antecedents with 
 the same imiformity, and (when we have 
 sufficient knowledge of the ckcumstances) 
 with the same certainty, as physical effects 
 follow their physical causes. These moral 
 antecedents are desires, aversions, habits, 
 and dispositions, combined with outward 
 cii^cumstances suited to call those internal 
 incentives into action. All these again 
 are effects of causes, those of them which 
 are mental being consequences of educa- 
 tion, and of other mental and physical 
 influences. — Mill, '■Examination of Hamil- 
 ton,' p. 560. 
 
 The same motive, in the same circum- 
 stances, will be followed by the same action. 
 The uniformity of sequence, admitted to 
 prevail in the physical world, is held to 
 exist in the mental world, although the 
 terms of the sequence are of a different 
 
LIBERTY, NECESSITY, DETERMINISM. 
 
 349 
 
 character, as involving states of the sub- 
 jective consciousness. — Bain, 'Menial and 
 Moral Science,' p. 396. 
 
 The doctrine of Necessity is clearly dis- 
 tinguishable from Fatalism. Pure fatalism 
 holds that our actions do not depend on 
 our desires. A superior power overrides 
 our wishes and bends us according to its 
 will. Modified fatalism proceeds upon the 
 detei'mination of our will by motives, but 
 holds that our character is made for us and 
 not by us, so that we are not responsible 
 for our actions, and should in vain attempt 
 to alter them. The true doctrine of Causa- 
 tion holds that in so far as our character 
 is amenable to moral discipline, we can 
 improve it if we desire. The volitions 
 tending to improve our character are as 
 capable of being predicted as any voluntary 
 actions. And necessity means only this 
 possibility of being foreseen, so that we are 
 no more free in the formation of our 
 character, than in our subsequent volitions. 
 • — Bahi, ' Mental and Moral Science,' p. 
 .42S. 
 
 The distinctive features of Necessi- 
 tarianism or Determinism are, negatively, 
 the denial of freedom in willing to act; 
 and positively, the presentation of a theory 
 of Will, professedly adequate to account 
 for all the facts of consciousness which 
 bear upon the direction of human conduct. 
 
 The Necessitarian theory, on its negative 
 or critical side, rests upon an application 
 of the law of causality. It ui-ges that 
 every event follows a cause : that this 
 holds true in the sphere of mind as well 
 as of matter; and so applies to volitions 
 as well as sensations. At this point there 
 is no divergence of opinion. Indeed, most 
 libertarians go further than necessitarians 
 here, and do not halt, like Mr. Mill, at the 
 statement that the effect 'certainly and 
 invariably ' does follow its cause, but ad- 
 vance to the position that it must do so. 
 Liberty of indifference and liberty of 
 caprice are repudiated, and are not to be 
 set to the account of libertarianism, any 
 more than a doctrine of constraint is to be 
 
 charged against necessitarianism. These 
 are the extremes, taken in the heat of 
 conflict, to be abandoned in calmer mood. 
 That every volition must have a cause, is 
 a necessity freely admitted. 
 
 The Necessitarian theory not only insists 
 upon the application of the law of causality 
 within the region of mind, as to which all 
 are agreed, but further insists upon an 
 interpretation of the law in accordance with 
 the analogy of the physical world. Look- 
 ing from the effect backwards to the cause, 
 it maintains that the law of causality 
 warrants the affirmation, not only that an 
 adequate cause has acted, but also Iwiv it 
 has acted. Looking from the cause forward 
 to the effect, it maintains on warrant of the 
 law of causality, not only that the cause 
 has produced the effect, but that it was 
 necessitated to produce that effect. But 
 this is something more than an application 
 of the law of causality. With the law, it 
 carries an interpretation founded on know- 
 ledge gathered in a particular sphere. It 
 is an argument from matter to mind, and 
 as svich needs to be vindicated on the basis 
 of facts, not merely proclaimed on the 
 authority of a general law. — Galderwood, 
 'Moved Pliilosopluj,' p. 196. 
 
 The Free Will Controversy. 
 
 Arguments in favour of Freedom. 
 
 It is attested ly Consciousness. 
 
 The fact of liberty may be proved from 
 the direct consciousness of liberty. — Hamil- 
 ton, ' Reid's Worlis.' 
 
 This truth is i-evealed to us by immediate 
 consciousness, and is not to be set aside by 
 any other truth whatever. It is a first 
 truth equal to the highest, to no one of 
 which will it ever yield. It cannot be set 
 aside by any other truth, not even by any 
 other first truth, and certainly by no de- 
 rived truth. Whatever other proposition 
 is true, this is true also, that man's will is 
 free. — M'Cosh, 'Intuitions, ^-c.,' p. 270. 
 
 Of legitimate hypotheses there are three 
 available forms, — (i) constrained action, 
 
35° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 under dominion of some controlling power, 
 distinct from the Will itself; (2) spon- 
 taneous action, according to an inherent 
 and invariable law of energy operating 
 within the Will itself ; or (3) free action, 
 admitting of variation within a sphere 
 where alternative courses are equally pos- 
 sible. 
 
 The hypothesis of constrained action of 
 Will is invalidated on the ground of incon- 
 sistency with the recognised facts of con- 
 sciousness. Of these facts, the following 
 are the most important, that Intelligence and 
 Disposition are controlled,- — thatwe are con- 
 scious of personal control over these powers, 
 so that their exercise is in the direction of 
 our volitions, — and that we praise or blame 
 ourselves as the authors of the subsequent 
 actions. To prove that these are only 
 suppositions and not facts, has been found 
 too hard a task for the supporters of the 
 hypothesis of constrained action. If we 
 cannot plead the testimony of consciousness 
 as to the manner in which Will is brought 
 into exei"cise, we have its clear testimony 
 as to the fact of the Will's control over the 
 other powers of mind. Whatever be the 
 law of its own exercise. Will is free from 
 the dominion of intellect and disposition. 
 It is not controlled by them, but controls 
 both. The strongest motive does not de- 
 termine the Will ; but the Will determines 
 what motives shall be allowed to gain 
 strength. 
 
 The hypothesis of spontaneous action, 
 according to an invariable law operating 
 within the Will itself, is invalidated by the 
 facts of consciousness. The facts indicated 
 in the previous paragraph are inexplical^le 
 on this supposition. While the fact of 
 control over intellect and disposition is 
 obvious, it is equally clear that the control 
 is not so uniform as to favour belief in a 
 law of spontaneity as characteristic of Will. 
 So far from every disposition being uni- 
 formly gratified or checked as it arises, 
 there are great variations in the measure 
 of control maintained. Inasmuch as in- 
 tellect is brought into use, sometimes as 
 guide and encourager of dispositions, some- 
 
 times as their restrainer, there is no such 
 uniformity in the manner of control, as to 
 harmonise with a law of spontaneity in 
 Will, similar to that which applies to the 
 dispositions themselves when uncontrolled. 
 The hypothesis of free action as the law 
 of exercise for the Will itself, is the only 
 one which harmonises with the facts of 
 consciousness. Relative freedom, in the 
 sense of freedom from control of intellect 
 and disposition on the part of the Will, 
 being established by simple analysis of the 
 facts of consciousness; controlling power 
 on the part of the Will over both intellect 
 and disposition being recognised in exercise 
 within consciousness ; a theory of the Will 
 is completed only by maintaining that this 
 power is distinct in nature from any other 
 known to us, and that freedom of action 
 in adopting available alternatives, is the 
 law of its exercise. — Calderioood, ' Moral 
 Philosophy,'' p. 189. 
 
 The fact that we are free is given us in 
 the consciousness of an uncompromising 
 law of Duty, in the consciousness of our 
 moral accountability. — Hamilton, * Meta- 
 physics,' ii. 413. 
 
 The principal argument in favour of 
 Freedom may be very briefly stated ; it is 
 simply the testimony of consciousness. We 
 knoiv, for it is a fact attested alike by con- 
 science and consciousness, that when two 
 courses of action are presented to us, we 
 are free to choose between them, and there- 
 fore have only ourselves to approve or blame 
 for the consequences of that choice. Hence, 
 after the consequences of our conduct have 
 become manifest, we all feel self-reproach 
 or self-gratulation, because we know that 
 we might have willed differently. — Boiven, 
 ' Modern Philosop)hy,' p. 296. 
 
 Attested also by the fact of accountability 
 and man^s poiver to design. 
 
 The arguments to prove that man is en- 
 dowed with moral liberty, which have the 
 greatest weight with me, are three : first. 
 Because he has a natural conviction or 
 beHef that in many cases he acts freely; 
 
LIBERTY, NECESSITY, DETERMINISM. 
 
 351 
 
 secondly, Because he is accountable ; and, 
 third! I/, Because he is able to prosecute an 
 end by a long series of means adapted to it. 
 —Reid, * TFor/us-,' p. 6i6. 
 
 Necessity begs the question. 
 
 The Necessitarian really begs the question 
 by taking for granted the doctrme of the 
 Materialist. He assumes that mind is not 
 distinct from Matter, or in other words, 
 that there is no such separate and peculiar 
 existence as mind; that man is only a 
 machine, which is but apparently animate, 
 and therefore that he falls entirely under 
 the domain of the causa fiendi, and moves 
 only as he is moved by Phj'sical Causes, 
 strictly so called. If this Materialist theory 
 were true, I admit that the doctrine of the 
 Necessitarian would thereby be demon- 
 strated ; for I cannot even imagine any 
 change taking place in Matter, except 
 through the operation of some efficient 
 Cause, whereby it is necessarily determined 
 to be what it is ; and I cannot see how a 
 Necessitarian can logically avoid being also 
 a Materialist. — Bowen, ' Modern Philo- 
 sophy,'' p. 298. 
 
 Confession of a Fatalist. 
 
 I myself believe that I have a feeling of 
 Liberty even at the very moment when I 
 am writing against Liberty, upon grounds 
 which I regard as incontrovertible. Zeno 
 was a fatalist only in theory ; in practice, 
 he did not act in conformity with that con- 
 viction. — Ilommel. 
 
 Difficidties of Necessity. 
 
 Necessitarianism encounters difficulties, 
 arising from its own nature, in attempting 
 to construct a harmonious theory of moral 
 government, and to interpret the moral 
 sentiments common to men. 
 
 (i.) Necessitainanism has difficulty in 
 accounting for the consciousness of Moral 
 Responsibility, and for the justice of per- 
 sonal liability to punishment. 
 
 (2.) A philosophy of the moral senti- 
 ments, including self-approbation and self- 
 condemnation, shame and remorse, is 
 
 peculiarly difficult under the necessitarian 
 liypotliesis. Remorse may bo taken as the 
 example. Priestley treats of it thus, — * A 
 man, when he reproaches himself for any 
 particular action in his past conduct, may 
 fancy that if he w^as in the same situation 
 again, ho would have acted differently. 
 But this is a mere deception, and if he 
 examines himself strictly, and takes in all 
 the circumstances, he may be satisfied that, 
 with the same inward disposition of mind, 
 and with precisely the same views of things 
 as he had then, and exclusive of all others 
 which ho has acquired by reflection since, 
 he could not have acted otherwise than he 
 did' ('Illust. of Phil. Necessity,' p. 99; see 
 also Belsham's ' Elements,' p. 406). It is 
 at least an awkward escape f i"om a theoretic 
 difficulty to maintain that the whole human 
 race is deceived. The philosophic question 
 is this, — ^What power belongs to us as in- 
 tellectual beings? Have we such power, 
 that a man can attain to accurate views of 
 the moral quality of an action before he 
 perform it, as well as after the action is 
 done ? The negative cannot be maintained 
 on a Utilitarian theory of morals, any more 
 than on an Intuitional theory. — Calder- 
 wood, ' Moral Philosophy,^ p. 200. 
 
 Arguments for Necessity. 
 
 Self-determination not in the power of the 
 Will 
 
 If the will, which we find governs the 
 members of the body, and determines and 
 commands their motions and actions, does also 
 govern itself, and determine its own motions 
 and acts, it doubtless determines them the 
 same way, even by antecedent volitions. 
 The will determines which way the hands 
 and feet shall move, by an act of volition or 
 choice ; and there is no other way of the 
 will's determining, directing or commanding 
 anything at all. Whatsoever the will 
 commands, it commands by an act of the 
 will ; and if it has itself under its command, 
 and determines itself in its own acts, it 
 doubtless does it the same way that it de- 
 termines other things which are under its 
 command. So that if the freedom of the 
 
35- 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 will consists in tliis, that it has itself and 
 its own acts under its command and direc- 
 tion, and its own volitions are determined 
 by itself, it will follow, that every free 
 volition arises from another antecedent 
 volition, directing and commanding that; 
 and if that directing volition be also free, 
 in that also the will is determined— that is 
 to say, that directing volition is determined 
 by another going before that, and so on, 
 until we come to the first volition in the 
 whole series ; and if that first volition be 
 free, and the will self-determined in it, 
 then that is determined by another volition 
 preceding that, which is a contradiction ; 
 because, by the supposition, it can have 
 none before it to direct or determine it, 
 being the first in the train. But if that 
 first volition is not determined by any pre- 
 ceding act of the will, then that act is not 
 determined by the will, and so is not free, 
 in the Arminian notion of freedom, which 
 consists in the will's self-determination. — 
 Edivards, ' Freedom of the Will,' pt. ii. 
 sec. I. 
 
 The Necessitarian alleges that we could 
 not have willed differently (than we did), 
 because no particular volition would be 
 possible, if it were not determined by some 
 antecedent motive or cause to be what it 
 is. If all the antecedent circumstances, 
 the agent's character and this motive in- 
 cluded, should remain unchanged, the voli- 
 tion must be repeated ; otherwise, a given 
 cause would not produce any effect, which 
 is a contradiction, or there would be a 
 change without a cause, which is impossible. 
 — Bowen, ^Modern Philosophy,' p. 297. 
 
 The interpretation of the testimony of con- 
 sciousness is not reliable. 
 
 As to the appeal which has been made 
 to consciousness, as testifying in an in- 
 disputable manner to our freedom of will, 
 we must think of that as follows : — Con- 
 sciousness has been said to be our ultimate 
 and infallible criterion of truth ; to afiirm 
 that it deceives itself is to destroy the mere 
 possibility of every certain science. In the 
 first place, let us remark that consciousness 
 
 is to internal phenomena what observation 
 is to external facts. The generality of 
 people know what they think and feel, 
 without exactly knowing the laws of thought, 
 of mental co-existences and sequences, in 
 the same way as their senses reveal rivers, 
 mountains, cities, &c. , to them, but without 
 giving them an exact and precise knowledge 
 of these things. Nothing is more common 
 than disagreement in human appreciations 
 of size, forces, weights, forms, colours, &c. 
 If this be so in the case of the objects of 
 our external senses, what reason have we 
 for believing that the internal sense is more 
 exact ? Are not metaphysical disputes in 
 themselves a proof of the contrary? Be- 
 sides if we grant to consciousness the privi- 
 lege of infallibility, it can last for only a 
 short moment ; and that does not consti- 
 tute a science. Consciousness being strictly 
 applicable to any individual person, and 
 for. one instant only, it contains the mini- 
 mum of information. This is the atom of 
 knowledge. If we wish to go beyond this 
 short moment, we must have recourse to 
 memory, and we know that memory is 
 fallible. Thus, while the infallibility lasts, 
 there is no science, and when the science 
 begins, there is no infallibility. — Ribot, 
 ^English Psychology,'' p. 251. 
 
 To be conscious of free-will must mean to 
 be conscious, before I have decided, that I 
 am able to decide either way. Exception 
 may be taken in limine to the iise of the 
 word consciousness in such an application. 
 Consciousness teUs me what I do or feel. 
 But what I am able to do is not a subject 
 of consciousness. Consciousness is not 
 prophetic ; we are conscious of what is, not 
 of what will or can be. We never know 
 that we are able to do a thing except from 
 having done it, or something equal or 
 similar to it. — Mill, ' Examinatioji of Ham- 
 ilton,'' p. 564. 
 
 Minor arguments. 
 
 In favour of Necessity it has been said : — 
 (i.) That human Liberty respects only the 
 actions that are subsequent to Volition ; 
 and that power over the determinations of 
 
LIBERTY, NECESSITY, DETERMINISM. 
 
 353 
 
 the "Will is inconceivable and involves a 
 contradiction. (2.) That Liberty is incon- 
 sistent witli the influence of Motives, that 
 it would make human actions capricious, 
 and man governable by God or man. — 
 — Reui, ' Works,' p. 624. 
 
 Hume held that the ^vhole dispiife is mei'chj 
 verbal. 
 
 It will not require many words to prove 
 that all mankind have ever agreed in the 
 doctrine of liberty as well as in that of 
 necessity, and that the whole dispute, in 
 this respect also, has been hitherto merely 
 verbal. For what is meant by liberty 
 when applied to voluntary actions ? We 
 cannot surely mean that actions have so 
 little connexion with motives, inclinations, 
 and circumstances, that one does not follow 
 with a certain degi-ee of uniformity from 
 the other, and that one affords no infer- 
 ence by which we can conclude the exist- 
 ence of the other. For these are plain and 
 acknowledged matters of fact. By liberty, 
 then, we can only mean a poicer of acting 
 or not acting, according to the determinations 
 of the ivill ; that is, if we chuse to remain 
 at rest we may; if we chuse to move we 
 also may. Now this hypothetical liberty is 
 universally allowed to belong to every one 
 who is not a prisoner and in chains. Here, 
 then, is no subject of dispute. — Hume, 
 'Philosophical Worlcs,' iv. 77, 78. 
 
 The Exercise of Freedom 
 
 Is attainable through attention. 
 
 As freedom of action is attainable through 
 rational control of the whole nature, the 
 key to the exercise of such freedom is found 
 in the power of attention. This is the 
 key to possible superiority over circum- 
 stances and dispositions, and also to the 
 possibility of uniform guidance by the rea- 
 son. The ruling type of human freedom, 
 as recognised in consciousness, is discovered 
 in the control exercised over attention. 
 Intellect exerts its governing power only 
 as we put it to use for this end, and that 
 means attention. Objects, when contem- 
 
 plated by us, touch our sensibility, and 
 awaken dispositions which have the force 
 of motives. This being the law of our 
 expei-ience, we weaken or strengthen these 
 lower motives according as we direct our 
 attention. Our experience under contem- 
 plation of objects is the product of natural 
 constitution, and is not subject of volition ; 
 but the continuance and increase of such 
 sensibility, with attendant dispositions, are 
 elements of experience constantly under our 
 own control, according as attention is be- 
 stowed upon the object, or withdrawn from 
 the object, and concentrated upon another. 
 — Galderwood, ' Moral Philosuph)/,' ip. 187. 
 
 Is not interfered with by the play of 
 motives. 
 
 Both rational motives, and lower motives, 
 including desires and affections, have some 
 influence in determining the exercise of 
 Will. Both Intelligence and Disposition 
 are capable of spontaneous action, and in 
 accordance with this law of their activity, 
 both afford occasion for the exercise of AVill. 
 An exercise of pure Will is impossible. 
 The Will is thus dependent upon the other 
 energies of our nature for the primary con- 
 dition of its exercise. Motives do so far 
 determine the Will, as to fix the direction 
 and form of the volitions. This, however, 
 establishes nothing as to power or force to 
 control the Will; though it does discover 
 a measure of exercise on their part inde- 
 pendently of Will — Galderwood, ' Moral 
 Fhitosojyhg,' p. 179. 
 
 An advocate of Freewill must admit that 
 a volition is determined without a Cause ; 
 but he does not need to assert that it is 
 determined without a Reason. Now Motives 
 are Reasons, and the relation between a 
 Reason and its Consequent is often entirely 
 distinct from that between a Cause and its 
 Effect. — Bowen, * Modern Philosophy,^ p. 
 
 Is irreconcilable with Pantheism. 
 
 All forms of pantheism which do not 
 ascribe a separate will to God, are liable to 
 the objection that they suppose God to 
 
354 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 pi-oduce in man a free will not possessed 
 by Himself from eternity. If the other 
 alternative be taken, and will be ascribed 
 to Deity, then have we two wills in the 
 universe, the will of God and the will of 
 man, and it follows that all is not one in 
 any intelligible sense, for we have now two 
 distinct wills, which may run counter to 
 each other. Whatever be the philosophic 
 system adopted, we have, as matter of fact, 
 the hundred of millions of distinct wills pos- 
 sessed by human beings. These separate 
 wills show by one process that God must 
 have a distinct will, and by another process 
 that there must be more than one will in 
 the universe, and both conclusions are in- 
 consistent with a system which says — all is 
 one. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions, Sfc.,' p. 403. 
 
 Free Will is held to be Essential to 
 
 Personal Existence. 
 
 There are two conditions which I con- 
 ceive as essential to my personal existence 
 in every possible mode, and such as could 
 not be removed without the destruction of 
 myself as a conscious being. These two con- 
 ditions are time and free agency. — Mansel, 
 * Metaphysics,^ p. 360. 
 
 Morality. 
 
 Man is a moral agent only as he is ac- 
 countable for his actions, — in other words, 
 as he is the object of praise or blame ; and 
 this he is, only inasmuch as he has pre- 
 scribed to him a rule of duty, and as he is 
 able to act, or not to act, in conformity with 
 its precepts. The possibility of morality 
 thus depends on the possibility of liberty ; 
 for if man be not a free agent, he is not 
 the author of his actions, and has therefore 
 no responsibility, — no moral personality at 
 all. — Hamilton, '■Metaphysics,' i. 33. 
 
 Determinism. 
 Another Name for Necessity. 
 
 Both Sir W. Hamilton and Mr. Mansel 
 sometimes call (the Doctrine of Necessity) 
 by the fairer name of Determinism. But 
 both of them, when they come to close 
 
 quarters with the doctrine, in general call 
 it either Necessity, or, less excusably. Fatal- 
 ism. The truth is, that the assailants of 
 the doctrine cannot do without the associa- 
 tions engendered by the double meaning of 
 the word Necessity, which, in this applica- 
 tion, signifies only invariability, but in its 
 common employment, compulsion. — Mill, 
 ' Examination of Hamilton,' p. 492. 
 
 As stated by J. S. Mill. 
 
 Correctly conceived, the doctrine called 
 Philosophical Necessity is simply this : that, 
 given the motives which are present to an 
 individual's mind, and given likewise the 
 character and disposition of the individual, 
 the manner in which he will act might be 
 unerringly inferred : that if we knew the 
 person thoroughly, and knew all the in- 
 ducements which are acting upon him, we 
 could foretell his conduct with as much 
 certainty as we can predict any physical 
 event. — ^System of Logic,'' ii. 422. 
 
 As stated by J. Milller. 
 
 Determinism supports itself on the prin- 
 ciple that man when he decides is already 
 decided, and does not act from a spon- 
 taneous freedom of choice, but according to 
 his own distinctive individuality — which 
 includes also his moral character, and the 
 particular bias of his will. According to 
 this, his conduct proceeds from himself, in 
 virtue of that self-dependence which be- 
 longs to him as an individual ; yet at the 
 same time it springs, by strict necessity, 
 from causes which at the moment of choice 
 are beyond his control. Viewed apart from 
 the ever present but ever subordinate in- 
 fluence of outward circumstances, his be- 
 haviour is the never-failing product of the 
 collective character of his inner life. If at 
 the moment when he is called to any de- 
 cision of the will, his whole inner life, in 
 its minutest outlines, were as in a picture 
 unveiled to our view,— his notions of right 
 and wrong, his principles and thoughts, the 
 strength and idiosyncrasy of his affections 
 and desires, his inclinations and prejudices, 
 oven those most secret and hardly known 
 
LIBERTY, NECESSITY, DETERMINISM. 
 
 355 
 
 even to himself, — we should be able, pro- 
 vided of course that we possessed the re- 
 quisite judging faculty, to predict with 
 unerring certainty how in any case he 
 would decide. — ^Christian Doctrine of Sin,' 
 ii- 43» 44- 
 
 Partial Determinism, as held hi/ J. Miiller. 
 
 The view obtained from the standing- 
 point that we have established (is that) 
 the determination of the present by means 
 of the past is not denied, but is partly 
 limited and partly traced back to a former 
 self-determining. If this comjjlex and 
 modified doctrine of freedom can be main- 
 tained, freedom can assert its validity 
 against its opponents. At the same time, 
 determinism is not absolutely excluded, 
 but some truth is recognised therein, and 
 Freedom attains its own full recognition 
 and definiteness by blending Determinism 
 with it. — * Christian Doctrine of Sin,' ii. 
 63- 
 
 Deteiininism of Scliopcnhauer. 
 
 Only that which I actually did, could I 
 do, must I do. Schopenhauer, who strenu- 
 ously maintains determinism, seeks to illus- 
 ti'ate the subject by the following example : 
 — ' Let us suppose a man standing on the 
 street and saving to himself, It is now 
 six o'clock in the evening ; the day's work 
 is done; I may then take a walk, or I 
 may go to the club, or I may ascend the 
 tower and see the settuig of the sun, or I 
 may go to the theatre, or I may go and 
 visit this friend or that one, or I may run 
 out at the city gate into the wide world, 
 and never come home again. All these 
 things are in my own power ; I have per- 
 fect freedom to do any of them. Yet now 
 I will do none of them, but equally of my 
 own free-will I will go home again to my 
 wife.' ' This,' continues Schopenhauer, ' is 
 exactly the same as if the water should 
 say : I can heave huge billows (yes, doubt- 
 less, in the open sea in a storm); I can 
 rush furiously along (yes, in the bed of a 
 river); I can leap down bubbling and 
 foaming (yes, in a waterfall) ; I can mount 
 
 like a sunbeam in the air (yes, in a foun- 
 tain) ; finally, I can boil, and, boiling, dis- 
 appear (yes, at 8o° of heat on Reaumur's 
 thermometer) : however, I will do none of 
 these things, but remain of my own accord 
 in my tranquil dam, smooth as a river.' 
 As the water can only do any of these 
 things when the exciting causes of one or 
 the other of them are present, so can the 
 man only do what he imagines he is able 
 of himself to determine under the same 
 conditions. So long as the cause is not 
 present, it is impossible to him ; but when 
 this enters, he, like the water, must do it 
 if presented under corresponding circum- 
 stances. The man must thus go home to 
 his wife. — Martensen, ^Christian Ethics,' i. 
 ii6, 117. 
 
 Determinism and Moral Responsibility. 
 
 The Determinist can give to the funda- 
 mental terms of Ethics perfectly clear and 
 definite meanings. The distinctions thus 
 obtained give us a practically sufiicient 
 basis for criminal law ; while the normal 
 sentiments actually existing are seen to be 
 appropriate and useful, as a part of the 
 natural adaptation of social man to his 
 conditions of life. The Determinist allows 
 that, in a sense, * ought ' implies ' can ; ' 
 that a man is only morally bound to do 
 what is ' in his power ; ' and that only acts 
 from which a man ' could have abstained ' 
 are proper subjects of punishment or moral 
 condemnation. But he explains ' can ' and 
 ' in his power ' to imply only the absence 
 of all insupei-able obstacles except want of 
 sufiicient motive. — Sidgwick, ' Methods of 
 Ethics,' p. 63. 
 
 Determinism and Punishment. 
 
 There are two ends which, on the Neces- 
 sitarian theory, are sufiicient to justify 
 punishment, — the benefit of the offender 
 himself, and the protection of others. The 
 first justifies it, because to benefit a per- 
 son cannot be to do him an injury. To 
 punish him for his own good, provided the 
 inflictor has any proper title to constitute 
 
35^ 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 himself a judge, is no more unjust than to 
 administer medicine. As far, indeed, as 
 respects the criminal himself, the theory of 
 punishment is that, by counterbalancing 
 the influence of present temptations or 
 acquired bad habits, it restores the mind 
 to that normal preponderance of the love 
 of right which many moralists and theo- 
 logians consider to constitute the true defi- 
 nition of freedom. In its other aspect, 
 punishment is a precaution taken by 
 society in self-defence. To make this 
 just, the only condition required is, that 
 the end which society is attempting to 
 enforce by punishment should be a just 
 one. Used as a means of aggression by 
 society on the just rights of the indivi- 
 dual, punishment is unjust. Used to pro- 
 tect the just rights of others against un- 
 just aggression by the offender, it is just. 
 — Mill, 'Examination of Hamilton,' jp. 510. 
 
 Criticism of Determinism. 
 
 It is based on a icrong idea of Moral de- 
 velopment. 
 
 Determinism has often made use of the 
 conception of development to aid its argu- 
 ment, and it may, therefore, seem strange 
 that this conception should be used as a 
 weapon against it. But if we examine this 
 doctrine more closely we find that it is 
 based upon quite a mistaken conception of 
 development. If each moment be only the 
 necessary consequence of the preceding, in 
 which therefore it must always have been 
 contained, how could it ever come to be 
 something more — to be an advance on the 
 preceding ? Each successive step would be 
 only a repetition of the preceding, indeed it 
 
 could not be called a step in advance, for it 
 would have no distinctive features marking 
 it as different from the preceding ; it would 
 be the same step occurring at a different 
 time, modified, perhaps, by the coincidence 
 of other circumstances. Now it is clear 
 that on such a theory the words ' step ' and 
 ' development' lose all their meaning. The 
 successive stages of true development are 
 never linked together according to the law 
 of analysis, but they are united by the 
 most living synthesis. It is not from the 
 outset a perfected plan which has only to 
 be carried out in various external condi- 
 tions ; but this distinctive and perfected 
 plan is produced by means of the develop- 
 ment itself, which springs from an indwell- 
 ing active and determining principle. — 
 Miiller, ^ Dodriyie of Sin,' ii. 55, 56. 
 
 The decision of the ivill cannot he ccdcvr 
 lated. 
 
 As moral development proceeds only by 
 means of a progressive self-determining, 
 which cannot be regarded as a mere pro- 
 duct of determinations to which the will 
 has already surrendered both itself and its 
 moral life, we must maintain, in opposition 
 to the Deterministic view, that the decisions 
 of a man's will must ever be beforehand un- 
 known and unknowable to his fellow-men, 
 however exact their knowledge and correct 
 their judgment. Therefore, the very best 
 adapted influences brought to bear upon a 
 man which have in view these decisions, or 
 the results of which are dependent upon 
 them, can never secure a certain given 
 result. — Miiller, ' Doctrine of Sin,' ii. 64. 
 
 See further under "Necessiti'." 
 
DEFINITIONS AND SCOPE. 
 
 D.— MORAL PHILOSOPHY, OR ETHICS. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 DEFINITIONS AND SCOPE, 
 
 It is not easy to define in a single phrase 
 the subject commonly called Ethics in such 
 a manner as to meet with general accept- 
 ance, as its boundaries and relations to 
 cognate subjects are variously conceived 
 by writers of different schools, and rather 
 indefinitely by mankind in general. Nor 
 does the derivation of the term help us 
 much. Ethics (^^/zk) originally meant that 
 which relates to l^o; (' character') ; the 
 treatise of Aristotle's, however, to which 
 the term was first applied, is not concerned 
 with character considered simply as cha- 
 racter, but with its good and bad qualities. 
 Indeed, the antithesis of ' good ' and ' bad ' 
 in some form is involved in all ethical 
 affirmation ; and its presence constitutes a 
 fundamental distinction between the science 
 or study of ethics and any department of 
 physical inquiry. — Sidgioick, 'Ejicyc. Brit.,' 
 viii. 574. 
 
 Kant 
 
 "Wlien the Law of Freedom is applied to 
 human conduct, and is itself the ground de- 
 termining an action, so as to ascertain and 
 fix its inward, and therefore also its out- 
 ward conformity to the law, then the know- 
 ledge ct priori resulting from this formal 
 determination of the maxims of the will 
 is the science of Ethics. — ' Metajphysic of 
 Ethics,' p. 161. 
 
 Uehericej. 
 
 Ethics is the doctrine of the Normative 
 laws of human volition and action which 
 rest on the idea (i.e., on the type-notion) 
 of the Good. The place which Ethics oc- 
 cupies in the system of Philosophy is a 
 position after Psychology, on a line with 
 Logic and Esthetics, and before Pfedagogic 
 and the Philosophies of Religion and His- 
 tory. — Appendix D. to Ueherwerjs ^ Logic' 
 
 Herbert Spencer. 
 
 Ethics has for its subject-matter the most 
 highly- evolved conduct as displayed by the 
 most highly-evolved being, Man — is a speci- 
 fication of those traits which his conduct 
 assumes on reaching its limit of evolution. 
 Conceived thus as comprehending the laws 
 of right living at large. Ethics has a wider 
 field than is commonly assigned to it. Be- 
 yond the conduct commonly approved or 
 reprobated as right or wrong, it includes 
 all conduct which furthers or hinders, in 
 either direct or indirect ways, the welfare 
 of self or others. — ' Data of Ethics,' p. 281. 
 
 Dr. Martineau. 
 
 Ethics may be briefly defined as the doc- 
 trine of human character. They assume as 
 their basis the fact that men are prone to 
 criticise themselves and others, and cannot 
 help admiring in various degrees some ex- 
 pressions of affection and will, condemning 
 others. — ' Types of Ethical Theory,' i. i. 
 
 John Grote. 
 
 Moral Philosophy is the Art of Life in 
 its highest sense. If we understand 1 )y life 
 what the Greeks meant by /3/o; as different 
 from t^m, and by living the putting forth 
 the powers and faculties for use and enjoy- 
 ment, moral philosophy is the general and 
 summary, or architectonic, art of this. 
 That is, it deals with the relation to each 
 other of the powers, faculties, and other 
 portions of man which are concerned with 
 this activity and with their harmony as a 
 whole. 
 
 Moral philosophy, however, is more than 
 simply an art or practical science, it is an 
 art which sets before it an ideal. — * Moral 
 Ideals,' p. 1 2, 
 
35S 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 XX. 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 Its Nature. 
 
 The popular name for the Moral Faculty 
 applies to a cognitive power: Conscience. 
 Conscience and Consciousness are similarly 
 compounded, and are in fact originally the 
 same word — conscientia. Conscience is 
 immediate knowledge of moral law, as 
 clear and indubitable as a simple fact of 
 consciousness. Conscience is, however, 
 popularly applied to the whole moral 
 nature of man. This free use of the 
 name makes it often synonymous with 
 consciousness, or the knowledge of the 
 harmony of personal conduct with moral 
 law,—Calderwood, 'Handbook of Moral 
 Philoso'pliy,^ P- 78- 
 
 As Science means Knowledge, Conscience 
 etymologically means self-knowledge ; and 
 such is the meaning of the word in Latin 
 and French, and of the corresponding word 
 in Greek {conscientia, conscience, emiihns'i). 
 But the English word implies a moral 
 standard of action in the mind, as well 
 as a consciousness of our own actions. 
 It may be convenient to us to mark this 
 distinction of an internal Moral Standard, 
 as one part of Conscience ; and Self-Know- 
 ledge, or Consciousness, as another part. 
 The one is the Internal Law; the other, 
 the Internal Accuser, Witness, and Judge. 
 — Wlmcell, 'Elements of Morality,' p. 148. 
 The name of Conscience has always been, 
 and will always continue to be, popularly 
 used in a much wider sense than that in 
 which the designation can be employed 
 under strict philosophic warrant. It is 
 thus commonly made to embrace all that 
 is connected with our moral decisions, 
 within the sphere of personal consciousness. 
 Thus our moral judgments are attributed 
 directly to conscience itself, and that even 
 when they are discredited as erroneous. 
 So in like manner all experience of moral 
 sentiment is referred directly to Conscience. 
 
 With this wide popular use of the term 
 Conscience, a variety of phrases descriptive 
 of the condition of the faculty has found 
 currency in popular discourse. Of these, 
 the following may be taken as examples. 
 An unenlightened Conscience, a scrupulous 
 Conscience, a tender Conscience, a hardened 
 Conscience, an upbraidiug Conscience. — 
 Calderwood, 'Handbook of Moral Pliil- 
 p. 83. 
 
 Stoical Origin of the Term. . 
 
 The most important of moral terms, the 
 crowning triumph of ethical nomenclature, 
 avviihneic, conscientia, the internal, absolute, 
 supreme judge of individual action, if not 
 struck in the mint of the Stoics, at all 
 events became current coin through their 
 influence. — Liglitfoot, ' PMlipinans,' p. 301. 
 
 Definitions and Descriptions. 
 
 Conscience was described by Cicero as 
 the God ruling within us ; by the Stoics as 
 the sovereignty of reason. — Lecky, ' Hist. 
 Eur. Morals,' i. 83. 
 
 Conscience I define to be a Faculty or 
 Habit of the Practical Understanding, which 
 enables the mind of man, by the use of 
 Reason and Argument, to apply the light 
 which it has to particular moral actions. — 
 Sanderson, ' Lectures on Conscience, ^c.,' 
 p. 2. 
 
 ' The Conscience is that in me which says, 
 I ought or I ought not.' ' The act of Con- 
 science is an act in me. I may pass judg- 
 ment on other men's acts, but that is another 
 process ; I am abusing terms, and what the 
 terms represent if I identify it with the 
 Conscience.' ' The ought does not belong 
 to things — it does not suggest some vague 
 possibility for their improvement — it is 
 linked inseparably to me.'— Maurice, ' TJie 
 Conscience,' pp. 31, 34, 5 2- 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 359 
 
 The mind can take a view of what passes 
 within itself, its propensions, aversions, 
 passions, affections, and of the several 
 actions consequent thereupon. In this 
 survey it approves of one, disapproves of 
 another, and towards a third is affected in 
 neithev of these ways, but is quite indiffer- 
 ent, ^his principle in man, by which he 
 approves or cUsapproves his heart, temper, 
 and act,ons, is conscience ; for this is the 
 strict seise of the word, though sometimes 
 it is usei so as to take in more. — Butler, 
 ' Sennont,' i. 
 
 Conscience is that power of mind by 
 which mcral law is discovered to each indi- 
 vidual foT the guidance of his conduct. It 
 is the Reason, as it discovers to us absolute 
 moral truth — having the authority of sove- 
 reign moral law. It is an essential requisite 
 for ':he direction of an intelligent free-will 
 agent, and affords the basis for moral obli- 
 gati)n and responsibility in human life. — 
 Caliencood, ' Moral PMlosoj/h)/,' p. 77. 
 
 Our consciousness reveals to us not only 
 our most secret acts, but our desires, affec- 
 tiois, and intentions. These are the especial 
 subjects of morality, and we cannot think 
 of them without considering them as right 
 or wrong. We approve or disapprove of 
 waat we have done, or tried to do. We 
 consider our acts, external and internal, 
 H-ith reference to a moral standard of right 
 and wrong. We recognise them as virtuous 
 or vicious. The Faculty or Habit of doing 
 this is Conscience. — WheiceU, ^Elements of 
 Morality,'' p. 148. 
 
 Conscience is that in a man which points 
 to what is above him, which declares the 
 supremacy of a right that he did not mould 
 and cannot alter. — Matirice, ' TJie Con- 
 science,'' p. 161. 
 
 Conscience is not mere impulse, the im- 
 pulse of obedience and subordination, the 
 aim of which is God and God's kingdom ; 
 it is not mere instinct which makes known 
 to man what in an ethical respect is service- 
 able to him, and what he must avoid for 
 the preservation of his soul, just as the 
 instinct of animals makes kno\vn to them 
 
 what is serviceable to theirself-preservation, 
 and incites them to avoid the opposite. It 
 is consciousness, knowledge, man's joint 
 acquaintance with himself and with God, 
 the consciousness direct, essential, differing 
 from all consciousness of reflection and idea 
 of our dependence not merely on the law, 
 but on the binding and determining autho- 
 rity, which speaks to us through the law. 
 — Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' i. 356. 
 
 The peculiar character of the moral sen- 
 timents consists in their exclusive reference 
 to states of will ; and every feeling which 
 lias that quality, when it is purified from 
 all admixture with different objects, be- 
 comes capable of being absorbed into Con- 
 science, and of being assimilated to it, so 
 as to become part of it. — Mackintosh, Dis- 
 sertation II., ' Encyclop. Brit.,' ed. viii. 
 
 Conscience is the brightness and splen- 
 dour of the eternal light, a spotless mirror 
 of the Divine Majesty, and the image of 
 the goodness of God. — St. Bernard. 
 
 Conscience is not an echo or an abode of 
 an immediate divine self-attestation, but 
 an active consciousness of a divine law 
 established in man's heart; for all self- 
 consciousness of created natures capable of 
 self-consciousness is naturally at once a 
 consciousness of their dependence on God 
 and a consciousness of their duty to allow 
 themselves to be determined by the will of 
 God, and consciousness of the general pur- 
 port of that will. That which is said by 
 ancients and moderns of the conscience, as 
 God's voice in us, has in it this truth, that 
 the testimony of conscience certainly rests 
 on a divine foundation, woven in our natu- 
 ral condition, scil. on a divine law in man, 
 ordained with his created constitution, the 
 existence of which, its claims and judg- 
 ments, are removed from his subjective 
 control. — Delitzsch, ' Biblical Psychology,^ 
 p. 165. 
 
 It is a Distinguishing Feature in Man. 
 
 Whatever foreshadowings of this sense 
 may be discerned, as is sometimes alleged, 
 in the higher animals, there is at least one 
 
360 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 thing of which there is no trace among 
 them ; and that is, a feeling of continuous 
 responsibility for the whole of life and for 
 its successive actions. But each man feels 
 that all his acts constitute an abiding ele- 
 ment of his personal and individual being, 
 and that he has a living and abiding re- 
 sponsibility for them. — Wace, ' Christianity 
 and Morality,^ p. 200. 
 
 Conscience is peculiar to man. We see 
 not a vestige of it in brute animals. A 
 man who seriously charged a brute with a 
 crime would be laughed at. They may do 
 actions hurtful to themselves or to man. 
 They may have qualities or acquire habits 
 that lead to such actions ; and that is all 
 we mean when we call them vicious. But 
 they cannot be immoral ; nor can they be 
 virtuous. They are not capable of self- 
 government. They cannot lay down a rule 
 to themselves which they are not to trans- 
 gress, though prompted by appetite or 
 ruffled by passion. — Reid, ' Works,' p. 596. 
 Conscience, in discovering to us first 
 principles for the guidance of conduct and 
 formation of moral character, constitutes a 
 leading distinction of human nature. The 
 basis of personal life is thereby laid in 
 self-evident absolute truth. — CaMerivood, 
 'Moral Philosophy,^ p. 82. 
 
 Proof of its Existence. 
 
 From moral judgments and distinctions. 
 
 That we have this moral approving and 
 disapproving faculty, is certain from our 
 experiencing it in oui'selves and recognis- 
 ing it in each other. It appears from our 
 exercising it unavoidably in the approba- 
 tion and disapprobation even of feigned 
 characters : from the words, right and 
 lorong, odious and amiable, base and worthy, 
 with many others of like signification in 
 all languages, applied to actions and char- 
 acters ; from our natural sense of gratitude, 
 which implies a distinction between merely 
 being the instrument of good, and intend- 
 ing it : from the like distinction, every one 
 makes, between injury and mere harm, 
 which, Hobbes says, is peculiar to man- 
 
 kind ; and between injury and just punish- 
 ment, a distinction plainly natural, prior 
 to the consideration of human laws. It is 
 manifest great part of common language, 
 and of common behaviour over the world, 
 is formed upon supposition of such a moral 
 faculty. — Butler, ' Dissertations,' ii. 
 
 It cannot possibly be denied that there 
 is this principle of reflection or couscience 
 in human nature. Suppose a man to re- 
 lieve an innocent person in great :listress ; 
 suppose the same man afterwards, in the 
 fury of anger, to do the greatest mischief 
 to a person who had given no jus: cause of 
 oiJence ; to aggravate the injury, add the 
 circumstance of former friendship and ob- 
 ligation from the injured person; let the 
 man who is supposed to have done these 
 two different actions, coolly reflect upon 
 them afterwards, without regard to their 
 consequences to himself : to assert that any 
 common man would be affected in the same 
 way towards these different actions, that 
 he would make no distinction betveen 
 them, but approve or disapprove t'lem 
 equally, is too glaring a falsity to reed 
 being confuted. There is, therefore, ihis 
 principle of reflection or conscience in man- 
 kind. — Butler, 'Sermons,' i. 
 
 From its action. 
 
 There is nothing we feel more certain 0? 
 than conscience. To deny it is to over- 
 throw the foundation of all certainty, and 
 to annihilate therewith the whole moral 
 constitution of the world, which rests upon 
 it. No man can deny conscience with a 
 good conscience. Even while we are try- 
 ing to deny it, it makes itself felt by its 
 inward reproofs; and we cannot deny it 
 without belying ourselves. Conscience is 
 assuredly a fact. — Lutliardt, 'Fundamental 
 Truths,' p. 58. 
 
 Conscience is the last thing left to man, 
 after he has squandered and lost all else 
 that God has given him. It is the last tie 
 by which God retains a hold upon the man 
 who has erred and strayed from Him, and 
 by which He reminds him of the home he 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 361 
 
 has forsaken. Even in the most degraded 
 ages of heathenism it was still a power, and 
 the times of deepest decay have been just 
 those which have yielded the most touching 
 evidence of its activity. — Luthanlt, ' Moral 
 Truths; p. 53. 
 
 Theories of Conscience. 
 
 Simple and Original. 
 
 Conscience is original, and no addita- 
 mentum to our person ; and there can be 
 no duty to procure one; but every man 
 has, as a moral being, a conscience. — Kant, 
 *■ Metapliysic of Ethics,' p. 217. 
 
 Some philosophers, with whom I agree, 
 ascribe the power of determining what is 
 morally good, and what is morally ill, to 
 an original power or faculty in man, which 
 they call the Moral Sense, the Moral 
 Faculty, Conscience. This opinion seems 
 to me to be the truth, to wit, that, by an 
 original power of the mind, when we come 
 to years of understanding and reflection, 
 we not only have the notions of right 
 and wrong in conduct, but perceive certain 
 things to be right, and others to be wrong. 
 — Reid, ' Works; p. 589. 
 
 "We must hold conscience to be simple 
 and unresolvable, till we fall in with a suc- 
 cessful decomposition of it into its elements. 
 In the absence of any such decomposition, 
 we hold that there are no simpler elements 
 in the human mind which will yield us 
 the ideas of the moi-ally good and evil, of 
 moral obligation and guilt, of merit and 
 demerit. — J\PCosh, 'Method of the Divine 
 Government; p. 305. 
 
 We have just as much reason for trusting 
 the sense of Right with the postulate of 
 objective authority which it carries, as for 
 beUeving in the components of the rain- 
 bow or the infinitude of space. These ideas 
 are all acquisitions, in the sense that there 
 was a time when they were not to be found 
 in the creatures from which we descend. 
 They are all evolved, in the sense that, 
 gradually and one by one, they cropped up 
 into consciousness amid the crowd of feel- 
 
 ings which they entered as strangers. They 
 are all original, or sid generis, in the sense 
 that they are intrinsically dissimilar to the 
 predecessors with which they mingle, so 
 that by no rational scrutiny could you, out 
 of the contents of these predecessors, invent 
 and preconceive them, any more than you 
 can predict the psychology of a million 
 years hence. Whence then the strange 
 anxiet}^ to get rid of this originality, and 
 assimilate again what you had i-egistered 
 as a differentiation ? You say that, when 
 you undiess the ' moral intuition ' and lay 
 aside fold after fold of its disguise, you 
 find nothing at last but naked pleasure and 
 utility : then how is it that no foresight, 
 with largest command of psychologic clothes, 
 would enable you to invert the experiment 
 and dress up these nudities into the august 
 form of Duty ? To say that the conscience 
 is but the compressed contents of an in- 
 herited calculus of the agreeable and the 
 serviceable, is no better than for one who 
 had been colour-blind to insist, that the 
 red which he has gained is nothing but his 
 familiar green with some queer mask. It 
 cannot be denied that the sense of right 
 has earned its separate name, by appear- 
 ing to those who have it and speak of it to 
 one another essentially different from the 
 desire of pleasure, from the perception of 
 related means and ends, and from coer- 
 cive fear. — Martineau, ' Types of Ethical 
 Tlieory; ii. 362, 363. 
 
 The position of conscience in our nature 
 is wholly unique. While each of our senses 
 or appetites has a restricted sphere of 
 operation, it is the function of conscience 
 to survey the whole constitution of our 
 being, and assign limits to the gratification 
 of all our various passions and desires. 
 Differing not in degree, but in kind, from 
 the other principles of our nature, we feel 
 that a course of conduct which is opposed 
 to it may be intelligibly described as un- 
 natural, even when in accordance with our 
 most natural appetites, for to conscience is 
 assigned the prerogative of both judging 
 and restraining thom all. — Lecky, * Hist. 
 European Morals; i. S3. 
 
362 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Conscience in me says ' I ought ' and ' I 
 ought not.' There is no difference about 
 the question whether these words ' ought ' 
 and ' ought not ' do exist in our language, 
 whether there are not equivalent words in the 
 language of every civilised nation. There is 
 no difference about the question whether they 
 are deeply fixed in human speech ; no one 
 seriously dreams of extracting them out of 
 it. Nor, I believe, if we understand one 
 another, will there be much hesitation in 
 admitting the maxim for which I have been 
 contending, that none of the things I see 
 or handle suggest the word ; that the mo- 
 ment I speak of myself, it starts forth full 
 armed. — Maurice, 'The Conscience,^ P- Si- 
 Equivalent to Moral Reason. 
 
 Richard Cumberland. 
 
 The (Moral) Faculty is the Reason, appre- 
 hending the exact Nature of Things, and 
 determining accordingly the modes of action 
 that are best suited to promote the happi- 
 ness of rational agents. 
 
 Of the Faculty under the name of Con- 
 science he gives this description : ' The mind 
 is conscious to itself of all its own actions, 
 and both can and often does observe what 
 counsels produced them; it naturally sits 
 a judge upon its own actions, and thence 
 procures to itself either tranquillity and joy 
 or anxiety and sorrow. ' The principal de- 
 sign of his whole book is to show ' how this 
 power of the mind, either by itself, or excited 
 by external objects, forms certain universal 
 practical propositions, which give us a more 
 distinct idea of the happiness of mankind, 
 and pronounces by what actions of ours, in 
 all variety of circumstances, that happiness 
 may most effecttially be obtained.' (Con- 
 science is thus only Reason, or the knowing 
 faculty in general, as specially concerned 
 about actions in their effect upon happi- 
 ness ; it rai'ely takes the place of the more 
 general term.) — Bain, 'Moral Science,'' p. 
 557- 
 
 Kant. 
 
 Conscience is man's practical Reason, 
 which does, in all circumstances, hold before 
 
 him his law of duty, in order to absolve or 
 to condemn him. It has accordingly no 
 objective import, and refers only to the sub- 
 ject, affecting his moral sense by its own 
 intrinsic action. — ' Metaphysic of Ethics,' 
 p. 217. 
 
 Complex and Derived. 
 
 The Moral Faculty is not simple, but 
 complex and derived. It is practicable to 
 analyse or resolve the Moral Faculty ; and 
 in doing so, to explain both its peculiar 
 property and the similarity of moral judg- 
 ments so far as existing among men. We 
 begin by estimating the operation of — (i.) 
 Prudence or Self-interest, which obviously 
 has much to do with moral conduct. If 
 we set an example of injustice, it may be 
 taken up and repeated to such a degree 
 that we can count upon nothing : social 
 security comes to an end. (2.) Sympathy 
 or Fellow-Feeling, the source of our dis- 
 interested actions. It is a consequence of 
 our sympathetic endowment that we revolt 
 from inflicting pain on another, and even 
 forego a certain satisfaction to self rather 
 than be the occasion of suffei-ing to a fellow- 
 creature. (3.) The Emotions generally, 
 which may co-operate with Prudence and 
 with Sympathy in a way to make both the 
 one and the other more efficacious. — Bain, 
 ' Mental and Moral Science,' pp. 453, 454. 
 
 That the moral sentiment is in part in- 
 stinctive may be allowed. It is probable 
 that, as the result of long ages of social 
 experience, a habit of feeling and judging 
 in a moral way has been formed, which 
 transmits itself to each new child as an 
 instinctive disposition to fall in with and 
 conform to the moral law. Yet supposing 
 this to be so, it remains indisputable that 
 the moral faculty is to a large extent built 
 up in the course of the individual life. — 
 Sully, 'Psychology,' p. 559. 
 
 Theory of Hohbes. 
 
 It is either science or opinion which we 
 commonly mean by the word conscience; 
 for men say that such and such a thing is 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 363 
 
 true in or upon their conscience; which 
 they never do when they think it doubtful, 
 and therefore they know, or think they 
 know it to be true. But men, when they 
 say things upon their conscience, are not, 
 therefore, presumed certainly to know the 
 truth of what they say ; it remaineth then 
 that that word is used by them that have 
 an opinion, not only of the truth of the 
 thing, but also of their knowledge of it, to 
 which the truth of the opinion is conse- 
 quent. Conscience I therefore define to be 
 opinion of evidence. — * Human Nature,' ch. 
 V. sec. 8. 
 
 Bain. 
 
 Conscience is an imitation within our- 
 selves of the government without us ; and 
 even when differing in what it prescribes 
 from the current morality, the mode of its 
 action is still parallel to the archetype. — 
 ^Emotions, ^r.,' p. 285. 
 
 Leslie Stephen. 
 
 The moral sense is, according to me, a 
 product of the social factor. It is the sum 
 of certain instincts which have come to be 
 imperfectly organised in the race, and which 
 are vigorous in proportion as the society 
 is healthy and vigorous. — ^Science of Ethics,' 
 P- 372. 
 
 Schopenhauer. 
 
 The Elements of Conscience may be com- 
 puted thus : ' One fifth, fear of man ; one 
 fifth, superstition ; one fifth, prejudice ; one 
 fifth, vanity; one fifth, custom,' — Schopen- 
 hauer, in Professor Calder wood's ' Moral 
 Philosophy,' p. 140. 
 
 Evolutional Theory. 
 
 Increased .sympathy, as well as an in- 
 creased recognition by each unit of the 
 ' social organism ' of what he might do for 
 the gratification of his own wants or desires, 
 without bringing pain upon himself through 
 the anger of his fellows, would gradually 
 teach him the necessity of subordmating 
 Avitliin certain limits his realisation of 
 egoistic impulses, and the need, even for 
 
 the sake of his own happiness, of con- 
 tinually bearing in mind the wants and 
 wishes of his fellow-men. 
 
 Equally important among savage races, 
 are those limitations which * expediency ' 
 compels the individual to recognise, as 
 imposed by his fellow- men upon the free- 
 dom of his own actions. Such considera- 
 tions, in concert with a strengthening 
 sympathy, gradually tend to build up 
 within him an inward monitor, or ' Con- 
 science,' at the same time that there arise 
 embryo notions of Right and Duty, con- 
 stituting the foundations of a dawning 
 'Moral Sense.' — Bastian, ^ The Brain, Sfc.' 
 p. 416. 
 
 Equivalent to Moral Sense. 
 
 On accomat of the view taken of the 
 functions of Conscience, it is commonly 
 named by Utilitarians, ' The Moral Sense.' 
 
 Conscience is represented as a form of 
 Feeling, involving reverence for moral dis- 
 tinctions, and impelling to their observance. 
 Sometimes conscience has been regarded 
 rather as a restraining force, involving ' a 
 pain more or less intense, attendant on 
 violation of duty.' — Calderwood, ' Moral 
 Philosophy,' p. 139. 
 
 Can Conscience be Educated ? 
 
 Most ansiver, Yes. 
 
 Like all our other powers, conscience 
 comes to maturity by insensible degrees, 
 and may be much aided in its strength and 
 vigour by proper culture. In the first 
 period of life, children are not capable of 
 distinguishing right from wrong in human 
 conduct. The seeds, as it were, of moral 
 discernment are planted in the mind by 
 Him that made us. They grow up in their 
 proper season, and are at first tender and 
 dehcate and easily warped. Their pi-ogross 
 depends very much upon their being duly 
 cultivated and properly exercised. We 
 must not therefore think, because man has 
 the natui-al power of discerning what Ls 
 right and what is wrong, that he has no 
 need of instruction; that this power has 
 
364 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 no need of cultivation and improvement; 
 that he may safely rely upon the sugges- 
 tions of his mind, or upon opinions he has 
 got, he knows not how. — Eeid, ' Works,' 
 P- 595- 
 
 Tlie development of Conscience is espe- 
 cially conditional on the development of 
 knowledge. It is also conditional on the 
 will, which, unlike, nay contrary to know- 
 ledge, throughout the whole history has 
 exerted a restraining, obstructive influence 
 on the cultivation of the conscience. There- 
 fore the conscience on its human side often 
 requires to be corrected and enlightened, 
 and is always to be cultivated. The con- 
 science may be blunt and require to be 
 sharpened; it may be lethargic and re- 
 quire to be roused. — Martensen, ' Christian 
 Ethics,' i. 365. 
 
 ( It is the duty of man constantly to pro- 
 secute his moral and intellectual culture. 
 We must labour to enlighten and instruct 
 our conscience. This task can never be 
 ended. So long as life and powers of 
 thought remain to us, we may always be 
 able to acquire a still clearer and higher 
 view than we yet possess, of the supreme 
 law of our being. We never can have done 
 all that is in our power, in this respect. 
 Conscience is never fully formed, but always 
 in the course of formation. — Whewell, 
 
 j ^ Elements of Morality,' \). 150. 
 
 A few say. No. 
 
 Conscience is a faculty which from its 
 very nature cannot be educated. Educa- 
 tion, either in the sense of instruction or 
 training, is impossible. As well propose to 
 teach the eye how and what to see, and 
 the ear how and what to hear, as to teach 
 Reason how to perceive the self-evident, 
 and what truths are of this nature. All 
 these have been provided for in the human 
 constitution. — Calderivood, ' Moral Phil- 
 osophy,' p. 81. 
 
 An erring conscience is a chimera; for 
 although in the objective judgment, whether 
 or not anything be a duty, mankind may 
 very easily go wrong — yet subjectively, 
 
 whether I have compared an action with 
 my practical (here judiciary) reason for the 
 behoof of such objective judgment, does 
 not admit of any mistake; and if there 
 were any, then would no practical judgment 
 have been pronounced, — a case excluding 
 alike the possibility of error or of truth. — 
 Kant, ' Metaphysic of Ethics,' p. 217. 
 
 Conscience may be corrupted and dead- 
 ened. 
 
 It is a common way of accounting for 
 the anomalies in man's moral state to say, 
 in a loose and general way, that the con- 
 science has lost its control over the other 
 faculties of the hiunan mind. Now, it is 
 quite true that the conscience has lost its 
 proper control, but it has not lost all power. 
 On the contrary, it is in some respects as 
 active and energetic as ever. It works not 
 the less powerfully because it works destruc- 
 tively. A court of justice perverted into 
 a court of injustice may be as active in its 
 latter as in its former capacity. The Court 
 of Inquisition in Spain, the Star-Chamber 
 and the Court of High Commission in the 
 reign of the Stuarts in our own coimtry, 
 and the Tribunals in Paris in the Reign of 
 Terror, were as busily employed and as 
 powerful as the most righteous courts of 
 justice that ever sat in the same kingdoms. 
 It is not conceivable that the conscience 
 should ever cease to exist in the breast of 
 any responsible agent; certain it is that 
 in man's present nature it often wields a 
 tremendous energy. Misery never reaches 
 its utmost intensity till it comes to be in- 
 flicted by the scourges of an accusing con- 
 science. Wickedness never becomes so 
 unrelenting as when it seems to have re- 
 ceived the sanction of the moral law. "NVliat 
 might otherwise have been a mere impulse 
 of blind passion, becomes now persevering 
 and systematic villainy or cruelty. Not 
 unfrequently it assumes the shape of cool- 
 blooded persecution, committed without 
 reluctance and without remorse. The con- 
 science now shows what had been its power 
 for good if properly exercised, and how 
 it can bear down and subordinate all the 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 365 
 
 other and mere sytDpathetic feelings of 
 the mind. — ^rCosh, ^Method of the Divine 
 Government^ (1S50). 
 
 It is true that tlie conscience itself has 
 not remained unaffected by the universal 
 corruption wherewith sin has overspread 
 our whole being. Both its truth and its 
 power have been weakened. In the heathen 
 nations, conscience has gone astray and 
 does not rightly understand its office. And 
 how often does the power of sin get the 
 upper hand and so paralyse the operation 
 of conscience that its authority is slighted ! 
 Yet, in the midst of all this corruption and 
 perversion of conscience, the fact is not 
 aboHshed. — Luthardt, ^ Moral Truths,' -p. 53. 
 
 Functions of Conscience. 
 
 Generally. 
 
 Conscience, whether we regard it as an 
 original faculty or as a product of the asso- 
 ciation of ideas, exercises two distinct func- 
 tions. It points out a difference between 
 right and wi-ong, and, when its commands 
 are violated, it inflicts a certain measure of 
 suffering and disturbance. The first func- 
 tion it exercises persistently through life ; 
 the second it only exercises under certain 
 special circumstances. It is scarcely con- 
 ceivable that a man in possession of his 
 faculties should pass a life of gross de- 
 pravity and crime without being conscious 
 that he was doing wrong ; but it is ex- 
 tremely possible for him to do so without 
 this ' consciousness having any appreciable 
 influence on his tranquillity.' — Lec/aj, 'Hist. 
 Eurojyean Morals,' i. 62. 
 
 What is the operation of its voice ? Is 
 it content with proclaiming to you the 
 general supremacy of a righteous law 1 
 Does it not, on the contrary, search your 
 hearts and try your thoughts, and see if 
 there be any wicked way in you ? Does it 
 not with a mysterious justice deal with 
 your personal character, your private, indi- 
 vidual, and peculiar responsibilities, making 
 allowance for your weaknesses, condemning 
 you in proportion to the wilfulness of your 
 sin ; but above all things meeting you at 
 
 every turn and in every instant of your 
 lives with the pai'ticular warning and 
 guidance you need?— TFace, 'Christianity 
 and Morality,' p. 198. 
 
 Particularly. 
 It testifies to 
 Right and Wrong. 
 
 The truths immediately testified by our 
 moral faculty are the first principles of all 
 moral reasoning, from which all our know- 
 ledge of duty must be deduced. By moral 
 reasoning I understand all reasoning that 
 is brought to prove that such conduct is 
 right, and deserving of moral approbation ; 
 or that it is wrong ; or that it is indiffer- 
 ent, and in itself neither morally good nor 
 ill. — Reid, * Worlcs,' p. 590. 
 
 The Conscience in man bears its own 
 clear testimony. This faculty of our nature, 
 or representative of the Judge in our per- 
 sonality, is simply, in relation to sin, the 
 registrar of its guilt. It is the moral con- 
 sciousness, rather of instinct than of re- 
 flection, though also of both, faithfully 
 assuming the personal responsibility of the 
 sin and anticipating its consequences. — 
 Pope, ' Christian Theology,' ii. 34. 
 
 Conscience bears witness to our actions : 
 so St. Paul, ' Their conscience bearing wit- 
 ness ; ' and in this sense conscience is a 
 practical memory. — Jeremy Taylor, ' Worlcs,' 
 ix. 17. 
 
 The Moral Faculty stamps our actions 
 as right or wrong. This faculty, which we 
 cannot help regarding as the authoritative 
 voice of Him who made us, corresponds 
 exactly, in its functions and its judgments, 
 to the moral law delivered on Mount Sinai. 
 The one is the objective, the other the sub- 
 jective law, whose authority we recognise as 
 different but parallel revelations of the one 
 true God. — Crawford, ' Tlie Atonement,* 
 P- 523- 
 
 Conscience speaks to man most clearly 
 when the voices of the world are mute; 
 and often must it .say to man in dreams 
 what it cannot succeed in telling him in his 
 
366 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Christian 
 
 waking moments. — Martensen, 
 Ethics,'' i. 360. 
 
 Conscience is the looking-glass of the 
 soul. And a man looking into his con- 
 science, instructed with the Word of God, 
 its proper rule, is by St. James compared 
 to ' a man beholding his natural face in a 
 glass.' — Jeremy Taijlor, ' Works,' ix, 19. 
 
 A God. 
 
 Those clear, precise, categorical orders, 
 which are imposed (by conscience) in vary- 
 ing degrees of urgency upon all human 
 wills, point to a really living Ruler of men, 
 in whom man cannot disbelieve without 
 doing violence to himself. — Liddon, ' Ele- 
 ments of Religion,' 1 8 8 1 . 
 
 Men's consciences are truer than their 
 intellects. However they may employ the 
 subtlety of their intellects to dull their 
 conscience, they feel in their heart of 
 hearts that there is a Judge, that guilt is 
 punished, that they are guilty. Intellect 
 carries the question out of itself into the 
 region of surmising and disputings. Con- 
 science is compelled to receive it back into 
 its own court, and to give the sentence, 
 which it would withhold. Like the god of 
 the heathen fable, who changed himself 
 into all sorts of forms, but when he was 
 held fast gave at the last the true answer, 
 conscience shrinks back, twists, writhes, 
 evades, turns away, but in the end it will 
 answer truly when it must. — Puseij, ' Minor 
 Prophets,' p. 198. 
 
 Conscience is unsatisfied, according to 
 Kant, unless there exists some Being above 
 the world, who can hereafter reconcile the 
 discrepancies which exist between virtue 
 and fortune in this present life, in His 
 quality as an arbiter of human conduct. — 
 Liddon, ' Elements of Religion,' 1881. 
 
 R guides. 
 
 The Moral Faculty determines itself to 
 be the guide of action and of life, in con- 
 tradistinction from all other faculties or 
 natural principles of action : in the very 
 same manner as speculative reason directly 
 
 and naturally judges of speculative truth 
 and falsehood; and at the same time is 
 attended with a consciousness vipon reflec- 
 tion that the natural right to judge of them 
 belongs to it. — Butter, 'Dissertations,' ii. 
 (note). 
 
 Conscience is evidently intended by 
 nature to be the immediate guide and 
 director of our conduct after we arrive 
 at the years of understanding. Like the 
 bodily eye, it naturally looks forward, 
 though its attention may be turned back 
 to the past. To conceive, as some seem 
 to have done, that its office is only to re- 
 flect on past actions, and to approve or 
 disapprove, is as if a man should conceive 
 that the office of his eyes is only to look 
 back upon the road he has travelled, and 
 to see whether it be clean or dirty, — a mis- 
 take which no man can make who has 
 made the proper use of his eyes. — Reid, 
 ' Tfoj-fe,' p. 597- 
 
 R speahsfor God. 
 
 This originally intellectual and ethical 
 (for it refers to duty) disposition of our 
 nature, called conscience, has this peculiar- 
 ity, that although this whole matter is an 
 affair of man with himself, he notwith- 
 standing finds his reason constrained to 
 carry on the suit, as if it were at the insti- 
 gation of another person ; for the procedure 
 is the conduct of a cause before a court. 
 Now, that he who is the accused by his 
 conscience should be figured to be just the 
 same person as his judge, is an absurd re- 
 presentation of a tribunal; since in such 
 event the accuser would always lose his 
 suit. Conscience must therefore represent 
 to itself always some other than itself as 
 Judge, unless it is to arrive at a contradic- 
 tion with itself. This other may be either 
 r^ real — or an ideal person, — the product of 
 reason. — Kant, ' Metaphysic of Ethics,' p. 
 255- 
 
 It is not merely the authority of a moral 
 law which conscience brings to bear upon 
 man, but it accredits itself to him as an 
 expression of the Divine will against which 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 367 
 
 there is no appeal. For though it is saying 
 too much to call conscience the voice of 
 God Himself, it yet bears testimony in the 
 soul to that will of God, which we bear 
 within us as the law of our being, and 
 summons both our wills and deeds before 
 its judgment-seat, to receive therefrom the 
 moral law which is to guide, or the moral 
 sentence which is to condemn them. — 
 Luthardt, ' Moral Truths,' p. 54. 
 
 God hath given us conscience to be in 
 His stead to us, to give us laws, and to ex- 
 act obedience to those laws, to punish them 
 that prevaricate, and to reward the obedient. 
 And therefore conscience is called ' the 
 household guardian,' 'the domestic god,' 
 ' the spirit or angel of the place.'— Ta^/Zo?', 
 * Works,' ix. 4. 
 
 Conscience is the voice of God in the soul, 
 which witnesses to our sinfulness and ill- 
 desert, and to His essential justice. . . . 
 Every man feels that his moral relations 
 to God are never settled in this life ; and 
 hence the characteristic testimony of the 
 conscience, in spite of great individual differ- 
 ences as to light, sensibility, &c., has always 
 been coincident with the word of God, that 
 ' after death ' comes the judgment. — Hodge, 
 1869. 
 
 It records, and its records are permanent. 
 
 Conscience is the record of offences com- 
 mitted. — WJieivell, ' Elements, ^'c.,' p. 149. 
 
 The records of Conscience are permanent. 
 Acts that to others are dead still live for 
 the doer of them. Coleridge tells the story 
 of an ignorant servant girl who, in the 
 delirium of a fever, repeated sentences of 
 Greek and Hebrew, which she had heard 
 her master repeat years before whilst she 
 was sweeping his study. He deduces this 
 lesson from the tale. ' It may be more 
 possible for heaven and earth to pass away, 
 than that a single act, a single thought, 
 should be loosened or lost from that living 
 chain of causes, with all the links of which 
 the freewill, our only absolute self, is co- 
 extensive and co-present. And this per- 
 
 chance is that dread book of judgment in 
 the mysterious hieroglyphics of which every 
 idle word is recorded. — Maurice, ' Tlie Con- 
 science,' p. 49 seq. 
 
 It judges. 
 
 Every man is a Kttle world within him- 
 self, and in this little world there is a court 
 of judicature erected, wherein, next under 
 God, the conscience sits as the supreme 
 judge, from whom there is no appeal ; 
 that passeth sentence upon us, upon all 
 our actions, upon all our intentions ; for 
 our persons, absolving one, condemning 
 another ; for our actions, allowing one, for- 
 bidding another. If that condemn us, in 
 vain shall all the world beside acquit us; 
 and, if that clear us, the doom which the 
 world passeth upon us is frivolous and in- 
 effectual. — Hall, ' Worlcs,' vi. 375. 
 
 It is the special function of conscience 
 to say when a particular appetency should 
 be allowed and when it should be restrained; 
 in doing so it addresses itself to the will. 
 The conscience thus claims to be above, not 
 only our natural appetencies, but above the 
 will, which ought to yield as soon as the 
 decision of conscience is given ; not that it 
 can set itself altogether above nature, not 
 that it should set itself above nature ; it is 
 its office to sit in judgment on appetencies 
 which are natural or may be acquired, and 
 it works through freewill as an essential 
 element of our nature. — M'GosJi, ^Intuitions 
 of the Mind,' p. 285. 
 
 Conscience, the Judge, must pronounce 
 its decision according to Conscience, the 
 Law. If we have not transgressed the 
 Law of Conscience, Conscience acquits us. 
 If we have violated the Law of Conscience, 
 Conscience condemns us. — Whewell, ' Ele- 
 ments of Morality,' p. 149. 
 
 Laws of the working of the conscience as 
 Judge : — 
 
 First. It is of inental, and of mental acts 
 exclusively, that the conscience judges. It 
 has no judgment whatever to pronomice on 
 a mere bodily act. We look out at the 
 window and we see two individuals in 
 
368 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 different places chastising two different 
 children. The conscience pronounces no 
 judgment in the one case or the other, 
 whatever the feelings may do, until we 
 have learned the motives which have led 
 to the performance of the acts. 
 
 Secondly. It is of acts of the loill, and of 
 acts of the will exclusively, that the conscience 
 judges. In saying so, we use loill in a 
 large sense, as large as that department 
 which has been allotted to it, we believe, 
 by God in the human mind. We use it as 
 including all wishes, desires, intentions, and 
 resolutions, all that is properly active and 
 personal in man. 
 
 Tliirdly. Tlie conscience approves and dis- 
 approves, not of isolated acts merely, hut also 
 of the mind or agent manifested in these acts. 
 The conscience judges according to truth, 
 and regards all mental acts as the mind 
 acting, and pronounces its verdict, not so 
 much on the abstract act as on the mind 
 voluntarily acting in them. 
 
 Fourthly. The conscience pronounces its 
 decision on the state of mind of the respon- 
 sible agent, as the same is presented to it. 
 The conscience is in the position of a bar- 
 rister whose opinion is asked in matters of 
 legal difficulty. In both cases the judg- 
 ment given proceeds on the supposed accu- 
 racy of a representation submitted, but 
 which may be very partial or very per- 
 verted. 
 
 It follows — Fifthly. That there may be 
 much uncertainty, or confusion, or positive 
 error in the judgments of the conscience, be- 
 cause given upon false representations. It 
 follows that the conscience of two different 
 individuals, or of the same individual at 
 different times, may seem to pronounce 
 two different judgments on the same deed. 
 We say seem, for in reality the two deeds 
 are different and the judgments differ, 
 because the deeds as presented to the con- 
 science are not the same. 
 
 Sixthly. Tlie decisions of the conscience 
 are of various kinds. They may be classi- 
 fied as follows : — First, the conscience 
 approves of the morally right. Secondly, 
 
 it condemns what is evil. Thirdly, it de- 
 clares when evil has been committed that 
 punishment is due. — M'Cosh, ^Method of 
 the Divine Government^ (1850)- 
 
 If we analyse the feeling which the con- 
 science gives us concerning wrong-doing, it 
 is this : — (i) Conscience demands repara- 
 tion to the injured party; (2) punishment 
 as a satisfaction to the law, and this to be 
 regarded as just by the guilty party ; (3) 
 alienation or separation between the guilty 
 and the innocent. The inward voice of 
 Conscience is always saying that God ought 
 not to forgive us without some reparation 
 made for the injury done to Himself, to 
 the universe, and to ourselves. — Clarice, 
 ' Orthodoxy,^ pp. 246, 248. 
 
 Dugald Stewart has observed, that in the 
 most rapid reading of a book to one's self, 
 there is a distinct volition for every word, 
 every syllable, though it may seem some- 
 times that the mind gathers up the page 
 almost with a single glance of the eye. 
 Thus the play of the will is habitual, im- 
 perceptible, yet none the less actual, and 
 made up of distinct intervals. So it must 
 be with the conscience. There is a judg- 
 ment of the conscience upon everything. 
 It may be so rapid, so transitory, swifter 
 than the lightning, so brief as the most 
 evanescent, imperceptible shade of thought, 
 that it is not distinctly noticed, and cannot 
 be, except by some supernatural arrest of 
 the being fixing it on the last momentary 
 act or interval; but it exists, as truly as 
 the will exists, although its separate move- 
 ments may not be noticed. — Cheever, ' Bib- 
 Uotheca Sacra,' p. 476 (185 1). 
 
 History presents many examples of a 
 mixture of motives. Lilienhorm had been 
 raised from obscurity and wretchedness by 
 Gustavus, King of Sweden, promoted to the 
 rank of commandant of the guard, and had 
 the complete confidence of his sovereign. 
 But when a conspiracy was formed against 
 his master, he joined it, instigated by the 
 hope held out to him of commanding the 
 national guard, and holding in his hand 
 the destinies of the kingdom. Meanwhile 
 
CONSCIEXCE. 
 
 369 
 
 he endeavoured, by a kind of compromise, 
 to keep his allegiance to the king his bene- 
 factor. He wrote him an anonymous letter, 
 informing him of particulars, which must 
 have convinced the king of the veracity of 
 the statement, of an unsuccessful attempt 
 that had been made to take his life some 
 time before, describing the plan which the 
 conspirators had now formed, and warning 
 him against going to a particular ball, 
 where the assassination was to be com- 
 mitted. In this way he sought to satisfy 
 his conscience, when it threw out doubts 
 as to the propriety of the course which he 
 was pursuing. He spent the evening on 
 which the conspiracy was to take effect 
 in the king's apartment, saw him read the 
 anonymous letter sent him, and upon the 
 generous and headstrong king's despising 
 the warning, followed him to the ball, and 
 Avas present when he was shot. Now, take 
 us to the closet of this man, and let us see 
 him writing the letter which was fitted to 
 save his sovereign — show us this,- and no 
 more, and we say, How becoming ! how 
 generous ! but let us follow him through 
 the whole scenes, and we change our tone, 
 and arraign him of treachery ; and we do 
 so at the very instant Avhen he writes the 
 letter, and seems most magnanimous. — 
 M'CosJi, 'Method of Divine Government' 
 (1850). 
 
 It warns. 
 
 Our moral nature seems to carry a more 
 special . message to every man, — that he 
 must submit to the Judge. This is a feel- 
 ing which may lie very much dormant in 
 many states of the existence of man; as 
 when he is engrossed in business, or ab- 
 sorbed in schemes of earthly ambition ; but 
 it seizes many a quiet moment to insinuate 
 the truth committed to it ; it awakes with 
 terrible power in the state of relaxation 
 which succeeds the fever heat of the evil 
 propensities ; it issues its lightning flashes 
 in the dark hour of disappointment ; it 
 raises its sharp voice in the stillness of the 
 sick chamber ; and gives forth foreboding 
 utterances, which few dare despise when 
 
 they realise the thought that the time of 
 their departure is at hand. The conscience 
 in this life is the anticipation of the arch- 
 angel's trumpet summoning all men to the 
 judgment, and in the other world may be- 
 come the worm that never dies, and the fire 
 that is not quenched. — M'Cosh, '■Intuitions 
 of the Mind,' p. 444. 
 
 How deeply seated the conscience is iu 
 the human soul, is seen in the effect which 
 sudden calamities pi'oduce in guilty men, 
 even when unaided by any determinate 
 notion or fears of punishment after death ; 
 as if the vast pyre of the last judgment 
 were already kindled in an unknown dis- 
 tance, and some flashes of it, darting forth 
 at intervals beyond the rest, were flying 
 and lighting upon the face of his soul. — 
 Goleridge. 
 
 It punishes. 
 
 The binding to punishment is an act of 
 conscience as it is a judge, and is intended 
 to affright a sinner and to punish him ; 
 but it is such a punishment as is the be- 
 ginning of hell torments, and unless the 
 wound be cured, will never end till eter- 
 nity itself shall go into a grave. — Jeremy 
 Taylor, ' Works,' ix. 21. 
 
 In the evil conscience there is an in- 
 ward disquietude and dispeace, distress and 
 wi-etchedness in the present. The violated 
 demands of the law weigh on the evil con- 
 sciousness as an oppressive burden, which 
 literally makes the mind heavy. And not 
 only is it felt as a burden, but also as an 
 inward scourge, which chases the trans- 
 gressor like a wild beast, as we see in the 
 case of Orestes, who was pursued by re- 
 collections; and in the case of Cain, who, 
 a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth, in 
 vain endeavours to flee from himself and 
 from the accusation which sounds from the 
 depth of his being. The criminal trembles 
 in solitude ; is terrified by the rustling of 
 a leaf ; imagines that avenging spirits will 
 suddenly rush in upon him and hurl him 
 into woe. — Martensen, ' Christiaii Ethics,' i. 
 361-2. 
 
 2 A 
 
37° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 An evil conscience makes man a coward, 
 timorous as a child in a church porch at 
 midnight. It makes the strongest men to 
 tremble like the keepers of the house of 
 an old man's tahevusicle.— Jeremy Taylor, 
 * WorJcs,' ix. 25. 
 
 Not with a feeling of repentance, which 
 ever includes a hope, however anxious, and 
 a longing, but in boundless despair, in 
 horror of himself, Judas declares, ' I have 
 betrayed innocent blood,' and casts from 
 him the thirty pieces of silver. In despair, 
 King Richard III. speaks, while his fate is 
 overtaking him, and after he had dreamed 
 his darker dreams of conscience, which have 
 made his heart despondent : — 
 
 ' My conscience hath a thousand several tongues ; 
 And every tongue brings in a several tale, 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain,' 
 
 — Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' ii. 137. 
 
 It imparts ineasure. 
 
 The moral faculty can never be employed 
 without emotion. The feelings, which are 
 its necessary train or accompaniment in all 
 its exercises, impart to them all their 
 liveliness and fervour. They communicate 
 to the soul that noble elevation which it 
 feels on the contemplation of benevolence, 
 of devotedness in a good cause, and patriot- 
 ism and piety under all their forms. — 
 M'Cosh, 'Method of the Divine Government,' 
 P- 307- 
 
 The design of the moral sentiment is to 
 render sensible to the soul the connexion 
 of virtue and happiness. — Cousin. 
 
 A good conscience has not merely pre- 
 sent inward peace, but is always accom- 
 panied by a blessed anticipation of the 
 future, even if present circumstances are 
 dark enough. — Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' 
 i. 361. 
 
 It reveals the moral harmony of our 
 nature. 
 
 Conscience, in subjecting our other 
 powers to its authority, reveals the moral 
 harmony of our natural powers, and pro- 
 
 vides what is essential for moral training 
 of our whole being. All subject powers 
 are powers naturally under regulation for 
 their exercise, and all regulated powers are 
 capable of training. In this way, our dis- 
 positions, affections, and desires ai-e placed 
 under guidance in accordance with the de- 
 mands of moral law. — Calderwood, 'Moral 
 Philosophy,' p. 82. 
 
 The Government of Conscience. 
 
 The Rigid of Conscience. 
 
 This faculty was placed within to be our 
 proper governor ; to direct and regulate all 
 under principles, passions, and motives of 
 action. This is its right and office. How 
 often soever men violate and rebelliously 
 refuse to submit to it, for supposed interest 
 which they cannot otherwise obtain, or 
 for the sake of passion which they cannot 
 gratify ; this makes no alteration as to the 
 natural right and office of conscience. — 
 Butler, ' Sermons,' ii. 
 
 We are not over conscience, but vmder it. 
 It is not under our power, but has power 
 over us. We do not correct and direct it, 
 but it corrects and chastises us. — Luthardt, 
 'Fundamental Truths,' p. 59. 
 
 Authority of Conscience. 
 
 Conscience, in discovering to us moral 
 law for the guidance of our actions, has 
 authority over all other springs of activity 
 within us. We may with clear philosophic 
 warrant attribute to the power discovering 
 to us all moral law the authority which 
 belongs to each of the laws thereby made 
 known. ' The authority of Conscience ' is 
 an abbreviated form for expressing the 
 authority which is common to all the laws 
 of morality. — Calderivood, 'Moral Phil- 
 osophy,' p. 78. 
 
 Other principles of action may have 
 more strength, but this only has authority. 
 From its nature, it has an authority to 
 direct and determine with regard to our 
 conduct; to judge, to acquit, to condemn, 
 and even to punish; an authority which 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 371 
 
 belongs to no other principle of the Imman 
 mind. It is the candle of the Lord set 
 up within us, to guide our steps. Other 
 principles may urge and impel, but this 
 only authorises. Other principles ought 
 to be controlled by this ; this may be, but 
 never ought to be controlled by any other, 
 and never can be with innocence. — Eeid, 
 ' Works,' p. 597. 
 
 The authority of conscience is not foimd 
 in any predominating force belonging to it 
 as a faculty, but altogether in the character 
 of the truth which it discovers. The 
 authority is not found in the natui"e of 
 the faculty itself. The faculty is a power 
 of sight, such as makes a perception of 
 self evident truth possible to man, and 
 contributes nothing to the truth which 
 is perceived. To the truth itself belongs 
 inherent authority, by which is meant, 
 absolute right of command, not force to 
 constrain. — Caldericood, ' Moral Philo- 
 sophy,' p. 80. 
 
 Conscience is an authority. All bow 
 before its power. We may disregard its 
 behests, but we are obliged to listen to its 
 reproving voice. We may harden our- 
 selves against its reproofs, but we cannot 
 succeed in annihilating them. Conscience 
 is independent of the will. We do not 
 command it, but it commands us. — Lulh- 
 ardt, ^Fundamental Truths,' p. 59. 
 
 Tliis authoritij is not ultimate. 
 
 We cannot properly refer to our Con- 
 science as an Ultimate Authority. It 
 has only a subordinate and intermediate 
 authority ; standing between the Supreme 
 Law, to which it is bound to conform, and 
 our own actions, which must conform to it, 
 in order to be moral Conscience is not a 
 standard, but its object is to determine 
 what is right. — Whewell, ^Elements of 
 Morality,' p. 151. 
 
 But is derived from God. 
 
 Strong as conscience is to elevate, 
 control, and command, a personal God is 
 needed by man to give to his conscience 
 
 energy and life. Personality without is 
 required to reinforce the personality within. 
 Conscience itself is but another name for 
 the moral person within, when exalted to 
 its most energetic self-assertion and having 
 to do with the individual self in its most 
 characteristic manifestation, as it deter- 
 mines the character by its individual will. 
 The other self within us is often power- 
 less to enforce obedience. Much as we 
 may respect its commands when forced to 
 hear them, we can, alas, too easily shut 
 our ears to its voice. But when this better 
 self represents the living God, who, though 
 greater than conscience, speaks through 
 conscience, then conscience takes the throne 
 of the universe, and her voice is that of the 
 Eternal King to which all loyal subjects 
 respond with rejoicing assent, and with the 
 exalting hope that the right will triumph, 
 they rejoice that God reigns in righteous- 
 ness. — Porter, '■Agnosticism,' pp. 11, 12. 
 
 Supremacy of Conscience. 
 
 The ' Supremacy of Conscience ' is an 
 abbreviated expression for the sovereignty 
 of moral laws over the forms of activicy to 
 which their authority applies. In its re- 
 ference to motives, acts, and ends, moral 
 law has an unquestionable and unchange- 
 able authority. — Calderwood, ' Moral Philo- 
 sojjhy,' p. 80. 
 
 That principle by which we survey, and 
 either approve or disapprove of our own 
 heart, temper, and actions, is not only to 
 be considered as what in its turn is to 
 have some influence, which may be said of 
 every passion, of the lowest appetite ; but 
 as from its very nature manifestly claim- 
 ing superiority over all others, insomuch 
 that you cannot form a notion of this 
 faculty, conscience, without taking in judg- 
 ment, direction, superintendency. This is 
 a constituent part of the idea, that is, of 
 the faculty itself; and to preside and 
 govern, from the very economy and con- 
 stitution of man, belongs to it. Had it 
 strength, as it has right — had it power, 
 as it has manifest authority — it would ab- 
 
372 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 solutely govern the world. 
 mons,'' ii. 
 
 -Butler, ' Ser- 
 
 Controlling Poiver of Conscience needed. 
 
 When the calculating, expediential Un- 
 derstanding has superseded the Conscience 
 and the Reason, the Senses soon rush out 
 from their dens, and sweep away every- 
 thing before them. If there be nothing 
 brighter than the reflected light of the 
 moon, the wild beasts will not keep in 
 their lair. And when that moon, after 
 having reached a moment of apparent 
 glory, by looking full at the sun, fancies 
 it may turn away from the sun and still 
 have light in itself, it straightway begins 
 to wane, and ere long goes out altogether, 
 leaving its worshippers in the darkness 
 which they had vainly dreamt it would en- 
 lighten. This was seen in the Roman Em- 
 pire. It was seen in the last century all 
 over Europe, above all in France. — ' Guesses 
 at Trutli^ p. 80. 
 
 Manifestations of Conscience. 
 
 In Legislation. 
 
 The conscience of the heathen world was 
 deposited in its legislation. Divine autho- 
 rity was on all hands sought and invented 
 for these laws. The law of Israel was the 
 revelation of the Divine will. It thus be- 
 came the objective conscience of the nation, 
 the former and purifier of its moral know- 
 ledge and notions. Simple as the Ten 
 Commandments may sound, there is no- 
 thing in the whole literature of the nations 
 that can be compared with them for the 
 purity, earnestness, and universality of the 
 moral consciousness therein deposited. — 
 Luthardt, 'Moral Truths,' p. 55. 
 
 Ln Society. 
 
 Conscience does not express itself merely 
 in the individual, but also in society. That 
 there is not merely an individual, but also 
 a social conscience, rests on this, that 
 human individuals are not personal atoms, 
 which have only their own individual 
 duties, but that they are organically com- 
 
 bined into a social whole, where in regard 
 to social duties they are solidarically bound 
 (one for all, and all for one), and thus have 
 a common responsibility, and with each 
 other fall under the same doom. Where 
 the social conscience is vigorous and lively, 
 it will also bear testimony to itself through 
 public opinion. — Martensen, ' Christian 
 Ethics,'' i. 366. 
 
 Ln the Nation. 
 
 Most heartily do I accept a phrase which 
 you will often hear from the wisest men, 
 and find in the best books, — 'The con- 
 science of a nation.' I should regard the 
 loss of it as an unspeakable calamity. The 
 nation, for which men are content to live 
 and die, must have a Conscience, a Con- 
 science to which each of its citizens feel 
 that an appeal can be made ; a Con- 
 science which makes it capable of evil 
 acts ; a Conscience which gives it a per- 
 manence from age to age. — Maurice, ' The 
 Conscience,'' p. 163. 
 
 States and Kinds of Conscience. 
 
 Conscience, by its several habitudes and 
 relations, or tendencies toward its proper 
 object, is divided into several kinds. These 
 are : — 
 
 1. A right or sure cojiscience. A right 
 conscience is that which guides our actions 
 by right and proportioned means to a right 
 end ; i.e., God's glory, or any honest pur- 
 pose of justice or religion, charity or civil 
 conversation. For a right conscience is 
 nothing but right reason reduced to prac- 
 tice, and conducting moral actions. 
 
 2. A confident or erroneous conscience; 
 that is, such which indeed is misinformed, 
 but yet assents to its object with the same 
 confidence as does the right and sure. For 
 our conscience is not a good guide unless 
 we be truly informed and know it. If we 
 be confident and yet deceived, we are like 
 an eri-ing traveller who, being out of the 
 way and thinking himself right, spurs his 
 horse and runs full speed. 
 
 3. A probable or thinking conscience, 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 373 
 
 which is an imperfect assent to an uncer- 
 tain proposition, in which one part is in- 
 deed clearly and fully chosen, but with an 
 explicit or implicit notice that the contrary 
 is also fairly eligible. A probable con- 
 science dwells so between the sure and 
 the doubtful that it partakes something of 
 both. 
 
 4. A doubtful conscience. This considers 
 the probabilities on each side, and dares 
 not choose, and cannot. The will cannot 
 interpose by reason of fear and an un- 
 certain spirit. The conscience assents to 
 neither side of the question, and brings no 
 direct obligation. 
 
 5. A scriqmlous conscience. A scruple is 
 a great trouble of mind proceeding from a 
 little motive, and a great indisposition, by 
 which the conscience, though sufficiently 
 determined by proper arguments, dares not 
 proceed to action, or if it do, it cannot 
 rest. Some persons dare not eat for fear 
 of gluttony ; they fear that they shall 
 sleep too much, and that keeps them 
 waking. — Taylor, ' Works,' voL ix. bk. i, 
 (condensed). 
 
 When a man is uncertain what is right 
 and what is wrong, his conscience is doubt- 
 ful. When the doubts turn rather upon 
 special points than upon the general course 
 of action, they are scnqyles of conscience. 
 What a person can do without offending 
 against his conscience, when the question 
 has been delibei'ately propounded and solved 
 in his own mind, he does with a safe con- 
 science, or with a good conscience. — Whewell, 
 * Elements of Morality,' p. 153. 
 
 We find the conscience operating in a 
 number of perverted ways in the human 
 breast. 
 
 First, there is an unenligutexed con- 
 science. The mind makes no inquiry into 
 the objects presented to it ; but taking them 
 as they come, the conscience decides upon 
 them as they cast up. 
 
 Secondly, there is a perverted con- 
 science. This form differs from the other 
 only in degree. It is a farther stage of the 
 
 same malady. There is not only ignorance, 
 there is positive mistake. 
 
 Thirdly, there is an unfaithful con- 
 science, or a conscience which does not 
 inform man of his sins, arising from an 
 unwillingness to look seriously at the evil 
 committed, and an attempt to keep it out 
 of sight. 
 
 Fourthly, there is a troubled con- 
 science. Southey, in one of his poems, tells 
 us of a bell — which had been suspended on 
 a rock, ditticult in navigation, that the sound 
 given as the waves beat upon it might warn 
 the mariner of the propinquity to danger — 
 having had its rope cut by pirates, because 
 of the warning which it uttered. It so 
 happened, however, that at a future period 
 these very pirates struck upon that rock 
 which they had stripped of its means of admo- 
 nishing them. Which things may be unto 
 us for an allegory. Mankind take pains 
 to stifle the voice that would admonish 
 them, and they partially succeed, but it is 
 only to find themselves sinking at last in 
 more fearful misery. — UrCosh, ^Method of 
 the Divine Government' {1850). 
 
 Rules of Conscience. 
 
 Are they needed ? On this question con- 
 trary opinions are given, 
 
 I think no rules can be of use to the 
 Conscience. Even when they are recom- 
 mended by such eloquence as Jeremy Tay- 
 lor's, they do not settle the cases of Con- 
 science which they undertake to settle; 
 they leave those cases more unsettled than 
 ever. The Conscience asks for Laws [gene- 
 ral principles], not rules ; for freedom, not 
 chains ; for education, not suppression. — 
 Maurice, ' The Conscience,' p. 190. 
 
 Rules of the Conscience, even when they 
 are unfolded with the greatest alnlity by 
 a thoroughly good, earnest, practical man, 
 are unfavourable to goodness and earnest- 
 ness, and are not helpful in practice. Rules 
 of conscience were drawn up expressly be- 
 cause guides of souls had ' made the cases 
 of conscience and the actions of men's lives 
 
374 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 as Tinstable as the water and immeasurable 
 as the dimensions of the moon.' Yet the 
 ultimate resource is to fall back upon these 
 guides of souls, to confess that the rules 
 are impotent without them, and that the 
 final appeal must be to their wisdom. Men 
 will always prefer a man to a rvde. — 
 Mmirice, ' The Conscience,' pp. 109, 113. 
 
 Conscience can never execute her office 
 as she ought, unless some rules are estab- 
 lished by which she is to be obliged; for 
 wherever there is an active virtue wholly 
 undetermined in its own nature, and able 
 to act well or ill, it is necessary there should 
 be some law or rule to govern and direct 
 its actions. Lest the conscience should 
 commit mistakes in examining, judging, and 
 directing, it is fit there should be a fixed 
 rule as a standard by which the Conscience 
 herself should be tried. — Sanderson, ' Lec- 
 tures on Conscience, ^c ,' p. 88. 
 
 The Supreme Rule of Consciejice. 
 
 The proper rule of the Conscience is that 
 which God the Supreme Lawgiver has pre- 
 scribed to it; i.e., the Holy Scripture, or 
 the Word of God written, is not the ade- 
 quate rule of conscience, but the proper 
 and adequate rule of conscience is the Will 
 of God, — in what manner soever it may be 
 revealed to mankind. There is a conscience 
 in all men, even in the heathens who never 
 heard of Moses or of Christ. — Sanderson, 
 ^Lectures on Conscience, Sfc.,' Lect. IV. 
 
 If we now inquire what is the supreme 
 rule of Conscience, the answer can only be, 
 that it is the Will of God, so far as it is 
 made known to man. Both the Morality 
 of Reason and Christian Morality give us 
 a knowledge of the Will of God ; and these 
 are the two main portions of the supreme 
 rule of conscience. — Wlieioell, ^ Elements of 
 Morality,'' p. 288. 
 
 Moral discernment implies, in the notion 
 of it, a rule of action, and a rule of a very 
 peculiar kind ; for it carries in it authority 
 and a right of direction ; authority in such 
 a sense as that we cannot depart from it 
 without being self-condemned. The dictates 
 
 of this moral faculty, which are by nature 
 a rule to vis, are the laws of God. — Butler, 
 '■Analogy,' pt. i. chap. vi. 
 
 Conscience must be subordinate to the 
 revealed Word as its fixed rule and guid- 
 ing-star. — Christlieh, ^Modern Doubt, ^c.,' 
 p. 132. 
 
 Cases of Conscience. 
 
 How they arise. 
 
 A man is bound in conscience to do what 
 he thinks right ; but he is also bound to 
 employ his faculties diligently in ascertain- 
 ing what is right. In most cases the rule 
 of Duty is so plain and obvious that no 
 doubt arises as to the course of action ; and 
 thus no internal inquiry brings the con- 
 science into notice. In cases in which there 
 appear to be conflicting duties, or reasons 
 for opposite courses of action, we must 
 endeavour to decide between them, by en- 
 lightening and instructing the conscience; 
 and these are specially termed Cases of 
 Conscience. 
 
 The question, in every case of conscience, 
 really is, not. How may Duty be evaded ; 
 but, What is Didy ? — not, How may I 
 avoid doing what I ought to do ? but, 
 What ought I to do ? — Wheioell, ' Elements 
 of Morality,' pp. 153, 154- 
 
 A number of these cases of conscience 
 with which the Casuist professes to deal, 
 and which, whether he deals with them or 
 not, perplex our conduct and distract our 
 thoughts, takes their rise in the demands : 
 Ought I, or ought I not, to obey the com- 
 mands of this Pleasure or this Pain, or 
 of this Nature which appears to be their 
 mistress ? Ought I, or ought I not, to obey 
 the commands of this Society, this Major- 
 ity, which is able to enforce its decrees by 
 terrible penalties, and which has various 
 bribes for bringing me into sympathy with 
 it ? Ought I, or ought I not, to perform 
 certain services, to offer certain sacrifices, 
 at the bidding of some invisible divinity ? — 
 Maurice, ' The Conscience,' p. 75 seq. 
 
 A great number, perhaps the greatest 
 number of men, hover between Nature 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 375 
 
 and Conscience. They cannot silence the 
 ' ought not.' But they ask themselves wJii/ 
 they should pay heed to it, «•/;// they should 
 not take this or that pleasure which it seems 
 to prohibit, undergo this or that painful 
 effort which it seems to enjoin 1 ' What is 
 this restraining, tormenting voice 1 From 
 what cavern does it issue ? Do I clearly 
 catch its messages ? Are they indeed say- 
 ing, Avoid this and this ? Do this and 
 this 1 ' Hence begin cases of Conscience. 
 Such cases are not imaginary, but enter 
 into the transactions of every day, and are 
 mingled with the threads of each man's 
 existence. — Maurice, ' Tlie Conscience,'' p. 
 8i. 
 
 The demands of Pleasure or of Nature 
 upon me, the demands of Society upon me, 
 both suggest cases of their own. But the 
 case is that which the Roman poet [Lucre- 
 tius] has raised. These are powers which 
 demand evil things of me. Ought I to 
 acknowledge their demand 1 Very numer- 
 ous are the cases which fall under this 
 head. — Maurice, ' Tlie Conscience,'' p. 97. 
 
 Before all the Cynic's ruling faculty (the 
 Cynic is in Epictetus the minister of re- 
 ligion) must be purer than the sun ; and if 
 it is not, he must necessarily be a cunning 
 knave and a fellow of no principle, since, 
 while he himself is entangled in some vice, 
 he will reprove others. For see how the 
 matter stands, — to these kings and tyrants 
 their guards and arms give the power of 
 reproving some persons, and of being able 
 even to punish those who do wrong, though 
 they are themselves bad ; but to a Cynic, 
 instead of arms and guards, it is conscience 
 which gives this power. When he knows 
 that he has watched and laboured for man- 
 kind, and has slept pure, and sleep has left 
 him still purer, and that he thought what- 
 ever he has thought as a friend of the gods, 
 as a minister, as a participator of the power 
 of Zeus, and that on all occasions he is ready 
 to say, ' Lead me, O Zeus ; and thou, O 
 Destiny;' and also, 'If so it pleases the gods, 
 so let it be ; ' why should hp not have confi- 
 dence to speak freely to his own brothers. 
 
 to his children, — in a word, to his kins- 
 men? — Epictetus, 'Discourses,' p. 262. 
 
 Liberty of Conscience. 
 
 Mistaken notions of it. 
 
 Liberty of Conscience cannot bear some 
 senses which loose thinkers attach to it. 
 (i.) Liberty of Conscience cannot mean 
 liberty to do what I like. That, in tlie 
 judgment of the wisest men, of those who 
 speak most from experience, is bondage. 
 It is from my likings that I must be 
 emancipated, if I would be a free man. (2.) 
 It cannot mean liberty to thiiik what I like. 
 The thoughts of men must be brought under 
 government, lest they should become their 
 oppressors. The scientific man tells us that 
 we ai"e always in danger of putting our 
 thoughts and conceptions of the thing be- 
 tween us and that which is. He bids us 
 seek the thing as it is. We must not 
 pervert the facts which we are examining. 
 All our determinations must fall before the 
 truth wdien that is discovered to us. (3.) 
 It cannot be a gift which men are to ask 
 of senates, or sanhedrims, or assemblies of 
 the people. They have it not to bestow ; 
 if they had, no one could receive it of them. 
 They who groan because any of these bodies 
 withhold it from them, have not yet learnt 
 what it is. — Maurice, * The Conscience,' 
 136 seq. 
 
 Danger of interfering with it. 
 
 In every instance to which we can point, 
 a Society which has succeeded in choking 
 or weakening the Conscience of any of its 
 members, has undermined its own existence, 
 and the defeat of such experiments has been 
 the preservation and security of the Society 
 that has attempted them. The banishment 
 of the Moors from Spain helped to turn a 
 chivalrous and Christian nation into an 
 ambitious, gold - worshipping, tyrannical 
 nation. The Stuarts sought to extinguish 
 the Puritans and Covenanters in England 
 and Scotland; we owe any vigour which 
 there is in Great Britain to their failure. — 
 Maurice, 'The Conscience,'' p. 138 seq. 
 
376 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 It is a fruit of Christianity. 
 
 The first defenders of Christianity were 
 also the first proclaimers of liberty of con- 
 science; and how much soever this prin- 
 ciple may at times have been sinned against 
 by the advocates of the Church, yet liberty 
 of conscience, the necessity of which has 
 now become a matter of universal conviction 
 and admission, was itself a fruit of Chris- 
 tianity. — Luthardt, ' Fundamental Truths,' 
 p. 278. 
 
 God alone can bind the conscience. — 
 3Iartensen, ' Christian Ethics,' i. 365. 
 
 Peace of Conscience. 
 
 Signs of true peace. 
 
 1. Peace of conscience is a rest after a 
 severe inquiry. WlTen Hezekiah was upon 
 his deathbed, as he supposed, he examined 
 his state of life, and found it had been 
 innocent in the great lines and periods of 
 it ; and he was justly confident. Peace of 
 conscience is a fruit of holiness, and there- 
 fore can never be in wicked persons, of 
 notorious evil lives. 
 
 2. That rest, which is only in the days 
 of prosperity, is not a just and a holy peace, 
 but that which is in the days of sorrow and 
 afiliction. If in the days of sorrow a man's 
 heart condemns him not, it is great odds, 
 but it is a holy peace. 
 
 3. Peace of conscience is a blessing that 
 is given to all holy penitents more or less, 
 at some time or other, according as their 
 repentance proceeds, and their hope is 
 exercised. 
 
 4. True peace of conscience is always 
 joined with a holy fear ; a fear to offend 
 and a fear of the divine displeasure for 
 
 what we have offended : it is rational, and 
 holy, and humble ; neither carelessness nor 
 presumption is in it. 
 
 5. True peace of conscience is not a 
 sleep procured by the tongues of flatterers, 
 or opinions of men, but is a peace from 
 within, relying upon God and its own just 
 
 measures, — Taylor, 
 (condensed). 
 
 Worl-s,' ix. 32-34 
 
 It is the great support of society. 
 
 The great prop of society (which uphold- 
 eth the safety, peace, and welfare thereof, 
 in observing laws, dispensing justice, dis- 
 charging trusts, keeping contracts) is con- 
 science, or a sense of duty towards God, 
 obliging us to perform that which is just 
 and equal, qviickened by hope of rewards 
 and fear of punishments from Him ; ex- 
 cluding which principle no worldly con- 
 sideration is strong enough to hold men 
 fast; or can farther dispose many to do 
 right, or observe faith, or hold peace, than 
 appetite or interest, or humour (things very 
 slippery and uncertain) do hold them. — 
 Bar r 010. 
 
 Laws have awakened the Conscience, and 
 the Conscience being awakened owns the 
 majesty of Laws. The command ' Thou 
 shalt not ' would have been uttered in vain 
 if there had not been called forth an ' I 
 ought not ' in the hearer. The Conscience 
 having a profound reverence for Law as 
 Law, turning to it for a protection against 
 mere opinion, will rather incur any punish- 
 ment than trifle with its authority. On 
 the other hand, reverence for law is the only 
 protection of reverence for Conscience. — 
 Maurice, ' The Conscience,' pp. 154, 157, 
 158. 
 
THE GENERAL IDEA. 
 
 ;77 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE MORAL STANDARD. 
 
 THE GENERAL IDEA. 
 The Good and the Right. 
 
 In ancient Ethics — the good. 
 
 The object of the Ethical Science is the 
 Supreme Good of the individual citizen — 
 the end of all ends, with reference to his 
 desires, his actions, and his feelings — the 
 end which he seeks for itself and without 
 any ulterior aim — the end which compre- 
 hends all his other ends as merely partial 
 or instrumental, and determines their com- 
 parative value in his estimation. — Grate, 
 'Aristotle,' p. 500. 
 
 We may consider the action to which we 
 are morally prompted as ' good ' in itself — 
 not merely as a means to some ulterior 
 Good, but as a part of what is conceived as 
 the agent's Ultimate Good. This was the 
 fundamental ethical conception in the Greek 
 schools of Moral Philosophy generally ; in- 
 cluding even the Stoics, though their system 
 is in this respect a transitional link between 
 ancient and modern ethics. — Sidjificl; 
 ' Method of Ethics,' p. loi. 
 
 In the sphere of the known the idea of 
 the good is ultimate, and needs an effort to 
 be seen ; but, once seen, compels the con- 
 clusion that here is the cause, for all things 
 else, of whatever is beautiful and right : in 
 the visible world, parent of light and of its 
 lord ; in the intellectual world, bearing itself 
 the lordship, and from itself supplying truth 
 and reason. And this it is which must fix 
 the eye of one who is to act with wisdom 
 in private or in public life. — Plata, 'lie- 
 public,' bk. vii, 
 
 TJie Categorical Imj^erafive. 
 
 Tlaere is an imperative which commands 
 a certain conduct immediately, without 
 having as its condition any other purpose 
 to be attained by it. This imperative is 
 
 Categorical. It concerns not the matter 
 of the action, or its intended result, but its 
 form nnd the principle of which it is itself 
 a result ; and what is essentially good in it 
 consists in the mental disposition, let the 
 consequences be what they may. This im- 
 perative may be called that of morality. 
 
 There is but one categorical imperative, 
 namely this : Act only on that maxim where- 
 hy thou canst at the same time loill that it 
 should become a universal laic. — Abbott, 
 * Kant's Theory of Ethics,' pp. ^t„ 38. 
 
 Rendered possible by Freedom. 
 
 What makes the categorical imperative 
 possible is this, that the idea of freedom 
 makes me a member of an intelligible world, 
 in consequence of which, if I were nothing 
 else, all my actions icould always conform 
 to the autonomy of the \\ill; but as I at 
 the samp time intuite myself as a member 
 of the world of sense, they ought so to con- 
 form, and this categorical ' ought ' implies 
 a synthetic ct jjt'iori proposition, inasmuch 
 as besides my will as affected by sensible 
 desires, there is added further the idea of 
 the same will but as belonging to the world 
 of the understanding, pure and practical of 
 itself, which contains the supreme condition 
 according to Reason of the former will; 
 precisely as to the intuitions of sense there 
 are added concepts of the understanding 
 "vhich of themselves signify nothing but 
 regular form in general, and in this way 
 synthetic h priori propositions become pos- 
 sible, on which all knowledge of physical 
 nature rests. — Kant, ' Theoi-y of Ethics,' pp. 
 74, 75- 
 
 Absolute Good. 
 
 The conception of an ideal — that is to 
 say, of something infinitely superior to 
 anything which exists — is essential to 
 
378 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 moral science. Moral science assumes that 
 in each particular case, above the action to 
 which nature inclines us, there is another 
 possible and better one, more conformable 
 to the essence of man, and which reason 
 commands us to perform. True human 
 science is not, then, the simple reflex of 
 human nature. The true man is not the 
 same as the actual man. For example, 
 the latter loves life, and will sacrifice any- 
 thing to preserve it; the former, on the 
 contrary, Avill sacrifice everything, even his 
 life, for something other than himself ; 
 and it is he who is in the right. — Janet, 
 'The Theory of Morals,'' p. 129. 
 
 Self-devoted activity to the perfection of 
 Man. 
 
 Professor Greenes Ideal of Virtue. 
 
 The development of morality is founded 
 on the action in man of an idea of true 
 and absolute good, consisting in the full re- 
 alisation of the capabilities of the human 
 sovil. This idea, however, according to our 
 view, acts in man, to begin with, only as a 
 demand unconscious of the full nature of 
 its object. The demand is, indeed, from 
 the outset quite different from a desire for 
 pleasure. It is at its lowest a demand for 
 some well-being which shall be common to 
 the individual desiring it with others ; and 
 only as svich does it yield those institutions 
 of the family, the tribe, and the state, 
 which further determine the morality of 
 the individual The formation of more 
 adequate conceptions to the end to which 
 the demand is directed, we have traced to 
 two influences, separable for purposes of 
 abstract thought, but not in fact, — one, 
 the natural development, under favouring 
 conditions, of the institutions just men- 
 tioned, to which the demand gives rise ; 
 the other, reflection alike upon these insti- 
 tutions and upon those well-reputed habits 
 of action which have been formed in their 
 maintenance and as their effect. Under 
 these influences there has arisen, through 
 a process of which we have endeavoured to 
 trace the outline, on the one hand an ever- 
 widening conception of the range of per- 
 
 sons between whom the common good is 
 common, on the other a conception of the 
 nature of the common good itself, consist- 
 ent with its being the object of a universal 
 society co-extensive with mankind. The 
 good has come to be conceived with increas- 
 ing clearness, not as anything which one 
 man or set of men can gain or enjoy to 
 the exclusion of others, but as a spiritual 
 activity in which all may partake, and in 
 which all must partake, if it is to amount 
 to a full realisation of the faculties of the 
 human soul. Thus the ideal of virtue 
 which our consciences acknowledge has 
 come to be the devotion of character and 
 life, in whatever channel the idiosyncrasy 
 and circumstances of the individual may 
 determine, to a perfecting of man, which is 
 itself conceived not as an external end to 
 be attained by goodness, but as consisting 
 in such a life of self -de voted activity on 
 the part of all persons. — Green, '■Prolego- 
 mena to Ethics,'' pp. 308, 309. 
 
 ETHICAL THEORIES. 
 I. SELFISHNESS, OR EGOISM. 
 Its Nature as a Moral Principle. 
 
 ' Egoism ' denotes a system which pre- 
 scribes actions as means to the end of the 
 individual's happiness or pleasure. The 
 ruling motive in such a system is com- 
 monly said to be ' self-love.' The ambigu- 
 ous meaning of ' egoism ' and ' self-love ' 
 has been a frequent source of confusion in 
 ethical discussion. In order to fit these 
 terms for the purpose of scientific discus- 
 sion, we must, while retaining the main 
 part of their signification, endeavour to 
 make it more precise. Accordingly, we 
 must explain that by Egoism we mean 
 Egoistic Hedonism, a system that fixes as 
 the reasonable iiltimate end of each indi- 
 vidual's action his own greatest possible 
 Happiness : and by ' greatest Happiness ' 
 we must definitely understand the greatest 
 possible amount of pleasure; or, more 
 strictly, as pains have to be balanced 
 against pleasures, the greatest possible sur- 
 
ETHICAL THEORIES. 
 
 379 
 
 plus of pleasure over pain. — SiifijicicJi, 
 'Methods of E/ hies,' pp. 83, 116. 
 
 The principle is quaintly expressed in 
 part of the epitaph on the gravestone of 
 Robert Cycroft in the churchyard of 
 Homersfield, Suffolk : — 
 
 ' As I walked by myself, I talked to myself, 
 And thus myself said to me. 
 Look to thyself, and take care of thyself, 
 For nobody cares for thee.' 
 
 Egoism wraps us up in our own interests. 
 — Martensen. 
 
 Theory of Helvetius. 
 
 Helvetius finds in self - love, which 
 prompts us to seek pleasure and ward off 
 pain, the only proper motive of human 
 conduct, holding that the right guidance 
 of self-love by education and legislation is 
 all that is necessary to bring it into har- 
 mony with the common good. Complete 
 suppression of the passions leads to stupid- 
 ity ; passion fructifies the mind, but needs 
 to be regulated. He who secures his own 
 interests in such a manner as not to pre- 
 judice, but rather to further the interests 
 of others, is the good man. — Ueherweg, 
 'Hist, of Phil.,' ii. 129. 
 
 In France, the name of Helvetius (author 
 of De Vesprit, De Vhomme, &c., 1715-1771) 
 is identified with a serious, and perfectly 
 consistent, attempt to reduce all morality 
 to direct Self-interest. Though he adopted 
 this ultimate intei-pretation of the facts, 
 Helvetius was by no means the ' low and 
 loose moralist ' that he has been described 
 to be ; and, in particular, his own practice 
 displayed a rare benevolence. — Bain, 'Moral 
 Science,'' p. 598. 
 
 Illustrations of his teaching. 
 
 The desire of greatness is always pro- 
 duced by the fear of pain or love of sen- 
 sual pleasure, to which all the other plea- 
 sures must necessarily be reduced. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 Love implies want, without which there 
 is no friendship; for this would be an 
 effect without a cause. Not all men have 
 
 the same wants, and, therefore, the friend- 
 ship which subsists between them is founded 
 on different motives : some want pleasure 
 or money, others credit ; these conversa- 
 tion, those a confidant to whom they may 
 disburthon their hearts. There are, con- 
 sequently, fi-iends of money, of uitrigue, of 
 wit, and of misfortune. 
 
 The power of friendship is in proportion, 
 not to the honesty of two friends, but to 
 the interest by which they are united 
 
 Justice. 
 
 Our love of equity is always subordinate 
 to our love of power : Man, solely anxious 
 for himself, seeks nothing but his own 
 happiness ; if he respects equity, it is want 
 that compels him to it. 
 
 Whatever disinterested love we may affect 
 to have, luithout interest to love virtue, there 
 is no virtue. — ' De V Esprit,' essay ii., quoted 
 by Martineau, ' Tyj)es, ^c.,' ii. 292, 293. 
 
 Objections to this Principle. 
 
 Tliere is no sure ride for carrying it out. 
 
 There is no scientific short-cut to the 
 ascertainment of the right means to the 
 individual's happiness ; every attempt to 
 find a ' high p)riori road ' to this goal, brings 
 us back inevitably to the empirical method. 
 Foi', instead of a clear principle univer- 
 sally valid, we only get at best a vague and 
 general rule based on considerations which 
 it is important not to overlook, but the 
 relative value of which we can only esti- 
 mate by careful observation and compari- 
 son of individual experiences. — Sidgwick, 
 ' Methods of Ethics,' p. 194. 
 
 It is fatal to self-sacrifice. 
 
 The egoist has an easy explanation of 
 self-sacrificing actions. The charitable man, 
 who gives money to the poor which he 
 might have spent in luxury, is repaid by a 
 glow of self-complacency ; the missionary, 
 who leaves house and home to convert 
 savages, hopes for a reward in heaven ; the 
 physician, who sacrifices health to comfort 
 prisoners or sufferers in a plague- stricken 
 city, is eager for praise and shrinks from 
 
38o 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 general contempt. In all cases, and how- 
 ever skilfully disguised, some personal grati- 
 fication supplies the cogent motive, A man 
 may conceivably be unselfish, but, so far as 
 really unselfish, he is a fool for his pains. 
 He will only do good to others, if a wise or 
 a thoroughly enlightened man, so far as he 
 expects to derive some benefit for himself. 
 No man, it is argued, can sacrifice himself 
 knowingly and intentionally. — Stephen, 
 '■Science of Ethics,' p. 220. 
 
 It is often at variance icitli Virtue and 
 Duty. 
 
 The coincidence between Vii'tue and 
 Happiness is not complete and universal. 
 We may conceive the coincidence becoming 
 perfect in a Utopia where men were as 
 much in accord on Moral as they are now 
 on Mathematical questions, where Law was 
 in perfect harmony with Moral Opinion, 
 and all offences were discovered and duly 
 punished. But just in proportion as exist- 
 ing societies and existing men fall short of 
 this ideal, rules of conduct based on the 
 principles of Egoism must diverge from 
 those which most men are accustomed to 
 recognise as prescribed by Duty and Virtue. 
 — Stephen, ^Science of Ethics^ p. 174. 
 
 It does violence to the letter side of human 
 nature. 
 
 Man has a native affection which leads 
 him to feel an mterest in his fellow-men, 
 and is capable of being moved by whatever 
 affects them. These affections have been 
 called Altruistic. We are naturally in- 
 clined to wish that others may possess 
 whatever we regard as appetible, and that 
 they may be preserved from all that we 
 regard as evil. This is the kindliness to- 
 wards a brother man which will flow out 
 like a fountain unless it is restrained by 
 selfishness, and which we should seek to 
 have so elevated and sanctified that it may 
 become the grace of benevolence leading us 
 to do unto others even as we would that 
 they should do unto us. — M'Cosh, 'The 
 Emotions,' p. 112. 
 
 It degrades benevolent action. 
 
 The egoist denies that conferring plea- 
 sure upon others can ever be an ultimate 
 motive. The desire to give happiness is 
 always capable of a further analysis, which 
 shows it to include a desire of happiness 
 for ourselves. So I may be kind to you in 
 order that you may hereafter be kind to 
 me, and at a given instant of kindness I 
 may not be distinctly conscious of the ulti- 
 mate end. But, according to the egoist, 
 such an end must always exist. The goal 
 of every conceivable desire is some state of 
 agreeable consciousness of my own. I may 
 not look to the end of the vista of intended 
 consequences, but, if I look, I shall always 
 see my own reflection. — Stephen, 'Science of 
 Ethics,' p. 224. 
 
 It is the Principle of Sin. 
 
 As sin had its origin in the desire of 
 man to be his own master, without at the 
 same time being willing to be God's ser- 
 vant, and thus arose in disobedience of 
 God ; and as sin in the human race is the 
 continuance of this disobedience ; so egoism 
 must be adjudged, as the subjective moment , 
 of worldhness, to be the prime mover in 
 the kingdom of sin, because it is the selfish- 
 ness in itself reflected, which in reference 
 to the love of the world has the higher 
 spirituality. It was self, his own will, 
 which man wished to enjoy in the forbidden 
 fruit. — Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' i. 
 
 lOI. 
 
 11. LAW OF THE STATE OR HUMAN 
 SOCIETY. 
 
 Foundation of Early Social Life. 
 
 Tlie Patriarchal Theory. 
 
 The effect of the evidence derived from 
 comparative jurisprudence is to estabHsh 
 that view of the primeval condition of the 
 human race which is known as the Patri- 
 archal Theory. There is no doubt that 
 this theory was originally based on the 
 Scriptural history of the Hebrew Patriarchs 
 
LAW OF THE STATE OR HUMAN SOCIETY. 
 
 in Lower Asia. The points which lio on 
 the surface of the history are these : — The 
 eldest male parent — the eldest ascendant — 
 is absolutely supreme in his household. 
 His dominion extends to life and death, 
 and is as unqualified over his children and 
 their houses as over his slaves ; indeed, the 
 relations of sonship and serfdom appear to 
 differ in little beyond the higher capacity 
 Avhich the child in blood possesses of be- 
 coming one day the head of a family him- 
 self. The flocks and herds of the children 
 are the flocks and herds of the father ; and 
 the possessions of the parent, which he 
 holds in a representative rather than in a 
 proprietary character, are equally divided 
 at his death among his descendants in the 
 first degree, the eldest son sometimes 
 receiving a double share under the name 
 of a birthright, but more generally endowed 
 with no hereditary advantage beyond an 
 honorary precedence. — Maine, 'Ancient 
 Law,' pp. 122, 123. 
 
 Moral Responsibility in Ancient Society. 
 
 The moral elevation and moral debase- 
 ment of the individual appear to be con- 
 founded with, or postponed to, the merits 
 and offences of the group to which the 
 individual belongs. If the community 
 sins, its guilt is much more than the sum 
 of the offences committed by its members ; 
 the crime is a corporate act, and extends in 
 its consequences to many more persons than 
 have shared in its actual perpetration. If, 
 on the other hand, the individual is con- 
 spicuously guilty, it is his children, his 
 kinsfolk, his tribesmen, or his fellow- 
 citizens, who suffer with him, and some- 
 times for him. It thus happens that the 
 ideas of moral responsibility and retribution 
 often seem to be more clearly realised at 
 very ancient than at more advanced periods, 
 for, as the family group is immortal, and 
 its liability to punishment indefinite, the 
 primitive mind is not perplexed by the 
 questions which become troublesome as 
 soon as the individual is conceived as 
 altogether separate from the group. — 
 Maine, '■Ancient Laic,' p. 127. 
 
 Civil Law the foundation of Morality. 
 
 llohhex. 
 
 The desires and other passions of men 
 are in themselves no sin. No more are 
 the actions that proceed from those passions, 
 till they know a law that forbids them; 
 which, till laws be made, they cannot know, 
 nor can any law be made till they have 
 agreed upon the person that shall make it. 
 
 Where there is no common power, there 
 is no law : w-here no law, no injustice. 
 Force and fraud are in war the two car- 
 dinal virtues. Justice and injustice are 
 none of the faculties neither of the body 
 nor mind. If they were, they might be in 
 a man that were alone in the world, as 
 well as his senses and passions. They are 
 qualities that relate to men in society, not 
 in solitude. — 'Leviathan,' ch. xiii. 
 
 Moral Philosophy is nothing else but 
 the science of what is 'good ' and 'evil,' in 
 the conversation and society of mankind. 
 ' Good ' and ' evil ' are names that signify 
 our appetites and aversions; which in 
 different tempers, customs, and doctrines 
 of men, are different : and divers men 
 differ not only in their judgment on the 
 senses of what is pleasant and unpleasant 
 to the taste, smell, hearing, touch, and 
 sight ; but also of what is conformable or 
 disagreeable to reason, in the actions of 
 common life. — 'Leviathan,' ch. xv. 
 
 "Where no covenant hath preceded, there 
 hath no right been transferred, and every 
 man has right to everything ; and conse- 
 quently no action can be unjust. But 
 when a covenant is made, then to break 
 it is ' unjust ' : and the definition of ' in- 
 justice,' is no other than 'the not perform- 
 ance of covenant.' And whatsoever is not 
 unjust is ' just.' 
 
 But because covenants of mutual trust, 
 where there is a fear of not performance 
 on either part, ai-e invalid ; though the 
 original of justice be the making of coven- 
 ants; yet injustice actually there can be 
 none, till the cause of such fear be taken 
 away ; which while men are in the natural 
 condition of war cannot be done. There- 
 
382 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 fore before the names of just and unjust 
 can have place, there must be some coercive 
 power, to compel men equally to the per- 
 formance of their covenants by the terror 
 of some pvinishment, greater than the 
 benefit they expect by the breach of their 
 covenant; and such power there is none 
 before the erection of a commonwealth, — 
 * Leviatlian^ ch. xv. 
 
 Professor Bain. 
 
 The Ethical End is a certain portion of 
 the welfare of human beings living together 
 in society, realised through rules of conduct 
 duly enforced. 
 
 The obvious intention of morality is the 
 good of mankind. The precepts — do not 
 steal, do not kill, fulfil agreements, speak 
 truth — whatever other reasons may be 
 assigned for them, have a direct tendency 
 to prevent great evils that might otherwise 
 arise in the intercourse of human beings. — 
 '■Moral Science,'' p. 434. 
 
 Morality analogous to Civil Government. 
 
 Moral duties are a set of rules, precepts, 
 or prescriptions for the direction of human 
 conduct in a certain sphere or province. 
 These rules are enforced by two kinds of 
 motives, requiring to be kept distinct. 
 
 One class of rules are made compulsory 
 by the infliction of pain, in the case of 
 violation or neglect. The pain so inflicted 
 is termed a Penalty or Punishment ; it is 
 one of the most familiar experiences of all 
 human beings living in society. 
 
 The institution that issues Rules of this 
 class, and inflicts punishment when they 
 are not complied with, is termed Govern- 
 ment, or authority; all its rules are authori- 
 tative, or obligatory ; they are Laws 
 strictly so-called, Laws proper. Punish- 
 ment, Government, Authority, Superiority, 
 Obligation, Law, Duty, — define each other ; 
 they are all different modes of regarding 
 the same fact. 
 
 Morality is thus in every respect ana- 
 logous to Civil Government, or the Law of 
 the Land. Nay, farther, it squai-es, to a 
 very great extent, with Political Authority. 
 
 The points where the two coincide, and 
 those where they do not coincide, may be 
 briefly stated : — 
 
 1. All the most essential parts of Mor- 
 ality are adopted and carried out by the 
 Law of the Land. The rules for protecting 
 pei-son and property, for fulfilling contracts, 
 for performing reciprocal duties, are rules 
 or laws of the State ; and are enforced by 
 the State, through its own machinery. 
 The penalties inflicted by public authority 
 constitute what is called the Political 
 Sanction ; they are the most severe, and 
 the most strictly and dispassionately ad- 
 ministered, of all penalties. 
 
 2. There are certain Moral duties en- 
 forced, not by public and official authority, 
 but by the members of the community in 
 the private capacity. These are sometimes 
 called the Laws of Honour, because they 
 are punished by withdrawing from the 
 violator the honour or esteem of his fellow- 
 citizens. Courage, Prudence as regards 
 self. Chastity, Orthodoxy of opinion, a 
 certain conformity in Tastes and Usages, 
 — are all prescribed by the mass of each 
 community, to a greater or less extent, and 
 are insisted on under penalty of social 
 disgrace and excommunication. This is 
 the Social or the Popular Sanction. 
 
 Public opinion also chimes in with the 
 Law, and adds its own sanction to the 
 legal penalties for offences : unless the law 
 happens to be in conflict with the popular 
 sentiment. Criminals condemned by the 
 law are additionally punished by social 
 disgrace. 
 
 3. The Law of the Land contains many 
 enactments, besides the Moral Code and 
 the machinery for executing it. The 
 Province of Government passes beyond the 
 properly protective function, and includes 
 many institutions of public convenience, 
 which are not identified with right and 
 wrong. — ^ Moral Science,^ pp. 435, 436. 
 
 Moral rules supported by Reivards. 
 
 The second class of Rules (see previous 
 quotation) are supported, not by penalties, 
 but by Rewards. Society, instead of 
 
LAW OF THE STATE OR HUMAN SOCIETY. 
 
 3S: 
 
 punishing men for not being charitable or 
 benevolent, jn'aises and otherwise rewards 
 them, when they are so. Hence, although 
 Morality inculcates benevolence, this is not 
 a Law proper ; it is not obligatory, authori- 
 tative, or binding ; it is purely voluntaiy, 
 and is termed merit, virtuous and noble 
 conduct. 
 
 The conduct rewarded by Society is 
 chiefly resolvable into Beneficence. Who- 
 ever is moved to incur sacrifices, or to go 
 through labours, for the good of others, is 
 the object, not mei-ely of gratitude from 
 the persons benefited, but of approbation 
 from society at large. 
 
 Any remarkable strictness or fidelity in 
 the discharge of duties properly so called, 
 receives general esteem. — ' Moral Science,' 
 pp. 426, 427 (see also Professor Bain's 
 ' Tlieory of Conscience,' sect. xix.). 
 
 Criticism of Professor Bain's State Con- 
 science Theoiij. 
 
 As applied to education. 
 
 The external authority of the parent or 
 teacher, I maintain, is useless unless he ap- 
 peals to that which is within the child, is 
 mischievous unless it is exerted to call that 
 forth. The external authority must be- 
 come an internal authority, not co-< iperat- 
 ing with the forces which are seeking to 
 crush the ' I ' in the child, but working 
 against those forces to deliver the child 
 from their dominion. The teacher will 
 endeavour so to contrive his punishment 
 that ' the sentiment of the forbidden ' may 
 always be accompanied with the sentiment 
 of trust in the person who has forbidden. 
 If the child is taught to have a dread of 
 him as one who is an inflicter of pain, not 
 to have a reverence for him as one who 
 cares for it and is seeking to save it from 
 its own folly — if the child is instructed 
 carefully to separate the pain which rises 
 out of its own acts from the pain which he 
 inflicts, so that it may associate the pain 
 with him rather than with them — then all 
 has been done which human art can do to 
 make it grow up a contemptible coward, 
 crouching to every majority w^hich thi'eatens 
 
 it with the punishments that it has learnt 
 to regard as the greatest and only evils ; 
 one who may at last, ' in the maturity of 
 a well-disposed mind,' become the spon- 
 taneous agent of a majority in trampling 
 out in others the freedom which has been 
 so assiduously trampled out in him. A 
 parent or a teacher who pursues this object 
 is of all the ministers of a community the 
 one whom it should regard with the greatest 
 abhorrence, seeing that he is bringing up 
 for it, not citizens, but slaves. — Maurice, 
 ' The Conscience,' pp. 67, 68. 
 
 Is destructive of nobility of character. 
 
 There has been a disposition in many to 
 say that our soldiers and sailors must be 
 drilled according to the maxims of Mr. 
 Bain's education, that they may have a 
 merely public Conscience. 'What would 
 become of us,' it has been asked, * if each 
 of them felt himself to be an i ; said for 
 himself, " / ought and I ought not ? " ' 
 My answer is this, I know not what would 
 have become of us in any great crisis if this 
 personal feeling had not been awakened ; if 
 eveiy man had not felt that he was expected 
 to do his duty; if duty had been under- 
 stood by each sailor or soldier in Mr. Bain's 
 sense as the dread of punishment ; if 
 the captain who asked for obedience had 
 been just the person towards whom that 
 slavish dread was most directed. Unless 
 the obedience of our sailors and soldiers 
 had been diametrically the reverse of that 
 sentiment which Mr. Bain describes, I be- 
 lieve there is not a regiment which would 
 not have turned its back in the day of 
 battle, not a ship which would not have 
 struck its flag. The charm of the cjxptain's 
 eye and voice, of his example and his sym- 
 pathy, this, as all witnesses whose testimony 
 is worth anything have declared, has had 
 an electrical influence upon hosts which 
 could enable them to face punishments 
 from enemies consideraljly more terrible 
 than any which the most savage vengeance 
 could devise for desertion. It is not the 
 thought of what a majority will say or do, 
 that can stir any individual man to stand 
 
384 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 where he is put to die. It is that he has 
 been aroused to the conviction, ' I am 
 here, and here I ought to be.' — Maurice, 
 ' The Conscience,^ pp. 68, 69. 
 
 Society the most frightful of hughears. 
 
 No power that I ever heard of is so 
 ' abstract, unseen, unp reducible,' as the 
 Society which is put forth to terrify and 
 crush each man who dares to claim a dis- 
 tinct existence. Where is it, what is it, 
 who brought it forth? Parents, School- 
 masters, Legislators, are its agents. It 
 remains full of ghostly dread, gathering 
 into itself all that is most tremendous in 
 the phantoms which we boast that modern 
 enlightenment has driven from our nur- 
 series. — Maurice, ' The Conscience,^ p. 72. 
 
 III. ASCETICISM. 
 Described. 
 
 Asceticism, from Greek uGKTiiric, meaning 
 the exercise or training to which the 
 athletes subjected themselves when pre- 
 paring for the games or contests, is used 
 metaphorically to denote the habitual prac- 
 tice of exercising restraint over, or sub- 
 duing, the bodily desires and affections 
 which tend to lower objects, in order there- 
 by to advance in the higher life of purity 
 and virtue. It is the means by which the 
 mind withdraws itself from the hindrances 
 and temptations of the world, and clears 
 its vision for what is spiritual and true. 
 In its lowest stage it consists in the morti- 
 fication of the flesh by fasting, penance, 
 and the like ; but in a higher sense it in- 
 volves the uprooting of all worldly or tem- 
 poral desires, and withdrawal from the 
 natural relations of life. — ^Encyclop. Brit.,'' 
 ii. 676. 
 
 The name may be applied to every sys- 
 tem which teaches man, not to govern his 
 wants by subordinating them to reason and 
 the law of duty, but to stifle them entirely, 
 or at least to resist them as much as we 
 can ; and these are not only the Avants of 
 the body, but still more those of the heart, 
 
 the imagination, and the mind ; for society, 
 the family, most of the sciences and arts of 
 civilisation, are proscribed sometimes as 
 rigorously as physical pleasures. The care 
 of the Soul and the contemplation of the 
 Deity are the only employments. — ' Diet. 
 des Sciences Phil.' 
 
 As a striking instance of the imfairness 
 which prejudice can produce in a mind 
 usvially most clear and just, the description 
 of Bentham may be quoted. He says : — 
 
 By the principle of asceticism I mean 
 that principle, which, like the principle of 
 utility, approves or disapproves of any 
 action, according to the tendency which it 
 appears to have to augment or diminish 
 the happiness of the party whose interest 
 is in question ; but in an inverse manner : 
 approving of actions in as far as they tend 
 to diminish his happiness ; disapproving of 
 them in as far as they tend to augment it. — 
 ' Priiiciples of Morals and Legislation,' p. 9. 
 
 Its Origin and Growth. 
 
 Amongst men generally. 
 
 The origin of this aspect of thought or 
 mode of action is to be found in the wide- 
 spread idea, not wholly Oriental, that in 
 Unity c\v Identity alone is true goodness 
 and happiness, while in Multiplicity or 
 Difference is evil and misery. Unity is 
 but the abstract expression for God, the 
 Absolute, or Spirit, and Multiplicity for 
 Matter, in which both Orientals and Greeks 
 thought to find the origin of evil. Now in 
 man exist both spirit, which is the shadow 
 of or emanation from the divine, and body, 
 with its various desires and passions, which 
 is of the nature of matter, and therefore in 
 itself evil. True happiness — nay, true life 
 for man — consists in contemplation of 
 God, absorption into the divine unity and 
 essence ; and this ecstatic vision can only 
 be attained by the cultivation of the spirit, 
 and the mortification of the body. The 
 desires and passions must be subdued, 
 rooted up, and the means recommended 
 are solitude, poverty, celibacy, fasting, and 
 penance. We find, accordingly, that in all 
 
v^ 
 
 ASCETICISM. 
 
 3S5 
 
 nations, those wlio seek divine ilhiniination 
 prepare themselves by these means. In 
 this respect the Hiiidoo fakirs, jogis, der- 
 vishes, g}Tiinosophists, and the numerous 
 sect of the Buddhists, are at one with the 
 Hebrew Nazarites, and Chasidim, and with 
 the priests of the Grecian mysteries. — 
 ^ Encyclop. Brit.,' ii. 676, 677. 
 
 Amongst the Brahmans. 
 
 The practice of austerities is so inter- 
 woven with Brahmanism, under all the 
 phases it has assumed, that we cannot 
 realise its existence apart from the prin- 
 ciples of the ascetic. 
 
 The practice of asceticism is supposed 
 by the Brahmans to have commenced at a 
 very early period, and it leads to the pos- 
 session of an energy the most mighty. The 
 Hindu ascetics of more recent times are 
 in many instances those who have fulfilled 
 their supposed destiny as men, and then 
 retire into the wilderness, that, instead of 
 assuming another form at their death, they 
 may be prepared for reabsorption in the 
 supreme essence. In abstaining from ani- 
 mal food the Brahmans are stricter than 
 the Buddhists ; but the followers of G6tama 
 never knowingly take life, and, therefore, 
 regard the pasuyajna or aswamedha, a 
 sacrifice supposed by the Brahmans to be 
 highly efiicacious, with great abhorrence. 
 — Hardy, ' Easterii Monachism,' pp. 348, 
 351- 
 
 In Cliristianity. 
 
 Whence dei-ived. 
 
 The principle of asceticism — and this is 
 allowed on all sides — was in force before 
 Christianity. The Essenes,- for instance, 
 among the Jews, owed their existence as 
 a sect to this principle. It was dominant 
 in the oriental systems of antagonism be- 
 tween mind and matter. It asserted itself 
 even among the more sensuous philosophers 
 of Greece, with their larger sympathy for 
 the pleasurable development of man's phy- 
 sical energies. But the fuller and more 
 systematic development of the ascetic life 
 among Christians is contemporaneous with 
 
 Christianity coming into contact with the 
 Alexandrine school of thought, and exhi- 
 bits itself first in a country subject to the 
 combined influences of Judaism and of the 
 Platonic jihilosophy. Indeed, the great and 
 fundamental principle on which asceticism, 
 in its narrower meaning, rests — of a two 
 fold morality, one expressed in ' Precepts ' 
 of universal obligation for the multitude, 
 and one expressed in ' Counsels of Perfec- 
 tion,' intended only for those more ad- 
 vanced in holiness, with its doctrine that 
 the passions are to be extirpated rather 
 than controlled — is veiy closely akin to the 
 Platonic or Pythagorean distinction be- 
 tween the life according to natiu-e and the 
 life above nature. — Smith, ' Diet, of Chris- 
 tian Antiq.,' i. 147. 
 
 Amongst the heathen, those who led 
 lives consecrated to meditation were usu- 
 ally termed ascetics. Now, it sometimes 
 happened that heathen ascetics were led by 
 their earnest pursuit of moral perfection 
 to embrace Christianity ; and having be- 
 come Christians, they still adhered to their 
 former habits of life, which in themselves 
 contained nothing repugnant to Christia- 
 nity. Others, again, in whom Christianity 
 first produced a more serious turn of life, 
 adopted these habits as a token of the 
 change that had been wrought in them. 
 In the warmth of their first love, upon 
 their baptism, they immediately gave to 
 the church -fund or to the poor a large por- 
 tion of their earthly property, or all that 
 they had. Within the bosom of the church 
 they led a quiet, retired life, supporting 
 themselves by the labour of their hands, 
 remaining unmarried, and devoting to ob- 
 jects of Christian charity all that remained 
 over and above their earnings, after barely 
 satisfying the most necessary wants of life. 
 Such Christians were called the Abstinent 
 Ascetics. — Neander, ' Church History,' i. 
 380, 381 (abridged). 
 
 Stages of development. 
 
 During the first century and a half of 
 Christianity there are no indications of 
 ascetics as a distinct class. While the first 
 
 2 B 
 
386 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 fervour of conversion lasted, and while the 
 chui'ch, as a small and compact community, 
 was struggling for existence against oppos- 
 ing forces on every side, the profession of 
 Christianity was itseK a profession of the 
 ascetic spirit ; in other words, of endur- 
 ance, of hardihood, of constant self-denial. 
 For about a century subsequent to 150 
 A.D. there begin to be traces of an asceticism 
 more sharply defined and occupying a more 
 distinct position ; but not as yet requiring 
 its votaries to separate themselves entirely 
 from the rest of their community. Athena- 
 goras speaks of persons habitually abstain- 
 ing from matrimony. Eusebius mentions 
 devout persons, ascetics, who ministered to 
 the poor. 
 
 The middle of the third century marks 
 an era in the development of Christian 
 asceticism. Antony, Paul, Ammon, and 
 other Egyptian Christians, not content, as 
 the ascetics before them, to lead a life of 
 extraordinary strictness and severity in 
 towns and villages, aspired to a more 
 thorough estrangement of themselves from 
 all earthly ties ] and by their teaching and 
 example led very many to the wilderness, 
 there to live and die in almost utter seclu- 
 sion from their fellows. 
 
 About the middle of the fourth century 
 Christian asceticism begins to assvime a 
 corporate character. The term ascetic be- 
 gins now to be neai'ly equivalent to monastic. 
 The history of asceticism, after the institu- 
 tion of monastic societies, belongs to the 
 history of monasticism. — Smith, ' Did. of 
 Christian Antiq.,' i. 148. 
 . A one-sided ascetical tendency easily in- 
 troduced itself into the earliest stages of 
 the development of the Christian life, and 
 more particularly in the case of those who 
 embraced Christianity with their whole soul. 
 Wherever religion awakened in the first 
 place a feeling of disgust at all worldly pur- 
 suits, and enkindled in the mind the holy 
 flame of love for the divine, this first move- 
 ment would readily assume an ascetical 
 shape. There arose an undue estimation 
 of the ascetical contemplative life and of 
 celibacy, which was carried to the extreme 
 
 of promising to such a life a more exalted 
 state of future blessedness. — Neander, 
 ' Church History,'' i. 383. 
 
 The Spirit of Judaism contrary to asceti- 
 cism. 
 
 If any religion appeared opposed to 
 asceticism, it was Judaism, which, resting 
 on the doctrine of creation, had always ex- 
 pressed spiritual promises in the language 
 of temporal blessing. Neither its priest- 
 hood nor its prophets were placed outside 
 common life. To fear God, to keep His 
 commandments, to rejoice with the wife of 
 his youth, to see his house filled with chil- 
 dren like a quiver full of arrows, to meditate 
 on the sacred books under his vine and his 
 fig tree, whilst blessing God for what the 
 clouds distil upon man abundantly — this 
 was the ideal set before a child of Israel. — 
 Pressense, ^ La Vie Eccles.,' p. 524. 
 
 Primitive CJiristianity not ascetic. 
 
 Primitive Christianity engaged in conflict 
 with that sensuality which ruins the soul 
 by withering it. But it did not yield to 
 the temptation of asceticism. It did not 
 desire to destroy the body but to subdue 
 it ; it not only accepted the family but it 
 founded it afresh as we see it to-day. Its 
 greatest apostle was in his moral tempera- 
 ment an ascetic, and he has expressed his 
 preferences in his usual free and energetic 
 language, but this makes all the more 
 remarkable his lofty conception of the 
 Christian life, which is entirely opposed to 
 asceticism, since on the one hand he care- 
 fully guards himself from identifying evil 
 with the corporal element in man, and on 
 the other he desires that the disciple of 
 Christ, whether he eat or drink, should do 
 all for God through Jesus Christ. — Pressense, 
 '■La Vie Eccles.,' p. 525. 
 
 Distinctio7i between Christian and Chiostic 
 asceticism. 
 
 In this whole matter we must carefully 
 distinguish two forms of asceticism, antago- 
 nistic and irreconcilable in spirit and prin- 
 ciple, though similar in form ; the Gnostic 
 dualistic, and the Catholic. The former of 
 
ASCETICISM. 
 
 387 
 
 these did certainly come from he.atlienism, 
 but the latter spran^f independently from 
 the Christian spirit of self-denial and long- 
 ing for moral perfection, and in spite of all 
 its excrescences, has performed an important 
 mission in the history of the church. — Schaff, 
 ^History of the Christian Church,' ii. 153. 
 
 Its Perversion and Use. 
 
 Tlie mist alee of ascet icism. 
 
 Christianity was designed to be the prin- 
 ciple that should rule the world. It was 
 to take into itself and appropriate to its 
 own ends all that belongs to man and the 
 world. But to effect this it was necessary 
 that it should first enter into a conflict with 
 what had hitherto been the ruling principle 
 of the world — a conflict with sin and the 
 principle of heathenism. The purification 
 of all this must be the first aim of Chris- 
 tianity. In the temporary development, 
 this negative aggressive tendency must 
 necessarily appear first ; and it might easily 
 gain an undue predominance, so as to re- 
 press for a while the positive element of 
 appropriation, by which alone the problem 
 of Christianity could ever attain to its solu- 
 tion. Hence a one-sided ascetical tendency 
 easily introduced itself. — NeMider, ' Church 
 History,' i. 382. 
 
 With the cessation of persecution, the 
 opportunities of displaying heroism in con- 
 fession and martyrdom had ceased. Hence 
 many persons, seeing the corruption which 
 was now too manifest in the nominally 
 Christian society, and not understanding 
 that the truer and more courageous course 
 was to work in the midst of the world 
 and against its evil, thought to attain a 
 more elevated spirituality by withdrawing 
 from mankind, and devoting themselves to 
 austerity of life and to endeavours after 
 undisturbed communion with heaven. — 
 Robertson, ' Church Histonj.' 
 
 It LS a negative and false morality which, 
 in the spirit of asceticism and with the 
 idea of perfection, would weaken and crush 
 every impulse in man not directly religious 
 or moral. For rather would we call that a 
 
 healthy condition of life, wherein those 
 highest impidses in their full import go 
 hand in hand with the other instincts 
 which bring life into conformity with 
 nature, the demands of both being har- 
 moniously fulfilled. In order to this har- 
 mony it is of course necessary that the 
 latter instincts, and endeavours connected 
 with them, be unconditionally subordinated 
 to those which spring from conscience and 
 the consciousness of God. Thus in pro- 
 gressive development they may be elevated 
 into close and positive union with those 
 all-embracing and all-sanctifying enei-gies 
 — a goal which St. Paul set before us in 
 I Cor. X. 31, and other passages. — Miitler, 
 ' Christian Doctrine of Sin,' i. 154. 
 
 Asceticism is not a victory but a defeat ; 
 it retires from the conflict, it despairs of 
 subduing the corporal element, it knows 
 no method except to annihilate. — Presseiise, 
 '■La Vie EccUs.,' p. 525. 
 
 Asceticism as such is only an exercise of 
 virtue, in which the virtue has no other 
 substance than the mere exercise " itself. 
 Asceticism allows society to lie entirely 
 beyond it, undertakes no duty for its 
 benefit, but is only occupied with its own 
 blessedness, and with purely formal actions, 
 which are merely prepai-atory, and which 
 have found graphic expression in the task 
 which is often imposed on young monks : 
 to spend the day in planting sticks in the 
 sand, in order that by this useless, aimless 
 labour, they may be exercised in self-denial, 
 in obedience, and in patience, but from 
 which they can never succeed in producing 
 any result. — Martensen, ^Christian Ethics,' 
 i. 297. 
 
 Ascetic life, monastic life, pietism, afford 
 examples of one-sidedness. The Christian 
 duty of life is here placed exclusively in 
 cleansing from sin, in the mortification of 
 the flesh, in dying to the world ; but con- 
 cerning the development of human talents 
 and powers by Christ's Spirit, of creative, 
 life-giving effects, there is no mention. 
 There is only the suggestion of a blessed 
 death ; but of a blessed life already in the 
 
388 
 
 DICTIOXARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 present time there is no hint. — Martenseji, 
 ^Christian Ethics,' i. 317. 
 
 What may be called ascetical theories of 
 Perfection are to be traced in every age. 
 In their general tendency they have de- 
 clined from the spirit of the I^ew Testa- 
 ment, and that in two ways : — 
 
 1. They have laid too much stress on 
 the human effort, thereby dishonouring the 
 supremacy of the Holy Ghost, who carries 
 on His work without the instrumentality 
 too often adopted by asceticism, and is, 
 after all, the sole Agent in the spirit's 
 sanctification. 
 
 2. They have too carefully distinguished 
 between common and elect Christians, by 
 adopting the Saviour's so-called Counsels 
 of Perfection as the guide to a higher Hfe, 
 interdicted to those who do not receive the 
 counsels. But our Lord did not simimon 
 some men to a perfection denied to others, 
 though He did summon some men to duties 
 not required in all cases of others. — Pope, 
 ' Christian Theology,' iii. 66. 
 
 The True Asceticism. 
 
 Asceticism is a development of the reli- 
 gious tendency in man that has been almost 
 universal, and has the highest sanction. 
 Its definition is given by St. Paiil in words 
 which at once recommend it and guard it, 
 and promise its genuine fruit : Exercise 
 thyself rather unto godliness. The rules of 
 the religious life must be such as tend to 
 godliness, which includes, and indeed is, 
 the total suppression of pride, vainglory, 
 personal sense of meritoriousness, exulta- 
 tion in external religion, and morbid self- 
 anatomy. Godliness is the reward of this 
 discipline, even as it must be its end. St. 
 Paul said of himself, / exercise myself to 
 have always a conscience void of offence to- 
 ward God and toward men. In both pas- 
 sages a pure asceticism is recommended. — 
 Pope, ' Christian Theology,' iii. 65. 
 
 Above all, exercise thy abstinence in 
 this — in refraining both from speaking 
 and listening to evil, and cleanse thy heart 
 from all pollution, from all revengeful feel- 
 ings, and from all covetousness ; and on 
 
 the day that thou fastest content thyself 
 with bread, vegetables, and water, and 
 thank God for these. But reckon up on 
 this day what thy meal would otherwise 
 have cost thee, and give the amount that 
 it comes to to some widow, or orphan, or 
 to the poor. — ' Shepherd of Hernias.' 
 
 St. Paul declares that the kingdom of 
 Heaven consists not ' in meat and drink,' 
 neither, therefore, in abstaining from wine 
 and flesh, but 'in righteousness, and peace, 
 and joy in the Holy Ghost.' Abstinence 
 is a virtue of the soul, consisting not in 
 that which is without, but in that which is 
 within the man. Abstinence has refer- 
 ence not to some one thing alone, not 
 merely to pleasvxre, but abstinence consists 
 also in disposing money, in taming the 
 tongue, and in obtaining by reason the 
 mastery over sin. — Clement of Alexandria. 
 
 The external practices of a godly asceti- 
 cism are both the expression and the in- 
 strumental aids of internal discipline. First, 
 and as mediating between inward and 
 outward discipline, comes Abstinence, which 
 is either a grace or a duty. This means 
 in general the non-indulgence of appetite 
 as towards things, and of affections as to- 
 wards persons ; and may be either internal 
 or external also. Fasting is the more ex- 
 press and formal act, brought from the 
 Old Testament by our Lord, who indirectly 
 enjoined it both by His example and by 
 His precept. But whatever ascetic prac- 
 tices are adopted must be under the re- 
 straint and regulation of one law : Exercise 
 thyself rather unto godliness. — Pope, ' Chris- 
 tian Theology' iii. 210. 
 
 Romanist and Protestant contrasted. 
 
 According to Romish doctrine, ascetic 
 practices are in themselves holy, merito- 
 rious, and expiatory ; according to Protes- 
 tant teaching, asceticism is only a means 
 in the warfare with the flesh, and its prac- 
 tice only justified so far as it is required 
 therein. The Romish Church requires ab- 
 stinence and various ascetic exercises, as 
 proofs of piety. Our Church rejects this 
 doctrine ; for such exercises are not proofs 
 
MORAL SENSE THEORY. 
 
 389 
 
 of pietj, but only means of attaining it. 
 In this latter aspect they are both lawful 
 and necessary. — Lnthardt, ^ Mural Truths,^ 
 pp. 295, 82. 
 
 Value of Asceticism to great men. 
 
 An Ascetic, to all intents and purposes, 
 every man must be who has a work to do, 
 and who determines that it shall be done, 
 let the inducements to abandon it or neglect 
 it be what they may. Because Napoleon 
 the First chose what was painful in prefer- 
 ence to what was pleasant, he was able to 
 trample upon those peoples and monarchs 
 who accounted pleasure the end of life, 
 whose greatest desire was to avoid pain. 
 No Alpine snows, no armed men could 
 withstand him. Only w^ien he encountered 
 men who had learnt, as he had learnt, to 
 claim dominion over circumstances, to en- 
 dure suffering for the sake of a higher end, 
 could that strength, which he had won 
 through his Asceticism, be broken. — 
 Maurice, ' The Conscience' p. 78. 
 
 For instances of Asceticism see the 
 Church Histories of Robertson, Neander, 
 and others. 
 
 IV. MOEAL SENSE THEORY. 
 
 Shafteshurij. 
 
 Shaftesbury's doctrine on this head may, 
 perhaps, briefly be summed up as follows : 
 Each man has from the first a natural 
 sense of right and wrong, a ' Moral Sense ' 
 or ' Conscience ' (all of which expressions 
 he employs as synonymous). This sense 
 is, in its natural condition, wholly or 
 mainly, emotional, but, as it admits of 
 constant education and improvement, the 
 rational or reflective element in it gradually 
 becomes more prominent. Its decisions 
 are generally described as if they were 
 immediate, and, beyond the occasional re- 
 cognition of a rational as well as an 
 emotional element, little or no attempt is 
 made to analyse it. In all these respects, 
 Shaftesbury's ' Moral Sense ' differs little 
 from the ' Conscience ' subsequently de- 
 scribed by Butler, the main distinctions 
 beinsr that with Butler the rational or i-eflec- 
 
 tive element assumes greater prominence 
 than witli Shaftesbury, while, on the other 
 hand, the ' Conscience ' of the one writer is 
 invested with a more absolute and uniform 
 character than is the ' Moral Sense ' of the 
 other. — Folder, '■Shaftesbury and Ilidche- 
 son,' p. 82. 
 
 Doctrine of Francis Hutcheson. 
 
 There is, as each one by close attention 
 and reflection may convince himself, a 
 natural and immediate determination to 
 approve certain affections, and actions con- 
 sequent upon them, not referred to any 
 other quality perceivable by our other 
 senses or by reasoning. When we call 
 this determination a sense or instinct, we 
 are not supposing it of that low kind 
 dependent on bodily organs, such as even 
 the brutes have. It may be a constant 
 settled determination in the soul itself, as 
 much as our powers of judging and reason- 
 ing. And it is pretty plain that reason is 
 only a subservient power to our ultimate 
 determinations either of perception or will. 
 The viltiniate end is settled by some sense, 
 and some determination of will : by some 
 sense we enjoy happiness, and self-love 
 determines to it without reasoning. Reason 
 can only direct to the means ; or compare 
 wo ends previously constituted by somet 
 other immediate powers. — ' Si/stem of Moral 
 Philosojihi/,' bk. i. ch. iv. sec. iv. 
 
 The Moral Sense in Relation to Virtue and 
 Benevolence. 
 By Hutcheson the general view of 
 Shaftesbui-y is more fully developed, with 
 several new psychological distinctions; in- 
 cluding the separation of calm l)enevolence, 
 as well as, after Butler, calm self-love, 
 from the turbulent passions, selfish or 
 social. Hutcheson also follows Butler in 
 laying stress on the regulating and con- 
 trolling function of the Moral Sense ; but 
 he still regards kind affections as the prin- 
 cipal objects of moral approbation, — the 
 calm and extensive affections being pre- 
 1 ferred to the turbulent and narrow. The 
 ' most excellent disposition, he holds, which 
 
39° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 naturally gains the highest approbation is 
 either the calm, stable, universal good-will 
 to all, by which a man is determined to 
 desire the highest happiness of the greatest 
 possible system of sensitive beings, or the 
 desire and love of moral excellence, which 
 in man is inseparable from the luiiversal 
 good-will that it chiefly approves. These 
 two principles cannot conflict, and there- 
 fore there is no practical need of deter- 
 mining which is highest : Hutcheson is 
 disposed to treat them as co-ordinate. Only 
 in a secondary sense is approval due to 
 certain abilities and dispositions immedi- 
 ately connected with vu-tuous affections, 
 as candour, veracity, fortitude, sense of 
 honour; while in a lower grade still are 
 placed sciences and arts, along with even 
 bodily skills and gifts ; indeed the appro- 
 bation we give to these is not strictly 
 moral, but is referred to the sense of de- 
 cency or dignity, which, as well as the 
 sense of honour, is to be distinguished 
 from the moral sense. Calm self-love 
 Hutcheson regards as not in itself an ob- 
 ject either of moral approbation or dis- 
 approbation ; the actions which flow solely 
 from self-love and yet evidence no want of 
 benevolence, having no hurtful effect upon 
 others, seem perfectly indifferent in a moral 
 sense : at the same time he enters into a 
 careful analysis of the elements of happi- 
 ness, in order to show that a true regard for 
 private interest always coincides with the 
 moral sense and with benevolence. While 
 thus maintaining Shaftesbury's harmony be- 
 tween public and private good, Hutcheson 
 is still more careful to establish the strict 
 disinterestedness of benevolent affections. — 
 SiJr/wicl; ' Outlines of the History of Ethics,' 
 pp. 197-199- 
 
 V. ETHICS OF SYMPATHY. 
 
 Adam Smith. 
 
 Were it possible that a human creature 
 could grow up to manhood in some solitary 
 place, without any communication with his 
 own species, he cov;ld no more think of his 
 own character, of the propriety or demerit 
 
 of his own sentiments and conduct, of the 
 beauty or deformity of his own mind, than 
 of the beauty or deformity of his own face. 
 All these are objects which he cannot easily 
 see, which naturally he does not look at, 
 and with regard to which he is provided 
 with no miri-or which can present them to 
 his view. Bring him into society, and he 
 is immediately provided with the mirror 
 which he wanted before. It is placed in 
 the countenance and behaviour of those he 
 lives with, which always mark when they 
 enter into, and when they disapprove of 
 his sentiments ; and it is here that he fi rst 
 views the propriety and impropriety of his 
 own passions, the beauty and deformity of 
 his own mind. To a man who from his 
 birth was a stranger to society, the objects 
 of his passions, the external bodies which 
 either pleased or hurt him, would occupy 
 his whole attention. The passion them- 
 selves, the desires or aversions, the joys or 
 sorrows, which those objects excited, though 
 of all things the most immediately present 
 to him, could scarce ever be the objects 
 of his thoughts. The idea of them could 
 never interest him so much as to call upon 
 his attentive consideration. The consider- 
 ation of his joy could excite in him no new 
 joy, nor that of his sorrow any new sorrow, 
 though the consideration of the causes of 
 those passions' might often excite both. 
 Bring him into society, and all his own 
 passions will immediately become the causes 
 of new passions. He will observe that 
 mankind approve of some of them, and are 
 disgusted by others. He will be elevated 
 in the one case, and cast down in the other"; 
 his desires and aversions, his joys and 
 sorrows, will now often become the causes 
 of new desii-es and new aversions, new joys 
 and new sorrows : they will now, therefore, 
 interest him deeply, and often call upon 
 his most attentive consideration. — ' Theory 
 of Moral Sentiments,' pt. iii. ch. i. 
 
 Adam Smith does not deny the actu- 
 ality or importance of that sympathetic 
 pleasure in the perceived or inferred effects 
 of virtues and vices on which Hume laid 
 stress. He does not, however, think that 
 
UTILITARIANISM OR UNIVERSALISTIC HEDONISM. 
 
 391 
 
 the essential part of common moral senti- 
 ment is constituted by this, but rather by 
 a more direct sympathy with the impulses 
 that prompt to action or expression. The 
 spontaneous play of this sympathy he treats 
 as an original and inexplicable fact of 
 human nature ; but he considers that its 
 action is powerfully sustained by the plea- 
 sure that each man finds in the accord of 
 his feeling with another's. By means of 
 this primary element, compounded in vari- 
 ous ways, Adam Smith explains all the 
 different phenomena of the moral conscious- 
 ness. He takes, first, the semi- moral notion 
 of ' propriety ' or ' decorum,' and endeavours 
 to show inductively that our application of 
 this notion to the social behaviour of another 
 is determined by our degree of sympathy 
 with the feeling expressed in such behavi- 
 our. ' To approve of the passions of another 
 as suitable to their objects, is the same thing 
 as to sympathise with them.' Similarly, 
 we disapprove of passion exhibited in 
 a degree to which our sympathy cannot 
 reach ; and even, too, when it falls short ; 
 since, as he acutely points out, we often 
 sympathise with the merely imagined feel- 
 ing of others, and are thus disappointed 
 when we find the reality absent. Thus the 
 prescriptions of good taste in the expres- 
 sion of feeHng may be summed up in the 
 principle, ' Reduce or raise the expression 
 to that with which spectators will sympa- 
 thise.' When the effort to restrain feeling 
 is exhibited in a degree which surprises as 
 well as pleases, it excites admiration as a 
 virtue or excellence ; such excellences Smith 
 quaintly calls the ' awful and respectable,' 
 contrasting them with the 'amiable virtues' 
 which w^e attribute to persons by whom the 
 opposite effort to sympathise is exhibited 
 in a remarkable degree. From the senti- 
 ments of propriety and admiration we pro- 
 ceed to the sense of merit and demerit. 
 Here a more complex phenomenon presents 
 itself for analysis. We have to distingviish 
 in the sense of merit (i) a direct sympathy 
 witli the sentiments of the agent, and (2) 
 an indirect sympathy with the gratitude of 
 those who receive the benefit of his actions. 
 
 In the case of demerit, a direct antipathy 
 to the feelings of the misdoer takes the 
 place of sympathy ; but the chief part of 
 the sentiment excited is sympathy with 
 the resentment of those injured by the 
 misdeed. The object of this sympathetic 
 indignation, impelling us to punish, is what 
 we call injustice ; and thus the remarkable 
 stringency of the obligation to act justly 
 is explained, since the recognition of any 
 action as unjust implies that we apjirove of 
 its being forcibly obstructed or punished. — 
 Sidgicicl; ' Outlines of the History of Ethics.' 
 pp. 205, 206. 
 
 VI. UTILITARIANISM OR UNIVER- 
 SALISTIC HEDONISM. 
 
 Its Main Position. 
 
 By Utilitarianism is meant the ethical 
 theory that the conduct which, under any 
 given circumstance, is objectively right, is 
 that which will produce the greatest amount 
 of happiness on the whole ; that is, taking 
 into account all whose happiness is affected 
 by the conduct. It Avould tend to clearness 
 if we might call this principle, and the 
 method based upon it, by some such name 
 as * Universalistic Hedonism.' — Sidgwick, 
 ' Methods of Ethics,^ p. 407. 
 
 The Utilitarian maintains that we have 
 by nature absolutely no knowledge of merit 
 or demerit, of the comparative excellence of 
 our feelings and actions, and that we derive 
 these notions solely from an observation 
 of the course of life which is conducive 
 to human happiness. That which makes 
 actions good is, that they increase the hap- 
 piness or diminish the pains of mankind. 
 That which constitutes their demerit is 
 their opposite tendency. To procure * the 
 greatest happiness for the greatest num- 
 ber ' is therefore the highest aim of the 
 moralist, the supreme type and expression 
 of virtue. All that is meant by saying we 
 ought to do an action is, that if we do not 
 do it, we shall suffer. A desire to obtain 
 happiness and to avoid pain, is the only pos- 
 sible motive to action. — Lechj, ' European 
 Morals,' i. 3, 5. ^ ^ ■-■- .^ ^^ 
 
392 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Utilitarianism is the system whicli endea- 
 vours to construct the moral rule exclusively 
 from the principle of happiness. The gene- 
 ral assumption upon which it proceeds may 
 be easily laid down. Happiness is the sole 
 end of conduct ; the ' utility ' of an action 
 is its tendency to produce happiness; its 
 morality is measured by its utility; that 
 conduct is right which produces most hap- 
 piness, and by this we must be understood 
 to mean which produces most happiness on 
 the average ; for since we can seldom cal- 
 culate more than a small part of the conse- 
 quences of any action, we are forced to act 
 upon rules corresponding to the general 
 limits of observation. — Stephen, ' Science of 
 Ethics,' p. 355. 
 
 Forms of Utilitarianism. 
 
 Four main forms. 
 
 The doctrine which makes utility the ex- 
 clusive test of right and wrong, and decides 
 on the moral character of actions by their 
 supposed or expected consequences alone, 
 may assume very different forms. The first 
 is the theological, in which it borrows, but 
 in borrowing distorts and partially degrades, 
 some great truths of the Christian revela- 
 tion. God wills the happiness of mankind. 
 He commands us to practise universal bene- 
 ficence. His will is sanctioned by promises 
 and threatenings, that are to be fulfilled in 
 a future life. Therefore seK-love requires 
 us to obey >His command, and to practise 
 works of social kindness, in hope of gaining 
 the promised reward. But in applying the 
 principle we are left to our own judgment ; 
 and the known tendencies of actions, de- 
 duced from experience, are said to be our 
 chief guide. 
 
 The second form of the doctrine is the 
 philanthropic or benevolent. All the mo- 
 tives of religious faith are either formally 
 set aside, or silently disappear from view. 
 In their place there is borrowed from the 
 rival doctrine of intuitive morality a vast 
 ct priori maxim, the supreme, the essential 
 obligation, needing no proof, and assumed 
 to be self-evident, of universal philanthropy 
 or benevolence. But this great principle. 
 
 whether borrowed from Christianity, or 
 from philosophic idealism, is no sooner as- 
 sumed, than it is disguised, concealed, and 
 consubstantiated, under the form and acci- 
 dents of a complex process of experiment 
 and calculation. The whole business of* 
 morals is to calculate results, and work out 
 problems of maxima from imperfect pre- 
 mises ; while the one element which alone 
 has a truly ethical character, the deliberate, 
 earnest, conscientious aim to do good to 
 our fellows, and in so doing to please and 
 serve the common Creator and Preserver 
 of mankind, is left habitually out of sight, 
 lest it should embarrass and disturb that 
 process of arithmetic on which the whole 
 science is made to depend. 
 
 The third form is the philosophically 
 selfish, or that of Epicurus and his later 
 disciples. It recognises no religious faith 
 in its scheme of morals, nor any need for 
 motives drawn from the Christian message 
 of a life to come. Neither does it purloin 
 from the Scriptures the second great com- 
 mandment and then conceal the precious 
 treasure, as Achan hid the talent of gold 
 in the soil of, his tent, burying it in the 
 heart of a system of pleasure-seeking arith- 
 metic, with which it has no natural con- 
 nection. It lays down the principle, based 
 on certain animal instincts, that the attain- 
 ment of personal pleasure is the main end 
 and business of life. And then it proceeds 
 to mitigate the harshness and prune away 
 the grossness of the naked theory, by in- 
 sisting on the need of a wise and thoughtful 
 prudence, grounded on the lessons of expe- 
 rience, to free men from the pursuit of 
 vicious indulgence and to prove the superior 
 gain of temperance, kindness, the restraint 
 of passion, and the cultivation of private 
 friendship. And there can be no doubt 
 that the laws of prudence, when really 
 studied and observed, may form the first 
 steps in an upward progress, from which 
 the mind must, soon or late, gain clear 
 glimpses of higher and holier laws of ac- 
 tion than the pursuit of selfish and personal 
 pleasure alone. 
 
 The fourth and last form is that of poli- 
 
UTILITARIANISM OR UNIVERSALISTIC HEDONISM. 
 
 393 
 
 tical sellisbness. Virtue, ou this view, con- 
 sists in a habit of submission to outward 
 laws, created and sustained by the fear of 
 humnn punishment. Instead of rising above 
 the love of fame, 
 
 ' That last infirmity of noble minds,' 
 
 it consists rather in one of the worst infir- 
 mities of minds both feeble and ignoble; 
 that is, in the animal fear of phj^sical suffer- 
 ing, engrained and engrafted in the heart 
 by cultivating the habits and instincts of a 
 slave. — BirJis, ' Moral Science,' pp. 266-68. 
 
 Ancient Forms. 
 
 Aristippus and the Cyrenaic School. 
 
 Aristippus defines Pleasure as the sensa- 
 tion of gentle motion, the end of life. The 
 sage aims to enjoy pleasure without being 
 controlled by it. Intellectual culture alone 
 fits one for true enjoyment. No one kind 
 of pleasure is superior to another, only the 
 degree and duration of pleasure determines 
 its worth. No pleasure is, as such, bad, 
 though it may often arise from bad causes. 
 To enjoy the present is the true business of 
 man. — Ueherweg, ^ Hist, of Phil..,' i 95. 
 
 The Epicurean School. 
 See under " Ancient Schools of Philo- 
 sophy," "Epicurean," Section XI. 
 
 Modern Forms. 
 
 Hohhes. 
 
 Hobbes (1588-1679), in making happi- 
 ness the standai'd, applies the term to per- 
 sonal happiness. * Whatsoever is the object 
 of any man's ap'petite or desire, that is it 
 which he for his part calleth good ; and the 
 object of his hate and aversion, evil ; and 
 of his contempt, vile and inconsiderable. 
 For these words of good, evil, and contempt- 
 ible are ever used with relation to the per- 
 son that useth them ; there being nothing 
 simply and absolutely so ; nor any common 
 rule of good and evil to be taken from the 
 nature of the objects themselves ; but from 
 the person of the man, where thei-e is no 
 commonwealth ; or in a commonwealth, 
 from the person of him that representeth 
 
 it, or from an arbitrator or judge whom 
 men disagreeing shall by consent set up and 
 make his sentence the rule thereof. . . . 
 Of good there be three kinds : good in the 
 promise, that is, pidchruni ; good in effect, 
 as the end desired, which is called jncun- 
 dum, delightful ; and good as the means, 
 which is called utile, profitable ; and as 
 many of evil ; for evil in promise is that 
 they call turpe, evil in effect and end is 
 molestum, unpleasant, troublesome; and 
 evil in means, inutile, unprofitable, hurtful ' 
 ('Leviathan,' 1 651, parti, chap, vi., Moles- 
 worth's ed., vol. iii. p. 41). With Hobbes, 
 personal appetite is a sufficient guide ; any- 
 thing is good as it happens to be desired. 
 ' There is no such finis ultimas, utmost 
 aim, nor summuni bonuin, greatest good, as 
 is spoken of in the books of the old moral 
 philosophers ' (lb., chap. xi. vol. iii. p. 85). 
 — Calderwood, 'Moral Philosophy,' p. 128. 
 
 Be^itham. 
 
 Nature has placed mankind under the 
 governance of two sovereign masters, pain 
 and pleasure. It is for them alone to point 
 out what we ought to do, as well as to 
 determine what we shall do. On the one 
 hand the standard of right and wrong, on 
 the other the chain of causes and effects, 
 are fastened to their throne. They govern 
 us in all we do, in all we say, in all we 
 think : every effort we can make to thi-ow 
 off our subjection will serve but to demon- 
 strate and confirm it. The principle of 
 utility recognises this subjection, and as- 
 sumes it for the foundation of that system 
 the object of which is to rear the fabric of 
 felicity by the hands of i-eason and of law. 
 By the principle of utility is meant that 
 principle which approves or disapproves of 
 every action whatsoever, according to the 
 tendency which it appears to have to aug- 
 ment or diminish the happiness of the party 
 whose interest is in question. — BentJtam, 
 'Introduction, cjr.,' 'Principles of Murals, 
 Sfc.: p. I. 
 
 Tlie logic of utility consists in setting 
 out, in all the operations of the judgment, 
 from the calculation or comparison of })aius 
 
394 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and pleasures, and in not allowing tlie in- 
 terference of any other idea. 
 
 I am a partisan of the principle of utility, 
 when I measure my approbation or disap- 
 probation of a public or private act by its 
 tendency to produce pleasure or pain ; when 
 I employ the words just, mijust, moral, im- 
 moral, good, bad, simply as collective terms, 
 including the ideas of certain pains or plea- 
 sures ; it being always understood that I 
 use the words j^'^i''^ and pleasure in their 
 ordinary signification, without inventing 
 any arbitrary definition for the sake of 
 excluding certain pleasures, or denying the 
 existence of certain pains. In this matter 
 we want no refinement, no metaphysics. 
 It is not necessary to consult Plato or Aris- 
 totle. Pain and pleasure are what every 
 one feels to be such, the peasant and the 
 prince, the unlearned and the philosopher. 
 
 He who adopts the principle of utility 
 esteems virtue to be a good, only on account 
 of the pleasures which result from it; he 
 regards vice as an evil, only because of the 
 pains which it produces. Moral good is 
 good only by its tendency to produce physi- 
 cal good. Moral evil is evil only by its 
 tendency to produce physical evil. — ' Theonj 
 of Legislation.'' 
 
 John Stuart Mill. 
 
 According to the Greatest Happiness 
 Principle, the ultimate end, with reference 
 to and for the sake of which all other things 
 are desirable (whether we are considering 
 our own good or that of other people), is 
 an existence exempt as far as possible from 
 pain, and as rich as possible in enjoyments, 
 both in point of quantity and quality ; the 
 test of quality, and the rule for measuring 
 it against quantity, being the preference 
 felt by those who, in their opportunities of 
 experience, to which must be added their 
 habits of self-consciousness and self-obser- 
 vation, are best furnished with the means 
 of comparison. This being, according to 
 the utilitarian opinion, the end of human 
 action, is necessarily also the standard of 
 morality; which may accordingly be defined 
 the rules and precepts for human conduct, 
 
 by the observance of which an existence 
 such as has been described might be, to the 
 greatest extent possible, secured to all man- 
 kind ; and not to them only, but, so far as 
 the nature of things admits, to the whole 
 sentient creation. — ' Utililarianism,'' p. 1 7. 
 
 It is quite compatible with the principle 
 of utility to recognise the fact that some 
 hinds of pleasure are more desirable and 
 more valuable than others. It would be 
 absurd that while, in estimating all other 
 things, quality is considered as well as quan- 
 tity, the estimation of pleasures should be 
 supposed to depend on quantity alone. — 
 ' Utilitarianism,^ p. 11. 
 
 The creed which accepts as the foundation 
 of morals. Utility, or the greatest Happi- 
 ness Principle, holds that actions are right 
 in proportion as they tend to promote hap- 
 piness, wrong as they tend to produce the 
 reverse of happiness. By happiness is in- 
 tended pleasure, and the absence of pain ; 
 by unhappiness, pain and the privation of 
 pleasui-e. To give a clear view of the moral 
 standard set up by the theory, much more 
 requires to be said; in particular what 
 things it includes in the ideas of pain and 
 pleasure ; and to what extent this is left an 
 open question. But these supplementary 
 explanations do not affect the theory of life 
 on which this theory of morality is grounded 
 — namely, that pleasure, and freedom from 
 pain, are the only things desirable as ends ; 
 and that all desirable things (which are as 
 numerous in the utilitarian as in any other 
 scheme) are desirable either for the pleasure 
 inherent in themselves, or as means to the 
 promotion of pleasure and the prevention of 
 pain. — ' Utilitarianism,^ pp. 9, 10. 
 
 Tlie standard not the agent's own pleasure. 
 
 The happiness which forms the utilitarian 
 standard of what is right in conduct, is not 
 the agent's own happiness, but that of all 
 concerned. As between his own happiness 
 and that of others, utilitarianism requires 
 him to be as strictly impartial as a disinte- 
 rested and benevolent spectator. In the 
 golden rule of Jesus of Nazareth, we read 
 the complete spirit of the ethics of utility. 
 
UTILITARIANISM OR UXIVERSALISTIC HEDONISM. 
 
 395 
 
 To do as one would be done by, and to love 
 one's neighbour as oneself, constitute the 
 ideal perfection of utilitarian morality. — 
 * Utilitarianism,' p. 24. 
 
 H. Spencer: Rational Utilitarianism. 
 
 Empirical Utilitarianism a transitional 
 form. 
 
 The view which I contend for is, that 
 Morality properly so called — the science of 
 right conduct — has for its object to deter- 
 mine how and why certain modes of conduct 
 are detrimental, and certain other modes 
 beneficial. These good and bad results can- 
 not be accidental, but must be necessary 
 consequences of the constitution of things ; 
 and I conceive it to be the business of Moral 
 Science to deduce, from the laws of life and 
 the conditions of existence, what kinds of 
 action necessarily tend to produce happiness, 
 and what kinds to produce unhappiness. 
 Having done this, its deductions are to be 
 recognised as laws of conduct ; and are 
 to be conformed to irrespective of a direct 
 estimation of happiness or misery. 
 
 Perhaps an analogy will most clearly 
 show my meaning. During its early stages, 
 planetary Astronomy consisted of nothing 
 more than accumulated observations re- 
 specting the positions and motions of the 
 sun and planets ; from which accumulated 
 observations it came by and by to be empi- 
 rically predicted, with an approach to truth, 
 that certain of the heavenly bodies would 
 have certain positions at certain times. But 
 the modern science of planetary Astronomy 
 consists of deductions from the law of gra- 
 vitation — deductions showing why the celes- 
 tial bodies necessarily occupy certain places 
 at cei-tain times. Now, the kind of relation 
 which thus exists between ancient and mo- 
 dern Astronomy is analogous to the kind of 
 relation which, I conceive, exists between the 
 Expediency-Morality and Moral Science 
 properly so called. And the objection 
 which I have to the current Utilitarianism 
 is, that it recognises no more developed 
 form of Morality — does not see that it has 
 reached but the initial stage of Moral 
 
 Science.— Zc//cr /" Mr. J. S. Mill, 
 * Data of Ethics,' p. 57, 58. 
 
 Method of Rational Utilitarianism. 
 
 All the current methods of ethics have 
 one general defect — they neglect ultimate 
 causal connections. Of course I do not 
 mean that they wholly ignore the natural 
 consequences of actions ; but I mean that 
 they recognise them only incidentally. 
 They do not erect into a method the 
 ascertaining of necessary relations between 
 causes and effects, and deducing rules of 
 conduct from formulated statements of 
 them. 
 
 Every science begins by accumulating ob- 
 servations, and presently generalises these 
 empirically ; but only when it reaches the 
 stage at which its empirical generalisations 
 are included in a rational generalisation, 
 does it become developed science. Ethics, 
 which is a science dealing with the conduct 
 of associated human beings, regarded under 
 one of its aspects, has to undergo a like 
 transformation; and, at present unde- 
 veloped, can be considered a developed 
 science only when it has undergone this 
 transformation. — * Data of Ethics,' pp. 
 61, 62. 
 
 Utility as the foundation of Laio. 
 
 God designs the happiness of all His 
 sentient creatures. Some human actions 
 forward that benevolent purpose, or their 
 tendencies are beneficent or useful. Other 
 human actions are adverse to that purpose, 
 or their tendencies are mischievous or per- 
 nicious. The former, as promoting his 
 purpose, God has enjoined. The latter, as 
 opposed to his purpose, God has forbidden. 
 
 Inasmuch as the goodness of God is 
 boundless and impartial, He designs the 
 greatest happiness of all His sentient 
 creatures : He wills that the aggregate of 
 their enjoyments shall iind no nearer limit 
 than that which is inevitably set to it by 
 their finite and imperfect nature. From 
 the probable effects of our actions on the 
 greatest happiness of all, or from the 
 tendencies of human actions to increase or 
 
spf* 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 diminish that aggregate, we may infer the 
 laws which he has given, but has not 
 expressed or revealed. — Austin, <■ Jurispnt,- 
 dence,^ Lect. ii., p. 109. 
 
 If our conduct were truly adjusted to 
 the principle of general utility, our conduct 
 would conform, for the most part, to rules : 
 rules which emanate from the Deity, and 
 to which the tendencies of human actions 
 axe the guide or index. — ^Austin, '■Juris- 
 prudence,^ p. 117. 
 
 Christian Utilitarianism. 
 
 God, when He created the human species, 
 wished their happiness ; and made for them 
 the provision which He has made, with 
 that view and for that purpose. 
 
 God wills and wishes the happiness of 
 His creatures. And this conclusion being 
 once established, we are at liberty to go on 
 with the rule built upon it, namely, ' that 
 the method of coming at the will of God, 
 concerning any action, by the light of 
 nature, is to inquire into the tendency of 
 that action to promote or diminish the 
 general happiness.' 
 
 So, then, actions are to be estimated by 
 their tendency. Whatever is expedient is 
 right. It is the utility of any moral rule 
 alone, which constitutes the obligation of 
 it. — Paley, 'Moral Philosophy,' bk. ii. chaps. 
 V. and vi. 
 
 There is prevalent, among many pro- 
 fessed Christians, a view of the Divine 
 government which may be called ' Christian 
 Utilitarianism.' It is not uncommon for 
 religious persons to write and to speak as 
 though the one great end sought by the 
 Divine Ruler were the enjoyment of His 
 creatures. It is urged that benevolence is 
 one of the most glorious attributes of the 
 Divine nature, that, being infinitely bene- 
 volent, God must desire to see all His 
 creatures happy, that revealed religion has 
 the happiness of men for its one great end, 
 and that, sooner or later, pain and sorrow 
 must be banished from the universe, and 
 the reign of perfect, unbroken, and eternal 
 happiness must be established. Paley has 
 even defined virtue as ' the doing good to 
 
 mankind, in obedience to the will of God, 
 and for the sake of everlasting happiness.'' 
 He teaches that the will of God is indeed 
 the rule, but that everlasting happiness is 
 the motive to virtuous conduct. — Thomson, 
 ' Utilitarianism,' pp. 43, 44. 
 
 Criticism of Utilitarianism. 
 
 As a Theory of Life. 
 
 Of the 'faculties more elevated' which 
 belong to man, each must serve a higher 
 end, according to its own nature. The end 
 of intelligence is knowledge; of memory, 
 recollection ; of will, self -direction ; of 
 affection, such as love or sympathy, the 
 good of another. If the end of each power 
 is in harmony with its own nature, Intelli- 
 gence, Memory, Will, and Affection, being 
 entirely different in nature from Sensi- 
 bility, cannot all have the same end. To 
 say, for example, that sensibility and in- 
 tellect have the same end, is to contradict 
 the only rule by which the natural end of 
 a power can be decided. It is to say that 
 Passivity has the same end as Activity, 
 which is practically to enunciate the con- 
 tradiction that Passivity and Activity are 
 the same. 
 
 While each power has its own end deter- 
 mined by its own nature, it is possible for 
 an intelligent being to use any one of his 
 powers, merely for the sake of the pleasure 
 attending on its use, and not for its natural 
 end. The possibility of this is restricted 
 to an intelligent being capable of forming 
 a conception of happiness, and contem- 
 plating the voluntary use of means for a 
 selected end. The lower animals experi- 
 ence pleasure in accordance with laws of 
 their nature, which operate irrespective of 
 any control from the animals themselves. 
 So it is with the laws of our sentient 
 nature. But an entire revolution of being 
 occurs where intelligent self-direction is 
 possible. In a being thus endowed, powers 
 are capable of being used according to the 
 conceptions and purposes of the being him- 
 self. It thus becomes possible to use a 
 power, not only for its natural end, but 
 for other and subordinate ends, and even, 
 
UTILITARIANISM OR UNIVERSALISTIC HEDONISM. 
 
 397 
 
 in some measure, for ends contrary to its 
 nature. Thus forming a conception of 
 pleasure as an end, we may seek this end 
 in the use of any one of our powers. Eacli 
 one of them has a distinct form of pleasure 
 associated with its exercise; ascertaining 
 tliis, and being able to determine the use 
 of our powers, we can bring them into 
 exercise for the sake of the pleasure attend- 
 ing upon their use. But when such a 
 thing happens, it is not under the law 
 determining the natural use of the power, 
 but by special determination of our own. 
 "We cannot change the nature of the power, 
 or alter the end which it naturally serves, 
 but we often voluntarily employ a power for 
 the sake of the attendant pleasure, and not 
 for its own natural end. This is done 
 when we employ the intellect, not for the 
 discovery of truth, but for the pleasure 
 which attends on the search for truth ; or, 
 when we cherish sympathy, not for the 
 sake of relieving the sufferer, but for the 
 luxury of feeling which we experience. 
 
 If a general conception can be formed of 
 the end or final object of our being, it must 
 be by reference to the higher or governing 
 powers of our nature, and as these are 
 intellectual or rational, the end of our 
 being is not pleasure, but the full and 
 hai-monious use of all our powers for the 
 accomplishment of their own natural ends. 
 These natural ends admit of a threefold 
 classification. As concerned Avith our own 
 being, it is the end of life to secure the 
 development and forthputting of all its 
 energies ; with other beings, their develop- 
 ment and performance of their life-work ; 
 and finally and transcendently, with the 
 Absolute Being Himself, devotion to Him 
 as the source of our being and the ruler 
 of our destiny. — Calderwood, ^ Moral Phil- 
 osophy' p. 132. 
 
 Insufficienaj of the Utilitarian Standard. 
 
 It appears to me that the utilitarian for- 
 mula (namely, that action is right or good 
 in proportion as it tends to promote hap- 
 piness), if meant not only to describe a 
 fact, but to express also the meaning of 
 
 rightness or goodness, or tell us what it is 
 that constitutes the rightness or goodness 
 of an action, is insufllcient, whatever modi- 
 fication he may give to the idea of happi- 
 ness, or in whatever way he may determine 
 that. Right action may be conducive to 
 happiness, as it may be to various other 
 things, and this may be one character to 
 know it by ; but if it is intended to express 
 that it is this conducivcness which, in our 
 world of men, makes the rightness or good- 
 ness, the formula, as I have said, is insuf- 
 ficient. For that there is and must be 
 recognised by men a goodness or valuable- 
 ness quite diffei-ent from conduciveness to 
 happiness cannot, I think, be doubted. 
 There is nothing which need surprise us 
 in there being more than one sort of moral 
 value attaching to actions; and it is far 
 better to submit to whatever philosophical 
 disappointments we may feel in having to 
 acknowledge such a plurality, than to out- 
 rage at once the well -observed sentiment 
 of men and the inward language of our 
 own heart and i-eason. If we listen to the 
 voice of human nature, we must put by the 
 side of the utilitarian formula, as a sistei-, 
 one of this kind : Actions are right and 
 good in proportion as they rise above the 
 merely natural or animal conditions of 
 human nature {as self-cai-e or self-preser- 
 vation), and the obedience to immediate 
 impulse, more especially to the impulses 
 of bodily passion and excitement. — Grote, 
 ^ Exam, of Utilitarian Phil.,' pp. 119, 120. 
 
 As a Theory of Morals. 
 
 Agreeableness and utility are not moral 
 conceptions, nor have they any connection 
 with morality. What a man does, merely 
 because it is agreeable, is not virtue. 
 Therefore the Epicurean system was justly 
 thought by Cicero and the best moral i.sts 
 among the ancients to subvert morality, 
 and to substitute another principle in its 
 room; and this system is liable to the 
 same censure. — Reid, ' Active Poweis,' v. 5. 
 
 In some respects society, whether moral 
 or political, may be considered an aggrega- 
 tion of similar units ; but in far more im- 
 
398 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 portant respects it is an organisation of 
 dissimilar members. The general happi- 
 ness, as a fact, is the sum of the happiness 
 of the individuals ; but as an object to be 
 aimed at it is not this, but it is to be at- 
 tained by the acting of each according to 
 the relations in which he is placed in 
 society. It is these different relations, 
 rendering as they do the individuals dis- 
 similar in circumstances, which more truly 
 convert mei'e juxtaposition into society 
 than anything of similarity does. This 
 latter is needed in certain most important 
 respects, not, indeed, in any form of equa- 
 lity, but in the form of common under- 
 standing and sympathy; but the various 
 need and the power of mutual benefit which 
 dissimila7'ity of circumstances produces are 
 as vital to the society as the other points, 
 and do more to make it necessary and 
 fruitful. By moral relations and moral 
 society, as distinguished from political, I 
 understand men as stronger and weaker, 
 benefactors and benefited, trusters and 
 trusted, or linked together in other moral 
 relations similar to these, besides the natu- 
 ral relations, as of family, which partially 
 coincide with these ; lastly, supposing there 
 is no other relation, as linked together in 
 any case by the general relation of human 
 brotherhood. And if we are to answer the 
 question. Whose happiness are we to pro- 
 mote ? we must answer it by saying. Not 
 the happiness of all alike, ourselves taking 
 share with the rest, but the happiness (if 
 we are so to describe it) of each one with 
 whom we have to do, according to the 
 moral relation in which we stand to him. 
 The happiness which we ai-e to promote is 
 that of those who are benefitable by us, 
 who want something of us, or have claim 
 upon us, according to their wants and 
 claims. — Chote, ' Exam, of Utilitarian Phil.,' 
 pp. 95» 96- 
 
 It cannot furnish a sure basis of morals. 
 
 The situation of the theory is briefly 
 this, — Utility is the basis of moral distinc- 
 tions ; but some limit must be assigned to 
 the principle, for we do not make every- 
 
 thing a moral rule that we consider useful. 
 Utility made compulsory is the standard of 
 morality; Morality is thus an institution 
 of society ; Conscience is an imitation of 
 the government of society; Conscience is 
 first fear of authority, and then respect for 
 it ; but, ' even in the most unanimous no- 
 tions of mankind, there can be no such 
 thing as a standard overriding the judg- 
 ment of every separate intelligence ; ' the 
 individual must therefore emancipate him- 
 self from authority, in order to be ' a law 
 to himself ; ' to this end he must recognise 
 the intent and meaning of the law; for 
 this purpose he must fall back on Utility. 
 It is not, however, all Utility, but only 
 Utility made compulsory, which affords 
 the basis of morals, and it is Society which 
 determines what shall be made compulsory. 
 How can every separate intelligence eman- 
 cipate itself ? How can it find to its own 
 satisfaction a rule of life so essentially 
 superior to the authority of Society, as to 
 warrant independent action in opposition 
 to the teaching of Society ? — Calderwood, 
 ^ Moral Philosophy,' p. 143. 
 
 The theory which makes * the greatest 
 happiness of the greatest number ' the test 
 of moral action, loses all its value, if it be 
 without a scientific basis for moral obliga- 
 tion. If there be one thing which specially 
 commends the theory to our admiration, it 
 is the aspect of universal benevolence which 
 it wears. But, in order to be accepted as a 
 sound theory of Benevolence, it must esta- 
 blish on a philosophic basis a doctrine of 
 unvarying obligation to act benevolently. 
 Mr. Mill puts the question thus, — 'Why 
 am I bound to promote the general happi- 
 ness 1 If my own happiness lies in some- 
 thing else, why may I not give that the 
 preference?' Mr, Mill answers, 'If the 
 view adopted by the utilitarian philosophy 
 of the nature of the moi'al sense be correct, 
 this difficulty will always present itself, 
 until the influences which form moral 
 character have taken the same hold of the 
 principle which they have taken of some 
 of the consequences — until, by the im- 
 provement of education, the feeling of unity 
 
UTILITARIANISM OR UNIVERSALISTIC IIEDOXISM. 
 
 399 
 
 with oiu' fellow-creatures shall be (what it 
 cannot be doubted that Christ intended it 
 to be) as deeply rooted in our character, 
 and to our consciousness as completely a 
 part of our nature, as the horror of crime 
 is in an ordinarily well-brought-up young 
 person,' p. 40. This is an admirable pas- 
 sage. But it fails to meet the scientific 
 demands upon an Ethical Theory. It con- 
 cerns obedience, not obhgation ; and vividly 
 portrays the need for renovation of nature 
 before the law of benevolence can become 
 the general rule of life among us. But the 
 difficulty of attaining uniform consistent 
 benevolence in practice is not the subject 
 engaging attention. The philosophic diffi- 
 culty of constructing a theory of morals 
 is one thing ; the practical difficulty of 
 rendering uniform obedience to the re- 
 quirements of morality is quite another 
 thing. Doubtless, it is beyond the power 
 of Moral Philosophy to make men obey the 
 law; but it is the part of Moral Philosophy 
 to show that there is a moral law to be 
 obeyed. Mr. Mill's answer is insvifficient 
 because of the wide separation between 
 theory and practice. That the practical 
 difficulty of personal conformity with the 
 law of benevolence 'will always be felt 
 vmtil the influences which form moral char- 
 acter have taken hold of the principle,' is 
 certain. But the question is, what obliga-- 
 tion rests on the person who would form 
 his character aright, to accept this prin- 
 ciple of benevolence as the rule of conduct? 
 It is certain that Christ intended the feel- 
 ing of unity with our fellow-creatures to 
 be deeply rooted in our character ; but it 
 is no less certain that in oi'der to secure 
 the fulfilment of His intention, Christ 
 proclaimed the principle of benevolence as 
 a law for Humanity. And, in order to 
 establish a philosophy of benevolence, Moral 
 Philosophy must show that the principle 
 of benevolence is a law of natural obliga- 
 tion. If we are to escape the admis- 
 sion that Selfishness is dutiful, we must 
 pass Mr. Darwin's view, that persistent 
 desire is the ground of obligation. If we 
 are to maintain that morality requires a 
 
 man to keep his promise, even though he 
 is not forced to do so, we must pass Pro- 
 fessor Bain's view, that external authority 
 is the source of duty. And now, if we are 
 to avoid the position, that a man is freed 
 from obligation by simply disowning it, we 
 must pass Mr. Mill's view, that personal 
 feeling is the source of obligation. Has, 
 then, Utilitarianism no answer to the ques- 
 tion. What is the source of Obligation ? 
 ' Why am I bound to promote the general 
 happiness 1 ' Must Philosophy, before at- 
 tempting an answer, wait until the im- 
 provement of education has rooted in the 
 character of all men a feeling of unity 
 with their fellow-creatures ? If so, on what 
 ground must education proceed ? On Pru- 
 dence, which means only Self-interest 1 or 
 on Natural Law ? The Intuitional Theory 
 gives its answer thus, — The standard of 
 morals has in itself the authority of law, 
 binding on every intelligence capable of 
 understanding and applying it. A man 
 cannot live and escape obligation, however 
 much he violate it. But, the standard of 
 Happiness cannot be the standard of morals, 
 because the agreeable, or desirable, does not 
 in itself possess 'binding force' to determine 
 the action of moral beings. — Calderwood, 
 ^ Moral Philosox)hy,^ 151, 152. 
 
 The utilitarian theory, though undoubt- 
 edly held by many men of the purest, and 
 by some men of the most heroic virtue, 
 would if carried to its logical conclusions 
 prove subversive of Morality, and especially, 
 and in the very highest degree, unfavour- 
 able to self-denial and to heroism. Even 
 if it explains these, it fails to justify them, 
 and conscience being traced to a mere con- 
 fusion of the means of happiness with its 
 end, would be wholly unable to resist the 
 solvent of criticism. — Leclnj, ^European 
 Morals,'' i. 68. 
 
 Pleasure and Pain are not identical loitli 
 right and wrong. 
 
 Though men seek pleasure for its own 
 sake, they cannot seek pain for its own 
 sake. The law of our nature which makes 
 pleasure-seeking possible, makes pain-seek- 
 
400 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ing impossible. There are no actions wliich 
 have pain as their end. If, therefore, 
 pleasure be the end of life, it is impossible 
 to go against it, and the classification of cer- 
 tain actions as morally wrong altogether dis- 
 appears. — Oalderwood, ' Moral PMlosopliy ,' 
 V- 134- 
 
 When Moralists assert, that what we 
 call virtue derives its reputation solely from 
 its utility, and that the interest of the 
 agent is the one motive to practise it, our 
 first question is naturally how far this 
 theory agrees with the feelings and with 
 the language of mankind. But if tested 
 by this criterion, there never was a doctrine 
 more emphatically condemned than utili- 
 tarianism. In all its stages and all its 
 assertions, it is in direct opposition to 
 common language and to common senti- 
 ments. In all nations and in all ages, the 
 ideas of interest and utility on the one 
 hand and virtue on the other, have been 
 regarded by the multitude as perfectly 
 distinct, and all languages recognise the 
 distinction. The terms, honour, justice, 
 rectitude or virtue, and their equivalents 
 in every language, present to the mind 
 ideas essentially and broadly differing from 
 the terms prudence, sagacity, or interest. 
 The two lines of conduct may coincide, but 
 they are never confused, and we have not 
 the slightest difficulty in imagining them 
 antagonistic. — Lecky, ' European Morals,^ 
 i. 34- 
 
 The very ingenuity of the various at- 
 tempts that have been made to identify 
 the conception of right with that of ex- 
 pedient or agreeable, or any other quality, 
 is itself a witness against them; for no 
 such elaborate reasoning would be required, 
 were it not necessary to silence or pervert 
 the instinctive testimony of a too stubborn 
 consciousness. — Mansel, ^Metaphysics,'' p. 
 159- 
 
 The good is such, independent of pleasur- 
 able consequences. 
 
 The good is good, altogether independent 
 of the pleasure it may bring. There is a 
 
 good which does not immediately contem- 
 plate the production of happiness. Such, 
 for example, are love to God, the glorifying 
 of God, and the hallowing of His name : 
 these have no respect, in our entertaining 
 and cherishing them, to an augmentation 
 of the Divine felicity. No doubt such an 
 act or spirit may, by reflexion of light, tend 
 to brighten our own felicity ; but this is an 
 indirect effect, which follows only where 
 we cherish the temper and perform the 
 corresponding work in the idea that it is 
 right. We do deeds of justice to the 
 distant, to the departed, and the dead, who 
 never may be conscious of what we have 
 performed. Even in regard to services 
 performed with the view of promoting the 
 happiness of the individual, or of the com- 
 mvinity, we are made to feel that, if happiness 
 be good, the benevolence which leads us to 
 seek the happiness of others is still better, 
 is alone morally good. In all cases the 
 conscience constrains us to decide that 
 virtue is good, whether it does or does not 
 contemplate the production of pleasure. — 
 M^Cosh, 'Intuitions of the Mind,' p. 265. 
 
 Virtue will not bring pleasure, if pleasure 
 be its sole aim. 
 
 The pleasure of virtue is one which can 
 only be obtained on the express condition 
 of its not being the object sought. Thus, 
 for example, it has often been observed 
 that prayer, by a law of our nature, and 
 apart from all supernatural intervention, 
 exercises a reflex influence of a very bene- 
 ficial character upon the minds of the wor- 
 shippers. The man who offers up his peti- 
 tions with passionate earnestness, with un- 
 faltering faith, and with a vivid realisation 
 of the presence of an Unseen Being, has 
 risen to a condition of mind which is itself 
 eminently favourable both to his own hap- 
 piness and to the expansion of his moral 
 qualities. But he who expects nothing 
 more will never attain this. To him who 
 neither believes nor hopes that his peti- 
 tions will receive a response, such a mental 
 state is impossible. — Lecky, 'European 
 Morals,'' i. 36. 
 
UTILITARIANISM! OR UXH'ERSALISTIC HEDONISM. 
 
 401 
 
 The happy man is not he whose happi- 
 ness is his only care. — Re id. 
 
 If what is painful is wrong, moral evil /V 
 a means to moral good. 
 
 Pain may be endured as a means to an 
 end, even as a means for securing happi- 
 ness. The pain of a surgical operation for 
 the sake of health, the pain of self-denial 
 for the sake of moral training, are ex- 
 amples. This fact makes a further inroad 
 upon the theory. Moral evil cannot be 
 used as a means of moral good. In making 
 the production of happiness the test of 
 right actions, and the production of pain 
 the test of wrong actions, moral distinr- 
 tions are hopelessly confused, and even im- 
 moral men may gain a reputation for good- 
 ness (see Plato's * Gorgias,' 499). That the 
 painful may lead to the pleasurable, is proof 
 that pleasure and pain are not by their own 
 nature ends in themselves, but simply at- 
 tendants on personal action. Of contra- 
 ries, the one cannot produce the other. — 
 Caldericood, 'Moral PhilosopJ/ij,' p. 135. 
 
 Utilitarianism cannot furnish a laiv of 
 Duty. 
 
 Our moral constitution declares that we 
 ought to promote the happiness of all who 
 are susceptible of happiness. The only 
 plausible form of the utilitarian theory of 
 morals is that elaborated by Bentham, who 
 says that we ought to promote the greatest 
 happiness of the greatest number. But 
 why ought we to do so? Whence get we 
 the sliuuld, the obligation, the dufg ? Why 
 should I seek the happiness of any other 
 being than myself ? why the happiness of a 
 gi'eat number, or of the greatest number 1 
 why the happiness even of any one in- 
 dividual beyond the unit of self? If the 
 advocates of the ' greatest happiness ' 
 principle will only answer this question 
 thoroughly, they must call in a moral prin- 
 ciple, or take refuge in a system against 
 which our own nature rebels, in a theory 
 which says that we are not required to do 
 more than look after our own gratifica- 
 tions. The very advocates of the greatest 
 happiness theory are thus constrained, in 
 
 consistoncy with their view, to call in an 
 ethical principle, and this will be found, if 
 they examine it, to require more from man 
 than that he shoidd further the felicity of 
 others. But while it covers vastly more 
 ground, it certainly includes this, that we 
 are bound, as much as in us lies, to pro- 
 mote the welfare of all who are capable of 
 having their misery alleviated or their feli- 
 city enhanced. — 3PCosh, ' Inlnitiom, r^r.,' 
 p. 265. 
 
 A man is prudent when he consults his 
 real interest ; but he cannot be virtuous, 
 if he has no regai'd to duty. — Reid. 
 
 On a Utilitarian Theory, the problem 
 concerning moral obligation wears this 
 form : — If tendency to produce happiness 
 determine the rightness of an action, how 
 can we rise above the agreeable and de- 
 sirable, to find philosophic warrant for a 
 doctrine of personal obligation ? Utili- 
 tarianism meets its last and severest test 
 in the attempt to distinguish between the 
 desirable, which is the optional; and the 
 dutiful, whieli is the imperative. 
 
 That happiness is by our nature desir- 
 able, is a fact which neither constitutes 
 a law of personal obligation, nor obviates 
 the necessity for having one. It cannot 
 constitute a law of action, for the desii-able 
 has power only to attract, not to command. 
 Besides, the desirable may often be the 
 unattainable. The dutiful is not only the 
 possible, but the binding. Neither can the 
 desirability of happiness obviate the neces- 
 sity for a law of obligation in the guidance 
 of life. All pleasures are desirable, but all 
 cannot be enjoyed at once; of pleasures, 
 some are higher in quality, some lower, but 
 the higher cannot always be preferred to 
 the lower, therefore the quality of pleasure 
 does not of itself aflford a sufficient rule for 
 selection. If man must sometimes sur- 
 render a higher enjoyment for a lower, and 
 yet rigidly restrict lower pleasures for the 
 sake of higher attainment and action, we 
 need to discover the ground of these neces- 
 sities. Analysis discovers in pihysical neces- 
 sity, since man must eat, as well as think ; 
 2 <■ 
 
402 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 rest, as well as work; and an intellectual 
 necessity, since man must concentrate his 
 attention in order to successfully guide his 
 efforts, and must therefore do some things, 
 and leave others unattempted ; but, within 
 the possibilities of human effort, there is 
 still another necessity, since of the things 
 which a man can do, he recognises some as 
 binding upon him in a sense in which others 
 are not, and this is moral necessity. — Calder- 
 wood, 'Moral Philosophy,' p. i45- 
 
 Duty and Hcqtpiness are sometimes op- 
 
 I am, for my part, convinced that there 
 are occasions upon which we have to choose 
 between two masters. This way is the path 
 of duty; that is the path of happiness. 
 We shall at times have to choose, and to 
 choose with our eyes open. Let us take 
 as illustration any of the famous cases of 
 Moralists. Regulus preferred death by 
 torture to dishonour. Was he acting for 
 his own happiness ? Would a man in the 
 position of Regulus have greater chance of 
 happiness, for possessing such a sense of 
 honour as would determine him to martyr- 
 dom ? I think that it is impossible to 
 answer in the affirmative. Many men live 
 ' infamous and contented ' after saving life 
 at the expense of honour. — Stephen, ' Science 
 of Ethics,' p. 427. 
 
 There is no absolute coincidence between 
 virtue and happiness. I cannot prove that 
 it is always prudent to act rightly, or that 
 it is always happiest to be virtuous.— 
 Stephen, ' Science of Ethics,' p. 434. 
 
 The highest nature is rarely the happiest. 
 The mind of Petronius Arbiter was pro- 
 bably more unclouded than that of Marcus 
 Aurelius. For eighteen centuries the reli- 
 gious instinct of Christendom has recognised 
 its ideal in the form of a ' Man of Sorrows.' 
 — Lecky, ' European Morals,' 170. 
 
 Hence on this theory virtue is an uncertain 
 quantity. 
 
 Pleasures are of many kinds. They may 
 either be pure and healthy, or vicious and 
 diseased. And hence, if moral duty depends 
 
 on a mere summation of pleasures, and an 
 attempted calculation of their total amount, 
 irrespective of any higher standard, it must 
 be as mutable as those pleasures themselves, 
 which form its component elements. No 
 chain can be stronger than its weakest link. 
 In the view of pure u.tilitarianism, when 
 the doctrine abides in its native simplicity, 
 and is neither infected nor improved by an 
 attempt to ally it with Stoic or Christian 
 elements, moral right must be as mutable 
 as the capricious likings and dislikings of 
 the most fretful, the most childish, or the 
 most vicious among those who are included 
 in the wide universe of moral agents. It 
 may be inferred logically, from the prin- 
 ciple thus laid down, that it is as much one 
 part of moral duty to gratify the lusts of 
 the impure, or the malice of the devilish, 
 as to please the pure and the benevolent, 
 and win the approval of the best and wisest 
 of mankind. — Birks, ' Moral Science,' p. 
 232. 
 
 It is said that since morality depends 
 upon the calculus of happiness, since men's 
 conceptions of happiness vary within almost 
 indefinite limits, and since the tendency of 
 actions to produce particular kinds of hap- 
 piness is only to be discovered by examining 
 a vast variety of complex phenomena which 
 elude all scientific inquiry, the rules which 
 result must necessarily be arbitrary or in- 
 definitely fluctuating. If at one moment 
 they take one shape, there is no assignable 
 reason why they should not take another 
 at any other time or place. Since, again, 
 we start from individual conceptions of 
 happiness, and we have no more reason for 
 assigning special importance to the judg- 
 ment of one man than to that of any other, 
 or of preferring the estimate of the saint 
 to the estimate of the sinner, the standard 
 which results from the average judgment 
 must be an inferior or debasing standard. — 
 Stephen, ' Science of Etldcs,' p. 358. 
 
 Temperance will, as a rule, procure a 
 man most pleasure, because it will make 
 him healthy ; but if he were certain to die 
 to-morrow, he might get most pleasure by 
 
UTILITARIANISM OR UXH^ERSALISTIC IIEDOXISM. 
 
 403 
 
 being drunk to-night. It will make liini 
 litter for work, and, therefore, as a ride, 
 secure him a more comfortable position ; 
 but in ptxrticular cases, it might lose him 
 the favour of some immoral person who 
 could do him a service. — Sfe2)heii, ' Science 
 (if Ethics,' p. 432. 
 
 lite moral character of motive is de- 
 .^trnyed. 
 
 The search after motive is one of the 
 prominent causes of men's bewilderment in 
 the investigation of questions of morals. 
 This is a pursuit in which every moment 
 employed is a moment Avasted. All motives 
 are abstractedly good. No man has ever 
 had, can, or could have a motive different 
 from the pursuit of pleasure or the shunning 
 of pain. — Bentham, ^ Deontology,' i. 126. 
 
 The motive has nothing to do with the 
 morality of the action, though much with 
 the worth of the agent. — 2IiU, ' Utilitarian- 
 ism,' p. 26. 
 
 According to Bentham, there is but one 
 motive possible, the pursuit of our own 
 enjoyment. The most virtuous, the most 
 vicious, and the most indifferent of actions, 
 if measured by this test, would be exactly 
 the same, and an investigation of motives 
 should therefore be altogether excluded from 
 our moral judgments. — Lecloj, ' European 
 Morals,' i. 39. 
 
 Utilitarianism cannot attain to a theory 
 of benevolence. 
 
 A theory of benevolence is logically ww- 
 attainable under a utilitarian system. Since 
 Lentham's time. Utilitarianism has given 
 prominence to benevolence, making ' The 
 gi-eatest happiness of the greatest number ' 
 its standard of rectitude. But in this it has 
 amended its ethical form only by the sacri- 
 fice of logical consistency. If happiness is 
 the sole end of life, it must be the happiness 
 of that life to which it is the end. To make 
 the happiness of others the end of indivi- 
 dual life, is to leave the utilitarian basis, by 
 deserting the theory of life on which it 
 rests. Utilitarianism is in the very singu- 
 lar position of professing itself a theory of 
 
 universal benevolence, and yet laying its 
 foundations on the ground that personal 
 hai)piness is the sole end of life. As long 
 as it maintains that ' pleasure and freedom 
 from pain are the only things desirable as 
 ends,' the maxim must mean that these are 
 the only things desirable as ends for each 
 individual, and here its Moral Philosophy 
 must end. To do good to others for the 
 sake of our own happiness, is, however, 
 compatible with the theory ; but this is not 
 lienevolence, and whatever honour belongs 
 to the pi'opounder of such a theory may be 
 fairly claimed for Hobbes. — C alder wood, 
 ' Mural Philosophy,' p. 136. 
 
 .1 s a theory it is essentially selfish. 
 
 This theory, refined and imposing as it 
 may appear, is still essentially a selfish one. 
 Even when sacrificing all earthly objects 
 through love of virtue, the good man is 
 simply seeking his greatest enjoyment, in- 
 dulging a kind of mental luxury, which 
 gives him more pleasure than what he fore- 
 goes, just as the miser finds more pleasure 
 in accumulation than in any form of expen- 
 diture. — LecJi-y, 'European Morcds,' i. 31. 
 
 It implies a calculation immoral in its 
 ncUure. 
 
 The doctrine which assumes that pleasures 
 are to be courted simply because they please, 
 and suffering to be avoided simply because 
 it is painful, turns a mere animal instinct 
 into a fundamental rule of moral arithmetic. 
 On what warrant is this rule assumed ? 
 Fii^st principles, we are told, must be clear 
 and evident, like the axioms of mathematics. 
 And then it is assumed, in the next para- 
 graph, that pleasures of disease, of vice, and 
 malevolence, ax-e to enter into our calcula- 
 tion side by side with the pleasures of 
 Christian piety or social kindness, and must 
 weigh equally in the scale, if their amount 
 or quantity be the same. But a calculation 
 of results, based on such a confusion of 
 moral opposites, is immoral in its own 
 nature. Instead of founding a system of 
 genuine ethics, it may be said to involve a 
 guilty and fatal apotheosis of vice, disease, 
 
404 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 and folly. All reckoning of moral conse- 
 quences is the use of a high and noble 
 faculty of man's being. It is not a lawless 
 process, to be conducted by the capricious 
 decisions of an erring philosophy, when it 
 confounds or denies distinctions on which 
 the foimdations of morality depend. It is 
 subject to laws of moral duty. The plea- 
 sures to be compared must be tried by a 
 higher standard than of their seeming in- 
 tensity alone. Factors introduced by human 
 vice and folly must be thrown aside, since 
 they only tend to lower the tone of thought, 
 and to prevent any true solution of a hard 
 problem. For surely it is no less immoral 
 to accept the diseased pleasures of others, 
 their corrupt and malevolent passions, or 
 their gross and sensual practices, for posi- 
 tive elements to guide my actions by an 
 attempt to increase and enlarge them, than 
 to indulge the like pleasures in my own 
 person. — Birlcs, ^ Moral Science,' p. 274. 
 
 It imjilies an imx^ssihle calculation. 
 Notwithstanding the claim of great pre- 
 cision which utilitarian writers so boast- 
 fidly make, the standard by which they 
 profess to measure morals is itself abso- 
 lutely incapable of definition or accurate 
 explanation. Happiness is one of the most 
 indeterminate and undefinable words in the 
 language, and what are the conditions of 
 ' the greatest possible happiness,' no one 
 can precisely say. No two nations, per- 
 haps no two individuals, would find them 
 the same. — Lecky, 'European Morals,'' i. 40. 
 
 Pleasure is essentially subjective and 
 individual, and hence incapable of measure- 
 ment. This is shown by the doubts and 
 difficulties which accompany all attempts 
 to construct a ' scientific ' Hedonism. Our 
 estimates of our own past experience of 
 pleasure and pain are neither definite nor 
 consistent ; still less can we appropriate the 
 past experience of others.— EylaJid, 'Hancl- 
 hook of Moral Philosophy,' p. 127. 
 
 The calculation, viewed on the side of 
 science, is impossible. It requires the sum- 
 mation of an infinite series. And the series 
 is one of which the laws, as borrowed from 
 
 experience only, are so immensely complex, 
 that we cannot be sure even of a rude ap- 
 proach to its total value, by attempting to 
 add together a few of its nearest terms. 
 We cannot tell by such means whether it 
 may not prove divergent, so that negative 
 terms of greater amount may render futile 
 our poor attempts to find its approximate 
 value. And the infinity is not of a single, 
 but of a double and triple kind. We have 
 to trace out the results of the proposed 
 action, not for a few hours or days only, 
 but through a whole lifetime, or to distant 
 generations, and throughout the life to 
 come. We have to sum them up by the 
 theory, not with regard to ourselves alone, 
 but to the whole family of mankind, and 
 even to the countless numbers of genera- 
 tions still imborn. We must further trace 
 them in connection with the immense 
 variety of possible pains and pleasures, and 
 their degrees of intensity. Each of the 
 fifteen classes which Bentham has enume- 
 rated admits clearly of an almost countless 
 diversity, not only in the strength of each 
 conceivable form of pain and pleasure, but 
 in the elements out of which they arise, 
 and which must vary, more or less, with 
 the moral antecedent which the problem 
 requires us to determine. 
 
 The summation required is not only of 
 an infinite series, with a threefold infinity 
 of time, of persons, and of elements. It is 
 also one of quantities wholly incommensur- 
 able. In geometry we may form a sum 
 of numbers, or of lines, or of surfaces, or 
 of cubical space. But we cannot form a 
 sum of numbers with lines, or of lines with 
 surfaces, or of surfaces with solid space of 
 three dimensions. In each case a wide 
 chasm of unlikeness or infinitude separates 
 the proposed elements from each other. 
 And in the moral problem, as proposed by 
 utilitarian theories, the difficulty is just 
 the same. It is owned by one of the latest 
 advocates and revisers of the system that 
 pleasures may differ in quality as well as 
 quantity ; and the admission is said to be 
 quite consistent with the maintenance of 
 the general system. The concession is can- 
 
UriLITARIANISM OR l\\I]'EKSALISTIC IIHDOXISM. 
 
 405 
 
 did and just. But the aiioloijY which at- 
 tends it, for a master and teacher of logic, 
 is most illogical. The essence and founda- 
 tion of the theory is, that the rightness or 
 wrongness of actions must be determined 
 by a summation of all the pains and plea- 
 sure which they generate, or to which they 
 lead. But if these pleasures are owned to 
 differ in quality as well as mere amount, 
 the problem is either owned to be imprac- 
 ticable, or else completely changes its form. 
 — BirJiS, ^ Moral Science,' ]ip. 276-8. 
 
 Practical Ohjections. 
 
 It furnishes no sufficient test of virtue. 
 
 Does utilitarianism furnish a sufficient 
 test of virtuous acts and of virtuous mo- 
 tives ? It tells us that a good deed is one 
 tending to promote the greatest happiness 
 of the greatest number. But in the com- 
 plicated affairs of this world the most far- 
 sighted cannot know for certain what may 
 be the total consequences of any one act ; 
 and the great body of mankind feel as if 
 they wei'e looking out on a tangled forest, 
 and need a guide to direct them. Utili- 
 tarian moralists, like Bentham, may draw 
 out schemes of tendencies for us ; but the 
 specific rules have no obliging authority, 
 and, even when understood and appreciated, 
 are difficult of application, and are ever 
 bringing us into cross avenues into which 
 we may be led by self-deceit. — M'CosJi, 
 ' Examination of Mill,' p. 373. 
 
 If the excellence of virtue consists solely 
 in its utility or tendency to promote the 
 happiness of men, a machine, a fertile field, 
 or a navigable river would all possess in a 
 very high degree the element of virtue. 
 If we restrict the term to human actions 
 which are useful to society, we should still 
 be compelled to canonise a crowd of acts 
 which are utterly remote from all our 
 ordinary notions of Morality. — Lecliij, 
 '■European Morals,' i 38. 
 
 Nor any sufficient test of si7i. 
 
 What is sin, according to utilitarianism ? 
 It is acknowledged not to be the mere 
 omission to look to the gener-al good. 
 
 What then does it consist in ? Mr. INIill 
 speaks of ' reproach ' being one of the 
 checks on evil ; but when is reproach justi- 
 liable ? Not knowing what to make of sin, 
 the system provides no place for repentance. 
 The boundary line between moral good and 
 evil is drawn so uncertainly, that persons 
 will ever be tempted to cross it without 
 allowing that they have done so, — the more 
 so that they are not told what they should 
 do when they have crossed it. — M'Cosh, 
 'Examination (f Mill,' p. 377. 
 
 It degrades friendship. 
 
 Where can there be a place for friend- 
 ship, or who can be a friend to any one, 
 whom he does not love * ipsum propter 
 ipsum,' himself for his own sake? What 
 is it to love, but to wish any one to be 
 enriched with the greatest benefits, even 
 though there should be no return from 
 those benefits to him who desires them ? 
 But it benefits me, you may say, to be of 
 that disposition. Nay, perhaps, to seem to 
 have it. For you cannot he such, unless 
 you are such. And how can you be such, 
 unless that love itself has possession of 
 you 1 And this comes to pass, not by 
 introducing the conception of its usefulness, 
 but it is born of itself, and springs up of 
 its own accord. But you say, I follow 
 utility. Thy friendship then will last, so 
 long as some gain shall follow it, and if 
 utility makes a friendship, the same will 
 unmake and destroy it. — Cicero, ' De Fin.,' 
 ii. 24. 
 
 Criticisms of Hedonism, from the British 
 Hegelian standpoint. 
 
 Hedonism, ojJjwsed to moral consciousness. 
 
 When moral persons without a theory 
 on the matter are told that the moral end 
 for the individual and the race is the getting 
 a maximum surplusage of pleasurable feel- 
 ing, and that there is notliing in the world 
 which has the smallest moral value except 
 this end and the means to it, there is no 
 gainsaying that they repudiate such a re- 
 sult. They feel that there are things < we 
 should choose even if no pleasure come from 
 
4o6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 them;' and then, if we choose these things, 
 being good, for ourselves, then we must 
 choose them also for the race, if we care for 
 the race as we do for ourselves. We may 
 be told, indeed, that a vulgar objection of 
 this sort is founded on a misunderstand- 
 ing ; but we believe that never, except on a 
 misunderstanding, has the moral conscious- 
 ness in any case acquiesced in Hedonism. 
 And we must say, I think, that, supposing 
 it possible that Hedonism could be worked, 
 yet common moral opinion is decided against 
 its being what it professes to be, a suffi- 
 cient account of morals. — Bradley, 'Ethical 
 Studies,' p. 8i. 
 
 Illusonj nature of the Hedonistic e7id. 
 
 Pleasures are a perishing series. This 
 one comes, and the intense self-feeling pro- 
 claims satisfaction. It is gone, and we are 
 not satisfied. It was not that one, then, 
 but this one now ; and this one now is gone. 
 It was not that one, then, but another and 
 another ; but another and another do not 
 give us what we want : we are still left 
 eager and confident, till the flush of feeling 
 dies down, and when it is gone there is 
 nothing left. We are where we began, so 
 far as the getting happiness goes ; and we 
 have not found ourselves, and we are not 
 satisfied. 
 
 This is common experience, and it is the 
 pi-actical refutation of Hedonism, or of the 
 seeking happiness in pleasure. Happiness 
 for the ordinary man means neither a plea- 
 sure nor a number of pleasures. It means 
 in general the finding of himself, or the 
 satisfaction of himself as a whole ; and in 
 particular it means the realisation of his 
 concrete ideal of life. ' This is happiness,' 
 he says, not identifying happiness with one 
 pleasure or a number of them, but under- 
 standing by it, 'm this is become fact what I 
 have at heart.' But the Hedonist has said, 
 Happiness is pleasure, and the Hedonist 
 knows that happiness is a whole. How, 
 then, if pleasures make no system, if they 
 are a number of perishing particulars, can 
 the whole that is sought in them be found ? 
 It is the old question, how find the uni- 
 
 versal in mere particulars ? And the answer 
 is the old answer. In their sum. The self 
 is to be found, happiness is to be realised, 
 in the sum of the moments of the feeling 
 self. The practical direction is, get all 
 pleasures, and you will have got happiness ; 
 and we saw above its well-known practical 
 issue in weariness and dissatisfaction. — 
 Bradleu, 'Ethical Studies; pp. 87, 88. 
 
 Summary of Objections against Utilita- 
 rianism. 
 
 1. The radical doctrine of Utilitarian- 
 ism, viz., that Pleasure is the ' summum 
 homnn,' is erroneous. For — 
 
 (i.) Pleasure is not the natural, univer- 
 sal, and supreme end of the actions 
 of a moral being. 
 
 (2.) If Pleasure is not the proper end of 
 individual life, it cannot be that 
 of the life of society. 
 
 (3.) Pleasure cannot be deemed the high- 
 est end contemplated by the go- 
 vernment of God. 
 
 2. The Utilitarian test is one impossible 
 to apply. 
 
 (i.) What pleasures are to be calculated ? 
 
 (2.) Whose pleasures are to be taken 
 into account 1 
 
 (3.) Are the pleasures of men to be I'e- 
 garded without reference to their 
 character ? 
 
 (4.) How are we to estimate the plea- 
 sures of people in different stages 
 of moral development ? 
 
 (5.) How are pleasures to be weighed 
 against pleasures, and how are 
 pleasures and pains to be com- 
 pared 1 
 
 (6.) How far is it justifiable to inflict 
 pain, if there is a prospect that 
 an excess of pleasure may ensue ? 
 
 (7.) It is often impossible so to calculate 
 the consequences of actions as to 
 foretell what pleasures and what 
 pains will follow. 
 
 (8.) Who shall be intrusted with the 
 responsible offices of estimating 
 and foretelling consequences, and 
 so of deciding what conduct is 
 
ALTRUISM. 
 
 407 
 
 virtuous and praiseworthy, aud 
 what is not ? 
 (9.) There is au obvious ambiguity in 
 the expression, ' The greatest hap- 
 piness of the greatest number.' 
 
 3. Utilitarianism misapprehends the re- 
 lations between Virtue and Pleasure. 
 
 (i.) There is no logical pathway from 
 pure Hedonism to the Utilitarian 
 doctrine. 
 
 (2.) It is not a fact that all virtuous 
 action tends to promote immedi- 
 ate happiness, i.e., in this world. 
 
 (3.) Utilitarianism bases Morality far 
 too much upon the passive nature 
 of man — upon his sentiency and 
 capacity for enjoyment. 
 
 (4.) In this life pleasures and pains are 
 not apportioned in consonance 
 with the character and deserts of 
 men. 
 
 4. Utilitarianism gives no explanation 
 of the Moral Imperative, the * ought.' — 
 Thomson, ' Utilitarianism,' pp. 23-42 (con- 
 densed). 
 
 VII. ALTRUISM. 
 What it is. 
 
 Definition. 
 
 "NVe define Altruism as being all action, 
 which, in the normal course of things, 
 benefits othei-s, instead of benefiting self. — 
 Spencer, ^ Data of Ethics,' p. 201. 
 
 A man is altruistic who loves his neigh- 
 bour as himself ; who gives money to the 
 poor which he might have spent in luxury ; 
 who leaves house and home to convert 
 savages ; who sacrifices health to comfort 
 prisoners, or suffers in a plague -stricken 
 city. Sir Philip Sidney was altruistic when 
 he gave the cup of water to the wounded 
 soldier, instead of slaking his o^vn dying 
 thirst. Such deeds make our nerves 
 tingle at the hearing, and ennoble the 
 dreary wastes of folly and selfishness re- 
 corded in history. — Ste2)he7i, * Science of 
 Ethics,' p. 220. 
 
 Comte identifies allruism tvith morality. 
 
 The state of altruism is what Comte 
 means by * Morality.' Any being, actuated 
 by benevolent instincts, is ij^so facto a moral 
 being. And if to this condition he adds 
 the imaginative contemplation of a perfect 
 social future, in which the same disposition 
 shall nowhere fail, he is thereby constituted 
 a religious being. — Martineau, ' Types of 
 Ethical Theory,' i. 425. 
 
 Altruistic sentiments. 
 
 Intelligent creatures that live in presence 
 of one another, and are exposed to like 
 causes of pleasure and pain, acquire capa- 
 cities for participating in one another's 
 pleasures and pains. As a society advances 
 in organisation, the inter-dependence of its 
 parts increases, and the well-being of each 
 is more bound up with the well-being of all, 
 there results the growth of feelings which 
 find satisfaction in the well-being of all. 
 The feelings thus described are the altruistic 
 sentiments; they are the unselfish emo- 
 tions. — Silencer, 'Psychology,' ii. 609, 610. 
 
 Leading Jorms of altruistic sentiment. 
 
 The simpler forms are: (i.) Unmixed 
 generosity — the sentiment of generosity 
 proper, where there is no contemplation of 
 a reward to be reaped from the benefaction. 
 (2.) The sentiment of pity — the feeling 
 which prompts endeavours to mitigate pain, 
 being itself a pain constituted by represen- 
 tation of pain in another. This sympathy 
 with pain puts a check on the intentional 
 infliction of pain, it prompts efforts to as- 
 suage pain that is already being borne. 
 
 The more complex forms are: — (i.) The 
 sentiment of justice. This sentiment con- 
 sists of representations of those emotions 
 which others feel, when actually or prospec- 
 tively forbidden the activities by which 
 pleasures are to be gained or pains escaped. 
 (2.) The sentiment of mercy — the state of 
 consciousness in which the execution of an 
 act prompted by the sentiment of justice is 
 prevented by an out-ljalancing pity — by a 
 representation of the suffering to bo in- 
 
4o8 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 flicted. — Spencer, ' Psi/chologi/,' ii. 613-23 
 (condensed). 
 
 To the Positivist the object of morals is 
 to make our sympathetic instincts prepon- 
 derate as far as possible over the selfish 
 instincts ; social feelings over personal feel- 
 ings. This way of viewing the subject is 
 peculiar to the new ]Dhilosophy, for no other 
 system has included the more recent addi- 
 tions to the theory of human nature, of 
 which Catholicism gave so imperfect a 
 representation. — Comfe, ' Positive Politij,' 
 i- 73- 
 
 Based upon sijmpatliy. 
 
 Sympathy is not identical with altruism, 
 but it is the essential condition of altruism. 
 I cannot be truly altruistic, that is, until 
 the knowledge of another man's pain is 
 pamful to me. That is the groundwork of 
 the more complex sentiments which are in- 
 volved in all truly moral conduct, morality 
 implying the existence of certain desires 
 which have for their immediate object the 
 happiness of others. — Stephen, ' Science of 
 J'Jthics,' p. 239. 
 
 Its Development. 
 
 A gradual ad ranee. 
 
 In the parental instinct, with the actions 
 it prompts, we have the primordial altru- 
 ism; while in sympathy, with the actions it 
 prompts, we have the developed altruism. 
 
 As there has been an advance by degrees 
 from unconscious parental altruism [as in 
 reproduction by fission or gemmation] to 
 conscious parental altruism [as in mate- 
 rial sacrifices of parents for children] of 
 the highest kind, so there has been an 
 advance by degrees from the altruism of 
 tlie family to social altruism. Only whei-e 
 family altruism has been most fostered, has 
 social altruism become conspicuous. In the 
 Aryan family we see that family feeling, 
 first extending itself to the gens and the 
 tribe, and afterwards to the society formed 
 of related tribes, prepared the way for 
 fellow-feeling among citizens not of the 
 same stock. — Spencer, ^ Psychulogy,' ii. 626 ; 
 * Data of Ethics, ' 204, 205. 
 
 By the growth of imagination. 
 
 A sympathetic consciousness of human 
 welfare at large is furthered by making 
 altruistic actions habitual. Both this spe- 
 cial and the general sympathetic con- 
 sciousness become stronger and wider in 
 proportion as the power of mental repre- 
 sentation increases, and the imagination of 
 consequences, immediate and remote, grows 
 more vivid and comprehensive. — Spencer, 
 ^ Psychology,^ ii. 621. 
 
 Altruistic sentiments tend to become more 
 complicated. 
 
 A reciprocal excitement between sym- 
 pathy and the tender emotion must be 
 recognised as habitually complicating altru- 
 istic sentiments of all kinds. Wherever 
 there exists the tender emotion, the sym- 
 pathies are more easily excited ; and wher- 
 ever sympathy, pleasurable or painful, has 
 been aroused, more or less of the tender 
 emotion is awakened along with them. 
 This communion arises inevitably. The 
 pinmordial altruism and the developed 
 altruism naturally become connected. He- 
 mote as are their roots, they grow inextri- 
 cobly entangled, because the circumstances 
 which arouse them have in common the 
 I'elation of benefactor to beneficiary. — 
 Spencer, ^Psychology,' ii. 626. 
 
 Its Relation to Egoism. 
 
 Egoism precedes altruism. 
 
 A creature must live before it can act. 
 From this it is a corollary that the acts by 
 which each maintains his own life must, 
 speaking generally, precede in imperative- 
 ness all other acts of which he is capable. 
 That is to say. Ethics has to recognise the 
 truth, that egoism comes before altruism. 
 Unless each duly cares for himself, his care 
 for all others is ended by death; and if 
 each thus dies, there remain no others to 
 be cared for. Little account as our ethical 
 reasonings take of it, yet is the fact obvious 
 that since happiness and misery are infec- 
 tious, such regard for self as conduces to 
 health and high spirits is a benefaction to 
 
SOCIALISM. 
 
 409 
 
 others, and such disregard of self as brings 
 on suffering, bodily or mental, is a male- 
 faction to others. The individual who is 
 inadequately egoistic loses more or less of 
 his ability to be altruistic. And from self- 
 abnegation in excess there results, not only 
 an inability to help others, but the inflic- 
 tion of positive burdens on them. — Sj^ciiccr, 
 * Data of jEthics,' -p]). 187, 194, 198. 
 
 The egoistic aspect of altruistic pleasure. 
 
 Whetber knowingly or unknowiugly 
 gained, the state of mind accompanying 
 altruistic action, being a pleasurable state, 
 is to be counted in the sum of pleasures 
 which the individual can receive ; and in 
 this sense cannot be other than egoistic. 
 As every other agreeable emotion raises 
 the tide of life, so does the agreeable 
 emotion which accompanies a benevolent 
 deed. The joy felt in witnessing others' 
 joy exalts the vital functions, and so gives 
 a greater capacity for pleasui'es in general. 
 — Spencer, ^ Data of £ fines,' 214. 
 
 Personal icelfare depends on the gronili of 
 altruistic sentirnents. 
 
 Personal welfare depends on due regard 
 for the welfare of others. The man who, 
 expending his energies wholly on private 
 afiaii-s refuses to take trouble about public 
 affairs, is blind to the fact that his own 
 business is made possible only by the 
 maintenance of a healthy social state, and 
 that he loses all round by defective govein- 
 mental arrangements. Where there are 
 many like-minded with himself — where, as 
 a consequence, office comes to be fdled by 
 political adventurers and opinion is swayed 
 by demagogues— where bribery vitiates the 
 administration of law and makes fraudu- 
 lent State-transactions habitual ; heavy 
 penalties fall on the community at large, 
 and, among others, on those who have thus 
 done everything for self and nothing for 
 society. Their investments are insecure ; 
 recovery of their debts is difficult; and 
 even their lives are less safe than they 
 would otherwise have been. 
 
 In the same way, each has a private 
 
 interest in public morals, and profits by 
 improving them. Indeed the improvement 
 of others, physically, intellectually, and 
 morally, personally concerns each ; since 
 their imperfections tell in raising the cost 
 of all the commodities he buys, in increasing 
 the taxes and rates he pays, and in the 
 losses of time, trouble, and money, daily 
 brought on him by others' carelessness, 
 stupidity, and unconscientiousness. — Spen- 
 cer, ' Data of Ethics,' 205, 208, 211. 
 
 Whether one member suffer, all the 
 members suffer with it ; or one member be 
 honoured, all the members rejoice with it. 
 — St. Pcml, I Cor. xii. 26. 
 
 Wherefore lift up the hands that hang 
 down, and the palsied knees ; and make 
 straight paths for your feet, that that 
 which is lame be not turned out of the way, 
 but rather be healed. Looking carefully 
 lest there be any man that falleth short of 
 the grace of God ; lest any root of bitterness 
 springing up trouble you, and thereby the 
 many be defiled. — Hrh. xii. 12, 13, 15. 
 
 VIII. SOCIALISM. 
 
 Definition. 
 
 The word Socialism, wliich originated 
 among the English Communists, and was 
 assumed by them as a name to designate 
 their own doctrine, is now, on the Con- 
 tinent, employed in a larger sense; not 
 necessarily implying Communism, or the 
 entire abolition of private property, but 
 applied to any system whic-h requires that 
 the land and the instruments of production 
 should be the property, not of individuals, 
 l)ut of communities or associations, or of 
 the government. — Mill, ^ Political Economy,'' 
 l)k. ii. ch. i. sL'L-. 2. 
 
 The Problem of Socialism, 
 
 The foundation of all socialistic claims is 
 the assertion that the effect of the present 
 social system is to increase inequality, the 
 condition of the labourers becoming daily 
 worse, while the wealth of the capitalists 
 and landowners is always augmenting. — 
 Laveleye, 'Socialism of To-day,' p. xxxvii. 
 
4TO 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 There are deep wrongs in the present 
 constitution of society, but they are not 
 wrongs inherent in the constitution of man, 
 nor in those social laws which are as truly 
 the laws of the Creator as are the laws of the 
 physical universe. They are wrongs result- 
 ing from bad adjustments which it is within 
 our power to amend. The ideal social state 
 is not that in which each gets an equal 
 amount of wealth, but in which each gets 
 in proportion to his contribution to the 
 general stock. And in such a social state 
 there would not be less incentive than now ; 
 there would be far more incentive. Men 
 will be more industrious and more moral, 
 better workmen and better citizens, if each 
 takes his earnings and carries them home 
 to his family, than when they put their 
 earnings in a pot, and gamble for them until 
 some have far more than they have earned, 
 and others have little or nothing. — George, 
 'Social ProUems,'' p. 77. 
 
 Socialists maintain that the means of 
 production are already great enough to 
 furnish all men with a sufficient competency, 
 if only the produce were more evenly 
 divided; and indeed, if the number of 
 things are reckoned up which are either 
 useless or superfluous, or even harmful, but 
 which monopolise so large a portion of the 
 working hours, it may well be thought that 
 were those hours exclusively employed in 
 the creation of useful things, there would 
 be enough to satisfy largely the needs of 
 all. Inequality gives rise to superfluity 
 and luxury, which divert capital and labour 
 from the production of necessaries ; hence 
 the destitution of the masses. ' Wei-e there 
 no luxury,' said Rousseau, 'there would be 
 no poor.' 'The fact that many men are 
 occupied in making clothes for one indivi- 
 dual, is the cause of there being many 
 people without clothes ' (Montesquieu). — 
 Laveleye, 'SodalL^m of To-day,' In trod., xl. 
 
 France the Birthplace of Modern Socialism. 
 It wa.s from France that came the first 
 ideas of social transformation and revolu- 
 tion. This was recognised by Karl Marx, 
 the most learned of German socialists. 
 
 ' The emancipation of Germany will be 
 that of all humanity,' he wrote in a review, 
 some numbers of which appeared in Paris 
 in 1844; 'but when all is ready in Gei'- 
 many, the insurrection will only wake at 
 the crowing of the Gallic cock.' — Laveleye, 
 ^Socialism of To-day,' p. 7. 
 
 Socialism of Fourier (b. 1772 171 Besancon). 
 
 The central idea of Fourier's social scheme 
 is association. The all-pervading attraction 
 which he discovered draws man to man and 
 reveals the will of God. It is passionate 
 attraction — attraction passiome. It urges 
 men to union. This law of attraction is 
 universal and eternal, but men have thrown 
 obstacles in its way so that it has not had 
 free course. Consequently, we have been 
 driven into wi-ong and abnormal paths. 
 When we return to right ways — when we 
 follow the directions given us by attrac- 
 tion, as indicated in our twelve passions or 
 desires — universal harmony will again reign, 
 economic goods — an indispensable condi- 
 tion of human development — will be ob- 
 tained in abundance. Products will be 
 increased many fold, owing, first, to the 
 operation of the passion to labour and to 
 benefit society; secondly, to the economy 
 of associated effort. — Ely, ' French and Ger- 
 man Socialism,' p. Qi- 
 
 His classification of the ];)assions. 
 
 Since happiness and misery depend upon 
 the latitude allowed our passions — our pro- 
 pensities — it is necessary to enumerate 
 these. They are divided into three classes 
 — the one class tending to luxe, luxisme, 
 luxury ; the second tending to groups ; the 
 third to series. By luxe is meant the gra- 
 tification of the desires of the five senses — 
 hearing, seeing, feeling, tasting, smelling 
 — each one constituting a passion. These 
 are sensual in the original sense of the 
 word, or sensitive. Four passions tend to 
 groups — namely, amity or friendship, love, 
 paternity or the family feeling (familism), 
 and ambition. These are effective. The 
 three i-emaining passions are distributive, 
 and belong to the series. They are the 
 
SOCIALISM. 
 
 411 
 
 passions called cahalisie, papillonnc, and 
 comjwsife. The passion cahaliste is the 
 desire for intrigue, for planning and con- 
 triving. It is strong 'in women and the 
 ambitious. In itself it would tend to de- 
 stroy the unity of social life, as would also 
 the passion of papillonne, or alternate (the 
 love of change). These are, however, har- 
 monised by the passion comjyosite (the desire 
 of union). All twelve passions unite to- 
 gether into the one mighty, all-controlling 
 impulse called uniteisme, which is the love 
 felt for others united in society, and is a 
 passion unknown save in civilisation. — Eh/, 
 ^French and German Socialisin,' pp. 91^92. 
 
 St. Sinio7i{sm. 
 
 The St. Simonism scheme does not con- 
 template an equal, but an unequal division 
 of the produce ; it does not propose that all 
 should be occupied alike, bvit differently, 
 according to their vocation or capacity ; the 
 function of each being assigned, like grades 
 in a regiment, by the choice of the directing 
 authority, and the remuneration being by 
 salary, proportioned to the importance, in 
 the eyes of that authority, of the function 
 itself, and the merits of the person who 
 fulfils it. For the constitution of the rul- 
 ing body, different plans might be adopted, 
 consistently with the essentials of the sys- 
 tem. It might be appointed by popular 
 suffrage. In the idea of the original 
 authors, the rulers were supposed to be 
 persons of genius and virtue, who obtained 
 the voluntary adhesion of the rest by the 
 force of mental superiority. — il////, 'Political 
 Econowy' bk. ii. chap. i. sec. 4. 
 
 Socialism in Germany 
 
 Fkhte. 
 
 To find the first manifestations of modern 
 socialism in Germany, we must refer back 
 to Kant's most famous disciple Fichte, 
 who was inspired by the idea of the French 
 Revolution, as he himself declares. In his 
 ' Materials for the Justification of the 
 French Revolution,' he writes : ' Property 
 can have no other origin than labour. Who- 
 ever does not work has no ri'jht to obtain 
 
 the means of existence from society.' lu 
 1 796, he proclaimed ' the right to property.' 
 lie says, in his * Principles of Natural 
 Right ' : * Wliosoever has not the means of 
 living is not bound to recognise or respect 
 the property of others, seeing that, as re- 
 gards him, the principles of the social con- 
 tract have been violated. Every one shoidil 
 have some property ; society owes to all the 
 means of work, and all should woi'k iu order 
 to live.' — Lavelcye, * Socialism of To-day' 
 p. 7. 
 
 Ferdinand Lasallc. 
 
 German socialism is, it is hardly too much 
 to say, the creation of Ferdinand Lasalle. 
 Of course there were socialists in Germany 
 before Lasalle. Fichte, to go no further 
 back, had taught it from the standpoint 
 of the speculative philosopher and philan- 
 thropist. Schleiermacher, it may be remem- 
 bered, was brought up iu a religious com- 
 munity that practised it. Weitliiig, with 
 some allies, preached it in a pithless and 
 hazy way as a gospel to the poor, and, find- 
 ing little encouragement, went to America 
 to work it out experimentally there. The 
 young Hegelians made it part of their 
 philosophic creed. The Silesian weavers, 
 superseded by machinery and perishing for 
 want of work, raised it as a wild inarticu- 
 late cry for bread, and dignified it with the 
 sanction of tears and blood. And Karl 
 Marx and Friedrich Engels, in 1848, sum- 
 moned the proletariate of the whole world 
 to make it the aim and instrument of a 
 universal revolution. But it was Lasalle 
 who first really brought it from the clouds, 
 and made it a living historical force in the 
 common politics of the day. — Itae, * Cou- 
 temporary Socialism,' pp. 64, 65. 
 
 Private Ownership of Land affirmed to be 
 Unjust. 
 
 If we are all here by the equal permis- 
 sion of the Creator, we are all here with an 
 equal title to the enjoyment of His bounty 
 — with an equal right to the use of all that 
 nature .so impartially offers. This is a 
 right which is natural and inalienable ; it 
 
412 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 is a right which rests in every human being 
 as he enters the world, and which, during 
 his continuance in the world, can be limited 
 only by the equal rights of others. There 
 is in Nature no such thing as a fee simple 
 in land. There is on earth no power which 
 can rightfully make a grant of exclusive 
 ownership in land. If all existing men 
 were to unite to grant away their equal 
 rights, they could not grant away the right 
 of those who follow them. For what are 
 we but tenants of a day ? Have we made 
 the earth, that we should determine the 
 lights of those who after us shall tenant it 
 in their turn ? The Almighty, who created 
 the earth for man and man for the earth, 
 has entailed it upon all the generations of 
 the children of men by a decree written 
 upon the constitution of all things, — a de- 
 cree which no human action can bar and no 
 prescription determine. — George, ' Progress 
 and Poverty,'' p. 262. 
 
 Land Nationalisation asserted to be the 
 only Remedy. 
 
 There is but one way to remove an evil, 
 and that is, to remove its cause. Poverty 
 deepens as wealth increases, and wages are 
 forced down while pi-oductive power grows, 
 Ijccause land, which is the source of all 
 wealth and the field of all labour, is mono- 
 polised. To extirpate property, to make 
 wages what justice commands they should 
 be, the full earnings of the labourei-, we 
 must, therefore, substitute for the indivi- 
 dual ownership of land a common owner- 
 ship. Nothing else will go to the cause of 
 the evil, in nothing else is there the slight- 
 est hope. 
 
 This, then, is the remedy for the unjust 
 and unequal distribution of wealth appa- 
 rent in modern civilisation, and for all the 
 evils which flow from it — loe must malce 
 land common 2-)roperty. — George, 'Progress 
 and Povtrfij,'' p. 52. 
 
 Socialism and Christianity. 
 
 Communism of the Early Christians 
 ajjirnuid. 
 
 Modern Communists, with their sympa- 
 
 thisers, affirm that Communism was the 
 natural outcome of the Law of Equality 
 implied in Christ's teaching. That the 
 principle did not hold its ground is ascribed 
 by them to the ambition and worldliness of 
 the Church as she increased in power, espe- 
 cially after her official recognition as the 
 state religion of the Roman Empire. After 
 this alliance with wealth and grandeur, 
 they say the Church rapidly departed from 
 the simplicity of the gospel, and consoled 
 herself by the acquisition of temporal 
 aggrandisement for her disappointment in 
 not attaining to the long- deferred hope of 
 a final 'restitution of all things.' — Kauf- 
 mann, ' Socialisjn and Communism,'' p. 11. 
 
 Jesus Christ Himself not only pro- 
 claimed, preached, and prescribed Com- 
 munism as a consequence of fraternity, 
 but practised it with His apostles. — Cahet, 
 quoted by Kauffmann. 
 
 Denied. 
 
 On the other hand, the defenders of the 
 principle of individual property, as opposed 
 to Communism (which in their opinion is 
 ' a mutiny against society '), deny that the 
 Church ever sanctioned officially, or that 
 her Founder ever recommended, such a cus- 
 tom as that of ' having all things in com- 
 mon.' — Kaufmann, ' Socialism and Com- 
 munism,' p. 1 1. 
 
 Irreligious character of modern socialism. 
 
 Most contemporary socialists have turned 
 their backs on religion. They sometimes 
 speak of it with a kind of suppressed and 
 settled bitterness, as of a friend that has 
 proved faithless : ' We are not atheists, 
 we have simply done with God.' They 
 seem to feel that, if there be a God, He 
 is at any rate no God for them ; that He 
 is the God of the rich, and cares nothing 
 for the poor ; and there is a vein of most 
 touching though most illogical i^eproach in 
 their hostility towards a Deity whom they 
 yet declare to have no existence. They say 
 in their hearts, There is no God, or only 
 one whom they decline to serve ; for He is 
 no friend to the labouring man, and has 
 
SOCIALISM. 
 
 never all these centuries done anything 
 for him. This atheism seems as much 
 matter of class antipatliy as of free- 
 thought; and the semi-political element in 
 it lends a peculiar bitterness to the social- 
 istic attacks on religion and the Church, 
 which are regarded as main pillars of the 
 established order of things, and irreconcil- 
 able obstructives to all socialistic dreams. 
 — Bae, ' Coiitemporanj Socialis))i,' p. 239. 
 
 God not the author of social distress. 
 
 Though it may take the language of 
 prayer, it is blasphemy that atti-ibutes to 
 the inscrutable decrees of Pi^ovidence the 
 suffering and brutishness that come of 
 poverty ; that turns with folded hands to 
 the All-Father, and lays on Him the 
 responsibility for the want and crime of 
 our great cities. We degrade the Ever- 
 lasting. We slander the Just One. A 
 mei'ciful man would have better ordered 
 the world; a just man would crush with 
 his foot such an ulcerous ant-hill ! It is 
 not the Almighty, but we Avho are respon- 
 sible for the vice and misery that fester 
 amid our civilisation. The Creator showers 
 upon us His gifts — more than enough for 
 all. But like swine scrambling for food, 
 we tread them in the mire — tread them in 
 the mire, while we tear and rend each 
 other. — George, * Progress and Povertij,^ 
 p. 424. 
 
 Christian Socialism. 
 
 F. D. Maurice. 
 
 His great wish was to Christianise So- 
 cialism, not to Christian- Socialise the uni- 
 verse. He believed that there were great 
 truths involved in the principle of co-ope- 
 ration which were essentially Christian 
 truths; and that as these had acquired a 
 bad name because of the falsehoods that 
 were mixed up with them, it was pre-emi- 
 nently the business of a man who was set 
 to preach truth to face the personal oblo- 
 quy that would attend the task of sepai-at- 
 ing the true from the false, and defending 
 the true. — ^Life of F. D. Maurice,'' ii. 41. 
 
 God's order seems to me more than ever 
 
 the antagonist of man's sy.stems; Chris- 
 tian Socialism is in my mind the assertion 
 of God's order. Every attempt, however 
 small and feeble, to bring it forth, I honour 
 and desire to assist. Every attempt to 
 hide it under a great machinery, I must 
 protest against, as hindering the gradual 
 development of what I regard as a divine 
 purpose, as an attempt to create a nev.- 
 constitution of society, when what we want 
 is that the old constitution should exhibit 
 its true functions and energies. — Maurice, 
 Letter to Mr. Ludlow, ^ Life, cfc.,' ii. 44. 
 
 C. Kingsley. 
 
 The tnie 'Reformer's Guide,' the true 
 poor man's book, the true 'Voice of God 
 against tyrants, idlers, and humbugs, is the 
 Bible.' The Bible demands for the poor 
 as much, and more, than they demand for 
 themselves; it expresses the deepest yearn- 
 ings of the poor man's heart far more 
 nobly, more searchmgly, more daringly, 
 more eloquently than any modern orator 
 has done. I say, it gives a ray of hope, 
 say rather a certain dawn of a glorious 
 future, such as no universal suffrage, free 
 trade, communism, organisation of labour, 
 or any other Morrisdn's-pill-measure can 
 give ; and yet of a future which will em - 
 brace all that is good in these, — a future 
 of conscience, of justice, of freedom, when 
 idlers and oppressors shall no more dare to 
 plead parchment and Acts of Parliament 
 for their iniquities. I say, the Bible pro- 
 mises this, not in a few places only, but 
 throughout ; it is the thought which runs 
 through the whole Bible — justice from God 
 to those whom men oppress, glory from 
 God to those whom men despise. Does 
 that look like the invention of tyrants and 
 prelates ? The Bible is the poor man's 
 comfort and the rich man's warning. — Par- 
 son Lot, ' Letters to the Chartists,' Letter II. 
 
 George. 
 
 "The poor yo have always with you." 
 If ever a scripture has been wrested to the 
 devil's service, this is that scripture. Ho\v 
 often have these words been distorted from 
 
414 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 their obvious meaning to sootlie conscience 
 into acquiescence in human misery and 
 degradation — to bolster that blasphemy, 
 the very negation and denial of Christ's 
 teachings, that the All Wise and Most 
 Merciful, the Infinite Father, has decreed 
 that so many of His creatures must be poor, 
 in order that others of His creatures to 
 whom He wills the good things of life 
 should enjoy the pleasure and virtue of 
 doling out alms! "The poor ye have 
 always with you," said Christ; but all His 
 teachings supply the limitation, ' until the 
 coming of the Kingdom.' In that King- 
 dom of God on earth, that Kingdom of 
 justice and love for which He taught His 
 followers to strive and pray, there will be 
 no poor. But though the faith and the 
 hope and the stiiving for this Kingdom are 
 of the very essence of Christ's teaching, 
 the staunchest disbelievers and revilers of 
 its possibility are found among those who 
 call themselves Christians. — ' Social Pro- 
 blems,' p. 104. 
 
 The Millennium of Christian Socialism. 
 
 AVith want destroyed ; with greed 
 changed to noble passions; with the fra- 
 ternity that is born of equality taking the 
 place of the jealousy and fear that now 
 array men against each other ; with mental 
 power loosed by conditions that give to the 
 humblest comfort and leisure; and who 
 shall measure the heights to which our 
 civilisation may soar? Words fail the 
 thought ! It is the Golden Age, of which 
 poets have sung and high-raised seers have 
 told in metaphor ! It is the glorious vision 
 which has always haunted man with gleams 
 of fitful splendour. It is what he saw 
 whose eyes at Patmos were closed in a 
 trance. It is the culmination of Christi- 
 anity — the City of God on earth, with its 
 walls of jasper and its gates of pearl ! It 
 is the reign of the Prince of Peace ! — 
 George, ^Progress and Poverty,'' p. 426. 
 
 Errors of Socialism. 
 
 As to value of individual interest. 
 
 The fundamental error of most Socialists 
 
 is not taking sufficient account of the fact 
 that individual intei-est is the indispensable 
 incentive to labour and economy. It is 
 true that minds purified by the elevated 
 principles of religion or philosophy act upon 
 sentiments of charity, devotion, and honour; 
 but for the regular prodviction of wealth 
 the stimulus of personal interest and re- 
 sponsibility is needed. — Laveleye, ^Social- 
 ism; p. 43. 
 
 As to social value of private property. 
 
 Socialists ignore the civilising value of 
 private property and inheritance, because 
 they think of property only as a means of 
 immediate enjoyment, and not as a means 
 of progress and moral development. They 
 would allow private property only in what 
 is termed consumers' wealth. You might 
 still own your clothes, or even pui-chase 
 your house and garden. But producers' 
 wealth, they hold, should be common pro- 
 perty, and neither be owned nor inherited 
 by individuals. If this theory were to be 
 eufoi-ced, it would be fatal to progress. 
 Private property has all along been a great 
 factor in civilisation, but the private pro- 
 per-ty that has been so has been much more 
 producers' than consumers'. Consumers' 
 wealth is a limited instrument of enjoy- 
 ment ; producers' is a power of immense 
 capability in the hands of the competent. 
 Socialists are really more individualistic 
 than their opponents, in the view they 
 take of the function of property. They 
 look upon it purely as a means for gratify- 
 ing the desires of individuals, and ignore 
 the immense social value it possesses as a 
 nurse of the industrial virtues, and an 
 agency in the progressive development of 
 society from generation to generation. — 
 Rae, ' Contemporary Socialism,' p. 387. 
 
 Socialism woidd destroy freedom. 
 
 Under a regime of Socialism freedom 
 would be choked. Take, for example, a 
 point of great importance both for personal 
 and for social development, the choice of 
 occupations. Socialism promises a free 
 choice of occupations ; but that is vain, for 
 
INTUITIOXISM. 
 
 415 
 
 the relative numbers that are now required 
 in any particuUir occupation axe necessarily 
 determined by the demands of the con- 
 sumers for the particular commodity the 
 occupation in question sets itself to supply. 
 Freedom of choice is, therefore, limited at 
 present by natural conditions, which cause 
 no murmui-ing; but these natural condi- 
 tions would still exist under the socialist 
 regime, and yet they would perforce appear 
 in the guise of legal and artificial restric- 
 tions. It would be the choice of the State 
 that would determine who should enter the 
 more desirable occupations, and not the 
 choice of the individuals themselves. The 
 same difliculties would attend the distribu- 
 tion of the fertile and the poor soils. Even 
 consumption would not escape State inqui- 
 sition and guidance, for an economy that 
 pretended to do away with commercial 
 vicissitudes must take care that a change 
 of fashion does not extinguish a particular 
 industry by superseding the articles it pro- 
 duces. — Rae, ' Contemporary Socialism,' pp. 
 3SS, 389. 
 
 IX. INTUITIONISM. 
 
 (See under Intuition, Intuitions.) 
 The Intuitional Theory of Morals. 
 
 I 'The fundamental assumption of this 
 
 theory is that we have the power of seeing 
 clearly, within a certain range, what actions 
 are right and reasonable in themselves, 
 apart from their consequences (except such 
 consequences as are included in the notion 
 of the acts). This power is commonly 
 called the faculty of Moral Intuition. 
 
 ' The term " Intuitional " is used to de- 
 note the method which recognises Tight- 
 ness as a quality belonging to actions in- 
 dependently of their conduciveness to any 
 ulterior end. The term implies that the 
 presence of the quality is ascertained by 
 simply "looking at" the actions them- 
 selves, without considering their conse- 
 quences.' — Sidfjwick, 'Methods of Ethics' 
 (second edition), pp. 176, 185. 
 
 When we speak of an Intuitional Theory 
 of ]\Ioral Distinctions, we mean that the 
 
 Law which decides what is right is so con 
 nected with the nature of the Person, that 
 the recognition of it is involved in intelli- 
 gent self-direction. The knowledge is im- 
 mediate, and its source is found within the 
 mind itself. When we say of moral truth 
 that it is self-evidencing, we mean that the 
 Law carries in itself the evidence of its 
 own truth. Taking Mr. Herbert Spencer's 
 form, we may say it is ' indisputal)le.' In- 
 disputability, however, may apply in two 
 directions — to facts and to principles. The 
 Moral Law affords an example of the latter. 
 As to the Validity of the principle, the 
 evidence of that lies in its own nature as a 
 proposition or formulated truth. When we 
 say that moral truth is its own warrant, 
 we mean that it is by its nature an authori- 
 tative principle of conduct. Its credentials 
 belong to its nature. Such laws of human 
 conduct are ' the unwritten laws,' which 
 Socrates says cannot be violated without 
 punishment ('Mem.,' iv. 4, 13). — Calder- 
 irood, 'Moral Philosophy,' p. 36. 
 
 ' The moralists of the intuitive school, to 
 state their opinions in the broadest form, 
 believe that we have a natural power of 
 perceivmg that some qualities, such as bene- 
 volence, chastity, or veracity, are better 
 than others, and that we ought to cultivate 
 them, and to repress their opposites. In 
 other words, they contend, that by the con- 
 stitution of our nature, the notion of right 
 carries with it a feeling of obligation ; 
 that is, to say, a course of conduct is our 
 duty, is in itself, and apart from all con- 
 sequences, an intelligible and sufficient 
 reason for practising it ; and that we derive 
 the first principles of our duties from in- 
 tuition.' 
 
 ' They acknowledge indeed that the effect 
 of actions upon the happiness of mankind 
 forms a most important element in deter- 
 mining their moral quality, but they main- 
 tain that without natural moral perceptions 
 we never should have known that it was 
 our duty to seek the happiness of man- 
 kind when it diverged from our own, and 
 they deny that vii-tue was either originally 
 evolved from, or is necessarily propoitioned 
 
4.t6 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 to utility. Virtue, they believe, is some- 
 thing more than a calculation or a habit. 
 It is impossible to conceive its fundamental 
 principles reversed. Our judgments of it 
 are not the results of elaborate or difficult 
 deductions, but are simple, intuitive, and 
 decisive.' — Ledaj, ^European Morals,^!. 3, 
 71- 
 
 The Object of Moral Intuition. 
 
 Individual actions, according to some. 
 
 Is it individual action that is in the first 
 place apprehended to be right, and are all 
 valid propositions in Ethics obtained by 
 generalisation from such particular judg- 
 ments 1 This was the ' induction ' which 
 Socrates used; his plan was to work towards 
 the true definition of each ethical term by 
 examining and comparing different instances 
 of its application. The popular view of 
 conscience seems to point to such a method, 
 since the dictates of conscience are com- 
 monly thought to relate to particular actions. 
 This inductive method may be called In- 
 stinctive Intuitionism. — Ryland, ' Hand- 
 hooli, (^T.,' p. 120. 
 
 Our intuitions are perceptions of indi- 
 vidual objects or individual truths ; and in 
 order to reach an axiom or ' principle of 
 morals,' there is need of a discursive prin- 
 ciple of generalisation. The proper account 
 is that the law is generalised out of our 
 direct perceptions. On the bare contem- 
 plation of an ungrateful spirit, the conscience 
 at once declares it to be evil, apart from 
 the conscious apprehension or application 
 of any general principle. Our moral intui- 
 tions are not a j^i'iori forms, which the 
 mind imposes on objects, but immediate 
 perceptions of qualities in certain objects, 
 that is, in the voluntary dispositions and 
 actions of intelligent beings. — 31' Cosh, 
 ' Examination of Mill,'' p. 365. 
 
 The cognitions which this method at- 
 tempts to systematise are primarily direct 
 intuitions of the moral qualities of particu- 
 lar kinds of actions, regarded for the most 
 pait in their external relations. — Sidgmcl\ 
 'Methods of Ethics' (second edition), p. 183. 
 
 Moral rides, according to others. 
 
 Another logical method followed by the 
 typical Christian Moralists (Butler, itc), 
 assumes that we can discern general moral 
 rules with clear and finally valid intui- 
 tion. Such rules are sometimes called moral 
 axioms, and compared with the axioms of 
 geometry, in respect of definiteness, cer- 
 tainty, and self-evidence. Hence the method 
 is deductive ; a given action is brought un- 
 der one of these rules, and then pronounced 
 right or wrong. Mr. Sidgwick calls this 
 Dogmatic Intuitionism. — Ryland, ' Hand- 
 hooTx, i^T.,' p. 121. 
 
 Moral principles, according to a third 
 school. 
 
 Philosophic Intuitionism attempts to find 
 some one or two principles from which these 
 current moral rules may themselves be de- 
 duced, and thus reduced to a more syste- 
 matic form. Such attempts have been made 
 by Clarke, Kant, &c. — Ryland, ' Handbook, 
 cjr.,' p. 121. 
 
 What is Intuitively Apprehended ? 
 
 Intuitional Moralists differ on this ques- 
 tion. The following views have been held : 
 — (i) The quality perceived is the Tight- 
 ness of actions, and the moral obligation to 
 perform them (Butler); (2) Their good- 
 ness, or desirability ; (3) Their moral 
 beauty. — Ryland, ' Ilandhoolc, ^c.,' p. 121. 
 
 The Ultimate Reason. 
 
 There are further differences as to the 
 ultimate reason for doing what is intuitively 
 ascertained to be right, e.g.: (i) The reason 
 for obeying it is contained in the intuition 
 itself (Kant) ; (2) Conformity to the Divine 
 Will (ordinary Christian Moralists) ; (3) 
 Conformity to Nature (Shaftesbury). A 
 word or two may be said of the first of these. 
 The mere recognition that 'lovght to do this' 
 is the only adequate reason why I should 
 do it, says Kant ; if I do the action for any 
 other reason, the act is not truly moral ; it 
 is only when we do what we ought because 
 we ought, that we are truly moral. This 
 bindingness of duty for its own sake alone, 
 
THE WILL OF GOD— THE MORAL LAW. 
 
 417 
 
 is what Knnt calls the Categorical (as op- 
 posed to a hypothetical) Imperative. — Ri/- 
 laiul, '■ Handhooli, tjr.,' p. 122. 
 
 This Theory is in Harmony with Scripture. 
 The principle is also clearly recognised, 
 that moral truths, apprehended by a moral 
 faculty, are one main and essential part of 
 the evidence of a Divine revelation. By 
 this means alone can its reception be fully 
 distinguished from mex^e credulity and blind 
 superstition. There is an abundant appeal, 
 it is true, to evidence of a lower and more 
 sensible kind. But even here the presence 
 of a moral element is implied. The miracles 
 of Christ were themselves works of mercy, 
 and parables of Divine grace ; and the pro- 
 phecies, to which appeal is made, are de- 
 scribed with emphasis as the words of holy 
 men, who spake under the impulse of the 
 Holy Spirit of God. But in other cases 
 this moral element in the testimony stands 
 alone, and appears in fuller relief. ' Which 
 of you convinceth Me of sin ? and if I say 
 the truth, why do ye not believe Me 1 ' And 
 the Apostle, treading ui the steps of his 
 Divine Master, describes the main object 
 of his own preaching in those impressive 
 words, — ' By manifestation of the truth 
 commending ourselves to every man's con- 
 science in the sight of God.' — Birlis, ' Moral 
 Science,' p. 190. 
 
 Some Objections answered. 
 
 Intuitional ists tnake happiness an end. 
 
 It is often said that intuitive moralists 
 in their reasonings are guilty of continually 
 abandoning their principles, by themselves 
 appealing to the tendency of certain acts 
 to promote hi;man happiness as a justifica- 
 tion, and the charge is usually accompanied 
 by a challenge to show any confessed virtue 
 that has not that tendency. To the iii-st ob- 
 jection it may be shortly answered that no 
 intuitive moralist ever dreamed of doubting 
 that benevolence or charity, or, in other 
 words, the promotion of the happiness of 
 man, is a duty. But, while he cordially 
 recognises this branch of virtue, and while 
 he has therefore a perfect right to allege 
 
 the beneficial clTects of a virtue in its de- 
 fence, he refuses to admit that all virtue 
 can be reduced to this single principle. 
 He believes that chastity and truth have 
 an independent value, distinct from their 
 influence on happiness. [See also above.] 
 — Lecliij, ' European Morals,' i. 40. 
 
 TJie Standards of excellence vary. 
 
 From the time of Locke, objections have 
 been continually brought against the theory 
 of natural moral perceptions, upon the 
 ground that some actions which were 
 admitted as lawful in one age have been 
 regarded as immoral in another. All these 
 become absolutely woi-thless, when it is 
 pei'ceived that in every ago virtue has con- 
 sisted in the cultivation of the same feel- 
 ings, though the standards of excellence 
 attained have been different. — Leclnj,' Euro- 
 pean Morals,' p. 113. 
 
 THE WILL OF GOD- 
 MORAL LAW. 
 
 -THE 
 
 The Laws of God. 
 
 The Divine laws, or the laws of God, are 
 laws set by God to His human creatures. 
 They are laws or rules, prop)erhj so called. 
 
 As distinguished from duties imposed by 
 human laws, duties imposed by the Divine 
 laws may be called religious duties. 
 
 As distinguished from violations of duties 
 imposed by human laws, violations of reli- 
 gious duties are styled sins. 
 
 As distinguished from sanctions annexed 
 to human laws, the sanctions annexed to 
 the Divine laws may be called religiom^ 
 sanctions. They consist of the evils, or 
 pains, which we may suffer here or here- 
 after, by the immediate appointment of 
 God, and as consequences of breaking Ilis 
 commandments. — Axistin, ' Jurisprudence, ' 
 Lecture II., p. 106. 
 
 Revealed and Unrevealed Laws of God. 
 
 Of the Divine laws, or the laws of God, 
 some are revealed or promulgated, and 
 others are unrevealed. Such of the laws of 
 2 D 
 
All 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 God as are unrevealed are not unfrequently 
 denoted by the following names or phrases : 
 ' the law of nature,' ' natural law,' ' the law 
 manifested to man by the light of nature or 
 reason,' ' the laws, precepts, or dictates of 
 natural religion.' 
 
 "With regard to the laws which God is 
 pleased to reveal, the way wherein they are 
 manifested is easily conceived. They are 
 express commands, portions of the icord of 
 God, commands signified to men through 
 the medium of human language, and ut- 
 tered by God directly or by servants whom 
 He sends to announce them. 
 
 Such of the Divine laws as are unrevealed, 
 are laws set by God to His human crea- 
 tures, but not through the medium of 
 human language, or not expressly. — Austin, 
 'Jurisprudence,'' Lecture IL, p. 107. 
 
 The Moral Law. 
 Its Nature. 
 
 Essential CJiaraderistics. 
 
 Moral law is law given by an intelligent 
 being to an intelligent being, to specify and 
 determine his proper relations, first, to other 
 intelligent beings, secondly, to non-intel- 
 ligent creatures, thirdly, to unconscious 
 things, and finally, to specify and deter- 
 mine his relations to the Lawgiver, in case 
 of obedience on the one hand and of diso- 
 bedience on the other. Such law goes into 
 force by virtue of the mere authority of the 
 Lawgiver. Authority means the recognised 
 right of one intelligent being to command 
 another. Seeing that authority by itself 
 moves only mental and moral forces, and 
 not physical ones, the law assumes, on the 
 part of those subjected to it, capacity, on 
 the one hand, for comprehending its prac- 
 tical intent, and on the other, for complying 
 ■with it, or refusing compliance. It assumes, 
 moreover, the existence in them of a con- 
 science of right and wrong, and of the love 
 of good and the dread of evil, and appeals 
 to these as moving powers, — to the con- 
 science by simple manifestation of the right 
 and Avrong, and to the hope and fear by 
 the promise of good in the case of obedience, 
 
 and the threat of evil in case of disobedience. 
 The feeling of the superiority of right to 
 wrong, awakened by simple presentation of 
 the two in contrast, and the hope and fear 
 awakened by the promise and the threat, 
 constitute the working forces of the law, 
 whereby to impel to obedience and draw 
 off from disobedience. — Arthur, ' Physical 
 and Moral Law,' p. 115. 
 
 Moral laws are derived from the nature 
 and will of God and the character and con- 
 dition of man, and may be understood and 
 adopted by man, as a being endowed with 
 intelligence and will, to be the rules by 
 which to regulate his actions. It is right 
 to speak the truth. Gratitude should be 
 cherished. These things are in accordance 
 with the nature and condition of man, and 
 with the will of God — that is, they are in 
 accordance with the moral law of conscience 
 and of revelation. — Fleming, ' Vocah. of 
 Phil,' p. 287. 
 
 Universality and necessity are provisions 
 which are inseparable from the law of the 
 good in our inner being, and without which 
 it would not have the character of law. It 
 manifests itself as universally binding ; for 
 whilst it addresses itself with its demands 
 to the individual, it embraces at the same 
 time the whole world of personality as bind- 
 ing upon all. — Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' 
 i- 345- 
 
 The first way in which man becomes con- 
 scious of a higher union between morality 
 and religion, is by recognising God as the 
 author of the Moral Law and the Surety 
 of its validity, and by acknowledging the 
 moral law to be the rule according to which 
 the divine will guides his life. Leibnitz 
 says, ' God is the only immediate and out- 
 ward {i.e., distinct from the subject) object 
 of the soul — external objects of sense are 
 but mediately and indirectly known.' ThLs 
 thought of Leibnitz is clearly in keeping 
 with his system of fore-ordained harmony, 
 but, as genius has often discovered trvith 
 when the premises from which it thought 
 to arrive at it were false, this remark stUl 
 contains a deep truth though its subjective 
 
THE WILL OF GOD— THE MORAL LAW. 
 
 419 
 
 presuppositions have long since been over- 
 thrown. If Leibnitz is right, God is also 
 the only immediate object of our moral 
 obligation, the foundation of all other ob- 
 ligations; every moral duty is a duty 
 towards God, and whatever truly binds us 
 in our conscience is the will of God ; obedi- 
 ence to the law is obedience rendered to 
 the living God, * of whom, in whom, and to 
 whom ' we are. The relation in which the 
 rational creature stands to God his Creatdr, 
 when it is true and normal, is the first and 
 closest; from Him all moral law of life 
 springs, on Him it depends at every point of 
 its development, and to Him it ever returns 
 from its manifold determinations as to a 
 fixed centre, — ' from Him, in Him, and to 
 Him.' — Milller, ' Christian Doctrine of Sin, ^ 
 i. 80, 81. 
 
 ' All men must do so and so,' not all 
 lawyers, or soldiers, or sailors must do. Of 
 course, each man has special duties corres- 
 ponding to his particular position in life. 
 Bv;t this means simply that the same general 
 principle is applicable in an indefinite variety 
 of relations. — StejjJten, 'Science of Ethics,'' 
 p. 147. 
 
 The moral law is no hypothetical impera- 
 tive that issues only prescripts of profit for 
 empirical ends ; it is a categorical impera- 
 tive, a law, universal and binding, on every 
 rational will. — (Kant) Schicegler, 'Hist, of 
 Phil.,' p. 233. 
 
 The general truths involved in moral 
 judgments are not generalised truths, de- 
 pendent for their validity on an induction of 
 particulars, but self-evident truths, known 
 independently of induction. They are as 
 clearly recognised when a single testing 
 case is presented for adjudication as when 
 a thousand such cases have been decided. 
 In this relation the Inductive Method 
 guides merely to the fact that such truths 
 are discovered in consciousness. But In- 
 duction as little explains the intellectual 
 and ethical authority of these truths, as it 
 settles the nature of the facts pertaining to 
 physical science. The rightness of Hon- 
 esty is not proved by an induction of par- 
 
 ticulars. But the conclusion tl\at 'Honesty 
 is the best policy ' is essentially a gene- 
 ralisation from expei-ience. — C alder wood, 
 ' Moral. Phil.,' p. 31. 
 
 Its precepts generally admitted. 
 
 It is worth noticing that, amidst much 
 diversity of opinion as to minor points, the 
 great principles of Morals are generally 
 admitted and acquiesced in. It is agreed — 
 
 1. That men, in all ages and in all na- 
 tions of the world, have acknowledged a 
 distinction between some actions as right 
 and others as tcrong. 
 
 2. That this distinction is recognised 
 by means of a separate power or peculiar 
 faculty of the mind, or by Reason, evolving 
 peculiar ideas and operating under peculiar 
 sanctions. 
 
 3. That the existence of a separate power 
 or faculty, or this peculiarity in the exer- 
 cise of Reason, implies some correspondent 
 nature, or character, or relation, predicable 
 of human actions, of which Conscience is 
 the arbiter or judge. 
 
 Lastly. That the connection between the 
 Moral Faculty and that in human actions 
 to which it has reference, is a connection 
 that is permanent and unalterable; for 
 they who call Conscience a sense admit that 
 its decisions are not arbitrary, but deter- 
 mined by the nature of its objects ; and 
 they who call virtue a relation admit that 
 it is a relation which, while the nature of 
 God and the nature of man remain the 
 same, cannot be changed. The constitu- 
 tion of things and the course of Providence, 
 or, in one word, the will of God, is the high 
 and clear point to whicli all moral discus- 
 sions tend, and in which all moral actions 
 terminate. And should we, at any time, 
 be ungrateful enough to forget this, or im- 
 pious enough to doubt it, by feigning that 
 morality is a thing of man's making, the 
 first violence or insult which we oflfer to 
 our moral nature is vindicated in a way 
 that is suflicient to enlighten if not to 
 reclaim us. Conscience claims her high 
 prerogative. Vii'tue asserts her heavenly 
 oriorin, and we are made to see and feel 
 
420 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 that the ties by which we are drawn into 
 conformity with the will of God are indeed 
 the cords of love and the bands of a man — 
 the means and measures of infinite good- 
 ness, fitted to a rational but imperfect 
 nature ; for they bind us to happiness by 
 binding us to duty; and lead us to seek 
 God's glory, because in doing so we accom- 
 plish our own perfection and blessedness. 
 
 Moral and Physical Law. 
 
 The difference between tJiem. 
 What is called law in physics is not 
 really law in any scientific or philosophical 
 sense, but, whether viewed scientifically 
 or philosophically, is nothing more or less 
 than Rule, and can be called law only in a 
 metaphorical sense. In the realm of morals 
 we find law in the proper sense, in the sense 
 that is clear to the philosopher, that is in- 
 evitable to the jurist, that is ' understanded 
 of the people,' that is wrought into all the 
 act and thought of humanity ever since 
 the first of its steps that have left any 
 print on the sands of time. Now law, in 
 this proper and familiar sense, is found in 
 the realm of morals to be the instrument 
 of preservuig order between man and man, 
 and thus to be, in effect, the instrument of 
 preserving society itself. — Arthur, ' Physi- 
 cal and Moral Law,' p, 15. 
 
 A physical law is invariable and inviol- 
 able; a moral law is invariable but not 
 inviolable. An invariable law means one 
 that cannot be altered, and an inviolable 
 law means one that cannot be broken. — 
 Arthur, ^Physical and Moral Law,' p. 15. 
 
 The difference between the law of nature 
 and the law of morality is this, that only 
 the latter expresses a ' must ' which at the 
 same time is an 'ought.' — Martensen, 'Chris- 
 tian Ethics,' i. 346. 
 
 Tliey are not antagonistic. 
 
 Whilst we maintain the essential differ- 
 ence between the law of nature and the law 
 of morality, we by no means teach an in- 
 dissoluble dualism, and cannot with Kant, 
 
 whose theory forms a contrast with that of 
 Schleiermacher, acknowledge an irreconcil- 
 able antagonism between the law of moral- 
 ity and the law of nature, — a dualism in 
 consequence of which there must be in man 
 an incessant struggle between reason and 
 natural impulse, virtue and the exercise of 
 the senses, duty and inclination. Such an 
 irreconcilable dualism between the law of 
 morality and the law of nature would not 
 merely place an unsolved dualism in the 
 being of God, since it is the same God who 
 reveals Himself in both worlds, but would 
 also destroy the unity of human nature ; 
 whereas it is the same man, whose brain, 
 nervous system, circulation of the blood, 
 and instinctive desires are determined by 
 the law of nature, but whose will must 
 determine itself according to the law of 
 morality, and under the postulate of an 
 absolute dualism would be doomed to an 
 incessant and resultless contest. — Marten- 
 sen, ' Christian Ethics,' p. 347. 
 
 The Object of Moral Law. 
 
 The first object of moral law is to elevate 
 the doer of it; the second, to make him 
 happy in his relations with his fellows, and 
 to make them happy in their relations with 
 him. Were the moral law, as found in 
 Holy Scripture, fulfilled in every person, 
 no one in the world would be a despicable 
 man. No one in the world would make 
 himself miserable in his relations with his 
 family, the public, or the nation. No one 
 would make others miserable in their re- 
 lations with him. Every man would be 
 noble, happy, a centre of happy influences. 
 — Arthtir, 'Physical and Moral Law,' p. 
 
 The Application of Moral Law. 
 
 A 'principal end of morality. 
 
 To lay down, in their universal form, the 
 laws according to which the conduct of a 
 free agent ought to be regulated, and to 
 apply them to the different situations of 
 human life, is the end of morality. — Wie- 
 icell, ' Systematic Morality,' Lecture T. 
 
THE WILL OF GOD— THE MORAL LAW. 
 
 421 
 
 III relation to action ; 
 
 It does not make an action good. 
 
 An action is not right merely in conse- 
 quence of a law declaring it to be so. But 
 the declaration of the law proceeds upon 
 tlie antecedent rightness of the action. — 
 Fleming, ' Vucab. 0/ Phil.,' p. 28S. 
 
 Nor does a good intention. 
 
 The goodness of intention is not sufficient 
 to constitute an action morally good ; that 
 is, a good intention cannot alone, and of 
 itself, procure that any human act should 
 be morally good ; or which is the same, in 
 the words of the Apostle, Evil ought not to 
 be done, that good may come. — ISanderson, 
 * Lectures on Conscience, ^-c.,' p. 2,2>- 
 
 Example does not constitute moral law. 
 
 Neither the judgment nor the example 
 of any man ought to be of such authority 
 with us, that our conscience may securely 
 rest in either of them. Nor ai-e we to con- 
 clude that what any person of learning or 
 sanctity has formerly done was done justly, 
 or may hereafter be done lawfully. 
 
 The insufficiency of example as the rule 
 of our own conduct appears : — first, from 
 the fact that all the actions of good men 
 are not objects of imitation, and it is not 
 easy to distinguish which of them we may 
 propose for exemplars, and which not. The 
 most pious persons have their failings, and 
 so far are evil examples. Secondly, actions 
 expressly commended in the Word of God 
 are not offered to us in all their circum- 
 stances as objects of our imitation : the 
 Heljrew midwives, in preserving the Hebrew 
 infants, excused their contempt of the king's 
 commands by a lie. Thirdly, the moral 
 quality of an action frequently depends 
 upon the circumstances amid which it is 
 performed, and circumstances never remain 
 exactly the same in any two cases. The 
 truth is, examples are designed rather as 
 helps and supports to inspii-e us with vig- 
 our and alacrity, rather than as a rule of 
 life. — Sanderson, ' Lectures on Conscience, 
 4'c.,' Lect. III. (condensed). 
 
 When an action is good. 
 
 No action can justly be said to bo morally 
 good unless the matter be lawful, the inten- 
 tion right, and the circumstances proper ; 
 consequently no act can be done with a 
 safe conscience, whatsoever the intention 
 be, that is either unlawful in the object or 
 defective in the circrimstances. — Sanderson, 
 ^Lectures on Conscierice, cjv.,' p. 39. 
 
 Moral Law mast descend, to common life. 
 
 In order to serve the ends intended by 
 it, ethics must settle what ai-e the duties 
 of different classes of persons, according to 
 the relation in which they stand to each 
 other, such as rulers and subjects, parents 
 and children, masters and servants; and 
 what the path which individuals should 
 follow in certain circumstances, — it may 
 be, very difficult and perplexing. In con- 
 sequence of the affairs of human life being 
 very complicated, demonstration can be car- 
 ried but a very little way in ethics, in 
 order to be able to enunciate general prin- 
 ciples for our guidance, or to promulgate 
 useful precepts, the ethical inquirer must 
 condescend to come down from his ii priori 
 heights to the level in which mankind live 
 and walk and work. — 31- Cosh, ^Intuitions 
 of the Mind,'' p. 362. 
 
 Moral Law in Relation to Man. 
 
 It is a mark at once (f freedom and de- 
 pendence. 
 
 The law of morality frees man so far 
 from the law of necessity, as it imprints on 
 him the mark of freedom, stamps him as a 
 citizen in a kingdom which is higher than 
 the necessity of nature, and wliere every- 
 thing is weighed and measured by a dif- 
 ferent standard from that of nature. But 
 it also impresses on him a higher mark of 
 dependence. In virtue of this law, which 
 embraces the whole world of humanity, this 
 is determined as at once the world of libertg 
 and of authorit;/, whilst nature is only that 
 of necessity and of power. Authority and 
 liberty, or free-will — around these two poles 
 
422 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 revolves the moral world. — Martensen, 
 * Christian Ethics,^ p. 348. 
 
 It slioidd ever he an object of reverence. 
 
 Two things there are which, the oftener 
 and the more steadfastly we consider, fill 
 the mind with an ever near, an ever rising 
 admiration and reverence — the Starry Hea- 
 ven above, the Moral Laiv ivithin. Both 
 I contemplate lying clear before me, and 
 I connect both immediately with the con- 
 sciousness of my being. The one departs 
 from the place I occupy in the outer world 
 of sense ; expands beyond the limits of 
 imagination that connection of my being 
 with worlds rising above worlds, and sys- 
 tems blending into systems ; and protends 
 it also to the illimitable times of their peri- 
 odic movement — to its commencement and 
 continuance. The other departs from my 
 invisible self, from my personality ; and re- 
 presents me in a world, truly infinite in- 
 deed, but whose infinity is to be fathomed 
 only by the intellect. The aspect of it ele- 
 vates my worth as an intelligence even to 
 infinitude ; and this through my persona- 
 lity, in which the moral law reveals a 
 faculty of life independent of my animal 
 nature, nay, of the whole material world. 
 It proposes my moral worth for the abso- 
 lute end of my activity, conceding no com- 
 promise of its imperative to a necessitation 
 of nature, and spurning in its infinity the 
 limits and conditions of my present transi- 
 tory life. — Kant, ' Pure Practical Reason ' 
 (conclusion). 
 
 On the evolution theory moral law is not 
 immutable. 
 
 The actual moral law develops, and 
 therefore changes, whatever may be said 
 of the ideal law. We must regard the 
 moral instincts as dependent upon human 
 nature or human society, and therefore 
 liable to vary in so far as their subject is 
 liable to vary. We cannot mean by eter- 
 nity or immutability, that the moral law 
 wll remain unaltered even if the conditions 
 upon which it depends be altered. With 
 different conditions the morality would be 
 
 different. At present any change is small. 
 The variation, whatever it is, must corres- 
 pond to a process of evolution, not to what 
 would be called arbitrary modification. — 
 Stephen, '■Science of Ethics,' pp. 153, 154 
 (condensed). 
 
 Moral good is moral good to all intelli- 
 gences so high in the scale of being as to be 
 able to discern it. I lay down this position 
 in order to guard against the idea that moral 
 excellence is something depending on the 
 peculiar nature of man, and that it is allow- 
 able to suppose that there may be intelli- 
 gent beings in other worlds to whom virtue 
 does not appear as virtue. Such a view 
 seems altogether inconsistent with our in- 
 tuitive convictions, and would effectually 
 undermine the foundations of morality. It 
 is allowable to suppose that there may be 
 beings in other worlds who see no beauty 
 in the colours or in the shapes and propor- 
 tions which we so much admire; but I 
 cannot admit that there are any intelligent 
 and responsible beings who look on male- 
 volence as a virtue or justice as a sin. — 
 M'-Cosh, ^Intuitions, ^c,' p. 255. 
 
 Will of God not available as the rule of 
 Right. 
 
 Whoever affirms the will of God to be 
 the rule of right means that, to ascertain 
 our duty, we must consult the will of God ; 
 which, therefore, we must have some prior 
 and independent resource for knowing. 
 Originally, no doubt, that resource was as- 
 sumed to be the Scriptures, regarded as * the 
 oracles of God ; ' which could be studied to 
 find the heads and contents of duty, just as a 
 code is searched to determine the problems 
 of civil law. Increasing knowledge of the 
 Scriptures rendering it evident that they 
 contain a good deal that is not the will of 
 God, and pay slight heed to a good deal that 
 is, the moralist of this school was driven to 
 seek another test as supplement or substi- 
 tute ; naming now one thing, now another, 
 but, with most acceptance, the conduciv-e- 
 ness of acts to the happiness of men. — Mar- 
 tineau, 'Types of Ethical Theory,' ii. 217, 
 218. 
 
MYSTICISM IN MORALS. 
 
 423 
 
 Mysticism in Morals. 
 Philosophical Basis of Mysticism. 
 
 Mysticism rests on two facts of human 
 nature. On the one hand, human life can, 
 at the best, afford but very imperfect good ; 
 and, on the other, no human being can 
 acquire even this good, without an effort 
 which is not natural, and which is followed 
 by a fatigue that can be relieved only by 
 allowing the bent spring to be relaxed, and 
 our faculties to return to their natural and 
 primitive mode of action. 
 
 From these two facts spring mysticism. 
 If the only means of obtaining any good in 
 this life is an effort which is against nature, 
 — and if, even then, a man, the most 
 favoured by circumstances, only secures 
 the shadow of good, is it not plain that the 
 pursuit and acquisition of good is not the 
 end- of the present life, and that to hope or 
 search for it implies an equal delusion ? 
 Man has truly an end and destiny to attain ; 
 but to seek it here is folly, for our lot in 
 life is disappointment. To resign ourselves 
 to our weakness, — to renounce all effort 
 and action, — to await death, that it may 
 break our fetters, and place us in an order 
 of things where the accomplishment of our 
 end will be possible, — this is our only 
 reasonable course, our only true vocation. 
 — Jouffroy, ' Introduction to Ethics j' pp. 123, 
 124 (abridged). 
 
 The Doctrine of the Christian Mystics. 
 
 Self is the centre and essence of all Sin, 
 and the surrender of self the one simple 
 condition of union with God. Among 
 other things the doctrine has this meaning : 
 that the will, whenever it goes astray, 
 follows the direction of individual tendency 
 and wish,^the forces of the Ego imre- 
 strained by reverence for a good that is not 
 ours ; and that, only when all regard to 
 those personal interests is merged in 
 devotion to that heii-archy of affections 
 which, in being universal, is Divine, is the 
 mood begun which sets man and God at 
 one. To have no tvish, no claim, no reluct- 
 ance to be taken hither or thither, but to 
 
 yield one's self up as the organ of a liigher 
 spirit, which disposes of us as may 1)0 lit, 
 constitutes the mystic ideal of perfect life. 
 — Martincau, ' Types of Ethical Theory,' 
 i. 73 (abridged). 
 
 The Desire for Rest. 
 
 A place of rest ! Yes, in that one word, 
 Rest, lies all the longing of the mystic. 
 Every creature in heaven above, and in 
 the earth beneath, saith Master Eckart, all 
 things in the height and all things in the 
 depth, have one yearning, one ceaseless, 
 unfathomable desire, one voice of aspira- 
 tion : it is for rest ; and again, for rest ; 
 and even, till the end of time, for rest ! 
 The mystics have constituted themselves 
 the interpreters of these sighs and groans 
 of the travailing creation ; they are the 
 hierophants to gather, and express, and 
 offer them to heaven ; they are the teachers 
 to weary, weeping men of the way whereby 
 they may attain, even on this side the 
 grave, a serenity like that of heaven. — 
 Vaiighan, ^ Hours tcith the 3Iystics,' i. 263. 
 
 Mysticism in the Greek Church. 
 
 Diunysius tJce Areopayitc , 
 
 Dionysius is the mythical hero of mysti- 
 cism. You find traces of him everywhere. 
 Go almost where you Avill through the 
 writings of the mediaeval mystics, into 
 their depth of nihilism, up their heights of 
 rapture or of speculation, through their 
 overgrowth of fancy, you find his authority 
 cited, his words employed, his opinions 
 more or less fully transmitted. Passages 
 from the Areopagite were culled, as their 
 warrant and their insignia, by the priestly 
 ambassadors of mysticism, with as much 
 care and reverence as the sacred verbena3 
 that grew within the enclosure of the Capi- 
 toline by the Fetiales of Rome. — Vaufjhan, 
 ^ Hours tvitit the Mystics,' i. 119. 
 
 His doctrine of emanation. 
 
 All things have emanated from God, and 
 the end of all is to return to God. Such 
 return — deification, he calls it — is the con- 
 summation of the creature, that God may 
 
424 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 finally be all in all. A process of evolution, 
 a centrifugal movement in the Divine 
 Nature, is substituted in reality for crea- 
 tion. The antithesis of this is the centri- 
 petal process, or movement of involution, 
 which draws all existence towards the point 
 of the Divine centre. The degree of real 
 existence possessed by any being, is the 
 amount of God in that being— for God is 
 the existence in all things. Yet He Himself 
 cannot be said to exist, for He is above 
 existence. The more or less of God, which 
 the various creatures possess, is determined 
 by the proximity of their order to the 
 centre. — Vaughcm, ' Hours tvith the Mystics,' 
 i. 113, 114- 
 
 Of the ivorJc of Christ. 
 
 The work of Christ is thrown into the 
 background to make room for the Church. 
 The Saviour answers, with Dionysius, 
 rather to the Logos of the Platonist than 
 to the Son of God revealed in Scripture. 
 lie is allowed to be, as incarnate, the 
 founder of the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy ; 
 but, as such, he is removed from men by 
 the long chain of priestly orders, and is less 
 the Redeemer, than remotely the illumin- 
 ator of the species. 
 
 Purification, illumination, perfection, — 
 the three great stages of ascent to God 
 (which plays so important a part in almost 
 every succeeding attempt to systematise 
 mysticism), are mystically represented by 
 the three sacraments, — Baptism, the Euch- 
 arist, and Unction. The Church is the 
 great Mystagogue : its hturgy and offices 
 a profound and elaborate system of sym- 
 bolism. — Vaughcm, '■Hours loith the Mystics,' 
 i. 115. 
 
 Mysticism in Germany. 
 
 The general character and result of 
 German mysticism is that it transplants 
 Christianity from the intellect into the 
 heart, from speculation into sentiment, 
 from the school into life, — that appre- 
 hending its substance more simply, morally, 
 and energetically, and presenting it in a 
 German dress, it converts it into a popu- 
 
 lar cause, — that waging direct or indirect 
 warfare with the Romish ecclesiastical and 
 scholastic system, it restores a spiritual and 
 free Christianity, more congenial with the 
 German taste and mind, and by this means, 
 on a large and general scale, paves the way 
 for the emancipation, both of faith, and in 
 matters of faith, of the nation, from the 
 tyranny of Romanism. — Ullmann, '■Refor- 
 mers before the Reformation,'' ii. 1S6. 
 
 Its 2:)rincipal tendencies. 
 
 Of these we distinguish four, though we 
 are sensible that the one often overflows 
 into the other. The four are the poetical, 
 the sentimental, the speculative, and the 
 practical mysticism of Germany. Each of 
 them is represented by a distinguished 
 ]iersonage or production, the first by Suso, 
 the second by Tauter, the third by the 
 author of the ' German Tlieology,' the fourth 
 by Staupitz. — Ullmann, ^Reformers before 
 the Reformation,^ ii. 186. 
 
 German and French Mysticism contrasted. 
 
 Speaking generally, it may be said that 
 France exhibits the mysticism of sentiment, 
 Germany the mysticism of thought. Al- 
 most every later German mystic has been 
 a secluded student — almost every mystic 
 of modern France has been a brilliant 
 controversialist. If Jacob Behmen had 
 appeared in France, he must have counted 
 disciples by units, where in Germany he 
 reckoned them by hundreds. If Madame 
 Guyon had been born in Germany, rigid 
 Lutheranism might have given her some 
 annoyance ; but her earnestness would have 
 redeemed her enthusiasm f i^om ridicule, and 
 she would have lived and died the honoured 
 precursor of modern German Pietism. 
 The simplicity and strength of purpose 
 which characterise so many of the German 
 mystics, appear to much advantage beside 
 the vanity and affectation which have so 
 frequently attended the manifestations of 
 mysticism in France. — Vaughan, 'Hours 
 with the Mystics,' ii. 275, 276. (See 
 ' Mysticism,' in Philosophy, sect, xiii.) 
 
PESSIMISM. 
 
 425 
 
 XL PESSIMISM. 
 Its Oriental Origin, 
 
 In orthodox Brahmanism,as in Buddhism, 
 a keen sense of human misery forms the 
 starting-point. Yet the solution of the 
 dark mystery is widely different in the two 
 cases. According to the Brahmanic philo- 
 sophy, though the created world is a regret- 
 table accident, its effects can be neutralised. 
 And this is effected by the absorption of 
 the human soul in the Universal Spirit or 
 iirahma, the true source of being, thought, 
 and happiness. Thus a mode of a per- 
 manent and satisfying existence is secured, 
 and an optimistic Weltanschauiuig finally 
 substituted for a pessimistic. 
 
 In Buddhism, on the contrary, as Mr. 
 Max Miiller has well pointed out, the pes- 
 simistic view of life receives no such happy 
 solution ; and this philosophy is to be 
 regarded as pessimism pure and simple, 
 and as the direct progenitor of the modern 
 German systems. Buddha (or his followers) 
 denies the existence not only of a Creator, 
 but of an Absolute Being. There is no 
 reality anywhere, neither in the past nor 
 in the future. True wisdom consists in a 
 perception of the nothingness of all things, 
 and in a desire to become nothing, to be 
 blown out, to enter into Nirvana, that is 
 to say, extinction. The perfect attainment 
 of this condition would be reached only at 
 death. Yet even during life a partial an- 
 ticipation of it might be secured, namely, 
 in a condition of mind freed from all desire 
 and feeling. — Sully, ' Pessinuam,' pp. 37, 
 38. 
 
 Metaphysical Basis. 
 
 The World as Idea. 
 
 ' The world is my idea ' : — this is a truth 
 which holds good for everything that lives 
 and knows, though man alone can bring it 
 into reflective and abstract consciousness. 
 If he really does this, he has attained to 
 philosophical wisdom. No truth is more 
 certain, more independent of all others, and 
 less in need of proof than this, that all that 
 exists for knowledge, and therefore this 
 
 whole world, is only object in relation to 
 subject, perception of a perceiver, in a 
 word, idea. — jScIiopcnhaucr, * The Wurld as 
 Will and Idea,' i. 3, 
 
 The World as Will. 
 
 In every emergence of an act of will 
 from the obscure depths of our inner being 
 into the knowing consciousness, a direct 
 transition occurs of the * thing in itself,' 
 which lies outside time, into the phenomenal 
 world. Accordingly the act of will is in- 
 deed only the closest and most distinct 
 manifestation of the * thing in itself ; ' yet it 
 follows from this that if all other manifes- 
 tations or phenomena could be known by 
 us as directly and inwardly, we would 
 be obliged to assert them to be that 
 which the will is in us. Thus in this sense 
 I teach that the inner nature of everything 
 is ivill, and I call will the 'thing in itself.' 
 — Sdiopenhauer, ^The World as Will, tjr.,' 
 ii. 407. 
 
 The universal will is a will to live. Amid 
 its manifold appeararices we discern its 
 unity. The rush of this vast Force into 
 activity accounts for all the phenomena of 
 the miiverse. Hence the endless and in-e- 
 concilable strife which the world presents 
 to the observer, and which indeed he feels 
 in his own nature. The impulses come 
 into conflict with one another, so that none 
 can be realised, can find satisfaction. Life, 
 Consciousness, Siifferiwi, — these are the 
 results of 'the will to live,' which realises 
 itself in individual experience, and in the 
 history of the human race. — 'Thomson, 
 ^Modern Pessimism,' p. 26. 
 
 Will not defined hij Srhoj^enhauer. 
 
 Schopenhauer nowhere defines what he 
 means by will, except by telling us that it 
 contains the various manifestations of im- 
 pulse and feeling, and by marking it off 
 from intellect. He is very particular on 
 this last point, aflirming in one place that 
 ' we must think away the co-operation of 
 the intellect, if we would comprehend the 
 nature of will in itself, and thereby pene- 
 trate as far as possible into the inner parts 
 
426 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 of nature.' According to modern psycho- 
 logy, mind consists of three essentially 
 different activities — feeling, intellect, and 
 volition. Schopenhauer distinguishes the 
 third of these from the second, but not 
 from the first. — Sidln, ' Pessimism,'' p. 85. 
 
 Hartmami's Philosophy of the Uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 Failure of the Philosophij of Conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 The more Philosophy has abandoned the 
 dogmatic assumption of immediate cogni- 
 tion through sense or understanding, and 
 the more it has perceived the highly indi- 
 rect cognisability of everything previously 
 regarded as immediate content of conscious- 
 ness, the higher naturally has risen the 
 value of indirect proofs of existence. Ac- 
 cordingly, reflective minds have from time 
 to time appeared who have felt constrained 
 to fall back upon the existence of uncon- 
 scious ideas as the cause of certain mental 
 phenomena otherwise totally inexplicable. 
 To collect these phenomena, to render pro- 
 bable the existence of unconscious ideas 
 and unconscious will, from the evidence of 
 the particular cases, and through their 
 combination to raise this probability to a 
 degree bordering on certainty, is the object 
 of the first two sections of the present 
 work. — * Philosophu of the Unconscious,' 
 i. 2. 
 
 Principle of the Uncanscioiis the only ex- 
 planation of Phenomena. 
 
 By means of the principle of the Uncon- 
 scious, the phenomena in question receive 
 their only possible explanation, an explana- 
 tion which either has not been expressly 
 stated before, or could not obtain recogni- 
 tion, for the simple reason that the prin- 
 ciple itself can only be established through 
 a comparison of all the relevant pheno- 
 mena. Moreover, by the application of 
 this as yet undeveloped principle, a prospect 
 opens up of quite novel modes of treating 
 matters hitherto supposed to be perfectly 
 well known. A number of the contrarie- 
 ties and antinomies of earlier creeds and 
 
 systems are reconciled by the adoption of 
 a higher point of view, embracing within 
 its scope opposed aspects as incomplete 
 truths. In a word, the principle is shown 
 to be in the highest degree fruitful for 
 special questions. Far more important 
 than this, however, is the way in which 
 the principle of the Unconscious is imper- 
 ceptibly extended beyond the physical and 
 psychical domains, to achieve the solution 
 of problems which, to adopt the common 
 language, would be said to belong to the 
 province of metaphysics. — ' Philosophy of 
 the Unconscious,^ i. 3. 
 
 Unconsciousness of the Will. 
 
 The will itself can never become con- 
 scious, because it can never contradict it- 
 self. There may very well be several 
 desires at variance with one another, but 
 volition at any moment is in truth only 
 the resultant of all the simultaneous de- 
 sires ; consequently, can always be only 
 conformable to itself. If, now, conscious- 
 ness is an accident which the will bestows 
 upon that of which it is compelled to re- 
 cognise, not itself, but something foreign 
 as its cause, in short, what enters into 
 opposition with it, the will can never im- 
 part consciousness to itself, because here 
 the thing to be compared and the standard 
 of comparison are one and the same ; they 
 can never be different or at all at variance 
 with one another. The will also never gets 
 so far as to recognise something else as its 
 cause; rather the appearance of its spon- 
 taneity is indestructible, since it is the 
 primal actuality, and all that lies behind 
 is potential, that is, unreal. Whilst dis- 
 pleasure, then, must always become con- 
 scious, and pleasure can become so under 
 certain circumstances, the will is said never 
 to be able to become conscious. This latter 
 result perhaps appears unexpected, yet expe- 
 rience fully confirms it. — ' Philosophy of 
 the Unconscious,'' ii. 96, 97. 
 
 Schopenhauer maintains that this is the 
 ivorst of all possible tvorlds. 
 
 This world is so arranged as to be able 
 
PESSIMISM. 
 
 437 
 
 to maintain itself with great diiliculty ; but 
 if it were a little worse, it could no longer 
 maintain itself. Consequently a worse 
 world, since it could not continue to exist, 
 is absolutely impossible : thus this world 
 itself is the worst of all possible worlds. 
 For not only if the planets were to run 
 their heads together, but even if any one 
 of the actually appearing perturbations of 
 their course, instead of being gradually 
 balanced by others, continued to increase, 
 the world would soon reach its end. The 
 earthquake of Lisbon, the earthquake of 
 Haiti, the destruction of Pompeii, are only 
 small, playful hints of what is possible. A 
 small alteration of the atmosphere, which 
 cannot even be chemically proved, causes 
 cholera, yellow fever, black death, &c., 
 which carry off millions of men ; a some- 
 what greater alteration would extinguish 
 all life. A very moderate inci'ease of heat 
 would dry up all the rivers and springs. 
 The brutes have received just barely so 
 much in the way of organs and powers as 
 enables them to procure with the greatest 
 exertion sustenance for their own lives and 
 food for their offspring ; therefore if a 
 brute loses a limb, or even the full use 
 of one, it must generally perish. Even 
 of the human race, powerful as are the 
 weapons it possesses in understanding and 
 reason, nine-tenths live in constant conflict 
 and want, always balancing themselves with 
 difficulty and effort upon the brink of de- 
 struction. Thus throughout, as for the 
 continuance of the whole, so also for that 
 of each individual being, the conditions are 
 barely and scantily given, but nothing over. 
 The individual life ls a ceaseless battle for 
 existence itself ; while at every step de- 
 struction threatens it. Just because thi-s 
 threat is so often fulfilled, provision had to be 
 made, by means of the enormous excess of 
 the germs, that the destruction of the in- 
 dividuals should not involve that of the 
 species, for which alone nature really cares. 
 The world Ls thei-efore as bad as it possibly 
 can be if it is to continue to be at all. — 
 Schopenhauer, ' The World as Will and 
 Idea,' iii. 395, 396. 
 
 Tlie misery of human life. 
 
 The life of the great majority is only a 
 constant struggle for existence itself, with 
 the certainty of losing it at last. IJut what 
 enables them to endure thi.s wearisome 
 battle, is not so much the love of life as the 
 fear of death, which yet stands in the back- 
 ground as inevitable, and may come upon 
 them at any moment. Life itself is a sea, 
 full of rocks and whirlpools, which man 
 avoids with the greatest care and solicitude, 
 although he knows that even if he succeeds 
 in getting through with all his efforts and 
 skill, he yet by doing so comes nearer at 
 every step to the greatest, the total, inevi- 
 table, and irremediable shipwreck, death ; 
 nay, even steers right upon it : this is the 
 final goal of the laborious voyage, and worse 
 for him than all the rocks from which he 
 has escaped. 
 
 Now it is well worth observing that, on 
 the other hand, the suffering and misery of 
 life may easily increase to such an extent 
 that death itself, in the flight from which 
 the whole of life consists, becomes desir- 
 able, and we hasten towards it voluntarily ; 
 and again, on the other hand, that as soon 
 as want and suffering permit rest to a 
 man, ennui is at once so near that he 
 necessarily requires diversion. The striving 
 after existence is what occupies all living 
 things and maintains them in motion. But 
 when existence is assured, then they know 
 not what to do with it ; and thus the second 
 thing that sets them in motion is the effort 
 to get free from the burden of existence, 
 to make it cease to be felt, * to kill time,' 
 i.e., to escape from ennuL — Scltnpenhaucr, 
 ' Tlie World as Will and Idea,' i. 403, 
 404. 
 
 The attempted proof that this world is 
 the worst of all possible ones, is a manifest 
 sophism ; everywhere else Scliopenliauer 
 himself tries to maintain and prove nothing 
 further than that the existence of this 
 world is worse than its non-existence, and 
 this assertion I hold to be correct. — 
 Hartmann, ' Philosophy of the Unconsciom,' 
 iii. 12. 
 
428 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Virtue consists in symioathy loith the 
 suffering. 
 
 If that veil of Maya, the priiidpiiim 
 individuationis, is lifted from the eyes of a 
 man, to such an extent that he no longer 
 makes the egoistical distinction between 
 his person and that of others, but takes as 
 much interest in the sufferings of other 
 individuals as in his own, and therefore is 
 not only benevolent in the highest degree, 
 but even ready to sacrifice his own indi- 
 viduality whenever such a sacrifice will 
 save a number of other persons, then it 
 cleai'ly follows that such a man, who re- 
 cognises in all beings his own inmost and 
 true self, must also regard the infinite 
 suffering of all suffering beings as his own, 
 and take on himself the pain of the whole 
 world. — Schopenliauer, ' The World as Will, 
 cJT.,' i. 489. 
 
 A?id leads to asceticism. 
 
 Whoever, by renouncing every accidental 
 advantage, desires for himself no other lot 
 than that of humanity in general, cannot 
 desire even this long. The clinging to life 
 and its pleasures must now soon yield, and 
 give place to a universal renunciation ; 
 consequently the denial of the will will take 
 place. Since now, in accordance with this, 
 poverty, privation, and special suffeiings 
 of many kinds are introduced simply by 
 the perfect exercise of the moral virtues, 
 asceticism in the narrowest sense, — thus the 
 surrender of all possessions, the intentional 
 seeking out of what is disagreeable and 
 repulsive, self-mortification, fasts, the hair 
 shirt, and the scourge — all this is rejected 
 by many, and perhaps rightly, as super- 
 fluous. Justice itself is the hair shirt that 
 constantly harasses its owner, and the 
 charity that gives away what is needed, 
 provides constant fasts. — Schopenhauer, 
 ' The World as Will, Src.,' iii. 425. 
 
 Pessimistic view of annihilation. 
 There is upon this point a difiFerence, 
 almost amusing to consider, between the 
 
 two German champions of the doctrine. 
 The elder — Schopenhauer — would have 
 each man act for himself, and negative that 
 ' will to live ' which involves men in misery 
 so great. The younger — Hartmann — 
 thinks that each man should for the present 
 affirm the ' will to live,' and that efforts 
 should be made to promote amongst men a 
 knowledge of the cause and of the cure of 
 life's wretchedness, so that a general deter- 
 mination may in due time be arrived at by 
 all the members of the race, who may by 
 one great and combined effort achieve the 
 wished-for and happy result, the extinction 
 of human life and consciousness, and the 
 relapse into universal oblivion and repose ! 
 — Thomson, ^Modern Pessimism,^ p. 37. 
 
 Meliorism, as a Eeconciler of Optimism 
 and Pessimism. 
 
 By (Meliorism) I would understand the 
 faith which affirms not merely our power 
 of lessening evil — this nobody questions 
 — but also our ability to increase the 
 amount of positive good. It is, indeed, 
 only this latter idea which can really stimu- 
 late and sustain human endeavour. It 
 might be possible, if life were not to be 
 got rid of, to bring ourselves to labour in 
 order to reduce to a minimum an inevitable 
 excess of misery. But pessimism would 
 seem to dictate to wise men the most speedy 
 conclusion of life, both their own and that 
 of all for whom they care. Meliorism, 
 on the other hand, escapes this final con- 
 tradictory outcome of a life-theory. By 
 recognising the possibility of happiness, and 
 the ability of each individual consciously 
 to do something to inci-ease the sum total 
 of human welfare, present and future, me- 
 liorism gives us a practical creed sufficient 
 to inspire ardent and prolonged endeavour. 
 Lives nourished and invigorated by this 
 ideal have been and still may be seen 
 among us, and the appearance of but a 
 single example proves the adequacy of the 
 belief. — Sidly, ' Pessimism,' pp. 399, 400. 
 
MORAL SANCTIONS. 
 
 429 
 
 XXII. 
 
 MORAL OBLIGATION. 
 
 I. MORAL SANCTIONS. 
 
 Necessity for these. 
 
 ' A law, as jurists tells us, is the com- 
 mand of a sovereign enforced by a sanc- 
 tion; and the essence of law, therefore, 
 depends upon the ultimate appeal to coer- 
 cion ; or, in other words, upon the circum- 
 stance that, if you do not obey the law, you 
 may be made to obey it.' 
 
 * The " sanction " must supply the motive- 
 power by which individuals are to be made 
 virtuous. It is for the practical moralist 
 the culminating point of all ethical theory, ' 
 — Stephen, ^Science of Ethics,' ipTp. 140, 397. 
 
 The Nature of Moral Sanction. 
 
 Sanction is a confirmation of the moral 
 character of an action, which follows it in 
 experience. — Galdericood, * Moral Philo- 
 sophy,' p. 1 48. 
 
 ' The pain or pleasure which is attached 
 to a law forms what is called its sanction ' 
 (Bentham). On the other hand, Austin 
 restricts the term to mean the 'evil {i.e., 
 pain) which will probably be incurred in 
 case a demand be disobeyed.' — Rijland, 
 ^ Handhool; ^c.,' p. 147. 
 
 Why should a man be virtuous ? The 
 answer depends upon the answer to the 
 previous question. What is it to be virtu- 
 ous ? If, for example, virtue means all 
 such conduct as promotes happiness, the 
 motives to virtuous conduct must be all 
 such motives as impel a man to aim at 
 increasing the sum of happiness. These 
 motives constitute the sanction, and the 
 sanction may be defined either as an in- 
 trinsic or an extrinsic sanction ; it may, 
 that is, be argued either that virtuous 
 conduct invariably leads to consequences 
 which are desirable to every man, whether 
 
 he be or be not virtuous ; or, on the other 
 hand, that virtuous conduct as such, and 
 irrespectively of any future consequences, 
 makes the agent happier. Some moralists 
 say that a good man will go to heaven, and 
 a bad man to hell. Others, that virtue 
 is itself heaven, and vice hell. — Stephen, 
 ^ Science of Ethics,' p. 396. 
 
 Moral law being imposed only by autho- 
 rity, and not by resistless force, admits of 
 being broken, and even contemplates the 
 occurrence of that case. But though broken, 
 so far is it from being annulled, that there- 
 upon the authority which gave the law calls 
 up force to vindicate it, though force had 
 not been employed to impose compliance 
 with it. Force does vindicate it by inflict- 
 ing the penalty. The threat of penalty is 
 the sanction of the law. Corresponding 
 with this, and co-operating with it, is the 
 prospect of reward for obedience. Even 
 when no specific reward is set forth, every 
 law implies the most comprehensive of all 
 forms of reward, that is, the upholding of 
 the doer of it in all the rights and privi- 
 leges of the innocent. — Arthur, ' Physical 
 and Moral Law,' p. 116. 
 
 The Different Kinds of Sanctions. 
 I, Classified. 
 
 Bentham distinguishes four kinds of 
 Sanctions : — 
 
 (a.) Physical — due to nature, acting ^^•ith- 
 out human intervention. 
 
 (b.) Moral — or social — due to the spon- 
 taneous disposition of our fellow-men, their 
 friendship, hatred, esteem, Sec. 
 
 {c.) Political — or legal — due to the action 
 of the magistrate in virtue of the laws. 
 
 {d.) Religious. — Ryland, ^ Handbook, Sfc.,' 
 p. 147. 
 
43° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 2. Stated. 
 
 According to Christian Ethics. 
 
 Sanction is the guard thrown arovxnd a 
 command or duty, to enforce its performance : 
 the sanction of a duty not done is the pun- 
 ishment of the person who fails. The only 
 sanction of [moral] law is the displeasure 
 of God : but that displeasure in its fullest 
 expression is postponed to the Great Day. 
 The preliminary tokens of it in this world 
 are but the beginnings of wrath : the judg- 
 ment is indeed begun, and the word Eter- 
 nal has entered into time ; but Christianity 
 makes the future world, with its judgment 
 at the threshold, the issue of all its moral 
 teaching. — Pope, ' Christian Theology,^ iii. 
 159- 
 
 The sanctions of rewards and punish- 
 ments which God has annexed to His laws 
 have not, in any pi"oper sense, the nature 
 of obligation. They are only motives to 
 virtue, adapted to the state and condition, 
 the weakness and insensibility of man. 
 They do not make or constitute duty, but 
 presuppose it. — Adams, 'Sermon on Nature 
 and Obligation of Virtue.' 
 
 The consequences which naturally attend 
 virtue and vice are the sanction of duty, or 
 of doing what is right, as they are intended 
 to encourage us to the dischai-ge of it, and 
 to deter vis from the breach or neglect of it. 
 And these natural consequences of virtue 
 and vice are also a declaration, on the part 
 of God, that He is in favour of the one and 
 against the other, and are intimations that 
 His love of the one and His hatred of the 
 other may be more fully manifested here- 
 after. By Locke, Paley, and Bentham the 
 term sanction, or enforcement of obedience, 
 is applied to reward as well as to punish- 
 ment. But Mr. Austin (' Province of Juris- 
 prudence Determined,' p. lo) confines it to 
 the latter; perhaps because human laws 
 only punish, and do not reward. — Flenmig, 
 * Vocab. of Phil.; p. 448. 
 
 According to Shaftesbury. 
 As to the sanctions of morality, that is 
 to say, the considerations or influences which 
 
 impel men to right-doing or deter them 
 from wrong-doing, Shaftesbury's answer 
 is perfectly clear. The principal sanction 
 with him is the approbation or disapproba- 
 tion of the Moral Sense. As nothing can 
 be more delightful than the witness of a 
 good conscience, so nothing can be more 
 painful than the remorse which follows on 
 a bad action. ' To a rational creature it 
 must be horribly offensive and grievous to 
 have the reflection in his mind of any un- 
 just action or behaviour which he knows to 
 be naturally odious and ill -deserving. ' With 
 this sanction is combined, in the case of 
 those who have any true sense of religion, 
 the love and reverence of a beneflcent, just, 
 and wise God, whose example serves ' to 
 raise and increase the affection towards 
 Virtue, and to submit and subdue all other 
 affections to that alone.' — Fowler, 'Shaftes- 
 bury and Hidcheson,' p. 83. 
 
 According to Utilitarianism. 
 
 The sanctions we may classify as Exter- 
 nal and Internal. The former class will 
 include both ' Legal Sanctions,' or penalties 
 inflicted by the authority, direct or indirect, 
 of the sovereign ; and ' Social Sanctions,' 
 which are either the pleasures that may be 
 expected from the approval and good-will 
 of our fellow-men generally, and the ser- 
 vices that they will be prompted to render 
 both by this good-will and by their appre- 
 ciation of the usefulness of good conduct, 
 or the annoyances and losses that are to be 
 feared from their distrust and dislike. In 
 so far as the happiness earned by virtue 
 comes from internal sources, it will lie in 
 the pleasurable emotion attending virtuous 
 action, or in the absence of remorse, or in 
 some effect on the mental constitution of 
 the agent produced by the maintenance of 
 virtuous habits. — Sidgwick, ' Methods of 
 Ethics' (second edition), p. 148. 
 
 The majority of disciples assure us that 
 the secular sanctions of utilitarianism are 
 sufiicient to establish their theory, or in 
 other words, that our duty coincides so 
 strictly with our interest, when rightly 
 understood, that a perfectly prudent man 
 
DUTY. 
 
 431 
 
 ■would necessarily become a perfectly vir- 
 tuous man. Bodily vice, they tell us, ulti- 
 mately brings bodily weakness and suffering. 
 Extravagance is followed by ruin ; un- 
 bridled passions by the loss of domestic 
 peace ; disregard for the interests of others 
 by social or legal penalties ; while on the 
 other hand, the most moral is also the 
 most tranquil disposition; benevolence is 
 one of the truest of our pleasures, and 
 virtue may become by habit an essential 
 of enjoyment. 
 
 This theory of the perfect coincidence of 
 virtue and interest rightly understood, con- 
 tains no doubt a certain amount of truth, 
 but only of the most general kind. The 
 virtue which is most conducive to happiness 
 is plainly that which can be realised without 
 much suffering, and sustained without much 
 effort. The selfish theory of morals applies 
 only to the virtues that harmonise with 
 the individual's temperament, and not to 
 that much higher form of virtue which 
 is sustained in defiance of temperament. 
 There ai-e men whose whole lives are spent in 
 willing one thing and desiring the opposite. 
 In such cases as these, virtue clearly in- 
 volves a sacrifice of happiness ; for the 
 suffering caused by resisting natural ten- 
 dencies is much greater than would ensue 
 from their moderate gratification. The 
 plain truth is that no proposition can be 
 more palpably and egregiously false than 
 the assertion that, as far as this world is 
 concei-ned, it is invariably conducive to the 
 happiness of a man to pursue the most 
 virtuous career. Circumstances and dis- 
 positions will make one man find his highest 
 liappiness in the happiness, and another 
 man in the misery, of his kind ; and if the 
 second man acts according to his interest, 
 the utilitarian, however much he may de- 
 plore the result, has no right to blame or 
 condemn the agent. — Lecky, ' Eurojpean 
 Morals,'' i. 59-63 (abridged). 
 
 The Moral Law is Independent of its 
 Sanctions. 
 
 It is undeniably true, that moral obli- 
 gations would remain certain, though it 
 
 were not certain what would, upon the 
 whole, bo the consequences of observing 
 or violating them. For, these obligations 
 arise immediately and necessarily from the 
 judgment of our own mind, unless per- 
 verted, which Ave cannot violate without 
 being self-condemned. And they would be 
 certain too, from considerations of interest. 
 For though it were doubtful what will be 
 the future consequences of virtue and vice ; 
 yet it is, however, credible, that they may 
 have those consequences which religion 
 teaches us they will : and this credibility is 
 a certain obligation iu point of prudence, 
 to abstain from all wickedness, and to live 
 in the conscientious jiractice of all that is 
 good. — Butler, '■Analogy^ pt. i. eh. vii 
 
 II. DUTY. 
 The Conception of Duty. 
 
 Duty defined. 
 
 Duty is that action to which a person 
 is bound. Duty is hence the matter of 
 obligation ; and there may be one duty, in 
 so far as the act is concerned, although 
 different modes in which the obligation 
 may be constituted, i.e., juridical or ethical. 
 — Kant, ^ Metaphysic of Ethics,'' p. 171. 
 
 Duty is the necessity of an act, out of 
 reverence felt for law. — Kant, ' ILdaijhysie 
 of Ethics,' p. II. 
 
 Duty is that which we ought to do — that 
 which we are under obligation to do. In 
 seeing a thing to be right, we see at the 
 same time that it is our duty to do it. 
 There is a complete synthesis between 
 rectitude and obligation. — Fleming, * Vocah. 
 of Phil.,' p. 148. 
 
 Duty is that which is due from one to 
 another. My duty is that which I owe to 
 another, according to the means I have in 
 my power. Here the measure of my duty 
 is my power; and the special ground of 
 duty lies in the exact relation in which 
 I stand to the other party. — Murphy, 
 ' Human Mind,' p. 193. 
 
 Duty, according to Paley, imj)lies in all 
 
432 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 cases a command issuing from a superior, 
 who has attached to obedience or disobedi- 
 ence pleasure or pain ; and the supreme 
 law-git'er, whose commands are the basis 
 of duty, is God. — Ueherweg, ^ Hist, of Phil., ^ 
 ii. 91. 
 
 The notions of Duty and Right Conduct, 
 as commonly employed, do not coincide 
 altogether. There is certainly some right 
 conduct, and that very necessary and im- 
 portant, to which we do not generally 
 apply the notion of duty. For example, 
 it is right that we should eat and drink 
 enough ; but we do not commonly speak of 
 this as a duty. It would appear that those 
 actions to which we are sufficiently impelled 
 by natural desire are not called duties, 
 because no moral impulse is needed for 
 doing them. In the last century, when 
 our country was thought to require more 
 population, it was often seriously said to be 
 a man's duty to society to take a wife : but 
 now that the opposite view prevails, and 
 the ' surplus population ' presents itself as a 
 difficulty to be met, no one would call this 
 action a duty, except in jest or as a relic of 
 an old manner of speech. We shall there- 
 fore keep most close to usage if we define 
 Duties as ' those Right actions or abstin- 
 ences, for the adequate accomplishment of 
 which a moral impulse is at least occasion- 
 ally necessary.' — Sidgwick, 'Methods of 
 Ethics,^ p. 190. 
 
 The Conception elevated by Christ. 
 
 Christ hath shown man what is good. 
 Duty is transfigured by its connection with 
 redemption : ' Ye are not your own.' It 
 finds its standard in Jesus ; its sphere in 
 His kingdom ; and its one object in the 
 Redeeming Triune God. — Pope, * Christian 
 Tlieologyj' iii. 166. 
 
 Suhlimity of the idea of Didy. 
 
 Duty ! thou great, thou exalted name ! 
 Wondrous thought, that workest neither 
 by fond insinuation, flattery, nor by any 
 threat, but merely by holding up thy naked 
 law in the soul, and so extorting for thyself 
 always reverence, if not always obedience, 
 
 — before whom all appetites are dumb, 
 however secretly they rebel, — whence thy 
 original ? And where find we the root of 
 thy august descent, thus loftily disclaiming 
 all kindred with appetite and want ? to be 
 in like manner descended from which root 
 is the unchanging condition of that worth 
 which mankind can alone impart to them- 
 selves ? — /irt«f, ' Metajphysic of Ethics,' 
 p. 127. 
 
 Kant extols duty as a sublime and great 
 name, that covers nothing which savours 
 of favouritism or insinuation, but demands 
 submission, threatening nothing which is 
 calculated to excite a natural aversion in 
 the mind, or designed to move by fear, but 
 merely preventing a law which of itself 
 finds universal entrance into the mind of 
 man, and which even against the will of 
 man wins his reverence, if not always his 
 obedience — a law before which all inclina- 
 tions grow dumb, even though they secretly 
 work against it. — Ueherweg, ' Hist, of Phil.,' 
 ii. 184. 
 
 Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
 The Godhead's most benignant grace : 
 Nor know we anything so fair 
 As is the smile upon thy face : 
 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds ; 
 And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
 Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ; 
 And the most ancient heavens, thro' thee, 
 are fresh and sti"ong. 
 
 — Wordsworth, ' Ode to Duty.'' 
 
 Duty and Virtue distinguished from each 
 other. 
 
 Duties are actions, or courses of action, 
 considered as being right. Virtues are the 
 habits of the soul, by which we perform 
 duties. We approve duty, but we esteem and 
 admire and love virtue. Virtue and duty 
 differ, as the habit and act ; as the internal 
 disposition, and the outward manifestation. 
 — Whewell, 'Elements of Morality,' pp. 56, 
 97- 
 
 Virtue is a species of excellence : and we 
 do not regard behaviour as excellent when 
 
DUTY 
 
 433 
 
 it is such as the majority of mankind would 
 exhibit, and sucli as a man would be 
 severely blamed for not exhibiting. Be- 
 tween the actions for which a person is 
 praised and those for which he is blamed, 
 there seems to be an intermediate region, 
 where the notion of duty applies, but not 
 that of virtue. We should scarcely say 
 that it was virtuous to pay one's debts, or 
 keep one's aged parents from starving : 
 because these are duties which most men 
 perform, and only bad men neglect. Again, 
 there are excellent actions which we do not 
 commonly call duties, though we praise 
 men for doing them : as for a rich man to 
 live very plainly and devote his income to 
 works of public beneficence. At the same 
 time the lines of distinction are very doubt- 
 fully drawn on either side : for we certainly 
 call men virtuous for doing what is strictly 
 their duty. — Sidgickl; ^Methods of Ethics,'' 
 p. 191. 
 
 Duty is also used as necessarily implying 
 that view of morality which may con- 
 veniently be called jural, the looking at 
 ethics as a system of rules or laws. In 
 this sense duty may be regarded as an 
 idealisation of law. "We note the following 
 characteristics of duty when used in this 
 way as distinguished from virtue, (i.) It 
 is conceived as distinct and explicit. (2.) 
 It takes cognisance, not of any risings 
 above, but only of fallings below the stan- 
 dard — ' We may fail in oiu' duty, but we 
 cannot do more than our duty. Thus 
 while virtue is a scale rising indefinitely 
 upwards, duty is a scale descending down- 
 wards.' And (3.) unlike virtue, it is con- 
 ceived as involving a second party to whom 
 we owe something, and a third party with 
 an enforcing power. — Grote, ^ Moral Idcah,' 
 ch. vii. (abridged). 
 
 Didy as did inguished from Prudence and 
 Interest. 
 
 Prudence is self- surrenderto the strongest 
 impulse; Duty is self-surrender to the 
 highest. 
 
 Prudence, in a world morally constituted, 
 where sin has to be visited, and a scale of 
 
 authority to be felt, will bo different from 
 what it else would be, and have now 
 elements of pain to deal with ; Duty will 
 modify Prudence by adding fi-osh terms to 
 her problem ; not that Prudence, out of 
 its own essence, can ever constitute Duty. 
 — Miirtincau, '■Types of Ethical Theory,' ii. 
 69, 71. 
 
 The Classification of Duties. 
 
 Duties, according to the Stoics, are 
 respectively duties to self and duties to 
 others. The former concern the preserva- 
 tion of self. The latter concern the re- 
 lations of individuals socially. — Schiceyler, 
 ^ Hist 0/ Phil.,' p. 129. 
 
 The ordinary common-sense view divides 
 duties into duties towards God, towards 
 one's neighbour, and towards one's self. 
 But this classification is not altogether 
 satisfactory, because all duties are in a 
 sense duties towards God. If we leave out 
 this as a separate head, excellences of 
 conduct may be brought under two classes, 
 extra-regarding and self-regarding. But 
 the lines of demarcation are not, it must 
 be confessed, very clear. Even drunken- 
 ness and suicide ai'e considered to be 
 offences against the family of the man who 
 commits them, as well as against himself. 
 Perhaps, however, this is the best available 
 classification. Under the head of extra- 
 reyardiny Duties we should bring Benevo- 
 lence, Justice, and Truth : under the head 
 of self-regarding we should bring Temper- 
 ance, Purity, Courage, and Prudence. — 
 Ryland, 'Handbook, ^c.,' p. 150. 
 
 Duties depend upon the social position 
 of men, and other like conditions. There 
 are duties of parents and children, of hus- 
 bands and wives, of friends, of neighbours, 
 of magistrates, of members of various 
 bodies and professions. There belong to 
 each man the duties of his station. Our 
 duties, so far as they regard our special 
 relations to particular persons, may be 
 termed our relative duties. — Whcicell, ' Ele- 
 ments of Morality,' p. 99. 
 
434 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The Fulfilment of Duty. 
 
 Is best guaranteed by love. 
 
 The best gUcarantee for a faithful pursuit 
 of virtue is an intense love of it. — SuIIu, 
 
 'Sensations, ^'c,' P- i5°- 
 
 Is above all consequences. 
 
 So far is the calculation of consequences 
 from being an infallible, luiiversal criterion 
 of Duty, that it never can be so in any in- 
 stance. Only when the voice of Duty is 
 sUent, or when it has already spoken, may 
 we allowably think of the consequences of 
 a particular action, and calculate how far 
 it is likely to fulfil what Duty has en- 
 joined, either by its general laws or by a 
 specific edict on this occasion. But Duty 
 is above all consequences, and often, at a 
 crisis of difficulty, commands us to throw 
 them overboard. Fiat Justitia ; pereat Mun- 
 dus. It commands us to look neither to the 
 right nor to the left, but straight onward. 
 Hence every signal act of Duty is alto- 
 gether an act of Faith. It is performed in 
 the assurance that God will take care of the 
 consequences, and Avill so order the course 
 of the world that, whatever the immediate 
 results may be, His word shall not return 
 to Him empty. — ' Guesses at Truth,' p. 508. 
 
 Motive and Intention. 
 
 Bentlianis distinction between them. 
 
 Bentham draws a distinction, which it is 
 of prime importance to note, between the 
 Motive and the Iniention of a voluntary act. 
 The Intention comprises the whole contem- 
 plated operations of the act, both those for 
 the sake of which, and those in spite of 
 which, we do it. The Motive comprises 
 only the former. Now, as these can be 
 notbing but some pleasures or advantages 
 intrinsically worth having, and allowable 
 where there is no set-off on the other side, 
 there can be no such thing as a bad motive; 
 the thief and the honest trader both have 
 the same spring to their industry, the love 
 of gain ; and if that were all, both would 
 be equally respectable. The difference lies 
 in the residuary part of the intention, viz., 
 
 the privation and injury to others, which 
 fails to restrain the thief and does restrain 
 the merchant. To judge, therefore, of the 
 morality of an act, we must look, Bentham 
 insists, not at the motive in particular, but 
 at its ichole intetition ; and we must pro- 
 nounce every act right (relatively to the 
 agent) which is perfoi-med with intention 
 of consequences predominantly pleasurable. 
 —Martineau, ' Types of Ethical Theory,' ii. 
 252, 253. 
 
 If the merit of an action depends on no 
 other circumstance than the quantity of 
 good intended by the agent, then the recti- 
 tude of an action can in no case be in- 
 fluenced by the mutual relations of the 
 parties, — a conclusion contradicted by the 
 universal judgment of mankind in favour 
 of the paramount obligations of various 
 other duties. It is sufficient to mention 
 the obligations of gratitude, of veracity, 
 and of justice. Unless we admit these 
 duties to be iinmediately obligatory, we 
 must admit the maxim, that a good end 
 may sanctify any means necessary for its 
 attainment; or, in other words, that it 
 would be lawful for us to dispense with 
 the obligations of veracity and justice 
 whenever by doing so we had a prospect 
 of promoting any of the essential interests 
 of society. — Steicart, ' Philosop^hy of Moral 
 Powers' ' TForA-s,' vii. 231. 
 
 Rewards and Punislinients. 
 
 Represented by Paley as the basis of moral 
 obligation. 
 
 Let it be asked, Why am I obliged to 
 keep my word? and the answer will be, 
 Because I am ' urged to do so by a \dolent 
 motive (namely, the expectation of being, 
 after this life, rewarded if I do, and pun- 
 ished for it if I do not), resulting from 
 the command of another ' (namely, of God). 
 Paley, 'Moral PhUosophy,' bk. ii. ch. iii. 
 
 Virtue is the doing good to mankind, 
 in obedience to the will of God, and for 
 the sake of everlasting happiness.— Pa7e^, 
 ' Moral Philosopiliy,' bk. i. ch. vii. 
 
DUTY. 
 
 435 
 
 Reicards arc not sanctions. 
 
 Rewards are indisputably molii'es to com- 
 ply with the wishes of others. But to talk 
 of commands and duties as sanctioned or 
 enforced by rewards, or to talk of rewards 
 as ohliging or constraining to obedience, is 
 surely a wide departure from the estab- 
 lished meaning of the term. ... If a law 
 holds out a reward as an inducement to do 
 some act, an eventual right is conferred, 
 and not an obligation imposed, upon those 
 who shall act accordingly, — the imperative 
 part of the law being addressed or directed 
 to the party whom it requires to render 
 the reward. — Attstin, * Jurisprndence,^ Lec- 
 ture I. 
 
 Punishment, according to Bain, the com- 
 mencement of moral ohligati07i. 
 
 Authority, or punishment, is the com- 
 mencement of the state of mind recognised 
 under the various names — Conscience, the 
 Moral Sense, the Sentiment of Obligation. 
 The major part of every community adopt 
 certain rules of conduct necessary for the 
 common preservation, or ministering to 
 the common well-being. They tind it not 
 merely their interest, but the very condi- 
 tion of their existence, to observe a num- 
 ber of maxims of individual restraint, and 
 of respect to one another's feelings in re- 
 gard to person, property, and good name. 
 Obedience must be spontaneous on the part 
 of the larger number, or on those whose 
 influence preponderates in the society ; as 
 regards the rest, compulsion may be brought 
 to bear. Every one, not of himself dis- 
 posed to follow the rules presci-ibed by the 
 community, is subjected to some infliction 
 of pain, to supply the absence of other 
 motives, the infliction increasing in seve- 
 rity until obedience is attained. It is 
 familiarity with this regime of compul- 
 sion, and of suffering constantly increas- 
 ing until resistance is overborne, that 
 plants in the infant and youthful mind 
 the first germ of the sense of obliga- 
 tion. — Bain, ' Emotions and the Wdt,' p. 
 467. 
 
 Satisfaction and Remorse. 
 
 Darwin's theonj tf the evolution of con- 
 science. 
 
 At the moment of action, man will no 
 doubt be apt to follow the .stronger impulse : 
 and though this may occasionally prompt 
 him to the noblest deeds, it will more com- 
 monly lead him to gratify his own desires 
 at the expense of other men. But after 
 their gratification, when pa.st and weaker 
 impressions are judged by the ever-enduring 
 social instinct, and by his deep regard for 
 the good opinion of his fellows, retribution 
 will surely come. He will then feel re- 
 morse, repentance, regret, or shame; this 
 latter feeling, however, relates almost ex- 
 clusively to the judgment of others. He 
 will consequently resolve more or less firmly 
 to act differently for the future ; and this 
 is conscience ; for conscience looks back- 
 wards, and serves as a g".ide foi the future. 
 
 The nature and strength of the feelings 
 which we call regret, shame, repentance, 
 or remorse, depend apparently not only on 
 the strength of the violated instinct, but 
 partly on the strength of the temptation, 
 and often still more on the judgment of 
 our fellows. How far each man values the 
 appreciation of others, depends on the 
 strength of his innate or acquired feeling 
 of sympathy ; and on his own capacity for 
 reasoning out the remote consequences of 
 his acts. Another element is most impor- 
 tant, although not necessary, the reverence 
 or fear of the Gods, or spirits, believed in 
 by each man : and this applies especially 
 in cases of remorse. — ' Descent of Man,' p. 
 114. 
 
 Dr. Martineau's criticism of if. 
 
 I am far from denying that the process 
 here described really takes place : the 
 question is, whether the feeling in which 
 it issues is identical with the moral senti- 
 ment of which it professes to give an ac- 
 count. The whole stress of the explanation 
 is thrown upon a time-measure : a short 
 want is gratified : a long one is disap- 
 pointed : so, the disappointment survives, 
 
436 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 and that is all. But, surely these condi- 
 tions may occur, without a trace of the 
 phenomenon which is the object of our 
 quest. The incidents of outward nature 
 may realise them without any human will 
 at all. Do you say, ' Of course it is under- 
 stood that, in order to give rise to the 
 feeling in question, the agent must himself 
 be the cause of the evil deplored 1 ' Yery 
 well : then that feeling must be something 
 more than * regret,' and be directed upon 
 something more special than the difference 
 between a brief enjoyment and a long suffer- 
 ing; and, instead of using indifferently 
 the words 'remorse ' and ' regret,' we must 
 investigate their specific difference. Let, 
 then, the action proceed, not from the 
 external elements, but from myself : and 
 suppose that I regard myself as strictly 
 a part of the organism of nature, a wheel 
 
 of given function in its mechanism, with 
 movement determined by its contiguous 
 part, and transmitting the permeating 
 energy to the ulterior, only with conscious- 
 ness of the successive pulses of change as 
 they occupy and use me. If this conscious 
 intelligence of what goes on within me be 
 all that differences me from the outward 
 world, will it supply what is wanting to 
 turn regret into remorse 1 Surely not : if 
 there is no help for me but to go with the 
 short instinct because it is stronger, and 
 then be disappointed with the long one be- 
 cause it has been weaker, my regret will be 
 just as much a necessitated pain, as if not 
 one of the causal links had passed my inner 
 consciousness. I am simply a victim of the 
 major vis, to which my conscience has 
 nothing to say. — ' Types of Ethical Theory,'' 
 "• 389. 390. ' 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE VIRTUES. 
 
 I. INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES. 
 Wisdom. 
 
 Its place among the virtues. 
 
 Wisdom was always placed by the Greek 
 philosophers first in the list of virtues, and 
 regarded as in a manner comprehending 
 all the others : in fact, in the post-Aristo- 
 telian schools the notion of the Sage or 
 ideally Wise man ((To<^os) was regularly em- 
 ployed to exhibit in a concrete form the 
 rules of life laid down by each system. — 
 Sidgwick, ^Methods of Ethics,' p. 229. 
 
 Only Practical Wisdom can he classed as 
 a Virtue. 
 
 In common Greek usage the tei"m (rfoc^o:) 
 would signify excellence in purely specula- 
 tive science, no less than practical wisdom ; 
 and the English term Wisdom has, to some 
 c\-s.tent, the same ambiguity. It is, how- 
 
 ever, chiefly used in reference to practice ; 
 and even when applied to the region of 
 pure speculation, suggests especially such 
 intellectual gifts and habits as lead to somid 
 practical conclusions : namely, comprehen- 
 siveness of view, the habit of attending 
 impartially to a number of diverse con- 
 siderations difficult to estimate exactly, and 
 skill in determining the relative importance 
 of each. At any rate, it is only Practical 
 Wisdom which we commonly class among 
 Virtues, as distinguished from purely intel- 
 lectual excellences. — Sidgicicl; ' Methods of 
 Ethics,' p. 229. 
 
 Aristotle's tivo hinds of icisdom. 
 
 ' Wisdom ' we, in the case of the arts, 
 ascribe to those whose knowledge of their 
 specific art is most absolutely exact ; as, 
 for example, when we call Phidias a ' wise ' 
 sculptor, and Polyclitus a ' wise ' statuary, 
 
7A' TELLE C T UA L 1 7/C TUE S. 
 
 437 
 
 meaning by this use of the word * wisdom ' 
 nothing more than the highest perfection 
 of which art is capable ; while in some 
 cases again we say that a man is ' wise ' in 
 a general sense, and without reference to 
 any such specific knowledge as is implied 
 in the phrase 'wise in nought else,' used 
 by Homer in the Margites — 
 
 ' Him neither ditcher made the gods nor plough- 
 man, 
 Nor wise in aught besides.' 
 
 And hence it is clear that ' wisdom,' used 
 as the equivalent of philosophy, will signify 
 the most absolutely exact scientific know- 
 ledge; so that the philosopher must not 
 only be assured of the truth of his conclu- 
 sions, as being deducible from such or such 
 principles, but must further be assured that 
 bis principles are absolutely true. — ' Ethics,' 
 bk. vi. chap. vii. (Williams's translation). 
 
 Prudence. 
 
 Ohjecis of its preference. 
 
 The objects of prudential preference are 
 the effects of action upon us. Shall we 
 smart for what we do ? or shall we gain 
 by it ? shall we suffer loss, shall we profit 
 more, by this cause, or by thai ? These are 
 the questions, and the only ones, that are 
 asked in the counsels of prudence. Happi- 
 ness, security, content, so far as they are 
 under human command, are there the grand 
 ends in view, decisive of every alternative. 
 We ask not about the affection it is good 
 to start from, but about the result it is plea- 
 sant to tend to, and choose accordingly. — 
 Martineau, ' Types of Ethical Theory,' ii 65. 
 
 Distinguished from moral judgment. 
 
 Prudence is an affair o^ foresight : moral 
 judgment of insight. The one appreciates 
 what will he ; the other, what immediately 
 is : the one decides between future desir- 
 able conditions ; the other, between present 
 inward solicitations. — Martineau, ' Types of 
 Ethical Theory,' ii. 66. 
 
 Prudence cannot constitute duty. 
 Prudence, out of its own essence, can 
 never constitute Dutv. Mere sentient sus- 
 
 ceptibility, filtered however fine, gives no 
 moral consciousness ; but a moral con.scious- 
 ness, like every other, cannot fail to bo 
 attended by joys and sorrows of its own. 
 Where the susceptibility of conscience is 
 already acute, its sufTorings or satisfactions 
 will be considerable enough for prudence 
 to consult; and tlie good man would be 
 a fool were he other than good. But in 
 proportion as the moral consciousness is 
 obtuse, its pain and pleasure, being fainter, 
 may be neglected with greater impunity; 
 Prudence may make up her accounts, throw- 
 ing away such inappreciable fractions ; and 
 a bad man, without conscience, you cannot 
 call a fool for not acting as if he had one. 
 He neglects no elements of happiness about 
 which he cares ; and a career which would 
 make better men miserable brings him no 
 distress. Compunction he escapes by his 
 insensibility ; the sentiments of others are 
 indifferent to him, so long as he holds his 
 place among companions on his own level ; 
 and, short of the physiological penalties 
 of nature and the direct punishments of 
 human law, there is nothing to restrain 
 him, on prudential grounds, from following 
 the bent of his predominant inclinations. 
 Nothing therefore seems vainer than the 
 attempt to work moral appeals by force of 
 self-interest, and to induce a trial of virtue 
 as a discreet investment. To good men 
 your argument is convincing, but superflu- 
 ous ; to the bad, who need it, it is unavail- 
 ing, because false. If you cannot speak 
 home to the conscience at once, condescend 
 to no lower plea : to reach the throne-room 
 of the soul. Divine and holy things must 
 pass by her grand and royal entry, and 
 will refuse to creep up the backstairs of 
 greediness and gain. — Martineau, ^ Types of 
 Ethical Theory,' ii. 71. 
 
 Paley's distinction between jj^ndence and 
 duty. 
 
 There is always understood to be a differ- 
 ence between an act of prudence and an act 
 of duty. Thus, if I distrusted a man who 
 owed me a sum of money, I should reckon 
 it an act of prudence to get another person 
 
438 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 bound with him ; but I should hardly call 
 it an act of duty. On the other hand, it 
 would be thought a very unusual and loose 
 kind of language, to say that, as I had 
 made such a promise, it was prudent to 
 perform it; or that, as my friend, when 
 he went abroad, placed a box of jewels in 
 my hands, it would be prudent in me to 
 preserve it for him till he returned. 
 
 Now, in what, you will ask, does the 
 difference consist? inasmuch as, according 
 to our account of the matter, both in the 
 one case and the other, in acts of duty as 
 well as acts of prudence, we consider solely 
 what we ourselves shall gain or lose by the 
 act. 
 
 The difference, and the only difference 
 is this, that, in the one case, we consider 
 what we shall gain or lose in the present 
 world ; in the other case, we consider also 
 what we shall gain or lose in the world to 
 come. — '■Moral and Political Philosophy,'' 
 bk. ii. ch. iii. 
 
 Prudence as the Will in its search for 
 happiness. 
 
 Recognising evil and good in the distance, 
 we work for remote ends, no less than for 
 present sensations and emotions. We have 
 before us the catalogue of possible evils, 
 on one hand, and of possible pleasures on 
 the other, and we know, at the same time, 
 which of the two we are more likely to find 
 on our path. We are aware, too, of certain 
 objects that will afflict and pain us in an 
 extraordinary degree, and of certain other 
 objects that will give us an intense flow of 
 pleasure. All these different sources and 
 varieties of the two great opposing inspira- 
 tions play alternately upon our voluntary 
 mechanism, and give the direction to our 
 labours and pursuits. We are constantly 
 avoiding physical injuries, organic disease, 
 cold, hunger, exhaustion, fatigue, and the 
 list of painful sensations and feelings ; we 
 are seeking after the opposite of all these 
 generally, while we are devoted with express 
 assiduity to something that has a distin- 
 guishing charm to our minds. These are 
 the motives personal to each individual, 
 
 suggested by the contact of each one's sus- 
 ceptibilities with surrounding things. The 
 upshot of the whole, the balance struck in 
 the midst of conflict, is the course of pru- 
 dence and the search for happiness, that we 
 should severally steer by, if left entirely to 
 ourselves. The stronger impulses of our 
 nature would have their ascendency in- 
 creased by repetition, and our character 
 would be made up from those two great 
 sources — the original promptings and the 
 habits. — Bain, ^Emotions and the Will,' pp. 
 460, 461. 
 
 II. THE MOEAL VIRTUES- 
 ANCIENT. 
 
 Justice. 
 
 The Aristotelian Theory. 
 
 Justice and Injustice are used in two 
 senses, — a larger sense and a narrower 
 sense. 
 
 In the larger sense, just hehaviour is 
 equivalent to the observance of law gene- 
 rally; unjust behaviour is equivalent to 
 the violation of law generally. But the 
 law either actually does command, or may 
 be understood to command, that we should 
 perform towards others the acts belonging 
 to each separate head of virtue : it either 
 actually prohibits, or may be understood 
 to prohibit, us from performing towards 
 others any of the acts belonging to each 
 separate head of vice. 
 
 Justice, in this sense, is the very fulness 
 of virtue, because it denotes the actual ex- 
 ercise of virtuous behaviour towards others : 
 ' There are many who behave virtuously in 
 regard to their own personal affairs, but 
 who are incapable of doing so in what re- 
 gards others.' Justice in the narrower 
 sense is that mode of behaviour whereby a 
 man, in his dealings with others, aims at 
 taking to himself his fair share and no 
 more of the common objects of desire, and 
 willingly consents to endure his fair share 
 of the common hardships. 
 
 Justice in this narrower sense is divided 
 into two branches : — i. Distributive Jus- 
 
THE MORAL VIRTUES. 
 
 439 
 
 I 
 
 tice. 2. Corrective Justice. — 'Grate's Aris- 
 fotle; p. 532. 
 
 The Utilitarian. 
 
 Justice, in the only sense in which it 
 has a meaning, is an imaginary personage, 
 feigned for the convenience of discourse, 
 whose dictates are the dictates of utility, 
 applied to certain particular cases. Justice, 
 then, is nothing more than an imaginary 
 instrument employed to forwai-d on certain 
 occasions and by certain means the pur- 
 poses of benevolence. The dictates of 
 justice are nothing more than a part of 
 the dictates of benevolence, which, on 
 certain occasions, are applied to certain 
 subjects, to wit, to certain actions. — Ben- 
 tham, 'Introduction, eye.,' p. 126. 
 
 Justice is a name for certain classes of 
 moral rules which concern the essentials of 
 human well-being more nearly, and are 
 therefore of more absolute obligation than 
 any other rules for the guidance of life ; 
 and the notion which we have found to be 
 of the essence of the idea of justice, that of 
 a right residing in an individual, implies 
 and testifies to this more binding obliga- 
 tion. — Mill, ' Utilitarianism,'' p. 88. 
 
 Hie Evolutional. 
 
 What is meant by justice 1 The special 
 case in regard to which the virtue first 
 emerges is that of a partial judge, and the 
 same principle will apply of course to all 
 other persons intrusted with power by the 
 organisation of the community. The judge, 
 again, is unjust so far as he acts from any 
 other considerations than those which are 
 recognised as legitimate by the legal consti- 
 tution. He has to declare the law, and to 
 apply it to particular cases without fear 
 or favour. He must, therefore, give the 
 same decision whether the persons in- 
 terested be friends or foes, relations or 
 strangers, rich or poor. And so extending 
 the principle we say that a minister is un- 
 just who distril)utes ofiices from other con- 
 siderations than the fitness of the applicants. 
 A parent is unjust who does not distribute 
 his property to his children equally. The 
 
 essence of jusliro, therefore, seems to bo 
 the uniform application of rules according 
 to rele%'ant circumstances ; or, as wo may 
 put it, it is an application to conduct of 
 the principle of sufiicient reason. Every 
 difference in my treatment of others must 
 be determined by some principle which is 
 in that case appropriate and sufficient. In 
 this sense, therefore, justice means reason- 
 ableness. — Stephen, ' Science of Ethics,' p. 
 212. 
 
 The Intuitional. 
 
 Justice consists in according to every one 
 his right. The word righteousness is used 
 in our translation of the Scripture in a 
 like extensive signification. As opposed to 
 equity, justice means doing merely what 
 positive law requires, while equity means 
 doing what is fair and right in the circum- 
 stances of every particular case. — Fleming, 
 ' Vocal), of Phil.,' p. 279. 
 
 Analysis of Justice. 
 
 Aristotle recognises two kinds of Justice 
 proper — Distributive and Corrective. The 
 former aims at ' equality,' or what is right 
 and fair, in distributing property, privi- 
 leges, and so on ; the latter restores 
 equality by reparation, when the other 
 kind of justice has been violated. 
 
 Our common notion of justice includes 
 the following elements :— (i) Mere Impar- 
 tiality in carrying out distribution; (2) 
 Reparation for injury; (3) Conservative 
 Justice, or ol)servance of those relations, 
 determined by law and custom, which 
 regulate the greater part of our conduct 
 towards others ; (4) Ideal Justice. If we 
 look at these closely, we shall see that (i) 
 is simply an exclusion of irrational arbit- 
 rariness, partiality, and is so obvious as to 
 be unimportant; while we may refer (2) 
 to Benevolence, rather than Justice. There 
 remain two more important elements. By 
 Conservative Justice is meant the obser- 
 vance of law and contracts, and definite 
 understandings, and also the fulfilment of 
 natural and normal expectations. By Ideal 
 Justice is meant that kind of Justice which 
 
44° 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 is exhibited in right distribution; the 
 Standard, or Ideal, of just distribution 
 
 being sometimes Individualistic realisation 
 of Freedom (' just value ' made equivalent 
 to market value determined by free com- 
 petition) ; sometimes Socialistic, the prin- 
 ciple of rewarding Desert (' just value ' 
 cannot be determined by mere competition 
 of buyers, on this view). 
 
 To tabulate the results; the common 
 idea of Justice includes : — 
 
 1. Impartiality. 
 
 2. Reparation for injuries ( = Bene- 
 volence. 
 
 / i. In observance of 
 j laws and contracts, and 
 definite understand- 
 
 Conservative 
 Justice. 
 
 mgs; 
 
 ii. In fulfilment of 
 natural and normal 
 expectations. 
 
 , . , ^. ^ ((a.)TheIndividual- 
 
 which there appear to )^ ' . . 
 
 be two distinct con- \ ,-. . ^. J • t .• 
 
 \ (h.) The Sociahstic. 
 ceptions. V ^ ' 
 
 — Ri/Iand, ' Handhooli, 4"C.,' p. 151- 
 Justice may be distinguished as ethical, 
 economical, and political. The first consists 
 in doing justice between man and man, as 
 men ; the second, in doing justice between 
 the members of a family or household ; 
 and the third, in doing justice between 
 the members of a community or common- 
 wealth.— i^/emn^r, 'Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 279. 
 The idea of justice supposes two things ; 
 a rule of conduct, and a sentiment which 
 sanctions the rule. The first must be 
 supposed common to all mankind, and 
 intended for their good. The other (the 
 sentiment) is a desire that punishment 
 may be suffered by those who infringe the 
 rule. Justice implies something which it 
 is not only right to do, and wrong not to 
 do, but which some individual person can 
 claim from us as his moral right. And 
 the sentiment of justice appears to me to 
 be, the animal desire to repel or retaliate a 
 hurt or damage to oneself, or to those with 
 whom one sympathises. — Mill, * Utilitari- 
 anism,' pp. 75, 79. 
 
 [Revenge is usually said to be ' a perver- 
 sion of the desire for justice; but Mill 
 reverses this order, and explains Justice 
 by Revenge.'] 
 
 Mistakes in Regard to Justice. 
 
 Justice is not identical ivitli law. 
 
 Justice is not founded in law, as Hobbes 
 and others hold, but in our idea of what is 
 right. And laws are just or unjust in so 
 far as they do or do not conform to that 
 idea. — Fleming, '■Vocal, of Phil.,' p. 279. 
 
 To say there is nothing just or unjust 
 but what is commanded or prohibited by 
 positive laws, is like saying that the radii 
 of a circle were not equal till you had 
 drawn the circumference. — Montesquieu, 
 ' Spirit of Laws,' bk. i. ch. i. 
 
 We do not mean by Justice merely 
 conformity to Law. For, first, we do not 
 always call the violators of law unjust, 
 but only of some laws : not, for example, 
 duellers or gamblers. And secondly, we 
 often judge that Law does not completely 
 realise Justice : our notion of Justice fur- 
 nishes a standard with which we compare 
 actual laws, and pronounce them just or 
 unjust. And, thirdly, there is a part of 
 just conduct which lies outside the sphere 
 of Law : for example, we think that a 
 father may be just or imjust to his children 
 in matters where the law leaves (and ought 
 to leave) him free. — Sidgwick, ^Methods of 
 Ethics,' p. 263. ^ 
 
 Hume affirms that the rules of justice vary 
 with men's state and condition. 
 
 The rules of equity or justice depend 
 entirely on the particular state and con- 
 dition in which men are placed, and owe 
 their origin and existence to that Utility 
 which results to the public from their strict 
 and regular observance. Reverse, in any 
 considerable circumstance, the condition of 
 men : Produce extreme abundance or ex- 
 treme necessity : Implant in the human 
 breast perfect moderation and humanity, 
 or perfect rapaciousness and malice : By 
 rendering justice totally useless, you thereby 
 
THE MORAL VIRTUES. 
 
 441 
 
 totally destroy its essence, and suspend its 
 obligation upon mankind. — Hume, ^ PJiilu- 
 sophical WurliU,' iv. 183. 
 
 Hxime's statement is sufficient/// outrageous 
 to answer itself. After judgment 2^ronounccd, 
 justice becomes a passioii. 
 
 We are accustomed to represent justice 
 as neutral and impartial, holding the scales. 
 It is so in the department of evidence, 
 because a criminal is not a criminal till he 
 is proved to be one. But guilt once proved, 
 and standing in its own colours before us, 
 justice takes a side ; she is a partisan and 
 a foe ; she becomes retributive justice, and 
 desires the punishment of guilt. Justice 
 then becomes an appetite and a passion, 
 and not a discriminating principle only. 
 "We see this in the natural and eager in- 
 terest which the crowd takes in the solemn 
 proceedmgs of our courts, — in the relish 
 with which they contemplate the judge in 
 his chair of state ; confiding in him as the 
 guardian of innocence and avenger of guilt; 
 and the satisfaction with which the final 
 sentence upon crime is received, resembles 
 the satisfaction of some bodily want — 
 hunger or thirst or desire for repose. — 
 Mozley, ' Old Test. Lectures,'' p. 90. 
 
 Courage, Fortitude. 
 Aristotle's Definition of Courage. 
 
 The courageous man is afraid of tnmgs 
 such as it befits a man to fear, but of no 
 others : and even these he will make head 
 against on proper occasions, when reason 
 commands, and for the sake of honour, 
 which is the end of virtue. To fear no- 
 thing, or too little, is rashness or insanity : 
 to fear too much, is timidity : the coura- 
 geous man is the mean between the two, 
 who fears what he ought, when he ought, 
 as he ought, and with the right views and 
 purposes. — Grate's ^Aristotle,' p. 530. 
 
 Sources of Courage. 
 
 These are : — (i.) Physical vigour of con- 
 stitution, which resists the withdrawal of 
 the blood from the organic functions. (2.) 
 
 The Active or Energetic Temperament, or 
 tlio presence in largo quantity of wliat the 
 shock of fear tends to destroy. (3.) The 
 Sanguine Temperament, which, being a 
 copious fund of emotional vigour, shown in 
 natural buoyancy, fulness of animal spirits, 
 manifestations of warm sociability, and the 
 like, is also the antithesis of depressing 
 agencies — whether mere pain or the aggra- 
 vations of fear. (4.) Force of Will, arising 
 from the power of the motives to equa- 
 nimity. (5.) Intellectual Force, which re- 
 fuses to be overpowered by the fixed idea 
 of an object of fright, and so serves to 
 counterbalance the state of dread. (6.) 
 Knowledge. The victories gained over 
 superstition in the later ages have been due 
 to the more exact acquaintance with nature. 
 Pericles, instructed in astronomy under 
 Anaxagoias, rescued his army from the 
 panic of an eclipse, by a familiar illustra- 
 tion of its true cause. — Bain, ' Mental and 
 Moral Science,^ p. 238. 
 
 Two Aspects of Courage. 
 
 A clear line should be drawn between 
 two aspects of courage. The one is the 
 resistance to Fear properly so-called ; that 
 is, to the perturbation that exaggerates 
 coming evil — a courageous man, in this 
 sense, is one that possesses the true mea- 
 sure of impending danger, and acts accord- 
 ing to that and not according to an exces- 
 sive measure. The other aspect of courage 
 is that which gives it all its nobleness as a 
 virtue, namely. Self-sacrifice, or the delil)crate 
 encountering of evil for some honourable 
 or virtuous cause. When a man know- 
 ingly risks his life in battle for his country, 
 he may be called courageous, but he is still 
 better described as a heroic and devoted 
 man. — Bain, ' Mental and Moral Science,^ 
 p. 4S9. 
 
 TeMI'ERANCK. 
 
 Aristotle's Definition of Temperance. 
 
 Temperance is the observance of a ra- 
 tional medium with respect to the pleasure 
 of eating, drinking, and sex. Aristotle 
 
442 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 seems to be inconsistent when he makes 
 it to belong to those pleasures in which 
 animals generally partake, for other ani- 
 mals do not relish intoxicating liquoi'S ; 
 unless, indeed, these are considered as rank- 
 ing under drinJc generally. The temperate 
 man desires these pleasures as he ought, 
 when he ought, within the limits of what is 
 honourable, and, having a proper reference 
 to the amount of his own pecuniary means, 
 just as right reason prescribes. To pursue 
 them more is excess j to pursue them less 
 is defect. There is, however, in estimating 
 excess and defect, a certain tacit reference 
 to the average dispositions of the many. 
 
 ' Wherefore the desires of the temperate 
 man ought to harmonise with reason, for the 
 aim of both is the honourable. And the 
 temperate man desires what he ought, and 
 as he ought, and when : and this, too, is the 
 order of reason.' — Grate's ^Aristotle,' ^. 531. 
 
 Nature and Sphere of Temperance. 
 
 The gratification of the Appetites or 
 Bodily Desires, to a certain extent, and 
 under certain conditions, is requisite for 
 the continuance of the individual and of 
 the species, and therefore is not vicious. 
 These desires, being mere attributes of the 
 body, cannot have of themselves a moral 
 character. They are to be controlled by 
 moral rules, and made subservient to moral 
 affections, and thus are the mateinals of 
 virtues. The habits of thus controlling 
 the bodily desires constitute the virtues of 
 Temperance and Chastity. — Whewell, ^Ele- 
 ments of Morality,'' p. 86. 
 
 Temperance is moderation as to pleasure. 
 Aristotle confined it chiefly to pleasures 
 of touch, and of taste in a slight degree. 
 Hence, perhaps. Popish writers, in treat- 
 ing of the vices of intemperance or luxury, 
 dwell much on those connected with the 
 senses of touch and taste. By Cicero, the 
 Latin word tem^yerantia was used to de- 
 note the duty of self-government in general. 
 
 Temperance was enumerated as one of 
 the four cardinal virtues. It may be mani- 
 fested in the government and regulation of 
 
 all our natural appetites, desires, passions, 
 and affections, and may thus give birth to 
 many virtues and restrain from many vices. 
 As distinguished from fortitude, it may be 
 said to consist in guarding against the 
 temptations to pleasure and self-indulg- 
 ence ; while fortitvide consists in bearing 
 up against the evils and dangers of life. — 
 Fleming, ' Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 512. 
 
 It is Necessary to Health. 
 
 It is prudent to be temperate, because 
 temperance is necessary to health. The 
 primary objection to drunkenness is that 
 it injures the constitution ; and if I prove 
 from purely medical considerations that 
 certain drinks are injurious and others in- 
 nocuous, the rule deduced is a law of pru- 
 dence, and consequently a part of morality. 
 Stephen, ' Science of Ethics,' p. 190. 
 
 Its Connection with Courage and Energy. 
 
 Courage and Energy generally are, of 
 course, clearly connected with temperance ; 
 and so far as courage is regarded as a vir- 
 tue, the slothfulness and indifference which 
 spring from all forms of intemperance in- 
 cur a share of the contempt bestowed upon 
 the quality which is their natural fruit. 
 — Stejjhen, ^Science of Ethics,' p. 192. 
 
 Intemperance — its Social Evils. 
 
 It damages affection. 
 
 Sensuality implies selfishness. A man's 
 love of his bottle is so much deducted from 
 his love of his wife and children. So far 
 as he is taken up with the gratification of 
 his appetites, there is less room for the de- 
 velopment of his affections. A coward and 
 a sluggard may be affectionate, though his 
 affection will be comparatively useless to 
 its objects ; but in a sensual character the 
 affections are killed at the root. He is in- 
 capable of really loving, as well as of being 
 useful to those whom he loves. — Stephen, 
 ^Science of Ethics,' p. 193. 
 
 If I try to sum up the consequences of 
 gluttony, I shall probably think first of the 
 evils to health, of the consequences in the 
 shape of gout, indigestion, and so forth. 
 
MORAL VIRTUES— EXPANDED IN CHRISTIAN TEACHING. 443 
 
 But this gives a very imperfect measure of 
 the social evils of gluttony. The differ- 
 ence between the glutton and the tem- 
 perate man is not that one is more exposed 
 than the other to certain diseases, or that 
 in consequence of the diseases he is less 
 capable of strenuous activity. It is also 
 that the man who is a slave of his belly is 
 less capable of all the higher affections, of 
 intellectual pleasures, or a?sthetic and re- 
 fined enjoyments, and presumably selfish 
 and incapable of extensive sympathies. — 
 Stephen, ^ Scieiice of Ethics,'' p. 200. 
 
 It renders men iiseless. 
 
 The intemperate man, according to the 
 common phrase, is an enemy to no one but 
 himself. We have, as we fancy, no right 
 to object to him so long as he only makes 
 a beast of himself in private. But both 
 the spendthrift and the drunkard are really 
 mischievous. A man whose vice injures 
 only himself in the first place becomes also, 
 by a necessary consequence, incapable of 
 benefiting others. If he is an enemy to 
 himself alone, he is also a friend to him- 
 self alone. The opium-eater, for example, 
 paralyses his will; so far as he becomes 
 incapable of energetic action he is unfitted 
 for every social duty, and so far as he be- 
 comes the slave of his appetite becomes 
 also unfitted for the social sentiments. — 
 Steiilien, '■Science of Ethics,' p. 194. 
 
 III. MORAL VIRTUES— EXPANDED 
 IN CHRISTIAN TEACHING. 
 
 Reverexce. 
 Definition. 
 
 Reverence we may define as the feeling 
 which accompanies the recognition of Supe- 
 riority or Woi 1 in others. It does not 
 seem to be necessarily in itself benevolent, 
 though often accompanied by some degree 
 of love. But its ethical characteristics seem 
 analogous to those of benevolent affection, 
 in so far as, while it is not a feeling directly 
 imder the control of the will, we yet expect 
 it under certain circumstances, and morally 
 
 dislike its absence, and perhaps commonly 
 consider the expression of it to be some- 
 times a duty, even when the feeling it.self 
 is absent. — Sidgtricl; 'Methods (f Etliics^ 
 p. 252. 
 
 Revei'ence is a name for high admiration 
 and deferential regard, without implying 
 authority. "We may express reverence and 
 feel deference to a politician, a philanthro- 
 pist, or a man of learning or science. — 
 Bain, '■Mental and Moved Science,' p. 249. 
 
 How it is Developed. 
 
 The feeling seems to be naturally excited 
 by all kinds of superiority : not merely 
 moral and intellectual excellences, but also 
 superiorities of rank and position : and in- 
 deed in the common behaviour of men it is 
 to the latter that it is more regularly and 
 formally rendered. — Sidgivicl; ' Methods of 
 Ethics,' p. 252. 
 
 Reverence grows out of a sense of con- 
 stant dependence. It is fostered by that 
 condition of religious thought in which men 
 believe that each incident that befalls them 
 Is directly and specially ordained, and when 
 every event is therefore fraught with a 
 moi'al import. It is fostered by that con- 
 dition of scientific knowledge in which every 
 portentous natural phenomenon is supposi'il 
 to be the result of a direct divine interposi- 
 tion, and awakens in consequence emotions 
 of humility and awe. It is fostered in that 
 stage of political life when loyalty or rever- 
 ence for the sovereign is the dominating 
 passion, when an aristocracy, branching 
 forth from the throne, spreads habits of 
 deference and subordination through every 
 village, when a revolutionary, a democratic, 
 and a sceptical spirit are alike unknown. — 
 Lechj, '■European Morals,' i, 148. 
 
 It is a Necessary Element in Great Excel- 
 lence. 
 
 There are few persons who are not con- 
 scious that no character can attain a 
 supreme degree of excellence, in which a 
 reverential spirit is wanting. Of all the 
 forms of moral goodness it is that to which. 
 
444 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 the epithet beautiful may be most emphati- 
 cally applied. Yet the habits of advancing 
 civilisation are, if I mistake not, on the 
 whole inimical to its growth. — Lechy, ^Euro- 
 pean Morals,' i. 148. 
 
 Reverence for Sacred Things and for God. 
 
 There are some things in which we may 
 well envy the members of the Church of 
 Rome, — in nothing more than in the rever- 
 ence which they feel for whatever has been 
 consecrated to the service of their religion. 
 It may be, that they often confound the 
 sign with the thing signified, and merge 
 the truth in the symbol. We, on the other 
 hand, in our eagerness to get I'id of the 
 signs, have not been careful enough to pre- 
 serve the things signified. "We have some- 
 times hurt the truth, in stripping ofif the 
 symbols it was clothed in. — ' Guesses at 
 Truth,' p. 510. 
 
 Truth is the basis, as it is the object of 
 reverence, not less than it is of every other 
 virtue. Reverence prostrates herself before 
 a greatness, the reality of which is obvious 
 to her ; but she would cease to be reverence 
 if she could exaggerate the greatness which 
 provokes her homage, not less surely than 
 if she could depreciate or deny it. The 
 sentiment which, in contemplating its object, 
 abandons the guidance of fact for that of 
 imagination, is disloyal to that honesty of 
 purpose, which is of the essence of rever- 
 ence ; and it is certain at last to subserve 
 the pur]30ses of the scorner and the spoiler. 
 Even a slight swerving from truth must 
 be painful to genuine reverence. — Liddon, 
 ^ Barnjjton Lectures,' -p. 268. 
 
 Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
 But more of reverence in us dwell ; 
 That mind and soul, according well, 
 
 May make one music as before. 
 
 — Temujson, ' In Memoriam.' 
 
 Bexevolence. 
 Its Nature. 
 
 Explained. 
 
 There is a natural principle of benevol- 
 ence in man, which is in some degree to 
 
 society what self-love is to the individual. 
 And if there be in mankind any disposition 
 to friendship ; if there be any such thing 
 as compassion, for compassion is momentary 
 love ; if there be any such thing as the 
 paternal or filial affections ; if there be any 
 affection in human nature, the object and 
 end of which is the good of another ; this 
 is itself benevolence or the love of another. 
 — Butler, 'Sermons,' i. 
 
 Benevolence, which is an object of moral 
 approbation, is a fixed and settled dis- 
 position to promote the happiness of our 
 fellow- creatures. It is peculiar to a rational 
 nature, and is not to be confounded with 
 those kind affections which are common to 
 us with the brutes. These are subsidiary, 
 in fact, to the principle of Benevolence ; 
 and they are always amiable qualities in a 
 character : but so far as they are consti- 
 tutional, they are certainly in no respect 
 meritorious. 
 
 Where a rational and settled Benevolence 
 forms a part of a character, it will render 
 the conduct perfectly uniform, and will ex- 
 clude the possibility of those inconsistencies 
 that are frequently observable in indivi- 
 duals who give themselves up to the guid- 
 ance of particular affections, either private 
 or public. In truth, all those ofiices, 
 whether apparently trifling or important, 
 by which the happiness of other men is 
 affected, — Civihty, Gentleness, Kindness, 
 Humanity, Patriotism, Universal Benevol- 
 ence, — are only diversified expressions of 
 the same disposition, according to the cir- 
 cumstances in which it operates, and the 
 relations which the agent bears to others. 
 — Stewart, ' Outlines of Moral Philosophy,' 
 ' Wo7'ks,' vi. 79. 
 
 Two Jcinds. 
 
 Benevolence naturally divides into two 
 kinds, the general and the particular. 
 The first is, where we have no friendship, 
 or connection, or esteem for the person, 
 but feel only a general sympathy with him, 
 or a compassion for his pains, and a con- 
 gratulation with his pleasures. The other 
 
MORAL VIRTUES— EXPANDED IN CHRISTIAN TEACHING. 445 
 
 species of benevolence is founded on an 
 opinion of virtue, on services done us, or on 
 some particular connexions. — Hume, 'Philo- 
 sophical WorliS,' iv. 268. 
 
 Its main constituent. 
 
 In Benevolence, the main constituent is 
 Sympathy, which is not to be confounded 
 with Tenderness. Sympathy prompts us 
 to take on the pleasures and pains of other 
 beings, and act on them as if they were our 
 own. — Bain, 'Mental and Moral Science,^ 
 p. 244. 
 
 It is not the ichole of virtue. 
 
 Benevolence, and the want of it, singly 
 considered, are in no sort the whole of 
 virtue and vice. For if this were the case, 
 in the review of one's own character or 
 that of others, our moral understanding 
 and moral sense would be indifferent to 
 everything but the degrees in which bene- 
 volence prevailed, and the degrees in which 
 it was wanting. That is, we should neither 
 approve of benevolence to some persons 
 rather than to others, nor disapprove in- 
 justice and falsehood upon any other ac- 
 count, than merely as an overbalance of 
 happiness was foreseen likely to be produced 
 by the first and of misery by the second. — 
 Butler, 'Dissertation,^ i. 
 
 The doctrine of virtue, as consisting in 
 benevolence, false as it is when maintained 
 as universal and exclusive, is yet, when 
 considered as having the sanction of so 
 many enlightened men, a proof at least of 
 the very extensive diffusion of benevolence 
 in the modes of conduct which are denomi- 
 nated virtuous. It may not, indeed, com- 
 prehend all the aspects under which man 
 is regarded by us as worthy of our moral 
 approbation, but it comprehends by far the 
 greater number of them, — his relations to 
 his fellow-men, and to all the creatures that 
 live around him, though not the moral rela- 
 tions which liind him to the Greatest of all 
 beings, nor those which are directly woi-thy 
 of our approbation, as confined to the perfec- 
 tion of his own internal character. — Broivn, 
 ' Lectures on Ethics,'' p. 2^^, Lecture 86. 
 
 Regarded l»j s(»ne as a sujn-eme virtue. 
 
 In modern times, since the revival of in- 
 dependent ethical speculation, there have 
 always been thinkers who have maintained, 
 in some form, the view that Benevolence is 
 a supreme and architectonic virtue, com- 
 prehending and smnmiug up all the others, 
 and fitted to regulate them and determine 
 their proper limits and mutual relations. 
 The phase of this view most current at 
 present would seem to be Utilitarianism. — 
 Sidgwicl; ' The Methods of Ethics,' p. 236. 
 
 It does not exclude self dove. 
 
 That any affection tends to the happiness 
 of another, does not hinder its tending to 
 one's own happiness too. That others 
 enjoy the benefit of the air and the light 
 of the sun, does not hinder but that these 
 are as much one's own private advantage 
 now, as they would be if we had the pro- 
 perty of them exclusive of all others. So a 
 pursuit which tends to promote the good of 
 another, yet may have as great tendency to 
 promote private interest, as a pursuit which 
 does not tend to the good of another at all, 
 or which is mischievous to him. All par- 
 ticular affections whatever equally lead to 
 a course of action for their own gratifica- 
 tion, i.e., the gratification of ourselves ; and 
 the gratification of each gives delight. — 
 Butler, ' Sermojis,' xi. 
 
 Benevolent Affections. 
 
 Enumerated. 
 
 (i.) Compassion or Pity: this means 
 sympathy with distress, and usually sup- 
 poses an infusion of tender feeling. (2.) 
 Gratitude : this is inspired by the receipt 
 of favours. Its foundation is sympathy ; 
 and its ruling principle, the complex 
 idea of justice. — Bain, ' Mental and Moral 
 Science,' p. 245. 
 
 The object of benevolence. 
 
 As man is .so much limited in his capa- 
 city, a.s so small a part of the creation 
 comes under his notice and influence, and 
 as we are not used to consider things in so 
 
446 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 general a way ; it is not to be tlionght of 
 that the universe should be the object of 
 benevolence to such creatures as we are. 
 The object is too vast. For this reason 
 moral writers also have substituted a less 
 general object for our benevolence, man- 
 kind. But this likewise is an object too 
 general, and very much out of our view. 
 Therefore persons more practical have, in- 
 stead of mankind, put our country; and 
 made the principle of human virtue to 
 consist in the entire uniform love for our 
 country. But this is speaking to the upper 
 part of the world. Kingdoms and govern- 
 ments are large ; and the sphere of action 
 of far the greatest part of mankind is much 
 narrower than the governments they live 
 under. There plainly is wanting a less 
 general and nearer object of benevolence 
 for the bulk of men. Therefore the Scrip- 
 ture, not being a book of theory and specu- 
 lation, but a plain rule of life for mankind, 
 has with the utmost possible propriety put 
 the principle of virtue upon the love of our 
 neighbour. — Butler, ' Sermons,'' xii, 
 
 Tlie duty of cultkating Benevolence. 
 
 The general maxim of Benevolence would 
 be commonly said to be, ' that we ought to 
 love all our fellow- men,' or, ' all our fellow- 
 creatures : ' but there is some doubt among 
 moralists as to the precise meaning of the 
 term 'love ' in this connection : since, accord- 
 ing to Kant and others, what is morally 
 prescribed as the Duty of Benevolence is 
 not strictly the affection of love or kindness, 
 so far as this contains an emotional element, 
 but only the determination of the will to 
 seek the good or happiness of others. And 
 I agi-ee that it cannot be a strict duty to 
 feel an emotion, so far as it is not directly 
 within the power of the will to produce it 
 at any given time. Still it seems to me 
 paradoxical to deny that this emotional 
 element is included in our common notion 
 of Charity or Philanthropy, regarded as a 
 Virtue : or that it adds a higher excellence 
 to the mere beneficent disposition of the 
 will, as resulting in more excellent actions. 
 If this be so, it will be a duty to cultivate 
 
 the affections so far as it is possible to do 
 so : and indeed this would seem (no less 
 than the permanent disposition to do good) 
 to be a normal effect of repeated beneficent 
 resolves and actions. Even the poets and 
 popular moralisers have observed that a 
 benefit tends to excite love in the agent 
 towards the person benefited, no less than 
 in the latter towards the agent. It must 
 be admitted, however, that this effect is 
 less certain than the production of the 
 disposition ; and that some men are natur- 
 ally so unattractive to others that these 
 can feel no affection towards them, though 
 they may entertain benevolent dispositions 
 of will. At any rate, it would seem to be 
 a duty generally, and till we find the effort 
 fruitless, to cultivate kind affections to- 
 wards those whom we ought to benefit ; 
 not only by doing kind actions (which are 
 immediately a duty, and therefore need not 
 be prescribed as a means to an end), but by 
 placing ourselves under any natural influ- 
 ences which experience shows to have a 
 tendency to produce affection. — Sidg icicle, 
 'Methods of Ethics,' pp. 236, 237. 
 
 Utilitarianism cannot formidate a logical 
 theory of Benevolence. 
 
 A theory of Benevolence is logically 
 unattainable under a utilitarian system. 
 Since Bentham's time, Utilitarianism has 
 given prominence to benevolence, making 
 'the greatest happiness of the greatest 
 number ' its standard of i-ectitude. But in 
 this it has amended its ethical form only 
 by the sacrifice of logical consistency. If 
 happiness is the sole end of life, it must be 
 the happiness of that Hfe to which it is the 
 end. To make the happiness of others the 
 end of individual life, is to leave the utili- 
 tarian basis by deserting the theory of life 
 on which it rests. Utilitarianism is in the 
 very singular position of professing itself 
 a theory of luiiversal benevolence, and yet 
 laying its foundations on the groimd that 
 personal happiness is the sole end of life. 
 To do good to others for the sake of our 
 own happiness, is, however, compatible 
 with the theory; but this is not benevo- 
 
MORAL VIRTUES— EXPANDED IN CHRISTIAN TEACHING. 447 
 
 lence. — Caldencood, 'Moral Pliilosophii,' 
 p. 136. 
 
 Gratitude, 
 Gratitude is a Benevolent Affection. 
 
 It implies a sense of kindness done or 
 intended, and a desire to return it. It is 
 sometimes also characterised as a moral 
 affection, because the party cherishing it 
 has the idea that he who did or intended 
 kindness to him has done right and deserves 
 a retui-n. — Fleming, 'Vocab. of Phil.,' p. 
 212. 
 
 Gratitude seems generally to combine 
 kindly feeling with some sort of emotional 
 recognition of superiority, as the giver of 
 benefits is in a position of superiority to 
 the receiver. — Sidgivick, ^Methods of Ethics,' 
 p. 258. 
 
 The receipt of favour inspires Gratitude ; 
 of which the foundation is sympathy, and 
 the ruling principle the complex idea of 
 Justice. Pleasure conferred upon us by 
 another human being, immediately prompts 
 the tender response. With whatever power 
 of sjTnpathy we possess, we enter into the 
 pleasures and pains of the person that has 
 engaged our regards. The highest form of 
 gratitude, which leads us to reciprocate 
 benefits and make acknowledgments, in 
 some proportion to the benefits conferred, 
 is an application of the principle of Justice. 
 Bain, ' Mental Science,' p. 245. 
 
 It is a variety of generosity. 
 
 Gratitude is a variety of generosity, with 
 its indefinite profusion, however, brought 
 to some approximate measure by the extent 
 of the favour conferred ; for, though it 
 repudiates all nice calculations and insists 
 on an ad libitum range, yet it spends itself 
 and rests in natural equilibrium, when the 
 requital seems in correspondence with the 
 gift. How this correspondence is to be 
 reached, it may be difficult to decide; 
 whether by estimating the effort of the 
 giver, or the service to the receiver, or by 
 framing a compound ratio of the two ; or 
 by leaving the whole adjustment to the 
 
 invisible intensity of the affection. But, 
 in any case, the allection, however ex- 
 pressed, will be owned as a debt on the one 
 side, without being held as a claim on the 
 other. As it lies in the very essence of 
 the affection to accept this paradox of love, 
 it is defective in any one who cannot rest 
 in so generous a relation, but is uneasy till 
 he rids himself of the debt, and o])tains 
 his discharge.— J/rtr//«ca?i, ' Types of Ethical 
 Theory,' ii. 229, 230. 
 
 The duty of gratitude. 
 
 It is universally recognised. 
 
 The duty of requiting benefits seems to 
 be recognised wherever morality extends : 
 and Intuitionists have justly pointed to 
 this recognition as an instance of a truly 
 universal intuition. — Sidgwicl; ' Methods of 
 Ethics,' p. 258. 
 
 It is in some cases hard to perform. 
 
 To persons of a certain temperament this 
 feeling is often peculiarly hard to attain ; 
 owing to their dislike of the position of 
 inferiority : and this again we consider a 
 right feeling to a certain extent, and call 
 it ' independence ' or ' proper pride ' : but 
 this feeling and the effusion of gratitude 
 do not easily mix. — Sidgivick, 'Methods of 
 Ethics,' p. 258. 
 
 Gratitude is the rarest of all the virtues. 
 — Lange. 
 
 The j^encdty of disregarding it. 
 
 Sorrow, care, and discontent with life 
 have very often their foundation in un- 
 thankfulness, in a state of mind that will 
 only make claims, but not give thanks. 
 Many men would have been preserved from 
 the abyss of melancholy into which they 
 sunk, could they only have taken heart to 
 thank God. 
 
 Not to recognise and value what is truly 
 valuable, not to admire it, not to wish to 
 thank for it, is a sentiment that leads to 
 inward desolation and unfruitfulness. — 
 Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,' pp. 3 85, 
 247. 
 
448 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Tlie pleasure of cherishing it. 
 
 There is not a more pleasing exercise of 
 mind than Gratitude. It is accompanied 
 with such an inward satisfaction that the 
 duty is sufficiently rewarded by the per- 
 formance. It is not like the practice of 
 many other virtues, difficult and painful, 
 but attended with so much pleasure, that, 
 were there no positive command which en- 
 joined it, nor any recompense laid up for it 
 hereafter, a generous mind would indulge 
 in it, for the natural gratification which 
 accompanies it. — Addison, ' Spectator,' No. 
 453- 
 
 21 le debt of gratitude can he paid only to 
 the living. 
 
 Let us not forget, that if honour be for 
 the dead, gratitude can only be for the 
 living. He who has once stood beside the 
 grave, to look back upon the companionship 
 which has been for ever closed, feeling how 
 impotent there, are the wild love and the 
 keen sorrow, to give one instant's pleasure 
 to the pulseless heart, or atone in the lowest 
 measure to the departed spirit for the hour 
 of unkindness, will scarcely for the future 
 incur that debt to the heart, which can only 
 be discharged to the dvist. But the lessons 
 which men learn as individuals, they do not 
 learn as nations. Again and again they 
 have seen their noblest descend into the 
 grave, and have thought it enough to 
 garland the tombstone when they had not 
 crowned the brow, and to pay honour to 
 the ashes which they had denied to the 
 spirit. — Ruskin, ^Modern Painters,' sec. i. 
 chap. i. § 5. 
 
 Pity, or Compassion. 
 Definitions. 
 
 Compassion is a call, a demand of nature, 
 to relieve the unhappy; as hunger is a 
 natvu-al call for food. — Butler, ' Upon Com- 
 passion,' Serm. II. 
 
 Pity is the imagination or fiction of future 
 calamity to ourselves, proceeding from the 
 sense of another man's calamity. — Hohbes, 
 '■Human Nature,' chap ix, sec. 10. 
 
 Offi.ce of comjjassion. 
 
 Since in many cases it is very much in 
 our power to alleviate the miseries of each 
 other ; and benevolence, though natural in 
 man to man, yet is in a very low degree 
 kept down by interest and competitions ; 
 and men, for the most part, are so engaged 
 in the business and pleasures of the world, 
 as to overlook and turn away from objects 
 of misery ; which are plainly considered as 
 interruptions to them in their way, as in- 
 truders upon their business, their gaiety 
 and mirth ; compassion is an advocate 
 within us in their behalf, to gain the 
 unhappy admittance and access, to make 
 their case attended to. — Butler, ' Upon Corn- 
 passion,' Serm. II. 
 
 How selfish soever man may be supposed, 
 there are evidently some principles in his 
 nature, which interest him in the fortunes 
 of others, and render their happiness neces- 
 sary to him, though he derives nothing 
 from it, except the pleasure of seeing it. 
 Of this kind is pity or compassion, the 
 emotion which we feel for the misery of 
 others, when we either see it, or are made 
 to conceive it in a very lively manner. 
 That we often derive sorrow from the 
 sorrow of others, is a matter of fact too 
 obvious to require any instances to prove 
 it ; for this sentiment, like all the other 
 original passions of human nature, is by 
 no means confined to the virtuous and 
 humane, though they pei-haps may feel it 
 with the most exquisite sensibility. The 
 greatest ruffian, the most hardened violator 
 of the laws of society, is not altogether 
 without it. — Smith, ' Theory of Moral Sen- 
 timents,' pt. i. sec. i. chap. i. 
 
 It impels us to relieve distress ; it serves 
 as a check on resentment and selfishness, 
 and the other principles which lead us to 
 injure the interests of others; but it does 
 not prompt us to the communication of 
 positive happiness. Its object is to relieve, 
 and sometimes to prevent, suffering, but not 
 to augment the enjoyment of those who 
 are already easy and comfortable. We are 
 disposed to do this by the general spirit of 
 
MORAL VIRTUES— EXPANDED IN CHRISTIAN TEACHING. 449 
 
 benevolence, but not by the particular affec- 
 tion of pity. — Stewart, ^ Philoi^opluj of the 
 Active Powers,' ' Worlcs,' vii. iSS. 
 
 Sympathy. 
 
 Its Nature is Power to enter into the 
 Feelings of Others. 
 
 Sympathy is to enter into the feelings of 
 another, and to act them out as if they 
 were our own. It is a species of involun- 
 tary imitation, or assumption of the dis- 
 plays of feeling enacted in our presence, 
 which is followed by the rise of the feel- 
 ings themselves. — Bain, ^Mental and Moral 
 Science,' p. 276. 
 
 Sympathy is implied in all our thoughts 
 about others. We think about other men 
 by becoming other men. We appropriate 
 provisionally their circumstances and emo- 
 tions. So far as I sympathise with you, 
 I annex your consciousness. — Stephen, 
 ' Science of Ethics,' p. 237. 
 
 Evolutional Theory of Sijrnj)athy. 
 
 Sympathy is begotten in the breasts of 
 many dumb animals, when they have 
 learned to recognise in their fellows the 
 outward signs of that which they remem- 
 ber as a condition of past distress for them- 
 selves. The ideal recurrence of such a 
 state, coupled with a perception implying 
 the similar present suffering of another, 
 prompts to actions for its relief. In such 
 exercise of mere brute sympathy we have 
 one of the most important germs of those 
 altruistic feelings which attain so much 
 breadth and power in higher races of man. 
 — BastiaJi, '■Brain, ^'c.,' p. 416. 
 
 Its Development. 
 
 Tlirough Affection. 
 
 Sympathy with Joys or Sorrows is a fine 
 element of human character. It originates 
 in the affection which we naturally have 
 towards others. All this, however, may 
 be a mere surface sensibility, as fleeting as 
 the play of features on the countenance, 
 or as the chasing of sunshine and shadow 
 
 on the mountain sides, very pleasant, but 
 evanescent, — as one observed of a sensitive 
 person, ever in smiles and tears, that lio 
 was a man of tenderness of nerve rjither 
 than of heart. Such persons feel for us, 
 but they do not stand by us ; they do not 
 help us. In genuine feeling, sympathy 
 is rooted and grounded in love, and is a 
 branch of love, and a grace of a high order. 
 We are commanded to * rejoice with them 
 that do rejoice, and weep with them that 
 weep.' 
 
 In it our heart beats responsive to the 
 hearts of others. We enter into their feel- 
 ings ; we identify ourselves with them. 
 Our very countenance is apt to take the 
 expression of the feeling into which we 
 enter. When we see others laugh, wo are 
 apt to laugh also. We weep with those 
 that weep. We are disposed to run with 
 those that run. We flee with those that 
 flee. When others are striking a blow, we 
 are inclined to lift our arm as if to do the 
 same. It is usually said that all this arises 
 from the principle of imitation. The cor- 
 rect account rather is, that we place our- 
 selves in the position of others, and are 
 thus led to act as they act. — M'Cosh, ' 'The 
 Emotions,' p. 133. 
 
 TliroiKjh the pleasure it yields. 
 
 If beings around him habitually mani- 
 fest pleasure and but rarely pain, sympathy 
 yields to its possessor a surplus of plea- 
 sure ; while, contrariwise, if little pleasure 
 is ordinarily witnessed and mucli pain, 
 sympathy yields a surplus of pain to its 
 possessor. The average development of 
 sympathy must, therefore, be regulated by 
 the average manifestations of pleasure and 
 pain in others. If the social state Ls such 
 that manifestations of pleasure predomi- 
 nate, sympathy will increase; since sympa- 
 thetic pleasures, adding to the totality of 
 pleasures enhancing vitality, conduce to 
 the physical prosperity of the most sympa- 
 thetic, and since the pleasures of sympathy, 
 exceeding its pains in all, lead to an exer- 
 cise of it which strengthens it. — Spencer, 
 ' Data of Elides,^ p. 244. 
 
 2 F 
 
4?o 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 General co7iditions of development. 
 
 Sympathy supposes (i) one's own re- 
 membered experience of pleasure and pain, 
 and (2) a connexion in the mind between 
 the outward signs or expressions of the 
 various feelings and the feelings themselves. 
 We cannot sympathise beyond our expe- 
 rience, nor up to that experience, without 
 some power of recalling it to mind. The 
 child is unable to enter into the joys and 
 griefs of the grown up person ; the humble 
 day-labourer can have no fellow-feeling with 
 the cares of the rich, the great, the idle. 
 But sympathy is something more than a 
 mere scientific inference that another per- 
 son has come under a state of tenderness, 
 of fear, or of rage ; it is the being forcibly 
 possessed for the time by the very same 
 feeling. — Bahi, 'Mental Sciences,' p. 277. 
 
 Favouring circumstances. 
 
 The following are the chief circumstances 
 favourable to sympathy. (i.) Our being 
 disengaged at the time, or free from any 
 intense occupation or prepossession. (2.) 
 Oar familiarity with the mode of feeling 
 represented to us. The mother easily feels 
 for a mother. The timid man cannot 
 enter into the composure of the resolute 
 man. (3.) Our relation to the person de- 
 termines our sympathy ; affection, esteem, 
 reverence, attract our attention and make 
 us succumb to the influence of the mani- 
 fested feeling: hatred or dislike removes 
 us almost from the possibility of fellow- 
 feeling. (4.) The energy or intensity of 
 the language, tones, and gestures necessarily 
 determines the strength of the impression 
 and the prompting to sympathy. (5.) The 
 clearness or distinctness of the expression 
 is of great importance in inducing the state 
 on the beholder. This is the talent of the 
 actor and elocutionist. (6.) A suscepti- 
 bility to the displays of other men's feehngs. 
 — Bain, ^ Mental Science,'' p. 2 7 8. 
 
 Eelation of Sympathy to Imagination. 
 
 Its intensity is largely dependent on imagi- 
 native poioer. 
 
 What we commonly call sensibility de- 
 
 pends in a great measure on the power of 
 imagination. Point out to two men a man 
 I'educed by misfortune from easy circum- 
 stances to indigence. The one feels merely 
 in proportion to what he perceives by his 
 senses. The other follows in imagination 
 the unfortunate man to his dwelling, and 
 partakes with him and his family in their 
 domestic distress. He pictures the circle 
 of friends they had been forced to leave, 
 the flattering prospects they once indulged, 
 and all the various resources which delicacy 
 and pride suggest to conceal poverty from 
 the world. As he proceeds, he weeps, not 
 for what he sees, but for what he imagines. 
 Stewart, ' Works,' ii. 452. 
 
 There is no doubt in some persons a very 
 wonderful apprehension and divination of 
 that which others are thinking, imagining, 
 purposing. Those who really have that 
 gift we call men and women of genius. 
 Sympathy has much to do with genius, 
 pei'haps is the essence of it. — Maurice, • Tlie 
 Conscience,'' p. 33. 
 
 In sympathetic persons, representation 
 of the annoyance to be given is so vivid 
 that it often prevents them from doing or 
 sajdng unpleasant things which they see 
 ought to be done or said : the sentiment of 
 pity checks the infliction of pain, even un- 
 duly. In another class of cases, if an indi- 
 vidual is not highly imaginative, he may, 
 and often does, rid himself of the disagree- 
 able consciousness by getting out of sight 
 or hearing. But if his imagination is vivid, 
 and if he also sees that the suffering can 
 be diminished by his aid, then he cannot 
 escape from his disagreeable consciousness 
 by going away ; since the represented pain 
 continues with him, impelling him to return 
 and assist.— >Spe?icer, ' Principles of Psycho- 
 logy,' ii. 615. 
 
 In this way is explained the excitation of 
 sympathy hy imitation, and of imitcdion by 
 sympathy. 
 
 ' I have often remarked,' says Burke, 
 ' that on mimicking the looks and gestures 
 of angry or placid, or frightened or daring 
 men, I have involuntarily found my mind 
 
MORAL VIRTUES— EXPANDED IN CHRISTIAN TEACHING. 451 
 
 turned to that passion whose ap])oaranco I 
 endeavoured to imitate.' Here is an iui- 
 l)ortant fact, but it is not correctly stated ; 
 that which comes first is put hvst. The 
 only effective way of mimicking a passion 
 is to call up by the fancy an object or scene 
 iitted to awaken the feeling. 
 
 I rather think that sympathetic action 
 is to be accounted for very much in this 
 way : we put ourselves in the position of 
 others, by calling up by the idea the same 
 feelings, which go out in the same mani- 
 festations. Tears shed are apt to call forth 
 tears in the beholdei', or quite as readily 
 in the listener to the tale told which makes 
 us realise the position. It is the same with 
 laughter, which is apt to be echoed back 
 till the noise rings throughout a large as- 
 sembly. When a company as a whole is 
 moved, it is difficult for any person to keep 
 his composure. Au alarm of tire will spread 
 through a vast congregation, the greater 
 number of whom are actually cognisant of 
 no cause of fear. A panic started by a few 
 soldiers, who believe that they see danger, 
 will often seize a whole army, the great 
 body of whom know no ground for the 
 terror. It is easier for an orator, say a 
 preacher, if only he can get up feeling, to 
 move a large audience than a thin one. 
 There is a leflection of emotion from evexy 
 person upon every other. We call this 
 contagion, but it is contagion produced by 
 people's being led to cherish the same feel- 
 ings producing the same outward manifesta- 
 tion. The very contagion of disease is made 
 more powerful by persons being afraid of, 
 and so dwelling much on, the infection. — 
 ili'CWi, ' The Emotions,' p. 102. 
 
 The very aspect of happiness, joy, pro- 
 sperity, gives pleasure ; that of suffering, 
 pain, sorrow, communicates uneasiness. The 
 human countenance, says Horace, borrows 
 smiles or tears from the human countenance. 
 Reduce a person to solitude, and he loses 
 all enjoyment, except either of the sensual 
 or speculative kind ; and that because the 
 movements of his heart are not forwarded 
 by correspondent movements in his fellow 
 ci'eatures. The signs of sorrow and mourn- 
 
 ing, tliough arliilr.M y, affect us witli melan- 
 choly; but the natural syiiiptoiiis, (ear.s, 
 and cries, and groans nowv fail to infuso 
 compassion and uneasiness. — Iluiat', ' I'liilu- 
 sophical Works,' iv. 208. 
 
 If we have a feeling of trust in certain 
 persons, say our neighbours, or our friends, 
 or our party, or our associates, or our spe- 
 cial companions, then we are inclined to act 
 as they act, but by our coming to share 
 their feelings, their affections, and anti- 
 pathies. When we have a great admiration 
 towards any one for bis courage, or his 
 magnanimity, we are especially led to copy 
 him. A brave commander, by going before, 
 may be able to lead his troops into certain 
 death. We have all seen a noble gift, on 
 the part of an individual, calling forth the 
 plaudits and the liberality of many others. 
 — 3I'CosJi, ' The Emotions,' p. 103. 
 
 Imagination must he aided, however, hij 
 experience. 
 
 Higher representative power does not 
 involve greater commiseration, unless tliere 
 have been received painful experiences like, 
 or akin to, those which are witnessed. For 
 this reason strong persons, though they 
 may be essentially sympathetic in their 
 natures, cannot adequately enter into the 
 feelings of the weak. Never having been 
 nervous or sensitive, they are unable to con- 
 ceive the sufferings which chronic invalids 
 experience from small perturbing causes. — 
 Silencer, ^ Prim-ijiles of Psijchuiogy,' ii. 616. 
 
 Imagination determines the range of sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 The degree and range of sympathy de- 
 pend on the clearness and extent of repre- 
 sentation A sympathetic feeling is one 
 not immediately excited by the natural 
 cause of such a feeling, but one that is 
 mediately excited by the presentation of 
 signs habitually associated with such a feel- 
 ing. Consequently, it presupjwses ability 
 to perceive and combine these signs, as well 
 as ability to represent their implications, 
 external or internal, or both. So that 
 
452 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 there can be sympathy only in proportion 
 as there is power of representation. — 
 Spencer, ' Princij^les of Psi/cliology,' ii. p. 
 565- 
 
 The Umitation of sympatlnj. 
 
 The mere fact that any one is in pain 
 awakens our sympathy; but, unless the 
 causes and attendant circumstances come 
 home to us, the sympathy is neither per- 
 sistent nor deep. Pains that have ^never 
 afflicted us, that we know nothing of, that 
 are, in our opinion, justly or needlessly in- 
 curred, are dismissed from our thoughts as 
 soon as we are informed of the facts. The 
 tears shed by Alexander, at the end of his 
 conquests, probably failed to stimulate one 
 responsive drop in the most sensitive mind 
 that ever heard his story. — Bain, ' Mental 
 Science,' p. 280. 
 
 The Attractive Power of Sympathy. 
 
 With the sympathetic being every one 
 feels more sympathy than with others. 
 All conduct themselves with more than 
 usual amiability to a person who hourly 
 discloses a lovable nature. Such a one is 
 practically surrounded by a world of better 
 people than one who is less attractive. If 
 we contrast the state of a man possessing 
 all the material means to happiness, but 
 isolated by his absolute egoism, with the 
 state of an altruistic man, relatively poor in 
 means, but rich in friends, we may see that 
 various gratifications, not to be purchased 
 by money, come in abundance to the last 
 and are inaccessible to the first. — Spencer, 
 ' Data of Ethics, 'p. 212. 
 
 The craving for sympathy is the common 
 boundary-line between joy and sorrow. — 
 ' Guesses at Truth,' p. 530. 
 
 Pleasure of si/mpatliy. 
 
 Whatever may be the cause of sympathy, 
 or however it may be excited, nothing 
 pleases us more than to observe in other 
 men a fellow-feeling with all the emotions 
 of our own breast ; nor are we ever so 
 much shocked as by the appearance of the 
 
 contrary. Those who are fond of deduc- 
 ing all our sentiments from certain refine- 
 ments of self-love think themselves at no 
 loss to account, according to their own prin- 
 ciples, both for this pleasure and this pain. 
 Man, say they, conscious of his own weak- 
 ness and of the need which he has for the 
 assistance of others, rejoices whenever he 
 observes that they adopt his own passions, 
 because he is then assured of that assistance; 
 and grieves whenever he observes the con- 
 trary, because he is then assured of their op- 
 position. But both the pleasure and the pain 
 are always felt so instantaneously, and often 
 upon such frivolous occasions, that it seems 
 evident that neither of them can be derived 
 from any such self-interested consideration. 
 A man is mortified when, after having en- 
 deavoured to divert the company, he looks 
 round and sees that nobody laughs at his 
 jests but himself. On the contraiy, the 
 mirth of the company is highly agreeable 
 to him, and he regards this cori-espondence 
 of their sentiments with his own as the 
 greatest applause. — Smith, ' Theory of 
 Moral Sentiments,' pt. i., sec. i., chap. ii. 
 
 Purity. 
 
 This Virtue is nearly Identical with 
 Chastity. 
 
 The notion of Chastity is nearly equi- 
 valent to that of Purity, only somewhat 
 more external and superficial. — Sidgivick, 
 ^Methods of Ethics,' p. 330. 
 
 The Law of Purity. 
 
 It is the same for both sexes. 
 
 As society is founded biologically, or as 
 matter of life, on the union of the sexes ; 
 so is it founded ethically, or as matter of 
 rational combination, on the common appli- 
 cation of the same moral law to both sexes. 
 The obligation to physical, intellectual, and 
 moral purity is exactly the same for both, 
 and, being placed under common law, each 
 of the sexes is constituted the guardian of 
 purity in the other. — CaldenvooJ, ' Mural 
 Philosophy,' p. 265. 
 
MORAL VIRTUES— EXPANDED IN CHRISTIAN TEACHING. 453 
 
 Minute rules on tit is subject are to be 
 deprecated. 
 
 Any attempt to Liy down minute and 
 detailed I'ules on tliis subject seems to be 
 condemned by common sense, as tending to 
 defeat the end of purity : as such minute- 
 ness of moral legislation invites men in 
 general to exercise their thoughts on this 
 subject to an extent which is practically 
 dangerous. It was partly owing to the 
 serious oversight of not perceiving that 
 Purity itself forbids too minute a system 
 of rules for the observance of purity, that 
 the mediaeval casuistry fell into extreme, 
 and on the whole undeserved disrepute. — 
 Sidgioicl; 'Methods of Ethics,'' p. 331. 
 
 Tlie Standard of ruriti/ is independent 
 of laiv. 
 
 Chastity and fidelity are not to be made 
 by any law. ISTo state can force men 
 and women to marry, or really put down 
 licentious habits, even if it makes the 
 attempt ; and, on the other hand, the 
 marriage tie might be equally respected 
 in fact, even if there were no law in regard 
 to it. The law, in fact, recognises one 
 kind of association of the sexes, and 
 bestows certain privileges upon those who 
 are so associated, but it would be a hope- 
 less inversion of conseqixent and antecedent 
 to suppose that it can really originate it. — 
 Stephen, 'Science of Ethics,' p. 133. 
 
 Our common notion of purity implies a 
 standard independent of law : for con- 
 formity to this does not necessarily secure 
 purity. — Sidgicicli, 'Methods of Ethics,' 
 P- 331- 
 
 17ie Cltristian law of purity. 
 
 Our body was not given us to be the 
 instrument of our own pleasure. It is a 
 noble gift of God, and must fulfil its office, 
 according to the appointment of the Divine 
 Will. It is not a matter that we may 
 deal with at our own discretion ; it is the 
 instrument of our personality, and not our 
 absolute property. It is the image of our , 
 Creator; it is the temple in which the I 
 
 Holy Ghost carries on llis work; it is 
 ilostincd for immortality. Our treatment 
 of our boily is not a matter of indifference. 
 No one hiis a right selfishly to misu.so and 
 corrupt l)eforehand what is not his own, 
 but is to be another's. We ought not to 
 enter upon marriage merely to jn-eserve 
 our purity ; we ought also to maintain our 
 purity that we may marry with a good 
 conscience. — Lnthardt, 'Moral Truths,' p. 
 120. 
 
 The man who would sin if he could, is 
 as objectionable as the man who sins be- 
 cause he can. — Stephen, ' Science of Ethics,' 
 p. 192. 
 
 Its close connection with true manliness 
 and womanliness. 
 
 The man who uses his strength to defend 
 the purity of woman, performs the moral 
 part assigned to him in life, and he only is 
 manly in the true ethical sense. The man 
 who uses his power to corrupt woman, is 
 self-degraded, cruel, and cowardly. The 
 woman who, in receiving the i)rotecti()n 
 which is her birthright, uses her influence 
 to refine and elevate, performs her moral 
 part in life. She who uses her influence to 
 corrupt others, debases herself, and make.s 
 her life a moral anomaly, specially glaring 
 and offensive because of the refining influ- 
 ence intrusted to her keeping. — Calderwood, 
 ' Moral Philosophy,' p. 266. 
 
 The Utilitarian Theory is not Favourable 
 to Purity. 
 I will simply ask the reader to conceive 
 a mind from which all notion of the in- 
 trinsic excellence and nobility of purity 
 was banished, and to suppose such a mind 
 comparing, by a utilitarian standard, a 
 period in which sensuality was almost uu 
 bridled, such as the age of Athenian glory, 
 or the English restoration, with a period 
 of austere virtue. The question, which of 
 these societies was morally the best, would 
 thus resolve itself simply into the question, 
 in which there was the greatest amount 
 of enjoyment and the smallest amount of 
 
454 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 suffering. The pleasures of domestic life, 
 the pleasures resulting from a freer social 
 intercourse, the different degi-ees of suffering 
 inflicted on those who violated the law of 
 cliastity, the ulterior consequences of each 
 mode of life upon population, would be the 
 chief elements of the comparison. Can any 
 one believe that the balance of enjoyment 
 would be so unquestionably and so largely 
 on the side of the more austere society, as 
 to justify the degree of superiority which is 
 assigned to it ? — Leclnj, ' European Morals' 
 i. 51. 
 
 The Perception of Beauty Depends on 
 Purity of Mind. 
 It is necessary to the existence of an idea 
 of beauty, that the sensual pleasure which 
 may be its basis should be accompanied 
 first with joy, then with love of the object, 
 then with the perception of kindness in a 
 superior intelligence, finally, with thank- 
 fulness and veneration towards that intel- 
 ligence itself ; and as no idea can be at all 
 considered as in any way an idea of beavity, 
 until it be made vip of these emotions, any 
 more than we can be said to have an idea 
 of a letter of which we perceive the per- 
 fume and the fair writing, without rmder- 
 standing the contents of it, or intent of it ; 
 and as these emotions are in no way re- 
 sultant from, nor obtainable by, any opera- 
 tion of the Intellect ; it is evident that the 
 sensation of beauty is not sensual on the 
 one hand, nor is it intellectual on the other, 
 but is dependent on a pure, right, and open 
 state of the heart, both for its truth and for 
 its intensity, insomuch that even the right 
 after-action of the Intellect upon facts of 
 beauty so apprehended, is dependent on 
 the acuteness of the heart-feeling about 
 them. We see constantly that men having 
 naturally acute perceptions of the beauti- 
 ful, yet not receiving it with a pure heart, 
 nor into their hearts at all, never compre- 
 hend it, nor receive good from it, but make 
 it a mere minister to their desires, and ac- 
 companiment and seasoning of lower sen- 
 sual pleasures, until all their emotions take 
 the same earthly stamp, and the sense of 
 
 beauty sinks into the servant of lust,— 
 Ruskin, ^Modern Painters,' II. pt. iii. chap, 
 ii. § 8. 
 
 Truthfulness. 
 Statement of the Duty. 
 
 The duty of Truth is not to utter words 
 which might, according to common usage, 
 produce in other minds beliefs correspond- 
 ing to our own, but words which we believe 
 will have this result on the persons whom 
 we address. — Sidrjwicl; ' Methods of Ethics,' 
 
 V- 315- 
 
 Veracity is a term which must be re- 
 garded as including something more than 
 the simple avoidance of direct falsehood. 
 In the ordinary intercourse of life it is 
 readily understood that a man is offending 
 against truth, not only when he utters a 
 deliberate falsehood, but also when in his 
 statement of a case he suppresses or en- 
 deavours to conceal essential facts, or makes 
 positive assertions without having conscien- 
 tiously verified their grounds. — Lecky, 
 ^European Morals,' i. 143. 
 
 2^ruthfulness a icide princi/'le. 
 
 Not only lying, but every mode of con- 
 veying a false belief, is prohibited by tlie 
 principle of truth. This especially applies 
 when we convey a belief of our own inten- 
 tion in a matter affecting him whom we 
 address ; that is, when we make a promise. 
 We are bound by the duty of truth to 
 promise only what we intend to perform. 
 All deceit, fraud, duplicity, imposition, is 
 excluded by the duty of truth. — Wlieicdl, 
 'Elements of Moratity,' p. 121. 
 
 Necessity of this Virtue. 
 
 In social life. 
 
 It needs no demonstration that some 
 regard for truth is implied in the simplest 
 social state. Language is at once the pro- 
 duct of society, and essential to an}i;hing 
 that can be called a society. No mutual 
 understanding can exist without a com- 
 mimication of thought, of which language 
 
MORAL VIRTUES— EXPANDED IN CHRISTIAN TEACHING. 455 
 
 is the most perfect and the indispensal)le 
 instrument. To say that language is neces- 
 sary, is to say that truth is necessary, for 
 otherwise we should speak of signs which 
 have no signification. Lying itself is only 
 possible when some degree of mutual under- 
 standing has been reached, and truthfulness 
 is therefore an essential condition of all 
 social development. — StejjJien, ^Science of 
 Ethics,' p. 202. 
 
 All men have a right to our fidelity to 
 Truth. Society is based on this principle. 
 — Pope, * Chrisiian TheoJogij,' iii. 236. 
 
 In reasoning. 
 
 A conception of truth is implied in all 
 reasoning, for reasoning is nothing but a 
 perception of truth and error. — Stej)hen, 
 ^Science of Ethics,'' p. 206- 
 
 In literature. 
 
 How many faithful sentences are written 
 now ? that is, sentences dictated by a pure 
 love of truth, without any wish, save that 
 of expressing the truth fully and clearly, — • 
 sentences in which there is neither a spark 
 of light too much, nor a shade of darkness. 
 — 'Guesses at Truth,' p. 370. 
 
 Tti secret. 
 
 ' To thine own self be true, 
 And it must follow, as the day the night. 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man.' 
 Shcckesj)eare, ' Hamlet,' act i sc. 3. 
 
 Is the Law of Truth absolute ? 
 
 Recent Moralists ansvcr. Yes. 
 
 Kant regards it as a duty owed to one- 
 self to speak the truth, because ' a lie is an 
 abandonment, or, as it were, annihilation 
 of the dignity of man.' — Sidgtcicl; 'Methods 
 of Ethics,' p. 316. 
 
 The obligation of truthfulness is gene- 
 rally stated as absolute. Philosophers have 
 deduced all virtues from truth, and this 
 absoluteness of statement is favourable to 
 the method ; for, though purity and cour- 
 age give rise to rules which are almost 
 invariable, such as fidelity in marriage or 
 
 to military obedience, still they seem to 
 include an empii'ical element. The par- 
 ticular marriage law, for example, may 
 vary, and it is conceivable at least that 
 polygamy may bo the rule in one period 
 and monogamy in another, whilst the 
 decision as to the superiority of either rule 
 would depend upon variable conditions of 
 human life. The rule of truthfulness, on 
 the other hand, seems to possess the a 
 priori quality of a mathematical axiom. It 
 seems possible to say that it is always right 
 to speak the truth, as it is always true that 
 two and two make four. Truth, in short, 
 being always the same, truthfulness must 
 be unvarying. Thus, ' Be truthful ' means, 
 'Speak the truth whatever the conse- 
 quences, whether the teller or the hearer re- 
 ceives benefit or injury.' — Stephen, 'Science 
 of Ethics,' p. 205. 
 
 St. Augustine is the doctor of the great 
 and common view that all untruths are 
 lies, and that there can be no just cause of 
 untruth. — Newman, ' Apologia,' p. 349. 
 
 Great Moralists, however, have qtjinned the 
 contrary. 
 
 To tell a lie for charity, to save a man's 
 life, the life of a friend, of a husband, of a 
 prince, of a useful and a public person, hath 
 not only been done at all times, but com- 
 mended by great, and wise, and good meji. 
 Who would not save his father's life at the 
 charge of a harmless lie, from persecutors 
 and tyrants ? — Taylor. 
 
 There are falsehoods which are not lies, 
 that is, which are not criminal. — Paley. 
 
 The general rule is, that truth should 
 never be violated : there must, however, be 
 some exceptions. If, for instance, a mur- 
 derer should ask you which way a man is 
 gone. — Johnson. 
 
 It seems to me very dangerous, be it ever 
 allowable or not, to lie or equivocate in 
 order to preserve some great temporal oi- 
 spiritual benefit. As to Johnson's case of 
 a murderer asking you which way a msin 
 had gone, I .should liave anticipated that, 
 had such a ditiiculty happened to him, his 
 
456 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 first act would have been to knock the man 
 down, and to call out for the police; and 
 next, if he was worsted in the conflict, he 
 would not have given the ruffian the infor- 
 mation he asked at whatever risk to him- 
 self. I think he would have let himself be 
 killed first. I do not think that he would 
 have told a lie. — Newman, 'Apologia,' p. 361. 
 Better die than lie. — Tennyson, ' Queen 
 Mary.' 
 
 Truth. 
 
 Is universally admired. 
 
 Yeracity becomes the first virtue in the 
 moral type, and no character is regarded 
 with any kind of approbation in which it 
 is wanting. It is made, more than any 
 other, the test distinguishing a good from a 
 bad man. "We accordingly find that, even 
 where the impositions of trade are very 
 numerous, the supreme excellence of vera- 
 city is cordially admitted in theory, and it 
 is one of the first virtues that every man 
 aspiring to moral excellence endeavours to 
 cultivate. — Lecky, ' European Morals,' i. 144. 
 
 There is nobody in the commonwealth of 
 learning who does not profess himself a 
 lover of truth ; and there is not a rational 
 creature that would not take it amiss to be 
 thought otherwise of. And yet, for all this, 
 one may truly say that there are very few 
 lovers of truth for truth's sake, even among 
 those who persuade themselves that they 
 are so. — Loclic, ' Human Understanding,' 
 bk. iv. chap. xix. i. 
 
 Is strengthened hy piradice. , 
 
 Speaking truth is like writing fair, and 
 comes only by practice; it is less a matter 
 of will than of habit, and I doubt if any 
 occasion can be trivial which permits the 
 practice and formation of such a habit. — 
 liusldn, ' Seven La^nps, ^x.,' ch. ii. sect. i. 
 
 Friendship. 
 Aristotle. 
 
 Friendship, if not in itself a virtue, at 
 least involves and implies virtue ; and it 
 
 is, moreover, an absolute essential for a 
 happy life, since without friends no man 
 would choose to live, although possessed 
 of every other good thing. And, indeed, 
 it is when men are rich, or possessed of 
 high office, or of great hereditaiy power, 
 that they seem most especially to stand in 
 need of friends. For wherein does such 
 prosperity profit us, if we are deprived of 
 the power of doing good to others, of which 
 power friends are the special object, and 
 which is most praiseworthy when exercised 
 in their behalf ; or how can such prospeiity 
 be guarded and preserved without the aid 
 of friends 1 For the greater it is, the more 
 precarious will it be. In poverty, more- 
 over, and in all other forms of evil fortune, 
 friends are held to be our only refuge. 
 And to the young, friendship is of aid in 
 that it keeps them clear of faults, and to 
 the old, in that it gives kmdly attention, 
 and supplies those deficiencies in action 
 which are always the result of infirmity ; 
 and to those who are in their full prime, in 
 that it makes noble achievements easier. 
 
 The two together stepping are the better 
 able both to think and to act. — 'Ethics,' 
 bk. viii. ch. i. (Williams' translation). 
 
 Perfect friendship) is based on goodness. 
 
 That friendship which obtains between 
 those who are good, and who resemble one 
 another in that they are similarly and 
 equally virtuous, is complete and perfect 
 in itself. For men of this sort will, each 
 of them equally with the other, feel a 
 mutual and reciprocal wish that that may 
 be their lot which is, from the point of 
 view of their virtue, their highest good ; 
 and it must be remembered that their vir- 
 tue is an essential element in their char- 
 acter, and not an indirect result of it. — 
 ' Ethics' bk. viii. ch. iii. 
 
 And is disinterested. 
 
 It is those who wish well to their friend 
 for his own sake who have the highest 
 claim to the title of friend, inasmuch as 
 the friendship of such exists and is felt by 
 them for the sake of their friends alone, 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF MAN. 
 
 457 
 
 and not as an indirect result of any form 
 of self- seeking. — ' Ethics,'' bk. viii. ch. iii. 
 
 Self-Dexial. 
 
 The virtue of Self-denial is one that re- 
 ceives the commendation of society, and 
 stands high in the morality of reward. 
 Still it is a means to an end. The opera- 
 tion of the associating principle tends to 
 raise it above this point to the rank of a 
 final end. And there is an ascetic scheme 
 of life that proceeds upon this supposition ; 
 but the generality of mankind, in practice, 
 if not always in theory, disavow it. — Bain, 
 ^Mental and Moral Science,^ p. 445. 
 
 Tlie Christian Self-denial. 
 
 Self-denial and self-control are not the 
 same. The latter is only an element of 
 the former, and is only the right self- 
 control when it is the handmaid of self- 
 denial. Self-denial, in its deepest root, is 
 obedience, is the practical strengthening 
 (exertion) of humility, and the actual death 
 
 of pride, which is by no moans implied in 
 self-control, which can fitly co-exist with 
 pride and disobedience. It is only .self- 
 denial that leads not only to outward, bodily, 
 but also to inward cliaMity, imder.standing 
 by chastity, in the widest sense, the subor- 
 dination of the sensuous, the natural, under 
 the spirit or the divine, so that the natural 
 attains in us to no unsuitable self-depend- 
 ence. It is self-denial that also leads to 
 true 2')0vertii, that is, the internal independ- 
 ence of worldly things, of earthly possession 
 and honour, of all desire of the phenomenal. 
 For he that denies himself, and is therel)y 
 confirmed in the One unchangeable thing, 
 is not taken possession of by the worldly 
 things, but possesses them as if he pos- 
 sessed them not. On the other hand, it 
 may also indeed be said that, without self- 
 control, self-denial and obedience cannot be 
 carried out. We can only be God's ser- 
 vants when we are masters in the bodily 
 and spiritual organism entrusted to us.-- 
 Martensen, ' Christian Ethics,^ ii. 411, 412. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF MAN. 
 
 What is meant by ' Natural Immortality.' 
 
 It must not be supposed that they who 
 assert the natural immortality of the soul 
 are of opinion that it is absolutely incapable 
 of annihilation even by the infinite power 
 of the Creator who first gave it being, but 
 only that it is not liable to be broken or 
 dissolved by the ordinary laws of nature or 
 motion. The soul is indivisible, incorporeal, 
 unextended, and is consequently incorrup- 
 tible. Nothing can be plainer than that 
 the motions, changes, decays, and dissolu- 
 tions which are hourly seen to befall natural 
 bodies, cannot possibly affect an active, 
 simple, uncompounded substance : such a 
 being therefore is indissoluble by the force 
 of nature ; that is to say — the soul of man 
 
 is natiiralhj immortal. — Berlicley, ' Philo- 
 sophical Worlcs,' i. 229. 
 
 The Doctrine of Immortality. 
 
 The Christian Doctrine. 
 
 The Gospel does not say to us, ' Create 
 an immortality for yourselves by " living 
 conformably to moral ordur," or by " think- 
 ing on the Eternal and the Absolute." ' It 
 says rather, * You are already, whether you 
 know it or not, whether you will it or not, 
 immortal beings. You cannot now be other 
 than immortal, for the sim})le reason that 
 God has gifted you with an indestructible 
 principle of life.' This immortality of the 
 soul is personal, and must admit the per- 
 sistence of memory, affection, and character, 
 
458 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 as tests of continued personal life. The 
 Christian Faith also bids us look forward 
 to a resurrection of that very body which 
 has been throughout our earthly life the 
 instrument, the dwelling-house, perchance 
 the faithful transcript of the personal soul 
 within it. And the risen body, trans- 
 figured, translucent with spiritual glory, 
 will still assert in the courts of heaven the 
 deathless endurance of our personality in 
 its unimpaired completeness. — Liddon, 
 ' University Sermons,' pp. 128, 134. 
 
 The Positivist Doctrine. 
 
 Our conception is as real and human on 
 the one side, as it is boundless and inspir- 
 ing on the other. It is a conception of 1 
 kindred aspects — the first is the indefinite 
 persistence throughout human life of all 
 thoughts, acts and feelings, however remote 
 in time ; the second is the mysterious and 
 boundless extent to which all human actions 
 and ideas affect the living, transfuse and 
 colour the present, until they are absorbed 
 in the ocean of the past, and thus join in 
 the end to mould the future. The dead 
 are living, around us and in us, active and 
 revered as they never were in life. AYe 
 hear their voices, not in the hollow echoes 
 of the tomb, but at our firesides, and in the 
 good and pure words of every worthy man 
 around us, in the swelling record of science, 
 art, poetry, philosophy, and morals ; in all 
 that forms our mental and moral food. 
 Their ceasing to breathe, and meet us, and 
 talk with us in the flesh, has not destroyed 
 the reality of their social and human 
 influence. "We live by one another, — and 
 therefore we live again in one another, 
 and quite as much after death as before 
 it, and often very much more after it. — 
 Harrison, ^Address to Positivist Society,' 
 Dec. 31, 1883. 
 
 Positivists say, 'We believe in immor- 
 tality — the immortality of thought and 
 character. Our bodies may decay, but our 
 souls will exist in the ideas which they have 
 originated or transmitted. Conspicuous 
 moral effort, an example of courage, of 
 
 disinterestedness, of toil under discourage- 
 ments and in the face of difficulties, is a 
 thing which lives. We may ourselves 
 succumb to the law of annihilation, but at 
 least we may enrich the race with a legacy 
 of moral force, or of moral beauty.' — 
 Liddon, ' University Sermons,' p. 123. 
 
 Materialism denies immortality. 
 
 The soul is the product of the brain's 
 development, just as muscular action is 
 produced by development of the muscles, 
 and secretion by that of the glands. To 
 assume the existence of a soul, which uses 
 the brain as an instrument with which to 
 work as it pleases, is utter nonsense. 
 Physiology distinctly and categorically pro- 
 nounces against any individual immor- 
 tality, and against all ideas which are 
 connected with the figment of a separate 
 existence of the soul. — Vogt, ^ Physiologische 
 Brief e.' 
 
 Arguments in Favour of Immortality. 
 
 Plato's reasoning. 
 
 The doctrine of the immortality of the 
 soul is founded by Plato, in the ' Phiedrus,' 
 on the nature of the soul, as the self-moving 
 principle of all motion ; in the ' Republic,' 
 on the fact that the life of the soul is not 
 destroyed by moral badness, which yet, as 
 the natural evil and enemy of the soul, 
 ought, if anything could effect this, to 
 effect its destruction ; in the ' Timseus,' on 
 the goodness of God, who, notwithstanding 
 that the nature of the soul as a generated 
 essence subjects it to the possibility of 
 destruction, cannot will that what has been 
 put together in so beautiful a manner 
 should again be dissolved ; in the ' Phaedo,' 
 finally, this doctrine is supported, partly 
 by an argument drawn from the nature of 
 the subjective activity of the philosopher, 
 whose striving after knowledge involves 
 the desire for incorporeal existence, i.e., 
 the desire to die, and partly on a series of 
 objective arguments. — Ueherweg, ' Hist, of 
 Phil,' i. 127. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF MAN. 
 
 459 
 
 Arguments of Cliristian icriters. 
 
 No evidence that death is the destruction 
 of the soul. 
 
 There is the intuition of self as a being, 
 a substance, a spiritual substance. Every 
 one is immediately conscious of a self, 
 different from the material objects which 
 press themselves on his notice, aud of the 
 action of mental attributes in no way re- 
 sembling the properties of matter, of lofty 
 thoughts and far-ranging imaginations and 
 high moral sentiments, of lively and fervent 
 emotions, and of a power of choice and fixed 
 resolution. The circumstance that the 
 bodily organism is dissolved at death, is no 
 proof that these qualities or the existence 
 in which they inhere shall perish. We 
 see the body die, but we never see the 
 spirit die. We know that the soul has 
 existed ; we have no evidence that it ceases 
 to exist. The burden of proof may legiti- 
 mately be laid on those who maintain that 
 it does. The soul exists as a substance, 
 and will continue to exist, unless destroyed 
 by a power from without capable of pro- 
 ducing this special effect. — M'Cosh, ' Intui- 
 tions, cjr.,' p. 392. 
 
 The facts which point towards the ter- 
 mination of our present state of existence, 
 are connected with our physical nature, not 
 with our mental In physical life there is 
 a progression of bodily development until 
 maturity is reached, after which there is 
 gradual decay. But in mind there is the 
 law of progress, without evidence of the 
 same law of decay. That our nature is 
 one, and that weakness of body can entail 
 restraint upon mental action, are admitted 
 facts ; but the latter places the source of 
 restraint in the body, not in the mind. 
 Besides, the body may be dismembered, and 
 the mind continue active as before. The 
 phenomena of consciousness connected with 
 amputation are of interest here. But chief 
 importance attaches to the contrast between 
 the facts of physical and mental life during 
 the infirmities of age. At such a time, 
 when the recollection of the occurrences of 
 the day is difficult, recollections of events 
 
 which happened threescore years before are 
 vivid and e.xact. Such facts point towards 
 the possibility of continued existence of the 
 spirit, apart from the body. Sec Taylor's 
 ' Physical Theory of Another l^ife.' — Cal- 
 derwood, 'Moral Philoso^'hi/,' p. 259. 
 
 TJie facts of our jiresent moral life. 
 The facts of our moral life seem to war- 
 rant a conclusion to the certainty of a 
 future state. If there be moral obligation 
 and responsibility, their full signiiicance 
 can be realised only in another state of 
 being, where account of moral actions can 
 be rendered. On this line of reflection, it 
 is legitimate to conclude that the future 
 state must be one of rewards and punish- 
 ments. — Calderwood, ' Moral Philosophy,^ 
 p. 260. 
 
 There is tlie conviction of moral obli- 
 gation and responsibility, pointing to a 
 judgment day and a state of righteous re- 
 tribution. The argument built on this 
 ground is felt by many strong minds to be 
 the strongest of all. Kant, so severe in 
 his criticism of the physical argument, 
 yields to the moral one. Chalmers fondly 
 dwells on it as the one which actually 
 carries weight with mankind. It proceeds 
 on the existence of a moral faculty ; but its 
 validity does not depend on any peculiar 
 view which may be taken by us of the 
 moral powers in man. It is enough that 
 man is acknowledged to be under moial 
 obligation — under moral law : that law is 
 imperative — it commands and it forbids ; 
 that it is a supreme law — claiming author- 
 ity over all faculties and affections, over, 
 in pai'ticular, all voluntary desires and acts. 
 This law in the heart points to a Lawgiver 
 who hath planted it in our constitution, 
 and who sanctions and upholds it. Upon 
 our recognising God as Lawgiver, the con- 
 science announces that we are accountable 
 to Him; 'so then every one of us shall 
 give account of himself to God.' But if 
 we are to give account to God, there must 
 be a day of reckoning to arrive — in this 
 life, or, if not in this life, in the life to 
 come. He who hath appointed the law must 
 
460 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 needs be judge ; He who hath a^^pointed it 
 so authoritatively, and proclaimed it so pub- 
 licly, must needs inquire whether it has or 
 has not been obeyed. But this judicial work 
 is not fully discharged in this present state 
 of things, and therefore we look for another. 
 — M^Cosli, ^Intuitions of the Mind,' p. 393. 
 The arguments for the soul's immortality 
 are very various in their degree of abstruse- 
 ness or popularity. Thus our immortality 
 has been deduced by some thinkers, as by 
 Leibnitz, from an analysis of the nature of 
 the souL By others it has been argued 
 that the mere idea of an Infinite God and 
 of an endless life implies that the thinking 
 being who has conceived it must be im- 
 mortal. The universal desire for a deeper 
 and more lasting happiness than can be 
 found on earth, has always appeared to 
 Christian philosophers, eminently to the 
 great Augustine, to point to that future 
 of which the Psalmist sings. But the con- 
 sideration by which this truth is most fre- 
 quently fortified, expanded, propagated in 
 the heart and mind of the people, is that 
 man suffers, and is also a moral agent, and 
 that between his moral action and his suf- 
 fei'ing there is no regular correspondence, 
 nay, rather, there is a perpetual jar and 
 disproportion. From age to age a Tiberius 
 wears the purple, while the pride and 
 fiower of human virtue is being crucified 
 between two thieves. In endeavouring to 
 counterbalance the force of this perpetual 
 and universal fact, the secret thoughts, and 
 the accustomed sayings, and the irrepres- 
 sible emotions of men, movmt with the 
 strong certainty of a moral intuition to- 
 wards an eternal world. — Liddon, ' Uni- 
 vejsity Sermons,' i>. 116. 
 
 77^6 universality of the belief. 
 
 It is as universal as belief in God. It 
 has prevailed among all nations of high 
 mental attainments, while others have had 
 at least a notion of it. It was this be- 
 lief that the deceased were not the dead 
 but the living, which in Egypt built the 
 pyramids, and which yet bears testimony 
 to its own existence in the mummies : it 
 
 was this which bestowed upon the Ger- 
 manic nations the joyful courage with which 
 they met death in the field of battle; it 
 was this which gathered the noblest of the 
 Greeks about those secret doctrines of the 
 Eleusinian Mysteries, which would give 
 them that consolation in death which their 
 religion did not give them. It is true that 
 it was Christianity which first raised this 
 belief to a certainty ; yet still it is as uni- 
 versal as belief in God, and is the inherit- 
 ance of every nation. This universality 
 proves it to be a necessary idea of the 
 human mind ; necessary not only for the 
 reason, but for the life. — Luthardt, 'Saving 
 Truths,' p. 250 
 
 Subsidiary arguments. 
 
 Upon these arguments others grow which 
 have more or less of force. Thei-e is, for 
 example, the shrinking from annihilation, 
 the longing for immortality, — a feeling 
 which seems to guarantee the veracity of 
 the expectation cherished. Then there are 
 affections, pure and holy, springing up on 
 earth, but not allowed to be gratified on 
 earth, but which we may hope to have 
 satisfied to the full in heaven. There 
 are attachments and profitable friendships 
 firmly clenched only to be violently snapped 
 asunder by the stroke of death, but which 
 we expect to have renewed in a place where 
 there are no breaches. Do not these swell- 
 ing feelings which agitate the bosoms of 
 friends, when one of them is summoned 
 away, seem to show that the divided waters 
 are yet to meet 1 Then we see from time 
 to time intellectual powers cultivated to 
 the utmost, but blasted in the flower when 
 they seemed to promise a large fruit. May 
 we not believe that in a universe in which 
 nothing is made in vain, and nothing of 
 God's workmanship lost, these powers have 
 been nurtured to serve some great and 
 good end in a future state of existence 1 
 These facts combined seem to show that 
 there are means instituted in this world 
 which have their full consummation in the 
 woi-ld to come. — M'Cosh, ' Intuitions of the 
 Mind,' p. 396. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF MAN. 
 
 461 
 
 The doctrine is not to he established hi/ 
 rigid demonstration. 
 
 AVhile the most prominent facts of our 
 life thus combine to support the belief that 
 there is for man a great Future, there is 
 nothing Avhich logically warrants an infer- 
 ence to Immortality of existence. Such a 
 conclusion can be sustained neither from 
 the immateriality of the soul, the favourite 
 logical basis (see Dr. S. Clarke's * Answer 
 to Dodwell,' with Defences) ; nor from the 
 ceaseless motion of the soul, as with Plato 
 in the ' Phcedrus ; ' nor from the ideas of ab- 
 stract beauty, goodness, and magnitude, as 
 in the ' Phaido ; ' nor from the nature of the 
 soul as a simple being, as argued by Moses 
 Mendelssohn (1729-1786) in his 'Phadon.' 
 The finite, since it is not the self-sufficient, 
 cannot afford an argument towards immor- 
 tality. The nature which is dependent 
 upon the Absolute Being for its origin 
 must be dependent on His will for its con- 
 tinuance. While, therefore, Futurity of 
 Existence is clearly involved in the facts 
 of the present life. Eternity of existence 
 must depend upon the Divine Will, and 
 can be known only as matter of distinct 
 revelation, not as matter of metaphysical 
 deduction. All that is greatest in us 
 points to an immeasurable future. Thither 
 we must look for the solution of many of 
 our dark problems, and for that purity and 
 grandeur of personal life unknown in the 
 present state. But Immortality, if it be 
 ours, must be the gift of God. Over the 
 best intellect, if it be restricted to pure 
 speculation, must hang the great uncer- 
 tainty which found utterance in the closing 
 words of the ' Apology ' of Socrates : * The 
 hour to depart has come, — for me to die, for 
 you to live ; but which of us is going to a 
 better state is unkno^vn to eveiy one ex- 
 cept to God.' — Calderwood, ^ Moral Philo- 
 sophy,^ p. 261. 
 
 Tlie doctrine of the soul's immortality 
 cannot be established by rigid demonstra- 
 tion, any more than that of the Divine ex- 
 istence. But in the one, as in the other, 
 there are necessary principles involved 
 
 which look to ob\ious facts, and issue in 
 a conviction which may be described as 
 natural. The expounded argument is the 
 expression of processes which are spontane- 
 ous. It draws materials from a variety of 
 quarters and admits of accumulation. No 
 one of the ek>ments is in itself conclusive, 
 but in the whole there is a high pro])al)ilit\ 
 quite entitled to demand belief and prac- 
 tical action. — M^Cosh, ^Intuitions of tin- 
 Mind,^ p. 292. 
 
 Bat it is a doctrine due to Revelatt07i. 
 
 In reality it is the gospel, and the gospel 
 alone, that has brought life and immortality 
 to light. Nothing could set in a fuller light 
 the infinite obligations which mankind have 
 to Divine revelation ; since we find that nd 
 other medium could ascertain this great 
 and important truth. — Hume, ^ Pliilosophi- 
 cal Works,^ iv. 399, 406. 
 
 Life and immortality were brought to 
 light by the gospel. The gospel has opened 
 ' a new and living way ' to heaven. It has 
 converted the better guesses and specula- 
 tions of philosophy into certainties. The 
 authority of the Lord Jesus Christ, Divine 
 and Infallible, is the true and sufficient 
 basis of this doctrine in the Christian soul. 
 He sanctions the anticipatory statements 
 of the Old Testament, and the dogmatic 
 enunciations of the Apostles whom He 
 sent. His own utterances cover the whole 
 area of what is revealed upon the subject. 
 — Liddon, ^ Universitij Sermons,' pp. 112, 
 116. 
 
 Conditional Immortality. 
 
 Professor Challis's 'Scriptural Doctriw 
 of Immortality.' 
 
 Although Adam was created in the 
 image of his Maker in respect to being 
 endowed with powers of understanding 
 and reasoning, and although he was madi- 
 capable of learning and doing righteous- 
 ness, he was not originally 7nade righteous, 
 forasmuch as he sinned ; but those wliom 
 God makes righteous sin no more, because 
 all the works of God are perfect. Ho par- 
 
462 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 took of natural life, but not of spiritual 
 life. He was, as St. Paul says, 'of the 
 earth, earthy' (p. 13). 
 
 St. Paul in Rom. viii. 2 speaks of ' the 
 law of sin and death,' meaning that sin and 
 death are invariably related to each other 
 as antecedent and consequent. By an 
 irrevocable law death is ordained to be ' the 
 wages of sin.' Of ourselves we can judge 
 tljat it does not consist with the power and 
 wisdom of an omnipotent and omniscient 
 Creator that the sinful should live for ever. 
 But if this be so, it must evidently be true 
 also that immortality, being exemption 
 from death, is the consequence of freedom 
 from sin, that is, of perfect righteousness. 
 This is as necessary a law as the other. 
 Hence the inquiry respecting the means by 
 which man is made immortal resolves itself 
 into inquiring by what means he is made 
 righteous (pp. 8, 9). 
 
 Since we have admitted, as a necessary 
 and self-evident principle, that righteous- 
 ness is the foundation of immortality, and 
 Scripture presents to us in Abel an instance 
 of the attainment of righteousness by faith, 
 it follows that/aii/i is a means of partaldnrj 
 <'f inimortaUtij (p. 25). 
 
 I have maintained that on the day that 
 Adam fell into disobedience by the wiles 
 of Satan, his Creator made a promise by 
 covenant that he and his offspring should 
 in the end be freed from the power of Satan 
 and evil, and partake of immortality. The 
 terms of the covenant were that man must 
 pass through toil, and pain, and death, 
 that thereby his spirit might be formed 
 for receiving the gift of an immortal life. 
 Evidence of an intelligent belief in the 
 efficacy of these conditions was given by 
 the faithful of old by their sacrificing clean 
 animals. In process of time the only 
 begotten Son of God satisfied in His own 
 person the very same conditions. At the 
 same time He made sure the grounds for 
 belief of the fulfilment of the covenanted 
 promise, first by marvellous works before 
 He suffered, and after His death by resur- 
 rection from the grave the third day, which 
 
 gave proof of the reality of a power that 
 could overcome death. Out of love to those 
 whom He vouchsafes to call His brethren. 
 He showed how they must undergo physical 
 suffering and the pains of death, in order 
 that their spirits might be formed for an 
 endless life. It was with understanding 
 and belief that the way to life was made 
 sure by fellowship with Christ in suffering, 
 that some of the most favoured of His 
 faithful followers, apostles and apostolic 
 men, willingly suffered after His example. 
 
 But pain and death are not in this way 
 efficacious for salvation, unless they be 
 accompanied by a faith which lays hold of 
 the covenant and promise of life made and 
 ratified from the beginning by God. Those 
 who, having this faith, do good works are 
 God's elect, who live again at the first 
 resurrection, to die no more. The rest of 
 mankind, although they go through suffer- 
 ing and death, and although their sufferings 
 are not without effect in forming their 
 spirits for immortality (such is the virtue 
 of the sacrifice of the Son of God), rise 
 to be judged for their unbelief and un- 
 righteousness, and to be condemned to 
 undergo a second death. Yet several 
 portions of Scripture necessitate the con- 
 clusion that the consecration of the way to 
 life through death by the death of the Son 
 of God, which applies to the death of 
 believers, applies also to the second death 
 of unbelievers; so that this death also is 
 followed by life (pp. 1 10-12). 
 
 When the final judgment has had com- 
 plete effect, there will no longer be objective 
 existence of any whose names are not in the 
 book of life, because all will have been made 
 meet for the inheritance of life. — Challis, 
 ' Scriptitral Doctrine of Immortality' 
 
 Edward WJiito^' Life in Christ.' 
 From the simple account furnished in 
 Genesis, we are to understand that Adam 
 was not created in the possession of immor- 
 tality either in his body or soul ; yet, also, 
 that he was not created under a definite 
 sentence of death, as was the rest of the 
 creation around him, since the prospect of 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF MAN. 
 
 463 
 
 'living for ever' by the help of the 'tree 
 of life ' was open to him upon the condition 
 of obedience during his trial; — in other 
 words, the first man was not created im- 
 mortal, but was placed on probation in 
 order to become so. Viewed as he was in 
 himself, there was a noble creature, — the 
 otispring of God, — endowed with capacities 
 for ruling over the world, and for holding 
 communion with Heaven; but as to his 
 origin, his foundation was in the dust, and 
 the image of the Creator was impressed 
 upon a nature, if a ' little lower than the 
 angels,' still also no higher than the animals 
 as to unconditional immortality. His up- 
 right form and ' human face divine,' gave 
 token of a spirit formed for intercourse 
 with the Eternal ; yet his feet rested on 
 the same earth which gave support to all 
 the ' creeping things ' which it brought 
 forth, and, like the subjects of his domi- 
 nion, ' his breath was in his nostrils.' — 
 * Life in Chrisf,' p. 100. 
 
 The oi'iginal threatening, 'In the day 
 that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely 
 die,' was intended to signify a literal, im- 
 mediate, and final dissolution of the nature 
 of Adam as a man ; his death, in the ordi- 
 nary sense of the word, without any refer- 
 ence whatever to the state, or even to the 
 survival of the spirit beyond. — ' Life in 
 Christ,' p. loS. 
 
 The bestowment of Immortal Life in the 
 restored divine Image is believed by us to 
 be the very object of the Incarnation of 
 the Deity. 
 
 This mighty change in human nature 
 and destiny, involved in the bestowment of 
 everlasting life, is conveyed to mankind 
 through the channel of the Incarnation, the 
 Incarnation of ' the Life,' of the ' Logos,' 
 or Word of God; who being before all 
 worlds, and creating all things as the Word 
 of the Father, ' became flesh,' took on Him- 
 self our mortal nature, ' yet without sin,' 
 and as the Christ, or Anointed One, died 
 on the Cross, as a Divine, self-sacrificing 
 Mediator between God and man, so recon- 
 ciling in the Divine Mind the act of grace 
 with the equilibrium of government. 
 
 Ciod still further unites the Divine Essence 
 with man's mortal nature in the Regenera- 
 tion of the Individual, by tiio indwelling of 
 the Holy Spirit, ' the Lord and Giver of 
 Life,' whose gracious inhabitation applies 
 the remedy of i-edemption bycommunicating 
 to good men of every age and generation 
 God-likeness and immortality, to tlie soul 
 by spiritual regeneration, and to the l)ndy 
 by resurrection. — 'Life in C/iri.-'f,' p. 1 17. 
 
 Man's Moral Nature a Witness for God. 
 
 We are led from the very existence of 
 our moral feelings, to the conception of the 
 existence of attributes, the same in kind, 
 however exalted in degree, in the Divine 
 Being. The sense of Truth implies its 
 actual existence in a being who is Himself 
 its source and centre ; and the longing for 
 a yet higher measure of it, which is ex- 
 perienced in the greatest force by those 
 who have already attained the truest and 
 widest view, is the testimony of our own 
 souls to the Truth of the Divine Nature. 
 The perception of Right, in like manner, 
 leads us to the Absolute lawgiver who im- 
 planted it in our constitution ; and, as has 
 been well remarked, ' all the appeals of in- 
 nocence against unrighteous force are ap- 
 peals to eternal justice, and all the visions 
 of moral purity are glimpses of the infinite 
 excellence.' The aspirations of the more 
 exalted moral natures after a yet higher 
 state of holiness and purity, can only be 
 satisfied by the contemplation of such per- 
 fection as no merely Human being has ever 
 attained ; and it is only in the contempla- 
 tion of the Divine Ideal that they meet 
 their appropriate object. And the senti- 
 ment of Beauty, especially as it rises from 
 the material to the spiritual, passes beyond 
 the noblest creations of Art, and the most 
 perfect realisation of it in the outward life, 
 and soars into the region of the Unseen, 
 where alone the Imagination can freely ex- 
 pand itself in the contemplation of such 
 beauty as no oljjective representation can 
 embody. And it is by combining, so far as 
 our capacity will admit, the ide.as which we 
 thus derive from reflection upon the facts of 
 
464 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 our own consciousness, with those which we 
 draw from the contemplation of the Universe 
 around us, that we form the justest concep- 
 tion of the Divine Being of which our finite 
 minds are capable. We are led to conceive 
 of Him as the absolute, imchangeable, self- 
 existent, — infinite in duration, — illimitable 
 in space, — the highest ideal of Truth, Right, 
 and Beauty, — the all-Powerful source of 
 that agency which we recognise in the 
 phenomena of Nature, — the all- Wise de- 
 signer of that wondrous plan, whose original 
 perfection is the real soui-ce of the uni- 
 formity and harmony which w^e recognise 
 in its operation, — the all- Benevolent con- 
 triver of the happiness of His sentient 
 creatures, — the all-Just disposer of events 
 in the Moral world, for the evolution of the 
 ultimate ends for which Man was called 
 into existence. — Carpenter, ' Mental Physio- 
 %2// PP- 246. 247. 
 
 There is in man a littleness which dwarfs 
 and cramps all that is strong and noble in 
 him ; but there is also a grandeur hard to 
 understand except as the image in a warped 
 and tiny mirror of a grandeur elsewhere 
 existing, over which such limits have no 
 sway. Man has a Will so weak as to be 
 drawn aside from right by the most un- 
 worthy allurements, daunted by the most 
 despicable difficulties, palsied with ignoble 
 sloth ; yet capable also of holding its own 
 purpose and choice against the world. He 
 has an Intellect, weak enough to be be- 
 fooled by transparent fallacies and led 
 astray at every step by prejudice and pas- 
 sion ; yet powerful enough to measure the 
 distances and motions of the stars, to track 
 the invisible sound-waves and light-waves 
 in their courses, and to win from Nature 
 the key of empire. He has Love, which 
 wastes itself among the dregs of life, or 
 suffers selfishness to wither it at the root ; 
 but also which is able to lift him to the 
 sublime height of self-sacrifice, and is the 
 inexhaustible fount of the deepest and 
 purest happiness he knows or can imagine. 
 He has Conscience — the sense of right 
 and wrong — easily perverted, and which 
 has by turns justified every crime and con- 
 
 demned every virtue ; yet which neverthe- 
 less proclaims that r-ight, not wrong — ever- 
 lasting righteousness, not self-willed m- 
 justice — is the imperial law of the universe. 
 I ask. Is the scale in which these attributes 
 are seen in man their true scale 1 Is it 
 reasonable to think so ? Or is there any- 
 thing irrational in the belief, nay, the 
 certainty that they demand, in order to 
 realise the ideas which human nature per- 
 petually suggests and continually disap- 
 points, a scale of grandeur and perfection 
 no less than infinite 1 Do they not assure 
 us, as with a voice from the very depths of 
 our being, that there must be a Supreme 
 Will, irresistible, unswerving, pervading 
 and controlling the universe ; the source 
 of all law, bvit a law to itself ; guided un- 
 changeably by infinite knowledge, absolute 
 righteousness, perfect love? — Conder, ^ Basin 
 of Faiili,'' pp. 70, 71. 
 
 From the enjoyment of virtue springs 
 the idea of a virtuous ; from the enjoy- 
 ment of freedom, the idea of a free ; from 
 the enjoyment of life, the idea of a living ; 
 from the enjoyment of the divine, the idea 
 of a godlike, and of a God. — Jacohi, quoted 
 by Hamilton, ' Discussions,' p. 19, note. 
 
 God^ is a necessity of man's nature. 
 
 God made man to seek Him. The search 
 after God is a thing of nature. In other 
 words, religion is so natural to man that it 
 is simplest truth to say, he is by nature 
 religious. It is not a discovery or invention 
 due to an art or artifice, but a holy neces- 
 sity of nature made by its Maker. No one 
 ever discovered sight or invented hearing. 
 Man saw because he had eyes, heard because 
 he had ears ; the sense created the sensa- 
 tions. Speech was no invention or dis- 
 covery; it grew, and man was hardly 
 conscious of its growth, out of the marvel- 
 lous alliance in him of the physical ability 
 to utter sounds, and the rational ability to 
 think thoughts, until it stood without and 
 lived around him like a subtle, articulated, 
 universalised reason. And religion is as 
 natural as sight, or hearing, or speech — as 
 natural, because as native and as essential 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF MAX 
 
 465 
 
 to his nature. Hence, man gets into reli- 
 gion as into other natural things — his 
 mother-tongue, liis home or filial affections 
 — spontaneously, without conscious effort ; 
 but to get out of it he has to reason himself 
 into a new and strange position, force his 
 mind to live in a state of watchful antagon- 
 ism towards its own deepest tendencies. 
 No man is an atheist by nature, only by 
 art : and an art that has to offer to nature 
 ceaseless^ resistance. — Fairbairn, ' Citij of 
 God,'' pp. 79, 80. 
 
 And also of the race. 
 
 In seeking for peoples that know no 
 God, who live without faith or worship, 
 where do our philosophers go ? Do they 
 select for their inquiries peoples that have 
 stood on the highest pinnacle of civilisation, 
 and do they, while the peoples stand there, 
 point with proud and disdainful finger to 
 the men in whom their culture blossomed 
 into its most splendid flower ? . . . No, 
 not they. But they go to some cannibal 
 South Sea island, scarce touched by the foot 
 or kno\vn to the science of the white man, 
 or to some degraded and wretched African 
 tribe, and then, with these specimens, dug 
 from the very heart of the most dismal 
 barbarism, they come forward and cry, 
 ' Behold, peoples who acknowledge no 
 God ! ' Well, then, let us accept the speci- 
 men, and only answer, ' Compare that 
 atheistic race of yours with our theistic 
 races, and let the distance between canni- 
 balism and Christian culture measure the 
 space that divides peoples who believe in 
 no God, and peoples who believe in Ilim, 
 and have laboured to follow His Spirit and 
 fulfil His ends.' — Fairhairn, ' City of God,' 
 pp. 87, 88. 
 
 The study of Philosophy should lead to 
 dearer knowledge of God. 
 
 Our most pressing need is a deeper and 
 more living study of the Science of Mind 
 or Spirit. That science ought no longer 
 to remain disconnected from man's actual 
 life, but to be brought into more intimate 
 conjunction with it. The human mind 
 
 aspiring after knowledge ought not to bo 
 directed to matiiematical studies, and told 
 to limit itself to them ; by far the most 
 important matter for it is to bring it into 
 a closer contact with present, and a more 
 fruitful study of past, human i-ealitios. 
 The only objects of our direct knowledge 
 are Man and Humanity, and in contem- 
 plating these we soon arrive at the percep- 
 tion that they both have their first Cause, 
 neither in physical Nature, nor in them- 
 selves, but in an Eternal Tliouglit and Will, 
 which Humanity, in its collective develop- 
 ment, represents without exhausting. Now, 
 more than ever before, are we called to 
 make an earnest use of the knowledge thus 
 earned by such strenuous and toilsome 
 effort, and through the contemplation of 
 God, Man, and Humanity, — constituting 
 as they do the eternal and only Substantial 
 Being, — to build up our own religious con- 
 sciousness, and through that, our whole 
 spiritual life, to the end that we may 
 emerge from the chaotic confusion of prior 
 ages into the clear light of divine knowledge, 
 and rise out of the slavery beneath absolute 
 rulers into the freedom of the kingdom of 
 God. — Bunsen, ' God in History,' iii. 340. 
 
 Man is the microcosm of existence ; con- 
 sciousness, within a narrow focus, concen- 
 trates a knowledge of the universe and of 
 God ; psychology is thus the abstract of all 
 science, human and divine. As in the ex- 
 ternal world, al^ phenomena may be reduced 
 to the two great laws of Action and Re- 
 action ; so, in the internal, all the facts of 
 consciousness may be reduced to one funda- 
 mental fact, comprising in like manner two 
 principles and their correlation ; and these 
 principles are again the Otie or the Infinite, 
 the Many or the Finite, and the Connec- 
 tion of the infinite and finite.— Hamilton, 
 * Discussions,' p. 9. 
 
 Though man be not identical with the 
 Deity, still is he ' created in the imago of 
 God. ' It is indeed only thi-ough an analogy 
 of the human with the Divine nature, that 
 we are percipient and recipient of Divinity. 
 — Hamilton, 'Discussions,' p. 19. 
 
 2 <i 
 
466 
 
 DICTIONARY OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Man the interpretatmi of Nature. 
 
 Can man be explained, can his history 
 be written in ' the terms of matter, motion, 
 and force ? ' Whatever interprets him must 
 interpret the institutions he has formed, the 
 religions he has developed, the societies and 
 states he has founded, the literatures he 
 has created, the systems he has built, the 
 arts he has discovered and perfected, the 
 good he has achieved, the evil he has done, 
 the progress he has made. Have these 
 terms, ' institutions, ' religions,' ' societies,' 
 ' states,' ' literatures,' ' arts, ' evil,' ' good,' 
 ' progress,' ' achieved,' ' made,' ' done,' any 
 physical equivalents ? Could they be trans- 
 lated into the speech of physics, and it re- 
 main an intelligible and veracious speech 1 
 If such speech be applicable to man, then 
 his history may know motion, but not pro- 
 gress ; may suffer or escape a breakdown, 
 but not endure or cause evil. If the speech 
 be inapplicable, how did evolution accom- 
 plish so extraordinary a revolution, as by 
 mechanical laws to change the primordial 
 atoms with which it started, into a being 
 whose nature was at once moral and 
 rational, whose conduct was regulated 
 freely from within, whose acts had an 
 ethical quality, and were all liable to 
 praise or blame ? Can the terms good, 
 righteovis, wise, benevolent be applied to 
 men and nations, and be denied to the 
 Power that has directed the ways of man 
 and reigned over the nations 1 or, to vary 
 the terms without changing the sense, can 
 man be in any sense a moral being without 
 having his development governed by moral 
 laws ? These ai-e questions that go to the 
 root of the matter, that must be settled 
 before we can determine the nature of that 
 cause which is at once primal and ultimate. 
 — Fairhairn, ' City of God,' pp. 71, 72. 
 
 Oliristianity satisfies man's moral nature. 
 
 Man alone, of the inhabitants of the 
 earth, has the power to apprehend and to 
 hope for a deathless life. Men are not to 
 be persuaded that this bodily and earthly 
 
 life comprises the whole of their being ; 
 they have good reasons for believing other- 
 wise. The expectation of an endless here- 
 after is not merely a conclusion derived 
 from argument ; it springs from a natural 
 tendency, a spiritual aspiratio7i, strength- 
 ened by moral discipline. We refuse to 
 believe that we were made with deathless 
 hopes, destined to be quenched in the cold 
 waters of annihilation and oblivion. Yet 
 reason is insufficient to transform this long- 
 ing into a definite belief. We can, whilst 
 taught by reason alone, go no further than 
 hope wUl lead us : 
 
 ' The hope that, of the living whole, 
 No part shall fail beyond the grave ; 
 Derives it not from what we have 
 The likest God within the soul ? ' 
 
 — In Memoriam. 
 
 A religion which shall command the 
 acceptance of man's nature, must satisfy 
 man's loftiest yearnings and anticipations 
 with regard to the future, and must re- 
 veal a prospect worthy of man's power and 
 capacities. 
 
 The teaching of Christianity is definite 
 upon these points. It encourages the hope 
 that in a higher condition of existence our 
 best aspirations shall be allowed a wider 
 scope. There will be provision for increase 
 of knowledge : for here ' we know in part,' 
 but there shall ' we know even as we are 
 known.' There will be assimilation of char- 
 acter to Him who is supremely good : for 
 ' the pure in heart shall see God.' There 
 will be limitless accessions to happiness : 
 ' blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.' 
 Tliere will be abundant room for the exer- 
 cise of our social sympathies, in * the gene- 
 ral assembly and church of the first-born, 
 which are written in heaven.' There will 
 be, what is pre-eminently congenial to the 
 Christian heart, intimate fellowship with 
 Christ Himself : for ' there shall we ever 
 be with the Lord.' There will be eternal 
 security and felicity : for ' they go no more 
 out.' — Thomson, ^Witness of Man's Aloral 
 Nature to Cliristianitij; pp. 51-53- 
 
INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 Abernetiiy, Conceivability as test of tnitli, 
 1S9. 
 
 Adams, Moral sanction, 430. 
 
 Adamson, Berkeley's Idealism, 115; Memory, 
 137; Belief, 192, 194; Kant's opposition to 
 Hume, 257. 
 
 Addison, Mind, classification of, 20; Beauty, 
 pleasure of, 324 ; Gratitude, 448. 
 
 Aldrich, Logic, definition of, 6. 
 
 Alfarabius, First Cause, 202. 
 
 Alford, Soul and spirit, 36. 
 
 Alison, Sublime, 317; Beaut\-, 323. 
 
 Allen, Beauty, 324. 
 
 Alliot, Innate ideas, 102, 
 
 Allman, Materialism, 279. 
 
 Anaxagoras, xxi. 
 
 Anaxiniander, 224. 
 
 Anaximenes, 224. 
 
 Ancillon, Imagination, 151. 
 
 Aquinas, T., Mind, classification of, 19. 
 
 Argyll, Duke of. Faculties, limitation of, 28. 
 
 Aristotle, xxiii ; Induction, 10 ; Mind, classifica- 
 tion of, 19; Association, 130; Laws of, 131; 
 Judgment, 174; Syllogism, 175; Method, 177; 
 Categories, 198 ; Causes, 202 ; His philosojihy, 
 236; Art, 314; Beauty, 321; Wisdom, 436, 
 437 ; Justice, 438 ; Friendship, 456-457. 
 
 Arthur, ]Moral law, 418, 420; Moral sanction, 
 429. 
 
 Atiberlen, Human nature, duality of, 34; Soul 
 and spirit, 36. 
 
 Augustine, Association, laws of, 131. 
 
 Aurelius, Marcus, quoted, 238. 
 
 Austin, Utility, 395-396; Moral law, 417-41S ; 
 Duty, 435. 
 
 Bacon, xxvii ; Philosophy, divisions of, 2 ; In- 
 duction, 10 ; Knowledge, design of, 88 ; Limits 
 of, 89; New experimental method, 251-252; 
 Beauty, power of, 326 ; Artistic, 326. 
 
 BaiUy, Memory of Leibnitz, 143. 
 
 Bain, Deduction, 8; Induction, 9 ; Bacon's doc- 
 trine, 10; WheweU's, 10; Ground of induction, 
 II; Mind, 19 ; Classification of, 20 ; and body, 
 21; Intellect, 24; Attributes of, 24; Con- 
 
 sciousness, analysis of, 42 ; Sensation, 66 ; 
 Instinct, 72 ; Senses, 77 ; Hearing, 81 ; Per- 
 ception, 106; Idealism, 117; Monism, 122; 
 Space, 124, 125; Kelativity of knowledge, 
 125; Association, laws of, 132, 133: Imagina- 
 tion, 149; Abstraction, 159, 160; tJencralisa- 
 tion, 163; Contradiction, law of, 181; Belief 
 and activity, 193 ; Belief, analysis of, 193 ; 
 Probability, 195 ; Socrates, 226, 227 ; Feeling, 
 292 ; Laws of, 296 ; Emotions, classification of, 
 300 ; Pleasure and pain, 308, 310 ; IndilVerent 
 feelings, 311 ; Plot interest, 312; Art, 314, 
 315; Sublime, 316, 317; Beautiful, 320; Will, 
 theory of, 332-333 ; Desire, 335 ; Growtii of, 
 336; Motives, 337; Classification of, 340; Power 
 of, 341 ; Habit, 342, 343 ; Necessity, 347, 34S- 
 349 ; Conscience, 362, 363 ; Egoism, 379 ; 
 Civil law, foundation of morality, 382; Duty, 
 435 ; Prudence, 438 ; Courage, 441 ; Kever- 
 ence, 443 ; Benevolence, 445 ; Gratitude, 447 ; 
 Sympathy, 449, 450, 452 ; Self-denial, 457. 
 
 Barrow, Conscience, 376. 
 
 Barry, Personality, continuance of, 31, 32 ; Body, 
 its identity, 35 ; and soul, 40. 
 
 Bastian, Observation, 50 ; Heredity, 65, 66 ; In- 
 stinct, 73; Muscularity, 77; Aphasia, 140; 
 Emotion, 307 ; Conscience, 363 ; Sympathy, 
 449- 
 
 Bell, Emotion, expression of, 305. 
 
 Beneke, Soul, human and brute, 39. 
 
 Bentham, Asceticism, 384 ; Utilitarianism, 393- 
 394,403; Justice, 439. 
 
 Berkeley, Mind, 18; and body, 21; Soul and 
 botly, 40; Knowledge, accjuisition of, 87; 
 Ideas, 99; Idealism, 115; Abstraction, 160, 
 161; Reason, 187; Pliilt)sophy of Berkeley, 
 255; Agnosticism, 271 ; Immortiilitj', 457. 
 
 Bernard, St., Conscience, 359. 
 
 Bernstein, Toucli, 79 ; Sight, 80 ; Colour, ]»er- 
 ception of, 80; Smell, 81 ; Taste, 82. 
 
 Biran, Maine de, Cause, 201. 
 
 Birks, Motives, 340-341 ; Utilitarianism, 392, 
 402, 403, 404 ; Intuitionism, 417. 
 
 Biunde, Feeling, 293. 
 
 Bohme, or Bolimen, his teaching, 2S8. 
 
468 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 Bolino;broke, Conceivabilitj' as test of truth, 189. 
 
 Boiivier, Common sense, 61. 
 
 Bowen, Ideas, classes of, 98 ; Innate, 104 ; Free- 
 dom, 350, 353; Necessity, 351, 352. 
 
 Bradley, Utilitarianism, 405. 
 
 Brand! s, Plato, 229. 
 
 Bro-wn, Mind, classification of, 20 ; Conscious- 
 ness, 41 ; Association, laws of, 132 ; Cause, 
 201 ; Causation, 205 ; Benevolence, 445. 
 
 Browne, Pantheism, 281, 287. 
 
 Biichner, Materialism of, 276. 
 
 Buffier, Beauty, 321. 
 
 Bunsen, Philosophy should lead to God, 465. 
 
 Burger, Personality in art, 32. 
 
 Burke, Suhlime, 317 ; Beautiful, 323. 
 
 Butler, Joseph, Personality, 31 ; Probability, 
 196, 197 ; Habit, 342, 343 ; Conscience, 359, 
 360, 366, 370, 371, 374 ; Moral sanction, 431 ; 
 Benevolence, 444, 445 ; Pity, 448. 
 
 Butler, Samuel, Reason, 1S6. 
 
 Bvron, Association, 130. 
 
 Cabet, Socialism and Christianity, 412. 
 
 Caird, Sensation not sufficient for knowledge 
 (Kant), 257 ; Kant's Critique, results of, 25S ; 
 Materialism assumes mind, 278 ; Hegelianism, 
 290. 
 
 Calderwood, xl ; Psychology, relation to physio- 
 logy, 4 ; to metaphysics, 5 ; Mind and body, 20 ; 
 Personality, importance of, 32 ; Consciousness, 
 testimony of, 44 ; Introspection, 49 ; Sensa- 
 tion, 67; Brain, 69; Idealism, 114; Inconceiv- 
 ability not test of truth, 190 ; Unconditioned, 
 210; Absolute, 213; Infinite, 218, 222; Posi- 
 tivism, criticism of, 264 ; Materialism, 276 ; 
 Pantheism, 283 ; Emotion, 303 ; Pleasure and 
 pain, 307, 309, 310 ; Will, nature of, 330, 331 ; 
 Relation to intelligence, 331-332 ; Power of, 
 332 ; Motives, 339 ; and volition, 340 ; Neces- 
 sity, 346, 347, 349; Free-will, 349, 351 ; Free- 
 dom, 353 ; Conscience, 358, 359, 360, 363, 364, 
 370, 371 ; Utilitarianism, 396, 39S, 399, 401- 
 402, 403; Intuitionism, 415; Moral law, 419; 
 Moral sanction, 429; Benevolence, 446; Purity, 
 452, 453 ; Immortality, 459, 461. 
 
 Capes, Stoicism, 235, 236. 
 
 Carpenter, Unconscious mental action, 46 ; At- 
 tention, 55 ; Non-voluntary and voluntary, 
 55-56; Automatic action, 71-72; Muscular 
 sense, 76 ; Images, 128 ; Reverie and abstrac- 
 tion, 133-134 ; Dreaming, 134 ; Somnambu- 
 lism, 135 ; Hypnotism, 135-136 ; Memory, loss 
 of, 140; Emotion, 302; Moral sense in ani- 
 mals, 328 ; Will, physical side of, 332 ; Motives 
 and volition, 340 ; Action, 342 ; Habit, 345 ; 
 Moral nature witness for God, 463. 
 Challis, Conditional immortality, 461. 
 
 Cheever, Conscience, 36S. 
 
 Chesterfield, Attention, 55. 
 
 Christlieb, Personality, its limitations, 31; Soul, 
 human and brute, 39 ; ^Materialism, 273, 274, 
 277, 2S0; Relation to Atheism and Pantheism, 
 2S0; Truth in, 28 1; Pantheism, 282; of Spinoza, 
 283 ; Arguments against, 285, 286, 287 ; Ele- 
 ment of truth in, 286 ; Conscience, 374. 
 
 Cicero, xxv ; Memory, 145 ; Utility, 405. 
 
 Clarke, Freeman, Conscience, 368. 
 
 Clarke, S., Conceivability as test of truth, 189. 
 
 Clement (of Alex.), Asceticism, 388. 
 
 Clifford, Monism, 122. 
 
 Coleridge, Memory, 143; Conception, 164; Me- 
 thod, 176, 177, 178, 179; Understanding, 183; 
 and reason, 1S4; Conscience, 369. 
 
 Collier, Idealism of, 116. 
 
 Comte, Philosophy, definition of, i ; Sociological 
 method, 51; Method in logic, 179; Know- 
 ledge, three stages of development, 261 ; Reli- 
 gion, 261-262 ; Positivism, 263-264 ; Altruism, 
 40S. 
 
 Conder, Relativity of knowledge, 127; Know- 
 ledge of other minds, 208, 209 ; Absolute, 213 ; 
 Infinite, 218 ; Moral nature of man, 464. 
 
 Condillac, Thought as transformed sensation,. 
 
 158. 
 
 Conybeare and Howson, Stoicism and Chris- 
 tianity, 239. 
 
 Courtney, Experience, 62 ; Ancient Idealism, 
 114; Epicureanism, 239, 241, 242. 
 
 Cousin, Consciousness, 42; Reflection, 58; Space 
 and time, 124; Categories, 200; Infinite, 222; 
 Empiricism, 259 ; Mysticism, 288; Conscience, 
 370. 
 
 Crawford, Conscience, 365. 
 
 Crooks and Hurst, Moral and religious feelings, 
 
 329- 
 Cudworth, Conceivability as test of truth, 189. 
 
 Cumberland, Conscience, 362. 
 
 Dale, Imagination in oratory, 154. 
 
 Darwin, Emotion, expression of, 305 ; Moral 
 
 sense, 328 ; Duty, 435. 
 Davies, Soiil, relation to body, 40. 
 Delitzsch, Soul„ 36 ; Conscience, 359. 
 Democritus, xxi. 
 De Morgan, Metaphysics, humorous definition 
 
 of, 15. 
 Descartes, Ideas, 99; Innate ideas, 103 ; Method, 
 
 178; Conceivability as test of truth, 1S9; 
 
 Categories, 199 ; Infinite, 221 ; Doctrine of 
 
 Descartes, 248 ; Four principles of method, 249 ; 
 
 Liberty, 346. 
 Diderot, Memory, 144; Beauty, 321. 
 
 Edwards, Necessity, 351. 
 
INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 469 
 
 Ellicott, Man, tripailite nature of, 34. 
 
 Ely, Socialism, 410. 
 
 Epictetus, Teaching of, 237 ; Conscience, 375. 
 
 E.sser, Induction, imperfect, 13 ; Coynitions, 89. 
 
 FaccioLATI on method, 176. 
 
 Eairbairn, God necessity of man's nature, 464 ; 
 Man interpretation of nature, 446. 
 
 Fecluier, Sensibility, law of, 83. 
 
 Farrier, D., Psychology, method of, 52 ; Nervous 
 system, 70; Brain, function of, 71; Move- 
 ment, spontaneous, 71. 
 
 FeiTier, J. F., Philosophy, delinitionof, i ; Meta- 
 physics, province of, 16; Ontology, 16; Proof 
 of existence of Cod, 17; Kealism, 169; Con- 
 ceptualism, 171, 172, 173; Absolute, 214. 
 
 Feuerbaeh, Materialism, 281. 
 
 Fiske, INIonism, 122; Belief, 192; Evolutional 
 religion, 26S-269. 
 
 Fleming, Psychology, 2 ; Division of, 3 ; Pro- 
 vince of, 3 ; Relation to physiology, 4'; Induc- 
 tion, 1 1 ; Body and matter, 34 ; Soul and 
 spirit, 36 ; Consciousness, 41 ; Common sense, 
 61; Experience, 63; Knowledge, 84; Ideas, 
 Reid's doctrine, 99 ; Innate, 102 ; Perception, 
 ic6 ; Realism, 112; Nihilism, 120, 121 ; Me- 
 morj^ 136, 137; Conditions of, 137, 139; Bene- 
 iitsof, 148 ; Generalisation, 163 ; Concept, 165 ; 
 Nominalism, 170 ; Judgment, 175-176; Syllo- 
 gism, 175-176 ; Method, 176, 178; Categories, 
 198; Cause, 201; Final cause, 203 ; Occasional 
 causes, 204 ; Causation, 204 ; Conditioned, 209 ; 
 Absolute, 212, 214 ; Desire, 335 ; Motives, 339- 
 340; Power of, 341 ; Necessity, 346; Moral law, 
 418, 421; Moral sanction, 430; Duty, 431 ; 
 Justice, 439, 440 ; Temperance, 442 ; Grati- 
 tude, 447. 
 
 Flint, Materialism, 281. 
 
 Fowler, Locke's theory of ideas, loi, 104, 105, 
 253 ; Evolutionism as reconciliation, 254-255 ; 
 Moral sense theory, 389 ; Moral sanction, 430. 
 
 Eraser, Metaphysics, delinition of, 14 ; Ideas, 
 classes of, 98 ; Berkeley's doctrine of, 99 ; his 
 Idealism, 116, 225-226; Criticism of, 116; 
 Reasoning, 188 ; Agnosticism, 271 ; Material- 
 ism, 274. 
 
 G ALTON, Imagery, 128. 
 
 Gassendi, Mind, classification of, 19. 
 
 George, Socialism, 410, 411, 413; Christian, 
 
 413- 
 Geulinx, Occasional causes, 114. 
 Godwin, Emotions, classification of, 301 ; Joy, 
 
 311 ; Surprise, 312 ; Religious feeling, 329. 
 Grant, Cynics and Cyrenaics, 232 ; Stoics and 
 
 suicide, 238. 
 
 (irecn, xxxv, xl ; Pliilosophy, tiicoretical and 
 moral, 1 ; Experience, 64 ; Knowledge, 84 ; 
 Subject and object in perception, 108 ; Locke, 
 criticism of, 254 ; Feeling and knowledge, 294 ; 
 Will, theory of, 333 ; Absolute good, 378. 
 
 Grotc, CJcorgc, Aristotle's classilieation of mind, 
 19; Socrates, 227, 22S ; Aristotle, 230. 231; 
 Ethical standard, ancient, 377 ; Aristotle on 
 justice, 438; Courage, 441 ; Temperance, 441 
 
 Grote, John, Ethics, 357 ; Utilitarianism, 397 ; 
 Duty, 433. 
 
 ' Guesses at Trutli.' See llAKi!;. 
 
 Hall, Conscience, 367. 
 
 Hamilton, Pliilosophy, definitions of, i ; Divi- 
 sions of, 2 ; Psychology, definition of, 2 ; 
 Logic, delinition of, 6 ; Inference, 6 ; Deduc- 
 tion, 8 ; Induction, 9 ; Condition of legitimate, 
 12; Mind, iS ; Deiinitions of, 18; Classifica- 
 tion of, 19; and bodv, tiieories of, 22, 23; 
 Intellect perfected by activity, 26 ; Faculties 
 of, 26 ; Classification of, 27 ; the Ego, 28 ; 
 Consciousness, 41; Analysis of, 42; Conditions 
 of, 43 ; Testimony of, 44, 45 ; Source of mental 
 liliil<is()|ihy, 45 ; Study of, 45 ; Attention, K^- 
 Pielation to consciousness, 53 ; to more than 
 one object, 54 ; Value of, 55 ; Reflection, 56 ; 
 Locke's use of, 56 ; Intuition, 58 ; Common 
 sense, 60; Philosophy of, 61; Knowledge, 
 classification of, 85 ; Nature of, 85 ; Applica- 
 tion of, 86 ; Subject-matter of, 86 ; Acquisi- 
 tion, 87, 88; Cognition, 89; Intuitions, 94; 
 Ideas, 98; Plato's doctrine of, 99 ; Perception, 
 106 ; and Sensation, 106, 107 ; Importance of, 
 in philosophy, 108 ; Knowledge of outer world, 
 no; Classilieation of theories of, 112; Na- 
 tural Realism, 112; Idealism, 114; Nihilism, 
 120 ; Monism, 121,122; Relativity of know- 
 ledge, 125 ; Association of ideas, 129, 131 ; 
 Laws of, 131, 132, 133 ; Memory, 136, 138, 142 ; 
 Instances of good, 143 ; Advantages of, 144 ; 
 Causes of failure, 144; Imagination, 149, 150, 
 152, 153, 155; Thought, 156, 157; Abstrac- 
 tion, 159, 160 ; Generalisation, 163 ; Concep- 
 tion, 164; Concept, 164, 165, 166, 167; Nomi- 
 nalism, 170; Conceptnalism, 172; Judgment, 
 174; Method, 176, 177, 179; Identity, law of, 
 iSo; Contradiction, iSi ; Excluded middle, 
 1 8 1, 182; Value of these laws, 183; Under- 
 standing, 185; Reasoning, 1S8; Inconceiv- 
 ability as test of truth, 190 ; Belief and know- 
 ledge, 193; and Keason, 194; Categories, 197, 
 198 ; Cause, 201 ; First Cause, 202, 203 ; Causa- 
 tion, 204 ; Theories of, 206; Conditioned, 209, 
 and Uncon<litioned, 211 ; Absolute, 212, 214, 
 216; Infinite, 219, 220; Agnosticism, 269; 
 Feeling, 291, 292 ; Pleasure and pain, 307, 
 
470 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 308, 309; Indifferent feelings, 311 ; Sublime, 
 317, 320; Beautiful, 323 Pleasures of, 324; 
 Moral and religious feelings, 327 ; Desire, 
 335 ; Liberty, 345, 349- 35°, 354 ; Necessity, 
 346 ; Pliilosopliy should lead to God, 465. 
 
 Hardy, Asceticism, 385. 
 
 Hare ('Guesses at Truth'), Association, 130; 
 Beautiful, 320; Power of, 325; Conscience, 
 372 ; Duty, 434 ; Reverence, 444 ; Sympathy, 
 452 ; Truthfulness, 455. 
 
 Harris, Common sense, 61. 
 
 Harrison, Immortality, 458. 
 
 Hartley, Association of ideas, 129. 
 
 Hartmknn, Will as reflex action, 333 ; Pes- 
 simism, 426, 427. 
 
 Hay, Beauty, 322. 
 
 Heard, Tripartite nature of man, 33. 
 
 Hegel, Pantheism of, 283 ; Gnosticism of, 289 ; 
 Being, 290 ; Beauty, 322. 
 
 Helvetius, Attention, 55 ; Selfishness, 379. 
 
 Herbart, Philosojjhy of, 265. 
 
 Herbert, Memory, 138. 
 
 Hickok, Consciousness, 42. 
 
 Hobbes,xxviii; Ideas, 100; Thought, 156; Cause, 
 201 ; Philosophy, definition of, 252 ; Nomi- 
 nalism, 252 ; Conscience, 363 ; Law of state, 
 foundation of morality, 381 ; Utilitarianism, 
 393 ; Pity, 448. 
 
 Hodge, Man, nature of, 34 ; Innate uleas, 104 ; 
 Conscience, 367. 
 
 Hodgson, Philosophy, object of, 2 ; Space and 
 time, 123, 124. 
 
 Hogarth, Beauty, 322. 
 
 Hoibach, ISIaterialism of, 275. 
 
 Hommel, Liberty and necessity, 351. 
 
 Hood, INIemory, 148. 
 
 Hooker, Desire, 336. 
 
 Hume, Mind, definition of, 18 ; Ideas, 100, 256 ; 
 Innate, 103 ; Nihilism, 121 ; Hume's admis- 
 sions, 121; Association of ideas, 129; Laws 
 of, 131; Thought, 156; Conceivability as test 
 of truth, 189 ; Probability, two kinds of, 196 ; 
 Substance, 200; Cause, 201; Causation, 205, 
 256 ; Cause and eflect, 256 ; Beauty, pleasure 
 of, 325 ; Necessity, 353 ; Justice, 440 ; Bene- 
 volence, 444; Immortality, 461. 
 Hutcheson, Beauty, 321 ; Moral sense theory, 
 
 389- 
 Huxley, Psychology, method of, 3 ; Relation to 
 physiology, 4 ; Ideas, classes of, 98 ; Memory, 
 137, 142 ; Abstract ideas, 161, 162. 
 
 Irons, Faculties, 27 ; Cause, 201. 
 Iverach, Agnosticism, 270. 
 
 Jacobi, The soul, 40 ; Moral nature witness for 
 God, 464. * 
 
 Jacques, Common sense, 62. 
 
 Janet, Final cause, 203; Absolute good, 377, 378. 
 
 Jardine, Mind and body, theories of, 21 ; Theory 
 of G. H. Lewes, 22 ; Intuitions, 59 ; Sensa- 
 tion, 67, 69 ; Senses, 78 ; Knowledge, impor- 
 tance of systematic, 88 ; Cognition, 89 ; Ideas, 
 Kant's theory of , 102 ; Outer world, knowledge 
 of. III; Cartesianism, 113; Expectation, 148; 
 Imagination, 151, 152, 153; Thought, 156. 
 
 Jeffrey, Beauty, 323. 
 
 Jevons, Logic, 6 ; Inference, 6 ; Views of, 6 ; 
 Rule of, 7 ; Deduction, 7 ; Problem of, 8 ; Re- 
 sults of, 9 ; Induction, 11 ; Ground of, 11 ; Use 
 of, 12; Perfect and imperfect, 13; Estimate 
 of certainty of, 13; Compared with deduction, 
 13; Intellect, attributes of, 24; Generalisation, 
 162, 163 ; Syllogism, 175 ; Method, 177 J 
 Thought, laws of, 179, 183 ; Identity, law of, 
 180; Contradiction, 180; Excluded middle, 
 182; Probability, 195, 196; Theory of, 196; 
 Guide of life, 197 ; First Cause, 203 ; Causa- 
 tion, 206, 207; Positivism, 264. 
 
 Johnson, Truthfulness, 455. 
 
 Jouffroy, Mysticism in morals, 423. 
 
 Kames, Abstraction, 159. 
 
 Kanada, Categories, 199. 
 
 Kant, xxix ; Metaphysics, 15; Reflection, 56; 
 Transcendental, 58; Cognitions, 90; Ideas, loi; 
 Critical idealism, 117; Space and time, 123, 
 124; Judgment, 173, 175; Method, 176; Con^ 
 tradiction, law of, 181; Understanding, 183; 
 Reason, 186; Categories, 199; Cause, 201; 
 Pure and empirical knowledge, 257 ; Two fac- 
 tors of knowledge, 258 ; Art, 313 ; Beauty, 322 • 
 Will, autonomy of, 334 ; Freedom, categories 
 of, 348; Ethics, 357; Conscience, 361, 362, 
 364, 366 ; Categorical imperative, 377 ; Moral 
 law, 419. 422 ; Duty, 431, 432- 
 
 Kauftmann, Socialism and Christianity, 412. 
 
 Keats on beauty, 320, 325. 
 
 Killick, Cause, 201 ; Causation, 207. 
 
 Kingsley, Mysticism, 287 ; Christian Socialism, 
 
 Lange, Hobbes, 252 ; Materialism, 274, 275. 
 
 Laveleye, Socialism, 409, 410, 4"; Errors of, 
 412. 
 
 Lecky, Conscience, 358, 361, 365 ; Utilitarianism, 
 391, 399, 400, 402, 403, 404, 405 ; Intuitionism, 
 415, 417; Moral sanction, 430; Reverence, 
 443 ; Purity, 453 ; Truthfulness, 454, 456- 
 
 Leibnitz, xxviii ; Consciousness, 45 ; Knowledge, 
 86; Innate ideas, 103; Cause, 201; Doctrine 
 of Leibnitz, 251. 
 
 Lewes, xxxiv; Philosophy, definition of, i : Psy- 
 chology, definition of, 2 ; Relation tophysiology. 
 
INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 471 
 
 4 ; Mind and body, 23 ; Sensibility, laws of, 
 83; llcasoued Realism, 113; German Ideal- 
 ism, iiS; Modern philosophy, rise of, 24S ; 
 Knowledge as feeling, 261. 
 
 Liddon, Intellect, uses of, 26; Positivism, 264, 
 458 ; Pantheism, 286 ; Truth in, 2S6 ; Con- 
 science, 366 : Reverence, 444 ; Immortality, 
 457, 460; Positivist doctrine of, 458. 
 
 Lightfoot, Stoics, 233, 234, 235, 236, 238 ; Rela- 
 tion to Christianity, 239; Epicureanism, 241 ; 
 Conscience, 358. 
 
 Locke, xxvii ; Faculties, 27 ; Ego, 29 ; Soul and 
 body, 39 ; Consciousness, 41 ; Reflection, 56 ; 
 Intuition, 59 ; Experience, 63 ; Knowledge, 84 ; 
 Ideas, 99, loi, 253 ; Innate, 104, 253 ; Asso- 
 ciation of, 129 ; Laws of association of ideas, 
 131; Memory and association, 13S, 139; 
 Memory, bad, 144, 145 ; Abstraction, 159, 
 160; Belief and knowledge, 192 ; Probability, 
 196 ; Categories, 199 ; Cause, 201 ; Pleasure 
 and pain, 307 ; Will, nature of, 330 ; Desire, 
 335 ; Growth of, 336 ; Liberty, 345, 346 ; Truth, 
 456 ; Criticism of Locke, 253. 
 
 Lotze, Sensations, 266 ; Things acts of the Infi- 
 nite, 266 ; Personality of the Infinite, 266 ; 
 Materialism, 279 ; Feeling and knowledge, 
 293 ; Feeling roused by representations, 295 ; 
 ^Esthetic characteristics of notions, 316. 
 
 Luthardt, Body, 34 ; Agent of the spirit, 35 ; 
 Soul necessary doctrine of religion, 36 ; Mate- 
 terialism, 273, 277 ; Pantheism, 281 ; Two 
 forms of, 282 ; of Spinoza, 283 ; Schelling, 
 283 ; Hegel, 283 ; Argument against, 285 ; 
 Truth in, 287 ; Liberty, 347 ; Conscience, 360, 
 365, 366, 370, 371, 372, 376; Asceticism, 389 ; 
 Purity, 453 ; Immortality, 460. 
 
 Mackintosh, Nominalism, 171 ; Conscience, 
 
 359- 
 
 Maine, Law of the state, 381. 
 
 Maitland, Positivist doctrine of God, 263 ; Ag- 
 nosticism, 271, 272, 273. 
 
 Malebranche, Attention, 55 ; Doctrine of, 1 14. 
 
 Mansel, ^letaphysics, changes in meaning, 14 ; 
 Definition, 14; Problem of, 15; Personality, 
 28; Characteristics of personality, 31 ; Two 
 necessary conditions of, 31 ; Aground of belief 
 in God, 22 ; Consciousness, 44 ; Reflection, 
 57 ; Religious intuition, 60 ; Senses, psycho- 
 logical ciiaracteristics of, 78 ; Intuitions, 90 ; 
 lunate ideas, 105 ; Percejition and sensation, 
 107; Thought, 157; Abstraction, 159; Con- 
 cept, 164, 166; Judgment, 173; Reasoning, 
 187 ; Substance as a category, 2co ; Causa- 
 tion, 204 ; Absolute, 213, 215 ; Gernuui philo- 
 sophy of absolute, 216; Infinite, 217, 220; 
 Agnosticism, 269 ; Pantheism, 284, 285 ; Emo- 
 
 tion, 298 ; Classification of emotion, 299; Will, 
 nature of, 331 ; Desire, 335; Variety in, 336; 
 Growth of, 336; Liberty, 347, 354; Utilita- 
 riauisin, 400. 
 
 Martensen, Soul, human and brute, 39 ; Moulds 
 the body, 39; Relation of, to body, 40 ; At- 
 tention, 55 ; Beauty of character, 326; Motives, 
 337; Power of, 341 ; C(mscience,'359, 364,365, 
 369, 372, 376 ; Egoism, 379, 3S0 ; Asceticism, 
 387; Moral law, 41S, 420, 421 ; CJratilude, 437 ; 
 Self-denial, 457. 
 
 Martineau, xxxvi, xl ; Substance as a category, 
 200; Spinoza, 249 ; Monism of Spinozii, 250 ; 
 Materialism, 279; Ethics, 357; Conscience, 
 361 ; Altruism, 407 ; Moral law, 422 ; Mystic- 
 ism in morals, 423 ; Duty, 433, 434, 435 ; 
 Prudence, 437 ; Gratitude, 447. 
 
 Masson, Outer world, theories of, iii ; Gnos- 
 ticism, 289, 291. 
 
 Maudsley, Introspection, 49 ; Emotion, expres- 
 sion of, 394. 
 
 Maurice, Realism, 169 ; Socrates, 227 ; Plato, 
 229; Stoicism, 234; Epicureanism, 239 ; Eclec- 
 ticism, 243, 244; Positivist doctrine of God, 263; 
 Conscience, 358, 359, 362, 367, 372, 373, 374, 
 375. 376 ; Bain's State theory of morals, 383; 
 Asceticism, 389 ; Christian Socialism, 413 ; 
 Sympathy, 450. 
 
 M'Cosh, xxxvi: Psychology, 3 ; Relation to logic, 
 4 ; Metaphysics, 14 ; Division of, 15 ; Province, 
 16 ; Metaphysics and theology, 17 ; Mind and 
 bod}', 23 ; Faculties, 27; Personality, 30 ; Irre- 
 concileable with Pantheism, 32 ; Body, 35 ; 
 Consciousness, 44 ; Introspection, 48, 49 ; Ob- 
 servation, 50; Intuition, 59; Common sense, 
 60; Experience, 62, 63; Sensation, 66, 68; 
 Foundations of, 69 ; Senses, veracity of, 79 ; 
 Knowledge, 83 ; Nature of knowleilge, 86 ; 
 sources of, 86; Limits of, SS ; Intuitions, 90 ; 
 Reality of, 90, 91 ; Tests of, 92 ; Ciiaracteristics 
 of, 94 ; Classification of, 96 ; Employment of, 
 97 ; Relation to experience, 97 ; Ideas origin 
 of, 99; Experience theory, 100; Intuitional 
 theory, 102 ; Innate ideas, 103 ; Intuitive 
 Realism, 113; Idealism, defects of, 120; Re- 
 lativity of knowledge, 126 ; Memory, 136, 146; 
 Imagination, 150 ; Abstract] ideas, 161, 162; 
 Concept, 165, 167, 168; Judgment, 173, 174; 
 Understanding and reason, 1S4 ; Reason, 
 1S5 ; and Faith, 186; Reasoning, iSS ; Incon- 
 ceivability as test of truth, 190, 191 ; First 
 Cause. 202 ; Causation, 206 ; Opposed to Athe- 
 ism, 208; Unconditioned, 210; Infinite, 217, 
 218, 221 ; Pantheism, 2S2, 2S4, 2S6 ; Emotion, 
 29S, 301, 302, 303, 304; Pain, 311 ; Sublime, 
 318; in Morals, 319; Will, nature of, 331 ; 
 Power of, 332 ; Motives, 33S ; Liberty, 347, 
 349. 353 ; Conscience, 361, 364, 367, 368, 370, 
 
472 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 373 ; Egoism, 380 ; Utilitarianism, 400, 401, 
 405 ; Intuitionism, 416 ; Moral law, 421, 422 ; 
 Sympathy, 449, 450 ; Immortality, 459, 461. 
 
 Mettrie, De la, Materialism of, 275. 
 
 Mill, James, Sensation, 66 ; Senses, 77 ; Ideas, 
 99; Experience, 100; Association, 129; Laws 
 of, 133; Memory and association, 138; Benefits 
 of, 148 ; Expectation, 148, 149 ; Imagination, 
 149, 150; Belief, analysis of, 193 ; Will, nature 
 of, 330; Desire, 336 ; Object of, 337 ; Motives, 
 
 337. 
 
 Mill, xxxviii, xl ; John Stuart, Logic, 6 ; Infer- 
 ence, 6 ; Induction, 9 ; Improper induction, 9 ; 
 Ground of induction, 11 ; Canons of, 12; Pro- 
 blem of, 13 ; Metaphysics, 17; Mind, 18; Con- 
 sciousness, 44 ; As source of mental philosophy, 
 45 ; Unconscious mental action, 47 ; Subcon- 
 sciousness, 47 ; Introspection, 48; Experience, 
 6t, ; Knowledge, intuitive and inferential, 85 ; 
 Relativity of, 125, 126 ; Ideas, 99 ; Sensational 
 Idealism, 117; l^Iemory, 140, 141 ; Concept, 164, 
 166, 167 ; Realism, 1697 170 ; Nominalism, 170 ; 
 Conceptualism, 171, 172; Identity, law of, 
 180; Contradiction, 181 ; Laws of thought as 
 laws of consistency, 182 ; Reasoning, 188 ; 
 Conceivability as test of truth, 190; Belief 
 and knowledge, 192 ; Aristotle's Categories, 
 198 ; Classification of Categories, 199 ; Causa- 
 tion, 205; Conditioned, 210; Absolute, 213, 
 215 ; Infinite, 217, 221 ; Pleasures, 309; Ne- 
 cessity, 348, 352 ; Determinism, 354, 355 ; 
 Utilitarianism, 394, 403 ; Socialism, 409, 411 ; 
 Justice, 439, 440. 
 
 ISIoleschott, Materialism, 275, 2S1. 
 
 Monboddo, Cause, 201 ; Four kinds of, 201. 
 
 Monck, Induction, 9; Intellect, faculties of, 26 ; 
 Classification, 27 ; Intuition, 58 ; Common 
 sense, 61 ; Cognition, 89 ; Perception, 106 ; 
 Realism, 112; Idealism, 114; Sensational 
 Idealism, 116; Niliilism, 120; Ideas, associa- 
 tion of, 128; Conception, 164 ; Concept, 167; 
 Realism, 168; Conditioned, 209; Uncondi- 
 tioned, 210; Materialism, 273 ; Necessity, 346. 
 
 Montesquieu, Justice, 440. 
 
 Morel], Preconscious mental action, 46 ; Geu- 
 linx, 114; Mysticism, 288. 
 
 ]\Iozley, Metaphysics, 17; Causation, 204; Op- 
 posed to Atheism ; 207 ; Justice, 441. 
 
 Midler, Julius, Determinism, 354, 356 ; Asceti- 
 cism, 3S7 ; Moral law, 418. 
 
 Miiller, Max, Kant's opposition to Hume, 257. 
 
 Murphy, Mind, 23 ; Faculties, 26 ; Sensation, 
 66; Perception, 106; Relativity of knowledge, 
 127; Memorj^, 136, 137 ; Forgetfulness, 145; 
 Recovery of memory, 146; Judgment, 173; 
 Understanding, 183 ; Reasoning, 187 ; Emo- 
 tion, 298 ; Classification of, 300 ; Pleasure 
 and pain, 307 ; Classification of pleasures, 
 
 308 ; Desire, 335 ; Variety in, 336 ; Motives, 
 337 ; Liberty, 346 ; Duty, 431. 
 Murray, Sight, organ of, 80 ; Illusion, 108 ; 
 Dreaming, 134; Abstract ideas, 161 ; Thought, 
 laws of, 179. 
 
 NeANDER, Asceticism, 385, 386, 387. 
 Newman, Habit, 345 ; Truthfulness, 455. 
 Noir^, Scholasticism, 247, 248. 
 
 Paley, Instinct, 73 ; Christian Utilitarianism, 
 396 ; Duty, 434 ; Prudence, 437. 
 
 Pascal, Mind and body, 23 ; Method, 177, 178; 
 Infinite, 219. 
 
 Pasteur, Infinite, 217, 220. 
 
 Picton, Christian Pantheism, 2S6. 
 
 Plato, xxiii ; Ideas, 98 ; Art, 313 ; Beauty, theory 
 of, 321 ; Power of, 325 ; Moral standard, 377 ; 
 Philosophy of Plato, 228. 
 
 Plotinus, Categories, 199 ; Beauty, 321. 
 
 Plutarch, quoted, 246. 
 
 Pollock, Spinoza, 250. 
 
 Pope, Man, tripartite nature of, 33 ; Agnosticism, 
 270 ; Materialism, 279 ; Conscience, 365 ; As- 
 ceticism, 388 ; Moral sanction, 430 ; Duty, 
 432 ; Truthfulness, 455. 
 
 Porter, Psychology, 2 ; Materials of, 2 ; Relation 
 to metaphysics, 16 ; Intellect, faculties of, 
 25 ; How they co-operate, 25 ; Not separate 
 organs, 27 ; Ego revealed in consciousness, 
 28 ; Dawning of, 29 ; Bodj^ adapted to soul, 
 36 ; Soul and spirit defined, 36 ; Soul, exis- 
 tence of, 36 ; Nature of, 37, 38 ; Immaterial, 
 38 ; Relation to body, 39 ; Consciousness, 42 ; 
 Two kinds, 44 ; Testimony of, 45 ; Attention, 
 52, 53, 55 ; Reflection, 56 ; Relation to con- 
 sciousness, 58 ; Sensation, 66, 68 ; Knowledge, 
 83 ; Classification of, 85 ; Intuitions, synony- 
 mous terms, 90 ; How they arise, 92 ; Classi- 
 fication, 96; Association of ideas, 130, 131 ; 
 Laws of, 131, 132 ; Memory, 136 ; Varieties of, 
 141, 142 ; Advantages of, 144 ; Forgetfulness, 
 145 ; Imagination, 149, 151, 152, 154, 155 ; 
 Thought, 156, 157 ; Concept, 164, 165, 166 ; 
 Theories of, 168 ; Realism, 169, 170 ; Cate- 
 gories, 199 ; Causation, 204, 205, 206, 207 ; 
 Absolute, 212, 213; Doctrine of Hegel, 216; 
 Infinite, 218 ; Theories of, 219 ; Aguosticism, 
 269, 270, 271, 272; Materialism, 274, 278; 
 Conscience, 371. 
 
 Port Royal Logic, Method, 1 76. 
 Pressensd, Asceticism, 386, ^'SJ. 
 Pusey, Conscience, 366. 
 
 Rae, German Socialism, 411,41 
 Socialism, 414. 
 
 Errors of 
 
INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 473 
 
 Itanisay, Emotions, classili cation of, 300. 
 
 Keiil.Mind, iS; Classiticationof, 19; Personality, 
 cliaracteiistics of, 30 ; Soul, nature of, 37 ; 
 Consciousness, 41 ; Attention, 53 ; Reflection, 
 56, 57 ; Relation to consciousnoss, 5S ; Intui- 
 tion, 59 ; Conunon sense, 61, 62 ; Theory of 
 iilcas, 259 ; Root of philosophy, 02 ; Exi)eri- 
 ence, 64 ; Ideas, 99 ; Imagination, 155 ; Con- 
 cept, 164; Conccptualism, 171; Judgment, 
 173, 174; Understanding, 183, 1S5 ; Reason, 
 1S6 ; Reasoning, 1S7, iSS, 1S9 ; Relief, 192 ; 
 Categories, 198 ; Objects, reality of, 259 ; 
 Beautiful, 320 ; Beauty, 321 ; Will, nature of, 
 331 ; Desire, 335 ; Habit, 342 ; Liberty, 345, 
 350 ; Necessity, 352 ; Conscience, 360, 361, 
 363. 365. 3^6, 371 ; Utilitarianism, 397, 401. 
 
 Reynolds, Beauty, 322. 
 
 Ribot, Psychology, relation to metaphysics, 5 ; 
 Methods of, 48 ; Metaphysics, 15 ; Conscious- 
 ness, 42 ; Conditions of, 43 ; Observation, 50, 
 51 ; Heredity, 65; Idealism, 114; of Berkeley, 
 115; Defects of Idealism, 120; Aphasia, 140; 
 Necessity, 352. 
 
 Rigg, Pantheism, 2S4, 2S5. 
 
 Robertson, Croom, Association of ideas, 128 ; 
 Ground of association, 130 ; Schools of, 130 ; 
 Absolute, the, 215. 
 
 Robertson, J. C, Asceticism, 387. 
 
 Iloraanes, Instinct, 72, 73, 74 ; and Reason, 75 ; 
 Materialism, 273, 276, 279. 
 
 Ruskin, Knowledge, joy of, 88 ; Imagination, 
 153, 155; Art, 315; Taste, 315; Sublime, 
 317, 31S ; Beauty, 324; Pleasures of, 324; 
 Power of, 326; Natural beauty, 326; Motives, 
 341; Gratitude, 44S; Puritj', 454; Truth, 
 456. 
 
 Ryland Intellect, 26 ; Hamilton's classification 
 of, 27 ; Consciousness, 42 ; Introspection, 48, 
 49 ; Senses, 77 ; Knowledge, 84 ; Innate ideas, 
 103, 105; Perception and sensation, 107; and 
 Conception, 107 ; and Inference, 107 ; Outer 
 world, knowledge of, theories, 11 1; Bain's 
 Idealism, 117; Relativity of knowledge, 126; 
 Imagination, 150; Belief and knowledge, 193 ; 
 Will, power of, 332; Motives, 338; Utilitari- 
 anism, 404 ; Intiiitionism, 416 ; Moral sanction, 
 429 ; Duty, 433 ; Justice, 439. 
 
 Sandeksox, Conscience, 35S, 374; Moral law, 
 
 421. 
 Schaff, Asceticism, 386. 
 Schelling, Pantheism, 283; Art, 313, 314. 
 Schmid, Knowledge, acquisition of, 87 ; Me- 
 
 morj^, 139. 
 Schopenhauer, Art, 313; Beauty, pleasure of, 
 
 325 ; Determinism, 355 ; Conscience, 363 ; 
 
 Pessimism, 425, 428. 
 
 Sclnvegler, Philosophy, definition of, i ; In.luc- 
 tive method of Socrates, lo; Mctupliysic-s, 14 ; 
 Kant's classification of faculties, 27 ; Ex- 
 l>cricnce, 63 ; Plato's doctrine of ideiis, 99 ; 
 tieulinx, doctrine of, 1 14 ; Maleliranche, doc- 
 trine of, 114; Eichte's idealism, iiS, 119; 
 Sehelling's, 119; Judgment, 175; Al)solutc, 
 Hegel's doctrine of, 216 ; Socrates, 226 ; Plato, 
 228, 230; Aristotle, 230, 231, 232; Stoicism, 
 -,>3. 235 ; Epicureanism, 239, 240, 241 ; Scepti- 
 cism, 242; Eclecticism, 244; Neo-Phitonism, 
 245 ; Scholasticism, 246, 247 ; Descartes on 
 Subslancc, 249; Spinoza, 250; Leibnitz, 251 ; 
 Duty, 433. 
 
 Seneca, quoted, 237. 
 
 Seth, Kant and Hegel, 290 ; Hegel's Philosophy 
 of religion, 291. 
 
 Shakespeare, Desire, illusion of, 336 ; Truthful- 
 ness, 455. 
 
 •Shepherd of Hennas,' Asceticism, 3S8. 
 
 Sidgwick, Will, power of, 332 ; Determinism, 
 355; Ethics, 357; IMoral standard, 377; 
 Egoism, 378, 379 ; Moral-sense tlicory, 390 ; 
 Sympathy, ethics of, 391 ; Utilitarianism, 
 391 ; Intuitionism, 415, 416; Moral sanction, 
 430 ; Duty, 432 ; Wisdo)ii, 436 ; Justice, 440 ; 
 Reverence, 443 ; Benevolence, 445, 446 ; Gra- 
 titude, 447; Purity, 452, 453; Truthfulness, 
 
 454. 455- 
 
 Smith, Adam, Sympathy, ethics of, 390; Pity, 
 44S ; Sympathy, 452. 
 
 Smith, Sydney, Instinct, 74, 75 ; Imagination, 
 153; Emotion. 302, 306; Pain, 311 ; Sublime, 
 316, 317 ; in Morals, 419 ; Desire, 337 ; Habit, 
 342, 343- 
 
 Socrates, Induction, 10; his Philosophy, 226; 
 Beautiful and good, 321. 
 
 Spencer, vii, xxxviii ; Philosophy, definition of, 
 I ; Consciousness, 43 ; Testimony of, 44 ; Socio- 
 logical method, 51; Heredity, law of, 64; 
 Doctrine of, 64; Instinct, 72; Origin of, 73 ; 
 Innate ideas, 105; Perception and sensation, law 
 of, 107 ; Transfigured Realism, 112 ; Idealisn), 
 Defects of, 120 ; Monism, 122 ; Relativity of 
 knowledge, 125; As.sociation, 130; Laws of, 
 132; Syllogism, 176; Conceivability as test 
 of truth, 1S9, 191 ; Unconditioneil, 212 ; 
 Absolute, 214, 215; Evolution, 267; Mental, 
 267 ; Bodily and mental, harmonious, 267 ; 
 Agnosticism, 269 ; Peeling and knowledge, 
 295 ; Peelings, peripheral, 297 ; Classification 
 of, 297 ; Emotions, classification of, 300; Ex- 
 l)ression of, 304, 305, 306 ; Origin of, 307 ; 
 Pleasure and pain, 310; Moral sense, 329; 
 Ethics, 357; Ratiimal Utilitarianism, 394; 
 Altruism, 407, 40S ; Moral law, 419; Syn>- 
 I)athy, 449, 450, 451 ; Power of, 452, 
 
 Spenser, quoted on soul and body, 40. 
 
474 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 Spinoza, Cognitions, three kinds, 90 ; Pantlieism, 
 249, 283 ; INIonism, 250 ; Emotions, classifica- 
 tion of, 300. 
 
 Stahr, Aristotle, 230, 231. 
 
 Steele, Beauty, power of, 325. 
 
 Stephen, Desire, 336 ; Motives, 338, 341 ; Con- 
 science, 363; Egoism, 379; Utilitarianism, 
 392, 402 ; Alti-uism, 407, 408, 422 ; Moral 
 sanction, 429 ; Justice, 439 ; Temperance, 
 442 ; Sympathy, 449 ; Purity, 453 ; Truthful- 
 ness, 454, 455. 
 
 Stewart, Mind, classification of, 19 ; Intellect, 
 uses of, 26 ; Attention, 54 ; Common sense, 
 61 ; Knowledge, hindrances to, 87 ; Ideas, 
 experience theory of, loi ; Association of, 128, 
 129, 130 ; Laws of association, 132 ; Memory, 
 136, 138, 139, 142, 143, 146, 147; Imagination, 
 149, 152, 154; Abstraction, 158; Understand- 
 ing, 184; Sublime, 318; Habit, 342, 343; 
 Duty, 434 ; Benevolence, 444 ; Pity, 448 ; 
 Sympathy, 450. 
 
 Stirling, Hegel's Idealism, 119; Positivism, 265; 
 Evolution theory, 268 ; Hegelianism, 290. 
 
 Sully, X ; Psychology, 3 ; Pvclation to practical 
 sciences, 5 ; and Evolution theory, 5 ; In- 
 tellect, attributes of, 25 ; Subconsciousness, 
 47; Observation, 50, 51; Logical method in 
 psychology, 52 ; Attention, 52 ; Non-volun- 
 tary and voluntary, 5 ; Nervous concomitants 
 of, 56 ; Hereditj', 65 ; Sensation, 68 ; Spon- 
 taneous movement, 7 1 ; Sensibility, 76 ; Laws 
 of, 83 ; Innate ideas, Evolution theory of, 
 105 ; Illusion and hallucination, 109 ; Images, 
 127, 128; Imagination, 151 ; Abstraction, 158 ; 
 Belief, analysis of, 193 ; and Feeling, 194 ; and 
 Habit, 195 ; and AVill, 195 ; Personal equation 
 in belief, 195; Evolution, 266; Spencer's 
 philosophy, 268 ; German Materialism, 275 ; 
 Feeling, 292, 293, 296, 297, 298 ; Laws of, 296 ; 
 Emotion, expression of, 304 ; Indifferent 
 feelings, 311 ; Art, 313, 314; Esthetics, 315, 
 316; Action, 342; Liberty, 347; Conscience, 
 362 ; Pessimism, 425, 428 ; Duty, 434. 
 
 Swedenborg, Mysticism of, 2S9. 
 
 Taine, Faculties, 26, 27 ; Ego, 29 ; Introspection, 
 48 ; Sensations, localisation of, 82 ; Illusion, 
 no; Hallucination, no; Images, 127. 
 
 Taylor {'Ben Mordecai'), Personality, 30. 
 
 Taylor, Isaac, Inference, 7 ; Intuition, 59 ; Con- 
 ception, 164. 
 
 Taylor, Jeremy, Soul and body, 40; Conscience, 
 365, 366, 367, 369, 370, 373, 376 ; Trutlifulness, 
 
 455- 
 Tennemann, Scholasticism, 246 et scq. 
 Tennyson, Personality, 29, 30 ; Reverence, 444 ; 
 
 Lying, 456. 
 
 Thales, 223. 
 
 Thomson, J. Radford, Positivism, 265 ; Beauti- 
 ful, theories of, 320 ; Utilitarianism, 396 ; Pes- 
 simism, 425, 426, 428 ; Christianity and man, 
 466. 
 
 Thomson, WiUiam, Logic, 6 ; Definition of, 6 ; 
 Inference, forms of, 7 ; Deduction, 8 ; and 
 Induction, 13 ; Cognition, 89 ; Distinctions 
 among, 89; Abstraction, 158; Generalisation, 
 162 ; Concept, theories of, 168 ; Nominalism, 
 171; Thought, laws of, 182; Hamilton on 
 cause, 201. 
 
 Trendelenburg, Metaphysics 15; Knowledge, 
 84. 
 
 Tyndall, Materialism, 279. 
 
 Ueberweg, Philosophy, definition of, i ; Logic» 
 6 ; Inference, 6 ; Forms of inference, 7 ; Induc- 
 tion,9; Doctrine of, 10; as held by Aristotle, 10; 
 by Bacon, 10 ; Metaphysics, Wolff's division 
 of, 15 ; Soul, nature of, 37 ; Human and brute, 
 39 ; Transcendental reflection, 58 ; Kant's 
 forms of intuition, 59 ; Common sense, 61 ; 
 Stoic definition of knowledge, 84 ; Cognition, 
 90 ; Plato's doctrine of ideas, 98 ; Berkeley's, 
 99; J. Mill's, 99; Berkeley's Idealism, 115; 
 Thought, 156, 157; Realism, 169; Nominalism, 
 171 ; Method, 177; Identity, law of, 180; of 
 Contradiction, 181 ; of Excluded Middle, 182 ; 
 Belief, Mill's analysis of, 93 ; Absolute, doc- 
 trine of Mystics, 216; in History, 217; An- 
 aximander, 224 ; Zeno against motion, 225 ; 
 Atomists, 225 ; Sophists, 225 ; Socrates, 226, 
 227; Plato, 228; Aristotle, 231 ; Stoicism, 238; 
 Epicureanism, 240 ; Scepticism, 242 ; Eclecti- 
 cism, 244 ; Neo-Platonism, 245 ; Scholasticism, 
 246 ; Modern philosophy, rise of, 248 ; Des- 
 cartes and Cartesianism, 248; on Method, 249 ; 
 Comte, 260 ; German psychologists, 265 ; on 
 fundamental character of feeling, 292 ; Emo- 
 tions, classification of, 301 ; Jisthetics, 312 j 
 Ethics, 357; Egoism, 379; Utilitarianism, 393; 
 Duty, 431, 432 ; Immortality, 458. 
 
 UUniaun, Mysticism in Germany, 424. 
 
 Ulrici, Thought, 156. 
 
 Vaughan, Mysticism, 288, 289 ; in Morals, 
 
 4-3- 
 Veron, Instinct, 74; Esthetics, 312, 315, 316^ 
 
 Art, 314, 315 ; Beauty, artistic, 326. 
 
 Vogt, Matter, 275 ; Immortality, 458. 
 
 Wage, Probability, guide of life, 197 ; Con- 
 science, 359, 365. 
 
 Wallace, viii ; Epicureanism, 240, 241, 242 ; He- 
 gelianism, 289. 
 
INDEX OF NAMES. 
 
 475 
 
 "\V:ud, X ; Memoiy, criticism of J. S. Mill, 141- 
 
 Waterland, rantlieism, 281. 
 
 Wel)er, Touch, delicacy of souse of, So ; Sinsi- 
 bility, law of, 83. 
 
 Westcott, Conite's theory of reliy;ion, 262. 
 
 ^Vhatcly, Logic, 6 ; Inference, 8 ; Experience, 
 62; Knowledge, 84 ; Imagination, 153; Gene- 
 ralisation, 162; Realism, 168, 170; Reason, 
 1S6 ; Belief and disbelief, 195. 
 
 "Whewell, Induction, 10 ; Intellect, 24 ; Under- 
 standing and reason, 1S4; Conceivability as 
 test of truth, 190 ; Motives, 337 ; Conscience, 
 358, 359, 364, 367, 371- 373. 374; floral law, 
 420; Duty, 432, 433; Temperance, 442 ; Truth- 
 fulness, 454. 
 
 Wliite, Conditional immortality, 4^12. 
 
 Wilberforco, rantlioism, 282, 2S7. 
 
 WoUV, xxviii ; Metaphysics, divisions of, 15. 
 
 Wordsworth, Duty, 432. 
 
 Wundt, Sensibility, law of, 83. 
 
 "NVyld, Sensation, 69. 
 
 ZELiiER, Pre-Socratic philosophy, 223; Thales, 
 223 ; Anaximander, 224 ; Pythagoreans, 224 ; 
 Eleatics, 225; Sophists, 226; Stoicism, 234, 
 235, 236, 238; Epicureanism, 240; Scepticism, 
 243 ; Eclecticism, 244. 
 
 Zeno, xxiv ; Motion, 225. 
 
INDEX OF SUBJECTS. 
 
 Absolute, the, 212; Is there an? 213; Philo- 
 sophy aims at knowledge of, 214. 
 
 Abstract ideas, 160, 161. 
 
 Abstraction and reverie, 133; in thought, 158; 
 Uses of, 1 59. 
 
 Action, Automatic, 7 1 ; Instances of, 72 ; Voli- 
 tional and automatic, 342. 
 
 ^Esthetics, 312 ; Science of, 315. 
 
 Agnosticism, xxxiii, 269 ; Hamilton's, 269 ; 
 Mansel's, 269 ; Criticism of Agnosticism, 270 
 et seq. 
 
 Altruism, 407. 
 
 Analysis, 177. 
 
 Ancient society, Foundations of, 3S0. 
 
 Aphasia, 140. 
 
 Art, 313. 
 
 Asceticism, 3S4 ; amongst Brahmans, 3S5 ; in 
 Christianity, 385 ; Perversion and use, 38 7. 
 
 Association of Ideas. See Ideas. 
 
 Atomists, 225. 
 
 Attention, defmed, 52 ; Nature of, 53 ; Value of 
 the power of, 55 ; Growth of, 55 ; Non-volun- 
 tary and voluntary, 55 ; Nervous concomitants 
 of, 56 ; Necessary factor in sensation, 68. 
 
 Beautiful, Sources of, 320; Nature of, 320; 
 
 Theories of, 320 et seq. ; Pleasure of, 324 ; 
 
 Power of, 325 ; Artistic, 326 ; Natural, 326. 
 Belief, 191 ; Relation of, to knowledge, 192 ; to 
 
 Activity, 193 ; Analysis of, 193 ; Grounds of, 
 
 194; Belief and disbelief, 195. 
 Benevolence, 444. 
 Body, Distinguished from matter, 34 ; Essential 
 
 part in man's nature, 34 ; Identity, 35 ; Organ 
 
 for obtaining Icnowledge, 35 ; Adapted to the 
 
 soul, 35. 
 Brain, General description of, 69 ; Functions of. 
 
 Caetesianism, 113. 
 
 Categorical imperative, 377. 
 
 Categories, the, 197. 
 
 Causation, 204 ; as a law, 204 ; Theories of, 204 ; 
 
 Law of, universal, 207 ; Idea of, opposed to 
 Atheism, 208. 
 
 Cause, 201 ; First, 202 ; Final, 203 ; Occasional 
 causes, :;xvii, 203. 
 
 Christianity and man's moral nature, 466. 
 
 Cognition, 89. 
 
 Colour, perception of, 80. 
 
 Common sense, the phrase, 60 ; Various mean- 
 ings, 60; Principles of, 61 ; Province of, 61 ; 
 Characteristics and truths, 62 ; the Boot of 
 Philosophy, 62. 
 
 Conceivahility as a test of truth, 189. 
 
 Conception, 163. 
 
 Concepts, the term, 164; Classification, 165; 
 Characters of, 165 ; How formed, 167 ; Theo- 
 ries of, 168 ; Realism, 169 ; Nominalism, 
 xxvi, 170; Conceptualism, xxvi, 171. 
 
 Conceptualism. See Concepts. 
 
 Conditioned, the, 209 ; Law of, 209 ; and the Con- 
 ditioned as objects of knowledge, 211 ; Sole 
 sphere of thought, 212 ; Philosophy of, 212. 
 
 Conscience and religious feeling, 329 ; Nature of, 
 358; Theories of, 361 ; Functions, 365 ; Liberty 
 of, 376 ; DarAviu's theory of evolution of, 435. 
 
 Consciousness, its nature, 41 ; Meaning of, 41 ; 
 Metaphorical description of; 42 ; Analysis of, 
 42 ; Conditions of, 43 ; Two kinds, 44 ; Pro- 
 vince, 44 ; Testimony of, 44 ; Source of mental 
 philosophy, 45 ; Study of, 45 ; Laws for study, 
 46 ; Pre-conscious action, 46 ; Unconscious, 46 ; 
 Sub-conscious, 47. 
 Contradiction, Law of, 180. 
 Courage, 441. 
 
 Criticism, Philosophy of, xxix. 
 Cynics and Cyrenaics, xxii, 232. 
 
 Deduction, Process of, 8 ; Prohlem of, S ; 
 
 Axiom of, 8 ; Method of, 8 ; Results of, 9. 
 Desire, 335. 
 Determinism, 354. 
 Discovery, 177. 
 Dreaming, 134. 
 Dualism. See Realism. 
 Duty, 431. 
 
INDEX OF SUDyECTS. 
 
 477 
 
 Ear, the, described, 8i. 
 
 Eclecticism, 243. 
 
 Ego. Sec Personality. 
 
 Egoism, 37S. 
 
 Eleatics, 225. 
 
 Emotions, 29S ; Definition, 29S ; Analysis, 298 ; 
 Classification of, 299 ; Sources of, 301 ; Mani- 
 festation of, 302 ; Tiieories of expression of, 
 
 305 ; Pleasure of, 306 ; Relation of passion to, 
 
 306 ; Origin of, 307. 
 Empirical definition of mind, 18. 
 Empiricism. See Experience. 
 English sensational school, 252 ct scq. 
 Epicureans, xxiv, 239; Compared with Stoics, 
 
 241. 
 
 Epistemology, the term, xiii. 
 
 Ethics, Relation to psychology, 5 ; Definitions 
 and scope, xiii, 357 ; ' Preferential,' xl. 
 
 Evolution theory and psychology, 5 ; Definition 
 of, 267 ; INIental, 267 ; Criticism of theorj', 26S. 
 
 Excluded Middle, law of, iSi. 
 
 Expectation, 14S. 
 
 Experience, the term, 62 ; Source of all know- 
 ledge (Locke), 62 ; Criticism of, 63 ; by Green, 
 64 ; Relation to intuitions, 97 ; and Memory, 
 141. See also Observation, Ideas. 
 
 Extension. Vide Space. 
 
 l]ye, the, described. So. 
 
 Faculties. See Intellect. 
 
 Feeling, Character and laws of, 291; Meaning 
 of word, 291 ; Definition and description of, 
 292 ; Fundamental character of, 292 ; Relation 
 to knowing, 293 etseq. ; Development of, 296 ; 
 Laws of, 296 ; Classification, 297 ; Feeling ori- 
 ginating in periphery, 297 ; Effect on emotional 
 life, 297. 
 
 Feelings, the general, 307 ; Indifferent, 311 ; 
 ^Esthetic, 312 ; Moral, 327 ; Religious, 329. 
 
 Fortitude, 441. 
 
 Freedom. See Liberty. 
 
 Free-will controversy, the, 49. 
 
 Friendship, 456. 
 
 Generalisation, 162. 
 German psychologists, 265. 
 German Idealism, XXX, 118. 
 Gnosticism, 289. 
 
 God, "Will of, 417; Man's moral nature wit- 
 ness for, 463. 
 Good, the, 377 ; Absolute, 377. 
 Gratitude, 447. 
 Greek Philosophy, Early, xviii, 223 et seq. 
 
 Habit, 342. 
 
 Hallucination, 109; Example of, no. 
 Harmony, pre-established, theory of, xxviii, 22. 
 Hearing, 81. 
 
 Hedonism, Criticism of, 405. See I'tii.!- 
 
 tarianism. 
 Ilogelianism, 2S9 ; in Rrituin, xxxiv, 291. 
 Height, as source uf suliliiiie, 31S. 
 Heredity, Statement of law, 64 ; Exposition «f 
 
 doctrine, 64 ; Application, 66. 
 Hypnotism, 135. 
 
 Idealism, Dclinition of mind, 19; of Professor 
 Green, loS; Cfeiieral princii)les of, 114; His- 
 torically consiiiered, 114; English subjective. 
 115; Sensational, 116; Critical, 117; Ger 
 man, xxx, 118; Objective, 119; Absolute, 
 119 ; Defects of, 119. 
 
 Ideas, the word, 98; Classes of, 98 ; Doctrines of, 
 98; Theories of origin of, 99 ct srq. ; Innate, 
 102 ; Controversy as to existence of, 104 ; 
 Association of, 128; Doctrine of association, 
 129; Laws of association of ideas, 131 ct seq. 
 
 Identity, law of, iSo. 
 
 Illusion, 108. 
 
 Imagery, Mental, 12S. 
 
 Images, 127. 
 
 Imagination, 149; Functions of, 150; Products 
 of, 151 ; its use and abuse, 152; Pleiusures of, 
 155 ; Capable of cultivation, 156. 
 
 Immortality, 457 ; Conditional, 461. 
 
 Induction, Definitions, 9 ; Synthetic process, 9 ; 
 Induction imi)roperly .so called, 9 ; Introduccil 
 by Socrates, 10 ; liis method, 10 ; Method of 
 Aristotle, 10; Bacon, 10; NVhewell, 10; Mill, 
 9, II ; Jevons, 11 ; Ground of, 11 ; Comlition 
 of, 12 ; Mill's canons of, 12 ; I'se of, 12 ; 
 Perfect and imperfect, 13; Problem of, 13; how 
 estimated, 13; and Deduction comjiared, 13. 
 
 Inference, Definitions, 6 ; Forms of, 7 ; Rule of, 
 7 ; Distinguished from i)roof, 8. 
 
 Infinite, 217; Meaning of, 217; Knowledge of, 
 219; Indefinite, 222; as source of sublime, 318. 
 
 Innate Ideas. Sec Ideas. 
 
 Instinct, Origin of, 72, 73 ; of animals, 73 ; Vari- 
 aljility of, 74 ; Purpose of, 74 ; and Rea-son, 75. 
 
 Instniction, 177. 
 
 Intellect, Definition, 24 ; Attribute of, 24 ; Work 
 of, 25 ; Uses of, 26 ; Perfected by activity, 26 ; 
 Faculties of, tiieir nature, 26 ; Classification. 
 27; Relation to intuitions, 27; Limitation of, 
 28. 
 
 Intention and nuitive, 434. 
 
 Introspection, description of, 48 ; its u.se, 48 ; 
 Difficulties, 48; Needs to be supplenientetl, 
 49; Essential to mental study, 49; Objection- 
 to, 49 ; Answered, 49. 
 -^Intuition, defined, 58; Forms of (Knnt), 59: 
 Modes of religious, 60; Theory of origin of 
 ideas, 102. 
 
 Intuitional tlieory of morals, 415. 
 
 Intuitions, Definitions, 90 ; Synonymous terms, 
 
478 
 
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. 
 
 90; Keality of, 90 ; How arise, 92 ; Tests, 92 ; 
 Characteristics, 94; Classification, 96; Employ- 
 ment, 97 ; Relation to experience, 97. 
 Ionian philosophy, 223, 
 
 Joy, 311. 
 Judgment, 173. 
 Justice, 438. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE,Difficulty in defining,83; Attempts, 
 84 ; is of relation, 84 ; Classification of, 85 ; 
 Nature of, 85 ; Application of, 86 ; Subject- 
 matter, 86 ; Sources of, 86 ; Acquisition of, 87 ; 
 Limits of, 88; Origin of, 99 ; of outer world, 
 no ; Classification of theories, in ; Relativity 
 of, 125; Representative, 127; of other minds, 
 208 ; of the conditioned, 2n ; the Absolute, 
 214 ; the Infinite, 219. 
 
 Laav of state as foundation of morals, 380. 
 
 Liberty, 345 et seq. 
 
 Logic, Aim of, x ; Relation to psychology, 4 ; 
 
 Names given to it, 6 ; Definitions, 6. 
 Logical method in psychology, 51. 
 
 Magnitude, Element of sublime, 317. 
 
 Man, Nature of, tripartite, 33 ; Dual, 34 (see 
 Body, Soul, Spirit) ; Moral nature of, wit- 
 ness for God, 463 ; Christianity and, 466. 
 
 Materialism, Tlicory of mind and body, 22 ; De- 
 finition and statement, 273 ; French, 275 ; 
 German, 275 ; Arguments against, 276 et scq. 
 
 Meliorism, 428. 
 
 Memory, Nature, 136; Conditions, 137 ; Loss of, 
 140 ; Significance of, 140 ; Inconsistent with 
 empirical theory, 141 ; Varieties of, 141 ; Cul- 
 tivation of, 146 ; Benefits of, 148. 
 
 Metaphy.sics, Relation to psychology, 5, 16; the 
 
 _^ name, xii, 14 ; Changes in meaning, 14 ; 
 
 Nature of, 14 ; Problem of, 15 ; Province of, 15 ; 
 
 Value of study, 17; in Theology, 17. See also 
 
 Ontology. 
 
 Method, 176 ; Enumeration of, 177 ; Rules of, 
 178. 
 
 Mind, Noblest object of study, 18 ; Definitions 
 of, 18; Classifications of, 19; and Body, 20; 
 Theories of, 21 ; Reciprocal action of, 23 ; the 
 originating power, 23. 
 
 Monism, 121. 
 
 Moral feelings, 327. 
 
 Moral law, 418 ; Independent of sanctions, 431. 
 
 JNloral obligation, 429. 
 
 Moral philosophy. See ETHICS. 
 
 Moral sanctions, 429. 
 
 Moral sense in animals, 328 ; Evolutional 
 theory of, 328. 
 
 Moral-sense theory, 389. 
 
 Moral standard, 377, 
 
 Motion, Zeno's argument against, 225. 
 
 Motive and intention, 434. 
 
 Motives, 337. 
 
 Muscular sense, 76. 
 
 Mysticism, 287 ; in Morals, 423, 
 
 Nature, Man the interpretation of, 466. 
 
 Necessitj^ 346, 348, 351 ; Arguments for, 351. 
 
 Neo-Platonisni, 245. 
 
 Nervous system, 70. 
 
 Nihilism, 120. 
 
 Nominalism. See Concept. 
 
 Objective method. See Observation. - 
 
 Observation, in what consists, 49 ; Valueless by 
 itself, 50. 
 
 Occasionalism, theory of mind and body, 21. 
 
 Olfactory nerve, 81. 
 
 One-sided Socraticists, xxii, 232. 
 
 Ontology, Doctrine of being, xiii, 16; Proof of 
 existence of God, 17; Repudiation of psy- 
 chology, 52. See also Metaphysics. 
 
 Pain in relation to moral evil, 311 ; as source 
 of fear, 3n. 
 
 Pantheism, 281 ; of Spinoza, 283 ; Schelling, 283 ; 
 Hegel, 283 ; Difficulties of, 283 ; Christian, 2S6. 
 
 Pessimism, 425. 
 
 Perception, distinguished from sensation, 68, 
 106; Described, 106; and Conception, 107. 
 
 Personality, Indefinable, 28 ; Revealed in con- 
 sciousness, 28 ; Dawning of, 29 ; Perception 
 of, 30 ; Characteristics of, 30 ; Continuance 
 of, 31 ; Importance of, 32 ; Belief in, irrecon- 
 cileable with Pantheism, 32. 
 
 Philosophy, Definition of, vii, i ; Origin of, 
 xvi ; Political, xv ; Present British, xxxi ; 
 Theoretical and moral, i ; Objects and divisions 
 of, viii, ix, 2 ; Ancient schools of, xix, 223 et 
 scq.; Modern, 248 et seq. ; Roots in 'Revival of 
 Learning,' 248; Moral philosophy. SeeETHlCS. 
 
 Physiology, relation to psychology, 4. 
 
 Pity, 448. 
 
 Platonist, Definition of knowledge, 84. 
 
 Pleasure and pain, definition, 307 ; Different 
 kinds, 307 ; Theories of, 309 ; Guidance 
 afforded by, 310. 
 
 Positivism, Doctrine of, 260 ; Criticism of, 264. 
 
 Preconscious mental activity, 46. 
 
 Pre-Socratic philosophy, 223. 
 
 Probability, 195. 
 
 Prudence, 437. 
 
 Psychology, Nature of, ix, 2 ; Method of, 3 ; Two 
 parts of, 3 ; its province, 3 ; Relation to physi- 
 ology, 4 ; to Logic, 4 ; to Metaphysics, 5, 16 ; to 
 Ethics, 5 ; to Practical Sciences, 5 ; How aftected 
 
INDEX OF SUByECTS. 
 
 479 
 
 by Evolution theory, 5 ; Subjective and objec- 
 tive methods of, 48; Kepudiation of, by 
 ontology, 52. 
 
 Punishment, 435. 
 
 Purity, 452 
 
 Pursuit and plot interest, emotion of, 312. 
 
 Pythagoreans, 224. 
 
 Kealism or Dualism, xxvi, 112; Natural, 112; 
 Transfigured, 112; Reasoned, 113; Intuitive, 
 113. See Concept, TiiEoiuES OF. 
 
 Keason and instinct, 75 ; and understanding, 
 184; the term, 1S5. 
 
 Reasoning, 185. 
 
 Reflection, Nature of, 56 ; as described by Locke, 
 56; Function of, 58; Relation to conscious- 
 ness, 58 ; Transcendental, 58. 
 
 Reflex and automatic action, 71 ; of spinal 
 cord, 71. 
 
 Relativity of knowledge, 125 ; Forms of doctrine, 
 125 ; Docs not imply inaccuracy, 127. 
 
 Religious feelings, 329. 
 
 Representation, or representative knowledge, 1 2 7. 
 
 Resistance, 76. 
 
 Reverence, 443. 
 
 Reverie, 133. 
 
 Rewards, 435. 
 
 Satisfaction and remorse, 435. 
 
 Scepticism (ancient), 242. 
 
 Scholasticism, xxvi., 246. 
 
 Scottish School, definition of mind, 18. 
 
 Selfishness, 379. 
 
 Sensation, described, 66 ; Is it resolvable ? 66 ; 
 
 Origin of, 67 ; Nature of, 68 ; Functions of, 69 ; 
 
 Localisation, 82. 
 Sensationalism, xxis; in England, 252; Reaction 
 
 against, in Germany, 257 ; in Britain, 259 ; in 
 
 France, 259. 
 Senses, Classification of, 77 ; Organic sensations, 
 
 78 ; Psychological characteristics of the five, 
 
 78 ; Veracity of, 79 ; the five, 79 d scq. 
 Sensibility, 76 ; Laws of, 83. 
 Sight, 80. 
 Smell, 81. 
 
 Socialism, 409 ; Christian, 413. 
 Somnambulism, 134. 
 Sophists, 225. 
 Soul, distinguished from spirit, 36 ; Existence 
 
 of. 36 ; Nature of, 37 ; Human and brute, 39 ; 
 
 Relation to body, 39 ; Man'a cs.sonce and glorj', 
 
 40 ; Transmigration of, 224. 
 Space and tinie, 123; Doctrine of Kant, I2j ; 
 
 Cousin, 124; Hodgson, 124; IJaiu's Uicory of 
 
 sjiace, 124. 
 Spirit, distinguisiied fn)m soul, 36. 
 Spontaneous movement, 71. 
 State-conscienco theory, 3S2. 
 Stoics, definition of knowledge, 84 ; Philosopliy 
 
 of, xxiv, 233 ; Illustrations of teacliing, 237 ; 
 
 Relation to Christianity, 239. 
 Subconsciousness, 27. 
 Subjective method. See Intkospection. 
 Sublime, 216 ; in morals, 319. 
 Substance, 199. 
 Surprise, 312. 
 Syllogism, 175. 
 
 SjTiipathy, Ethics of, 390 ; Virtue of, 449. 
 s'ynthoMs, 177. 
 
 Taste, 82 ; in ^Esthetics, 315. 
 
 Temperance, 441. 
 
 Terror, as an element of sublime, 317. 
 
 Theology, Natural, xv; and Metaphysics, 17. 
 
 Thought, the term, 156; theory of transtornied 
 
 sensation, 158; Laws of, 179. 
 Time and space. See Space and Time. 
 Tongue, 82. 
 Touch, 79. 
 
 Transmigration of souls, 224. 
 Truth, 456. 
 Truthfulness, 454. 
 
 Unconditioned, the, 210; is unthinkable, 212. 
 
 Unconscious mental action, 46. 
 
 Understanding, 1S3 ; and Rca.son, 184. 
 
 Utilitarianism, xxxviii, 391 ; Ancient, 393 ; 
 Modern, 393 ; Criticism of, 396 et s(]. : Sum- 
 mary of objections to, 406 ; Not favourable to 
 purity, 453. 
 
 Utility, as foundation of law, 393. 
 
 Virtues, 436 ; Ancient, 439 ; Christian, 443. 
 Volition. See Will. 
 
 Will, 330 ; Tlieorics of, 332 ; Autonomy of, 334 ; 
 
 Relation to desire, 335 ; to motives, 340. 
 Wisdom, 436. 
 Wonder, 312 ; an element of sublime, 317. 
 
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